"Hard words, Mr. Smith." "The class of missionary work which you favor, sir, is injurious to international peace. At the present moment, Ho-Nan is a barrel of gunpowder; you would be the lighted match. I do not willingly stand between any man and what he chooses to consider his duty, but I insist that you abandon your visit to the interior of China!" "You insist, Mr. Smith?" "As your guest, I regret the necessity for reminding you that I hold authority to enforce it." Denby fidgeted uneasily. The tone of the conversation was growing harsh and the atmosphere of the library portentous with brewing storms. There was a short, silent interval. "This is what I had feared and expected," said the clergyman. "This was my reason for not seeking official protection." "The phantom Yellow Peril," said Nayland Smith, "to-day materializes under the very eyes of the Western world." "The 'Yellow Peril'!" "You scoff, sir, and so do others. We take the proffered right hand of friendship nor inquire if the hidden left holds a knife! The peace of the world is at stake, Mr. Eltham. Unknowingly, you tamper with tremendous issues." Mr. Eltham drew a deep breath, thrusting both hands in his pockets. "You are painfully frank, Mr. Smith," he said; "but I like you for it. I will reconsider my position and talk this matter over again with you to-morrow." Thus, then, the storm blew over. Yet I had never experienced such an overwhelming sense of imminent peril--of a sinister presence--as oppressed me at that moment. The very atmosphere of Redmoat was impregnated with Eastern devilry; it loaded the air like some evil perfume. And then, through the silence, cut a throbbing scream--the scream of a woman in direst fear. "My God, it's Greba!" whispered Mr. Eltham. CHAPTER VIII IN what order we dashed down to the drawing-room I cannot recall. But none was before me when I leaped over the threshold and saw Miss Eltham prone by the French windows. These were closed and bolted, and she lay with hands outstretched in the alcove which they formed. I bent over her. Nayland Smith was at my elbow. "Get my bag" I said. "She has swooned. It is nothing serious." Her father, pale and wide-eyed, hovered about me, muttering incoherently; but I managed to reassure him; and his gratitude when, I having administered a simple restorative, the girl sighed shudderingly and opened her eyes, was quite pathetic. I would permit no questioning at that time, and on her father's arm she retired to her own rooms. It was some fifteen minutes later that her message was brought to me. I followed the maid to a quaint little octagonal apartment, and Greba Eltham stood before me, the candlelight caressing the soft curves of her face and gleaming in the meshes of her rich brown hair. When she had answered my first question she hesitated in pretty confusion. "We are anxious to know what alarmed you, Miss Eltham."