He glanced toward the Burman, who retired immediately, to re-enter a moment later
carrying a curious leather sack, in shape not unlike that of a sakka or Arab water-carrier.
Opening a little trap in the top of the first compartment of the cage (that is, the
compartment which covered Smith's bare feet and ankles) he inserted the neck of the
sack, then suddenly seized it by the bottom and shook it vigorously. Before my horrified
gaze four huge rats came tumbling out from the bag into the cage! The dacoit snatched
away the sack and snapped the shutter fast. A moving mist obscured my sight, a mist
through which I saw the green eyes of Dr. Fu-Manchu fixed upon me, and through which,
as from a great distance, his voice, sunk to a snake-like hiss, came to my ears.
"Cantonese rats, Dr. Petrie, the most ravenous in the world . . . they have eaten nothing
for nearly a week!"
Then all became blurred as though a painter with a brush steeped in red had smudged out
the details of the picture. For an indefinite period, which seemed like many minutes yet
probably was only a few seconds, I saw nothing and heard nothing; my sensory nerves
were dulled entirely. From this state I was awakened and brought back to the realities by
a sound which ever afterward I was doomed to associate with that ghastly scene.
This was the squealing of the rats.
The red mist seemed to disperse at that, and with frightfully intense interest, I began to
study the awful torture to which Nayland Smith was being subjected. The dacoit had
disappeared, and Fu-Manchu placidly was watching the four lean and hideous animals in
the cage. As I also turned my eyes in that direction, the rats overcame their temporary
fear, and began . . .
"You have been good enough to notice," said the Chinaman, his voice still sunk in that
sibilant whisper, "my partiality for dumb allies. You have met my scorpions, my death-
adders, my baboon-man. The uses of such a playful little animal as a marmoset have
never been fully appreciated before, I think, but to an indiscretion of this last-named pet
of mine, I seem to remember that you owed something in the past, Dr. Petrie . . ."
Nayland Smith stifled a deep groan. One rapid glance I ventured at his face. It was a
grayish hue, now, and dank with perspiration. His gaze met mine.
The rats had almost ceased squealing.
"Much depends upon yourself, Doctor," continued Fu-Manchu, slightly raising his voice.
"I credit Mr. Commissioner Nayland Smith with courage high enough to sustain the
raising of all the gates; but I estimate the strength of your friendship highly, also, and
predict that you will use the sword of the samurai certainly not later than the time when I
shall raise the third gate. . . ."
