It was that dark, still, depressing hour of the night, when all life is at its lowest ebb. In the low, strangely perfumed room of books Zani Chada sat before his table, his yellow hands clutching the knobs on his chair arms, his long, inscrutable eyes staring unseeingly before him.  
Came a disturbance and the sound of voices, and Lou Chada, his son, stood at the doorway. He still wore his evening clothes, but he no longer looked smart. His glossy black hair was dishevelled, and his handsome, olive face bore a hunted look. Panic was betoken by twitching mouth and fear-bright eyes. He stopped, glaring at his father, and:
 
“Why are you not gone?” asked the latter sternly. “Do you wish to wreck me as well as yourself?”
 
“The police have posted a man opposite Kwee's house. I cannot get out that way.”
 
“There was no one there when the boy was brought in.”
 
“No, but there is now. Father!” He took a step forward. “I'm trapped. They sha'n't take me. You won't let them take me?”
 
Zani Chada stirred not a muscle, but:
 
“To-night,” he said, “your mad passion has brought ruin to both of us. For the sake of a golden doll who is not worth the price of the jewels she wears, you have placed yourself within reach of the hangman.”
 
“I was mad, I was mad,” groaned the other.
 
“But I, who was sane, am involved in the consequences,” retorted his father.
 
“He will be silent at the price of the boy's life.”
 
“He may be,” returned Zani Chada. “I hate him, but he is a man. Had you escaped, he might have consented to be silent. Once you are arrested, nothing would silence him.”
 
“If the case is tried it will ruin Pat's reputation.”
 
“What a pity!” said Zani Chada.
 
In some distant part of the house a gong was struck three times.
 
“Go,” commanded his father. “Remain at Kwee's house until I send for you. Let Ah Fang go to the room above and see that the woman is silent. An outcry would ruin our last chance.”
 
Lou Chada raised his hands, brushing the hair back from his wet forehead, then, staring haggardly at his father, turned and ran from the room.
 
A minute later Kerry was ushered in by the Chinese servant. The savage face was set like a mask. Without removing his hat, he strode across to the table and bent down so that fierce, wide-open blue eyes stared closely into long, half-closed black ones.
 
“I've got one thing to say,” explained Kerry huskily. “Whatever the hangman may do to your slimy son, and whatever happens to the little blonde fool he kidnapped, if you've laid a hand on my kid I'll kick you to death, if I follow you round the world to do it.”
 
Zani Chada made no reply, but his knuckles gleamed, so tightly did he clutch the knobs on the chair arms. Kerry's savagery would have awed any man, even though he had supposed it to be the idle threat of a passionate man. But Zani Chada knew all men, and he knew this one. When Daniel Kerry declared that in given circumstances he would kick Zani Chada to death, he did not mean that he would shoot him, strangle him, or even beat him with his fists; he meant precisely what he said—that he would kick him to death—and Zani Chada knew it.
 
Thus there were some moments of tense silence during which the savage face of the Chief Inspector drew even closer to the gaunt, yellow face of the Eurasian. Finally:
 
“Listen only for one moment,” said Zani Chada. His voice had lost its guttural intonation. He spoke softly, sibilantly. “I, too, am a father———”
 
“Don't mince words!” shouted Kerry. “You've kidnapped my boy. If I have to tear your house down brick by brick I'll find him. And if you've hurt one hair of his head—you know what to expect!”
 
He quivered. The effort of suppression which he had imposed upon himself was frightful to witness. Zani Chada, student of men, knew that in despite of his own physical strength and of the hidden resources at his beck, he stood nearer to primitive retribution than he had ever done. Yet:
 
“I understand,” he continued. “But you do not understand. Your boy is not in this house. Oh! violence cannot avail! It can only make his loss irreparable.”
 
Kerry, nostrils distended, eyes glaring madly, bent over him.
 
“Your scallywag of a son,” he said hoarsely, “has gone one step too far. His adventures have twice before ended in murder—and you have covered him. This time you can't do it. I'm not to be bought. We've stood for the Far East in London long enough. Your cub hangs this time. Get me? There'll be no bargaining. The woman's reputation won't stop me. My kid's danger won't stop me. But if you try to use him as a lever I'll boot you to your stinking yellow paradise and they'll check you in as pulp.”
 
“You speak of three deaths,” murmured Zani Chada.
 
Kerry clenched his teeth so tightly that his maxillary muscles protruded to an abnormal degree. He thrust his clenched fists into his coat pockets.
 
“We all follow our v............