The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu | Page 6

in the library, unseen by me. Had someone concealed
himself in the study earlier in the evening--and I am convinced that it
offers no hiding-place-- he could only have come out again by passing
through here."
Nayland Smith tugged at the lobe of his left ear, as was his habit when
meditating.
"You had been at work here in this way for some time?"
"Yes. Sir Crichton was preparing an important book."
"Had anything unusual occurred prior to this evening?"
"Yes," said Mr. Burboyne, with evident perplexity; "though I attached
no importance to it at the time. Three nights ago Sir Crichton came out
to me, and appeared very nervous; but at times his nerves-- you know?
Well, on this occasion he asked me to search the study. He had an idea
that something was concealed there."
"Some THING or someone?"
"`Something' was the word he used. I searched, but fruitlessly, and he
seemed quite satisfied, and returned to his work."
"Thank you, Mr. Burboyne. My friend and I would like a few minutes'
private investigation in the study."
CHAPTER II
SIR CRICHTON DAVEY'S study was a small one, and a glance
sufficed to show that, as the secretary had said, it offered no
hiding-place. It was heavily carpeted, and over-full of Burmese and
Chinese ornaments and curios, and upon the mantelpiece stood several
framed photographs which showed this to be the sanctum of a wealthy

bachelor who was no misogynist. A map of the Indian Empire occupied
the larger part of one wall. The grate was empty, for the weather was
extremely warm, and a green-shaded lamp on the littered writing-table
afforded the only light. The air was stale, for both windows were closed
and fastened.
Smith immediately pounced upon a large, square envelope that lay
beside the blotting-pad. Sir Crichton had not even troubled to open it,
but my friend did so. It contained a blank sheet of paper!
"Smell!" he directed, handing the letter to me. I raised it to my nostrils.
It was scented with some pungent perfume.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It is a rather rare essential oil," was the reply, "which I have met with
before, though never in Europe. I begin to understand, Petrie."
He tilted the lamp-shade and made a close examination of the scraps of
paper, matches, and other debris that lay in the grate and on the hearth.
I took up a copper vase from the mantelpiece, and was examining it
curiously, when he turned, a strange expression upon his face.
"Put that back, old man," he said quietly.
Much surprised, I did as he directed.
"Don't touch anything in the room. It may he dangerous."
Something in the tone of his voice chilled me, and I hastily replaced the
vase, and stood by the door of the study, watching him search,
methodically, every inch of the room-- behind the books, in all the
ornaments, in table drawers, in cupboards, on shelves.
"That will do," he said at last. "There is nothing here and I have no time
to search farther."
We returned to the library.

"Inspector Weymouth," said my friend, "I have a particular reason for
asking that Sir Crichton's body be removed from this room at once and
the library locked. Let no one be admitted on any pretense whatever
until you hear from me." It spoke volumes for the mysterious
credentials borne by my friend that the man from Scotland Yard
accepted his orders without demur, and, after a brief chat with Mr.
Burboyne, Smith passed briskly downstairs. In the hall a man who
looked like a groom out of livery was waiting.
"Are you Wills?" asked Smith.
"Yes, sir."
"It was you who heard a cry of some kind at the rear of the house about
the time of Sir Crichton's death?"
"Yes, sir. I was locking the garage door, and, happening to look up at
the window of Sir Crichton's study, I saw him jump out of his chair.
Where he used to sit at his writing, sir, you could see his shadow on the
blind. Next minute I heard a call out in the lane."
"What kind of call?"
The man, whom the uncanny happening clearly had frightened, seemed
puzzled for a suitable description.
"A sort of wail, sir," he said at last. "I never heard anything like it
before, and don't want to again."
"Like this?" inquired Smith, and he uttered a low, wailing cry,
impossible to describe. Wills perceptibly shuddered; and, indeed, it was
an eerie sound.
"The same, sir, I think," he said, "but much louder."
"That will do," said Smith, and I thought I detected a note of triumph in
his voice. "But stay! Take us through to the back of the house."
The man bowed and led the way, so