nchu was visited by some Chinese
mandarin; where you, Mr. Smith, and"--glancing in my direction--"you,
doctor, were confined for a time--"

"Yes?" snapped Smith, attacking his egg.

"Well," continued the Inspector, "it is all deserted now. There is not
the slightest doubt that the Chinaman has fled to some other abode. I
am certain of it. My second piece of news will interest you very much,
I am sure. You were taken to the establishment of the Chinaman,
Shen-Yan, by a certain ex-officer of New York Police--Burke...."

"Good God!" cried Smith, looking up with a start; "I thought they had
him!"

"So did I," replied Weymouth grimly; "but they haven't! He got away in
the confusion following the raid, and has been hiding ever since with
a cousin--a nurseryman out Upminster way...."

"Hiding?" snapped Smith.

"Exactly--hiding. He has been afraid to stir ever since, and has
scarcely shown his nose outside the door. He says he is watched night
and day."

"Then how ...!"

"He realized that something must be done," continued the Inspector,
"and made a break this morning. He is so convinced of this constant
surveillance that he came away secretly, hidden under the boxes of a
market-wagon. He landed at Covent Garden in the early hours of this
morning and came straight away to the Yard."

"What is he afraid of exactly?"

Inspector Weymouth put down his coffee cup and bent forward slightly.

"He knows something," he said in a low voice, "and _they_ are aware
that he knows it!"

"And what is this he knows?"

Nayland Smith stared eagerly at the detective.

"Every man has his price," replied Weymouth, with a smile, "and Burke
seems to think that you are a more likely market than the police
authorities."

"I see," snapped Smith. "He wants to see _me_?"

"He wants you to go and see _him_," was the reply. "I think he
anticipates that you may make a capture of the person or persons
spying upon him."

"Did he give you any particulars?"

"Several. He spoke of a sort of gipsy girl with whom he had a short
conversation one day, over the fence which divides his cousin's flower
plantations from the lane adjoining."

"Gipsy girl!" I whispered, glancing rapidly at Smith.

"I think you are right, doctor," said Weymouth with his slow smile;
"it was Karamaneh. She asked him the way to somewhere or other and got
him to write it upon a loose page of his notebook, so that she should
not forget it."

"You hear that, Petrie?"