It was a small room in a small and unpretentious house, but it
adequately expressed the character of the subtle Oriental. The den
was lavishly furnished, while the guileful Long Sin himself wore a
richly figured lounging gown of the finest and costliest silk,
chosen for the express purpose of harmonizing with the luxurious
Far Eastern hangings and furniture so as to impress his followers
and those whom he might choose as visitors.
At length he seated himself at a teakwood table, still
deliberating over the promise he had been forced to make to
Kennedy. He sat for some moments, deeply absorbed in thought.
Suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. Lifting a little hammer, he
struck a Chinese gong on the table at his side. At the same time,
he leaned over and turned a knob at the side of a large roll-top
desk.
A few seconds later a sort of hatchway, covered by a rug on the
floor, in one corner of the room, was slowly lifted and Long Sin's
secretary, a sallow, cadaverous Chinaman, appeared from below. He
stepped noiselessly into the room and shuffled across to Long Sin.
Long Sin scowled, as though something had interfered with his own
plans, but tore open the envelope without a word, spreading out on
his lap the sheet of paper it contained.
The letter bore a typewritten message, all in capitals, which
read:
"BE AT HEADQUARTERS AT 12.
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