Inspector Weymouth was standing by the writing-table.  My mind cleared rapidly now, and standing up, but without releasing the girl’s hands, so that I drew her up beside me, I said: 

“Weymouth—­where is—?”

“He’s waiting to see you, Doctor,” replied the inspector.

A pang, almost physical, struck at my heart.

“Poor, dear old Smith!” I cried, with a break in my voice.

Dr. Gray, a neighboring practitioner, appeared in the doorway at the moment that I spoke the words.

“It’s all right, Petrie,” he said, reassuringly; “I think we took it in time.  I have thoroughly cauterized the wounds, and granted that no complication sets in, he’ll be on his feet again in a week or two.”

I suppose I was in a condition closely bordering upon the hysterical.  At any rate, my behavior was extraordinary.  I raised both my hands above my head.

“Thank God!” I cried at the top of my voice, “thank God!—­thank God!”

“Thank Him, indeed,” responded the musical voice of Aziz.  He spoke with all the passionate devoutness of the true Moslem.

Everything, even Karamaneh was forgotten, and I started for the door as though my life depended upon my speed.  With one foot upon the landing, I turned, looked back, and met the glance of Inspector Weymouth.

“What have you done with—­the body?” I asked.

“We haven’t been able to get to it.  That end of the vault collapsed two minutes after we hauled you out!”

As I write, now, of those strange days, already they seem remote and unreal.  But, where other and more dreadful memories already are grown misty, the memory of that evening in my rooms remains clear-cut and intimate.  It marked a crisis in my life.

During the days that immediately followed, whilst Smith was slowly recovering from his hurts, I made my plans deliberately; I prepared to cut myself off from old associations—­prepared to exile myself, gladly; how gladly I cannot hope to express in mere cold words.

That my friend approved of my projects, I cannot truthfully state, but his disapproval at least was not openly expressed.  To Karamaneh I said nothing of my plans, but her complete reliance in my powers to protect her, now, from all harm, was at once pathetic and exquisite.

Since, always, I have sought in these chronicles to confine myself to the facts directly relating to the malignant activity of Dr. Fu-Manchu, I shall abstain from burdening you with details of my private affairs.  As an instrument of the Chinese doctor, it has sometimes been my duty to write of the beautiful Eastern girl; I cannot suppose that my readers have any further curiosity respecting her from the moment that Fate freed her from that awful servitude.  Therefore, when I shall have dealt with the episodes which marked our voyage to Egypt—­I had opened negotiations in regard to a practice in Cairo—­I may honorably lay down my pen.