Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/137

things, who had easily brought himself into my favour and tender love.

By this time it was eleven o'clock, the hour when the printer began to send down pages to be passed for press. The strain lasted well into the afternoon, and the mysterious manuscript had been quite driven from my mind, when a card was brought to me bearing nothing but a duplication of the symbol that sprawled at the foot of the perfumed article. I looked at the clock. The hands pointed to four.

I told the messenger to show the stranger into the ante-room, and to ask Mr. Mayfair to come to me at once.

"Hush," I whispered when Mayfair appeared. "He's in there," indicating the adjoining chamber. "Will you sit at my desk? Pretend to be writing. Listen attentively, but do not speak unless I address you."

The clock struck four. I threw open the door of the ante-room.

The man who came forward, lightly and noiselessly, with the grace of a free animal, was yellow like a Mongolian, but his features were finely chiselled, and in stature he was tall and slim. He wore a long, frayed frock-coat buttoned high up around his neck. The crown of his head resembled a yellow billiard ball. I have never seen a man with less hair. His eyes were deep-set and piercing, and, like the slight nostrils, and the thin quivering lips, alive with intelligence.

"You have read my words?" he asked eagerly, and in excellent English.

I nodded an affirmative.

"And you will publish my words in your paper?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "We are so crowded. Our space is limited. Besides———"

He