by Sax Rohmer
“Everything is ready, von Wehrner. When do you leave?”
“My Russian successor is due tomorrow.”
“Then we must act tonight.”
“I fear so. Is it possible?”
“Yes,” Nayland Smith answered. “It has to be. How long will it take to make your arrangements?”
“I have already installed the necessary equipment in each of the buildings. No one can detect it. I have only to connect them with the powerhouse and make contact, and all will be over.”
“From the time you make contact, how long will you have to get clear?”
“It is a simple device which controls the contact. I can set it for no longer than thirty minutes. But this should be enough.”
“What time would suit you best? Give me as long as you can.”
“Between fifteen minutes after midnight and one a.m. would be best.”
“Good enough. Have your radio handy. We must keep in constant touch.”
Tony stared at Nayland Smith. “Does this mean that after getting the manuscript from the lama we are not going to rush it to Fu-Manchu?”
Nayland Smith relighted his pipe, which had gone out. “It seems unavoidable to me, if I’m to carry out my promise to von Wehrner.”
“But, Sir Denis,” Tony blazed, “what will become of Moon Flower and her father if things go wrong?”
Nayland Smith smoked furiously. “That problem has been puzzling me, McKay. But there’s a way out. We must drop by here tonight when we return from Niu-fo-tu and leave the thing in your charge. I’ll go on to the research station and…”
“Stop! That’s plain nonsense, Sir Denis. I won’t do it!”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t,” Nayland Smith remarked dryly.
Tony began to walk up and down in an agitated manner. Then he suddenly spoke out.
“I have an idea,” he said. “If you think it’s crazy, say so. We shall have to leave the Buick in some place well away from the germ plant. That’s clear. Neither of us knows the route there. The doctor has a car, and a driver who possibly does know the way…”
“I rather like your idea,” Nayland Smith joined in. “We take the manuscript with us. Having parked the car, we leave our driver with instructions to wait for us for an agreed time, and then to hurry back to the General’s house and deliver the package. This means waiting here until our host is awake and his chauffeur reports for duty.”
“I think it’s worth it, Sir Denis, on both counts.”
It was not long before their host, the doctor, whom they rarely saw, knocked on the door and came in. He wore a brown dressing robe over his pyjamas, an outfit which increased his resemblance to his cousin the lama. Like his cousin he spoke perfect English.
“How glad I am to see you, Sir Denis, and you, Captain McKay. Your absence began to disturb me.”
Nayland Smith apologized for arousing him so early, and then broached the subject of the driver for their midnight journey. “We should, of course, pay him handsomely for his services. He would be in no danger, and this will see the last of us. You can sleep in peace.”
“You may rest assured that Tung will be waiting for you, Sir Denis. He knows the road to Hua-Tzu perfectly. It is a difficult road at night.”
Half an hour later they were on their way to Niu-fo-tu.
* * *
Nayland Smith knew this route well; so did Tony. They had traveled it recently with the lama. They were stopped only once, at Jung. But their papers, issued by the governor of the province, produced polite bows and instant permission to proceed. Sir Denis drove the Buick as though he were competing in an overland race, and they reached Niu-fo-tu in just under three hours.
He pulled up in sight of the gate.
“I have been thinking, McKay. To visit the lama openly might be dangerous—for the lama. We still wear Chinese dress. But our visit, coming as we do in an automobile, might reach the ears of Fu-Manchu and result in inquiries. You know the way from here to the back entrance. Off you go. I’ll call him and tell him to expect you.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Tinker with the engine until you come back.”
Tony grinned and set out at a fast pace for the path he remembered so well; the path on which he had found the abandoned Ford and been attacked in the dark by Nayland Smith who mistook him for an enemy. He found it easily and turned in off the road.
The Ford had disappeared, as he had expected. He passed the spot and a run of a few hundred yards brought him out in sight of that stretch of wasteland upon which the rear windows of the lama’s house looked out. Although no one was in sight, he slowed to a walk as he crossed to the door. It was wide open, and he entered without hesitation and went on to the door of the lama’s study.
“Come in, Captain McKay.” Dr. Li Wu Chang, the lama, stood up to greet him. “You are indeed welcome.”
“It’s good to see you again. Sir Denis has told you what I’ve come for?”
The lama held up a sealed package. “Here is the cipher manuscript. And here”—he indicated a long envelope which lay before him—“is the result of many hours of labor. I have deliberately held it until it was complete.”
“What is it?” Tony wanted to know.
“I have broken the cipher, my son, and this is its translation into English.”
“Great God,” Tony whispered. “That’s genius.”
“Merely acquired knowledge and perseverance. There is no merit in a special talent unless its exercise is of use to others.”
Tony dropped down on a stool and faced the lama who had resumed his seat behind the low table. A faint smell of incense pervaded the air.
“Tell me first, Doctor, what is this manuscript?”
“It is a Register of the Order of the Si-Fan, one of the most powerful secret societies in the world. It contains the names of every lodge master in China, some of them men of great influence. It includes the name of the Grand Master, General Huan Tsung-Chao, governor of the province.”
Tony’s brain was in a whirl.
“What is the matter, Captain McKay?” the gentle voice asked. “I can see that something disturbs you. It may be that I can help you solve the problem.”
Tony, without hesitation, told him of Nayland Smith’s bargain with Dr. Fu-Manchu. “Sir Denis has such a firm sense of honor,” he explained finally, “that if he knows the cipher has been broken, having said that it was undecipherable, I’m uncertain of his reaction.”
The lama closed his eyes for a few moments and evidently reflected deeply. Then he spoke again.
“Sir Denis is a throwback to the age of chivalry. Your course is clear. Forget what I have told you. Take this decoding of the manuscript, but produce it only when you are all in safety. I consider the overthrow of the arch criminal called Dr. Fu-Manchu above all subtleties of conscience. If I err, the error is all mine. Go, Captain McKay, for I know time is of vital importance to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tony was forever looking at his watch. The hours of waiting in the doctor’s house at Chia-Ting had been hours of torture. He was so near to Moon Flower, yet so far away; for not mileage but a touch-and-go midnight venture lay between them.
Nayland Smith had called von Wehrner on the secret radio soon after their arrival, but von Wehrner had explained, briefly, that while the technical staff remained he could not safely talk. Now he was free to do so, and Sir Denis, notebook in hand, was riddling him with rapid-fire questions and noting his replies.
They had met Tung who had undertaken to drive them to their dangerous rendezvous. He was a competent-looking lad, not uneducated, who knew little English. He assured them that he knew the road to Hua-Tzu by day or by night.
He was instructed to have the Buick in condition by ten o’clock.
Nayland Smith made a final note and turned to Tony.
“I have the essential facts, McKay. You’re all strung up. Take a drink while I make a rough sketch.”
Tony mi
xed a drink, lighted a cigarette, and watched Sir Denis making a pencil sketch on a writing pad.
“I wonder what you’re doing,” he said, rather irritably.
Nayland Smith looked up, grinned. “You’ll be with Jeanie in a few hours, McKay. The symptoms stick out like brass knobs. Simmer down. Come here and let me explain.”
Tony crossed and looked down at a crude plan.
“This is the back of the enclosure you saw. Here is the bungalow where von Wehrner lives. Notice that it’s a long way from the only gate, but quite near the wire fence. Here, and here”—he indicated two crosses—“are the spots at which sentries are posted at night. They operate on a circulating system. A moves around to B’s post, B moves on, and so forth, every hour. They all report, one by one, to the sergeant at the gate. All clear?”
Tony, now absorbed in the job before them, nodded.
Nayland Smith continued, “Have you noticed the weather? It’s going to be a cloudy night. The fence, of course, is devastatingly electrified. But von Wehrner will switch the juice off. He’ll join us here.” He marked a point midway between the two crosses.
“What about the wire fence? Are we taking ladders?”
“Von Wehrner has made his own. Cord, with bamboo rungs. Easily tossed over the fence. Any questions?”
“No—except where do we park the Buick? Beyond the village there’s no road I know of. The Russian camp isn’t far up the hill and there’s a road from the camp to the research station. But even if we could reach it, we don’t dare use it.”
“Too bad. We shall have to walk there and back.”
* * *
At ten o’clock they were on their way; Tung at the wheel, Sir Denis and Tony seated behind.
“We can’t use our radio until this man’s out of the way,” Tony whispered.
“I don’t intend to do so,” Nayland Smith responded. “Have you noticed the weather?”
“Yes. There’s a hell of a thunderstorm brewing. We’ll probably be drenched.”
Nayland Smith was silent; began to charge his pipe.
Tony thought hard. There were many snags to be looked for. If the storm broke, a flash of lightning might reveal them to the sentries. There were many other disastrous possibilities.
As though a dam had burst in the sky, rain crashed down onto the roof of the car. In a white blaze of lightning he saw the road ahead. It led up into the hills and was little more than a goat track which no sane motorist would have fancied even in ideal weather. Now, it had become a raging cataract.
A crash of thunder exploded like a bomb. Tony glanced at Nayland Smith. He was lighting his pipe. The Chinese driver held steadily on his course, axle-deep in water.
“I presume that this car belongs to General Huan, but I don’t want it to break down all the same,” Sir Denis remarked in his dry way.
The deluge ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The next roar of phantom artillery was further away, the lightning less blinding. The storm was passing eastward. They had crossed the crest of the rocky hill, and Tony, in a moment of illumination, saw a densely wooded valley below.
They descended a road winding through trees, the driver picking his way by the aid of powerful headlights. The road brought them finally to the bank of a running stream, and here the driver suddenly slowed down.
“This is Hua-Tzu, sir. Do you wish me to drive through?”
* * *
Tony and Nayland Smith stepped out on the muddy track. “I think,” Tony said, peering around in the gloom, “it might be wiser to park the car right here. The path to the Russian camp starts at the further end of the village street, I remember.”
“Good,” Nayland Smith said as he glanced at the illuminated dial of his wrist watch and instructed Tony to switch off the headlights. “Park here somewhere”—he spoke Chinese to the driver—“near the roadside, and for your life don’t be seen. Here is the parcel you have to deliver to General Huan. Does your watch keep good time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you understand—you wait for us until three o’clock. If we’re not here by three, you start for the governor’s house. For God’s sake don’t fall asleep!”
“I understand. I shall not fall asleep.”
“Now let’s find a spot to hide the car.”
They explored back up the slope, and Tony found an opening in a plantation of alders wide enough to admit the Buick. Tung brought the car up and backed in.
“Smoke if you like,” Sir Denis told him. “But stamp your cigarette out if anybody comes near.”
“I understand.”
And so they left Tung and moved on.
* * *
Not a single light showed in the one straggling street of the riverside village. They reached the path which Tony remembered without meeting anything human or animal, and began to climb the hill toward the Russian camp. Through a rift in the racing clouds the moon peeped out for a few seconds, and Tony saw the group of huts just ahead.
“Here we start roughing it,” he said.
They turned left into a tangle of scrub and made a detour around the camp, in which, as in the village, no light was visible. Above the camp, Tony led the way back to the rough road which connected the camp with the research plant. They stayed on the road during darkness, but ducked into cover whenever the moon broke through.
“We must be near the gate now,” Tony decided after a while. “Better stick in the rough and work our way left.”
In this way, in sudden moonlight, they had their first view of the wired enclosure and of the hut beside the gate. There was a light in the window of the hut. Beyond, they could see the group of buildings.
“I went no further than this,” Tony reported. “To get around to the other side we’ll have to explore, keeping well out of sight.”
“Good enough,” Nayland Smith agreed. “Let’s hope there’s cover all the way.”
There was, until the time they sighted the first sentry. He was squatting on the ground, smoking. Just beyond was a patch of coarse grass which offered no cover at all. They had to creep further away from the fence before they found bushes. Kept on their circular course only by rare bursts of moonlight, they passed the third sentry, who was asleep, and Nayland Smith looked at his watch.
“We’re there. And it’s just twelve o’clock. We have to wait for the sentries to change over.” He lay flat.
As they rested there, they heard the sound of a distant whistle from the direction of the gate. Soon there were footsteps, voices. Then one of the guards tramped past and disappeared.
“I wonder if the sergeant ever does a round of inspection,” Nayland Smith murmured. “Better wait and make sure.”
They waited for some time, but heard and saw nothing. During a spell of moonlight, Tony had a clear view of the upper part of a hut nestling amid bamboos. It stood less than fifty yards from the wire fence.
“I suppose that’s where von Wehrner lives, Sir Denis?”
“According to my notes, it is. He described it as roughly midway between two of the points where guards are posted. I’ll try to get him, now. When we know he’s starting, we must crawl over to the fence and lie in that tangle of long grass and weeds which borders the wire. Come nearer to shield me from the guard to the south of us. I must have light to see the dial.”
Tony did so, and Nayland Smith shone a momentary light from a flashlight on the dial of his wrist-radio, then switched it off. Tony crouched close beside him, listening intently.
Presently they heard the faint voice of Dr. von Wehrner. “I’m waiting in the powerhouse, Sir Denis. If you’re ready, I’ll make the connection, run back to my bungalow and get what I want, then steal through the bamboos to join you.”
“Wait until clouds cover the moon,” Nayland Smith warned.
“Trust me to be careful.”
“Phew!” Nayland Smith breathed. “So far, all according to plan.”
Tony experienced a feeling of exultation and tingling apprehension. Storm c
louds were sweeping the sky. “Shall we move over, Sir Denis?”
“Yes. Crawl. And lie flat if the moon breaks through.” Their dingy-hued Chinese clothes were admirable camouflage, and they crept across into the tangle of undergrowth fringing the fence without difficulty.
They had no sooner reached this cover when, from the direction of the distant gate, came the sound of a choking scream. It broke off suddenly, as if the one who screamed had been swiftly silenced.
“What the devil’s that?” Nayland Smith growled.
Whatever it was it had alerted the sentries to their right and left. Two shouts came simultaneously. Then one of the voices shouted alone, and silence fell.
“I wish I knew Russian,” Tony muttered.
“So do I,” Nayland Smith said. “But it doesn’t matter. The men aren’t moving. We daren’t use a light out here. So I can’t call von Wehrner. We can only wait and hope for the best.”
They lay there, waiting and listening.
To Tony, keyed up to a high pitch, it seemed that every passing minute was ten times as long. Presently he became conscious of a vague, muffled tumult from somewhere inside the wired enclosure.
“You hear it?” Nayland Smith whispered. “God knows what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s something we don’t want.”
Through a break in the clouds, moonlight peeped out for a few fleeting seconds. Tony stared anxiously into the bamboo plantation masking von Wehrner’s bungalow, but saw nothing. The muted, indescribable disturbance continued.
Darkness again.
“Sir Denis!” It was a husky whisper.
“Von Wehrner!”
“Move a few yards to your left. I’m throwing a weighted line across. Be quick.”
Tony’s heart leapt with excitement as they quickly scuffled toward the spot where a shadowy figure now appeared on the other side of the fence. When they reached the spot, they heard von Wehrner’s voice.
“Here’s the line,” he told them. “Catch it and pull.”
Some heavy object was thrown over the fence. It almost fell into Tony’s hands. He grabbed it—a bronze paperweight—and pulled on the line to which it was tied. He had the end of a rope ladder in his hands when it struck.
