We entered the waiting vehicle and soon were passing through the nearly deserted streets of London.  Only those workers whose toils began with the dawn were afoot at that early hour, and in the misty gray light the streets had an unfamiliar look and wore an aspect of sadness in ill accord with the sentiments which now were stirring within me.  For whatever might be the fate of the famous mental specialist, whatever the mystery before us—­even though Dr. Fu-Manchu himself, malignantly active, threatened our safety—­Karamaneh would be with me again that day—­Karamaneh, my beautiful wife to be!

So selfishly occupied was I with these reflections that I paid little heed to the words of Weymouth, who was acquainting Nayland Smith with the facts bearing upon the mysterious disappearance of Sir Baldwin Frazer.  Indeed, I was almost entirely ignorant upon the subject when the cab pulled up before the surgeon’s house in Half-Moon Street.

Here, where all else spoke of a city yet sleeping or but newly awakened, was wild unrest and excitement.  Several servants were hovering about the hall eager to glean any scrap of information that might be obtainable; wide-eyed and curious, if not a little fearful.  In the somber dining-room with its heavy oak furniture and gleaming silver, Sir Baldwin’s secretary awaited us.  He was a young man, fair-haired, clean-shaven and alert; but a real and ever-present anxiety could be read in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he began, “to have been the cause of disturbing you at so early an hour, particularly since this mysterious affair may prove to have no connection with the matters which I understand are at present engaging your attention.”

Nayland Smith raised his hand deprecatingly.

“We are prepared, Mr. Logan,” he replied, “to travel to the uttermost ends of the earth at all times, if by doing so we can obtain even a meager clue to the enigma which baffles us.”

“I should not have disturbed Mr. Smith,” said Weymouth, “if I had not been pretty sure that there was Chinese devilry at work here:  nor should I have told you as much as I have, Mr. Logan,” he added, a humorous twinkle creeping into his blue eyes, “if I had thought you could not be of use to us in unraveling our case!”

“I quite understand that,” said Logan, “and now, since you have voted for the story first and refreshments afterward, let me tell you what little I know of the matter.”

“Be as brief as you can,” snapped Nayland Smith, starting up from the chair in which he had been seated and beginning restlessly to pace the floor before the open fireplace—­“as brief as is consistent with clarity.  We have learnt in the past that an hour or less sometimes means the difference between——­”

He paused, glancing at Sir Baldwin’s secretary.

“Between life and death,” he added.

Mr. Logan started perceptibly.

“You alarm me, Mr. Smith,” he declared; “for I can conceive of no earthly manner in which this mysterious Eastern organization of which Inspector Weymouth speaks, could profit by the death of Sir Baldwin.”