“I know nothing whatever about the Society of Good Intention,” he said; “though I gather from its benevolent title that it is a Chinese secret society with a felonious propaganda.” Talham was tickled. Here was a man after his own heart. “The Society,” he began, as if to deliver a speech, then changed his mind. “The Society is purely criminal, though it had a political origin. It is an off shoot of the Guild of Honourable Adventurers which flourished in Canton twenty years ago. It has committed more crimes than any other in China, and it has reached a pass where----” Clear and sharp above the conversation a pistol shot rang out. It sounded overhead, and simultaneously the two men leapt to their feet. With one accord they darted to the door, across the wide hall, and up the soft-carpeted stairs, Tillizinni leading, an automatic pistol in his hand. A servant was standing at the door of the Ambassador’s study, vainly twisting the handle. “It is locked, Excellencies,” he said. “Out of the way!” cried Talham. The man obeyed with suspicious alacrity. He flew down the stairs, past the chattering crowd of servants hurrying up. At the door of the house the Chinaman in the livery of the Embassy was joined by another. “We will go quickly, brother,” said the first man, “else these people will know that we are not in the Tao-ae’s service.” They passed through the door and out into the dark street as the sound of a crash told them that Talham had gained admission to the room above. The room was in darkness, but the observant Tillizinni had noted the mother-of-pearl button switch, and his fingers found it now. Instantly the room was flooded with soft light. Huddled in his chair was the Ambassador--dead. There was no wound which the men could see, and Tillizinni, going swiftly to the side of the dead man, uttered an exclamation. “He has been strangled!” he cried. Talham leant over the desk, his brows puckered in a frown. “Strangled! Then who fired that shot?” he asked. Servants were coming into the room now. The English secretary pushed a way through a crowd of excited Chinamen. He had been writing in his study on the third floor when the shot aroused him. “Marshall all the servants,” said Tillizinni, and whilst this was being done the detective made an examination of the apartment. The windows were closed and fastened with a catch, for the Ambassador shared with his countrymen a horror of ventilation. There was no possibility of entry from that direction. Nothing had been disturbed with the exception of a large inlaid bureau which stood against one wall of the room. Here the door had been wrenched open, and a drawer forced and ransacked. Private papers lay scattered on the floor. Tillizinni picked up a large envelope. It was inscribed in Chinese characters: “The burial-place of the First Emperor.” The seal on the envelope remained intact, but the cover had been slit from end to end, and was empty.