“I—­I killed him!” she managed to gasp.

“What?” cried Mary, starting up and trembling violently.  “You killed him?”

“Yes,” sobbed Elaine, “he came at me—­I had the knife—­I struck at him—­”

The two girls ran into the other room.  There Mary looked at the motionless body on the floor and recoiled, horrified.

Elaine noticing some spots on her hands and seeing that they were stained by the blood of Long Sin, wiped the spots off on her hankerchief, dropping it on the floor.

“Ugh!” exclaimed a guttural voice behind them.

It was the servant who had come in.  Even his ordinarily impassive Oriental face could not conceal the horror and fear at the sight of his master lying on the floor in a pool of gore.  Elaine was now more frightened than ever, if that were possible.

“You—­kill him—­with knife?” insinuated the Chinese.

Elaine was dumb.  The servant did not wait for an answer, but hastily opened the hall door.

To Elaine it seemed that something must be done quickly.  A moment and all the house would be in uproar.

Instead, he placed his finger on his lips.  “Quick—­no word,” he said, leading the way to the hall door, “and—­you must not leave that—­it will be a clue,” he added, picking up the bloody handkerchief and pressing it into Elaine’s hand.

They quickly ran out into the hall.

“Go—­quick!” he urged again, “and hide the handkerchief in the bag.  Let no one see it!”

He shut the door.  As they hurried away, Elaine breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why did he let us go, though?” she whispered, her head in a whirl.

“I don’t know,” panted Mary, “but anyhow, thank heaven, we are out of it.  Come,” she added, taking Elaine’s arm, “not a soul has seen us except the servant.  Let us get away as quietly as we can.”

They had reached the street.  Afraid to run, they hurried as fast as they could until they turned the first corner.

Elaine looked back.  No one was pursuing.

“We must separate,” added Mary.  “Let us go different ways.  I will see you later.  Perhaps they will think some enemy has murdered him.”

They pressed each other’s hands and parted.

Meanwhile in the front room, Long Sin was on his feet again brushing himself off and mopping up the blood.

“It worked very well, Sam,” he said to the servant.

They were conversing eagerly and laughing and did not hear a noise in the back room.

A sinister figure had made its way by means of a fire-escape to a rear window that was not barred, and silently he had stolen in on them.

Cat-like, he advanced, but instead of striking at them, he quietly took a seat in a chair close behind them, a magazine revolver in his hand.

They turned at a slight noise and saw him.  Genuine fright was now on their faces as they looked at him, open mouthed.