ed to remain there.

I drew back further into the darkness; for the presence of this
singular old woman at such a place, and at that hour, could not well
be accidental. I was convinced that the first actor in the drama had
already taken the stage. Whether I was mistaken or not must shortly
appear.

Crisp footsteps sounded upon the roadway; distantly, and from my
left. Nearer they approached and nearer. I saw the old woman, in the
shadow of the wall, glance once rapidly in the direction of the
approaching pedestrian. For some occult reason, the chorus of the
rats was stilled. Only that firm and regular tread broke the intimate
silence of the dreary spot.

Now the pedestrian came within my range of sight. It was Nayland Smith!

He wore a long tweed overcoat with which I was familiar, and a soft
felt hat, the brim pulled down all around in a fashion characteristic
of him, and probably acquired during the years spent beneath the
merciless sun of Burma. He carried a heavy walking-cane which I knew
to be a formidable weapon that he could wield to good effect. But,
despite the stillness about me, a stillness which had reigned
uninterruptedly (save for the _danse macabre_ of the rats) since the
coming of dusk, some voice within, ignoring these physical evidences
of solitude, spoke urgently of lurking assassins; of murderous
Easterns armed with those curved knives which sometimes flashed
before my eyes in dreams; of a deathly menace which hid in the
shadows about me, in the many shadows cloaking the holes and corners
of the ramshackle building, draping arches, crannies and portals to
which the moonlight could not penetrate.

He was abreast of the Joy-Shop now, and in sight of the ominous old
witch huddled upon the bridge. He pulled up suddenly and stood
looking at her. Coincident with his doing so, she began to moan and
sway her body to right and left as if in pain; then--

"Kind gentleman," she whined in a sing-song voice, "thank God you came
this way to help a poor old woman."

"What is the matter?" said Smith tersely, approaching her.

I clenched my fists. I could have cried out; I was indeed hard put to
it to refrain from crying out--from warning him. But his injunctions
had been explicit, and I restrained myself by a great effort,
preserving silence and crouching there at the window, but with every
muscle tensed and a desire for action strong upon me.

"I tripped up on a rough stone, sir," whined the old creature