But so many were the calls upon our activity, and so numerous the stimulants to our initiative in those times, that soon we had matter to relieve our minds from this stress of sorrow.

There was Karamaneh to be considered—­Karamaneh and her brother.  A brief counsel was held, whereat it was decided that for the present they should be lodged at a hotel.

“I shall arrange,” Smith whispered to me, for the girl was watching us, “to have the place patrolled night and day.”

“You cannot suppose—­”

“Petrie!  I cannot and dare not suppose Fu-Manchu dead until with my own eyes I have seen him so!”

Accordingly we conveyed the beautiful Oriental girl and her brother away from that luxurious abode in its sordid setting.  I will not dwell upon the final scene in the poison cellars lest I be accused of accumulating horror for horror’s sake.  Members of the fire brigade, helmed against contagion, brought out the bodies of the victims wrapped in their living shrouds. . . .

From Karamaneh we learned much of Fu-Manchu, little of herself.

“What am I?  Does my poor history matter—­to anyone?” was her answer to questions respecting herself.

And she would droop her lashes over her dark eyes.

The dacoits whom the Chinaman had brought to England originally numbered seven, we learned.  As you, having followed me thus far, will be aware, we had thinned the ranks of the Burmans.  Probably only one now remained in England.  They had lived in a camp in the grounds of the house near Windsor (which, as we had learned at the time of its destruction, the Doctor had bought outright).  The Thames had been his highway.

Other members of the group had occupied quarters in various parts of the East End, where sailormen of all nationalities congregate.  Shen-Yan’s had been the East End headquarters.  He had employed the hulk from the time of his arrival, as a laboratory for a certain class of experiments undesirable in proximity to a place of residence.

Nayland Smith asked the girl on one occasion if the Chinaman had had a private sea-going vessel, and she replied in the affirmative.  She had never been on board, however, had never even set eyes upon it, and could give us no information respecting its character.  It had sailed for China.

“You are sure,” asked Smith keenly, “that it has actually left?”

“I understood so, and that we were to follow by another route.”

“It would have been difficult for Fu-Manchu to travel by a passenger boat?”

“I cannot say what were his plans.”

In a state of singular uncertainty, then, readily to be understood, we passed the days following the tragedy which had deprived us of our fellow-worker.

Vividly I recall the scene at poor Weymouth’s home, on the day that we visited it.  I then made the acquaintance of the Inspector’s brother.  Nayland Smith gave him a detailed account of the last scene.