He strode across the room. He was consumed by a fever of excitement. Almost savagely, he tore away the beard, tore off the snowy wig—dashed the smoked glasses upon the floor.
A great, high brow was revealed, and green, malignant eyes, which fixed themselves upon him with an expression I never can forget.
IT WAS DR. FU-MANCHU!
One intense moment of silence ensued—of silence which seemed to throb. Then:
"What have you done with Professor Monde?" demanded Smith.
Dr. Fu-Manchu showed his even, yellow teeth in the singularly evil smile which I knew so well. A manacled prisoner he sat as unruffled as a judge upon the bench. In truth and in justice I am compelled to say that Fu-Manchu was absolutely fearless.
"He has been detained in China," he replied, in smooth, sibilant tones—"by affairs of great urgency. His well-known personality and ungregarious habits have served me well, here!"
Smith, I could see, was undetermined how to act; he stood tugging at his ear and glancing from the impassive Chinaman to the wondering detectives.
"What are we to do, sir?" one of them asked.
"Leave Dr. Petrie and myself alone with the prisoner, until I call you."