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though his eyes were gray, his skin was yellow.

"Madam Celia took him in. She fed him and found him work. Years afterward he returned to repay his debt, and found that his benefactress had died—in penury and loneliness. He learned the names of the men who had robbed her—"

Monte Jerome began to laugh, his voice high pitched and strident. Then he paused, staring into the darkness of the upper passage.

"Who is there?" he cried. "Billy—Doc—"

His eyes seemed to focus on something that drew slowly nearer. His ashen lips moved, and he cried out a name.

"Madam Celia!" shrieked the wolf. "She's there behind you—she's pointing at me!"

He turned and ran blindly down the passage. His feet splashed into the edge of the pool, disturbing the layer of scum on its surface. Then, with a choking cry, he disappeared.

Ah Wing folded his arms and waited. For a time the surface of the Pool of Death was agitated, as if some creature of the depths were threshing about down there.

Then gradually it became peaceful and as he looked a white face floated to the surface.

H WING plunged into the pool without a moment's hesitation. He knew that no man could evade his destiny, and that if it was written in the stars for him to die a lingering death in Paris, he could not die in a well under Chinatown.

He struck out with all the power and precision of his strong body, diving down and down and at the same time driving himself forward. As he came toward the surface at last, his heart pounding and his lungs crying out for air, he felt the touch of masonry above him. The rough stones caught at his clothing and held him. His mind was losing its grip on the mechanism of his body. He must breathe—air—water—anything—

And then the barrier sloped steeply upward. With a mighty stroke, he drove himself toward the top of the pool. Still in utter darkness, he came up out of the water, drew a great strangling breath, and felt himself resting on the edge of a rocky margin.

The shadows of a foggy evening were descending over the city when Ah Wing appeared at the head of a narrow street leading toward the wharves and went swinging down it. He passed between rows of warehouses and approached a rotting peer, built out into the water.

Two people were standing there in the shadows of night; while, below, a trim sea-going power boat swung at her moorings. Ah Wing turned to one of the figures. It was that of Colonel Knight.

The Chinaman looked impersonally down upon the older man. When he spoke, his words came like the voice of an oracle.

"In your pocket," said he, "is a leather ease containing what you imagine to be the Resurrection Pendant. As a matter of fact, the pendant has not been in your possession since you came out of your drugged sleep, in my house on the marshes. The trinket you have is valueless, and I have brought you here to see the end of this thing which has brought death to so many!"

Slowly he drew from an inner pocket a morocco case, which he opened. Into the night they flashed out like imprisoned fire—those matchless stones, which had the power to turn men into devils.

Ah Wing spread the wondrous creation upon his hand, and held it toward the crook who had paid so dearly for it. Then, with a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent the pendant far out over the darkening water.

"So—it is gone!" he said. "And now—"

But at last the man standing before him realized what was taking place. With a convulsive jerk, he drew forth a morocco box, the counterpart of the one from which Ah Wing had taken the jewels. Opening the case, he snatched up the replica.

"These—these—" he choked.

"A fairly clever imitation, Colonel Knight," commented Ah Wing. "But if your vision had not been failing, it would never have deceived you. And that brings us to the last point we have to discuss. Lim, kindly hold the Colonel till I have finished!"

Colonel Knight had turned toward the edge of the wharf, as if about to put an end to his misery.

"That way out is always at your disposal, Colonel," continued Ah Wing. "I doubt, however, if you will have the courage to use it after your excitement has worn off. I have discovered that your financial resources are exhausted. Once each month you will go to On Wong, the Chinese banker whose address I have written on this card. He will pay over to you twenty dollars, on which you will subsist. Your old companions have gone before you. Their sin was less black than yours; and for that reason I condemn you to live, instead of condemning you, as I did them, to die!"