ered around the shadowy walls. Tall glass cases there were,
shelves and niches: where once, from the gallery above, I had seen the
tubes and retorts, the jars of unfamiliar organisms, the books of
unfamiliar lore, the impedimenta of the occult student and man of
science--the visible evidences of Fu-Manchu's presence.
Shelves--cases--niches--were bare. Of the complicated appliances
unknown to civilized laboratories, wherewith he pursued his strange
experiments, of the tubes wherein he isolated the bacilli of
unclassified diseases, of the yellow-bound volumes for a glimpse at
which (had they known of their contents) the great men of Harley Street
would have given a fortune--no trace remained. The silken cushions;
the inlaid tables; all were gone.

The room was stripped, dismantled. Had Fu-Manchu fled? The silence
assumed a new significance. His dacoits and kindred ministers of death
all must have fled, too.

"You have let him escape us!" I said rapidly. "You promised to aid us
to capture him--to send us a message--and you have delayed until--"

"No," she said; "no!" and clutched at my arm again. "Oh! is he not
reviving slowly? Are you sure you have made no mistake?"

Her thoughts were all for the boy; and her solicitude touched me. I
again examined Aziz, the most remarkable patient of my busy
professional career.

As I counted the strengthening pulse, he opened his dark eyes--which
were so like the eyes of Karamaneh--and, with the girl's eager arms
tightly about him, sat up, looking wonderingly around.

Karamaneh pressed her cheek to his, whispering loving words in that
softly spoken Arabic which had first betrayed her nationality to
Nayland Smith. I handed her my flask, which I had filled with wine.

"My promise is fulfilled!" I said. "You are free! Now for Fu-Manchu!
But first let us admit the police to this house; there is something
uncanny in its stillness."

"No," she replied. "First let my brother be taken out and placed in
safety. Will you carry him?"

She raised her face to that of Inspector Weymouth, upon which was
written awe and wonder.

The burly detective lifted the boy as tenderly as a woman, passed
through the shadows to the stairway, ascended, and was swallowed up in
the gloom. Nayland Smith's eyes gleamed feverishly. He turned to
Karamaneh.

"You are not playing with us?" he said harshly. "We have done our
part; it remains for you to do yours."

"Do not speak so loudly,