On arriving at St. Giles’s Hospital, and making my business known, I was taken at once to the accident ward, to the bedside of the man in question. He lay absolutely still, his eyelids closed, and only a very faint movement of the chest showed that he still breathed. A doctor stood by the bed, his fingers on the Chinaman’s pulse.

“He’s almost gone,” he whispered to me. “You know him, eh?”

I shook my head.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Then what was he doing with your name and address in his pocket? You are Captain Hastings, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I can’t explain it any more than you can.”