Then he moved over to the window, which he examined carefully.  Satisfied with what he had done, he drew a slip of paper from his pocket and hastily wrote a note, resting the paper on an old box.  When he had finished writing, he folded up the note and thrust it into a little hollow carved Chinese figure which he took also from his pocket.

These were, apparently, his emergency preparations which he was ready to execute in case he received such a message from his master as he had actually received.

With a final hasty glance about he extinguished the lantern, letting the moonlight stream fitfully through the single window.  Then he left the barn, with both front and rear doors open.

Taking advantage of every bit of shelter, he made his way across the field in the direction of the crossroads, finally dropping down behind a huge rock some yards from the finger post that pointed each way to Williams and Brownlee Avenues.

. . . . . . .

Late that night, Kennedy left his apartment prepared to follow the instructions in the note which had been so strangely delivered in the vase.

As he climbed into a roadster, he tucked the robe most carefully into a corner under the leather seat.

“For heaven’s sake, Craig,” I gasped from under the robe, “let me have a little air.”

I had taken my place under the robe before the car was driven up before the apartment, lest some emissary of Wu Fang might be watching to see that there was no such trick.

“You’ll get air enough when we get started, Walter,” he laughed back under his breath, apparently addressing the engine.

Kennedy was a hard driver when he wanted to be and enough was at stake to-night to make him drive hard.  He whizzed along in the roadster, and I was indeed glad enough to huddle up under the robe.

We had reached a point in the suburbs which was deserted and I did not recognize a thing when he pulled up by the side of the road with a jerk.  I peered through a crease in the corner of the robe, and saw him slide out from under the wheel and stand by the side of the car, looking up and down.  Ahead of us the road curved sharply and I had no idea what was there, though Kennedy seemed to know the place.

A moment later he pulled the robe partly off me, and bent down as though examining the batteries on the side of the car.

“Get out on the other side in the shadow of the car, Walter,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Go down the road a bit—­only cut in and keep under cover.  This is Williams Avenue.  You’ll see a big rock.  Hide behind it.  Ahead you’ll see Brownlee Avenue.  Be prepared for anything.  I shall have to trust the rest to you.  I don’t know myself what’s going to happen.”

I slid out and went along the edge of the road, as Craig had directed, and finally crouched behind a huge rock, feeling on as much tension as if I had been a boy playing at Wild West.  Only this might at any moment develop into the reality of a Wild Far East.