“And the firm has an ace,” Mr. Endacott pointed out, as Wu Ling’s card fell upon the table.

Gregory sat staring at it, motionless and rigid, the light of triumph fading from his face. There had been gamblers in his family, though, and heredity asserted itself. He rose calmly to his feet.

“I’ll go down and pack the Image,” he said.

Wu Ling clapped his hands. His expression had never varied. He showed no signs, even of content.

“There will be porters who attend you,” he announced. “They will follow your ’rickshaw and bring back the Image.”

Gregory held out his hand, even then scarcely realising the position. All this risk and privation for nothing, his friend’s life for nothing, all gone on the turn of a card. For a moment the place with its strange atmosphere seemed unreal, his adventure a nightmare. Then he heard Wu Ling giving orders to the foreman and saw him point to the harbour. He choked down his feelings.

“I shall not sympathise with you,” Mr. Endacott said, as he shook hands. “Your enterprise has never commended itself to me, and your possession of the Body without the Soul was never a thing to be envied.”

Gregory could not trust himself to reply. He held out his hand to Wu Ling, who took it gravely.

“At least, Wu Ling,” he said, “if you have spoilt my trip out here, you saved my life. I don’t think it’s worth much, but I thank you. Send the porters along.”

He turned and left the place; a tall, slim figure, graceful and trim in his well-fitting clothes, the strangest contrast to the blue-smocked coolies and one or two native traders through whom he had almost to push his way. He