Swooping, with open arms, I rounded up in an angle against the building and gathered in this screaming thing which had inspired in me so keen a terror.

The great, ghostly fan was closed as I did so, and I stumbled back toward the stair with my struggling captive tucked under my arm; I mounted into one of London’s darkest slums, carrying a beautiful white peacock!

CHAPTER XII

DARK EYES LOOKED INTO MINE

My adventure had done nothing to relieve the feeling of unreality which held me enthralled.  Grasping the struggling bird firmly by the body, and having the long white tail fluttering a yard or so behind me, I returned to where the taxi waited.

“Open the door!” I said to the man—­who greeted me with such a stare of amazement that I laughed outright, though my mirth was but hollow.

He jumped into the road and did as I directed.  Making sure that both windows were closed, I thrust the peacock into the cab and shut the door upon it.

“For God’s sake, sir!” began the driver—­

“It has probably escaped from some collector’s place on the riverside,” I explained, “but one never knows.  See that it does not escape again, and if at the end of an hour, as arranged, you do not hear from me, take it back with you to the River Police Station.”

“Right you are, sir,” said the man, remounting his seat.  “It’s the first time I ever saw a peacock in Limehouse!”

It was the first time I had seen one, and the incident struck me as being more than odd; it gave me an idea, and a new, faint hope.  I returned to the head of the steps, at the foot of which I had met with this singular experience, and gazed up at the dark building beneath which they led.  Three windows were visible, but they were broken and neglected.  One, immediately above the arch, had been pasted up with brown paper, and this was now peeling off in the rain, a little stream of which trickled down from the detached corner to drop, drearily, upon the stone stairs beneath.

Where were the detectives?  I could only assume that they had directed their attention elsewhere, for had the place not been utterly deserted, surely I had been challenged.

In pursuit of my new idea, I again descended the steps.  The persuasion (shortly to be verified) that I was close upon the secret hold of the Chinaman, grew stronger, unaccountably.  I had descended some eight steps, and was at the darkest part of the archway or tunnel, when confirmation of my theories came to me.

A noose settled accurately upon my shoulders, was snatched tightly about my throat, and with a feeling of insupportable agony at the base of my skull, and a sudden supreme knowledge that I was being strangled—­hanged—­I lost consciousness!

How long I remained unconscious, I was unable to determine at the time, but I learned later, that it was for no more than half an hour; at any rate, recovery was slow.