The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu HTML version
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.
CHAPTER I. A MIDNIGHT SUMMONS
"When did you last hear from Nayland Smith?" asked my
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
"You know," he said, in his clerical voice, but meanwhile