d the coincidence of dress completed the illusion. That
devilish Eurasian woman, Zarmi, who has escaped us again--of course
you recognized her?--made a very natural mistake. Mr. Forsyth, however,
made no mistake!"

I glanced at the chief officer of the _Andaman_, who sat in an armchair
in our new chambers, contentedly smoking a black cheroot.

"Heaven has blessed me with a pair of useful hands!" said the seaman,
grimly, extending his horny palms. "I've an old score against those
yellow swine; poor George and I were twins."

He referred to his brother who had been foully done to death by one of
the creatures of Dr. Fu-Manchu.

"It beats me how Mr. Smith got on the track!" he added.

"Pure inspiration!" murmured Nayland Smith, glancing aside from the
siphon wherewith he now was busy. "The divine afflatus--and the same
whereby Petrie solved the Zagazig cryptogram!"

"But," concluded Forsyth, "I am indebted to you for an opportunity of
meeting the Chinese strangler, and sending him to join the Burmese
knife expert!"

Such, then, were the episodes that led to the arrest of M. Samarkan,
and my duty as narrator of these strange matters now bears me on to
the morning when Nayland Smith was hastily summoned to the prison into
which the villainous Greek had been cast.

We were shown immediately into the Governor's room and were invited by
that much disturbed official to be seated. The news which he had to
impart was sufficiently startling.

Samarkan was dead.

"I have Warder Morrison's statement here," said Colonel Warrington,
"if you will be good enough to read it----"

Nayland Smith rose abruptly, and began to pace up and down the little
office. Through the open window I had a glimpse of a stooping figure
in convict garb, engaged in liming the flower-beds of the prison
Governor's garden.

"I should like to see this Warder Morrison personally," snapped my
friend.

"Very good," replied the Governor, pressing a bell-push placed close
beside his table.

A man entered, to stand rigidly at attention just within the doorway.

"Send Morrison here," ordered Colonel Warrington.

The man saluted and withdrew. As the door was reclosed, the Colonel
sat drumming his fingers upon the table, Nayland Smith walked
restlessly about tugging at the lobe of his ear, and I absently
watched the convict gardener pursuing his toils. Shortly, sounded a
rap at the door, and--

"Come in," cried Colonel Warrington.

A man wearing wa