Less than two hours later, Inspector Weymouth and a party from New Scotland Yard raided the house in Museum Street. They found the stock of J. Salaman practically intact, and, in the strangely appointed rooms above, every evidence of a hasty outgoing. But of the instruments, drugs and other laboratory paraphernalia not one item remained. I would gladly have given my income for a year, to have gained possession of the books, alone; for beyond all shadow of doubt, I knew them to contain formulae calculated to revolutionize the science of medicine. Exhausted, physically and mentally, and with my mind a whispering-gallery of conjectures (it were needless for me to mention _whom_ respecting), I turned in, gratefully, having patched up the slight wound in my calf. I seemed scarcely to have closed my eyes, when Nayland Smith was shaking me into wakefulness. "You are probably tired out," he said; "but your crazy expedition of last night entitles you to no sympathy. Read this. There is a train in an hour. We will reserve a compartment and you can resume your interrupted slumbers in a corner seat." As I struggled upright in bed, rubbing my eyes sleepily, Smith handed me the _Daily Telegraph_, pointing to the following paragraph upon the literary page: "Messrs. M---- announce that they will publish shortly the long-delayed work of Kegan Van Roon, the celebrated American traveller, Orientalist and psychic investigator, dealing with his recent inquiries in China. It will be remembered that Mr. Van Roon undertook to motor from Canton to Siberia last winter, but met with unforeseen difficulties in the province of Ho-Nan. He fell into the hands of a body of fanatics and was fortunate to escape with his life. His book will deal in particular with his experiences in Ho-Nan, and some sensational revelations regarding the awakening of that most mysterious race, the Chinese, are promised. For reasons of his own he has decided to remain in England until the completion of his book (which will be published simultaneously in New York and London), and has leased Cragmire Tower, Somersetshire, in which romantic and historical residence he will collate his notes and prepare for the world a work ear-marked as a classic even before it is published." I glanced up from the paper, to find Smith's eyes fixed upon me inquiringly. "From what I have been able to learn," he said evenly, "we should reach Saul, with decent luck, just before dusk." As he turned and quitted the room without another word, I realized, in a flash, the purport of our mission; I understood my friend's ominous calm, betokening suppressed excitement.