r and I had not yet lighted the lamps;
therefore at first I doubted the evidence of my senses. But having
lighted up and peered long and anxiously into the sandal-wood lining of
the casket I could doubt no longer.

The casket was empty!

It was like a conjuring trick. That the hand had been in the box when
I had taken it up from Adderley's table I could have sworn before any
jury. When and by whom it had been removed was a puzzle beyond my powers
of unravelling. I stepped toward the telephone--and then remembered that
Paul Harley was out of London. Vaguely wondering if Adderley had played
me a particularly gruesome practical joke, I put the box on a sideboard
and again contemplated the telephone doubtfully far a moment. It was in
my mind to ring him up. Finally, taking all things into consideration,
I determined that I would have nothing further to do with the man's
unsavoury and mysterious affairs.

It was in vain, however, that I endeavoured to dismiss the matter from
my mind; and throughout the evening, which I spent at a theatre with
some American friends, I found myself constantly thinking of Adderley
and the ivory casket, of the mandarin of Johore Bahru, and of the
mystery of the shrivelled yellow hand.

I had been back in my room about half an hour, I suppose, and it was
long past midnight, when I was startled by a ringing of my telephone
bell. I took up the receiver, and:

"Knox! Knox!" came a choking cry.

"Yes, who is speaking?"

"It is I, Adderley. For God's sake come round to my place at once!"

His words were scarcely intelligible. Undoubtedly he was in the grip of
intense emotion.

"What do you mean? What is the matter?"

"It is here, Knox, it is here! It is knocking on the door! Knocking!
Knocking!"

"You have been drinking," I said sternly. "Where is your man?"

"The cur has bolted. He bolted the moment he heard that damned knocking.
I am all alone; I have no one else to appeal to." There came a choking
sound, then: "My God, Knox, it is getting in! I can see... the shadow on
the blind..."

Convinced that Adderley's secret fears had driven him mad, I
nevertheless felt called upon to attend to his urgent call, and without
a moment's delay I hurried around to St. James's Street. The liftman was
not on duty, the lower hall was in darkness, but I raced up the stairs
and found to my astonishment that Adderley's door was wide open.

"Adderley!" I cried. "Adderley!"

There was no reply, and w