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32 Chang Yen, Number Two is an unknown American, Number Three an equally unknown Frenchwoman, Number Four may be called the executive of the organisation—the destroyer. My informant died. Tell me, monsieur, is that phrase known to you at all? The Big Four.”

“Not in connection with Li Chang Yen. No, I can’t say it is. But I’ve heard it, or read it, just lately—and in some unusual connection too. Ah, I’ve got it.”

He rose and went across to an inlaid lacquer cabinet—an exquisite thing, as even I could see. He returned with a letter in his hand.

“Here you are. Note from an old sea-faring man I ran against once in Shanghai. Hoary old reprobate—maudlin with drink by now, I should say. I took this to be the ravings of alcoholism.”

He read it aloud:—

“,—You may not remember me, but you did me a good turn once in Shanghai. Do me another now. I must have money to get out of the country. I’m well hid here, I hope, but any day they may get me. The Big Four, I mean. It’s life or death. I’ve plenty of money, but I daren’t get at it, for fear of putting them wise. Send me a couple of hundred in notes.