“Yellow ape! yellow ape!” she said hoarsely. “One more does not matter—now.” “One more?” crooned Sin Sin Wa, glancing curiously at Kerry. “They are here! We are trapped!” “No, no,” said Sin Sin Wa. “He is a brave man; he comes alone.” He paused, and then suddenly resumed in pidgin English: “You likee killa him, eh?” Perhaps unconscious that she did so, Mrs. Sin replied also in English: “No, I am mad. Let me think, old fool!” She dropped the stiletto and raised her hand dazedly to her brow. “You gotchee tired of knifee chop, eh?” murmured Sin Sin Wa. Mrs. Sin clenched her hands, holding them rigidly against her hips; and, nostrils dilated, she stared at the smiling Chinaman. “What do you mean?” she demanded. Sin Sin Wa performed his curious oriental shrug. “You putta topside pidgin on Sir Lucy alla lightee,” he murmured. “Givee him hell alla velly proper.” The pupils of the woman’s eyes contracted again, and remained so. She laughed hoarsely and tossed her head. “Who told you that?” she asked contemptuously. “It was the doll-woman who killed him—I have said so.” “_You_ tella me so—_hoi, hoi!_ But old Sin Sin Wa catchee wonder. Lo!”—he extended a yellow forefinger, pointing at his wife—“Mrs. Sin make him catchee die! No bhobbery, no palaber. Sin Sin Wa gotchee you sized up allee timee.” Mrs. Sin snapped her fingers under his nose then stooped, picked up the stiletto, and swiftly restored it to its sheath. Her hands resting upon her hips, she came forward, until her dark evil face almost touched the yellow, smiling face of Sin Sin Wa. “Listen, old fool,” she said in a low, husky voice; “I have done with you, ape-man, for good! Yes! _I_ killed Lucy, _I_ killed him! He belonged to _me_—until that pink and white thing took him away. I am glad I killed him. If I cannot have him neither can she. But I was mad all the same.” She glanced down at Kerry, and: “Tie him up,” she directed, “and send him to sleep. And understand, Sin, we’ve shared out for the last time—You go your way and I go mine. No stinking Yellow River for me. New York is good enough until it’s safe to go to Buenos Ayres.” “Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres,” croaked the raven from his wicker cage, which was set upon the counter. Sin Sin Wa regarded him smilingly. “Yes, yes, my little friend,” he crooned in Chinese, while Tling-a-Ling rattled ghostly castanets. “In Ho-Nan they will say that you are a devil and I am a wizard. That which is unknown is always thought to be magical, my Tling-a-Ling.” Mrs. Sin, who was rapidly throwing off the effects of opium and recovering her normal self-confident personality, glanced at her husband scornfully. “Tell me,” she said, “what has happened? How did he come here?” “Blinga filly doggy,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Knockee Ah Fung on him head and comee down here, lo. Ah Fung allee lightee now—topside. Chasee filly doggy. Allee velly proper. No bhobbery.”