“The hour was fairly late and not a soul was about.  Nothing disturbed the silence except those vague sibilant sounds which are so characteristic of the country.  Presently, as I rambled on with my thoughts wandering back to the dim ages, I literally fell over a man who lay in the road.

“I was naturally startled, but I carried an electric pocket torch, and by its light I discovered that the person over whom I had fallen was a dignified-looking Chinaman, somewhat past middle age.  His clothes, which were of good quality, were covered with dirt and blood, and he bore all the appearance of having recently been engaged in a very tough struggle.  His face was notable only for its possession of an unusually long jet-black moustache.  He had swooned from loss of blood.”

“Why, was he wounded?” exclaimed Jennings.

“His hand had been nearly severed from his wrist!”

“Merciful heavens!”

“I realized the impossibility of carrying him so far as the hospital, and accordingly I extemporized a rough tourniquet and left him under a palm tree by the road until I obtained assistance.  Later, at the hospital, following a consultation, we found it necessary to amputate.”

“I should say he objected fiercely?”

“He was past objecting to anything, otherwise I have no doubt he would have objected furiously.  The index finger of the injured hand had one of those preternaturally long nails, protected by an engraved golden case.  However, at least I gave him a chance of life.  He was under my care for some time, but I doubt if ever he was properly grateful.  He had an iron constitution, though, and I finally allowed him to depart.  One queer stipulation he had made—­that the severed hand, with its golden nail-case, should be given to him when he left hospital.  And this bargain I faithfully carried out.”

“Most extraordinary,” I said.  “Did you ever learn the identity of the old gentleman?”

“He was very reticent, but I made a number of inquiries, and finally learned with absolute certainty, I think, that he was the Mandarin Quong Mi Su from Johore Bahru, a person of great repute among the Chinese there, and rather a big man in China.  He was known locally as the Mandarin Quong.”

“Did you learn anything respecting how he had come by his injury, Doctor?”

Matheson smiled in his quiet fashion, and selected a fresh cigar with great deliberation.  Then: 

“I suppose it is scarcely a case of betraying a professional secret,” he said, “but during the time that my patient was recovering from the effects of the anaesthetic he unconsciously gave me several clues to the nature of the episode.  Putting two and two together I gathered that someone, although the name of this person never once passed the lips of the mandarin, had abducted his favourite wife.”

“Good heavens! truly amazing,” I exclaimed.