“Agreed.  Shall I lead the way?”

“No!” rapped Smith.  “Petrie and the dacoit first; then you; I last.”

A guttural word of command from Fu-Manchu, and we left the cabin, with its evil odors, its mortuary specimens, and its strange instruments, and in the order arranged mounted to the deck.

“It will be awkward on the ladder,” said Fu-Manchu.  “Dr. Petrie, I will accept your word to adhere to the terms.”

“I promise,” I said, the words almost choking me.

We mounted the rising and dipping ladder, all reached the pier, and strode out across the flats, the Chinaman always under close cover of Smith’s revolver.  Round about our feet, now leaping ahead, now gamboling back, came and went the marmoset.  The dacoit, dressed solely in a dark loin-cloth, walked beside me, carrying his huge knife, and sometimes glancing at me with his blood-lustful eyes.  Never before, I venture to say, had an autumn moon lighted such a scene in that place.

“Here we part,” said Fu-Manchu, and spoke another word to his follower.

The man threw his knife upon the ground.

“Search him, Petrie,” directed Smith.  “He may have a second concealed.”

The Doctor consented; and I passed my hands over the man’s scanty garments.

“Now search Fu-Manchu.”

This also I did.  And never have I experienced a similar sense of revulsion from any human being.  I shuddered, as though I had touched a venomous reptile.

Smith threw down his revolver.

“I curse myself for an honorable fool,” he said.  “No one could dispute my right to shoot you dead where you stand.”

Knowing him as I did, I could tell from the suppressed passion in Smith’s voice that only by his unhesitating acceptance of my friend’s word, and implicit faith in his keeping it, had Dr. Fu-Manchu escaped just retribution at that moment.  Fiend though he was, I admired his courage; for all this he, too, must have known.

The Doctor turned, and with the dacoit walked back. 
Nayland Smith’s next move filled me with surprise. 
For just as, silently, I was thanking God for my escape,
my friend began shedding his coat, collar, and waistcoat.

“Pocket your valuables, and do the same,” he muttered hoarsely. 
“We have a poor chance but we are both fairly fit. 
To-night, Petrie, we literally have to run for our lives.”

We live in a peaceful age, wherein it falls to the lot of few men to owe their survival to their fleetness of foot.  At Smith’s words I realized in a flash that such was to be our fate to-night.

I have said that the hulk lay off a sort of promontory.  East and west, then, we had nothing to hope for.  To the south was Fu-Manchu; and even as, stripped of our heavier garments, we started to run northward, the weird signal of a dacoit rose on the night and was answered—­was answered again.

“Three, at least,” hissed Smith; “three armed dacoits.  Hopeless.”