“Tut, tut!” he said. Pure luck! But for that bottle of whisky, nobody in the Hong-Kong Hotel would have been able to identify the photograph; and at this hour James Boyle O'Higgins would have been on the way to Yokohama, and the trail lost for ever. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. We shall be torn in pieces if we are discovered. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. See paragraph 1.
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