The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXII. THE MULATTO

  The room in which Van Roon received us was roughly of the shape of anold-fashioned keyhole; one end of it occupied the base of the tower,upon which the remainder had evidently been built. In many respectsit was a singular room, but the feature which caused me the greatestamazement was this:--it had no windows!

  In the deep alcove formed by the tower sat Van Roon at a littered table,upon which stood an oil reading-lamp, green shaded, of the "Victoria"pattern, to furnish the entire illumination of the apartment. Thatbookshelves lined the rectangular portion of this strange study Idivined, although that end of the place was dark as a catacomb. Thewalls were wood-paneled, and the ceiling was oaken beamed. A smallbookshelf and tumble-down cabinet stood upon either side of the table,and the celebrated American author and traveler lay propped up in a longsplit-cane chair. He wore smoked glasses, and had a clean-shaven, oliveface, with a profusion of jet black hair. He was garbed in a dirty reddressing-gown, and a perfect fog of cigar smoke hung in the room. He didnot rise to greet us, but merely extended his right hand, between twofingers whereof he held Smith's card.

  "You will excuse the seeming discourtesy of an invalid, gentlemen?" hesaid; "but I am suffering from undue temerity in the interior of China!"

  He waved his hand vaguely, and I saw that two rough deal chairs stoodnear the table. Smith and I seated ourselves, and my friend, leaning hiselbow upon the table, looked fixedly at the face of the man whom wehad come from London to visit. Although comparatively unfamiliar to theBritish public, the name of Van Roon was well-known in American literarycircles; for he enjoyed in the United States a reputation somewhatsimilar to that which had rendered the name of our mutual friend,Sir Lionel Barton, a household word in England. It was Van Roon who,following in the footsteps of Madame Blavatsky, had sought out thehaunts of the fabled mahatmas in the Himalayas, and Van Roon who hadessayed to explore the fever swamps of Yucatan in quest of the secretof lost Atlantis; lastly, it was Van Roon, who, with an overland carspecially built for him by a celebrated American firm, had undertakenthe journey across China.

  I studied the olive face with curiosity. Its natural impassivity wasso greatly increased by the presence of the colored spectacles that mystudy was as profitless as if I had scrutinized the face of a carvenBuddha. The mulatto had withdrawn, and in an atmosphere of gloom andtobacco smoke, Smith and I sat staring, perhaps rather rudely, at theobject of our visit to the West Country.

  "Mr. Van Roon," began my friend abruptly, "you will no doubt have seenthis paragraph. It appeared in this morning's Daily Telegraph."

  He stood up, and taking out the cutting from his notebook, placed it onthe table.

  "I have seen this--yes," said Van Roon, revealing a row of even, whiteteeth in a rapid smile. "Is it to this paragraph that I owe the pleasureof seeing you here?"

  "The paragraph appeared in this morning's issue," replied Smith. "Anhour from the time of seeing it, my friend, Dr. Petrie, and I wereentrained for Bridgewater."

  "Your visit delights me, gentlemen, and I should be ungrateful toquestion its cause; but frankly I am at a loss to understand why youshould have honored me thus. I am a poor host, God knows; for whatwith my tortured limb, a legacy from the Chinese devils whose secrets Isurprised, and my semi-blindness, due to the same cause, I am but sorrycompany."

  Nayland Smith held up his right hand deprecatingly. Van Roon tendered abox of cigars and clapped his hands, whereupon the mulatto entered.

  "I see that you have a story to tell me, Mr. Smith," he said; "thereforeI suggest whisky-and-soda--or you might prefer tea, as it is nearly teatime?"

  Smith and I chose the former refreshment, and the soft-footed half-breedhaving departed upon his errand, my companion, leaning forward earnestlyacross the littered table, outlined for Van Roon the story of Dr.Fu-Manchu, the great and malign being whose mission in England at thatmoment was none other than the stoppage of just such information as ourhost was preparing to give to the world.

  "There is a giant conspiracy, Mr. Van Roon," he said, "which had itsbirth in this very province of Ho-Nan, from which you were so fortunateto escape alive; whatever its scope or limitations, a great secretsociety is established among the yellow races. It means that China,which has slumbered for so many generations, now stirs in that age-longsleep. I need not tell you how much more it means, this seething in thepot..."

  "In a word," interrupted Van Roon, pushing Smith's glass across thetable "you would say?--"

  "That your life is not worth that!" replied Smith, snapping his fingersbefore the other's face.

  A very impressive silence fell. I watched Van Roon curiously as he satpropped up among his cushions, his smooth face ghastly in the greenlight from the lamp-shade. He held the stump of a cigar between histeeth, but, apparently unnoticed by him, it had long since gone out.Smith, out of the shadows, was watching him, too. Then:

  "Your information is very disturbing," said the American. "I am the moredisposed to credit your statement because I am all too painfully awareof the existence of such a group as you mention, in China, but that theyhad an agent here in England is something I had never conjectured. Inseeking out this solitary residence I have unwittingly done much toassist their designs... But--my dear Mr. Smith, I am very remiss! Ofcourse you will remain tonight, and I trust for some days to come?"

  Smith glanced rapidly across at me, then turned again to our host.

  "It seems like forcing our company upon you," he said, "but in yourown interests I think it will be best to do as you are good enough tosuggest. I hope and believe that our arrival here has not been noticedby the enemy; therefore it will be well if we remain concealed as muchas possible for the present, until we have settled upon some plan."

  "Hagar shall go to the station for your baggage," said the Americanrapidly, and clapped his hands, his usual signal to the mulatto.

  Whilst the latter was receiving his orders I noticed Nayland Smithwatching him closely; and when he had departed:

  "How long has that man been in your service?" snapped my friend.

  Van Roon peered blindly through his smoked glasses.

  "For some years," he replied; "he was with me in India--and in China."

  "Where did you engage him?"

  "Actually, in St. Kitts."

  "H'm," muttered Smith, and automatically he took out and began to fillhis pipe.

  "I can offer you no company but my own, gentlemen," continued Van Roon,"but unless it interferes with your plans, you may find the surroundingdistrict of interest and worthy of inspection, between now and dinnertime. By the way, I think I can promise you quite a satisfactory meal,for Hagar is a model chef."

  "A walk would be enjoyable," said Smith, "but dangerous."

  "Ah! perhaps you are right. Evidently you apprehend some attempt uponme?"

  "At any moment!"

  "To one in my crippled condition, an alarming outlook! However, I placemyself unreservedly in your hands. But really, you must not leave thisinteresting district before you have made the acquaintance of some ofits historical spots. To me, steeped as I am in what I may term the loreof the odd, it is a veritable wonderland, almost as interesting, inits way, as the caves and jungles of Hindustan depicted by MadameBlavatsky."

  His high-pitched voice, with a certain labored intonation, not quiteso characteristically American as was his accent, rose even higher; hespoke with the fire of the enthusiast.

  "When I learned that Cragmire Tower was vacant," he continued, "I leapedat the chance (excuse the metaphor, from a lame man!). This is aghost hunter's paradise. The tower itself is of unknown origin, thoughprobably Phoenician, and the house traditionally sheltered Dr. Macleod,the necromancer, after his flight from the persecution of James ofScotland. Then, to add to its interest, it borders on Sedgemoor,the scene of the bloody battle during the Monmouth rising, whereat athousand were slain on the field. It is a local legend that the unhappyDuke and his staff may be seen, on stormy nights, crossing the pathwhich skirts the m
ire, after which this building is named, with flamingtorches held aloft."

  "Merely marsh-lights, I take it?" interjected Smith, gripping his pipehard between his teeth.

  "Your practical mind naturally seeks a practical explanation," smiledVan Roon, "but I myself have other theories. Then in addition to thecharms of Sedgemoor--haunted Sedgemoor--on a fine day it is quitepossible to see the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey from here; andGlastonbury Abbey, as you may know, is closely bound up with the historyof alchemy. It was in the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey that the adeptKelly, companion of Dr. Dee, discovered, in the reign of Elizabeth, thefamous caskets of St. Dunstan, containing the two tinctures..."

  So he ran on, enumerating the odd charms of his residence, charms whichfor my part I did not find appealing. Finally:

  "We cannot presume further upon your kindness," said Nayland Smith,standing up. "No doubt we can amuse ourselves in the neighborhood of thehouse until the return of your servant."

  "Look upon Cragmire Tower as your own, gentlemen!" cried Van Roon. "Mostof the rooms are unfurnished, and the garden is a wilderness, butthe structure of the brickwork in the tower may interest youarchaeologically, and the view across the moor is at least as fine asany in the neighborhood."

  So, with his brilliant smile and a gesture of one thin yellow hand, thecrippled traveler made us free of his odd dwelling. As I passed out fromthe room close at Smith's heels, I glanced back, I cannot say why.Van Roon already was bending over his papers, in his green shadowedsanctuary, and the light shining down upon his smoked glasses createdthe odd illusion that he was looking over the tops of the lenses and notdown at the table as his attitude suggested. However, it was probablyascribable to the weird chiaroscuro of the scene, although it gave theseated figure an oddly malignant appearance, and I passed out throughthe utter darkness of the outer room to the front door. Smith openingit, I was conscious of surprise to find dusk come--to meet darknesswhere I had looked for sunlight.

  The silver wisps which had raced along the horizon, as we came toCragmire Tower, had been harbingers of other and heavier banks. A stormysunset smeared crimson streaks across the skyline, where a great rangeof clouds, like the oily smoke of a city burning, was banked, mountaintopping mountain, and lighted from below by this angry red. As we camedown the steps and out by the gate, I turned and looked across the moorbehind us. A sort of reflection from this distant blaze encrimsoned thewhole landscape. The inland bay glowed sullenly, as if internal firesand not reflected light were at work; a scene both wild and majestic.

  Nayland Smith was staring up at the cone-like top of the ancient towerin a curious, speculative fashion. Under the influence of our host'sconversation I had forgotten the reasonless dread which had touched meat the moment of our arrival, but now, with the red light blazing overSedgemoor, as if in memory of the blood which had been shed there,and with the tower of unknown origin looming above me, I became veryuncomfortable again, nor did I envy Van Roon his eerie residence. Theproximity of a tower of any kind, at night, makes in some inexplicableway for awe, and to-night there were other agents, too.

  "What's that?" snapped Smith suddenly, grasping my arm.

  He was peering southward, toward the distant hamlet, and, startingviolently at his words and the sudden grasp of his hand, I, too, staredin that direction.

  "We were followed, Petrie," he almost whispered. "I never got a sight ofour follower, but I'll swear we were followed. Look! there's somethingmoving over yonder!"

  Together we stood staring into the dusk; then Smith burst abruptly intoone of his rare laughs, and clapped me upon the shoulder.

  "It's Hagar, the mulatto!" he cried--"and our grips. That extraordinaryAmerican with his tales of witch-lights and haunted abbeys has beenplaying the devil with our nerves."

  Together we waited by the gate until the half-caste appeared on the bendof the path with a grip in either hand. He was a great, muscular fellowwith a stoic face, and, for the purpose of visiting Saul, presumably,he had doffed his white raiment and now wore a sort of livery, with apeaked cap.

  Smith watched him enter the house. Then:

  "I wonder where Van Roon obtains his provisions and so forth," hemuttered. "It's odd they knew nothing about the new tenant of CragmireTower at 'The Wagoners.'"

  There came a sort of sudden expectancy into his manner for which I foundmyself at a loss to account. He turned his gaze inland and stood theretugging at his left ear and clicking his teeth together. He stared atme, and his eyes looked very bright in the dusk, for a sort of red glowfrom the sunset touched them; but he spoke no word, merely taking myarm and leading me off on a rambling walk around and about the house.Neither of us spoke a word until we stood at the gate of Cragmire Toweragain; then:

  "I'll swear, now, that we were followed here today!" muttered Smith.

  The lofty place immediately within the doorway proved, in the light of alamp now fixed in an iron bracket, to be a square entrance hall meagerlyfurnished. The closed study door faced the entrance, and on the left ofit ascended an open staircase up which the mulatto led the way. We foundourselves on the floor above, in a corridor traversing the house fromback to front. An apartment on the immediate left was indicated by themulatto as that allotted to Smith. It was a room of fair size, furnishedquite simply but boasting a wardrobe cupboard, and Smith's grip stoodbeside the white enameled bed. I glanced around, and then prepared tofollow the man, who had awaited me in the doorway.

  He still wore his dark livery, and as I followed the lithe,broad-shouldered figure along the corridor, I found myself consideringcritically his breadth of shoulder and the extraordinary thickness ofhis neck.

  I have repeatedly spoken of a sort of foreboding, an elusive stirring inthe depths of my being of which I became conscious at certain timesin my dealings with Dr. Fu-Manchu and his murderous servants. Thissensation, or something akin to it, claimed me now, unaccountably, asI stood looking into the neat bedroom, on the same side of the corridorbut at the extreme end, wherein I was to sleep.

  A voiceless warning urged me to return; a kind of childish panic camefluttering about my heart, a dread of entering the room, of allowing themulatto to come behind me.

  Doubtless this was no more than a sub-conscious product of myobservations respecting his abnormal breadth of shoulder. But whateverthe origin of the impulse, I found myself unable to disobey it.Therefore, I merely nodded, turned on my heel and went back to Smith'sroom.

  I closed the door, then turned to face Smith, who stood regarding me.

  "Smith," I said, "that man sends cold water trickling down my spine!"

  Still regarding me fixedly, my friend nodded his head.

  "You are curiously sensitive to this sort of thing," he replied slowly;"I have noticed it before as a useful capacity. I don't like the look ofthe man myself. The fact that he has been in Van Roon's employ for someyears goes for nothing. We are neither of us likely to forget Kwee,the Chinese servant of Sir Lionel Barton, and it is quite possible thatFu-Manchu has corrupted this man as he corrupted the other. It is quitepossible..."

  His voice trailed off into silence, and he stood looking across the roomwith unseeing eyes, meditating deeply. It was quite dark now outside, asI could see through the uncurtained window, which opened upon the drearyexpanse stretching out to haunted Sedgemoor. Two candles were burningupon the dressing table; they were but recently lighted, and so intensewas the stillness that I could distinctly hear the spluttering of one ofthe wicks, which was damp. Without giving the slightest warning of hisintention, Smith suddenly made two strides forward, stretched out hislong arms, and snuffed the pair of candles in a twinkling.

  The room became plunged in impenetrable darkness.

  "Not a word, Petrie!" whispered my companion.

  I moved cautiously to join him, but as I did so, perceived that he wasmoving too. Vaguely, against the window I perceived him silhouetted. Hewas looking out across the moor, and:

  "See! see!" he hissed.

  With my heart thumping
furiously in my breast, I bent over him; and forthe second time since our coming to Cragmire Tower, my thoughts flew to"The Fenman."

  There are shades in the fen; ghosts of women and men Who have sinned and have died, but are living again. O'er the waters they tread, with their lanterns of dread, And they peer in the pools--in the pools of the dead...

  A light was dancing out upon the moor, a witchlight that came and wentunaccountably, up and down, in and out, now clearly visible, now maskedin the darkness!

  "Lock the door!" snapped my companion--"if there's a key."

  I crept across the room and fumbled for a moment; then:

  "There is no key," I reported.

  "Then wedge the chair under the knob and let no one enter until Ireturn!" he said, amazingly.

  With that he opened the window to its fullest extent, threw his leg overthe sill, and went creeping along a wide concrete ledge, in which ran aleaded gutter, in the direction of the tower on the right!

  Not pausing to follow his instructions respecting the chair, I cranedout of the window, watching his progress, and wondering with what suddenmadness he was bitten. Indeed, I could not credit my senses, could notbelieve that I heard and saw aright. Yet there out in the darkness onthe moor moved the will-o'-the-wisp, and ten yards along the guttercrept my friend, like a great gaunt cat. Unknown to me he must haveprospected the route by daylight, for now I saw his design. The ledgeterminated only where it met the ancient wall of the tower, and itwas possible for an agile climber to step from it to the edge of theunglazed window some four feet below, and to scramble from that pointto the stone fence and thence on to the path by which we had come fromSaul.

  This difficult operation Nayland Smith successfully performed, and, tomy unbounded amazement, went racing into the darkness toward the dancinglight, headlong, like a madman! The night swallowed him up, and betweenmy wonder and my fear my hands trembled so violently that I could scarcesupport myself where I rested, with my full weight upon the sill.

  I seemed now to be moving through the fevered phases of a nightmare.Around and below me Cragmire Tower was profoundly silent, but a faintodor of cookery was now perceptible. Outside, from the night, camea faint whispering as of the distant sea, but no moon and no starsrelieved the impenetrable blackness. Only out over the moor themysterious light still danced and moved.

  One--two--three--four--five minutes passed. The light vanished anddid not appear again. Five more age-long minutes elapsed in absolutesilence, whilst I peered into the darkness of the night and listened,every nerve in my body tense, for the return of Nayland Smith. Yet twomore minutes, which embraced an agony of suspense, passed in the samefashion; then a shadowy form grew, phantomesque, out of the gloom; amoment more, and I distinctly heard the heavy breathing of a man nearlyspent, and saw my friend scrambling up toward the black embrasure in thetower. His voice came huskily, pantingly:

  "Creep along and lend me a hand, Petrie! I am nearly winded."

  I crept through the window, steadied my quivering nerves by an effortof the will, and reached the end of the ledge in time to take Smith'sextended hand and to draw him up beside me against the wall of thetower. He was shaking with his exertions, and must have fallen, I think,without my assistance. Inside the room again:

  "Quick! light the candles!" he breathed hoarsely.

  "Did any one come?"

  "No one--nothing."

  Having expended several matches in vain, for my fingers twitchednervously, I ultimately succeeded in relighting the candles.

  "Get along to your room!" directed Smith. "Your apprehensions areunfounded at the moment, but you may as well leave both doors wideopen!"

  I looked into his face--it was very drawn and grim, and his brow was wetwith perspiration, but his eyes had the fighting glint, and I knew thatwe were upon the eve of strange happenings.