tly entitled to withdraw."

As I continued silently to stare at him, his expression changed; the
gray eyes grew less steely, and presently, clapping his hand upon my
shoulder in his impulsive way--

"Petrie!" he cried, "you know I had no intention of hurting your
feelings, but in the circumstances it was impossible for me to say less."

"You have said enough, Smith," I replied shortly. "I beg of you to say
no more."

He gripped my shoulder hard, then plunged his hand into his pocket and
pulled out the blackened pipe.

"We see it through together, then, though God knows whither it will
lead us."

"In the first place," I interrupted, "since you have left the chest
unguarded----"

"I locked the door."

"What is a mere lock where Fu-Manchu is concerned?"

Nayland Smith laughed almost gaily.

"Really, Petrie," he cried, "sometimes I cannot believe that you mean
me to take you seriously. Inspector Weymouth has engaged the room
immediately facing our door, and no one can enter or leave the suite
unseen by him."

"Inspector Weymouth?"

"Oh! for once he has stooped to a disguise: spectacles, and a muffler
which covers his face right up to the tip of his nose. Add to this a
prodigious overcoat and an asthmatic cough, and you have a picture of
Mr. Jonathan Martin, the occupant of room No. 239."

I could not repress a smile upon hearing this description.

"No. 239," continued Smith, "contains two beds, and Mr. Martin's
friend will be joining him there this evening."

Meeting my friend's questioning glance, I nodded comprehendingly.

"Then what part do _I_ play?"

"Ostensibly we both leave town this evening," he explained; "but I
have a scheme whereby you will be enabled to remain behind. We shall
thus have one watcher inside and two out."

"It seems almost absurd," I said incredulously, "to expect any member
of the Yellow group to attempt anything in a huge hotel like the New
Louvre, here in the heart of London!"

Nayland Smith, having lighted his pipe, stretched his arms and stared
me straight in the face.

"Has Fu-Manchu never attempted outrage, murder, in the heart of London
before?" he snapped.

The words were sufficient. Remembering black episodes of the past (one
at least of them had occurred not a thousand yards from the very spot
upon which we now stood), I knew that I had spoken folly.

Certain arrangements were made then, including a visit to Scotland
Yard; and a plan--though it sounds anomal