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The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu


Nayland Smith stared eagerly at the detective.
"Every man has his price," replied Weymouth with a smile, "and
Burke seems to think that you are a more likely market than the
police authorities."
"I see," snapped Smith. "He wants to see me?"
"He wants you to go and see him," was the reply. "I think he
anticipates that you may make a capture of the person or persons
spying upon him."
"Did he give you any particulars?"
"Several. He spoke of a sort of gipsy girl with whom he had a
short conversation one day, over the fence which divides his
cousin's flower plantations from the lane adjoining."
"Gipsy girl!" I whispered, glancing rapidly at Smith.
"I think you are right, Doctor," said Weymouth with his slow
smile; "it was Karamaneh. She asked him the way to somewhere or
other and got him to write it upon a loose page of his notebook, so
that she should not forget it."
"You hear that, Petrie?" rapped Smith.
"I hear it," I replied, "but I don't see any special significance in
the fact."
"I do!" rapped Smith; "I didn't sit up the greater part of last night
thrashing my weary brains for nothing! But I am going to the
British Museum to-day, to confirm a certain suspicion." He turned
to Weymouth. "Did Burke go back?" he demanded abruptly.
"He returned hidden under the empty boxes," was the reply.
"Oh! you never saw a man in such a funk in all your life!"
"He may have good reasons," I said.
"He has good reasons!" replied Nayland Smith grimly; "if that
man really possesses information inimical to the safety of Fu-
Manchu, he can only escape doom by means of a miracle similar to
that which has hitherto protected you and me."
"Burke insists," said Weymouth at this point, "that something
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