Already cramped by my journey in the market-cart, I found it difficult to remain very long in any one position.  What information had Burke to sell?  He had refused, for some reason, to discuss the matter that evening, and now, enacting the part allotted him by Nayland Smith, he feigned sleep consistently, although at intervals he would whisper to me his doubts and fears.

All the chances were in our favor to-night; for whilst I could not doubt that Dr. Fu-Manchu was set upon the removal of the ex-officer of New York police, neither could I doubt that our presence in the farm was unknown to the agents of the Chinaman.  According to Burke, constant attempts had been made to achieve Fu-Manchu’s purpose, and had only been frustrated by his (Burke’s) wakefulness.

There was every probability that another attempt would be made to-night.

Any one who has been forced by circumstance to undertake such a vigil as this will be familiar with the marked changes (corresponding with phases of the earth’s movement) which take place in the atmosphere, at midnight, at two o’clock, and again at four o’clock.  During those fours hours falls a period wherein all life is at its lowest ebb, and every Physician is aware that there is a greater likelihood of a patient’s passing between midnight and four A. M., than at any other period during the cycle of the hours.

To-night I became specially aware of this lowering of vitality, and now, with the night at that darkest phase which precedes the dawn, an indescribable dread, such as I had known before in my dealings with the Chinaman, assailed me, when I was least prepared to combat it.  The stillness was intense.  Then: 

“Here it is!” whispered Burke from the bed.

The chill at the very center of my being, which but corresponded with the chill of all surrounding nature at that hour, became intensified, keener, at the whispered words.

I rose stealthily out of my chair, and from my nest of shadows watched —­watched intently, the bright oblong of the window . . .

Without the slightest heralding sound—­a black silhouette crept up against the pane . . . the silhouette of a small, malformed head, a dog-like head, deep-set in square shoulders.  Malignant eyes peered intently in.  Higher it arose—­that wicked head—­against the window, then crouched down on the sill and became less sharply defined as the creature stooped to the opening below.  There was a faint sound of sniffing.

Judging from the stark horror which I experienced, myself, I doubted, now, if Burke could sustain the role allotted him.  In beneath the slightly raised window came a hand, perceptible to me despite the darkness of the room.  It seemed to project from the black silhouette outside the pane, to be thrust forward—­and forward—­and forward . . . that small hand with the outstretched fingers.

The unknown possesses unique terrors; and since I was unable to conceive what manner of thing this could be, which, extending its incredibly long arms, now sought the throat of the man upon the bed, I tasted of that sort of terror which ordinarily one knows only in dreams.