"In China," resumed Fu-Manchu, "we call this quaint fancy the Six
Gates of joyful Wisdom. The first gate, by which the rats are
admitted, is called the Gate of joyous Hope; the second, the Gate of
Mirthful Doubt. The third gate is poetically named, the Gate of True
Rapture, and the fourth, the Gate of Gentle Sorrow. I once was honored
in the friendship of an exalted mandarin who sustained the course of
joyful Wisdom to the raising of the Fifth Gate (called the Gate of
Sweet Desires) and the admission of the twentieth rat. I esteem him
almost equally with my ancestors. The Sixth, or Gate Celestial--
whereby a man enters into the joy of Complete Understanding--I have
dispensed with, here, substituting a Japanese fancy of an antiquity
nearly as great and honorable. The introduction of this element of
speculation, I count a happy thought, and accordingly take pride to
myself."

"The sword, Petrie!" whispered Smith. I should not have recognized his
voice, but he spoke quite evenly and steadily. "I rely upon you, old
man, to spare me the humiliation of asking mercy from that yellow
fiend!"

My mind throughout this time had been gaining a sort of dreadful
clarity. I had avoided looking at the sword of hara-kiri, but my
thoughts had been leading me mercilessly up to the point at which we
were now arrived. No vestige of anger, of condemnation of the inhuman
being seated in the ebony chair, remained; that was past. Of all that
had gone before, and of what was to come in the future, I thought
nothing, knew nothing. Our long fight against the yellow group, our
encounters with the numberless creatures of Fu-Manchu, the dacoits--
even Karamaneh--were forgotten, blotted out. I saw nothing of the