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"I'm told that there's some dangerous Chinese devil hiding somewhere in London, and that you expect to find him at Shen-Yan's. Supposing he uses that place, which is possible, how do you know he's there to-night?" "I don't," said Smith; "but it is the first clew we have had pointing to one of his haunts, and time means precious lives where Dr. Fu-Manchu is concerned."

"Shen-Yan's is a dope-shop in one of the burrows off the old Ratcliff Highway," said Inspector Weymouth. "'Singapore Charlie's, they call it. It's a center for some of the Chinese societies, I believe, but all sorts of opium-smokers use it. There have never been any complaints that I know of. I don't understand this."

Again I seemed to be enacting my part in that scene, two years ago and more, when I had burst into the bare room above Shen-Yan's opium den and had stood face to face with Dr. Fu-Manchu. He wore a plain yellow robe, its hue almost identical with that of his gaunt, hairless face; his elbows rested upon the dirty table and his pointed chin upon his long, bony hands.

Her mask the girl might have retained, but her wig, I felt certain, had been dropped into the water. It was later that night, when the brigade still were playing upon the blackened shell of what had been Shen-Yan's opium-shop, and Smith and I were speeding away in a cab from the scene of God knows how many crimes, that I had an idea.

"I will trouble you, Inspector, for the freedom of your fancy wardrobe. There is time to spend an hour in the company of Shen-Yan's opium friends." Weymouth raised his eyebrows. "It might be risky. What about an official visit?" Nayland Smith laughed. "Worse than useless! By your own showing, the place is open to inspection. No; guile against guile!

My next recollection is of sitting up, with my friend's arm supporting me and Inspector Ryman holding a glass to my lips. A bright glare dazzled my eyes. A crowd surged about us, and a clangor and shouting drew momentarily nearer. "It's the engines coming," explained Smith, seeing my bewilderment. "Shen-Yan's is in flames. It was your shot, as you fell through the trap, broke the oil-lamp."

The Thames had been his highway. Other members of the group had occupied quarters in various parts of the East End, where sailormen of all nationalities congregate. Shen-Yan's had been the East End headquarters. He had employed the hulk from the time of his arrival, as a laboratory for a certain class of experiments undesirable in proximity to a place of residence.

"They lay flat, and this was in the middle. I see the hand of retributive justice in that, Inspector. Cadby, who was there disguised, noted a booming sound. Later, he identified the lascar in some mortuary. We have no means of fixing the date of this visit to Shen-Yan's, but I feel inclined to put down the 'lascar' as the dacoit who was murdered by Fu-Manchu! It is sheer supposition, however.

"I know a broken window at the back where we could climb in. Then we could get through to the front and watch from there." "Good!" cried the Inspector. "See you are not spotted, though; and if you hear the whistle, don't mind doing a bit of damage, but be inside Shen-Yan's like lightning. Otherwise, wait for orders." Inspector Ryman came in, glancing at the clock. "Launch is waiting," he said.

You other two belong to this division?" The C.I.D. men having departed, the remaining pair saluted again. "Well, you're on special duty to-night. You've been prompt, but don't stick your chests out so much. Do you know of a back way to Shen-Yan's?" The men looked at one another, and both shook their heads. "There's an empty shop nearly opposite, sir," replied one of them.