"Of what use can she be?" "I know her of old. She is an excellent nurse. None better." "But she cannot talk to the princess." "There you are quite mistaken. Better be careful what you say to her. She speaks Chinese as well as you do." Wang Foo stared at Alice and asked her name. He managed to grasp the Alice part, but the rest was quite beyond him. "Hurry! Hurry," he cried. "Alice," said the doctor, "I am going to resurrect the princess now. Sit down in that easy-chair and make yourself at home." Alice silently obeyed. Thus far there seemed nothing so terrible coming out of the passage through the door of death. The doctor asked for a screw-driver, and Wang Foo produced one, with which he made short work of opening the box. There, apparently, in a deep sleep, lay a little doll of a Chinese woman upon blankets carefully fitted into the box. She was in plain native dress, and her feet were not bigger than those of a good-sized doll. This alone proved that she belonged to a good family. The ordinary Chinese women do not compress their feet. The doctor bent over the box and listened at her heart. "She's all right," he said. "I'll have her out of this in no time." He produced a leather medicine case, and, taking a tumbler from the washstand, proceeded to mix small portions of the contents of two different vials. The result was a reddish liquid, of which he administered a few drops to the princess. "Now, Alice," he said, "we can talk freely before this man, who is just from China and can't speak a word of English. Our love affairs can hang over a few days. Just now I am going to explain about this woman. She is the daughter of a rich Pekin Mandarin, who has sold her to an equally rich merchant here in Chinatown. They are really in love with each other, and the woman came to California of her own accord, although not in just the way she set out to do. She is also the granddaughter of a rich old Chink on her mother's side, who died in San Francisco at the time of the great fire. He left a pile of ready cash behind him, but no one knows where he hid it. That he did hide it somewhere on the night of the fire is certain. Just before his death, as I have the best of reason for believing, old Gong Schow wrote out this secret of the buried money and sent it to a man in China with instructions for him to deliver the letter containing the secret to his granddaughter on her twentieth birthday. It was done. This funny little midget alone knows where Gong Schow's wealth is buried. She has kept her secret well. She promised her lover to reveal it to him on their marriage day. Wang Foo knows all this. He is my partner in certain business transactions. He is her cousin. He started to escort her to Shanghai from her home in Pekin. There she was to sail on the Manchuria for San Francisco. But Wang Foo deceived her and took her aboard an English tramp steamer, the Dover Castle. He has delivered her to me. She must be made to give up her