S.S.E. of St. Paul's the quaint little cottage, with
its rustic garden, shadowed by the tall trees which had so lined the
village street before motor 'buses were, was a spot as peaceful and
secluded as any in broad England. But another shadow lay upon it
to-day--chilling, fearful. An incarnate evil had come out of the dim
East and in its dying malevolence had touched this home.

"There are two things I don't understand about it, sir," continued
Weymouth. "What was the meaning of the horrible laughter which the
river police heard in the fog? And where are the bodies?"

Karamaneh, seated beside me, shuddered at the words. Smith, whose
restless spirit granted him little repose, paused in his aimless
wanderings about the room and looked at her.

In these latter days of his Augean labors to purge England of the
unclean thing which had fastened upon her, my friend was more lean and
nervous-looking than I had ever known him. His long residence in Burma
had rendered him spare and had burned his naturally dark skin to a
coppery hue; but now his gray eyes had grown feverishly bright and his
face so lean as at times to appear positively emaciated. But I knew
that he was as fit as ever.

"This lady may be able to answer your first question," he said. "She
and her brother were for some time in the household of Dr. Fu-Manchu.
In fact, Mr. Weymouth, Karamaneh, as her name implies, was a slave."

Weymouth glanced at the beautiful, troubled face with scarcely veiled
distrust. "You don't look as though you had come from China, miss," he
said, with a sort of unwilling admiration.

"I do not come from China," replied Karamaneh. "My father was a pure
Bedawee. But my history does not matter." (At times there was
something imperious in her manner; and to this her musical accent added
force.) "When your brave brother, Inspector Weymouth, and Dr.
Fu-Manchu, were swallowed up by the river, Fu-Manchu held a poisoned
needle in his hand. The laughter meant that the needle had done its
work. Your brother had become mad!"

Weymouth turned aside to hide his emotion. "What was on the needle?"
he asked huskily.

"It was something which he prepared from the venom of a kind of swamp
adder," she answered. "It produces madness, but not always death."

"He would have had a poor chance," said Smith, "even had he been in
complete possession of his senses. At the time of the encounter we
must have been some considerable distance from s