same drowsy building that had sheltered it when the tea trade was young. They were expected, it seemed; news of the Delphian's docking had reached these keen, kindly gentlemen who welcomed them. In the dim office, hung with pictures of ships, Mark was motioned to a teakwood chair, and plans were discussed.
"Unless I'm mistaken," Mr. Tyler told him, "we have located the T'ang Min descendants in the suburbs of Nangpoo. It's all extraordinary enough, isn't it, young man? But now that you're here, it ought to be fairly plain sailing. Unless we reckon without the T'ang Min people. However, they're merchants of some distinction, and, also, Chinese gratitude is just as long-lived as Chinese hatred. Have you your papers, Mr. Mark?"
Yes, indeed, Mark had them. He produced the precious wallet and began unfolding its contents. There was the unneeded letter of introduction to Tyler, Bolliver & Tyler, Inc., and the translation of the original document, and the drafts on the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank, and—! Mark searched the wallet and searched again. A hideous empty feeling be-
