"But where were you going?"
"Weymouth has just rung up. We have indisputable proof that the mandarin Ki-Ming, whom I had believed to be dead, and whom I know for a high official of the Si-Fan, is actually in London! It's neck or nothing this time, Petrie! I'm going straight to Portland Place!"
"To the Chinese Legation?"
"Exactly!"
"Perhaps I can save you a journey," I said slowly. "I have just come from there!"
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MANDARIN KI-MING
Nayland Smith strode up and down the little sitting-room, tugging almost savagely at the lobe of his left ear. To-night his increasing grayness was very perceptible, and with his feverishly bright eyes staring straightly before him, he looked haggard and ill, despite the deceptive tan of his skin.
"Petrie," he began in his abrupt fashion, "I am losing confidence in myself."
"Why?" I asked in surprise.