what was about to happen, nor what its effects might be upon Lord
Southery in his exhausted condition.

Through the Memphian dark of the tomb cut a spear of light, touching
the last stone of the stairway.

A guttural voice spoke some words rapidly, and I knew that Dr.
Fu-Manchu stood at the head of the stairs. Although I could not see my
friend, I became aware that Nayland Smith had his revolver in his hand,
and I reached into my pocket for mine.

At last the cunning Chinaman was about to fall into a trap. It would
require all his genius, I thought, to save him to-night. Unless his
suspicions were aroused by the unlocked door, his capture was imminent.

Someone was descending the steps.

In my right hand I held my revolver, and with my left arm about Lord
Southery, I waited through ten such seconds of suspense as I have
rarely known.

The spear of light plunged into the well of darkness again.

Lord Southery, Smith and myself were hidden by the angle of the wall;
but full upon the purplish face of Mr. Henderson the beam shone. In
some way it penetrated to the murk in his mind; and he awakened from
his swoon with a hoarse cry, struggled to his feet, and stood looking
up the stair in a sort of frozen horror.

Smith was past him at a bound. Something flashed towards him as the
light was extinguished. I saw him duck, and heard the knife ring upon
the floor.

I managed to move sufficiently to see at the top, as I fired up the
stairs, the yellow face of Dr. Fu-Manchu, to see the gleaming,
chatoyant eyes, greenly terrible, as they sought to pierce the gloom.
A flying figure was racing up, three steps at a time (that of a brown
man scantily clad). He stumbled and fell, by which I knew that he was
hit; but went on again, Smith hard on his heels.

"Mr. Henderson!" I cried, "relight the lantern and take charge of Lord
Southery. Here is my flask on the floor. I rely upon you."

Smith's revolver spoke again as I went bounding up the stair. Black
against the square of moonlight I saw him stagger, I saw him fall. As
he fell, for the third time, I heard the crack of his revolver.

Instantly I was at his side. Somewhere along the black aisle beneath
the trees receding footsteps pattered.

"Are you hurt, Smith?" I cried anxiously.

He got upon his feet.

"He has a dacoit with him," he replied, and showed me the long curved
knife which he held in his hand, a full inch of the blade bloodstained.
"A near thing