ing, all the horror and fear of her life plainly written on her face for him to see.
Then with one swift motion he filled the needle, caught her upraised arm and injected the serum into the tissues. She winced slightly, bit her lip, and throw her arms about his knees. The first sob he had ever heard from her throat shook her body as he bent to raise her to her feet. Then behind him he heard Whittly's voice in a startled, incredulously horror-shaken tone. He wheeled, still gripping his mother's arm, to see Cloud and Whittly staring fascinatedly at Arn.
Arn lay on his pillows, the food half-eaten on the plate beside him. His face was calm and smiling, and his eyes gazed at them with a look of infinite peace. But the look was fixed and unmistakable, as was the pallor of his face.
Henry Arn was dead.
This story rises to a dramatic and thrilling culmination in the con-
cluding chapters in next month's issue of WEIRD TALES.
WEIRD STORY REPRINT
The Dragon Fang
CHAPTER 1
THE MIRACULOUS DRAGON FANG
"Come, men and women, and little people of Tching-tou, come and listen. The small and ignoble person who annoys you by his presence is the miserable conjurer known as Piou-lu. Everything that can possibly be desired he can give you;—charms to heal dissensions in your noble and illustrious families;—spells by which beautiful little people without style may become learned Bachelors, and reign high in the palaces of literary composition;—supernatural red pills, with which you can cure your elegant and renowned diseases;—wonderful incantations, by which the assassins of any member of your shining and virtuous families can be discovered and made to yield compensation, or be brought under the just eye of the Brother of the Sun. What is it that you want? This mean little conjurer, who now addresses you, can supply all your charming and refreshing desires; for he is known everywhere as Piou-lu, the possessor of the ever-renowned and miraculous Dragon Fang!"
There was a little, dry laugh, and a murmur among the crowd of idlers that surrounded the stage erected by Piou-lu in front of the Hotel of the Thirty-two Virtues. Fifth-class mandarins looked at fourth-class mandarins and smiled, as much as to say, "We who are educated men know what to think of this fellow." But the fourth-class mandarins looked haughtily at the fifth-class, as if they had no business to smile at their
