by Sax Rohmer
“Are you presuming to question my surgery?” he shouted. “Am I, now, to return to Heidelberg, to the Sorbonne, to Edinburgh, and beg to be re-enrolled as a student — I who took highest honors at all of them?”
He was in the grip of one of those outbursts of maniacal frenzy which, years before, had led Nayland Smith and others to doubt his sanity.
Matsukata seemed to shrink physically. He became speechless.
Fu-Manchu raised clenched hands above his head. “God of China!” he cried, “give me strength to conquer myself or I shall kill this man!”
He dropped down onto a chair, sank his head in his hands. Matsukata began to steal away.
“Stand still!” Fu-Manchu commanded.
Matsukata stood still.
There was complete silence for several minutes. Then Dr. Fu-Manchu stood up. He was calm; the frenzy had passed.
“Prepare the cold room,” he ordered. “I must re-examine the patient.”
* * * *
On his return from the early morning investigation, Nayland Smith’s behavior was peculiar. After a hasty meal, he appeared dressed as a workingman. He grinned at Tony and Moon Flower.
“I’m off again,” he announced. “All I want you two to do is to stay indoors until I come back. Can you bear it?”
Tony and Moon Flower exchanged glances. Tony’s inclinations and his sense of duty were at war. “Can’t I be of any use, Sir Denis?” he asked.
“There’s not a thing you could do, McKay, that I can’t do better alone.”
And off he went.
“Chi Foh.” Moon Flower spoke almost in a whisper. “It’s wonderful for us to be together again. I know that Sir Denis is working to rescue Father. But you must feel, as I do, that to stay inactive is dreadful.”
Tony threw his arms around her. “You weren’t inactive, Moon Flower, in finding Shun-Hi and I don’t think it will be long before we are active again. I’m learning a lot about Sir Denis. When he tells me to stay put, I stay put. He’s a grand man, and I’m glad to take his orders.”
The interval of waiting, to these affianced lovers, was rapturous. But even with Moon Flower’s arms around him, Tony had pangs of conscience. Nayland Smith was on the big job, and he was dallying.
As the day wore on and Sir Denis didn’t return, this uneasiness became alarm.
Where had he gone? What was he doing?
With the coming of dusk, both were wildly uneasy. Tony’s glimpse of Dr. Fu-Manchu that morning had sharpened his dread of the Master. He was painfully aware of the fact that if anything happened to Nayland Smith they would be helpless; two wanderers lost behind the second Bamboo Curtain.
Tony paced the room. Moon Flower rarely stirred from the window.
“If only I had some idea of where he went,” Tony said desperately.
He heard a crisp step on the landing. Nayland Smith walked in.
“Thank God!” Tony said with relief.
Moon Flower turned in a flash. “I didn’t see you on the street.”
“No, Jeanie. I came another way and entered by the back door. I had an uneasy feeling I was being followed.”
“I hope you were wrong,” Tony said.
“So do I,” Sir Denis admitted, opening the closet where they kept a scanty supply of liquor. “A stiff Scotch and soda is clearly indicated.”
“I had hoped to hear from Shun-Hi,” Moon Flower began.
“No luck today,” Nayland Smith rapped. “I have seen her. She’ll try again tomorrow. By that time we’ll be ready to go into action.”
Sir Denis grinned in his impish way. “I had to clear the course,” he stated cryptically, and began to fill his pipe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tony woke early on the following morning. Looking across the room which he shared with Nayland Smith, he saw that the bed was empty. He thought little about it, for Sir Denis’s hours of rising were unpredictable. He took a shower, went into the living room, and lighted a cigarette.
When the woman who looked after their apartment came in to set the table for breakfast, he asked her, in Chinese, what time Sir Denis had gone out. They always spoke Chinese in the presence of the servants. She looked surprised and told him that it must have been before six o’clock, as no one had gone out since.
Moon Flower joined him half an hour later. “Isn’t Sir Denis up yet?” she asked in surprise.
“Very much up,” Tony told her. “He must have gone out around dawn.”
She stared at him in a puzzled way. “He’s behaving very oddly, isn’t he? Of course, I know it all has something to do with getting Father free, but I wish he wouldn’t scare us by these disappearances.”
“Who’s scaring you?” barked a voice from the direction of the doorway.
Tony turned — and there was Nayland Smith smiling at them. He wore his workman’s clothes.
“Where on earth have you been?” Tony asked. “And at what time did you start?”
“I started some time before daylight, McKay. I’ve been finishing the job of clearing the course. All we’re waiting for now is word from Cameron-Gordon.”
During breakfast, in spite of Moon Flower’s cross-examination, Nayland Smith evaded any explanation of his plans. “I believe, Jeanie, I have done all that can be done so far. Our next move will be touch-and-go. And I don’t want to raise false hopes.”
He spent the forenoon smoking his pipe near the window, constantly watching the passersby. Once he spoke aside to Tony, out of Moon Flower’s hearing. “If they once suspected we were here, all my plans would be shattered.”
Tony felt like a greyhound on the leash, and Moon Flower, reproachfully, retired to her own room.
During luncheon Nayland Smith tried to divert their gloomy thoughts with memories of his many encounters with Dr. Fu-Manchu, particularly those in which he had foiled the cunning Chinese scientist. “I’m only a moderately competent policeman. This man is a criminal genius. But I have had him on the mat more than once. Unfortunately, he always got up again.”
The afternoon was passed in the same way; but when evening drew near, Nayland Smith’s imperturbable calm began to show signs of breaking down. Several times he looked at his watch, then out the window again.
Suddenly he cried out, “Here she is!” and sprang to the door in his eagerness.
Shun-Hi, flushed and excited, came in. Moon Flower ran to meet her.
“Here it is, Miss Yueh Hua. The answer from your father.”
Moon Flower almost snatched the folded sheet of paper right out of Shun-Hi’s hand.
“Quick, Jeanie, is it for tonight?” Nayland Smith snapped.
She read, quickly, tears in her eyes, then looked up. “Yes. Tonight.”
* * * *
In the dusk, Tony and Nayland Smith set out. They had weathered a bad storm with Moon Flower.
“I simply dare not take her, McKay,” Sir Denis said. “I understand her eagerness to see her father, but if anything goes wrong tonight, we shall have walked into hell. Whatever happens to you and me, Jeanie will be safe, if she does what I told her to do. You heard my instructions to Lao Tse-Mung. If we get Cameron-Gordon clear, the plans are laid for Jeanie and her father to fly to Hong Kong. Your capture of the Chinese manuscript was a divine miracle. We may have Dr. Fu-Manchu at our mercy. But Skobolov’s correspondence has given me ideas about the Soviet research centre. We are going to take a look at the centre, McKay.”
They followed the route which they took before, when Shun-Hi had led them to the staff entrance of General Huan’s house. But tonight the streets were not thronged. In one quarter, a fringe of which touched their route, they could see lighted lanterns in adjoining streets, and hear barbaric music, but it was soon left behind.
Once clear of the outskirts of the town, two workingmen and their moon-shadows walked along the highway.
There was something melancholy in the empty countryside, in the breathless stillness, which bred in Tony’s mind a sense of foreboding. Nayland Smith had b
een silent for some time. Suddenly he spoke.
“Your automatic is ready, I take it, McKay?”
And the words suggested to Tony that Sir Denis was feeling the same apprehension.
“Yes, sure.”
“So’s my revolver. Always want to be prepared.”
Tony was obsessed by an urgent need to talk, and so, “You said you had cleared the course,” he said, trying to speak lightly. “To which part of the course did you refer?”
“The last hundred yards,” Nayland Smith replied, and fell silent again.
Twenty paces on, he stopped suddenly and grasped Tony’s arm. “Listen.”
Tony stood completely still and strained his ears. He could hear nothing.
“What do you think you heard?” he asked Nayland Smith in a hushed voice.
“Someone behind us. But there’s no one in sight.”
But, as they resumed their march, Tony knew that the shadow which had fallen upon his spirits had also touched Nayland Smith.
They reached the point where, before, they had turned into the poppy field, but now kept to the high road. Soon they were on the path which Shun-Hi and her friends had followed and deep in the shadow of the cypresses. Tony’s spirits sank even lower in the darkness.
Nayland Smith pulled up, stopped him with a touch.
A weird, plaintive wail rose in the night, and then died away.
“Stupid of me,” Sir Denis murmured. “For one unpleasant moment I thought it was a dacoit. Just a night hawk.”
They came to the lane bordering the high wall. Nayland Smith looked swiftly to right and left before stepping out. The side on which they stood, opposite the wall, lay in shadow. “All clear. Come on!”
Almost silent in their straw sandals, they moved on, nearer to the door in the wall. In the shade of the banyan, Nayland Smith turned aside, plunging into undergrowth. Tony followed. He was completely at a loss until Sir Denis produced a flashlight and shone it on the tangled roots of the great tree.
“Look!”
Tony looked and was astounded by what he saw.
A long, slender bamboo ladder lay there.
“Always glad to learn from the enemy, McKay. This clears the course from here to the laboratory where Cameron-Gordon is waiting for us.”
“You still have me guessing.”
Nayland Smith laughed. “This ladder is light enough for a child to carry and it’s long enough to reach the top of General Huan’s wall. It’s also strong enough to support a man of reasonable weight.”
“But where did you get it?”
“I found a friendly carpenter. Told him I was a gardener employed in a place where there were tall trees to be pruned. He had the ladder ready by evening. I collected it and carried it here early in the morning before anyone was about.”
He dragged the ladder from the roots of the tree.
They returned to the lane, Tony carrying the ladder on his shoulder. “I have to look out for the pear tree?”
“Right. Go ahead. I want to keep an eye on the lane behind.”
Tony tramped on. Promise of action blew aside the cloud of foreboding which had crept over him. And soon, against the bright sky, he saw pear blossoms peeping over the wall like a scene in a Japanese water-color painting.
“All clear,” Nayland Smith called. “Set the ladder up, McKay.”
Tony found a spot among the weeds at the foot of the wall where he could make the base of the ladder firm, and gingerly maneuvered its delicate frame into place.
“All ready.”
“Stand by, McKay. I must make sure that the trellis is strong enough to be safe. We may want to leave in a hurry.”
Nayland Smith went up the ladder with an agility surprising in a man no longer young. Tony watched, breathless with excitement. Sir Denis climbed over the wall and began to climb down on the other side. When his head was level with the pink blossoms, he spoke again.
“Follow on,” he instructed. “Safe as an oak staircase.”
“Do I leave the ladder?”
“No choice, McKay. If it’s moved, we’ll have to drop from the wall.”
Tony was up in a matter of seconds and looked over the top. He saw a well-planted orchard: pear trees, plums, and other fruits. Nayland Smith stood below.
Tony swung his leg over, found a stout branch, and scrambled down.
“What’s our direction, Sir Denis?”
“Not quite sure. Must get my bearings.”
Nayland Smith stood there in the shadow of the wall, tugging at his ear.
“Shun-Hi tried to explain the location of the laboratory.”
“She did. And it’s clear in my mind, now. Follow on.”
* * * *
They had to make a wide detour around the house. The property was landscaped as a pleasure garden, with lily ponds and streams of running water and with miniature waterfalls amid a blaze of rockery flowers. In the moonlight it was entrancing.
The laboratory, when at last they sighted it, proved to be partly screened in a grove of orange trees. This was all to the good. It was an ugly building, evidently of recent construction; a long, narrow hut, but much larger than Tony had thought it would be.
“We have to show ourselves in the moonlight to reach the orange trees, which troubles me,” Nayland Smith said. “But at this point we’re not in view from the house.”
“There isn’t a light on in the house,” Tony pointed out.
“That’s what bothers me. Let’s make a dash for it.” They raced across the bright patch of moonlight and into the shadow of the trees.
Two windows of the laboratory building were lighted — a small one near the door and a larger one at the side of the hut. Tony pushed forward, but Nayland Smith stood still, looking back, listening. He said nothing, but joined Tony on a narrow path which led to the door.
He rapped on the panels. The light in the window disappeared. The door opened, and a man in a white coat peered out.
“Smith. Quickly, come in! Who’s with you?”
“Tony McKay, one of us.”
They entered in darkness. The door was closed again and a light sprang up.
Tony saw a tiny room with a table and two chairs, just as Shun-Hi had described. The man in the white coat spoke hoarsely.
“Thank God you found me, Smith, I didn’t know you were in China. And God bless Jeanie for getting my message through. I didn’t want to show a light when I opened the door. I never know when I’m being watched.”
“Nor do I,” Nayland Smith said. “I suggest we start.”
Cameron-Gordon had his hand in a fervent gesture of greeting. “Wait just a few moments, Smith. I want you to see the kind of work I do.” He transferred the handshake to Tony. “You must be quite a man to be here, and I’m glad to meet you.”
He opened a door, beckoned them to follow. They did so reluctantly.
On the threshold they halted simultaneously. There was a muffled buzzing sound and a strange, repulsive odor. The place was lined by glass cases, in which, as Cameron-Gordon switched on the light, they saw feverish activity going on. The cases were filled with insects, some with wings and some without; huge flies, bloated spiders, ants, centipedes, scorpions.
“My God!” Tony muttered.
“I have seen something like this before,” Nayland Smith said, “in another of Fu-Manchu’s establishments.”
“My dear Smith” — Cameron-Gordon was alight with the enthusiasm of the specialist— “he is doing work here which, if it were used for the good of humanity, would make his name immortal. His knowledge of entomology is stupendous.”
“I have had some experience with it,” Nayland Smith rapped dryly. “‘My little allies,’ he once called these horrors.”
Cameron-Gordon ignored the interruption. “His experiments, Smith, are daring beyond what is allowed to be known by God-fearing men. He has bred hybrids of the insect world which never before existed except for sufferers of delirium tremens. I’ll show you some. But he has als
o prepared drugs from these sources which, if made available to physicians, would almost certainly wipe out the ravages of many fatal diseases.”
“Tell me, Doctor,” Tony said faintly, “what is that?” He was staring at a case which contained an enormous centipede of a dull red color. It was fully a foot long and was moving around its glass prison with horrible, febrile activity.
“A Mexican specimen of the morsitans species. Twice its hitherto-known largest size. From its toxin he hopes to prepare an inoculation giving immunity from cholera. One of my duties is to extract the toxin.”
“And what about this hideous spider?”
“Known in New Zealand as a katipo, but in this instance, crossed with a tarantula. Its sting is deadly. Dr. Fu-Manchu has made a poison from that creature’s toxin which when swallowed, and it’s tasteless, kills in five minutes; injected, kills instantly. Look at that colony of red ants. Another hybrid species. They multiply from hundreds to millions in a short time. They eat anything. Set loose here in China, they would turn Asia into a desert from the sea to the Himalayas in a few months.”
Nayland Smith was glancing anxiously at his watch. But Cameron-Gordon remained in the grip of his enthusiasm.
“These,” he pointed, “are plague fleas. They are reinforced with plague cultures. One bite would mean the end. I have to feed them.”
Sir Denis broke in. “These cases filled with buzzing flies particularly interest me. What are they?”
“Tsetse flies,” Cameron-Gordon told him, turning. “Each one of the cases is kept at a different temperature, which I regulate. The first, which you’re looking at, is kept at tropical heat, the normal temperature for these insects. The second is sub-tropical. The third is temperate. And the fourth is arctic. So far, we have failed with the fourth. But some of the flies in there are still alive.”
“So I see.”
“They are fed on blood plasma, charged with the trypanosoma of sleeping sickness. They are so reinforced that their bite induces a form of a disease which goes through its entire stages in a matter of days, instead of months. They could operate anywhere short of the Arctic Circle. They are utterly damnable!”
