CHAPTER XXIII

ARREST OF SAMARKAN “As the high gods willed it,” explained Nayland Smith, tenderly massaging his throat, “Mr. Forsyth, having just left the docks, chanced to pass along Three Colt Street on Wednesday night at exactly the hour that _I_ was expected! The resemblance between us is rather marked and the coincidence of dress completed the illusion. That devilish Eurasian woman, Zarmi, who has escaped us again—of course you recognized her?—made a very natural mistake. Mr. Forsyth, however, made no mistake!” I glanced at …