rica and went shouting on their way to China."
Di Favara hushed; it was Colonel Spottiswoode who inquired, "What became of them?"
The Italian shrugged his shoulders: "Chi lo sa? That was nine years ago. Last summer I passed through Zanzibar. In the Sultan's gardens I saw a lone Chinese slave, that his traders had captured in a razzia, while sacking the village of a savage tribe. The last survivor of the three thousand. Madonna mia! What a tale that man could tell!"
The Italian lighted another cigarette and let the imagination of his hearers run riot with those Chinese struggling in the jungle.
Colonel Spottiswoode stared at Favara, and nobody moved until Durham's even voice asked another question: "Yes, I heard of that, but never believed it to be true. Did you know a man named Vinizzi—Balthazar Vinizzi?"
Favara made a queer gesture of Latin assent: "Yes, oh, yes. Vinizzi was everywhere; a bold man, Balthazar, but not good, not good." Even in Favara's code there were things which men should not do. Vinizzi had left nothing undone.
The Sirdar stirred the crushed ice in his crème de menthe. "Pardon my curiosity about Vinizzi. But did you ever hear that he had a necklace of interlaced rings for which our Government has been searching, an Indian heirloom
