Again the gong sounded seven times, and a sort of magnetic thrill seemed to pass throughout the room.  There followed a faint, musical sound, like the tinkle of a silver bell.

All heads were lowered, but all eyes upturned to the golden curtain.  Literally holding my breath, in those moments of intense expectancy, I watched the draperies parted from the center and pulled aside by unseen agency.

A black covered dais was revealed, bearing an ebony chair.  And seated in the chair, enveloped from head to feet in a shimmering white veil, was a woman.  A sound like a great sigh arose from the gathering.  The woman rose slowly to her feet, and raised her arms, which were exquisitely formed, and of the uniform hue of old ivory, so that the veil fell back to her shoulders, revealing the green snake bangle which she wore.  She extended her long, slim hands as if in benediction; the silver bell sounded ... and the curtain dropped again, entirely obscuring the dais!

Frankly, I thought myself mad; for this “lady of the Si-Fan” was none other than my mysterious traveling companion!  This was some solemn farce with which Fu-Manchu sought to impress his fanatical dupes.  And he had succeeded; they were inspired, their eyes blazed.  Here were men capable of any crime in the name of the Si-Fan!

Every face within my ken I had studied individually, and now slowly and cautiously I changed my position, so that a group of three members standing immediately to the right of the door came into view.  One of them—­a tall, spare, and closely bearded man whom I took for some kind of Hindu—­had removed his gaze from the dais and was glancing furtively all about him.  Once he looked in my direction, and my heart leapt high, then seemed to stop its pulsing.

An overpowering consciousness of my danger came to me; a dim envisioning of what appalling fate would be mine in the event of discovery.  As those piercing eyes were turned away again, I drew back, step my step.

Dropping upon my knees, I began to feel for the gap in the conservatory wall.  The desire to depart from the house of the Si-Fan was become urgent.  Once safely away, I could take the necessary steps to ensure the apprehension of the entire group.  What a triumph would be mine!

I found the opening without much difficulty and crept through into the empty house.  The vague light which penetrated the linen blinds served to show me the length of the empty, tiled apartment.  I had actually reached the French window giving access to the drawing-room, when—­the skirl of a police whistle split the stillness ... and the sound came from the house which I had just quitted!

To write that I was amazed were to achieve the banal.  Rigid with wonderment I stood, and clutched at the open window.  So I was standing, a man of stone, when the voice, the high-pitched, imperious, unmistakable voice of Nayland Smith, followed sharply upon the skirl of the whistle:—­