“Yes, of course. He is a member of several scientific associations, a wealthy New Yorker, and he has the confidence of the United States government. He has done notable work in China for Washington, and I have no doubt he has submitted a valuable report to the department of state, with papers to verify it, that no other man could have given to it. It is because he is so well informed a man that he has been cut off by the Yellow Tong. There can be no doubt about that.” “Not the slightest,” assented Nick Carter. “By the way, can you have this room fastened up, so that there is no danger of anybody disturbing it? I should like to go through it alone after the coroner has been here.” “I’ll fix that, of course,” was the doctor’s ready promise. “The coroner is Doctor Farrell. I’ll call him up and get him to make his preliminary investigation right away. When do you want to come back?” “Let me see,” answered Nick, consulting his watch. “It is now nearly nine. I’ll come back at ten. The coroner will be through by that time?” “Long before,” replied Miles confidently. “I will be here with him, to tell him all he wants to know. He’ll bring a jury with him in the morning, and they’ll reach a verdict very soon. Do you want me here when you get back at ten?” “Not unless it is convenient to you. I should like to have you present, of course. But, if you----” “I’ve got half a dozen calls I ought to make to-night. I shall try to cover some by telephone. But, anyhow, I have enough to keep me out of bed till one in the morning, and I’m rather tired.” “Don’t say a word,” interrupted Nick. “I’ll look through the room by myself. I shan’t even bring my assistant with me. Good night, if you are not here when I come back.” They shook hands again--for each respected the ability and sterling qualities of the other--and Nick Carter went out. The detective was sharp-eyed, and it was seldom that any detail escaped him. But he did not see an ugly yellow face, with black, oblique-set eyes, in the narrow slit between the heavy brocaded curtains that covered one of the windows. Yet that yellow face had been there from the first--even when Ruggins was involuntarily summoned by the murdered man when he fell from his chair with the crossed needles in his heart. CHAPTER II. THE MAN WITH THE SCARS. When Nick Carter went out of the home of Andrew Anderton, he stood for a moment in the shadow of the front entrance, looking sharply about him. Particularly his gaze rested upon the blackness of the park on the opposite side of the avenue, and he tried to make out whether anybody might be lurking in the deep obscurity of the shade trees. It was his experience, as a detective, that where there had been an unusual crime committed, some of those concerned were pretty sure to linger in the vicinity. Always they were anxious to know what direction suspicion would take. “I believe I see something moving over there,” muttered Nick.