by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. A CAR IN HYDE PARK
An unavoidable business appointment called me away that afternoon. My personal inclination was never to let Nayland Smith out of my sight although heaven knows what I thought I could do to protect him. But as he never went about alone and rarely failed to notify me of any move in the game in order that I might be present, we parted with an understanding to meet at dinner.
My business took me to Westminster. Fully an hour had passed, I suppose, when I began to drive back, and I found myself in the thick of the afternoon traffic. As I made to cross towards Hyde Park I was held up. Streams of vehicles coming from four different directions were heading for the gate. I resigned myself and lighted a cigarette.
Idly I inspected a quantity of luggage strapped on the rack of a big saloon car. It was proceeding very slowly out of the Park in that pent-up crawling line of traffic and had just passed my off-side window. There were new labels over many old ones, but from my position at the wheel I could read none of them, except that clearly enough this was the baggage of a world traveller, for I recognised the characteristic hotel designs of Mount Lavinia in Colombo, Shepheard’s in Cairo and others East and West which I knew.
The constable on the gate had apparently become rooted just in front of me with outstretched arms. Curious for a glimpse of these travellers who were presumably bound for Victoria Station, I leaned back and stared out at the occupants of the car. A moment I glanced — and then turned swiftly away.
A chauffeur whose face I could not see was driving. There were two passengers. One was a darkly beautiful woman. She was smoking a cigarette, and I could not fail to note her long ivory hand, her slender, highly burnished fingernails. In fact, except for their smooth beauty, those hands reminded me of the hands of Dr. Fu-Manchu. But it was that one glimpse of her companion which had urged me to turn aside, praying that I had not been recognised…
It was Ardatha!
Useless to deny that my heart had leapt at sight of her. She wore a smart little hat crushed down on her coppery curls, and some kind of fur-collared coat. I had seen no more, had noticed no more. I had eyes for nothing but that bewitching face. And now, as I stared at the broad, immovable back of the constable, I was thinking rapidly and hoping that he would remain stationary long enough for me to rearrange my plans.
Somehow, I must follow that car!
Once at Victoria it should not be difficult for a man with newspaper training to learn the destination of the travellers. If I failed to do so I could never face Nayland Smith again with a clear conscience. But here was a problem. I must enter the Park now for I was jammed in the traffic stream, and the car which contained Ardatha was leaving or waiting to leave! It meant a detour and I had to plan quickly. I must bear left, leave by the next gate (I prayed I might not be held up there) and make my way to Victoria across Knightsbridge.
This plan was no sooner formed than the constable moved and waved me on.
I proceeded as fast as I dared in the direction of the next gate — and I was lucky. Oncoming traffic was being let out, that from the opposite direction being held.
Last but one, I got through.
I was lucky on the rest of the way, too, and having hastily disposed of my car I went racing into the station. I knew that (a) I must take care not to be seen; that (b) I must find out what trains were about to depart and swiftly make up my mind for which I wanted a platform ticket.
A Continental boat train was due to leave in five minutes.
This struck me as being quite the likeliest bet. The next departure, seven minutes later, was for Brighton, and somehow I felt disposed to wash this out as a possibility. Turning up the collar of my topcoat and pulling my hat well forward, I took a platform ticket and strolled among departing passengers and friends, porters, refreshment wagons and news vendors.
I glanced at the luggage van, but doubted if I should recognise the particular baggage I had seen upon the tail of the car. Then, time being short, I walked along the platform. I could see no sign of two women, and I began to wonder if I had made a mistake. I started back again, scrutinising all the compartments and staring into the Pullman cars.
But never a glimpse did I obtain of Ardatha or her companion. I was almost in despair and was standing looking right and left when a conversation taking place near by arrested my attention.
“I’ve got an old lady going through to Venice. I noticed you had a party of two for Venice, so I wondered if you could arrange to give them adjoining places in the car. They might strike up an acquaintance — see what I mean?”
“You mean the two good-lookers — the red head and the dark one — in D? Yes, they’re booked for Venice but I don’t know if they’re going direct. Where’s your passenger?”
“D. Number eleven. Do what you can, Jack.”
“Right-o!”
I glanced quickly at the speakers. One was a Cook’s man and the other the chief Pullman attendant. It was perhaps a forlorn hope, but I had known equally unlikely things to come off. I turned back and went to look at coach D.
One glance was enough!
Ardatha was seated in a corner reading. Her companion was standing up and placing something upon the rack, for I had a momentary impression of a tall figure. I turned away quickly and hurried back to the barrier.
The beautiful dark mystery was undoubtedly the woman associated with the death of General Quinto — with the death of Osaki! The woman who had drugged Constable Isles and who had escaped with the model and plans of the vacuum charger! Although perhaps not blood guilty, Ardatha was her accomplice. It was an unhappy, a wildly disturbing thought. Yet, I must confess, so profound was my dread of the Chinese doctor, that I rejoiced to know she lived! His words about retribution had haunted me… But one thing I must do and do quickly:
I must advise Nayland Smith.
Here were two known accomplices of Dr. Fu-Manchu. My duty to my friend — to the world — demanded that steps should be taken to apprehend them at Folkestone. There was no room for sentiment; my conscience pointed the straight road to duty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. “THE BRAIN IS DR. FU-MANCHU”
“Dinner’s off, Kerrigan! We shall have to get what we can on the way.”
“What!”
“Accident has thrown the first clue of many weary days and nights in your way, Kerrigan, and you handled it very cleverly.”
“Thank you.”
“My latest information, just to hand, explains why Doctor Fu-Manchu’s attention has become directed upon Rudolf Adlon. Adlon is on his way to Venice for a secret meeting with his brother dictator, Monaghani!”
“But that’s impossible, Smith!” I exclaimed. I was still figuratively breathless from my dash to Victoria. “It’s in the evening papers than Adlon is reviewing troops tomorrow morning.”
Smith was pacing up and down in an old silk dressing gown and smoking his pipe. He paused, turned, and stared at me with raised eyebrows. His glance was challenging.
“I thought it was common knowledge, Kerrigan,” he said, quietly, “that Adlon has a double.”
“A double!”
“Certainly. I assumed you knew; almost everybody else knows. Stalin of Russia has three.”
“Three doubles?”
“Three. He knows that he is likely to be assassinated at almost any moment and in this way the odds are three to one in his favour. On such occasions as that which you have mentioned the director of his country stands rigidly at the salute for forty minutes or so while troops march by with mechanical accuracy, it is not Rudolf Adlon the First who stands in that painful position. Oh no, Kerrigan: It is Rudolf Adlon the Second! The Second will be there tomorrow, but the First, the original, the real Rudolf Adlon, is already on his way to Venice.”
“Then you think that the fact of these two women proceeding to Venice means—”
“It means that Doctor Fu-Manchu is in Venice, or shortly will be! Throughout his career he has used the weapon of feminine beauty, and
many times that weapon has proved to be double-edged. However, we know what to look for.”
“Surely you will take steps to have them arrested at Folkestone?”
“Not at all.”
“Why?”
He smiled, paused.
“Do you recall Fu-Manchu’s words on striking at the heart, the brain? Very well. The heart is the Council of Seven — the brain is Doctor Fu-Manchu. It is at the brain I mean to strike, therefore we are leaving for Venice immediately.” He had pressed the bell and now the door opened and Fey came in.
“Advise Wing Commander Roxburgh that I shall want the plane to leave for Venice in an hour. He is to notify Paris and Rome and to arrange for a night landing.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Stand by with the car.”
Fey went out.
“You are sure, Kerrigan, you are sure” — Nayland Smith spoke excitedly— “that you were not recognised?”
“Sure as it is possible to be. Ardatha was reading. I am practically certain that she could not have seen me. The other woman doesn’t know me.”
Nayland Smith laughed aloud and then stared in an amused way.
“You have much to learn yet,” he said, “about Doctor Fu-Manchu.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. VENICE
Of those peculiar powers possessed by Nayland Smith, I mean the facilities with which he was accredited, I had a glimpse on this journey. And if confirmation had been needed of the gravity of the menace represented by Dr. Fu-Manchu and the Council of the Seven, I should have recognised from the way in which his lightest wishes were respected that this was a very grave menace indeed.
We had travelled by a Royal Air Force plane which had performed the journey in little more than half the time of the commercial service!
As we entered the sitting room allotted to us in the Venice hotel, we found Colonel Correnti, chief of police, waiting.
Smith, dismissing an obsequious manager with a smile and wave of the hand, turned to the police officer.
He presented me.
“You may speak with complete confidence in Mr Kerrigan’s presence. Has Rudolf Adlon arrived?”
“Yes.”
Smith dropped into an armchair. He had not yet removed hat or Burberry, and groping in a pocket of the latter he produced that dilapidated pouch in which normally he carried about half a pound of tobacco. He began to load his pipe. “This is a great responsibility for you?”
“A dreadful responsibility!” the colonel nodded gloomily. “The greater, because Signor Monaghani is expected on Tuesday morning.”
“Also incognito?”
“Alas, yes! It is these visits of which so few are aware which make my life a misery. Our task is far heavier than that of Geneva. Venice is the favourite rendezvous of some of the greatest figures in European politics. Always they come incognito, but not always for political reason! Why should Venice be selected? Why should this dreadful onus be placed upon me?”
His Latin indignation was profound.
“Where is the chancellor staying?”
“At the Palazzo da Rosa, as guest of the baron. He has stayed there before. They are old friends.”
“Are there any other of Herr Adlon’s friends in Venice at present?”
“But yes! James Brownlow Wilton is here. He leases the Palazzo Brioni on the Grand Canal, at no great distance from this hotel. His yacht Silver Heels is in the lagoon.”
“Will he be entertaining Herr Adlon?”
“I believe there is to be a small private luncheon party, either at the Palazzo or on board the yacht.”
Nayland Smith crushed tobacco into the big cracked bowl of his pipe. Only once he glanced at me. But I knew what he had in mind and thrilled with anticipation, then:
“You have arranged to have agents on board, Colonel?”
“Certainly. This was my duty.”
“I appreciate that. No doubt you can arrange for Mr Kerrigan and myself to be present?”
For a moment Colonel Correnti was taken aback. He looked from face to face in astonishment.
“Of course.” He endeavoured to speak easily. “It could be arranged.”
Nayland Smith stood up and smiled.
“Let it be arranged,” he said. “I have an appointment to meet Sir George Herbert who is accompanying me to see Herr Adlon. I shall be free in an hour. If you will be good enough to return then we can make all necessary plans…”
During the next hour I was left to my own devices. That Dr. Fu-Manchu, if not there in person certainly had agents in Venice, had made me so intensely nervous that I only let Nayland Smith leave the hotel when I realised that a bodyguard in the form of two plainclothes police accompanied him.
I tried to distract myself by strolling about those unique streets.
This was comparatively new territory. I had been there but once before and only for a few hours. Night had long fallen, touching Venice with its magic. Lights glittered on the Grand Canal, shone from windows in those age-old palaces, and a quarter moon completed the picture.
Somewhere, I thought, as I peered into the faces of passers-by, Ardatha might be near to me. Smith was of opinion that they would have flown from Paris, avoiding Croydon as at Croydon they were likely to be recognised. Assuming a fast plane to have been awaiting them, they were probably in Venice now.
Automatically, it seemed, and in common with everyone else, I presently drifted towards St. Mark’s. Despite the late hour it seemed that all Venice took the air. Had my mind been not a boiling cauldron but normally at peace I must have enjoyed the restfulness of my surroundings.
But feverishly I was thinking, “Ardatha is here! At any moment she may become involved in a world tragedy from which I shall be helpless to extricate her.”
One who, whatever his faults, however right or wrong his policy, was yet the idol of a great country, stood in peril of sudden death. Perhaps only one man could save him — Nayland Smith! And upon that man’s head, also, a price had been set by the dreadful Chinese doctor.
I found it impossible to relax. I recalled Smith’s words: “Do as you please, Kerrigan, but for heaven’s sake don’t show yourself.”
It was impossible, this walking in shadow, distrusting the moonlight, avoiding all places where people congregated, and slinking about like a criminal who feared arrest. I went back to the hotel.
The lounge appeared to be deserted, but I glanced sharply about me before crossing it, making my way to the suite reserved for Smith and myself.
I found the sitting room in darkness, but an odour of tobacco smoke brought me up sharply as I was about to cross the threshold.
“Hello!” I called, “is anyone there?”
“I am here,” came Smith’s voice out of the darkness.
He stood up and switched on the light, and I saw that his pipe was between his teeth. Even before he spoke his grim expression told me all there was to know.
“Have you seen him?”
He nodded.
“What was his attitude?”
“His attitude, you will be able to judge for yourself when you see him on Silver Heels tomorrow. He has gone so far, has risen so high, that I fear he believes himself to be immortal!”
“Megalomania?”
“Hardly that perhaps, but he sets himself above counsel. He admitted reluctantly that he had received the Si-Fan notices — two at least. He merely shrugged his shoulders when I suggested that a third had come to hand.”
He was walking up and down the room now tugging at the lobe of his left ear.
“If Adlon is to be saved, he must be saved against himself. If I had the power, Kerrigan, I would kidnap him and transport him from Venice tonight!”
* * * *
“I count upon you, Colonel,” said Nayland Smith as the chief of police rose to go. “My friend and I will be present on Silver Heels tomorrow. I must have an opportunity of inspecting Mr Brownlow Wilton’s guests and of seeing in which of them Rudolf Adlon is interested.”
<
br /> When we were alone:
“Have the police obtained any clue?” I asked.
Smith shook his head irritably.
“Very rarely indeed does the doctor leave clues. And this is a major move in his game. I don’t know if Monaghani is marked down, but Adlon admits that he is. We have yet to see if Monaghani arrives. But for tonight, I suppose my work is done. Have you any plans?”
“No.”
“I wish I could find Ardatha for you,” he said softly, and went out. “Good night.”
As the door closed and I heard him walking along to his room I dropped down on to a settee and lighted a cigarette. How I wished that I could find her! I had never supposed love to come in this fashion. Quite easily I could count the minutes — had often done so — that I had been in Ardatha’s company. Collectively they amounted to less than an hour.
Yet of all the women I had known, she was the one to whom my thoughts persistently turned.
I tried to tell myself that this was an obsession born of the mystery in which I had met her — an infatuation which would pass — but always the effort failed. No, she haunted me. I knew every expression of her piquant face, every intonation of her voice; I heard her talking to me a thousand times during the day — I dreamed of her, I suspected, throughout the night.
That Nayland Smith was tired I could not doubt; I was tired myself. Yet, although it was long past midnight, any idea of sleep I knew to be out of the question. Outside, divided from the window only by a narrow quay, the Grand Canal lapped its ancient walls. Occasionally, anomalous motorboats passed; at other times I heard the drip of an oar as some ghostly gondola crept upon its way. Once the creaking of a boat, as a belated guest returned to the hotel, reminded me — terrifyingly — of the cellars under the Monks’ Arms where I had so nearly come to an end.
I rang for a waiter and ordered a drink to be brought to my room; then, extinguishing the lights of the sitting room, I went along the corridor intending to turn in.
