"You are not going to attempt anything, singlehanded--against him?" I
asked.

"Petrie--Eltham is in that house. He has been brought here to be put
to the question, in the medieval, and Chinese, sense! Is there time to
summon assistance?"

I shuddered. This had been in my mind, certainly, but so expressed it
was definitely horrible--revolting, yet stimulating.

"You have the pistol," added Smith--"follow closely, and quietly."

He walked across the tops of the casks and leaped down, pointing to
that nearest to the closed door of the house. I helped him place it
under the open window. A second we set beside it, and, not without
some noise, got a third on top.

Smith mounted.

His jaw muscles were very prominent and his eyes shone like steel; but
he was as cool as though he were about to enter a theater and not the
den of the most stupendous genius who ever worked for evil. I would
forgive any man who, knowing Dr. Fu-Manchu, feared him; I feared him
myself--feared him as one fears a scorpion; but when Nayland Smith
hauled himself up on the wooden ledge above the door and swung thence
into the darkened room, I followed and was in close upon his heels.
But I admired him, for he had every ampere of his self-possession in
hand; my own case was different.

He spoke close to my ear.