Emperor Fu-Manchu (12 page)

“Let me tell you about it in my own way, Chi Foh. It is sad, yes; but now, there is hope.” Jeanie stubbed out her cigarette. “You see, Lao Tse-Mung is my grand uncle. My father, Dr. Cameron-Gordon, married Lao Tse-Mung’s niece. So, you see, I am really partly Chinese.”

“No more than I am,” Tony broke in. “My mother’s mother was Chinese, too. That’s why I can pass as Chinese, myself.”

Jeanie continued, “My father, of course, had traveled all over the world and become well known for his work. Then, he came to China to study diseases here. He met my mother. She was a very beautiful woman, Chi Foh. He married her. For her sake, I believe, he accepted the post as director of the medical mission at Chien Wei. The mission used to stand by the Pool of Lily Dreams. Do you remember the Pool of Lily Dreams?”

“Can I ever forget it?”

“I was born there, Chi Foh. Mai Cha was my nurse, and I was allowed to play with her son, who is now living in the United States and has become very prosperous. He taught me to handle a sampan, and of course I picked up the local dialect. My mother taught me pure Chinese. When I grew up, I was sent to school in England.”

She stopped. Tony found her hand, and held it. “What then, Moon Flower?”

“My mother died. The news nearly killed me, for I worshipped her. I came back. Oh, Chi Foh, I found everything so changed. My poor father was still distracted by the loss of my mother, and the Communist authorities had begun to persecute him because he openly defied their orders.”

Moon Flower opened her cigarette case, but changed her mind and closed it again. “He wouldn’t let me stay at the mission. He insisted that I return to my aunt in Hong Kong and wait there until he joined me. He knew the Communists meant to close the mission, but he wasn’t ready to go.”

“So you went back to Hong Kong?”

“Yes. We had two letters. Then—silence. We tried to find out what had happened. Our letters to Lao Tse-Mung were never answered. At last, and the shock nearly drove me mad, came news that the mission had been burned down, that my father was believed to have died in the fire. My aunt couldn’t stop me. I started at once.”

Tony wanted to say, “How glad I am you did,” but was afraid to break Moon Flower’s train of thought, and so said nothing.

“I went to Lung Chang, to my uncle’s house. I asked him why he had not answered my letters, and he told me he had never received them. He tried to make me understand that China was now a police state, that no one’s correspondence was safe. He confirmed the news that the mission had been burned, but he suspected my father was still alive—probably under arrest.”

Moon Flower, now, was fired with enthusiasm and indignation. She opened her cigarette case again, and this time took one out and allowed Tony to light it.

“My Uncle Tse-Mung advised caution, and patience. But I wasn’t in the mood for either. Wearing a suit of peasant clothes belonging to Mai Cha, but taking some money of my own, I slipped out early one morning and made my way, as a Chinese working girl, to what had been my home. Oh, Chi Foh—”

Moon Flower dropped her cigarette in a tray and lay back with closed eyes.

“I think I understand,” he said softly.

“Nothing was left, but ashes and broken lumber. All our furniture, everything we possessed, all the medical stores, had been burned, stolen, or destroyed. I was walking away from the nuns when I had the good luck to see an old woman I remembered, one of my father’s patients. I knew she was a friend, but I thought she was going to faint when she recognized me. She gave me news which saved me from complete collapse.”

“What was it, Moon Flower?”

“My father had not died. He had been arrested as a spy and taken away. She advised me to try to get information at a summer villa not far from Chia-Ting, owned by Huan Tsung-Chao, Communist governor of the province. Her daughter, Shun-Hi, who had been a nurse in the mission hospital, was employed at the villa. I remembered Shun-Hi. And so, of course, I made my way up to Chia-Ting. But my money was running short. When at last I found the villa, a beautiful place surrounded by acres of gardens, I didn’t quite know what to do.”

Tony was learning more and more about the intrepid spirit of his little companion on the sampan with every word she spoke. She was indeed a treasure, and he found it hard to believe that such a pearl had been placed in his keeping.

“There were many servants,” Moon Flower went on, “and some of them didn’t live in the villa. I watched near the gate by which these girls came out in the evening. And at last I saw Shun-Hi. She walked toward the town, and I followed her until I thought we were alone. Then I spoke to her. She recognized me at once, began to cry, and nearly went down on her knees.”

Moon Flower took her smoldering cigarette from the ashtray and went on smoking.

“But I found out what I wanted to know. My father
was
alive. He was under house arrest and working in a laboratory attached to the villa. The Master was a guest of Huan Tsung-Chao! I had very little money left and nothing but my gratitude to offer Shun-Hi, but I begged her to try to let my father know that I was waiting for a message from him.”

“Did she do it?”

“Yes, thank God. I shared her room that night and wrote a letter to my father. And the next evening she smuggled a note from him out to me. It said that I should go to Lao Tse-Mung who would get me to Hong Kong where I could then apply to British authorities and tell them the facts. My father wrote that he was in the hands of Dr. Fu-Manchu, adding, ‘Now known as
the Master
.’ He told me that at all costs I must get away from, in his own words, ‘that devil incarnate.’ He warned me not to let anyone even suspect my identity.”

“Moon Flower, my dearest, what did you do next?”

“I went down to the river to see if I could find someone to take me part of the way. But I had no luck at all… and the police began to watch
me.
Finally, I was arrested as a suspicious character and thrown into jail.”

“That hideous jail!”

“Yes, Chi Foh. They wouldn’t believe the story I told them. It was the same story that I told
you.
They punished me.”

“The swine!” Tony burst out. “It was Soong?”

“Yes. I screamed.”

“I heard you.”

The blue eyes were turned to him. “How could you hear me? Where were you?”

“I was a prisoner, too. And I heard your scream in that ghastly place.”

“So did the prison governor, a friend of my father’s. He came to see me. He released me. He could do no more. It was just in time. As I was creeping away, a car passed close by me. The passenger was a man wearing a cloak and a military cap. In the moonlight his eyes shone like emeralds. They seemed to be turned in my direction, and I shuddered. I knew it was
the Master.
You know what happened after that, Chi Foh.”

“And I thank God it did happen, Moon Flower. But you’re not really called Moon Flower, after all?”

Moon Flower drew closer to him. “Don’t look so sad, dearest. I am. I was born on the night of a new moon and my, mother named me Jean Yueh Hua.”

“Will you marry me on the next day there’s a new moon?”

Moon Flower took his hand in both of hers.

“I’ll marry you, Chi Foh—but on the first day my father is free again.”

* * *

Dr. Fu-Manchu sat in his favorite chair behind the lacquered desk; it was early dawn. But only one lamp relieved the gloom, a green-shaded lamp on the desk which cast a phantom light over the yellow-robed figure. Fu-Manchu lay back, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, the tips of his bony fingers pressed together, his eyes half closed, but glinting like emeralds where the light touched them.

In the shadowy room, two paces from the desk, the gigantic figure of Mahmud the Nubian stood motionless.

Fu-Manchu took a pinch of snuff from the silver snuffbox. He spoke softly.

“Go to your quarters, Mahmud, and remain there until further orders.”

The big Nubian knelt on the rug, bent his head to the floor, stood up, made a deep salaam, and went out. He had a stealthy step, almost completely silent.

As he left by one door, another opened, and Huan Tsung-Chao came in. Fu-Manchu lay back in his chair, with closed eyes. General Huan settled himself upon the divan facing the desk.

“The man is honest and devoted,” he said. “I have heard his account of all that happened, as you wished.”

Fu-Manchu’s eyes opened wide. They stared into the shadows from which Huan Tsung-Chao had spoken. “You heard how Skobolov, a dying man, tricked him in Niu-fo-tu and fled to some obscure resthouse? You heard how the Russian escaped again, taking his papers with him?”

He almost hissed the words, and then stood up, a tall, menacing figure.

“I heard, Master. I heard, also, that the escaped prisoner, Wu Chi Foh, was seen in Niu-fo-tu after Skobolov had arrived there.”

“So the Si-Fan Register may now be on its way to Moscow.”

“Or to London,” came the placid reply from out of the shadows. “Sir Denis Nayland Smith is in China. A dying man is not hard to rob. And you suspected that the prisoner called Wu Chi Foh was working for British Intelligence in the first place.”

Fu-Manchu dropped back in his chair.

“You know of my visit to Lao Tse-Mung. His behavior aroused deep suspicions. But he has the powers of a great diplomat. I have watched him for some years. Is he working with Nayland Smith? Is he opposed to Peiping? He remains impenetrable, and his estate is a fortress. To what party does he belong? These things we must find out, Tsung-Chao, or Lao Tse-Mung must be destroyed.”

“
T
his man, Skobolov,” Nayland Smith snapped, “was one of the most trusted agents of the Kremlin.” He raised his eyes from the documents found in the portfolio. “I know very little Russian, but enough to recognize his name as the person to whom these letters are addressed. This is very valuable evidence.”

Tony nodded, smiling at Moon Flower.

“What I am anxious to know,” Sir Denis added, “is what Skobolov was doing in Szechuan. Why was he sent here? It’s a shot in the dark, but I venture to guess—
not this
.”

He held up the bound manuscript written in Chinese.

“I agree with you, Sir Denis,” Moon Flower said quietly. “I know written Chinese fairly well but this is in cipher and quite beyond me. Why should it be in cipher, if it weren’t something highly secret?”

“Quite obvious, Jeanie. It can’t be a top secret dispatch from Peiping. In the first place, it wouldn’t be in Chinese; in the second, he would have headed for Russia and not come wandering around this remote province. Therefore, he must have acquired it in Szechuan.” He dropped the manuscript on the table and pulled at the lobe of his ear. “There are three people known to me who might decipher it. Lao Tse-Mung, his secretary, or our friend the lama in Niu-fo-tu. What’s more, all of them speak Russian, and this correspondence interests me.”

“Let us go to my uncle’s,” Moon Flower said eagerly. “We shall at least be safe while we’re there, and Lao Tse-Mung’s secretary is very clever, as you say, and knows many languages.”

“You’d be safer still with your aunt in Hong Kong, young lady,” Nayland Smith rapped.

Moon Flower smiled. “I shall never go back to Hong Kong until my father goes with me,” she assured him. There was a convincing note of finality in the soft voice.

“You’re going to be a big responsibility in the kind of work we have to do, Jeanie.”

Moon Flower turned to Tony. “Was I a big responsibility to you, Chi Foh, in the kind of work we had to do?”

And honesty forced Tony to answer, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Moon Flower.”

Nayland Smith took his old briar pipe out of his pocket and began to refill the bowl. His expression was grim, but a smile lurked in his gray eyes.

“If McKay’s against me, too, I suppose I must compromise. From the moment we leave this house we all carry our lives in our hands. We don’t know what this Chinese manuscript is, but your account, McKay, of Skobolov’s behavior and his strange death, tells us plainly that it’s dynamite, and that
somebody
was following him to recover it. You agree?”

“I do, Sir Denis,” Tony told him. “But if it was of such value to the Kremlin, it may be of equal value to us.”

“If we can hang onto it,” Nayland Smith snapped, “and not go the way of Skobolov.”

There was a brief silence while he lighted his pipe.

“You have some theory about Skobolov?” Tony asked.

Nayland Smith nodded. “I have. He was poisoned. The mission of the poisoner was to recover this manuscript. I can think of only one man who is not only an expert poisoner but also a danger to the Soviet empire. Dr. Fu-Manchu.”

Nayland Smith blew out a cloud of tobacco smoke.

“If I’m right, we have here the most powerful weapon against Fu-Manchu that I have ever held in my hands.”

* * *

Many hours later, the security police held up an old Ford on a nearly impossible road some miles east of Lung Chang. The Chinese driver, whose shaved skull betrayed nothing but a stubble of hair, was a dull, taciturn fellow. His passengers were a lama, who wore glasses, and a Chinese boy.