by Sax Rohmer
An icy chill seemed to run down his spine.
He had heard a voice, pitched in a clear, imperious tone.
“We have no time to waste.”
It was the voice of Dr. Fu-Manchu!
He had walked into a trap.
* * *
Tony checked a mad panorama of thoughts racing across his brain. Nayland Smith would gain something after all. He fingered the automatic which he had kept handy in a waist belt and moved stealthily forward. Whatever his own end might be, he could at least remove the world menace of Dr. Fu-Manchu.
He could see into the room now.
It was furnished, in true Chinese fashion, but with great luxury. Almost directly facing him, on a divan backed by embroidered draperies, he saw a white-bearded figure wearing a black robe and a beaded black cap. A snuff bowl lay before him.
Facing the old mandarin so that his back was toward the terrace, someone sat in a dragon-legged armchair. His close-cropped hair showed the massive skull beneath.
Dr. Fu-Manchu.
The mandarin’s eyes were half-closed, but suddenly he opened them. He looked fixedly toward the terrace, and straight at Tony.
Holding a pinch of snuff between finger and thumb and still looking directly at him, he waved his hand gracefully in a sweeping side gesture as he raised the snuff to his nostrils.
But Tony had translated the gesture.
It meant that he had moved too close. He could be seen from the room.
Quickly he stepped to the right. A wave of confidence surged through him.
This was Lao Tse-Mung who sat watching him, who had known him instantly for what he was, who had warned him of his danger. A highly acute and unusual character.
Tony could still see him clearly through a screen of leaves.
The mandarin spoke in light, easy tones.
“This is the first time you have honored my poor roof, Excellency, in many moons. To what do I owe so great a privilege?”
“I am rarely in Lung Chang,” was the sibilant reply. “I see that it might have been wise to come more often.”
“My poor hospitality is always at my friends’ disposal.”
“Doubtless.” Fu-Manchu’s voice sank to a venomous whisper. “Your hospitality to members of the present regime is less certain.”
Lao Tse-Mung smiled slightly, settling himself among his cushions. “I retired long ago from the world of politics, Excellency. I give all my time to the cultivation of my vines.”
“Some of them grow thorns, I believe?”
“Many of them.”
“Myself, Lao Tse-Mung, I also cultivate vines. I seek to restore to the garden of China its old glory. And so I fertilize the human vines which are fruitful and tear out those which are parasites, destructive. Let us come to the point.”
Lao Tse-Mung’s far-seeing eyes sought among the shadows for Tony.
Tony understood. He was to listen closely.
“My undivided attention is at your disposal, Excellency.”
“A man calling himself Wu Chi Foh, who is a dangerous spy, escaped from the jail at Chia-Ting and was later reported to be near Lung Chang. He may be carrying vital information dangerous to the Peiping regime.” Fu-Manchu’s voice became the familiar hiss. “I wonder if you, perhaps, have news of Wu Chi Foh.”
Lao Tse-Mung’s expression remained bland, unmoved.
“I can only assure Excellency that I have no news concerning this Wu Chi Foh. Are you suggesting that I am acquainted with this man?”
Dr. Fu-Manchu’s voice rose on a note of anger. “Your record calls for investigation. As a former high official, you have been allowed privileges. I merely suggest that you have abused them.”
“My attention remains undivided, Excellency. I beg you to make your meaning clearer.”
Tony knew that his fate, and perhaps the fate of Lao Tse-Mung, hung in the balance. He knew, too, that he could never have fenced with such an adversary as Fu-Manchu, under the X-ray scrutiny of those green eyes, with the imperturbable serenity of the old mandarin.
“Subversive elements frequent your house.”
“The news distresses me.” Lao Tse-Mung took up a hammer which hung beside a small gong. “Permit me to assemble my household for your inspection.”
“Wait.” The word was spoken imperatively. “There are matters I have to discuss with you, personally. For example, you maintain a private airfield on your estate.”
Lao Tse-Mung smiled. His smile was directed toward Tony, whom his keen eyes had detected through the cover of leaves.
“I am sufficiently old fashioned to prefer the ways of life of my ancestors, but sufficiently up-to-date to appreciate the convenience of modern transport.” Lao Tse-Mung calmly took another pinch of snuff, smiling his sly smile. “I may add that in addition to chairs and rickshaws, I have also several automobiles. We are a long way from the railhead, Excellency, and some of my guests come from distant provinces.”
“I wish to inspect this airfield. Also, the garage.”
“It will be an honor and a great joy to conduct you. Let us first visit the airstrip, which is some little distance from the house. Then, as you wish, we can visit the garage. Your own car is there at present. And, as the garage is near the entrance gate, and I know Excellency’s time is valuable”—the shrewd old eyes were staring straight into Tony’s through the darkness—“there should be no unnecessary delay.”
This statement was astonishing to Tony because it was unmistakably a direct order to him.
He accepted it.
Silently, he slipped away from the lighted window, back along the terrace, and began to run headlong down the slope to the gate lodge.
Old Mai Cha was standing in her doorway.
“Quick, get Yueh Hua. There’s not a minute to spare.”
“She has already gone, Chi Foh.”
“Gone!” He stood before her, stricken, unable to understand.
“Yes, Chi Foh. But she is safe. You will see her again very soon. She has taken all you brought with you in your bundles. You know they are in good keeping.”
He grasped Mai Cha by the shoulders, drawing her close, peering into her face. Her love for Moon Flower he couldn’t doubt. But what was she hiding?
“Is this true, Mai Cha?”
“I swear it, in the name of my father, Chi Foh. I can tell you no more, except that my orders are to lead you to the garage. A car is waiting. You must hurry—for Yueh Hua’s sake and for your own. Please follow me.”
Even in that moment of danger, of doubt, he was struck by the fact that she showed no surprise, only a deep concern. She seemed to be expecting this to happen. She was no longer an emotional old woman. She was controlled, practical.
A long, gently sloping path led them to a tiled yard upon which a lighted garage opened. One car, a sleek Rolls, with lights off, stood in the yard. He saw two other cars in the garage beyond.
Mai Cha opened the door of the Rolls, and Tony tumbled in. She kissed his hand as he closed the door. In the light from the garage behind he saw the back of a driver, a broad-shouldered Chinese with a shaven skull. The car started. Smoothly, they moved out of the paved yard.
“Thank God you’re safe, McKay,” came a snappy voice.
The driver was Nayland Smith.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Don’t worry about Lao Tse-Mung, McKay. He has the guile of the serpent and the heart of a great patriot. He could convince men like us that night is day, that a duck is a swan. He called me an hour ago, and all’s well. This isn’t his first brush with the Master, and my money was on Tse-Mung all along. By the way, what about another drink?”
Tony grinned feebly, watching Nayland Smith mix drinks. It was hard to relax, even now, to accept the fact that, temporarily, he was safe. He glanced down at a clean linen suit which had taken the place of his Chinese costume and wondered afresh at the efficient underground network of which he had become a member.
This charming bungalow on a hill overlooking Ch
ungking was the property of the great English drug house of Roberts & Benson and was reserved for the use of their chief buyer, Ray Jenkins, who operated from the firm’s office in the town. Nayland Smith handed him a glass.
“You’ll like Jenkins,” Sir Denis rapped in his staccato fashion. “Sound man. And what he doesn’t know about opium, even Dr. Fu-Manchu couldn’t teach him. He buys only the best, and Chungking is the place to get it.”
He dropped into a split-cane chair and began to fill his pipe. He wore a well-cut linen suit and would have looked his familiar self but for the shaven skull. Noting Tony’s expression, he laughed boyishly.
Tony laughed, too, and was glad that he could manage it; for in spite of Mai Cha’s assurance, he was desperately worried about Moon Flower. And inquiries were out of the question.
“I can only thank you again, Sir Denis, for all you have done.”
“Forget it, McKay. The old lama is one of ours, and he had orders to look out for you. Your last message had warned me that you expected to be arrested and I notified him. Then, I put Lao Tse-Mung in charge until I arrived.”
“This is amazing, Sir Denis. I begin to hope that China will shake off the Communists yet.”
Nayland Smith nodded grimly; lighted his pipe. “From my point of view, there are certain advantages in our recognition of the Peiping crowd. For instance, I can travel openly in China, but I avoid Szechuan.”
“How right you are.”
“Lao Tse-Mung, of course, is our key man in the province. The job calls for enormous courage, and something like genius. He has both. He master-minded the whole affair of getting you out of jail. The lama, who has more degrees than you could count on your fingers, gave you your instructions. He speaks and writes perfect English. Also, he has contacts inside the jail. We’re not washed up yet in the East, McKay.”
“So it seems.”
Nayland Smith tugged at the lobe of his ear, a habit Tony knew indicated deep reflection. “If Fu-Manchu can enlist the anti-Communist elements,” he said, “the control of this vast country may pass into his hands. This would pose another problem. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. This bungalow is one of our bases. It was here that I converted myself into a lama. Jenkins provided me with a vintage Ford, a useful bus on Chinese roads. You see, there’s constant coming and going of Buddhist priests across the Burma frontier, and if my Chinese is shaky, my Burmese is sound.” He glanced at his watch. “Jenkins is late. Feeling hungry?”
“No.” Tony shook his head. “After my first bath for weeks in a civilized bathroom, a change of clothes and a drink, I feel delightfully relaxed.”
“Good for you. Jenkins has another guest who is probably reveling in a warm bath, too, after a long journey; Jeanie Cameron-Gordon. Her father, an old friend of mine, is the world-famous medical entomologist, Dr. Cameron-Gordon. His big work on sleeping sickness and the tsetse fly is the textbook for all students of tropical medicine. Ran a medical mission. But more later.”
“Whatever brings his daughter here?” Tony wanted to know.
Before Nayland Smith could reply, the stout, smiling, and capable resident Chinese housekeeper, whom Tony had met already, came in. She was known simply as Mrs. Wing. She bowed.
“Miss Cameron-Gordon,” she said, in her quaint English, “is dressed, and asks if she should join you, or if you are in a business conference.”
Nayland Smith smiled broadly. “The conference is over, Mrs. Wing. Please ask Miss Jeanie to join us.”
Mrs. Wing bowed again, went out, and a moment later Miss Cameron-Gordon came in, her face shaded by a wide-brimmed hat. She wore a tailored suit of cream shantung which perfectly fit her beautiful figure.
For an interval that couldn’t be measured in terms of time, Tony stood rigid. Then he sprang forward.
Miss Jeanie Cameron-Gordon found herself locked in his arms.
“Moon Flower! Moon Flower!”
“I had an idea,” Nayland Smith said dryly, “that you two might be acquainted.”
* * *
Ray Jenkins joined them for lunch. A thin Chinese-yellow man with large, wiry hands, gaunt features, and a marked Cockney accent, he had a humorous eye and a markedly self-confident manner. Moon Flower was reserved and embarrassed, avoiding Tony’s looks of admiration. He felt he was the cause of this and cursed the impulse which had prompted him to betray their intimacy. He didn’t attempt to deny that he was in love with her, but gave a carefully edited account of their meeting and how he had formed a deep affection for his native helper.
“I never saw Jeanie in her other kit,” Jenkins said nasally. He called one and all by their first names. “But, looking at her now, Tony, I should say you were nuts not to know she wasn’t Chinese.”
“But I am,” Moon Flower told him, “on my mother’s side.”
Ray Jenkins regarded her for a long time, then, “God’s truth,” he remarked. “Your mother must have been a stunner.”
Nayland Smith threw some light upon what had happened at Lao Tse-Mung’s. He had arrived there several hours before Tony, intending to proceed with speed to Chungking as soon as Tony showed up. He found the mandarin in an unhappy frame of mind. The daughter of his old friend, Dr. Cameron-Gordon, who had been staying at his house, had disappeared. He suspected that she had gone in search of information about her father, contrary to his, Lao Tse-Mung’s advice. He had used all the facilities at his disposal, but with no result.
“I’ll leave it to Moon Flower, as you call Jeanie, to tell you the whole story, McKay,” Sir Denis said, with one of his impish grins. “She will tell it better than I can.”
Moon Flower gave him a reproachful, but half-playful glance.
“I was staggered,” he went on. “I had heard in Hong Kong that her father died in a fire which destroyed the medical mission building. But I supposed that Jeanie was still in England. I was discussing the problem of Jeanie’s disappearance with Tse-Mung when his secretary ran in and announced, ‘The Master is here!’
“Fast action was called for. I made my way back toward the entrance gate. From behind a bank of rhododendrons I had the pleasure of seeing my old friend Dr. Fu-Manchu, wearing what looked like a Prussian uniform, striding up to the house. A big Nubian, whom I had seen somewhere before, followed him.”
“You probably saw him in Niu-fo-tu,” Tony broke in. “I was running away from him when you spoke to me.”
“Possibly. Fu-Manchu’s car, a Buick, still hot, was in the garage. It was parked alongside a majestic Rolls belonging to Lao Tse-Mung. My old Ford stood ready in the yard. What to do next was a problem. I had to stand by until you arrived. But I had to keep out of the way of Fu-Manchu, as well. I thought up several plans to intercept you, when suddenly they were all washed out.”
“What happened?” Tony asked excitedly.
“My walkie-talkie came to life. Tse-Mung’s secretary reported that Jeanie and a Chinese companion, Chi Foh, were in the gate-lodge! I had arranged with Tse-Mung, if I should miss you and you appeared at the house, to direct you to the garage. But I hadn’t expected Jeanie.
“I quickly told Sun Shao-Tung, the secretary, to send me a driver who knew the way to Chungking, to order the man to stand by the Ford in the garage. Then I headed for the gate-lodge. Mai Cha told me that Moon Flower was in the bedroom sorting out some clothes and I had Moon Flower away with her bundle of dresses in five minutes. Am I right, Jeanie?”
“Yes,” Moon Flower agreed, and her eyes told her gratitude. “You certainly drove me remorselessly.”
“And so here you are. God knows where you’d be if Dr. Fu-Manchu had found you. The driver was standing by, as ordered, and off you went in my Ford to Ray Jenkins, a harbor in any storm.”
“Thanks a lot,” Ray Jenkins said. “Drinks all round, if I may say so.”
“Your absence, McKay,” Sir Denis added, “was an unexpected headache. But you have told me how Tse-Mung handled a difficult situation. And so, for the moment, Dr. Fu-Manchu is baffled.”
* * *
On the flower-covered porch of the bungalow, with a prospect of snowy poppy fields below extending to the distant foothills, Tony at last found himself alone with Moon Flower. She lay beside him, in a long cane chair, smoking a cigarette and no longer evading his looks of adoration.
“We’re a pair of terrible liars, aren’t we?” she said softly, and the sound of her musical voice speaking English made his heart glad.
“I’m still in a daze, Moon Flower. I seem to have come out of a wonderful dream. And I still don’t know where the dream ends and real life begins. I know, of course, that you’re not a Chinese girl and you know I’m not a fisherman from Hong Kong. I never suspected that you weren’t what you pretended to be, but I often thought you had doubts about me.”
“How right you were, Chi Foh. And to me you’ll always be Chi Foh. But it was a long time before doubts came. That part is all over now, and I think I’m sorry.”
Tony reached across urgently and grasped her arm. “You don’t regret an hour of it, Moon Flower?”
“Not one minute,” she whispered.
“You know I learned to adore you as Yueh Hua, don’t you? I had planned to risk everything and to marry my little river girl. After all I was just doing a job I had volunteered to do. But your motive was a sad one—your father.”
“Let me tell you about it in my own way, Chi Foh. It is sad, yes; but now, there is hope.” Jeanie stubbed out her cigarette. “You see, Lao Tse-Mung is my grand uncle. My father, Dr. Cameron-Gordon, married Lao Tse-Mung’s niece. So, you see, I am really partly Chinese.”
“No more than I am,” Tony broke in. “My mother’s mother was Chinese, too. That’s why I can pass as Chinese, myself.”
Jeanie continued, “My father, of course, had traveled all over the world and become well known for his work. Then, he came to China to study diseases here. He met my mother. She was a very beautiful woman, Chi Foh. He married her. For her sake, I believe, he accepted the post as director of the medical mission at Chien Wei. The mission used to stand by the Pool of Lily Dreams. Do you remember the Pool of Lily Dreams?”
