I thought of the wolf-figure who had come out of the opium-den, and the face framed in the lantern-flash of the alley, and was silent. Perhaps the thought of the scene of the passage had come to her, too, for she shuddered and quickened her step as though to escape. “Do you want to go through the theater?” asked Corson. “No--no,” whispered Luella, “get me home at once.” “We have seen enough sights for the evening, I believe,” said I. Mrs. Bowser was volubly regretful, but declined Corson's offer to chaperon her through a night of it. On the way home Luella spoke not a word, but Mrs. Bowser filled the time with a detailed account of her emotions and sensations while Corson and his men were searching for us and beating down the door. And her tale was still growing when the carriage pulled up before the bronze lions that guarded the house of the Wolf, and I handed the ladies up the steps. At the door Luella held out her hand impulsively. “I wish I knew whom to thank--but I do thank him--for my safety--perhaps for my life. Believe me--I am grateful to a brave man.” I felt the warm clasp of her fingers for a moment, and then with a flash of her eyes that set my blood on fire she was gone, and I was staggering down Doddridge Knapp's steps in a tumult of emotions that turned the dark city into the jeweled palaces of the genii peopled with angels. But there was a bitter in the sweet. “I wish I knew whom to thank.” The bitter grew a little more perceptible as her phrases stamped themselves on my brain. I blessed and cursed at once the day that had brought me to her. CHAPTER XIX A DEAL IN STOCKS The wolf-face, seamed with hatred and anger, and hideous with evil passions, that had glowered for a moment out of the smoky frame of the Chinese den, was still haunting me as I forced myself once more to return to the office. Wednesday morning had come, and I was due to meet Doddridge Knapp. But as I unlocked the door, I took some comfort in the reflection that I could hardly be more unwilling to meet the Wolf than he must be to meet me. I had scarcely settled myself in my chair when I heard the key turn in the lock. The door swung open, and in walked Doddridge Knapp. I had thought to find at least some trace of the opium debauch through which I had gained the clue to his strange and contradictory acts--some mark of the evil passions that had written their story upon his face at the meeting in the passage. But the face before me was a mask that showed no sign of the experiences through which he had passed. For all that appeared, he might have employed the time since I had left here two days before in studying philosophy and cultivating peace and good-will with his neighbors. “Ah, Wilton,” he said affably, rubbing his hands with a purring growl. “You're ready for a hard day's work, I hope.” “Nothing would please me better,” I said cheerfully, my repugnance melting away with the magnetism of his presence. “Is the black flag up today?”