anner, however,
which had induced me to believe that he suspected, if he did not know,
what form of menace hung over us in the darkness. One thing in
particular was puzzling me extremely: if Smith doubted the good faith
of the sender of the message, why had he acted upon it?

Thus my mind worked--in endless and profitless cycles--whilst my eyes
were ever searching the shadows below me.

And, as I watched, wondering vaguely why Smith at his post was so
silent, presently I became aware of the presence of a slim figure
over by the arches on the right. This discovery did not come suddenly,
nor did it surprise me; I merely observed without being conscious of
any great interest in the matter, that some one was standing in the
court below, looking up at me where I sat.

I cannot hope to explain my state of mind at that moment, to render
understandable by contrast with the cold fear which had visited me so
recently, the utter apathy of my mental attitude. To this day I cannot
recapture the mood--and for a very good reason, though one that was
not apparent to me at the time.

It was the Eurasian girl Zarmi, who was standing there, looking up at
the window! Silently I watched her. Why was I silent?--why did I not
warn Smith of the presence of one of Dr. Fu-Manchu's servants? I
cannot explain, although later, the strangeness of my behavior may
become in some measure understandable.

Zarmi raised her hand, beckoning to me, then stepped back, revealing
the presence of a companion, hitherto masked by the dense shadows that
lay under the arches. This second watcher moved slowly forward, and I
perceived him to be none other than the mandarin Ki-Ming.

This I noted with interest, but with a sort of _impersonal_ interest,
as I might have watched the entrance of a character upon the stage of
a theater. Despite the feeble light, I could see his benign
countenance very clearly; but, far from being excited, a dreamy
contentment possessed me; I actually found myself hoping that Smith
would not intrude upon my reverie!

What a fascinating pageant it had been--the Fu-Manchu drama--from the
moment that I had first set eyes upon the Yellow doctor. Again I seemed
to be enacting my part in that scene, two years ago and more, when I
had burst into the bare room above Shen-Yan's opium den and had stood
face to face with Dr. Fu-Manchu. He wore a plain yellow robe, its hue
almost identical with that of his gaunt, hairless face; his elbows
rest