“Hold on a bit, Knox,” he implored.  “Don’t go yet.  There is something I want to ask you, something very important.”

He crossed to a sideboard and mixed himself a stiff whisky-and-soda.  He asked me to join him, but I refused.

“Won’t you sit down again?”

I shook my head.

“You came to my place at Katong once,” he began abruptly.  “I was damned drunk, I admit it.  But something happened, do you remember?”

I nodded.

“This is what I want to ask you:  Did you, or did you not, see that shadow?”

I stared him hard in the face.

“I remember the episode to which you refer,” I replied.  “I certainly saw a shadow.”

“But what sort of shadow?”

“To me it seemed an indefinite, shapeless thing, as though caused by someone moving behind the curtain.”

“It didn’t look to you like—­the shadow of a hand?”

“It might have been, but I could not be positive.”

Adderley groaned.

“Knox,” he said, “money is a curse.  It has been a curse to me.  If I have had my fun, God knows I have paid for it.”

“Your idea of fun is probably a peculiar one,” I said dryly.

Let me confess that I was only suffering the man’s society because of an intense curiosity which now possessed me on learning that the lady of Katong was still in Adderley’s company.

Whether my repugnance for his society would have enabled me to remain any longer I cannot say.  But as if Fate had deliberately planned that I should become a witness of the concluding phases of this secret drama, we were now interrupted a second time, and again in a dramatic fashion.

Adderley’s nondescript valet came in with letters and a rather large brown paper parcel sealed and fastened with great care.

As the man went out: 

“Surely that is from Singapore,” muttered Adderley, taking up the parcel.

He seemed to become temporarily oblivious of my presence, and his face grew even more haggard as he studied the writing upon the wrapper.  With unsteady fingers he untied it, and I lingered, watching curiously.  Presently out from the wrappings he took a very beautiful casket of ebony and ivory, cunningly carved and standing upon four claw-like ivory legs.

“What the devil’s this?” he muttered.

He opened the box, which was lined with sandal-wood, and thereupon started back with a great cry, recoiling from the casket as though it had contained an adder.  My former sentiments forgotten, I stepped forward and peered into the interior.  Then I, in turn, recoiled.

In the box lay a shrivelled yellow hand—­with long tapering and well-manicured nails—­neatly severed at the wrist!

The nail of the index finger was enclosed in a tiny, delicately fashioned case of gold, upon which were engraved a number of Chinese characters.

Adderley sank down again upon the settee.