CHAPTER XXIII. A CRY ON THE MOOR
CHAPTER
XXIV. STORY OF THE GABLES
CHAPTER XXV. THE
BELLS
CHAPTER XXVI. THE FIERY HAND
CHAPTER
XXVII. THE NIGHT OF THE RAID
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE SAMURAI'S SWORD
CHAPTER XXIX. THE SIX
GATES
CHAPTER XXX. THE CALL OF THE EAST
CHAPTER XXXI. "MY SHADOW LIES UPON YOU"
CHAPTER XXXII. THE TRAGEDY
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE MUMMY
CHAPTER I. A MIDNIGHT SUMMONS
"When did you last hear from Nayland Smith?" asked my
visitor.
I paused, my hand on the syphon, reflecting for a moment.
"Two months ago," I said; "he's a poor correspondent and rather
soured, I fancy."
"What—a woman or something?"
"Some affair of that sort. He's such a reticent beggar, I really
know very little about it."
I placed a whisky and soda before the Rev. J. D. Eltham, also
sliding the tobacco jar nearer to his hand. The refined and sensitive
face of the clergy-man offered no indication of the truculent
character of the man. His scanty fair hair, already gray over the
temples, was silken and soft-looking; in appearance he was indeed
a typical English churchman; but in China he had been known as
"the fighting missionary," and had fully deserved the title. In fact,
this peaceful-looking gentleman had directly brought about the
Boxer Risings!
"You know," he said, in his clerical voice, but meanwhile
