open hand down on his knee.
"That pigtail!" he cried. "I have left it behind! We must have it,
Petrie! Stop! Stop!"
The cab was pulled up, and Smith alighted.
"Don't wait for me," he directed hurriedly. "Here, take Weymouth's
card. Remember where he said the book was? It's all we want. Come
straight on to Scotland Yard and meet me there."
"But Smith," I protested, "a few minutes can make no difference!"
"Can't it!" he snapped. "Do you suppose Fu-Manchu is going to leave
evidence like that lying about? It's a thousand to one he has it
already, but there is just a bare chance."
It was a new aspect of the situation and one that afforded no room for
comment; and so lost in thought did I become that the cab was outside
the house for which I was bound ere I realized that we had quitted the
purlieus of Wapping. Yet I had had leisure to review the whole troop
of events which had crowded my life since the return of Nayland Smith
from Burma. Mentally, I had looked again upon the dead Sir Crichton
Davey, and with Smith had waited in the dark for the dreadful thing
that had killed him. Now, with those remorseless memories jostling in
my mind, I was entering the house of Fu-Manchu's last victim, and the
shadow of that giant evil seemed to be upon it like a palpable cloud.
Cadby's old landlady greeted me with a queer mixture of fear and
embarrassment in her manner.
"I am Dr. Petrie," I said, "and I regret that I bring bad news
respecting Mr. Cadby."
"Oh, sir!" she cried. "Don't tell me that anything has happened to
him!" And divining something of the mission on which I was come, for
such sad duty often falls to the lot of the medical man: "Oh, the poor,
brave lad!"
Indeed, I respected the dead man's memory more than ever from that
hour, since the sorrow of the worthy old soul was quite pathetic, and
spoke eloquently for the unhappy cause of it.
"There was a terrible wailing at the back of the house last night,
Doctor, and I heard it again to-night, a second before you knocked.
Poor lad! It was the same when his mother died."
At the moment I paid little attention to her words, for such beliefs
are common, unfortunately; but when she was sufficiently composed I
went on to explain what I thought necessary. And now the old lady's
embarrassment took precedence of her sorrow, and presently the truth
came out:
"There's a--young lady--in his rooms, sir."
I started. This might mean little or might mean much.
"She came and waited for him last night, Doctor--from ten until
half-past--and this morning again. She came the third time about an
hour ago, and has been upstairs since."
"Do you know her, Mrs. Dolan?"
Mrs. Dolan grew embarrassed again.
"Well, Doctor," she said, wiping her eyes the while, "I DO. And God
knows he was a good lad, and I like a mother to him; but she is not the
girl I should have liked a son of mine to take up with."
At any other time, this would have been amusing; now, it might be
serious. Mrs. Dolan's account of the wailing became suddenly
significant, for perhaps it meant that one of Fu-Manchu's dacoit
followers was watching the house, to give warning of any stranger's
approach! Warning to whom? It was unlikely that I should forget the
dark eyes of another of Fu-Manchu's servants. Was that lure of men
even now in the house, completing her evil work?
"I should never have allowed her in his rooms--" began Mrs. Dolan
again. Then there was an interruption.
A soft rustling reached my ears--intimately feminine. The girl was
stealing down!
I leaped out into the hall, and she turned and fled blindly before
me--back up the stairs! Taking three steps at a time, I followed her,
bounded into the room above almost at her heels, and stood with my back
to the door.
She cowered against the desk by the window, a slim figure in a clinging
silk gown, which alone explained Mrs. Dolan's distrust. The gaslight
was turned very low, and her hat shadowed her face, but could not hide
its startling beauty, could not mar the brilliancy of the skin, nor dim
the wonderful eyes of this modern Delilah. For it was she!
"So I came in time," I said grimly, and turned the key in the lock.
"Oh!" she panted at that, and stood facing me, leaning back with her
jewel-laden hands clutching the desk edge.
"Give me whatever you have removed from here," I said sternly, "and
then prepare to accompany me."
She took a step forward, her eyes wide with fear, her lips parted.
"I have taken nothing," she said. Her breast was heaving tumultuously.
"Oh, let me go! Please, let me go!" And impulsively she threw herself
forward, pressing clasped hands against my shoulder and looking up into
my face with passionate, pleading eyes.
It is with some shame that I confess how her charm enveloped me like a
magic cloud. Unfamiliar with the complex Oriental temperament, I had
laughed at Nayland Smith when he had spoken of this girl's infatuation.
"Love in the East," he had said, "is like the conjurer's mango-tree; it
is born, grows and flowers at the touch of a hand." Now, in those
pleading eyes I read confirmation of his words. Her clothes or her
hair exhaled a faint perfume. Like all Fu-Manchu's servants, she was
perfectly chosen for her peculiar duties. Her beauty was wholly
intoxicating.
But I thrust her away.
"You have no claim to mercy," I said. "Do not count upon any. What
have you taken from here?"
She grasped the lapels of my coat.
"I will tell you all I can--all I dare," she panted eagerly, fearfully.
"I