The Green Eyes of Bâst

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The Green Eyes of Bast

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Green Eyes of Bast, by Sax Rohmer This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Green Eyes of Bast
Author: Sax Rohmer
Release Date: March 11, 2005 [EBook #15323]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE GREEN EYES OF B?ST
BY SAX ROHMER
AUTHOR OF
"The Golden Scorpion," "Dope," "_The Hand of Fu-Manchu_," "_The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu_," "_The Return of Fu-Manchu_," "Tales of Secret Egypt," "The Yellow Claw," "The Quest of the Sacred Slipper," _etc._
A.L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Robert M. McBride & Co. Copyright, 1920, by
ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & Co.
* * * * *
Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. I SEE THE EYES 1 II. THE SIGN OF THE CAT 12 III. THE GREEN IMAGE 22 IV. ISOBEL 32 V. THE INTERRUPTED SUPPER 41 VI. THE VOICE 52 VII. THE CAT OF BUBASTIS 63 VIII. MY VISITOR 73 IX. THE VELVET CURTAIN 84 X. "HANGING EVIDENCE" 95 XI. THE SCARRED MAN 105 XII. I DREAM OF GREEN EYES 117 XIII. DR. DAMAR GREEFE 125 XIV. THE BLACK DOCTOR 135 XV. I RECEIVE VISITORS 147 XVI. THE GOLDEN CAT 158 XVII. THE NUBIAN MUTE 169 XVIII. THE SECRET OF FRIAR'S PARK 177 XIX. THE MAN ON THE TOWER 187 XX. GATTON'S STORY 198 XXI. IN LONDON AGAIN 212 XXII. THE GRAY MIST 225 XXIII. THE INEVITABLE 240 XXIV. A CONFERENCE--INTERRUPTED 251 XXV. STATEMENT OF DAMAR GREEFE, M.D. 263 XXVI. STATEMENT OF DR. DAMAR GREEFE (CONTINUED) 273 XXVII. STATEMENT OF DR. DAMAR GREEFE (CONCLUDED) 285 XXVIII. THE CLAWS OF THE CAT 300 XXIX. AN AFTERWORD 309

THE GREEN EYES OF B?ST
CHAPTER I
I SEE THE EYES
"Good evening, sir. A bit gusty?"
"Very much so, sergeant," I replied. "I think I will step into your hut for a moment and light my pipe if I may."
"Certainly, sir. Matches are too scarce nowadays to take risks with 'em. But it looks as if the storm had blown over."
"I'm not sorry," said I, entering the little hut like a sentry-box which stands at the entrance to this old village high street for accommodation of the officer on point duty at that spot. "I have a longish walk before me."
"Yes. Your place is right off the beat, isn't it?" mused my acquaintance, as sheltered from the keen wind I began to load my briar. "Very inconvenient I've always thought it for a gentleman who gets about as much as you do."
"That's why I like it," I explained. "If I lived anywhere accessible I should never get a moment's peace, you see. At the same time I have to be within an hour's journey of Fleet Street."
I often stopped for a chat at this point and I was acquainted with most of the men of P. division on whom the duty devolved from time to time. It was a lonely 'Spot at night when the residents in the neighborhood had retired, so that the darkened houses seemed to withdraw yet farther into the gardens separating them from the highroad. A relic of the days when trains and motor-buses were not, dusk restored something of an old-world atmosphere to the village street, disguising the red brick and stucco which in many cases had displaced the half-timbered houses of the past. Yet it was possible in still weather to hear the muted bombilation of the sleepless city and when the wind was in the north to count the hammer-strokes of the great bell of St. Paul's.
Standing in the shelter of the little hut, I listened to the rain dripping from over-reaching branches and to the gurgling of a turgid little stream which flowed along the gutter near my feet whilst now and again swift gusts of the expiring tempest would set tossing the branches of the trees which lined the way.
"It's much cooler to-night," said the sergeant.
I nodded, being in the act of lighting my pipe. The storm had interrupted a spell of that tropical weather which sometimes in July and August brings the breath of Africa to London, and this coolness resulting from the storm was very welcome. Then:
"Well, good night," I said, and was about to pursue my way when the telephone bell in the police-hut rang sharply.
"Hullo," called the sergeant.
I paused, idly curious concerning the message, and:
"The Red House," continued the sergeant, "in College Road? Yes, I know it. It's on Bolton's beat, and he is due here now. Very good; I'll tell him."
He hung up the receiver and,