“Tell me,” said the Chinaman, “the name of the person whom you and your men robbed!”
The beady eyes of Colonel Knight, or “Count von Hondon” as he had once been known in every capital in Europe, glittered with suspicion and fear. His breath caught in his throat, and he unfastened his collar with trembling fingers.
“The name,” he said hoarsely, “was—was—”
Ah Wing crossed toward the heavy door and laid his hand upon the knob. His metallic eyes blazed, and he looked down with fierce contempt upon the man trembling before him.
“Will you answer?” he cried. “Or shall I open this door?”
“It was a woman!” Knight whimpered. “Her name was—Madame Celia—”
He broke off and stared at the Chinaman, towering there before the door. Ah Wing had neither spoken nor moved; but there was in the room a disturbance as if a great voice had shouted out a curse.
Slowly the Chinaman came back toward his visitor. His face now was the impassive face of a carved Buddha.
“Colonel Knight,” he said gently, “the high gods have undoubtedly brought you to me. I am the only person in the world who can save you, for I work outside of the laws of men. And I will take your case, now that I fully understand it. But first I will ask you to show me the Resurrection Pendant which you stole from Madame Celia!”
The white man got slowly to his feet, his hands groping at his throat, his eyes protruding, his face the color of dough.