“Good heavens!” I began—­

One of his rare laughs interrupted me.

“You must think me mad this morning, Petrie!” he said.  “But I have made several discoveries.  Do you know what that islet in the pond really is?”

“Merely an islet, I suppose—­”

“Nothing of the kind; it is a burial mound, Petrie!  It marks the site of one of the Plague Pits where victims were buried during the Great Plague of London.  You will observe that, although you have seen it every morning for some years, it remains for a British Commissioner resident in Burma to acquaint you with its history!  Hullo!”—­the laughter was gone from his eyes, and they were steely hard again—­ “what the blazes have we here!”

He picked up the net.  “What! a bird trap!”

“Exactly!” I said.

Smith turned his searching gaze upon me.  “Where did you find it, Petrie?”

“I did not exactly find it,” I replied; and I related to him the circumstances of my meeting with Karamaneh.

He directed that cold stare upon me throughout the narrative, and when, with some embarrassment, I had told him of the girl’s escape—­

“Petrie,” he said succinctly, “you are an imbecile!”

I flushed with anger, for not even from Nayland Smith, whom I esteemed above all other men, could I accept such words uttered as he had uttered them.  We glared at one another.

“Karamaneh,” he continued coldly, “is a beautiful toy, I grant you; but so is a cobra.  Neither is suitable for playful purposes.”

“Smith!” I cried hotly—­“drop that!  Adopt another tone or I cannot listen to you!”

“You must listen,” he said, squaring his lean jaw truculently.  “You are playing, not only with a pretty girl who is the favorite of a Chinese Nero, but with my life!  And I object, Petrie, on purely personal grounds!”

I felt my anger oozing from me; for this was strictly just.  I had nothing to say, and Smith continued: 

“You know that she is utterly false, yet a glance or two from those dark eyes of hers can make a fool of you!  A woman made a fool of me, once; but I learned my lesson; you have failed to learn yours.  If you are determined to go to pieces on the rock that broke up Adam, do so!  But don’t involve me in the wreck, Petrie—­for that might mean a yellow emperor of the world, and you know it!”

“Your words are unnecessarily brutal, Smith,” I said, feeling very crestfallen, “but there—­perhaps I fully deserve them all.”

“You do!” he assured me, but he relaxed immediately.  “A murderous attempt is made upon my life, resulting in the death of a perfectly innocent man in no way concerned.  Along you come and let an accomplice, perhaps a participant, escape, merely, because she has a red mouth, or black lashes, or whatever it is that fascinates you so hopelessly!”

He opened the wicker basket, sniffing at the contents.

“Ah!” he snapped, “do you recognize this odor?”