rapped Smith.

"I hear it," I replied, "but I don't see any special significance in
the fact."

"I do!" rapped Smith. "I didn't sit up the greater part of last night
thrashing my weary brains for nothing! But I am going to the British
Museum to-day, to confirm a certain suspicion." He turned to Weymouth.
"Did Burke go back?" he demanded abruptly.

"He returned hidden under the empty boxes," was the reply. "Oh! you
never saw a man in such a funk in all your life!"

"He may have good reasons," I said.

"He _has_ good reasons!" replied Nayland Smith grimly; "if that man
really possesses information inimical to the safety of Fu-Manchu, he
can only escape doom by means of a miracle similar to that which
hitherto has protected you and me."

"Burke insists," said Weymouth at this point, "that something comes
almost every night after dusk, slinking about the house--it's an old
farmhouse, I understand; and on two or three occasions he has been
awakened (fortunately for him he is a light sleeper) by sounds of
_coughing_ immediately outside his window. He is a man who sleeps with
a pistol under his pillow, and more than once, on running to the
window, he has had a vague glimpse of some creature leaping down from
the tiles of the roof, which slopes up to his room, into the flower
beds below...."

"Creature!" said Smith, his grey eyes ablaze now, "you said
_creature_!"

"I used the word deliberately," replied Weymouth, "because Burke seems
to have the idea that it goes on all fours."

There was a short and rather strained silence. Then:

"In descending a sloping roof," I suggested, "a human being would
probably employ his hands as well as his feet."

"Quite so," agreed the Inspector. "I am merely reporting the
impression of Burke."

"Has he heard no other sound?" rapped Smith; "one like the cracking of
dry branches, for instance?"

"He made no mention of it," replied Weymouth, staring.

"And what is the plan?"

"One of his cousin's vans," said Weymouth, with his slight smile, "has
remained behind at Covent Garden and will return late this afternoon.
I propose that you and I, Mr. Smith, imitate Burke and ride down to
Upminster under the empty boxes."

Nayland Smith stood up, leaving his breakfast half finished, and began
to wander up and down the room, reflectively tugging at his ear. Then
he began to fumble in the pockets of his dressing-gown and finally
produced the inevitable pipe, dilapidated pouch, and box