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 your mattress was a pretty obvious place.”

He brought his hand round from behind his back, and when I saw what the hand held I had difficulty repressing the cry that rose to my lips. For the detective held a small Chinese knife, with a handle of grape jade, carved in the shape of some heathen god. It was unique, that knife, there could hardly be another like it in the world. I had bought it from a merchant far in the interior of China, and on the boat coming over I had shown it to several people, Mary Will included.

“It was the worst thing I could have done.” Mary Will was sobbing now. “But I was so excited—I had no time to think.”

Out of the murk of tule-fog and hatred and murder one dazzling thing flashed clear—and nothing else mattered. I was a happy man. “You did that for me!” I cried. “Mary Will—you’re wonderful!” Rh