“If the Illustrious will stay I will have breakfast sent to him,” said the Chinaman urgently. “I have stayed too long,” said Wellington Brown. “What is the day of the month by the foreign reckoning?” “I do not know the foreign ways,” said Yo Len Fo, “but if your Excellency will deign to stay a few hours in this hovel--” “My Excellency will not deign to stay in any hovel or palace,” said Wellington. “Where is Yeh Ling?” “I will send for him at once,” said the old man eagerly. “Leave him,” replied Mr. Brown with a fine gesture and began to search his pockets. To his surprise, all his money, which was not much, was intact. “How much do I owe you?” he asked. Yo Len Fo nodded, thereby meaning “nothing.” “Running a philanthropic hop joint?” asked the other sarcastically. “It has all been paid by the excellent Yeh Ling,” answered the man. Brown grunted. “I suppose that old devil Trasmere is behind this,” he said in English, and seeing that the man did not comprehend him, he pushed his way past Yo Len Fo and went down the uncarpeted stairs into the street. He felt terribly weak, but his heart was light. Hesitating at the end of a narrow passage, he turned to the left, otherwise he could not have failed to have run into the arms of Inspector Carver who had made a call that morning upon the proprietor of the Golden Roof. Mr. Brown’s day was spent simply. He found his way to the park and, sitting down on a bench, dozed and mused the hours away, basking in the glorious June sunlight and seemingly obvious to its heat. Late in the afternoon he felt hungry and went to a refreshment kiosk in the park. Finishing his meal he found the nearest bench and continued his pleasant occupation of doing nothing. Mr. Wellington Brown was a born loafer; it is a knack which would prolong many lives in this strenuous age, if it could be acquired. The stars were coming out in a velvet blue sky when, with a shiver, he aroused himself and made instinctively for the lights. As he slouched along one of the big main paths that cross the park, he overtook a man who was walking slowly in his direction. The man shot a quick glance at him and then turned suddenly away. “Here,” said Mr. Brown truculently, “I know you. Why in hell are you running away from me? Think I’m a leper or something?” The man stopped, glanced uneasily left and right. “I don’t know you,” he said coldly. “That’s a damned lie,” snarled Brown. The reaction of his bout was upon him. He would have quarrelled with anything or anybody. “I know you and I’ve met you.” He groped in his hazy mind for some string that would lead him to the identity of the stranger. “In China, wasn’t it? My name’s Brown--Wellington Brown.” “Yes, perhaps it was in China,” said the other and of a sudden became friendly, gripped Wellington Brown’s arm and leaving the path, led him across the green spaces of the park. A courting couple sitting under one of the trees saw them pass and heard Wellington Brown say: