Pull up the window on your side, Petrie, and look out behind.
Good!
We've started."
The cab moved off with a metallic jerk, and I turned and looked back through the little window in the rear.
"Someone has got into another cab.
It is following ours, I think."
Nayland Smith lay back and laughed unmirthfully.
"Petrie," he said, "if I escape alive from this business I shall know that I bear a charmed life."
I made no reply, as he pulled out the dilapidated pouch and filled his pipe.
"You have asked me to explain matters," he continued, "and I will do so to the best of my ability.
You no doubt wonder why a servant of the British Government, lately stationed in Burma, suddenly appears in London, in the character of a detective.
I am here, Petrie—and I bear credentials from the very highest sources—because, quite by accident, I came upon a clew.
Following it up, in the ordinary course of routine, I obtained evidence of the existence and malignant activity of a certain man.
At the present stage of the case I should not be justified in terming him the emissary of an Eastern Power, but I may say that representations are shortly to be made to that Power's ambassador in London."
He paused and glanced back towards the pursuing cab.
"There is little to fear until we arrive home," he said calmly.
"Afterwards there is much.
To continue: This man, whether a fanatic or a duly appointed agent, is, unquestionably, the most malign and formidable personality existing in the known world today.
He is a linguist who speaks with almost equal facility in any of the civilized languages, and in most of the barbaric.
He is an adept in all the arts and sciences which a great university could teach him.
He also is an adept in certain obscure arts and sciences which no university of to-day can teach.
He has the brains of any three men of genius.
Petrie, he is a mental giant."
"You amaze me!" I said.
"As to his mission among men.
Why did M. Jules Furneaux fall dead in a Paris opera house?
Because of heart failure?
No!
Because his last speech had shown that he held the key to the secret of Tongking.
What became of the Grand Duke Stanislaus?
Elopement?
Suicide?
Nothing of the kind.
He alone was fully alive to Russia's growing peril.
He alone knew the truth about Mongolia.
Why was Sir Crichton Davey murdered?
Because, had the work he was engaged upon ever seen the light it would have shown him to be the only living Englishman who understood the importance of the Tibetan frontiers.
I say to you solemnly, Petrie, that these are but a few.
Is there a man who would arouse the West to a sense of the awakening of the East, who would teach the deaf to hear, the blind to see, that the millions only await their leader? He will die.
And this is only one phase of the devilish campaign.
The others I can merely surmise."
"But, Smith, this is almost incredible!
What perverted genius controls this awful secret movement?"
"Imagine a person, tall, lean and feline, high-shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long, magnetic eyes of the true cat-green.
Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources of science past and present, with all the resources, if you will, of a wealthy government—which, however, already has denied all knowledge of his existence.
Imagine that awful being, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the yellow peril incarnate in one man."
CHAPTER III
I SANK into an arm-chair in my rooms and gulped down a strong peg of brandy.
"We have been followed here," I said.
"Why did you make no attempt to throw the pursuers off the track, to have them intercepted?"