CHAPTER PAGE

I. I see the eyes                                   1
II.  The sign of the cat                             12
III.  The green image                                 22
IV.  Isobel                                          32
V. The interrupted supper                          41
VI.  The voice                                       52
VII.  The cat of Bubastis                             63
VIII.  My visitor                                      73
IX.  The velvet curtain                              84
X.  “Hanging evidence”                              95
XI.  The scarred man                                105
XII.  I dream of green eyes                          117
XIII.  Dr. Damar Greefe                               125
XIV.  The black doctor                               135
XV.  I receive visitors                             147
XVI.  The golden cat                                 158
XVII.  The Nubian mute                                169
XVIII.  The secret of friar’s park                     177
XIX.  The man on the tower                           187
XX.  Gatton’s story                                 198
XXI.  In London again                                212
XXII.  The gray mist                                  225
XXIII.  The inevitable                                 240
XXIV.  A conference—­interrupted                      251
XXV.  Statement of Damar Greefe, M.D.                263
XXVI.  Statement of Dr. Damar Greefe (continued)      273
XXVII.  Statement of Dr. Damar Greefe (concluded)      285
XXVIII.  The claws of the cat                           300
XXIX.  An afterword                                   309

THE GREEN EYES OF BAST

CHAPTER I

I SEE THE EYES

“Good evening, sir.  A bit gusty?”

“Very much so, sergeant,” I replied.  “I think I will step into your hut for a moment and light my pipe if I may.”

“Certainly, sir.  Matches are too scarce nowadays to take risks with ’em.  But it looks as if the storm had blown over.”

“I’m not sorry,” said I, entering the little hut like a sentry-box which stands at the entrance to this old village high street for accommodation of the officer on point duty at that spot.  “I have a longish walk before me.”

“Yes.  Your place is right off the beat, isn’t it?” mused my acquaintance, as sheltered from the keen wind I began to load my briar.  “Very inconvenient I’ve always thought it for a gentleman who gets about as much as you do.”

“That’s why I like it,” I explained.  “If I lived anywhere accessible I should never get a moment’s peace, you see.  At the same time I have to be within an hour’s journey of Fleet Street.”