There was something horrifying in those gong notes in the stillness of the night. Lady Pat's beautiful eyes grew glassy with fear. “I don't know,” replied Dan. “It seemed to come from below.” He ran to the door, drew the curtain aside, and pressed his ear against one of the panels, listening intently. As he did so, his attitude grew tense, his expression changed, then: “We're saved!” he cried, turning a radiant face to the woman. “I heard my father's voice!” “Oh, are you sure, are you sure?” “Absolutely sure!” He bent to press his ear to the panel again, when a stifled cry from his companion brought him swiftly to his feet. The second door in the room had opened silently, and a small Chinaman, who carried himself with a stoop, had entered, and now, a menacing expression upon his face, was quickly approaching the boy. What he had meant to do for ever remained in doubt, for young Kerry, knowing his father to be in the house and seeing an open door before him, took matters into his own hands. At the moment that the silent Chinaman was about to throw his arms about him, the pride of the junior school registered a most surprising left accurately on the point of Ah Fang's jaw, following it up by a wilful transgression of Queensberry rules in the form of a stomach punch which temporarily decided the issue. Then: “Quick! quick!” he cried breathlessly, grasping Lady Pat's hand. “This is where we run!” In such fashion was Zani Chada interrupted, the interruption taking the form of a sudden, shrill outcry: “Dad! dad! Where are you, dad?” Kerry spun about as a man galvanized. His face became transfigured. “This way, Dan!” he cried. “This way, boy!” Came a clatter of hurrying feet, and into the low, perfumed room burst Dan Kerry, junior, tightly clasping the hand of a pale-faced, dishevelled woman in evening dress. It was Lady Rourke; and although she seemed to be in a nearly fainting condition, Dan dragged her, half running, into the room. Kerry gave one glance at the pair, then, instantly, he turned to face Zani Chada. The latter, like a man of stone, sat in his carved chair, eyes nearly closed. The Chief Inspector whipped out a whistle and raised it to his lips. He blew three blasts upon it. From one--two--three--four points around the house the signal was answered. Zani Chada fully opened his long, basilisk eyes. “You win, Chief Inspector,” he said. “But much may be done by clever counsel. If all fails------” “Well?” rapped Kerry fiercely, at the same time throwing his arm around the boy. “I may continue to take an interest in your affairs.” A tremendous uproar arose, within and without the house. The police were raiding the place. Lady Rourke sank down, slowly, almost at the Eurasian's feet. But Chief Inspector Kerry experienced an unfamiliar chill as his uncompromising stare met the cold hatred which blazed out of the black eyes, narrowed, now, and serpentine, of Zani Chada. THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO I