A vague remembrance came back to him. Why—yes—Kublai Khan was hiding in the land of the enemies—he was spying out the land under the menial guise of a cobbler. He went by the name of Ivan Sborr.
And there—was that not Kublai Khan's voice—calling—for help, for help?
Professor Barker Harrison followed the direction of the voice, and he was not mistaken.
For Ivan Sborr had gone that evening on an extra-luxurious spree, and was now engaged in savage battle with Patrick O'Mahoney, the Irish sergeant of police, who was trying to propel him toward the station house.
Professor Barker Harrison saw the scene and gave his war-whoop.
"Ho!" he shouted. "Take heart, lion-brother of mine! For I am coming to thy rescue!"
He came.
But by this time the sergeant had clubbed the Russian into unconsciousness and was ready for the new protagonist.
"So ye'll be afther helpin' them fwhat's thryin' to resist arrest, are yez?" he cried. "Take thot for a starter, me lad!" and he paralyzed the Profes-
