surprise, I have an exit whereby one emerges at a secret spot on the
river bank. A motor-boat, suitably concealed, awaits me there."

He placed a thermometer in the neck of the yellow bottle and the
bottle in a rack. He directed the intolerable gaze of his awful eyes
upon the man who sat, teeth tightly clenched, watching him from the
_diwan._

"Ten minutes of life--in England--yet remain to you, Dr. Stuart. In
ten minutes this fluid will have cooled to a temperature of 99 degrees,
when I shall be enabled safely make an injection. You will be reborn
in Kiangsu."

Fo-Hi walked slowly to the door whereby he had entered, opened it and
went out. The door closed.

CHAPTER II

THE LIVING DEATH

The little furnace hissed continuously. A wisp of smoke floated up
from the incense-burner.

Stuart sat with his hands locked between his knees, and his gaze set
upon the yellow flask.

Even now he found it difficult to credit the verity of his case. He
found it almost impossible to believe that such a being as Fo-Hi
existed, that such deeds had been done, were being done, in England,
as those of which he had heard from the sinister cowled man. Save for
the hissing of the furnace and the clanking of the chain as he strove
with all his strength to win freedom, that wonderful evil room was
silent as the King's Chamber at the heart of the Great Pyramid.

His gaze reverted to the yellow flask.

"Oh, my God!" he groaned.

Terror claimed him--the terror which he had with difficulty been
fending off throughout that nightmare interview with Fo-Hi. Madness
threatened him, and he was seized by an almost incontrollable desire
to shout execrations--prayers--he knew not what. He clenched his teeth
grimly and tried to think, to plan.

He had two chances:

The statement left with Inspector Dunbar, in which he had mentioned
the existence of a house "near Hampton Court," and ... Miska.

That she was one of the two exceptions mentioned by Fo-Hi he felt
assured. But was she in this house, and did she know of his presence
there? Even so, had she access to that room of mysteries--of horrors?

And who was the other who remained? Almost certainly it was the
fanatical Hindu, Chunda Lal, of whom she had spoken with such palpable
terror and who watched her unceasingly, untiringly. _He_ would prevent
her intervening even if she had power to intervene.

His great hope, then, was in Dunbar ... for Gaston Max was dead.

At the coming