Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr. " "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech.
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