that Garth's glance lingered with the most distaste. A queue was curled about it. It gave the last touch to the fantasy of the snow, the mist, the deserted street of old houses—a fitting setting for the night's vagaries.
For him the coil of hair gleamed like a serpent, carefully poised and awaiting the most favorable moment for its stroke. As the yellow head moved spasmodically the coil appeared to writhe. It provoked Garth's imagination. With quiet eloquence it symbolized a vicious conservatism, publicly dead. It suggested secret ceremonials in forbidden shrines. In a broader sense it was the outward survival, properly snake-like, of unconquerable and scarcely apprehended customs.
Garth shuddered. He found it more difficult than before to cling to that bony hand. He arose, snapped off the light, and grasped the Oriental by the shoulder.
"How did you know you'd find this money on the sidewalk?" he asked.
The other shivered, as if for the first time the cold had reached him.
"Talk up," Garth ordered. "Who's the fashion-plate that left it?"
The Chinaman made a last effort to escape. Garth subdued him.
"No talk-ee, eh? All right, little one. Then you'll have a nice free ride downtown—just as a suspicious character."
For a possibility had occurred to him from which
