The Island of Fu Manchu f-10

by Sax Rohmer

  Indeed, a jagged dagger of lightning seemed to strike directly down upon its towering battlements. Almost I expected to see them crumble. Darkness fell and there came a crash of thunder so deafening that it might well have echoed the collapse of Christophers vast fortress into the depths.

  At long last we turned inland from the road skirting the precipice and plunged into a sort of cutting. I heaved a sigh of relief.

  “There are two sides to this road,” said Smith. “I confess I prefer it.”

  We were now, in fact, very near to our destination; but since I had never seen the outside of the place but only the extensive buildings which surrounded the quadrangle, I was surprised by its modest character. A wide sanded drive opened to the right of the road, and across it was a board on which might be read: “The San Damien Sisal Corporation.” The drive was bordered by tropical shrubbery and palm trees. Some fifty yards along I saw a bungalow which presumably served the purpose of a gate lodge. Smith checked the driver, and we pulled up just beyond.

  “There are three possibilities,” he said. “One, that we shall find the place deserted except for legitimate employees of the Corporation, against whom it would be difficult to bring a case. In (his event, the presence of the zoological exhibits and of the experimental laboratory might plausibly be accounted for: hemp cultivation after all is conducted today on scientific lines. The glass coffins you describe might be less easy to explain.

  “And the second possibility is—some trap may have been laid for us. I doubt, assuming that the Doctor and his associates have gone below-ground, if it would be possible under any circumstances to obtain access from this point. However, you see, my instructions have been well carried out.”

  In a dazzling blaze of lightning he looked round.

  “I warrant you can find no evidence of the fact, Kerrigan, (hat a considerable party of Federal agents, supported by two companies of Haitian infantry with machine guns, is covering the area.”

  “There is certainly no sign of their presence. But why did they not challenge the car?”

  “They have orders to challenge nothing going in, but anything or anybody coming out. Now, let us have a report.”

  He flashed a pocket torch, in-out, in-out.

  From a darker gulley in the bank of the road. Just above th& sanded drive, two men appeared; one was in the uniform of the Haitian army, his companion wore mufti. As they came up, Smith acknowledged the officer’s salute and turning to the other: “Anything to report, Finlay?” he asked.

  “Not a thing, chief—except that Major Lemage, here, has got his men under cover, and my boys all know their jobs. What’s the programme?”

  “Are there any lights showing?”

  “Sure. There’s one right in the gate-office. Night porter, I guess.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “Haven’t seen any.”

  “Then we will stick to our original plan. Come on, Kerrigan.”

  As we walked past the car and up the sanded drive Finlay dropped back, following at some ten paces.

  “What was the third possibility you had in mind. Smith?” I asked.

  “That Fu Manchu evidently regards himself as a potential world power. He may still be here. He may attempt to brazen the thing out. Your absence will have puzzled him, but there are numbers of burrows in all volcanic rocks such as those which compose the Cavern, so it seems highly unlikely that he will be able to find out what occurred. But the absence of Ardatha and Hassan is susceptible of only one construction: a major mistake—and Fu Manchu rarely makes major mistakes. However, we must move with care. You say that the lift is at the end of a sort of tunnel in which are the glass coffins?”

  “Yes, a cellar built, I believe, in the foundations of the laboratory.”

  “Which you can identify?”

  “I think so.”

  The bungalow, when we reached it, was so like a thousand and one inquiry offices at entrances to works, that again, as had occurred many times before, the idea seemed fabulous that anything sinister lurked behind a facade so commonplace. Lightning blazed, and cast ebony shadows of palm trunks bordering the drive, shadows like solid bars, across to the spot where we stood. There was a brass plate on the door, inscribed: “The San Damien Sisal Corporation.” A light shone from a window.

  Smith pressed the bell, and a sort of tingling excitement possessed me as I stood there waiting to see who would open the door. We had not long to wait.

  A Haitian, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows, a lanky fellow smoking a corncob pipe, looked at us with sleepy eyes. In the office I saw a cane armchair from which he had evidently just risen, a newspaper on the floor beside it. There was a large keyboard resembling that of a hotel hall porter. At the moment that I observed this the man’s expression changed.

  “What do you want?” he asked sharply. “You do not belong here.”

  “I want to see the manager,” snapped Smith. “It is urgent.”

  “The manager is in bed/’

  “Someone must be on duty.”

  “That is so ~ I am on duty.”

  “Then go and wake the manager, and be sharp about it. I represent the Haitian Government, and I must see Mr. Horton at once. Go and rouse him.”

  Smith’s authoritative manner was effective.

  “I have to stay here,” the man replied, “but I can call him.”

  He went inside and took up a telephone which I could not see; but then I heard him speaking rapidly in Haitian. Then came a tinkle as he replaced the receiver. He returned.

  “Someone is coming to take you to the manager,” he reported.

  Apparently regarding the incident as closed, he went in and shut the door.

  I stared, at Smith.

  “One of the Corporation staff,” he said in a low voice. “I doubt if he knows anything. However—wait and see.”

  We had not waited long before a coloured boy appeared from somewhere.

  “You two gentlemen want to see Mr. Horton?”

  “We do,” said Smith.

  “Come this way.”

  As we moved off behind the boy I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Finlay raise his hand and turn, then flash a light in the darkness behind him. We were being closely covered.

  The boy led along the back of those quarters in which for a time I had occupied an apartment. I saw no lights anywhere. Just beyond, and fronting on the big quadrangle, was a detached bungalow. Some of the windows were lighted and a door was open. The coloured boy rapped upon the door, and James Ridgwell Horton came out, holding reading glasses in his hand and having a book under his arm. The storm seemed to be moving into the east, but dense cloudbanks obscured the moon and the night was vibrant with electric energy. He peered at us in a bewildered way.

  “You want to see me?”

  At which moment the reflection of distant lightning showed us up clearly.

  “We do,” said Smith.

  “Why, Mr. Kerrigan! Sir Denis Nayland Smith!” Horton exclaimed, and fell back a step. “Mr. Kerrigan!”

  “May we come in?” asked Smith quietly. “Certainly. This is . . . most unexpected.” We went into a room furnished with tropical simplicity; the night was appallingly hot, and Horton had evidently been lying in a rest chair, reading. In the rack was an iced drink from which two straws protruded. I noticed with curiosity that illumination was by an ordinary standard lamp. Horton stared rather helplessly from face to face .

  “Does this mean—?” he began.

  “It means,” said Smith rapidly, “as the presence of Kerrigan must indicate, that the game’s up. Do exactly as I tell you, and you will come to no great harm. Try to trick me, and the worst will happen.”

  Horton made an effort to recover himself.

  “In the first place, sir, I cannot imagine—”

  “Imagination is unnecessary. Facts speak for themselves. I am here on the behalf of the Government of the United States.”

  “Oh!” murmured Horton.


  “I am accompanied by a number of Federal officers. The entire premises are surrounded by armed troops. This, for your information.”

  “Yes, I see,” murmured Horton; and I saw him clench his hands. “In spite of this—and I speak purely in your own interest—I fear that steps will be taken against you of a character which you may not anticipate. I strongly urge you—”

  “It is my business to take risks,” snapped Smith. “You may regard yourself as under arrest, Mr. Horton. And now, be good enough to lead the way to Dr. Fu Manchu.”

  A moment Horton hesitated, then stretched his hand out to a telephone.

  “No, no!” said Smith, and grasped his arm. “I wish to see him—not to find him gone.”

  “I cannot answer for the consequences. I fear they will be grave—for you.”

  “Be good enough to lead the way.”

  I was now riding a high tide of excitement; and when, walking dejectedly between us, Horton crossed the quadrangle in the direction of that large building without windows which I remembered so well, which I should never forget, I confess that I tingled with apprehension. There was no one in sight anywhere, but glancing back again I saw that a number of armed men had entered from the drive and were spreading out right and left so as to command every building in the quadrangle. Two who carried sub-machine guns were covering our movements.

  Before the door of that lobby in which I had changed into rubber shoes, Horton paused.

  “If you will wait for a moment,” he said, “I will inquire if the Doctor is here.”

  “No, no!” rapped Smith. “We are coming with you.”

  Horton selected a key from a number on a chain and opened the door. We went into the lobby—and there were the rows of rubber shoes.

  “You must change into these,” he said mechanically.

  I nodded to Smith and we all went through that strange ritual.

  “Open this other door,” said Smith.

  The men armed with sub-machine guns were already inside.

  “I have no key of this door; I can only ring for admittance.”

  “Ring,” said Smith. “I have warned you.”

  Horton pressed a button beside the massive metal door, and my excitement grew so tense that my teeth were clenched. For perhaps five seconds we waited. Smith turned to the G-men.

  “When this door opens, see that it stays open,” he ordered. “Pull those rubber things over your shoes. I don’t know what for—but do it.”

  The door opened. I became aware of that throbbing sound which I had noted before, and there, before me, wearing his white surgical Jacket, wasDr. Marriot Doughty!

  “Kerrigan!” he exclaimed: “Kerrigan!”

  His naturally sallow face grew deathly white. The short van-dyke beard seemed to bristle.

  “My name is Nayland Smith,” said my friend. “I am here to see Dr. Fu Manchu. Stand aside if you please.”

  Entering, out of darkness broken only by gleams of lightning, into that vast and strange laboratory was very startling. One came from night into day. Whereas, when I had seen it before, the place had been but dimly illuminated, now, the Ferris Globe shone as though it were molten and the effect was as that of daylight. Standing behind one of the glass-topped benches at the other end of the laboratory—a bench upon which some experiment seemed to be in progress—and still wearing a long white jacket and black skull-cap as I remembered him, was Dr. Fu Manchu!

  “There’s your man!” said Smith, aside.

  “Hands up!” rasped one of our bodyguard. Both raised their machine-guns. We all moved forward.

  At the moment that we did so I saw one of those long slender hands touch a switch, so that to the peculiar throbbing which I have already mentioned was added a new kind of vibration. Otherwise, no perceptible change took place. Standing there, tall, square-shouldered, challengingly. Dr. Fu Manchu watched us.

  “At last,” cried Smith on a note of sudden excitement; “at last I hold the winning card!”

  Dr. Fu Manchu continued to watch but did not speak. ‘The entire works are surrounded,” Smith went on. “Every exit covered, high and low, except the air. And you have missed your chance there.”

  The green eyes became comtemplative. In that unnatural daylight I could see every change of expression upon the evily majestic face. Fu Manchu nodded his great head thoughtfully.

  “You have acted with your accustomed promptness and efficiency,” he replied; but his voice, though even, was pitched on a high strident note. “Exactly what steps you have seen fit to take it is not my purpose to inquire. But I was expecting you, and you are welcome.”

  There was something chilling in those words. “I was expecting you”—something which increased the effect which the presence of this man always had upon me. If he spoke the truth—why had he remained?

  “Indeed?” said Smith, and I noted a change in his tone.

  Although I never took my eyes from Dr. Fu Manchu, I was aware of the fact that other men were crowding in from the lobby.

  “Order those men to cross the red line on the floor behind you,” Fu Manchu said harshly.

  And at the very moment that he spoke I knew the worst. I turned and cried shrilly: “Stand where you are there, for your lives! Don’t cross the line. Smith!” I clutched his arm. “Do you understand what this means?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. The fire had gone from his grey eyes. “I understand.”

  “An Ericksen screen,” that guttural voice continued, and now I detected a note of mockery, “has been thrown across the room some fifteen feet in front of me, and another behind you at the point marked by the red line on the floor. You are prisoners, gentlemen, in a cell from which no human power can rescue you, unless / choose to do so.”

  “We’ll see about that,” growled Finlay, who had evidently just come into the lobby. “I don’t like the looks of you and I’m taking no chances.”

  Followed three sharp, ear-splitting explosions. ButDr. Fu Manchu never stirred.

  “Merciful heaven!” said Finlay hoarsely. “God help us! What is he—a man or a spirit?”

  “Both, my friend,” the guttural voice assured him: “as you are.”

  The effect of this seemingly supernatural demonstration upon the two men beside me was amazing. Plainly I saw them blanch, and for the first time they lowered their guns, peering into each other’s eyes. Then one turned to me, and: “What is if, mister?” he asked. “What is it? You seem to know.”

  “Yes, I know, but I can’t possibly explain.”

  “In your absence. Sir Denis,” Dr. Fu Manchu went on, ‘“Which I regretted, I chose Mr. Kerrigan as your deputy and gave him an opportunity of glancing over some of my resources. His unaccountable disappearance threatened to derange my plans. But his return in your company suggest to me that he may have acquainted you with these particulars.”

  “He has,” Smith replied, tonelessly.

  “In that case you are aware that as the result of many years of labour I am at last in a position to dictate to any and every government in the world. The hordes now overrunning Europe could not deter me for a week from any objective I might decide to seize. Their vaunted air force, or, if you prefer it, that of the Allies, I could destroy as readily as I could destroy a wasp’s nest. The methods pursued by the Nazis are a clumsy imitation of my own. I too have my Fifth Column, and it is composed exclusively of men who understand their business. Those, for I am not infallible, who seek to betray me are disposed of.”

  He took up the jade snuff-box and delicately raised a pinch of snuff to his nostrils. He was not looking at us now but seemed to be thinking aloud.

  “There is a peril threatening the United States which, although it might be defeated, would nevertheless create a maximim of disorder and shake the national unity. I charge you. Sir Denis, to dismiss from your mind your picture of myself as a common criminal. I am no more a criminal than was Napoleon, no more a criminal than Caesar.”

  His voice was rising, quivering, and
now his eyes were widely open. He was an imposing but an evil figure.

  “Transmit the order to the agents and to the troops who have entered these premises to return to their posts outside, until further instructions reach them. Washington has sent you here and I wish you to put before Washington a proposal which I have drawn up, which I shall place in your hands whenever you ask me to do so. Knowing something of your prejudices, of your misconceptions, of your ignorance, I give you time to adjust your outlook. I can grant you one hour. Sir Denis. Word has reached me of a shipwreck which threatens to block my sea-gate. I shall go down to investigate the matter. When I return, no doubt you will have made up your mind. I leave Companion Doughty in your company. As it would be unwise to remove the Ericksen screen at present, you would be well advised to remain nearer the centre of the laboratory. Proximity to the screen is dangerous.”

  CHAPTER XLI

  AN ELECTRICAL DISTURBANCE

  “Barton has done it!”

  Smith spoke in a hoarse whisper. The two men of our bodyguard sat on a long bench, mopping their perspiring foreheads and glancing about them with profound apprehension. Dr. Marriot Doughty was seated on the other side of the room, and Finlay alone remained in the lobby beyond the red line. Smith had ordered the others to withdraw. The heat in the windowless laboratory was indescribable, and that “consciousness of cerebral pressure” created by Ericksen waves was all that I could endure.

  “Yes, Barton has succeeded; but we are trapped.”

  Although no reflection of lightning penetrated, apparently the great storm had not passed but had gathered again overhead. A crash of thunder came which rattled the glass instruments in their racks: the sound of it boomed and rolled and echoed weirdly above and about us. Marriot Doughty stood up and approached.

  “If you will permit me to prescribe,” he said, “there are several masks of a kind we wear during Ericksen experiments. I can reach them without leaving the free zone.”

  He crossed to a tall cabinet, opened a drawer and took out a number of headpieces resembling those used by radio operators.

  “Can we trust him?” whispered Smith.