Smith remained silent; he did not seem to have heard my words.  I knew these moods and had learnt that it was useless to seek to interrupt them.  With his brows drawn down, and his deep-set eyes staring into space, he sat there gripping his cold pipe so tightly that my own jaw muscles ached sympathetically.  No man was better equipped than this gaunt British Commissioner to stand between society and the menace of the Yellow Doctor; I respected his meditations, for, unlike my own, they were informed by an intimate knowledge of the dark and secret things of the East, of that mysterious East out of which Fu-Manchu came, of that jungle of noxious things whose miasma had been wafted Westward with the implacable Chinaman.

I walked quietly from the room, occupied with my own bitter reflections.

CHAPTER XV

BEWITCHMENT

“You say you have two items of news for me?” said Nayland Smith, looking across the breakfast table to where Inspector Weymouth sat sipping coffee.

“There are two points—­yes,” replied the Scotland Yard man, whilst Smith paused, egg-spoon in hand, and fixed his keen eyes upon the speaker.  “The first is this:  the headquarters of the Yellow group is no longer in the East End.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“For two reasons.  In the first place, that district must now be too hot to hold Dr. Fu-Manchu; in the second place, we have just completed a house-to-house inquiry which has scarcely overlooked a rathole or a rat.  That place where you say Fu-Manchu was visited by some Chinese mandarin; where you, Mr. Smith,” and—­glancing in my direction—­“you, Doctor, were confined for a time—­”

“Yes?” snapped Smith, attacking his egg.

“Well,” continued the inspector, “it is all deserted, now.  There is not the slightest doubt that the Chinaman has fled to some other abode.  I am certain of it.  My second piece of news will interest you very much, I am sure.  You were taken to the establishment of the Chinaman, Shen-Yan, by a certain ex-officer of New York Police—­ Burke . . .”

“Good God!” cried Smith, looking up with a start; “I thought they had him!”

“So did I,” replied Weymouth grimly; “but they haven’t!  He got away in the confusion following the raid, and has been hiding ever since with a cousin, a nurseryman out Upminster way . . .”

“Hiding?” snapped Smith.

“Exactly—­hiding.  He has been afraid to stir ever since, and has scarcely shown his nose outside the door.  He says he is watched night and day.”

“Then how . . .”

“He realized that something must be done,” continued the inspector, “and made a break this morning.  He is so convinced of this constant surveillance that he came away secretly, hidden under the boxes of a market-wagon.  He landed at Covent Garden in the early hours of this morning and came straight away to the Yard.”