Which is just to tell you that with me, the best is always first. Good evening, Mr. Chan.”

Chan bowed. “I am deeply touched by your kindness. One grand item is added to my mainland memories tonight.” He wore a somewhat rusty dinner coat, but his linen gleamed and his manners shone.

Paradise followed with their wraps on his arm, and disappeared through a distant doorway. Another door opened. Sir Frederic Bruce stood on the threshold.

“Good evening, Miss Morrow,” he said. “My word - you look charming. And Mr. Chan. This is luck - you’re the first. You know I promised to show you a souvenir of my dark past.”

He turned and reentered his room. Kirk led his guests over to the blazing fire.

“Sit down - do,” he said. “People are always asking how I can endure the famous San Francisco zephyrs up here.” He waved a hand toward the fireplace. “This is one of my answers.”

Sir Frederic rejoined them, a distinguished figure in his evening clothes. He carried a pair of slippers. Their tops were of cut velvet, dark red like old Burgundy, and each bore as decoration a Chinese character surrounded by a design of pomegranate blossoms. He handed one to the girl, and the other to Charlie Chan.

“Beautiful,” cried Miss Morrow. “And what a history! The essential clue.”

“Not any too essential, as it turned out,” shrugged the great detective.

“You know, I venture to presume, the meaning of the character inscribed on velvet?” Chan inquired.

“Yes,” said Sir Frederic. “Not any too appropriate, in this case, I believe. I was told it signifies ‘Long life and happiness.’”

“Precisely.” Chan turned the slipper slowly in his hand. “There exist one hundred and one varieties of this character - one hundred for the people, one reserved for the Emperor. A charming gift. The footwear of a mandarin, fitting only for one high-placed and wealthy.”

“Well, they were on Hilary Galt’s feet when we found him, murdered on the door,” Sir Frederic said. “‘Walk softly, my best of friends’ - that was what the Chinese minister wrote in the letter he sent with them. Hilary Galt was walking softly that night - but he never walked again.” The Englishman took the slippers. “By the way - I hesitate to ask it - but I’d rather you didn’t mention this matter tonight at dinner.”

“Why, of course,” remarked the girl, surprised.

“And that affair of Eve Durand. Ah - er - I fear I was a little indiscreet this noon. Now that I’m no longer at the Yard, I allow myself too much rope. You understand, Sergeant?”

Chan’s little eyes were on him with a keenness that made Sir Frederic slightly uncomfortable.