"I have followed Fu-Manchu from Hongkong," he jerked. "Lost him at
Suez. He got here a boat ahead of me. Eltham has been corresponding
with some mandarin up-country. Knew that. Came straight to you. Only
got in this evening. He--Fu-Manchu--has been sent here to get Eltham.
My God! and he has him! He will question him! The interior of China--a
seething pot, Petrie! They had to stop the leakage of information. He
is here for that."

The car pulled up with a jerk that pitched me out of my seat, and the
chauffeur leaped to the road and ran ahead. Smith was out in a trice,
as the man, who had run up to a constable, came racing back.

"Jump in, sir--jump in!" he cried, his eyes bright with the lust of
the chase; "they are making for Battersea!"

And we were off again.

Through the empty streets we roared on. A place of gasometers and
desolate waste lots slipped behind and we were in a narrow way where
gates of yards and a few lowly houses faced upon a prospect of high
blank wall.

"Thames on our right," said Smith, peering ahead. "His rathole is by
the river as usual. Hi!"--he grabbed up the speaking-tube--"Stop!
Stop!"

The limousine swung in to the narrow sidewalk, and pulled up close by
a yard gate. I, too, had seen our quarry--a long, low bodied car,
showing no inside lights. It had turned the next corner, where a
street lamp shone greenly, not a hundred yards ahead.