“Don’t imagine, Petrie,” said Smith “that I am trying to lead you blindfolded in order later to dazzle you with my perspicacity.  I am simply afraid that this may be a wild-goose chase.  The idea upon which I am acting does not seem to have struck you.  I wish it had.  The fact would argue in favor of its being sound.”

“At present I am hopelessly mystified.”

“Well, then, I will not bias you towards my view.  But just study the situation, and see if you can arrive at the reason for this sudden journey.  I shall be distinctly encouraged if you succeed.”

But I did not succeed, and since Smith obviously was unwilling to enlighten me, I pressed him no more.  The train stopped at Rugby, where he was engaged with the stationmaster in making some mysterious arrangements.  At L—­, however, their object became plain, for a high-power car was awaiting us, and into this we hurried and ere the greater number of passengers had reached the platform were being driven off at headlong speed along the moon-bathed roads.

Twenty minutes’ rapid traveling, and a white mansion leaped into the line of sight, standing out vividly against its woody backing.

“Stradwick Hall,” said Smith.  “The home of Lord Southery.  We are first—­but Dr. Fu-Manchu was on the train.”

Then the truth dawned upon the gloom of my perplexity.

CHAPTER XXIII

“Your extraordinary proposal fills me with horror, Mr. Smith!”

The sleek little man in the dress suit, who looked like a head waiter (but was the trusted legal adviser of the house of Southery) puffed at his cigar indignantly.  Nayland Smith, whose restless pacing had led him to the far end of the library, turned, a remote but virile figure, and looked back to where I stood by the open hearth with the solicitor.

“I am in your hands, Mr. Henderson,” he said, and advanced upon the latter, his gray eyes ablaze.  “Save for the heir, who is abroad on foreign service, you say there is no kin of Lord Southery to consider.  The word rests with you.  If I am wrong, and you agree to my proposal, there is none whose susceptibilities will suffer—­”

“My own, sir!”

“If I am right, and you prevent me from acting, you become a murderer, Mr. Henderson.”

The lawyer started, staring nervously up at Smith, who now towered over him menacingly.

“Lord Southery was a lonely man,” continued my friend.  “If I could have placed my proposition before one of his blood, I do not doubt what my answer had been.  Why do you hesitate?  Why do you experience this feeling of horror?”

Mr. Henderson stared down into the fire.  His constitutionally ruddy face was pale.

“It is entirely irregular, Mr. Smith.  We have not the necessary powers—­”

Smith snapped his teeth together impatiently, snatching his watch from his pocket and glancing at it.