“You have been good enough to notice,” said the Chinaman, his voice still sunk in that sibilant whisper, “my partiality for dumb allies.  You have met my scorpions, my death-adders, my baboon-man.  The uses of such a playful little animal as a marmoset have never been fully appreciated before, I think, but to an indiscretion of this last-named pet of mine, I seem to remember that you owed something in the past, Dr. Petrie . . .”

Nayland Smith stifled a deep groan.  One rapid glance I ventured at his face.  It was a grayish hue, now, and dank with perspiration.  His gaze met mine.

The rats had almost ceased squealing.

“Much depends upon yourself, Doctor,” continued Fu-Manchu, slightly raising his voice.  “I credit Mr. Commissioner Nayland Smith with courage high enough to sustain the raising of all the gates; but I estimate the strength of your friendship highly, also, and predict that you will use the sword of the samurai certainly not later than the time when I shall raise the third gate. . . .”

A low shuddering sound, which I cannot hope to describe, but alas I can never forget, broke from the lips of the tortured man.

“In China,” resumed Fu-Manchu, “we call this quaint fancy the Six Gates of joyful Wisdom.  The first gate, by which the rats are admitted, is called the Gate of joyous Hope; the second, the Gate of Mirthful Doubt.  The third gate is poetically named, the Gate of True Rapture, and the fourth, the Gate of Gentle Sorrow.  I once was honored in the friendship of an exalted mandarin who sustained the course of joyful Wisdom to the raising of the Fifth Gate (called the Gate of Sweet Desires) and the admission of the twentieth rat.  I esteem him almost equally with my ancestors.  The Sixth, or Gate Celestial—­ whereby a man enters into the joy of Complete Understanding—­I have dispensed with, here, substituting a Japanese fancy of an antiquity nearly as great and honorable.  The introduction of this element of speculation, I count a happy thought, and accordingly take pride to myself.”

“The sword, Petrie!” whispered Smith.  I should not have recognized his voice, but he spoke quite evenly and steadily.  “I rely upon you, old man, to spare me the humiliation of asking mercy from that yellow fiend!”

My mind throughout this time had been gaining a sort of dreadful clarity.  I had avoided looking at the sword of hara-kiri, but my thoughts had been leading me mercilessly up to the point at which we were now arrived.  No vestige of anger, of condemnation of the inhuman being seated in the ebony chair, remained; that was past.  Of all that had gone before, and of what was to come in the future, I thought nothing, knew nothing.  Our long fight against the yellow group, our encounters with the numberless creatures of Fu-Manchu, the dacoits—­ even Karamaneh—­were forgotten, blotted out.  I saw nothing of the strange appointments of that subterranean chamber; but face to face with the supreme moment of a lifetime, I was alone with my poor friend —­and God.