“Now that our plans seem apt to go astray,” mocked he, “you have thought it well to feather your own nest.” “I offered all along to do this very thing,” cried Forrester. “I knew when murder was seriously entertained, that I must withdraw.” Hong Yo arose. His step was wavering and strengthless; there seemed to be only a flutter of life in his shrunken frame; but, to the watching Kenyon, his purpose was as deadly as the look in his eyes. “You persist in this?” asked he, slowly. “I do,” said Forrester, quietly. Farbush sat with one leg crossed over the other; his face had suddenly grown expressionless, his body seemed tensely flexed. “He expects a climax, I fancy,” thought Kenyon. “Did it never occur to you,” gasped Hong Yo, steadying himself by laying his left hand upon the back of a chair, “that we might not be willing to fall in with your views.” Forrester smiled, confidently. The fresh, boyish candor which had so struck Kenyon, at first sight of him, was perfect. “Oh, I think you will,” said he. “I don’t see how you can very well refuse.” “And why?” Hong Yo had drawn nearer, and Kenyon noted the yellow claw once more stealing toward the breast of his blouse. But Forrester did not give way; he only smiled, quietly. “You see,” he answered, “you are hardly in a position to refuse me. I have dropped my connection with your plot for good and all. With these securities I disappear never to be heard of again. Without them, I remain in New York to tell what I know.” As the last word left his lips, the knife of the Chinaman flashed in the lamp-light. Anna screamed; but for a moment Forrester retained his calmness. “He expects help,” was the thought that flashed through Kenyon’s mind. But the help for some reason did not come; and then the confidence suddenly died, leaving the young giant white and apparently paralyzed with fear. Hong Yo was taking the step that would bring him within striking distance; and like a fascinated thing Forrester awaited the blow. Again Anna screamed; and now she threw herself upon Forrester’s breast. The knife was raised and would have fallen, but there came a sharp, answering cry, the sound of swift-moving feet, and two strong white hands clutched the arm of Hong Yo. “Dallas!” cried Kenyon in amazement; and with the name upon his lips, he whipped out his long revolver, thrust aside the portières, and stepped into the room. Farbush had leaped to his feet, but with what intention will never be known; for at sight of Kenyon and the murderous Colt he shrank back. Dallas uttered a little cry of joy; she sprang to meet Kenyon with outstretched hands. “You!” she exclaimed. “To be sure,” said he. “I am still trying to furnish proof of my rectitude.” He pressed her hand as he spoke, and his brown eyes twinkled humorously; but, at the same time, they never left Hong Yo and Farbush, and the black muzzle of his huge weapon was not once lowered.