“You have not explained to me, Smith,” I said, having completed this note, “how you got in touch with Fu-Manchu; how you learnt that he was not dead, as we had supposed, but living—­active.”

Nayland Smith stood up and fixed his steely eyes upon me with an indefinable expression in them.  Then: 

“No,” he replied; “I haven’t.  Do you wish to know?”

“Certainly,” I said with surprise; “is there any reason why I should not?”

“There is no real reason,” said Smith; “or”—­staring at me very hard—­ “I hope there is no real reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well”—­he grabbed up his pipe from the table and began furiously to load it—­“I blundered upon the truth one day in Rangoon.  I was walking out of a house which I occupied there for a time, and as I swung around the corner into the main street, I ran into—­literally ran into . . .”

Again he hesitated oddly; then closed up his pouch and tossed it into the cane chair.  He struck a match.

“I ran into Karamaneh,” he continued abruptly, and began to puff away at his pipe, filling the air with clouds of tobacco smoke.

I caught my breath.  This was the reason why he had kept me so long in ignorance of the story.  He knew of my hopeless, uncrushable sentiments toward the gloriously beautiful but utterly hypocritical and evil Eastern girl who was perhaps the most dangerous of all Dr. Fu-Manchu’s servants; for the power of her loveliness was magical, as I knew to my cost.

“What did you do?” I asked quietly, my fingers drumming upon the table.

“Naturally enough,” continued Smith, “with a cry of recognition I held out both my hands to her, gladly.  I welcomed her as a dear friend regained; I thought of the joy with which you would learn that I had found the missing one; I thought how you would be in Rangoon just as quickly as the fastest steamer could get you there . . .”

“Well?”

“Karamaneh started back and treated me to a glance of absolute animosity.  No recognition was there, and no friendliness—­only a sort of scornful anger.”

He shrugged his shoulders and began to walk up and down the room.

“I do not know what you would have done in the circumstances, Petrie, but I—­”

“Yes?”

“I dealt with the situation rather promptly, I think.  I simply picked her up without another word, right there in the public street, and raced back into the house, with her kicking and fighting like a little demon!  She did not shriek or do anything of that kind, but fought silently like a vicious wild animal.  Oh!  I had some scars, I assure you; but I carried her up into my office, which fortunately was empty at the time, plumped her down in a chair, and stood looking at her.”

“Go on,” I said rather hollowly; “what next?”