tly.

"Ah! Mr. Smith is so prudent! He is thinking that I have FILES!" He
pronounced the word in a way that made me shudder. "Mr. Smith has seen
a WIRE JACKET! Have you ever seen a wire jacket? As a surgeon its
functions would interest you!"

I stifled a cry that rose to my lips; for, with a shrill whistling
sound, a small shape came bounding into the dimly lit vault, then shot
upward. A marmoset landed on the shoulder of Dr. Fu-Manchu and peered
grotesquely into the dreadful yellow face. The Doctor raised his bony
hand and fondled the little creature, crooning to it.

"One of my pets, Mr. Smith," he said, suddenly opening his eyes fully
so that they blazed like green lamps. "I have others, equally useful.
My scorpions--have you met my scorpions? No? My pythons and
hamadryads? Then there are my fungi and my tiny allies, the bacilli.
I have a collection in my laboratory quite unique. Have you ever
visited Molokai, the leper island, Doctor? No? But Mr. Nayland Smith
will be familiar with the asylum at Rangoon! And we must not forget my
black spiders, with their diamond eyes--my spiders, that sit in the
dark and watch--then leap!"

He raised his lean hands, so that the sleeve of the robe fell back to
the elbow, and the ape dropped, chattering, to the floor and ran from
the cellar.

"O God of Cathay!" he cried, "by what death shall these die--these
miserable ones who would bind thine Empire, which is boundless!"

Like some priest of Tezcat he stood, his eyes upraised to the roof, his
lean body quivering--a sight to shock the most unimpressionable mind.

"He is mad!" I whispered to Smith. "God help us, the man is a
dangerous homicidal maniac!"

Nayland Smith's tanned face was very drawn, but he shook his head
grimly.

"Dangerous, yes, I agree," he muttered; "his existence is a danger to
the entire white race which, now, we are powerless to avert."

Dr. Fu-Manchu recovered himself, took up the lantern and, turning
abruptly, walked to the door, with his awkward, yet feline gait. At
the threshold be looked back.

"You would have warned Mr. Graham Guthrie?" he said, in a soft voice.
"To-night, at half-past twelve, Mr. Graham Guthrie dies!"

Smith sat silent and motionless, his eyes fixed upon the speaker.

"You were in Rangoon in 1908?" continued Dr. Fu-Manchu--"you remember
the Call?"

From somewhere above us--I could not determine the exact
direction--came a low, wailing cry, an uncanny thing