. My death, probably. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. CHAPTER XXVII. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said.
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