"You are amusing yourself," I said.

Nayland Smith clapped his hands upon my shoulders, in his own
impulsive fashion, and looked earnestly into my eyes.

"Forgive me, old man," he said, "if I have related all these fantastic
particulars as though I gave them credence. Much of this is legendary,
I know, some of it mere superstition, but--I am serious now, Petrie--
_part of it is true_."

I stared at the square-cut, sun-tanned face; and no trace of a smile
lurked about that grim mouth. "Such a woman may actually exist, Petrie,
only in legend; but, nevertheless, she forms the head center of that
giant conspiracy in which the activities of Dr. Fu-Manchu were merely
a part. Hale blundered on to this stupendous business; and from what I
have gathered from Beeton and what I have seen for myself, it is
evident that in yonder coffer"--he pointed to the brass chest standing
hard by--"Hale got hold of something indispensable to the success of
this vast Yellow conspiracy. That he was followed here, to the very
hotel, by agents of this mystic Unknown is evident. But," he added
grimly, "they have failed in their object!"

A thousand outrageous possibilities fought for precedence in my mind.

"Smith!" I cried, "the half-caste woman whom I saw in the hotel ..."

Nayland Smith shrugged his shoulders.

"Probably, as M. Samarkan suggests, an _ayah!_" he said; but there was