understand--"

She stopped, moaning to herself and looking from the handsome face of
the boy to me. It was pitiful; it was uncanny. But sorrow for the
girl predominated in my mind.

Then from somewhere I heard a sound which I had heard before in houses
occupied by Dr. Fu-Manchu--that of a muffled gong.

"Quick!" Karamaneh had me by the arm. "Up! He has returned!"

She fled up the stairs to the balcony, I close at her heels. The
shadows veiled us, the thick carpet deadened the sound of our tread, or
certainly we must have been detected by the man who entered the room we
had just quitted.

It was Dr. Fu-Manchu!

Yellow-robed, immobile, the inhuman green eyes glittering catlike even,
it seemed, before the light struck them, he threaded his way through
the archipelago of cushions and bent over the couch of Aziz.

Karamaneh dragged me down on to my knees.

"Watch!" she whispered. "Watch!"

Dr. Fu-Manchu felt for the pulse of the boy whom a moment since I had
pronounced dead, and, stepping to the tall glass case, took out a
long-necked flask of chased gold, and from it, into a graduated glass,
he poured some drops of an amber liquid wholly unfamiliar to me. I
watched him with all my eyes, and noted how high the liquid rose in the
measure. He charged a needle-syringe, and, bending again over Aziz,
made an injection.

Then all the wonders I had heard of this man became possible, and with
an awe which any other physician who had examined Aziz must have felt,
I admitted him a miracle-worker. For as I watched, all but breathless,
the dead came to life! The glow of health crept upon the olive
cheek--the boy moved--he raised his hands above his head--he sat up,
supported by the Chinese doctor!

Fu-Manchu touched some hidden bell. A hideous yellow man with a
scarred face entered, carrying a tray upon which were a bowl containing
some steaming fluid, apparently soup, what looked like oaten cakes, and
a flask of red wine.

As the boy, exhibiting no more unusual symptoms than if he had just
awakened from a normal sleep, commenced his repast, Karamaneh drew me
gently along the passage into the room which we had first entered. My
heart leaped wildly as the marmoset bounded past us to drop hand over
hand to the lower apartment in search of its master.

"You see," said Karamaneh, her voice quivering, "he is not dead! But
without Fu-Manchu he is dead to me. How can I leave him when he holds
the life of Aziz in