Covertly Smith nudged me with his elbow.  I knew what the nudge was designed to convey; he would remind me of his words—­anent the childish trifles which sway the life of intellectual China.

Personally, I was amazed.  That Fu-Manchu’s anger, grief, sorrow and resignation were real, no one watching him, and hearing his voice, could doubt.

He continued: 

“By one deed, and one deed alone, may I win a lighter punishment.  By one deed, and the resignation of all my titles, all my lands, and all my honors, may I merit to be spared to my work—­which has only begun.”

I knew now that we were lost, indeed; these were confidences which our graves should hold inviolate!  He suddenly opened fully those blazing green eyes and directed their baneful glare upon Nayland Smith.

“The Director of the Universe,” he continued, softly, “has relented toward me.  To-night, you die!  To-night, the arch-enemy of our caste shall be no more.  This is my offering—­the price of redemption . . .”

My mind was working again, and actively.  I managed to grasp the stupendous truth—­and the stupendous possibility.

Dr. Fu-Manchu was in the act of clapping his hands, when I spoke.

“Stop!” I cried.

He paused, and the weird film, which sometimes became visible in his eyes, now obscured their greenness, and lent him the appearance of a blind man.

“Dr. Petrie,” he said, softly, “I shall always listen to you with respect.”

“I have an offer to make,” I continued, seeking to steady my voice.  “Give us our freedom, and I will restore your shattered honor—­I will restore the sacred peacock!”

Dr. Fu-Manchu bent forward until his face was so close to mine that I could see the innumerable lines which, an intricate network, covered his yellow skin.

“Speak!” he hissed.  “You lift up my heart from a dark pit!”

“I can restore your white peacock,” I said; “I and I alone, know where it is!”—­and I strove not to shrink from the face so close to mine.

Upright shot the tall figure; high above his head Fu-Manchu threw his arms—­and a light of exaltation gleamed in the now widely opened, catlike eyes.

“O god!” he screamed, frenziedly—­“O god of the Golden Age! like a phoenix I arise from the ashes of myself!” He turned to me.  “Quick!  Quick! make your bargain!  End my suspense!”

Smith stared at me like a man dazed; but, ignoring him, I went on: 

“You will release me, now, immediately.  In another ten minutes it will be too late; my friend will remain.  One of your—­servants—­can accompany me, and give the signal when I return with the peacock.  Mr. Nayland Smith and yourself, or another, will join me at the corner of the street where the raid took place last night.  We shall then give you ten minutes grace, after which we shall take whatever steps we choose.”

“Agreed!” cried Fu-Manchu.  “I ask but one thing from an Englishman; your word of honor?”