The Eurasian exerted a supreme effort, straightening his gaunt body, and fixing the gaze of those hawk eyes upon Inspector Gatton.  When he spoke his harsh voice had gained strength and his manner was imperious.

“Detective-Inspector Gatton,” he replied, “you do no more than your duty.  I have come here only with the utmost difficulty in my weak state.  Therefore, you need apprehend no attempt at escape on my part.  I have come with a purpose.  This purpose I shall fulfill; after which”—­he shrugged his square shoulders—­“I shall be at your service.”

“Very good,” said Gatton shortly, but I noted that his face was flushed in a way which betokened repressed excitement.

Giving me a significant glance, he went out to the ante-room, and: 

“Sydenham 1448,” I heard him call.

Damar Greefe closed his eyes and lay back in the chair; and a moment later: 

“Hullo!” said Gatton.  “Detective-Inspector Gatton, C.I.D., speaking from Willow Cottage, College Road.  Send two men in a cab here at once to remove a prisoner....  Right!  Good-by.”

He came in again, and closing the door behind him, stood staring at Damar Greefe in a sort of wonderment.  The Eurasian wearily opened his eyes and looked slowly from side to side.  Then: 

“Pray be seated, Inspector Gatton,” he said.  “I have a communication to make.”

Gatton, with never a word, drew up a chair and sat down.

“I do not desire to be interrupted,” continued Damar Greefe, “until my communication is finished.  You understand?  It will not be repeated.”

“I am afraid,” murmured Gatton dryly, “it will have to be.”

The Eurasian fully opened his glittering black eyes, and fixing them upon the speaker: 

“It will not be repeated,” he said harshly.  “If I am misunderstood, inform me.”

His peremptory manner in the circumstances was extraordinary—­uncanny.  As I had perceived in the first hour of our meeting, Dr. Damar Greefe was a man possessing tremendous force of character and a pride of intellect which clearly rendered him indifferent even of retribution.

“This point being settled,” he continued, “be good enough, Inspector Gatton, and”—­he turned his eyes in my direction—­“Mr. Addison, to give me your undivided attention.”

His manner was that of a lecturer—­of a lecturer who takes it for granted that his discourse is above the heads of his audience; but when I say that the statement now made by this strange and terrible man held Gatton and me spellbound I say no more than the truth.  Wearily, and more often than not having his eyes closed, Dr. Damar Greefe commenced to unfold a story of nameless horrors—­and save that his harsh voice grew ever weaker and weaker, he displayed not the slightest trace of emotion throughout his appalling revelations.