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She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. 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. You are one of the Immortals. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill.
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