t to do."

From out over Sedgemoor it came, cracking and rolling and booming
towards us, swelling in volume to a stupendous climax, that awful
laughter of Jove the destroyer of Cragmire Tower.

CHAPTER XXIV

STORY OF THE GABLES

In looking over my notes dealing with the second phase of Dr.
Fu-Manchu's activities in England, I find that one of the worst hours
of my life was associated with the singular and seemingly inconsequent
adventure of the fiery hand. I shall deal with it in this place,
begging you to bear with me if I seem to digress.

Inspector Weymouth called one morning, shortly after the Van Roon
episode, and entered upon a surprising account of a visit to a house
at Hampstead which enjoyed the sinister reputation of being
uninhabitable.

"But in what way does the case enter into your province?" inquired
Nayland Smith, idly tapping out his pipe on a bar of the grate.

We had not long finished breakfast, but from an early hour Smith had
been at his eternal smoking, which only the advent of the meal had
interrupted.

"Well," replied the Inspector, who occupied a big armchair near the
window, "I was sent to look into it, I suppose, because I had nothing
better to do at the moment."

"Ah!" jerked Smith, glancing over his shoulder.

The ejaculation had a veiled significance; for our quest of Dr.
Fu-Manchu had come to an abrupt termination by reason of the fact that
all trace of that malignant genius, and of the group surrounding him,
had vanished with the destruction of Cragmire Tower.

"The house is called The Gables," continued the Scotland Yard man,
"and I knew I was on a wild-goose chase from the first--"

"Why?" snapped Smith.

"Because I was there before, six months ago or so--just before your
present return to England--and I knew what to expect."

Smith looked up with some faint dawning of interest perceptible in his
manner.

"I was unaware," he said with a slight smile, "that the cleaning-up of
haunted houses came within the province of New Scotland Yard. I am
learning something."

"In the ordinary way," replied the big man good-humouredly, "it
doesn't. But a sudden death always excites suspicion, and--"

"A sudden death?" I said, glancing up; "you didn't explain that the
ghost had killed any one!"

"I'm afraid I'm a poor hand at yarn-spinning, doctor," said Weymouth,
turning his blue, twinkling eyes in my direction. "Two people have
died at The Gables within the last six mo