The Mandarin's Fan

by Fergus Hume

"Think--ten thousand."

"Great Scot!" cried Clarence avariciously, "wish I could trade."

"Fifteen thousand," said Tung-yu his eyes glittering, "come gentlemen it's better to be rich than dead. For the next twenty-four hours I can give you money. Then comes Hewi's hour and he will kill you."

"Not much," said Burgh, "I'm going to cut."

"You shall be kept here, till you give up the fan."

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "You won't believe," he said, "why not search us. Then you can see we have not the fan. Do you believe that Major Tidman has it?"

"Yes. He gave it to you. He killed--"

"He did not. Can you swear that he did?"

"No. But I thought--"

"Oh shucks," said Clarence shoving himself forward, "see here Mr. Tung-yu. I'm sick of this business. We haven't got that durned fan. But I can tell you who has."