The Hand Of Fu-Manchu

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER V

  JOHN KI'S

  "What is the meaning of Si-Fan?" asked Detective-sergeant Fletcher.

  He stood looking from the window at the prospect below; at the treesbordering the winding embankment; at the ancient monolith which forunnumbered ages had looked across desert sands to the Nile, and nowlooked down upon another river of many mysteries. The view seemed toabsorb his attention. He spoke without turning his head.

  Nayland Smith laughed shortly.

  "The Si-Fan are the natives of Eastern Tibet," he replied.

  "But the term has some other significance, sir?" said the detective;his words were more of an assertion than a query.

  "It has," replied my friend grimly. "I believe it to be the name, orperhaps the sigil, of an extensive secret society with branchesstretching out into every corner of the Orient."

  We were silent for awhile. Inspector Weymouth, who sat in a chair nearthe window, glanced appreciatively at the back of his subordinate, whostill stood looking out. Detective-sergeant Fletcher was one ofScotland Yard's coming men. He had information of the first importanceto communicate, and Nayland Smith had delayed his departure upon anurgent errand in order to meet him.

  "Your case to date, Mr. Smith," continued Fletcher, remaining withhands locked behind him, staring from the window, "reads something likethis, I believe: A brass box, locked, contents unknown, has come intoyour possession. It stands now upon the table there. It was broughtfrom Tibet by a man who evidently thought that it had something todo with the Si-Fan. He is dead, possibly by the agency of members ofthis group. No arrests have been made. You know that there are peoplehere in London who are anxious to regain the box. You have theoriesrespecting the identity of some of them, but there are practically nofacts."

  Nayland Smith nodded his head.

  "Exactly!" he snapped.

  "Inspector Weymouth, here," continued Fletcher, "has put me inpossession of such facts as are known to him, and I believe that Ihave had the good fortune to chance upon a valuable one."

  "You interest me, Sergeant Fletcher," said Smith. "What is the natureof this clue?"

  "I will tell you," replied the other, and turned briskly upon his heelto face us.

  He had a dark, clean-shaven face, rather sallow complexion, anddeep-set, searching eyes. There was decision in the square, cleft chinand strong character in the cleanly chiseled features. His manner wasalert.

  "I have specialized in Chinese crime," he said; "much of my time isspent amongst our Asiatic visitors. I am fairly familiar with theEasterns who use the port of London, and I have a number of usefulacquaintances among them."

  Nayland Smith nodded. Beyond doubt Detective-sergeant Fletcher knewhis business.

  "To my lasting regret," Fletcher continued, "I never met the late Dr.Fu-Manchu. I understand, sir, that you believe him to have been a highofficial of this dangerous society? However, I think we may get intouch with some other notabilities; for instance, I'm told that oneof the people you're looking for has been described as 'the man withthe limp'?"

  Smith, who had been about to relight his pipe, dropped the match onthe carpet and set his foot upon it. His eyes shone like steel.

  "'The man with the limp,'" he said, and slowly rose to his feet--"whatdo you know of the man with the limp?"

  Fletcher's face flushed slightly; his words had proved more dramaticthan he had anticipated.

  "There's a place down Shadwell way," he replied, "of which, no doubt,you will have heard; it has no official title, but it is known tohabitues as the Joy-Shop...."

  Inspector Weymouth stood up, his burly figure towering over that ofhis slighter confrere.

  "I don't think you know John Ki's, Mr. Smith," he said. "We keep allthose places pretty well patrolled, and until this present businesscropped up, John's establishment had never given us any trouble."

  "What is this Joy-Shop?" I asked.

  "A resort of shady characters, mostly Asiatics," replied Weymouth."It's a gambling-house, an unlicensed drinking-shop, and even worse--but it's more use to us open than it would be shut."

  "It is one of my regular jobs to keep an eye on the visitors to theJoy-Shop," continued Fletcher. "I have many acquaintances who use theplace. Needless to add, they don't know my real business! Well,lately several of them have asked me if I know who the man is thathobbles about the place with two sticks. Everybody seems to haveheard him, but no one has seen him."

  Nayland Smith began to pace the floor restlessly.

  "I have heard him myself," added Fletcher, "but never managed to getso much as a glimpse of him. When I learnt about this Si-Fan mystery,I realized that he might very possibly be the man for whom you'relooking--and a golden opportunity has cropped up for you to visit theJoy-Shop, and, if our luck remains in, to get a peep behind the scenes."

  "I am all attention," snapped Smith.

  "A woman called Zarmi has recently put in an appearance at theJoy-Shop. Roughly speaking, she turned up at about the same time asthe unseen man with the limp...."

  Nayland Smith's eyes were blazing with suppressed excitement; he waspacing quickly up and down the floor, tugging at the lobe of his leftear.

  "She is--different in some way from any other woman I have ever seenin the place. She's a Eurasian and good-looking, after a tigerishfashion. I have done my best"--he smiled slightly--"to get in her goodbooks, and up to a point I've succeeded. I was there last night, andZarmi asked me if I knew what she called a 'strong feller.'

  "'These,' she informed me, contemptuously referring to the rest of thecompany, 'are poor weak Johnnies!'

  "I had nothing definite in view at the time, for I had not then heardabout your return to London, but I thought it might lead to somethinganyway, so I promised to bring a friend along to-night. I don't knowwhat we're wanted to do, but ..."

  "Count on me!" snapped Smith. "I will leave all details to you and toWeymouth, and I will be at New Scotland Yard this evening in time toadopt a suitable disguise. Petrie"--he turned impetuously to me--"Ifear I shall have to go without you; but I shall be in safe company,as you see, and doubtless Weymouth can find you a part in his portionof the evening's program."

  He glanced at his watch.

  "Ah! I must be off. If you will oblige me, Petrie, by putting thebrass box into my smaller portmanteau, whilst I slip my coat on,perhaps Weymouth, on his way out, will be good enough to order a taxi.I shall venture to breathe again once our unpleasant charge is safelydeposited in the bank vaults!"

  CHAPTER VI

  THE SI-FAN MOVE

  A slight drizzling rain was falling as Smith entered the cab whichthe hall-porter had summoned. The brown bag in his hand contained thebrass box which actually was responsible for our presence in London.The last glimpse I had of him through the glass of the closed windowshowed him striking a match to light his pipe--which he rarely allowedto grow cool.

  Oppressed with an unaccountable weariness of spirit, I stood withinthe lobby looking out upon the grayness of London in November. Aslight mental effort was sufficient to blot out that drab prospect andto conjure up before my mind's eye a balcony overlooking the Nile--aglimpse of dusty palms, a white wall overgrown with purple blossoms,and above all the dazzling vault of Egypt. Upon the balcony myimagination painted a figure, limning it with loving details, thefigure of Karamaneh; and I thought that her glorious eyes would besorrowful and her lips perhaps a little tremulous, as, her arms restingupon the rail of the balcony, she looked out across the smiling riverto the domes and minarets of Cairo--and beyond, into the hazy distance;seeing me in dreary, rain-swept London, as I saw her, at Gezirabeneath the cloudless sky of Egypt.

  From these tender but mournful reflections I aroused myself, almostangrily, and set off through the muddy streets towards Charing Cross;for I was availing myself of the opportunity to call upon Dr. Murray,who had purchased my small suburban practice when (finally, as Ithought at the time) I had left London.

  This matter occupied me for the greater part of the after
noon, and Ireturned to the New Louvre Hotel shortly after five, and seeing no onein the lobby whom I knew, proceeded immediately to our apartment.Nayland Smith was not there, and having made some changes in my attireI descended again and inquired if he had left any message for me.

  The booking-clerk informed me that Smith had not returned; therefore Iresigned myself to wait. I purchased an evening paper and settled downin the lounge where I had an uninterrupted view of the entrance doors.The dinner hour approached, but still my friend failed to put in anappearance. Becoming impatient, I entered a call-box and rang upInspector Weymouth.

  Smith had not been to Scotland Yard, nor had they received any messagefrom him. Perhaps it would appear that there was little cause for alarmin this, but I, familiar with my friend's punctual and exact habits,became strangely uneasy. I did not wish to make myself ridiculous,but growing restlessness impelled me to institute inquiries regardingthe cabman who had driven my friend. The result of these was toincrease rather than to allay my fears.

  The man was a stranger to the hall-porter, and he was not one of thetaximen who habitually stood upon the neighboring rank; no one seemedto have noticed the number of the cab.

  And now my mind began to play with strange doubts and fears. The driver,I recollected, had been a small, dark man, possessing remarkablywell-cut olive-hued features. Had he not worn spectacles he wouldindeed have been handsome, in an effeminate fashion.

  I was almost certain, by this time, that he had not been an Englishman;I was almost certain that some catastrophe had befallen Smith. Ourceaseless vigilance had been momentarily relaxed--and this was theresult!

  At some large bank branches there is a resident messenger. Evengranting that such was the case in the present instance, I doubted ifthe man could help me, unless, as was possible, he chanced to befamiliar with my friend's appearance, and had actually seen him therethat day. I determined, at any rate, to make the attempt; reenteringthe call-box, I asked for the bank's number.

  There proved to be a resident messenger, who, after a time, replied tomy call. He knew Nayland Smith very well by sight, and as he had beenon duty in the public office of the bank at the time that Smith shouldhave arrived, he assured me that my friend had not been there that day!

  "Besides, sir," he said, "you say he came to deposit valuables of somekind here?"

  "Yes, yes!" I cried eagerly.

  "I take all such things down on the lift to the vaults at night, sir,under the supervision of the assistant manager--and I can assure youthat nothing of the kind has been left with us to-day."

  I stepped out of the call-box unsteadily. Indeed, I clutched at thedoor for support.

  "What is the meaning of Si-Fan?" Detective-sergeant Fletcher had askedthat morning. None of us could answer him; none of us knew. With ahaze seeming to dance between my eyes and the active life in the lobbybefore me, I realized that the Si-Fan--that unseen, sinister power--had reached out and plucked my friend from the very midst of thisnoisy life about me, into its own mysterious, deathly silence.