the porthole, we have to look for a man more than normally thin. In a
word, the servant of Dr. Fu-Manchu who attempted the life of Karamaneh
is either in hiding on the ship, or, if visible, is disguised."

With his usual clarity of vision, Nayland Smith had visualized the
facts of the case; I passed in mental survey each one of the
passengers, and those of the crew whose appearances were familiar to
me, with the result that I had to admit the justice of my friend's
conclusions. Smith began to pace the narrow strip of carpet between
the dressing-table and the door. Suddenly he began again. "From our
knowledge of Fu-Manchu and of the group surrounding him (and, don't
forget, surviving him)--we may further assume that the wireless
message was no gratuitous piece of melodrama, but that it was directed
to a definite end. Let us endeavor to link up the chain a little. You
occupy an upper deck berth; so do I. Experience of the Chinaman has
formed a habit in both of us; that of sleeping with closed windows.
Your port was fastened and so was my own. Karamaneh is quartered on
the main deck, and her brother's stateroom opens into the same
alleyway. Since the ship is in the Straits of Messina, and the glass
set fair, the stewards have not closed the portholes nightly at
present. We know that that of Karamaneh's stateroom was open.
Therefore, in any attempt upon our quartet, Karamaneh would
automatically be selected for the victim, since failing you or myself
she may be regarded as being the most obnoxious to Dr. Fu-Manchu."

I nodded comprehendingly. Smith's capacity for throwing the white
light of reason into the darkest places often amazed me.

"You may have noticed," he continued, "that Karamaneh's room is
directly below your own. In the event of any outcry, you would be