ide, and at ever increasing speed, we leaped away in the track
of Eltham's captors.

Smith was too highly excited for ordinary conversation, but he threw out
short, staccato remarks.

"I have followed Fu-Manchu from Hongkong," he jerked. "Lost him at Suez.
He got here a boat ahead of me. Eltham has been corresponding with some
mandarin up-country. Knew that. Came straight to you. Only got in this
evening. He--Fu-Manchu--has been sent here to get Eltham. My God! and
he has him! He will question him! The interior of China--a seething
pot, Petrie! They had to stop the leakage of information. He is here for
that."

The car pulled up with a jerk that pitched me out of my seat, and the
chauffeur leaped to the road and ran ahead. Smith was out in a trice, as
the man, who had run up to a constable, came racing back.

"Jump in, sir--jump in!" he cried, his eyes bright with the lust of the
chase; "they are making for Battersea!"

And we were off again.

Through the empty streets we roared on. A place of gasometers and
desolate waste lots slipped behind and we were in a narrow way where
gates of yards and a few lowly houses faced upon a prospect of high
blank wall.

"Thames on our right," said Smith, peering ahead. "His rathole is by the
river as usual. Hi!"--he grabbed up the speaking-tube--"Stop! Stop!"

The limousine swung in to the narrow sidewalk, and pulled up close by a
yard gate. I, too, had seen our quarry--a long, low bodied car, showing
no inside lights. It had turned the next corner, where a street lamp
shone greenly, not a hundred yards ahead.

Smith leaped out, and I followed him.

"That must be a cul de sac," he said, and turned to the eager-eyed
chauffeur. "Run back to that last turning," he ordered, "and wait there,
out of sight. Bring the car up when you hear a police-whistle."

The man looked disappointed, but did not question the order. As he began
to back away, Smith grasped me by the arm and drew me forward.

"We must get to that corner," he said, "and see where the car stands,
without showing ourselves."

CHAPTER III. THE WIRE JACKET

I suppose we were not more than a dozen paces from the lamp when we
heard the thudding of the motor. The car was backing out!

It was a desperate moment, for it seemed that we could not fail to be
discovered. Nayland Smith began to look about him, feverishly, for a
hiding-place, a quest in which I seconded with equal anxiety. And Fate
was kind to us--doub