In a car which he had in waiting at the end of the village we sped through the deserted streets to New Inn Court.  I, who had followed Nayland Smith through the failures and successes of his mission, knew that to-night he had surpassed himself; had justified the confidence placed in him by the highest authorities.

We were admitted to an untidy room—­that of a student, a traveler and a crank—­by a plain-clothes officer.  Amid picturesque and disordered fragments of a hundred ages, in a great carven chair placed before a towering statue of the Buddha, sat a hand-cuffed man.  His white hair and beard were patriarchal; his pose had great dignity.  But his expression was entirely masked by the smoked glasses which he wore.

Two other detectives were guarding the prisoner.

“We arrested Professor Jenner Monde as he came in, sir,” reported the man who had opened the door.  “He has made no statement.  I hope there isn’t a mistake.”

“I hope not,” rapped Smith.

He strode across the room.  He was consumed by a fever of excitement.  Almost savagely, he tore away the beard, tore off the snowy wig dashed the smoked glasses upon the floor.

A great, high brow was revealed, and green, malignant eyes, which fixed themselves upon him with an expression I never can forget.

It was Dr. Fu-Manchu!

One intense moment of silence ensued—­of silence which seemed to throb.  Then: 

“What have you done with Professor Monde?” demanded Smith.

Dr. Fu-Manchu showed his even, yellow teeth in the singularly evil smile which I knew so well.  A manacled prisoner he sat as unruffled as a judge upon the bench.  In truth and in justice I am compelled to say that Fu-Manchu was absolutely fearless.

“He has been detained in China,” he replied, in smooth, sibilant tones—­“by affairs of great urgency.  His well-known personality and ungregarious habits have served me well, here!”

Smith, I could see, was undetermined how to act; he stood tugging at his ear and glancing from the impassive Chinaman to the wondering detectives.

“What are we to do, sir?” one of them asked.

“Leave Dr. Petrie and myself alone with the prisoner, until I call you.”

The three withdrew.  I divined now what was coming.

“Can you restore Weymouth’s sanity?” rapped Smith abruptly.  “I cannot save you from the hangman, nor”—­his fists clenched convulsively—­“would I if I could; but—­”

Fu-Manchu fixed his brilliant eyes upon him.

“Say no more, Mr. Smith,” he interrupted; “you misunderstand me.  I do not quarrel with that, but what I have done from conviction and what I have done of necessity are separated—­are seas apart.  The brave Inspector Weymouth I wounded with a poisoned needle, in self-defense; but I regret his condition as greatly as you do.  I respect such a man.  There is an antidote to the poison of the needle.”