The Shadow of Fu-Manchu (16 page)

“No.”

Dr. Fu-Manchu clapped his hands sharply.

“M’goyna!”

The embroidered curtain which partly concealed a recess in the wall was drawn aside. A gigantic figure appeared. The shoulders of an Atlas, long arms, grotesquely large hands, and a face so scarred as to be incomparable with anything human. A red tarboosh crowned these dreadful features, and the figure wore white Arab dress, a scarlet sash, and Turkish slippers.

Slowly M’goyna came forward. Every movement was unnatural, like that of an automaton. The huge hands hung limp, insensate—the hands of a gorilla. Like a gorilla, too, he coughed hollowly as he entered.

Koenig clenched his fists, but stood still. Camille remained kneeling. M’goyna crossed to the long table and came to rest there facing Dr. Fu-Manchu, who addressed him in Turkish.

“Change to street clothes. You go with Koenig to the Huston Building.”

“With Koenig to the Huston Building,” M’goyna intoned in a rasping voice.

“You will be shown a man. You must seize him.”

“Shown a man. I seize him.”

“You must not kill him.”

M’goyna slowly revealed irregular, fanglike teeth and then closed his lips again. He coughed.

“Must not kill him.”

“You are under Koenig’s orders. Salute Koenig.”

M’goyna touched his brow, his mouth, and his breast and inclined his head.

“You will do as he tells you. At ten o’clock I shall come for you. Repeat the time.”

“Ten o’clock—you come for me?”

“At ten o’clock.” Dr. Fu-Manchu turned to Koenig and spoke one word in English. “Proceed.”

* * *

Morris Craig’s office was empty. Night had dropped a velvet curtain outside the windows, irregularly embroidered with a black pattern where the darkened building opposite challenged a moonless sky.

Only the tubular desk lamp was alight, as Craig had left it. So still was the place that when the elevator came up and stopped at the lobby, its nearly silent ascent made quite a disturbance. Then no movement was audible for fully a minute—when the office door opened inch by inch, and Koenig looked in. Satisfied with what he saw, he entered and crossed straight to Camille’s room. This he inspected by the light of a flashlamp.

Noiseless in rubber soles, he moved to the laboratory door and shone a light onto the steps leading up to it. He examined the safe and went across to the long windows, staring out onto the terrace.

Then, turning his head, he spoke softly.

“M’goyna—”

M’goyna lumbered in. He wore brown overalls and a workman’s cap. That huge frame, the undersized skull, were terrible portents. He stood just inside the door, motionless, a parody of humanity.

“Close the door.”

M’goyna did so, and resumed his pose.

“The man will come out from there.” Koenig pointed towards the laboratory. “Seize him.”

M’goyna nodded his small head.

“Choke him enough but not too much—and then carry him back. You understand me?”

“Yes. Must not kill him.”

“Hide here, between the couch and the steps. When he comes out, do as I have ordered. Remember—you must not kill him.”

M’goyna nodded, and coughed.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Koenig switched off the desk lamp. Now it was possible to see that the night curtain beyond the windows was studded with jewels twinkling in a cloudless heaven. Koenig shone the light of his lamp onto a recess between the leather-covered couch and the three steps.

“Here. Crouch down.”

M’goyna walked across as if motivated by hidden levers and squatted there.

Koenig switched his lamp off. He paused for a moment to get accustomed to the darkness, then went up the three steps and beat upon the door with clenched fists.

“Regan!” he shouted. “Regan!…
Regan
!…”

He ran down and threw himself onto the couch beside which M’goyna waited.

Followed an interval of several seconds—ten—twenty—thirty.

Then came a faint sound. The steel door was opened. Green light poured out, such a light as divers see below the surface of the ocean; rays giving no true illumination. The office became vibrant with unseen force.

Regan stood at the top of the steps, peering down.

“Dr. Craig! Are you there?”

He began to descend, picking his way.

And, as his foot touched the bottom step, M’goyna hurled himself upon him, snarling like a wild animal.

“My God!”

The words were choked out of Regan. They faded into a gurgle, into nothing.

“Not too much!
Remember!
”

M’goyna grunted. One huge hand clasping Regan’s throat, he lifted him with his free arm and carried him, like a bundle, up the steps.

Koenig followed.

The door remained open. Green light permeated the office filled with pulsations of invisible power. Then Koenig reappeared.

“You understand—he must answer calls. If Dr. Craig, or anyone else, comes in… you have your orders.”

He closed the door behind him, so that silence, falling again, became a thing notable, almost audible. He stood still for a moment, taking his bearings, then crossed and switched up the desk lamp.

Noiselessly he went out.

The elevator descended.

“
W
ake!”

Camille opened her eyes, rose from her knees, and although her limbs felt heavy, cramped, sprang upright. She stared wildly at Dr. Fu-Manchu, lifting one hand to her disarranged hair.

“What—what am I doing here?”

“You are kneeling to me as if I were the Buddha.”

A wave of true terror swept over her. Almost, for the first time, she lost control.

“You… Oh, my God! What happened to me?”

She retreated from the tall, yellow-robed figure, back and back until her calves came in contact with the divan. Dr. Fu-Manchu watched her.

“Compose yourself. Your chastity is safe with me. I wished to see you without your disguise.”

“There was—someone else here—a dreadful man…”

“M’goyna? You were conscious of his presence? That is informative. I regret that I cannot give you an opportunity to examine M’goyna. As a fellow scientist, you would be interested. M’goyna carried my first invitation to you, although I thought you had forgotten.”

“I had forgotten,” Camille whispered. She was trembling.

“He can climb like an ape. He climbed from the fire ladders along the coping of the Huston Building in order to present my compliments. You spoke of ‘a dreadful man.’ But M’goyna is not a man. In Haiti he would be called a zombie. He illustrates the possibilities of vivisection. His frame is that of a Turkish criminal executed for strangling women. I recovered the body before rigor mortis had set in.”

“You are trying to frighten me. Why?”

“Truth never frightened the scientific mind. M’goyna was created in my Cairo laboratory. I supplied him with an elementary brain—a trifle superior to that of a seal. Little more than a receiving set for my orders. He remains imperfect, however. I have been unable to rid my semi-human of that curious cough. Some day I must try again.”

And, as the cold, supercilious voice continued, Camille began to regain her composure; for Dr. Fu-Manchu had been unable wholly to conceal a note of triumph. He was a dangerous genius, probably a madman, but he was not immune from every human frailty. He was proud of his own fantastic achievements.”

She dropped down onto the settee as he crossed, moving with that lithe, feline tread, and resumed his place behind the black table. When he spoke again he seemed to be thinking aloud…

“There are only a certain number of nature’s secrets which man is permitted to learn. A number sufficient for his own destruction.”

A high, wailing sound came from somewhere beyond the room. It rose, and fell, rose, and fell—and died away. But for Camille it was almost the last straw.

Clasping her hands, she sprang up, threatened now by hysteria.

“My God! What was it—”

Dr. Fu-Manchu rested his chin on interlaced fingers.

“It was Bast—my pet cheetah. She thinks I have forgotten her supper. These hunting cats are so voracious.”

“I don’t believe you… It sounded like…”

“My dear Miss Navarre, I resent the implication. Sir Denis Nayland Smith would assure you that lying is not one of my vices.”

Delicately, he took a pinch of snuff from a silver box. Camille sat down again, struggling to recover her lost poise. She forced herself to meet his fixed regard.

“What is it you want? Why do you look at me like that?”

“I am admiring your beautiful courage. To destroy that which is beautiful is an evil thing.” He stood up. “You wish for the peace of the world. You have said so… You fear cruelty. You flinched when you heard the cry of a cheetah. You have known cruelty—for there is no cruelty like the cruelty of war. If your wish was sincere only
I
can hope to bring it true. Will you work
with
me, or
against
me?”

“How can I believe—”

“In Dr. Fu-Manchu? In an international criminal? No—perhaps it is asking too much, in the time at my disposal—and the very minutes grow precious.” He opened his eyes widely. “Stand up, Camille Navarre. What is your real name?”

And Camille became swept again at command of the master hypnotist into that grey and dreadful half-world where there was no one but Dr. Fu-Manchu.

“Camille Mirabeau,” she answered mechanically—and stood up. “Navarre was the name by which I was known to the Maquis.”

The green eyes were very close to hers.

“Why were you employed by Britain?”

“Because of my success in smuggling Air Force personnel out of the German zone. And because I speak several languages and have had science training.”

“Were you ever married?”

“No.”

“How many lovers have you had?”

“One.”

“How long did this affair last?”

“For three months. Until he was killed by the Gestapo.”

“Have you ceased to regret?”

“Yes.”

“Does Morris Craig attract you?”

“Yes.”

“He will be your next lover. You understand?”

“I understand.”

“You will make him take you away from the Huston Building not later than half past nine. He must not return to his office tonight. You understand?”

“I understand.”

“Does he find you attractive?”

“Yes.”

The insistent voice was beating on her brain like a hammer. But she was powerless to check its beats, powerless to resist its promptings; compelled to answer—truthfully. Her brain, her heart, lay on Dr. Fu-Manchu’s merciless dissecting table.

“Has he expressed admiration?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

“He has asked me not to wear glasses, and not to brush my hair back as I do.”

“And you love him?”

Camille’s proud spirit rose strong in revolt. She remained silent.

“You love him?”

It was useless. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Tonight you will seduce him with your hair. The rest I shall leave to Morris Craig. I will give you your instructions before you leave. Sleep…”

There came an agonized interval, in which Camille lay helpless in invisible chains, and then the Voice again.

“I have forgotten all that happened since I left my office in the Huston Building. Repeat.”

“I have forgotten all that happened since I left my office in the Huston Building.”

“When I return I shall remember only what I have to do at nine-fifteen—nine-fifteen by the office clock.”

“When I return I shall remember only what I have to do at nine-fifteen, by the office clock.”

“At nine-thirty Dr. Fu-Manchu will call me: repeat the time.”

“Nine-thirty.”

“The fate of the world rests in my hands.”

Camille raised her arms, clutched her head. She moaned… “Oh!… I… cannot bear this—”

“Repeat my words.”

“The fate… of the world… rests… in… my hands…”

M
orris Craig came back, “under convoy” from Nayland Smith’s “quiet restaurant.” Standing before the private door:

“Your restaurant was certainly, quiet,” he said. “But the check was a loud, sad cry. Come up if you like, Smith. But I have a demon night ahead of me. I
must
be through by tomorrow. Thanks for a truly edible dinner. Most acceptable to my British constitution. The wine was an answer to this pagan’s prayer.”