“I should like to see Smith again,” he said suddenly; “it seems a pity that a man like that should be buried in Burma. Burma makes a mess of the best of men, Doctor. You said he was not married?”
“No,” I replied shortly, “and is never likely to be, now.”
“Ah, you hinted at something of the kind.”
“I know very little of it. Nayland Smith is not the kind of man to talk much.”
“Quite so--quite so! And, you know, Doctor, neither am I; but”--he was growing painfully embarrassed--“it may be your due--I--er--I have a correspondent, in the interior of China--”
“Well?” I said, watching him in sudden eagerness.
“Well, I would not desire to raise--vain hopes--nor to occasion, shall I say, empty fears; but--er... no, Doctor!” He flushed like a girl--“It was wrong of me to open this conversation. Perhaps, when I know more--will you forget my words, for the time?”
“Hullo!” cried Eltham--“hard luck, Doctor!”--but I could see that he welcomed the interruption. “Why!” he added, “it is one o’clock!”
“Is that Dr. Petrie?” inquired a woman’s voice.
“Mrs. Hewett has been taken more seriously ill. Could you come at once?”
“Certainly,” I replied, for Mrs. Hewett was not only a profitable patient but an estimable lady--“I shall be with you in a quarter of an hour.”
“Something urgent?” asked Eltham, emptying his pipe.
“Sounds like it. You had better turn in.”
“I should much prefer to walk over with you, if it would not be intruding. Our conversation has ill prepared me for sleep.”
“Right!” I said; for I welcomed his company; and three minutes later we were striding across the deserted common.
A sort of mist floated amongst the trees, seeming in the moonlight like a veil draped from trunk to trunk, as in silence we passed the Mound pond, and struck out for the north side of the common.
I suppose the presence of Eltham and the irritating recollection of his half-confidence were the responsible factors, but my mind persistently dwelt upon the subject of Fu-Manchu and the atrocities which he had committed during his sojourn in England. So actively was my imagination at work that I felt again the menace which so long had hung over me; I felt as though that murderous yellow cloud still cast its shadow upon England. And I found myself longing for the company of Nayland Smith. I cannot state what was the nature of Eltham’s reflections, but I can guess; for he was as silent as I.