For hours and hours, I thought, that soothing hand caressed me.  I never once raised my heavy lids, until there came a resounding crash that seemed to set my very bones vibrating—­a metallic, jangling crash, as the fall of heavy chains.  I thought that, then, I half opened my eyes, and that in the dimness I had a fleeting glimpse of a figure clad in gossamer silk, with arms covered with barbaric bangles and slim ankles surrounded by gold bands.  The girl was gone, even as I told myself that she was an houri, and that I, though a Christian, had been consigned by some error to the paradise of Mohammed.

Then—­a complete blank.

My head throbbed madly; my brain seemed to be clogged—­inert; and though my first, feeble movement was followed by the rattle of a chain, some moments more elapsed ere I realized that the chain was fastened to a steel collar—­ that the steel collar was clasped about my neck.

I moaned weakly.

“Smith!” I muttered, “Where are you?  Smith!”

On to my knees I struggled, and the pain on the top of my skull grew all but insupportable.  It was coming back to me now; how Nayland Smith and I had started for the hotel to warn Graham Guthrie; how, as we passed up the steps from the Embankment and into Essex Street, we saw the big motor standing before the door of one of the offices.  I could recall coming up level with the car—­a modern limousine; but my mind retained no impression of our having passed it—­ only a vague memory of a rush of footsteps—­a blow.  Then, my vision of the hall of dragons, and now this real awakening to a worse reality.

Groping in the darkness, my hands touched a body that lay close beside me.  My fingers sought and found the throat, sought and found the steel collar about it.

“Smith,” I groaned; and I shook the still form.  “Smith, old man—­ speak to me!  Smith!”

Could he be dead?  Was this the end of his gallant fight with Dr. Fu-Manchu and the murder group?  If so, what did the future hold for me—­ what had I to face?

He stirred beneath my trembling hands.

“Thank God!” I muttered, and I cannot deny that my joy was tainted with selfishness.  For, waking in that impenetrable darkness, and yet obsessed with the dream I had dreamed, I had known what fear meant, at the realization that alone, chained, I must face the dreadful Chinese doctor in the flesh.  Smith began incoherent mutterings.

“Sand-bagged! . . .  Look out, Petrie! . . .  He has us at last! . . .  Oh, Heavens!” . . .He struggled on to his knees, clutching at my hand.

“All right, old man,” I said.  “We are both alive!  So let’s be thankful.”

A moment’s silence, a groan, then: 

“Petrie, I have dragged you into this.  God forgive me—­”

“Dry up, Smith,” I said slowly.  “I’m not a child. 
There is no question of being dragged into the matter. 
I’m here; and if I can be of any use, I’m glad I am here!”