"I did not exactly find it," I replied; and I related to him the circumstances of my meeting with Karamaneh. He directed that cold stare upon me throughout the narrative, and when, with some embarrassment, I had told him of the girl's escape-- "Petrie," he said succinctly, "you are an imbecile!" I flushed with anger, for not even from Nayland Smith, whom I esteemed above all other men, could I accept such words uttered as he had uttered them. We glared at one another. "Karamaneh," he continued coldly, "is a beautiful toy, I grant you; but so is a cobra. Neither is suitable for playful purposes." "Smith!" I cried hotly, "drop that! Adopt another tone or I cannot listen to you!" "You _must_ listen," he said, squaring his lean jaw truculently. "You are playing, not only with a pretty girl who is the favourite of a Chinese Nero, but with _my life_! And I object, Petrie, on purely personal grounds!" I felt my anger oozing from me; for this was strictly just. I had nothing to say and Smith continued: "You _know_ that she is utterly false, yet a glance or two from those dark eyes of hers can make a fool of you! A woman made a fool of me once, but I learned my lesson; you have failed to learn yours. If you are determined to go to pieces on the rock that broke up Adam, do so! But don't involve me in the wreck, Petrie, for that might mean a yellow emperor of the world, and you know it!" "Your words are unnecessarily brutal, Smith," I said, feeling very crestfallen, "but there--perhaps I fully deserve them all." "You _do_!" he assured me, but he relaxed immediately. "A murderous attempt is made upon my life, resulting in the death of a perfectly innocent man in no way concerned. Along you come and let an accomplice, perhaps a participant, escape, merely because she has a red mouth, or black lashes, or whatever it is that fascinates you so hopelessly!" He opened the wicker basket, sniffing at the contents. "Ah!" he snapped, "do you recognize this odour?" "Certainly." "Then you have some idea respecting Karamaneh's quarry?" "Nothing of the kind!" Smith shrugged his shoulders. "Come along, Petrie," he said, linking his arm in mine. We proceeded. Many questions there were that I wanted to put to him, but one above all. "Smith," I said, "what, in Heaven's name, were you doing on the mound? Digging something up?" "No," he replied, smiling dryly, "burying something!" CHAPTER VI UNDER THE ELMS Dusk found Nayland Smith and me at the top bedroom window. We knew, now that poor Forsyth's body had been properly examined, that he had died from poisoning. Smith, declaring that I did not deserve his confidence, had refused to confide in me his theory of the origin of the peculiar marks upon the body.