Whom
could my late visitor be? Almost certainly this ringing portended an
urgent case. In other words, I was not fated to take part in what I
anticipated would prove to be the closing scene of the Fu-Manchu
drama.
"Every one is in bed," I said ruefully; "and how can I possibly see a
patient--in this costume?"
Smith and I were both arrayed in rough tweeds, and anticipating the
labours before us, had dispensed with collars and wore soft mufflers.
It was hard to be called upon to face a professional interview dressed
thus, and having a big tweed cap pulled down over my eyes.
Across the writing-table we confronted one another, in dismayed
silence, whilst, below, the bell sent up its ceaseless clangour.
"It has to be done, Smith," I said regretfully. "Almost certainly it
means a journey and probably an absence of some hours."
I threw my cap upon the table, turned up my coat to hide the absence
of collar, and started for the door. My last sight of Smith showed him
standing looking after me, tugging at the lobe of his ear and clicking
his teeth together with suppressed irritability. I stumbled down the
dark stairs, along the hall, and opened the front door. Vaguely
visible in the light of a street lamp which stood at no great distance
away, I saw a slender man of medium height confronting me. From the
shadowed face two large and luminous eyes looked out into mine. My
visitor, who, despite the warmth of the evening, wore a heavy
greatcoat, was an Oriental!
I drew back, apprehensively; then:--
"Ah! Dr.
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