ated. Steinlin was one of the miracle men who had come out of the War, yet for Scobee he was able to do nothing. Yes, it was a mighty problem which poor Hung Long Tom was attempting to solve.
That night he had heard Scobee cautiously moving about. He had heard him creep softly up the stairs. His ears were trained to catch the slightest tremor of sound. For always he had tried to hear the songs which the night wind sings through the willows and to catch the words of fragrant flowers uttered in perfumed melodies. Hung Long Tom was a mystic and a dreamer. Perhaps that is what made him so truly a realist, a realist who understood life.
For awhile he had lain there listening. He had heard Scobee moving about in the attic. He had heard him walk down the stairs. Not till Scobee was out of the house did Hung Long Tom rise to his feet. To slip into the loose suit which he always wore was but the space of a minute. Then he too crept down
the stairs and out into the night. But to the
