Not worth a cent 's far as money goes."

    "Does He know that I have them?" asked Fing-Su.

    Like Joe, he never referred to Clifford Lynne by name, but gave the necessary pronoun a significant value.

    "No, He doesn't." said Joe emphatically. "That's the trouble. But he talked about 'em the other night. Said that I mustn't part with one—not one!"

    "My revered and honoured father had nine," said Fing-Su, in his silkiest tone, "and now I have twenty-four."

    Joe rubbed his unshaven chin. He was in a fret of apprehension.

    "I give 'em to you—you've been a good boy, Fing-Su...Latin an' philos'phy an' everything. I'm crazy about education an' naturally I wanted to do somep'n' for you. Great stuff, education." He hesitated, pulling at his lower lip. "I'm not the kind of man who gives a thing and takes it back again. But you know what he is, Fing-Su."

    "He hates me," said Fing-Su dispassionately. "Yesterday he called me a yellow snake."

    "Did he?" asked Joe dismally.

    His tone conveyed his utter helplessness to rectify a distressing state of affairs.

    "I'll get round him sooner or later," he said, with a wan effort to appear confident. "I'm artful, Fing-Su—got ideas back of my mind that nobody knows. I gotta scheme now ..."

    He chuckled at a secret thought, but instantly became sober again.

    "...about these shares. I'll give you a couple of thousand for 'em—sterling. Not worth a cent! But I'll give you a couple of thousand."

    The Chinaman moved slightly in his chair and presently raised his black eyes to his patron.

    "Mr Bray, of what use is money to me?" he asked, almost humbly. "My revered and honoured father left me rich. I am a poor Chinaman with few necessities."

    Fing-Su threw away his burnt-out cigarette and rolled another with extraordinary dexterity. Almost before paper and tobacco were in his hands they had become a smoking white cylinder.

    "In Shanghai and Canton they say that the Yun Nan Company has more money than the Government has ever seen," he said slowly. "They say that the Lolo people found gold in Liao-Lio valley——"

    "We found it," said Joe complacently. "These Lolo couldn't find anything except excuses to burn down Chinese temples."

    "But you have the money," insisted Fing-Su. "Idle money——"

    "Not idle—gettin' four 'n' half per cent on it," murmured Joe.

    Fing-Su smiled.

    "Four and a half per cent! And you could get a hundred! Up in Shan-si there is a billion dollars worth of coal—a million times a billion! You can't work it, I know—there is no strong man sitting in the Forbidden City to say 'Do this' and it is done. And if there was, he would have no army. There is an investment for your reserves; a strong man."

    "I dessay."

    Joe Bray looked round fearfully. He hated Chinese politics—and He hated them worse.

    "Fing-Su," he said awkwardly, "that long-faced American consul was up here to tiffin yesterday. He got quite het up about your Joyful Hands—said there was too many 'parlours' in the country anyway. An' the central government's been makin' inquiries. Ho Sing was here last week askin' when you reckoned you would be goin' back to London."

    The Chinaman's thin lips curled in a smile.

    "They give too great an importance to my little club," he said. "It is purely social—we have no politics. Mr Bray, don't you think that it would be a good idea if Yun Nan reserves were used——?"

    "Nothin' doin'!" Joe shook his head violently. "I can't touch 'em anyway. Now about them shares, Fing——"

    "They are at my bankers in Shanghai—they shall be returned," said Fing-Su.