"That's Weymouth!" snapped Smith. "With decent luck, we should know
Fu-Manchu's hiding-place before Slattin tells us!"

"But--"

"Oh! as it happens, he's apparently playing the game."--In the half-
light, Smith stared at me significantly--"Which makes it all the more
important," he concluded, "that we should not rely upon his aid!"

Those grim words were prophetic.

My companion made no attempt to communicate with the detective (or
detectives) who shared our vigil; we took up a position close under
the lighted study window and waited--waited.

Once, a taxi-cab labored hideously up the steep gradient of the avenue
. . . It was gone. The lights at the upper windows above us became
extinguished. A policeman tramped past the gateway, casually flashing
his lamp in at the opening. One by one the illuminated windows in
other houses visible to us became dull; then lived again as mirrors
for the pallid moon. In the silence, words spoken within the study
were clearly audible; and we heard someone--presumably the man who had
opened the door--inquire if his services would be wanted again that
night.

Smith inclined his head and hung over me in a tense attitude, in order
to catch Slattin's reply.

"Yes, Burke," it came--"I want you to sit up until I return; I shall