Nayland Smith returned from the telephone. Nearly twenty-four hours had elapsed since
the awful death of Burke.
"No news, Petrie," he said, shortly. "It must have crept into some inaccessible hole to
die."
I glanced up from my notes. Smith settled into the white cane armchair, and began to
surround himself with clouds of aromatic smoke. I took up a half-sheet of foolscap
covered with penciled writing in my friend's cramped characters, and transcribed the
following, in order to complete my account of the latest Fu-Manchu outrage:
"The Amharun, a Semitic tribe allied to the Falashas, who have been settled for many
generations in the southern province of Shoa (Abyssinia) have been regarded as unclean
and outcast, apparently since the days of Menelek--son of Suleyman and the Queen of
Sheba--from whom they claim descent. Apart from their custom of eating meat cut from
living beasts, they are accursed because of their alleged association with the
Cynocephalus hamadryas (Sacred Baboon). I, myself, was taken to a hut on the banks of
the Hawash and shown a creature . . . whose predominant trait was an unreasoning
malignity toward . . . and a ferocious tenderness for the society of its furry brethren. Its
powers of scent were fully equal to those of a bloodhound, whilst its abnormally long
forearms possessed incredible strength . . . a Cynocephalyte such as this, contracts
phthisis even in the more northern provinces of Abyssinia . . ."
"You have not explained to me, Smith," I said, having completed this note, "how you got
in touch with Fu-Manchu; how you learnt that he was not dead, as we had supposed, but
living--active."
Nayland Smith stood up and fixed his steely eyes upon me with an indefinable expression
in them. Then:
"No," he replied; "I haven't. Do you wish to know?"
"Certainly," I said with surprise; "is there any reason why I should not?"
"There is no real reason," said Smith; "or"--staring at me very hard-- "I hope there is no
real reason."
"Well"--he grabbed up his pipe from the table and began furiously to load it--"I blundered
upon the truth one day in Rangoon. I was walking out of a house which I occupied there
for a time, and as I swung around the corner into the main street, I ran into--literally ran
into . . ."
