at one
another encompassed the whole gamut of human emotion. The silence was
broken by Karamaneh.

"They will be coming back that way!" she whispered, bending eagerly
toward me. (How, in the most desperate moments, I loved to listen to
that odd, musical accent!) "Please, if you would save your life, and
spare mine, trust me!" She suddenly clasped her hands together and
looked up into my face, passionately. "Trust me--just for once--and I
will show you the way!"

Nayland Smith never removed his gaze from her for a moment, nor did he
stir.

"Oh!" she whispered tremulously, and stamped one little red slipper
upon the floor. "_Won't_ you heed me? _Come_, or it will be too late!"

I glanced anxiously at my friend; the voice of Dr. Fu-Manchu, now
raised again in anger, was audible above the piping tones of the other
Chinaman. And as I caught Smith's eye, in silent query--the trap at my
feet began slowly to lift!

Karamaneh stifled a little sobbing cry; but the warning came too late.
A hideous yellow face, with oblique squinting eyes, appeared in the
aperture.

I found myself inert, useless; I could neither think nor act. Nayland
Smith, however, as if instinctively, delivered a pitiless kick at the
head protruding above the trap.

A sickening crushing sound, with a sort of muffled snap, spoke of a
broken jaw-bone; and with no word or cry, the Chinaman fell. As the
trap descended with a bang, I heard the thud of his body on the stone
stairs beneath.

But we were lost. Karamaneh fled along one of the passages lightly as
a bird, and disappeared--as Dr. Fu-Manchu, his top lip drawn up above
his teeth in the manner of an angry jackal, appeared from the other.

"This way!" cried Smith, in a voice that rose almost to a
shriek--"this way!"--and he led toward the room overhanging the steps.

Off we dashed with panic swiftness, only to find that this retreat
also was cut off. Dimly visible in the darkness was a group of yellow
men, and despite the gloom, the curved blades of the knives which
they carried glittered menacingly. The passage was full of dacoits!

Smith and I turned, together. The trap was raised again, and the
Burman, who had helped to tie me, was just scrambling up beside Dr.
Fu-Manchu, who stood there watching us, a shadowy, sinister figure.

"The game's up, Petrie!" muttered Smith. "It has been a long fight,
but Fu-Manchu wins!"

"Not entirely!" I cried.

I whipped the police whistle from my pocket, an