"Oh, I shall see you in two days. We must press this business to an issue. They are waiting for me in New York, and I can’t waste much time in small affairs like this. Well, good night, Kendrick, God bless you! There ought to be more men like you. Good night." And the outer door closed behind him. Kendrick suppressed a burst of laughter with a muscular effort that appeared to threaten apoplexy. "The old humbug!" he gasped. "Hampden, you’ve seen the most picturesque liar that ever struck the Golden Gate. He is a regular Roman candle of romances." "Is he a fraud? Is it all a case of imagination run wild?" "No, not altogether, I should say. Half of it seems to be the truth, though which half to believe I’m blest if I can make out. He brings good letters." "From New York?" "Yes; and Chicago, too. He came out two weeks ago to work up a land deal. Represents a million dollars in a syndicate, though I fancy he’s not so big a part of it as he makes out. He’s full of these tall stories, though they don’t all of them hang together well. It’s fun to listen to him, though. I couldn’t help taking him down about that Mosely affair. He was so cock-sure of knowing everything that I couldn’t resist the temptation." "You did give his vanity a singe." "It wasn’t the politic thing to do with a million-dollar trade hanging in the balance, but I reckon he’s got enough of his feathers left to carry him through the deal." Wharton Kendrick leaned back in his chair, and his face glowed in amusement. Then on a sudden he straightened up, all gravity. "Did you bring any news?" he asked. "I have a present of an overcoat," I answered. And I gave him the story of the adventure of the night. "That was a rash play of yours," he said gravely. "Don’t do it again. It wasn’t necessary." "Are you certain that Bolton is the only man who has an interest in setting a watch on you?" I inquired. "Why, what have you found?" asked Kendrick, a little startled. "I haven’t found anything but an idea--and that," I said, handing him a bit of paper. "What’s this?" asked Kendrick, putting on his eye-glasses. "Your wash bill? China lottery? or what?" "That’s the thing that has puzzled me. You see, there’s quite a bit of Chinese writing on it." "Well, what of it?" "I got it out of the overcoat that the fellow left in my hands." "Ah-ha!" said Kendrick. "And you don’t see what one of Bolton’s men would be doing with a Chinese letter in his pocket?" "That was just my idea--in part, at least. The letter was a clue, anyhow, and I took it to a Chinese firm I have done some law business for and know pretty well. I showed it to the boss partner. He talks English like a native, and chatters like a magpie. But when he saw that slip of paper he shut up like a clam, and all I could get out of him was ’No sabby.’ You know the look of stolid ignorance they can put on when there’s anything they don’t want to tell."