" the girl begged. "HE is near us--and, oh,
God, I fear him so!"

"Where is he?" persisted my friend.

Karamaneh's eyes were glassy with fear now.

"You must not touch him until the police are here," she said--but from
the direction of her quick, agitated glances I knew that, her brother
safe now, she feared for me, and for me alone. Those glances sent my
blood dancing; for Karamaneh was an Eastern jewel which any man of
flesh and blood must have coveted had he known it to lie within his
reach. Her eyes were twin lakes of mystery which, more than once, I
had known the desire to explore.

"Look--beyond that curtain"--her voice was barely audible--"but do not
enter. Even as he is, I fear him."

Her voice, her palpable agitation, prepared us for something
extraordinary. Tragedy and Fu-Manchu were never far apart. Though we
were two, and help was so near, we were in the abode of the most
cunning murderer who ever came out of the East.

It was with strangely mingled emotions that I crossed the thick carpet,
Nayland Smith beside me, and drew aside the draperies concealing a
door, to which Karamaneh had pointed. Then, upon looking into the dim
place beyond, all else save what it held was forgotten.

We looked upon a small, square room, the walls draped with fantastic
Chinese tapestry, the floor strewn with cushions; and reclining in a
corner, where the faint, blue light from a lamp, placed upon a low
table, painted grotesque shadows about the cavernous face--was Dr.
Fu-Manchu!

At sight of him my heart leaped--and seemed to suspend its functions,
so intense was the horror which this man's presence inspired in me. My
hand clutching the curtain, I stood watching him. The lids veiled the
malignant green eyes, but the thin lips seemed to smile. Then Smith
silently pointed to the hand which held a little pipe. A sickly
perfume assailed my nostrils, and the explanation of the hushed
silence, and the ease with which we had thus far executed our plan,
came to me. The cunning mind was torpid--lost in a brutish world of
dreams.

Fu-Manchu was in an opium sleep!

The dim light traced out a network of tiny lines, which covered the
yellow face from the pointed chin to the top of the great domed brow,
and formed deep shadow pools in the hollows beneath his eyes. At last
we had triumphed.

I could not determine the depth of his obscene trance; and mastering
some of my repugnance, and forgetful of Karamaneh's warni