The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu (18 page)

It was with my mind in a condition of unique perplexity that I
hurried with Nayland Smith into the cab which waited and dashed off
through the streets in which the busy life of London just stirred
into being. I suppose I need not say that I could penetrate no
farther into this, Fu-Manchu's latest plot, than the drugging of
Norris West with hashish? Of his having been so drugged with Indian
hemp-that is, converted temporarily into a maniac-would have been
evident to any medical man who had heard his statement and noted
the distressing after-effects which conclusively pointed to Indian
hemp poisoning. Knowing something of the Chinese doctor's powers, I
could understand that he might have extracted from West the secret
of the combination by sheer force of will whilst the American was
under the influence of the drug. But I could not understand how
Fu-Manchu had gained access to locked chambers on the third story
of a building.

"Smith," I said, "those bird tracks on the window-sill-they
furnish the key to a mystery which is puzzling me."

"They do," said Smith, glancing impatiently at his watch.
"Consult your memories of Dr. Fu-Manchu's habits-especially your
memories of his pets."

I reviewed in my mind the creatures gruesome and terrible which
surrounded the Chinaman-the scorpions, the bacteria, the noxious
things which were the weapons wherewith he visited death upon
whomsoever opposed the establishment of a potential Yellow Empire.
But no one of them could account for the imprints upon the dust of
West's window-sill.

"You puzzle me, Smith," I confessed. "There is much in this
extraordinary case that puzzles me. I can think of nothing to
account for the marks."

"Have you thought of Fu-Manchu's marmoset?" asked Smith.

"The monkey!" I cried.

"They were the footprints of a small ape," my friend continued.
"For a moment I was deceived as you were, and believed them to be
the tracks of a large bird; but I have seen the footprints of apes
before now, and a marmoset, though an American variety, I believe,
is not unlike some of the apes of Burma."

"I am still in the dark," I said.

"It is pure hypothesis," continued Smith, "but here is the
theory-in lieu of a better one it covers the facts. The
marmoset-and it is contrary from the character of Fu-Manchu to keep
any creature for mere amusement-is trained to perform certain
duties.

"You observed the waterspout running up beside the window; you
observed the iron bar intended to prevent a window-cleaner from
falling out? For an ape the climb from the court below to the sill
above was a simple one. He carried a cord, probably attached to his
body. He climbed on to the sill, over the bar, and climbed down
again. By means of this cord a rope was pulled up over the bar, by
means of the rope one of those ladders of silk and bamboo. One of
the Doctor's servants ascended-probably to ascertain if the hashish
had acted successfully. That was the yellow dream-face which West
saw bending over him. Then followed the Doctor, and to his giant
will the drugged brain of West was a pliant instrument which he
bent to his own ends. The court would be deserted at that hour of
the night, and, in any event, directly after the ascent the ladder
probably was pulled up, only to be lowered again when West had
revealed the secret of his own safe and Fu-Manchu had secured the
plans. The reclosing of the safe and the removing of the hashish
tabloids, leaving no clew beyond the delirious ravings of a drug
slave-for so anyone unacquainted with the East must have construed
West's story-is particularly characteristic. His own tabloids were
returned, of course. The sparing of his life alone is a refinement
of art which points to a past master."

"Karamaneh was the decoy again?" I said shortly.

"Certainly. Hers was the task to ascertain West's habits and to
substitute the tabloids. She it was who waited in the luxurious
car-infinitely less likely to attract attention at that hour in
that place than a modest taxi-and received the stolen plans. She
did her work well.

"Poor Karamaneh; she had no alternative! I said I would have
given a hundred pounds for a sight of the messenger's face-the man
to whom she handed them. I would give a thousand now!"

"ANDAMAN-SECOND," I said. "What did she mean?"

"Then it has not dawned upon you?" cried Smith excitedly, as the
cab turned into the station. "The ANDAMAN, of the Oriental
Navigation Company's line, leaves Tilbury with the next tide for
China ports. Our man is a second-class passenger. I am wiring to
delay her departure, and the special should get us to the docks
inside of forty minutes."

Very vividly I can reconstruct in my mind that dash to the docks
through the early autumn morning. My friend being invested with
extraordinary powers from the highest authorities, by Inspector
Weymouth's instructions the line had been cleared all the way.

Something of the tremendous importance of Nayland Smith's
mission came home to me as we hurried on to the platform, escorted
by the station-master, and the five of us-for Weymouth had two
other C.I.D. men with him-took our seats in the special.

Off we went on top speed, roaring through stations, where a
glimpse might be had of wondering officials upon the platforms, for
a special train was a novelty on the line. All ordinary traffic
arrangements were held up until we had passed through, and we
reached Tilbury in time which I doubt not constituted a record.

There at the docks was the great liner, delayed in her passage
to the Far East by the will of my royally empowered companion. It
was novel, and infinitely exciting.

"Mr. Commissioner Nayland Smith?" said the captain
interrogatively, when we were shown into his room, and looked from
one to another and back to the telegraph form which he held in his
hand.

"The same, Captain," said my friend briskly. "I shall not detain
you a moment. I am instructing the authorities at all ports east of
Suez to apprehend one of your second-class passengers, should he
leave the ship. He is in possession of plans which practically
belong to the British Government!"

"Why not arrest him now?" asked the seaman bluntly.

"Because I don't know him. All second-class passengers' baggage
will be searched as they land. I am hoping something from that, if
all else fails. But I want you privately to instruct your stewards
to watch any passenger of Oriental nationality, and to cooperate
with the two Scotland Yard men who are joining you for the voyage.
I look to you to recover these plans, Captain."

"I will do my best," the captain assured him.

Then, from amid the heterogeneous group on the dockside, we were
watching the liner depart, and Nayland Smith's expression was a
very singular one. Inspector Weymouth stood with us, a badly
puzzled man. Then occurred the extraordinary incident which to this
day remains inexplicable, for, clearly heard by all three of us, a
guttural voice said:

"Another victory for China, Mr. Nayland Smith!"

I turned as though I had been stung. Smith turned also. My eyes
passed from face to face of the group about us. None was familiar.
No one apparently had moved away.

But the voice was the voice of DOCTOR FU-MANCHU.

As I write of it, now, I can appreciate the difference between
that happening, as it appealed to us, and as it must appeal to you
who merely read of it. It is beyond my powers to convey the sense
of the uncanny which the episode created. Yet, even as I think of
it, I feel again, though in lesser degree, the chill which seemed
to creep through my veins that day.

From my brief history of the wonderful and evil man who once
walked, by the way unsuspected, in the midst of the people of
England-near whom you, personally, may at some time unwittingly,
have been-I am aware that much must be omitted. I have no space for
lengthy examinations of the many points but ill illuminated with
which it is dotted. This incident at the docks is but one such
point.

Another is the singular vision which appeared to me whilst I lay
in the cellar of the house near Windsor. It has since struck me
that it possessed peculiarities akin to those of a hashish
hallucination. Can it be that we were drugged on that occasion with
Indian hemp? Cannabis indica is a treacherous narcotic, as every
medical man knows full well; but Fu-Manchu's knowledge of the drug
was far in advance of our slow science. West's experience proved so
much.

I may have neglected opportunities-later, you shall judge if I
did so-opportunities to glean for the West some of the strange
knowledge of the secret East. Perhaps, at a future time, I may
rectify my errors. Perhaps that wisdom-the wisdom stored up by
Fu-Manchu-is lost forever. There is, however, at least a bare
possibility of its survival, in part; and I do not wholly despair
of one day publishing a scientific sequel to this record of our
dealings with the Chinese doctor.

Time wore on and seemingly brought us no nearer, or very little
nearer, to our goal. So carefully had my friend Nayland Smith
excluded the matter from the press that, whilst public interest was
much engaged with some of the events in the skein of mystery which
he had come from Burma to unravel, outside the Secret Service and
the special department of Scotland Yard few people recognized that
the several murders, robberies and disappearances formed each a
link in a chain; fewer still were aware that a baneful presence was
in our midst, that a past master of the evil arts lay concealed
somewhere in the metropolis; searched for by the keenest wits which
the authorities could direct to the task, but eluding
all-triumphant, contemptuous.

One link in that chain Smith himself for long failed to
recognize. Yet it was a big and important link.

"Petrie," he said to me one morning, "listen to this:

"'… In sight of Shanghai-a clear, dark night. On board the deck
of a junk passing close to seaward of the Andaman a blue flare
started up. A minute later there was a cry of "Man overboard!"

"'Mr. Lewin, the chief officer, who was in charge, stopped the
engines. A boat was put out. But no one was recovered. There are
sharks in these waters. A fairly heavy sea was running.

"'Inquiry showed the missing man to be a James Edwards, second
class, booked to Shanghai. I think the name was assumed. The man
was some sort of Oriental, and we had had him under close
observation… .'"

"That's the end of their report," exclaimed Smith.

He referred to the two C.I.D. men who had joined the Andaman at
the moment of her departure from Tilbury.

He carefully lighted his pipe.

"IS it a victory for China, Petrie?" he said softly.

"Until the great war reveals her secret resources-and I pray
that the day be not in my time-we shall never know," I replied.

Smith began striding up and down the room.

"Whose name," he jerked abruptly, "stands now at the head of our
danger list?"

He referred to a list which we had compiled of the notable men
intervening between the evil genius who secretly had invaded London
and the triumph of his cause-the triumph of the yellow races.

I glanced at our notes. "Lord Southery," I replied.

Smith tossed the morning paper across to me.

"Look," he said shortly. "He's dead."

I read the account of the peer's death, and glanced at the long
obituary notice; but no more than glanced at it. He had but
recently returned from the East, and now, after a short illness,
had died from some affection of the heart. There had been no
intimation that his illness was of a serious nature, and even
Smith, who watched over his flock-the flock threatened by the wolf,
Fu-Manchu-with jealous zeal, had not suspected that the end was so
near.

"Do you think he died a natural death, Smith?" I asked.

My friend reached across the table and rested the tip of a long
finger upon one of the sub-headings to the account:

SIR FRANK NARCOMBE SUMMONED TOO
LATE.

"You see," said Smith, "Southery died during the night, but Sir
Frank Narcombe, arriving a few minutes later, unhesitatingly
pronounced death to be due to syncope, and seems to have noticed
nothing suspicious."

I looked at him thoughtfully.

"Sir Frank is a great physician," I said slowly; "but we must
remember he would be looking for nothing suspicious."

"We must remember," rapped Smith, "that, if Dr. Fu-Manchu is
responsible for Southery's death, except to the eye of an expert
there would be nothing suspicious to see. Fu-Manchu leaves no
clews."

"Are you going around?" I asked.

Smith shrugged his shoulders.

"I think not," he replied. "Either a greater One than Fu-Manchu
has taken Lord Southery, or the yellow doctor has done his work so
well that no trace remains of his presence in the matter."

Leaving his breakfast untasted, he wandered aimlessly about the
room, littering the hearth with matches as he constantly relighted
his pipe, which went out every few minutes.

"It's no good, Petrie," he burst out suddenly; "it cannot be a
coincidence. We must go around and see him."

An hour later we stood in the silent room, with its drawn blinds
and its deathful atmosphere, looking down at the pale, intellectual
face of Henry Stradwick, Lord Southery, the greatest engineer of
his day. The mind that lay behind that splendid brow had planned
the construction of the railway for which Russia had paid so great
a price, had conceived the scheme for the canal which, in the near
future, was to bring two great continents, a full week's journey
nearer one to the other. But now it would plan no more.

"He had latterly developed symptoms of angina pectoris,"
explained the family physician; "but I had not anticipated a fatal
termination so soon. I was called about two o'clock this morning,
and found Lord Southery in a dangerously exhausted condition. I did
all that was possible, and Sir Frank Narcombe was sent for. But
shortly before his arrival the patient expired."

"I understand, Doctor, that you had been treating Lord Southery
for angina pectoris?" I said.

"Yes," was the reply, "for some months."

"You regard the circumstances of his end as entirely consistent
with a death from that cause?"

"Certainly. Do you observe anything unusual yourself? Sir Frank
Narcombe quite agrees with me. There is surely no room for
doubt?"

"No," said Smith, tugging reflectively at the lobe of his left
ear. "We do not question the accuracy of your diagnosis in any way,
sir."

The physician seemed puzzled.

"But am I not right in supposing that you are connected with the
police?" asked the physician.

"Neither Dr. Petrie nor myself are in any way connected with the
police," answered Smith. "But, nevertheless, I look to you to
regard our recent questions as confidential."

As we were leaving the house, hushed awesomely in deference to
the unseen visitor who had touched Lord Southery with gray, cold
fingers, Smith paused, detaining a black-coated man who passed us
on the stairs.

"You were Lord Southery's valet?"

The man bowed.

"Were you in the room at the moment of his fatal seizure?"

"I was, sir."

"Did you see or hear anything unusual-anything
unaccountable?"

"Nothing, sir."

"No strange sounds outside the house, for instance?"

The man shook his head, and Smith, taking my arm, passed out
into the street.

"Perhaps this business is making me imaginative," he said; "but
there seems to be something tainting the air in yonder-something
peculiar to houses whose doors bear the invisible death-mark of
Fu-Manchu."

"You are right, Smith!" I cried. "I hesitated to mention the
matter, but I, too, have developed some other sense which warns me
of the Doctor's presence. Although there is not a scrap of
confirmatory evidence, I am as sure that he has brought about Lord
Southery's death as if I had seen him strike the blow."

It was in that torturing frame of mind-chained, helpless, in our
ignorance, or by reason of the Chinaman's supernormal genius-that
we lived throughout the ensuing days. My friend began to look like
a man consumed by a burning fever. Yet, we could not act.

In the growing dark of an evening shortly following I stood idly
turning over some of the works exposed for sale outside a
second-hand bookseller's in New Oxford Street. One dealing with the
secret societies of China struck me as being likely to prove
instructive, and I was about to call the shopman when I was
startled to feel a hand clutch my arm.

I turned around rapidly-and was looking into the darkly
beautiful eyes of Karamaneh! She-whom I had seen in so many
guises-was dressed in a perfectly fitting walking habit, and had
much of her wonderful hair concealed beneath a fashionable hat.

She glanced about her apprehensively.

"Quick! Come round the corner. I must speak to you," she said,
her musical voice thrilling with excitement.

I never was quite master of myself in her presence. He must have
been a man of ice who could have been, I think, for her beauty had
all the bouquet of rarity; she was a mystery-and mystery adds charm
to a woman. Probably she should have been under arrest, but I know
I would have risked much to save her from it.

As we turned into a quiet thoroughfare she stopped and said:

"I am in distress. You have often asked me to enable you to
capture Dr. Fu-Manchu. I am prepared to do so."

I could scarcely believe that I heard right.

"Your brother-" I began.

She seized my arm entreatingly, looking into my eyes.

"You are a doctor," she said. "I want you to come and see him
now."

"What! Is he in London?"

"He is at the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu."

"And you would have me-"

"Accompany me there, yes."

Nayland Smith, I doubted not, would have counseled me against
trusting my life in the hands of this girl with the pleading eyes.
Yet I did so, and with little hesitation; shortly we were traveling
eastward in a closed cab. Karamaneh was very silent, but always
when I turned to her I found her big eyes fixed upon me with an
expression in which there was pleading, in which there was sorrow,
in which there was something else-something indefinable, yet
strangely disturbing. The cabman she had directed to drive to the
lower end of the Commercial Road, the neighborhood of the new
docks, and the scene of one of our early adventures with Dr.
Fu-Manchu. The mantle of dusk had closed about the squalid activity
of the East End streets as we neared our destination. Aliens of
every shade of color were about us now, emerging from burrow-like
alleys into the glare of the lamps upon the main road. In the short
space of the drive we had passed from the bright world of the West
into the dubious underworld of the East.

I do not know that Karamaneh moved; but in sympathy, as we
neared the abode of the sinister Chinaman, she crept nearer to me,
and when the cab was discharged, and together we walked down a
narrow turning leading riverward, she clung to me fearfully,
hesitated, and even seemed upon the point of turning back. But,
overcoming her fear or repugnance, she led on, through a maze of
alleyways and courts, wherein I hopelessly lost my bearings, so
that it came home to me how wholly I was in the hands of this girl
whose history was so full of shadows, whose real character was so
inscrutable, whose beauty, whose charm truly might mask the cunning
of a serpent.

I spoke to her.

"S-SH!" She laid her hand upon my arm, enjoining me to
silence.

The high, drab brick wall of what looked like some part of a
dock building loomed above us in the darkness, and the
indescribable stenches of the lower Thames were borne to my
nostrils through a gloomy, tunnel-like opening, beyond which
whispered the river. The muffled clangor of waterside activity was
about us. I heard a key grate in a lock, and Karamaneh drew me into
the shadow of an open door, entered, and closed it behind her.

For the first time I perceived, in contrast to the odors of the
court without, the fragrance of the peculiar perfume which now I
had come to associate with her. Absolute darkness was about us, and
by this perfume alone I knew that she was near to me, until her
hand touched mine, and I was led along an uncarpeted passage and up
an uncarpeted stair. A second door was unlocked, and I found myself
in an exquisitely furnished room, illuminated by the soft light of
a shaded lamp which stood upon a low, inlaid table amidst a perfect
ocean of silken cushions, strewn upon a Persian carpet, whose
yellow richness was lost in the shadows beyond the circle of
light.

Karamaneh raised a curtain draped before a doorway, and stood
listening intently for a moment.

The silence was unbroken.

Then something stirred amid the wilderness of cushions, and two
tiny bright eyes looked up at me. Peering closely, I succeeded in
distinguishing, crouched in that soft luxuriance, a little ape. It
was Dr. Fu-Manchu's marmoset. "This way," whispered Karamaneh.

Never, I thought, was a staid medical man committed to a more
unwise enterprise, but so far I had gone, and no consideration of
prudence could now be of avail.

The corridor beyond was thickly carpeted. Following the
direction of a faint light which gleamed ahead, it proved to extend
as a balcony across one end of a spacious apartment. Together we
stood high up there in the shadows, and looked down upon such a
scene as I never could have imagined to exist within many a mile of
that district.

The place below was even more richly appointed than the room
into which first we had come. Here, as there, piles of cushions
formed splashes of gaudy color about the floor. Three lamps hung by
chains from the ceiling, their light softened by rich silk shades.
One wall was almost entirely occupied by glass cases containing
chemical apparatus, tubes, retorts and other less orthodox
indications of Dr. Fu-Manchu's pursuits, whilst close against
another lay the most extraordinary object of a sufficiently
extraordinary room-a low couch, upon which was extended the
motionless form of a boy. In the light of a lamp which hung
directly above him, his olive face showed an almost startling
resemblance to that of Karamaneh-save that the girl's coloring was
more delicate. He had black, curly hair, which stood out
prominently against the white covering upon which he lay, his hands
crossed upon his breast.

Transfixed with astonishment, I stood looking down upon him. The
wonders of the "Arabian Nights" were wonders no longer, for here,
in East-End London, was a true magician's palace, lacking not its
beautiful slave, lacking not its enchanted prince!