The eyes of the Chinaman fixed themselves upon Kenyon’s face. Sunken and slanted as they were usually, they presented a strange, uncanny appearance; but now their lids were puckered over them; and through each slit a burning, rat-like eye looked forth.

“In this Western world, Mr. Kenyon,” said he, “it is the conventional thing for strangers, I understand, to discuss the weather.” He bent forward and the burning slits of eyes seemed to be boring the young man through. “This being so,” he continued, “might I ask what sort of weather you were having in Butte when you left there?”

The question was quietly asked; but Kenyon instantly felt the weight of their intense expectancy as though by telepathic messages. Both the faces before him were now as expressionless as plaster masks; with semi-fascinated eyes he watched the twitching of[35] one claw-like, yellow hand as it lay upon the Chinaman’s knee. Nevertheless he did not lose his poise for a moment.

[35]

“It was raining heavily when I left Butte,” said he.

Instantly the claw glided into the breast of the yellow man’s coat; the boyish giant half arose from his chair.

“But,” continued Kenyon, with never a trace of haste in his voice, “that was several years ago, and I’m sure is of no interest now.”

Slowly the claw crept into view once more and lay empty upon the arm of the chair; slowly the big form of the younger man sank back. Everything was as still as death. The single gas jet threw quavering shadows about the three. Kenyon still leaned easily against the table, watching the others with speculative eye.

Quick footsteps were heard to ring upon the flags without. The room was at the front of the house and street noises could be plainly heard. The footsteps suddenly paused, then ascended the stone steps. The hand of the Chinaman instantly went up; a glance of intelligence passed between him and his companion; then both turned and nodded apologetically to Kenyon.

“That,” and the Celestial jerked a thumb[36] toward the street, “is the person from Butte. Listen!”

[36]

As he spoke there came a swift rush of feet from without, a sharp, quick cry and the dull beat of blows. Kenyon sprang toward the door leading to the hall; but he found the hands of the young white man against his chest, and saw the fresh, 

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