heard the
opening of a trap. Exclamations in guttural voices told of a heavy task
in progress; there was a great straining and creaking--whereupon the
trap was softly reclosed.

Smith bent to my ear.

"Fu-Manchu has chastised one of his servants," he whispered. "There will
be food for the grappling-irons to-night!"

I shuddered violently, for, without Smith's words, I knew that a bloody
deed had been done in that house within a few yards of where we stood.

In the new silence, I could hear the drip, drip, drip of the rain
outside the window; then a steam siren hooted dismally upon the river,
and I thought how the screw of that very vessel, even as we listened,
might be tearing the body of Fu-Manchu's servant!

"Have you some one waiting?" whispered Smith, eagerly.

"How long was I insensible?"

"About half an hour."

"Then the cabman will be waiting."

"Have you a whistle with you?"

I felt in my coat pocket.

"Yes," I reported.

"Good! Then we will take a chance."

Again we slipped out into the passage and began a stealthy progress
to the west. Ten paces amid absolute darkness, and we found ourselves
abreast of a branch corridor. At the further end, through a kind of
little window, a dim light shone.

"See if you can find the trap," whispered Smith; "light your lamp."

I directed the ray of the pocket-lamp upon the floor, and there at my
feet was a square wooden trap. As I stooped to examine it, I glanced
back, painfully, over my shoulder--and saw Nayland Smith tiptoeing away
from me along the passage toward the light!

Inwardly I cursed his folly, but the temptation to peep in at that
little window proved too strong for me, as it had proved too strong for
him.

Fearful that some board would creak beneath my tread, I followed; and
side by side we two crouched, looking into a small rectangular room. It
was a bare and cheerless apartment with unpapered walls and carpetless
floor. A table and a chair constituted the sole furniture.

Seated in the chair, with his back toward us, was a portly Chinaman who
wore a yellow, silken robe. His face, it was impossible to see; but he
was beating his fist upon the table, and pouring out a torrent of words
in a thin, piping voice. So much I perceived at a glance; then, into
view at the distant end of the room, paced a tall, high-shouldered
figure--a figure unforgettable, at once imposing and dreadful, stately
and sinister.

With the long, bony hands behind h