Re-enter Fu-Manchu (9 page)

“It is something very, very hard to say, Brian.”

He had an uneasy moment. “You don’t mean—you don’t want to see me any more?”

She shook her head. “It is not as you think, Brian. I want to see you always. It is that I have to ask you something that breaks my heart, but for
your
sake I must ask.”

Brian became really alarmed by her earnestness. Her wonderful eyes were so bright that he knew tears were not far away. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”

“I mean—” she paused, as if seeking the right words. “I mean that, although it will be terrible for me if—someone—finds out what I have done, I
must
warn you, Brian. You are in very, very great danger. Soon it will be too late; I hate to say it, but, please—oh, please!—leave Cairo at once. Tonight, if you can.”

This incomprehensible request so completely baffled Brian that for some moments he could think of no reply. Part of his dream had come true. Zoe had turned her eyes aside, but tears were gathering on her long, dark lashes; her hands, which he held tightly, were shaking.

He wondered if she had seen Nayland Smith since he had seen him, if it could be something Sir Denis had told her that accounted for her present state of mind. Then it occurred to him that it was odd she hadn’t asked him about Sir Denis’ visit, for he remembered telling her he expected him. He wasn’t dreaming now, yet all this had happened before.

“This would mean—if I did it—that we shouldn’t see each other again?” He spoke in a toneless voice, trying to think.

Zoe didn’t answer. She suddenly dragged her hands away. Her eyes were wide with terror. She pointed to the low wall beside which they sat “Brian!” she whispered. “Down there—I heard someone move!”

Brian sprang up. He leaned over the wall and looked down. Zoe was right.

A ragged old mendicant sat on the dusty road, his back propped against the wall, immediately below their table.

“Hi, you! What are you doing down there?” Brian shouted.

A skinny, dirty hand was stretched out. “
Bakshîsh—bakshîsh!
”

Brian caught his breath. He leaned farther over. “Let me have a look at you.”

The old beggar looked up. One glance was enough.

He saw the man who had been seated beside the door of the office building in Sharia Abdin when Brian came out after his useless search for Mr. Ahmad—the man who had been holding open the cab door when he directed the driver to take him to the house of the Sherîf Mohammed.

Brian could no longer doubt that he was closely covered, and in all probability had been from the moment of his arrival in Cairo. He had been right about this all along, but had suspected the wrong persons.

Nayland Smith knew, for Nayland Smith had warned him. And clearly Zoe knew of his danger. How she had come to know he couldn’t imagine. But she was evidently aware of the fact that in urging him to run for it, she herself might become enmeshed.

Here were very troubled waters; for whatever might be the source of her information, whatever underlay her queer reticence, that Zoe’s warning had been desperately sincere he couldn’t doubt. She was in a state of terror, and first he must do his best to reassure her about the eavesdropper.

He dismissed the old beggar, then sat down again and forced what he feared might be a parody of his usual happy grin.

“There is someone there. Who is it?” He saw how pale she had become—

“Nobody to worry about, dear. Just a dirty old beggar. I dropped him an English shilling and told him to go take a long walk.”

“He was listening,” she whispered. “He heard me.”

“I don’t believe he understands a word of English.”

“But I heard you say, ‘Let me have a look at you.’ Did he look?”

“He just knew I was mad at him and looked up. It doesn’t mean he knows English.”

Zoe’s amber eyes blazed. “He was listening. You
know
he was listening!”

Brian tried to think clearly. “Suppose he was, Zoe. And suppose he does know English. What have you to worry about?”

She turned her head aside, so that the brim of her hat shadowed her face. “I cannot explain to you, Brian. What was told to me was told in confidence. For your sake I speak. If it is found out it could be terrible. But you can do nothing about it. Just do as I ask. Do not stay here one hour longer than you can help.”

“I don’t know where you got hold of the idea that I’m in danger, but isn’t it possible you’re getting all worked up over nothing?”

She turned, and her eyes challenged him. “It is
not
over nothing! Could it be for nothing that I beg you to go away when I want you to stay with me? How can you think this?”

Brian realized at last that Zoe was in a state of tremendous nervous tension. His well-meant but perhaps clumsy attempt to soothe her fears had only increased this. He must change his tactics. The situation was utterly fantastic, but he knew that the danger was real enough.

“I guess you’d like to get back.” He spoke uneasily. “I’ll try to contact Sir Denis.”

“It will be no use,” Zoe whispered. “But—yes, let me go, Brian.”

There was such black despair in her voice that he felt chilled. A cloud seemed to darken the Egyptian sunshine. He stood up, walked around the table, and rested his hands on Zoe’s bowed shoulders.

“Don’t let it get you down, Zoe. I’ll go in and order a car right away to take us back to Cairo.”

She reached up and held both his hands. “Not to Cairo, Brian. To Port Said, where we can find a ship. Do this and I will come with you. Leave your things at the hotel. It will be better—for you and for me. I am not mad. I know what I say. Do it—do it, Brian!”

“But Zoe, dear, tonight—”

“Tonight is too late. It is now or never. Oh, it is hopeless!” She thrust his hands away. “I can never make you understand! Go, then. I will wait here.”

His brain whirling like a carrousel, Brian went into the hotel and arranged for a car. He could no longer delude himself. The ragged old ruffian he had found seated in the road was a spy, and he had been there to listen to their conversation. Zoe knew it, and her panic was clear enough evidence of the menace overhanging them.

He toyed longingly with the temptation to accept her warning. She had become more than ever desirable. She was beautiful, and a delightful companion, responding to all his moods. And in all they did together she was graceful and accomplished.

But it was morally unthinkable that he should break his contract with Sir Denis—particularly now, when Nayland Smith needed him.

He walked slowly back to the garden and along to their table. But Zoe wasn’t there.

Brian felt his heart jump and then seem to stop for a moment. He sat down, looking at the empty chair. And by degrees he recovered himself. He, too, was giving way to panic. No doubt she had merely gone into the hotel to prepare herself for the drive.

This theory kept him quiet for five, ten, fifteen minutes. Then he decided that it was wrong.

He went in to make inquiries. But no one had seen her. He went back to the deserted table.

A boy walked down the path, and Brian jumped up.

“Your car is waiting, sir.”

D
r. Fu Manchu, seated on a divan in the saloon of the old house near the mosque of El Ashraf, gazed straight before him like a man in a trance. A sickly smell of opium hung in the still air. The long, hypnotic eyes were narrowed. Sometimes a film seemed to pass across them and then was gone, leaving them brilliantly green.

He roused himself and struck a small gong that stood on a table beside him. Immediately a stocky Burmese with a caste mark on his forehead came in and bowed deeply. Fu Manchu spoke to him in his own language:

“Is Zobeida here?”

“She is here, Master.”

“Send her in to me.”

The man went out, and almost immediately Zoe came in. She was dressed as she had been dressed at Mena House, except that she no longer wore her hat. Although pale, she was quite composed. It was the composure of resignation.

Without attempting to meet the glance that Fu Manchu fixed upon her, she dropped to her knees and lowered her head. There was a long silence in the saloon. Then Fu Manchu commanded harshly in Arabic, “Look up. Speak!”

Zoe looked up. “I have nothing to say, Master.” She lowered her head again.

“To
me
, you mean, little serpent! But Abdul al-Taleb reports that you had much to say to Mr. Brian Merrick. Be so good as to tell me with what object you tried deliberately to disturb my plans.”

“I was sorry for him.”

Dr. Fu Manchu took a pinch of snuff from a little silver box, but never once ceased to watch the kneeling girl.

“There is no room for these moods of compassion in those who work for the Si-Fan. I bought you in an Arabian slave market. I bought you for your beauty. A beautiful woman is a valuable weapon. But the blade must be true. You were trained to take your place in any walk of society. You have all the necessary accomplishments. Neither time nor money was spared in perfecting you for my purpose. Yet, like another I trained and trusted, you betrayed me.”

Zoe raised her hands to her face.

“Whispered words,” the remorseless voice went on, “a man’s caresses, and those years of patient training became wasted years in as many minutes. Yet, Zobeida, this was not by any means the first assignment given you. Always before you have done well. Tell me, Zobeida, are you afflicted by the delusion miscalled
love
?”

He gave to “love” so scornful an intonation that Zoe shrank even lower. She was trembling now. Her answer was a whisper.

“This one is so young, and without experience, Master. He is not like those others.”

Dr. Fu Manchu considered her silently for a moment “Had you spoken the unforgiveable words ‘I
love
him,’ I should have sent for whips. It would have meant that you were of no future use, and therefore lash marks on your smooth skin would no longer have concerned me. But—you have betrayed the plans of the Si-Fan.”

Zoe looked up. “I have not! He knows nothing of your plans, for even had I wanted to, I could have told him nothing. He knows that I think he is in danger, that he should go away.”

“With
you
, unless I misunderstood Abdûl, who was listening.”

Zoe dropped her head again. “I would not have gone farther than Port Said. I would not have dared. I merely thought that if I said this, he might be tempted to listen to me.”

“Your desire: to guide this attractive young man into the straight and narrow path is most touching. Fortunately, I was able to take instant steps to check further confidences.” Fu Manchu spoke softly. “Go to your room. You will not be returning to the hotel.”

* * *

A faint hope that Zoe, piqued by his refusal to take her strange advice, might have found an empty cab at Mena House and returned alone to Cairo was disappointed when he got back to his hotel. She had not come in.

Brian went up to his room and paced about like a madman.

He had not dreamed. He had seen a vision. Could it be that the rest of it was true? Had Nayland Smith fallen into a trap?

Whichever way he looked he could see nothing but darkness. He smoked several cigarettes, had several drinks. In desperation, he called Mr. Ahmad’s number. There was no reply.

He was wondering what to do next when his phone rang. He grabbed it.

“Oh, Brian dear!” It was Zoe! “I cannot tell you how unhappy I am. My uncle found out from the hotel porter where we had gone and came out by car to Mena House to get me. There was not one moment to lose. My poor Aunt Isobel is dying and has asked for me. So we rushed for the train. I am at the station now… The train is just coming in! I must run.” He heard the sound of a kiss. “Good-by, Brian.”

“But, Zoe—”

She had gone.

* * *

Mr. Ahmad called early in the morning. He found Brian on the terrace, looking wretched, toying with biscuits and cheese and a cup of coffee—apparently his breakfast. Mr. Ahmad sat down in a cane chair.

“You are not feeling so well, Mr. Merrick?”

“Thank you. I feel fine.”

“You looked, or so I thought, unhappy. Yes?”

Brian stared hard at Mr. Ahmad. Mr. Ahmad forced a smile of sympathy.

“Shall I tell you something?” Brian asked. “I’m sick to death of all this mystery business. I’m told there’s a serious danger threatening the Western world. I’m told that I’m a marked man. Queer things happen. And I’m left alone to think it all out. What kind of game is this? I can never get in touch with
you
, and Sir Denis orders me not to try to contact
him
!”

Ahmad shrugged. “Forgive me if I fail to follow you. I cannot know what took place between Sir Denis and yourself. I was not there. If your personal expenses have embarrassed you, I think I can promise that something can be arranged.”

“It’s not a question of money.”

“Then of what?”

“Of self-respect, I guess. I find out I have a spy on my tail. I’d like to report it, but there’s no one to report to. I’m supposed to be on this thing, but I’m left sitting outside.”

Even as he spoke so bitterly he was well aware that the real cause of his bitterness was the strange disappearance of Zoe. Her words, when she had called him, had sounded false, unreal. Either she had been playing a double-game all along, and had now gone off with some unknown man she really loved, or she had been abducted, had been forced to speak to him in order to put him off the scent.