"'Dr. Nikola? Well, he's Nikola, and that's all I can tell you. If you're a wise man you'll want to know no more. Ask the Chinese mothers nursing their almond-eyed spawn in Peking who he is; ask the Japanese, ask the Malays, the Hindoos, the Burmese, the coal porters in Port Said, the Buddhist priests of Ceylon; ask the King of Corea, the men up in Thibet, the Spanish priests in Manilla, or the Sultan of Borneo, the ministers of Siam, or the French in Saigon—they'll all know Dr. Nikola and his cat, and, take my word, they fear him.'
"I looked at the little stick in my hand and wondered if the man had gone mad.
"'What do you wish me to do with this?' I asked.
"'Take it away with you,' he answered, 'and guard it like your life, and when you have occasion, use it. Remember you have in your hand what will raise a million men and the equivalent of over ten mil——'
"At this point a violent fit of coughing seized him and nearly tore him to pieces. I lifted him up a little in the bed, but before I could take my hands away a stream of blood had gushed from his lips. Like a flash of thought I ran to the door to call the girl, the boy on the stairs re-echoed my shout, and in less time than it takes to tell the woman was in the room. But we were too late—China Pete was dead.
"After giving her all the money I had about me to pay for the funeral, I bade her good-bye, and with the little stick in my pocket returned to my home. Once there I sat myself down in my study, took my legacy out of my pocket and carefully examined it. As to its peculiar power and value, as described to me by the dead man, I hardly knew what to think. My own private opinion was that China Pete was not sane at the time he told me. And yet, how was I to account for the affray with the Chinaman on the boat, and the evident desire the Celestials in Sydney had to obtain information concerning it? After half an hour's consideration of it I locked it up in a drawer of my safe and went upstairs to bed.
"Next day China Pete was buried, and by the end of the month I had well-nigh forgotten that he had ever existed, and had hardly thought of his queer little gift, which still reposed in the upper drawer of my safe. But I was to hear more of it later on.
"One night, about a month after my coming into possession of the stick, my wife and I entertained a few friends at dinner.
"As the clock struck eleven I said good-night to the last of my guests upon the door-step. The carriage had not gone fifty yards down the street before a hansom drew up before my door and a man dressed in a heavy cloak jumped out. Bidding the driver wait for him he ran up my steps.
"'Mr. Wetherell, I believe?' he said. I nodded and wished him 'good-evening,' at the same time asking his business.