The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu (14 page)

"He slipped in late this evening," said Smith. "The hotel
detective saw him, but these stranglers are as elusive as shadows,
otherwise, despite their having changed the scene of their
operations, not one could have survived."

"Didn't you mention a case of this kind on the Irrawaddy?" I
asked.

"Yes," was the reply; "and I know of what you are thinking. The
steamers of the Irrawaddy flotilla have a corrugated-iron roof over
the top deck. The Thug must have been lying up there as the
Colassie passed on the deck below."

"But, Smith, what is the motive of the Call?" I continued.

"Partly religious," he explained, "and partly to wake the
victims! You are perhaps going to ask me how Dr. Fu-Manchu has
obtained power over such people as phansigars? I can only reply
that Dr. Fu-Manchu has secret knowledge of which, so far, we know
absolutely nothing; but, despite all, at last I begin to
score."

"You do," I agreed; "but your victory took you near to
death."

"I owe my life to you, Petrie," he said. "Once to your strength
of arm, and once to-"

"Don't speak of her, Smith," I interrupted. "Dr. Fu-Manchu may
have discovered the part she played! In which event-"

"God help her!"

Upon the following day we were afoot again, and shortly at
handgrips with the enemy. In retrospect, that restless time offers
a chaotic prospect, with no peaceful spot amid its turmoils.

All that was reposeful in nature seemed to have become an irony
and a mockery to us-who knew how an evil demigod had his
sacrificial altars amid our sweetest groves. This idea ruled
strongly in my mind upon that soft autumnal day.

"The net is closing in," said Nayland Smith.

"Let us hope upon a big catch," I replied, with a laugh.

Beyond where the Thames tided slumberously seaward showed the
roofs of Royal Windsor, the castle towers showing through the
autumn haze. The peace of beautiful Thames-side was about us.

This was one of the few tangible clews upon which thus far we
had chanced; but at last it seemed indeed that we were narrowing
the resources of that enemy of the white race who was writing his
name over England in characters of blood. To capture Dr. Fu-Manchu
we did not hope; but at least there was every promise of destroying
one of the enemy's strongholds.

We had circled upon the map a tract of country cut by the
Thames, with Windsor for its center. Within that circle was the
house from which miraculously we had escaped-a house used by the
most highly organized group in the history of criminology. So much
we knew. Even if we found the house, and this was likely enough, to
find it vacated by Fu-Manchu and his mysterious servants we were
prepared. But it would be a base destroyed.

We were working upon a methodical plan, and although our
cooperators were invisible, these numbered no fewer than twelve-all
of them experienced men. Thus far we had drawn blank, but the place
for which Smith and I were making now came clearly into view: an
old mansion situated in extensive walled grounds. Leaving the river
behind us, we turned sharply to the right along a lane flanked by a
high wall. On an open patch of ground, as we passed, I noted a
gypsy caravan. An old woman was seated on the steps, her wrinkled
face bent, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

I scarcely glanced at her, but pressed on, nor did I notice that
my friend no longer was beside me. I was all anxiety to come to
some point from whence I might obtain a view of the house; all
anxiety to know if this was the abode of our mysterious enemy-the
place where he worked amid his weird company, where he bred his
deadly scorpions and his bacilli, reared his poisonous fungi, from
whence he dispatched his murder ministers. Above all, perhaps, I
wondered if this would prove to be the hiding-place of the
beautiful slave girl who was such a potent factor in the Doctor's
plans, but a two-edged sword which yet we hoped to turn upon
Fu-Manchu. Even in the hands of a master, a woman's beauty is a
dangerous weapon.

A cry rang out behind me. I turned quickly. And a singular sight
met my gaze.

Nayland Smith was engaged in a furious struggle with the old
gypsy woman! His long arms clasped about her, he was roughly
dragging her out into the roadway, she fighting like a wild
thing-silently, fiercely.

Smith often surprised me, but at that sight, frankly, I thought
that he was become bereft of reason. I ran back; and I had almost
reached the scene of this incredible contest, and Smith now was
evidently hard put to it to hold his own when a man, swarthy, with
big rings in his ears, leaped from the caravan.

One quick glance he threw in our direction, and made off towards
the river.

Smith twisted round upon me, never releasing his hold of the
woman.

"After him, Petrie!" he cried. "After him. Don't let him escape.
It's a dacoit!"

My brain in a confused whirl; my mind yet disposed to a belief
that my friend had lost his senses, the word "dacoit" was
sufficient.

I started down the road after the fleetly running man. Never
once did he glance behind him, so that he evidently had occasion to
fear pursuit. The dusty road rang beneath my flying footsteps. That
sense of fantasy, which claimed me often enough in those days of
our struggle with the titanic genius whose victory meant the
victory of the yellow races over the white, now had me fast in its
grip again. I was an actor in one of those dream-scenes of the grim
Fu-Manchu drama.

Out over the grass and down to the river's brink ran the gypsy
who was no gypsy, but one of that far more sinister brotherhood,
the dacoits. I was close upon his heels. But I was not prepared for
him to leap in among the rushes at the margin of the stream; and
seeing him do this I pulled up quickly. Straight into the water he
plunged; and I saw that he held some object in his hand. He waded
out; he dived; and as I gained the bank and looked to right and
left he had vanished completely. Only ever-widening rings showed
where he had been. I had him.

For directly he rose to the surface he would be visible from
either bank, and with the police whistle which I carried I could,
if necessary, summon one of the men in hiding across the stream. I
waited. A wild-fowl floated serenely past, untroubled by this
strange invasion of his precincts. A full minute I waited. From the
lane behind me came Smith's voice:

"Don't let him escape, Petrie!"

Never lifting my eyes from the water, I waved my hand
reassuringly. But still the dacoit did not rise. I searched the
surface in all directions as far as my eyes could reach; but no
swimmer showed above it. Then it was that I concluded he had dived
too deeply, become entangled in the weeds and was drowned. With a
final glance to right and left and some feeling of awe at this
sudden tragedy-this grim going out of a life at glorious noonday-I
turned away. Smith had the woman securely; but I had not taken five
steps towards him when a faint splash behind warned me.
Instinctively I ducked. From whence that saving instinct arose I
cannot surmise, but to it I owed my life. For as I rapidly lowered
my head, something hummed past me, something that flew out over the
grass bank, and fell with a jangle upon the dusty roadside. A
knife!

I turned and bounded back to the river's brink. I heard a faint
cry behind me, which could only have come from the gypsy woman.
Nothing disturbed the calm surface of the water. The reach was
lonely of rowers. Out by the farther bank a girl was poling a punt
along, and her white-clad figure was the only living thing that
moved upon the river within the range of the most expert
knife-thrower.

To say that I was nonplused is to say less than the truth; I was
amazed. That it was the dacoit who had shown me this murderous
attention I could not doubt. But where in Heaven's name WAS he? He
could not humanly have remained below water for so long; yet he
certainly was not above, was not upon the surface, concealed
amongst the reeds, nor hidden upon the bank.

There, in the bright sunshine, a consciousness of the eerie
possessed me. It was with an uncomfortable feeling that my phantom
foe might be aiming a second knife at my back that I turned away
and hastened towards Smith. My fearful expectations were not
realized, and I picked up the little weapon which had so narrowly
missed me, and with it in my hand rejoined my friend.

He was standing with one arm closely clasped about the
apparently exhausted woman, and her dark eyes were fixed upon him
with an extraordinary expression.

"What does it mean, Smith?" I began.

But he interrupted me.

"Where is the dacoit?" he demanded rapidly.

"Since he seemingly possesses the attributes of a fish," I
replied, "I cannot pretend to say."

The gypsy woman lifted her eyes to mine and laughed. Her
laughter was musical, not that of such an old hag as Smith held
captive; it was familiar, too.

I started and looked closely into the wizened face.

"He's tricked you," said Smith, an angry note in his voice.
"What is that you have in your hand?"

I showed him the knife, and told him how it had come into my
possession.

"I know," he rapped. "I saw it. He was in the water not three
yards from where you stood. You must have seen him. Was there
nothing visible?"

"Nothing."

The woman laughed again, and again I wondered.

"A wild-fowl," I added; "nothing else."

"A wild-fowl," snapped Smith. "If you will consult your
recollections of the habits of wild-fowl you will see that this
particular specimen was a RARA AVIS. It's an old trick, Petrie, but
a good one, for it is used in decoying. A dacoit's head was
concealed in that wild-fowl! It's useless. He has certainly made
good his escape by now."

"Smith," I said, somewhat crestfallen, "why are you detaining
this gypsy woman?"

"Gypsy woman!" he laughed, hugging her tightly as she made an
impatient movement. "Use your eyes, old man."

He jerked the frowsy wig from her head, and beneath was a cloud
of disordered hair that shimmered in the sunlight.

"A wet sponge will do the rest," he said.

Into my eyes, widely opened in wonder, looked the dark eyes of
the captive; and beneath the disguise I picked out the charming
features of the slave girl. There were tears on the whitened
lashes, and she was submissive now.

"This time," said my friend hardly, "we have fairly captured
her-and we will hold her."

From somewhere up-stream came a faint call.

"The dacoit!"

Nayland Smith's lean body straightened; he stood alert, strung
up.

Another call answered, and a third responded. Then followed the
flatly shrill note of a police whistle, and I noted a column of
black vapor rising beyond the wall, mounting straight to heaven as
the smoke of a welcome offering.

The surrounded mansion was in flames!

"Curse it!" rapped Smith. "So this time we were right. But, of
course, he has had ample opportunity to remove his effects. I knew
that. The man's daring is incredible. He has given himself till the
very last moment-and we blundered upon two of the outposts."

"I lost one."

"No matter. We have the other. I expect no further arrests, and
the house will have been so well fired by the Doctor's servants
that nothing can save it. I fear its ashes will afford us no clew,
Petrie; but we have secured a lever which should serve to disturb
Fu-Manchu's world."

He glanced at the queer figure which hung submissively in his
arms. She looked up proudly.

"You need not hold me so tight," she said, in her soft voice. "I
will come with you."

That I moved amid singular happenings, you, who have borne with
me thus far, have learned, and that I witnessed many curious
scenes; but of the many such scenes in that race-drama wherein
Nayland Smith and Dr. Fu-Manchu played the leading parts, I
remember none more bizarre than the one at my rooms that
afternoon.

Without delay, and without taking the Scotland Yard men into our
confidence, we had hurried our prisoner back to London, for my
friend's authority was supreme. A strange trio we were, and one
which excited no little comment; but the journey came to an end at
last. Now we were in my unpretentious sitting-room-the room wherein
Smith first had unfolded to me the story of Dr. Fu-Manchu and of
the great secret society which sought to upset the balance of the
world-to place Europe and America beneath the scepter of
Cathay.

I sat with my elbows upon the writing-table, my chin in my
hands; Smith restlessly paced the floor, relighting his blackened
briar a dozen times in as many minutes. In the big arm-chair the
pseudogypsy was curled up. A brief toilet had converted the wizened
old woman's face into that of a fascinatingly pretty girl. Wildly
picturesque she looked in her ragged Romany garb. She held a
cigarette in her fingers and watched us through lowered lashes.

Seemingly, with true Oriental fatalism, she was quite reconciled
to her fate, and ever and anon she would bestow upon me a glance
from her beautiful eyes which few men, I say with confidence, could
have sustained unmoved. Though I could not be blind to the emotions
of that passionate Eastern soul, yet I strove not to think of them.
Accomplice of an arch-murderer she might be; but she was
dangerously lovely.

"That man who was with you," said Smith, suddenly turning upon
her, "was in Burma up till quite recently. He murdered a fisherman
thirty miles above Prome only a mouth before I left. The D.S.P. had
placed a thousand rupees on his head. Am I right?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Suppose-What then?" she asked.

"Suppose I handed you over to the police?" suggested Smith. But
he spoke without conviction, for in the recent past we both had
owed our lives to this girl.

"As you please," she replied. "The police would learn
nothing."

"You do not belong to the Far East," my friend said abruptly.
"You may have Eastern blood in your veins, but you are no kin of
Fu-Manchu."

"That is true," she admitted, and knocked the ash from her
cigarette.

"Will you tell me where to find Fu-Manchu?"

She shrugged her shoulders again, glancing eloquently in my
direction.

Smith walked to the door.

"I must make out my report, Petrie," he said. "Look after the
prisoner."

And as the door closed softly behind him I knew what was
expected of me; but, honestly, I shirked my responsibility. What
attitude should I adopt? How should I go about my delicate task? In
a quandary, I stood watching the girl whom singular circumstances
saw captive in my rooms.

"You do not think we would harm you?" I began awkwardly. "No
harm shall come to you. Why will you not trust us?"

She raised her brilliant eyes.

"Of what avail has your protection been to some of those
others," she said; "those others whom HE has sought for?"

Alas! it had been of none, and I knew it well. I thought I
grasped the drift of her words.