with this taunting, partial memory, and so sure, if
the woman would but uncover her face, of instantly recognizing her,
that still I hesitated. Whereupon, glancing rapidly over her shoulder
into whatever place lay beyond the curtained doorway, she suddenly
stepped back and vanished, drawing the curtains to with an angry jerk.

I heard her retiring footsteps; then came a loud bang. If her object
in intercepting me had been to cover the slow retreat of some one she
had succeeded.

Recognizing that I had cut a truly sorry figure in the encounter, I
retraced my steps.

By what route I ultimately regained the main staircase I have no idea;
for my mind was busy with that taunting memory of the two dark eyes
looking out from the folds of the green embroidered shawl. Where, and
when, had I met their glance before?

To that problem I sought an answer in vain.

The message despatched to New Scotland Yard, I found M. Samarkan, long
famous as a _maitre d' hotel_ in Cairo, and now host of London's
newest and most palatial _khan_. Portly, and wearing a gray imperial,
M. Samarkan had the manners of a courtier, and the smile of a true Greek.

I told him what was necessary, and no more, desiring him to go to
suite 14a without delay and also without arousing unnecessary
attention. I dropped no hint of foul play, but M. Samarkan expressed
profound (and professional) regret that so distinguished, though
unprofitable, a patron should have selected the New Louvre, thus
early in its history, as the terminus of his career.

"By the way," I said, "have you Oriental guests with you, at the moment?"

"No, monsieur," he assured me.

"Not a certain Oriental lady?" I persisted.

M. Samarkan slowly shook his head.

"Possibly monsieur has seen one of the _ayahs?_ There are several
Anglo-Indian families resident in the New Louvre at present."

An _ayah?_ It was just possible, of course. Yet ...

CHAPTER IV

THE FLOWER OF SILENCE

"We are dealing now," said Nayland Smith, pacing restlessly up and
down our sitting-room, "not, as of old, with Dr. Fu-Manchu, but with
an entirely unknown quantity--the Si-Fan."

"For Heaven's sake!" I cried, "what is the Si-Fan?"

"The greatest mystery of the mysterious East, Petrie. Think. You know,
as I know, that a malignant being, Dr. Fu-Manchu, was for some time
in England, engaged in 'paving the way' (I believe those words were
my own) for nothing less than a giant Yellow Empire. That dream is