His eyes, alone, and his hands, betray the Asiatic.”
“But the real Dr. Hessian?”
“If he’s alive—which I doubt—Otto Hessian is probably in Siberia. He disappeared behind the Iron Curtain three years ago. Well, as I said, there was a disturbance in the household—and an unpleasant change for me. I was transferred to a room in the cellar. Unmistakably a dungeon, belonging to the days when the old house had been the palace of some wealthy pasha!
“Merrick! I all but lost hope! Two ofFu Manchu’s thugs had been left behind to guard me, and I expected from hour to hour they would get word to finish me off! My only exercise was walking about the cellar. And the nights were dreadful. I suspected, but couldn’t confirm the suspicion, that some kind of murder machine was installed in my cell.
“Then, one night a queer thing happened. I was roused by a faint noise outside my locked door. I thought my time had come! Alight shone through the grille, and I called out, ‘Who’s there?’ The light vanished.
Complete silence. Nothing happened … until the next day.
“Neither of the assassins brought me my breakfast. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Hours passed. No one came. I asked myself was I doomed to starve to death! But early next morning a party of Egyptian police, accompanied by Nigel Richardson of the British Embassy, and Lyman Bostock, his American opposite number, burst into the cellar.”
“How had they traced you?” Brian demanded excitedly.
“Top marks to your F.B.I., Merrick. My understudy (then arrived in New York), had excited the suspicion of one of their brightest undercover agents. A code message reached Bostock. It asked for a secret examination to be made of the house of the Sherif—not neglecting the cellars! A tall order. How the devil they arranged it I don’t know; and they both laughed when I asked them. But I remembered the light through the grille of my cell. Anyway, they succeeded in getting a search warrant. And I can assure you that getting that warrant must have taken a lot of doing! . . . The place was deserted. Not a soul in the building . . . except myself! The Sherif had got wind of the thing and pushed off in a hurry with his entire household, including, I was told, several ladies and a fat eunuch. When I heard of the astonishing deception to which Richardson and Bostock had been made parties I knew that not another hour must be wasted. Both wanted the impostor arrested by the New York police at once. I disagreed.
“I made them see that the arch-conspirator would slip through our fingers. We must find out first the purpose of this amazing plot—which was what the F.B.I, wanted to know, too. Then, we’d have the whole gang in the bag.”
“What I don’t understand,” Brian declared, “is why they left you alive.”
Nayland Smith smiled grimly. “Because somebody blundered—or got cold feet. My cell (as I suspected) was fitted with the brain-blasting equipment, and for purposes of concealing evidence, there was a man-sized bath of curious construction in another room which was intended to contain acid:
something had thrown the gang into a panic, and these little arrangements, by the mercy of Providence, were overlooked at the last moment.”
“Tell me one thing, Sir Denis. By what accident did I get into the picture and why?”
“Not by accident, I assure you! Fu Manchu already had me in his hands, and no doubt his agents were combing likely spots for a young, unemployed American with an influential background, to make doubly sure of my understudy’s acceptance. You were the very man. The F.B.I, had operatives in London (I don’t know why), and they found out that you had been employed by a Communist group, but were ordered not to interfere. Washington had no idea what was brewing, but thought that
you, as an innocent accomplice, might come up later with some useful information.”
“You mean”—Brian flushed indignantly—”that I was allowed to walk blindfolded into this thing?”
“I mean that, yes. And don’t glare at me! I had nothing to do with it.
What’s more, it’s been done before. You see, Merrick, if you had known, you’d have betrayed yourself. Undercover espionage isn’t your metier. How well it has worked out you can see for yourself. They are quite sure of you, and so we have the game in our hands.”
Brian lighted a cigarette, but said nothing.
“Well,” Nayland Smith went on, ‘I got my own way and was smuggled out of Cairo. I travelled as Major S. D. Smith, wore a toothbrush moustache and a monocle. Not a word was allowed to leak out about the raid on the Sherif’s house. All the same, the Si-Fan got the news. When I arrived at Idlewild, at five-thirty this afternoon, I was met by the F.B.I.
Their star operative, already a member of the Communist party, had managed, by what I can only call a stroke of genius, to become a top executive of the Si-Fan! Every detail of my projected execution was known!
“First, you had to be kept away until it was all over. Second, as it was assumed that I should apply for a spare key and walk right up to the suite reserved in my name (exactly what I had planned to do), my double had orders to go out.”
“Yes?” Brian was getting excited. “What happened?”
“A tactical move by the F.B.I, worthy of Napoleon. My double’s orders were to slip around to a back entrance, go up in the service elevator and return to the suite. He had to unlock the communicating door and then take cover until I came in and had been liquidated. They managed to detain him long enough for me to come up first, open the door and lie low. When my wretched double appeared he got what was coming to me!”
“Do you mean to say the police and the F.B.I.suspected nothing right up to the time you were found in Cairo?”
“They accepted Nayland Smith the Second and Dr. Hessian as authentic. They still think Hessian is. They didn’t know where you fitted in. In other words, it was the discovery by their operative in London that you had been employed by a Red agent which sparked the inquiry!” Sir Denis glanced at his watch. “And now I must be off. . . .
Don’t look so desperate, Merrick! I’m well briefed, and”—he tapped a coat pocket— “prepared for anything. Stand by… .”
Chapter 16
Dr. Fu Manchu sat at the long table in the room without windows when Nayland Smith came in. “Sit down,” he ordered. “I have much to say to you.”
Nayland Smith sat down in a chair on the other side of the table. He found that whilst Fu Manchu’s face remained in shadow, his own was brightly lighted. As of old, he experienced a tingling of the scalp whenever he came into contact with the force which seemed to proceed from this evil superman. He recalled the form of address which he had been told to use.
“At your service, Excellency.”
Fu Manchu watched him. A stray beam of light touched the green eyes. Their regard was hard to sustain.
“You had done well, William Hailsham,” the sibilant voice continued, “until I had to warn you that your prototype had escaped death and was on his way. Your behaviour in face of danger disappointed me. I asked myself if I had rescued a cur from a Soviet labour camp for this!” The strange voice hissed the last word. “Your political views terminated your career as an actor. Your arrogance offended even your Communist employers. I, alone, offered you a way to speedy fortune, security”
Nayland Smith remained silent. Dr. Fu Manchu took a pinch of snuff.
“I am too closely tied to this project. I had hoped to bring with me what you would term a ‘standin’ for Dr. Hessian as you are ‘standin’ for Nayland Smith. Unfortunately, certain surgical treatment proved unsatisfactory at the last moment. Therefore, my personal presence, although necessary, is dangerous.”
He closed the lid of the silver snuff-box.
“The first crisis is over. Those responsible shall pay a heavy price.
There is only one Nayland Smith—yourself. But, falter tonight . . . and there will be no Nayland Smith.” He passed his hand over his high brow.
“I regret the necessity.
Physically, you might have been twins. But there the likeness ends.
/>
Had the real Nayland Smith been not my enemy but my ally, I should sit today on the throne of an empire greater than Rome ever knew. . . .
Listen.”
And Nayland Smith listened intently.
“The entire routine for tonight is changed. You handled the premature appearance of that impetuous fool, Merrick, very well. You seemed to have recovered your nerve—for you had no more than locked the communicating door when he arrived. I have not lost hope that you may carry off the situation tonight.”
Dr. Fu Manchu paused, and his eyes seemed to film over;
but soon he went on:
“The plan of the Reds was to ensure that a certain order to the Chiefs of Staff should not be authorized. This you know. It was a desperate plan, and a bad one. I had never intended to carry it out. This also you know.
My own plan would have served the same purpose—but gone further. For, with the acceptance of the so-called ‘Hessian Sound Zone’ I should have had access to every important air base, every military objective, from coast to coast. I should have made them invulnerable!” His voice quivered with the enthusiasm of the fanatic. “Then—at last—I could have challenged the power of Communism … and broken it!”
Fu Manchu raised clenched hands above his head, then lowered them; spoke softly.
“These are your new orders. …”
*
Brian paced the living-room like a man possessed.
He had been allowed to become party to a conspiracy directed against the United States government by the very people sworn to defend it; used as a tool! He grew hot with indignation. The mystery which had puzzled him all along was a mystery no more. He had been employed solely as a link with his father, and, through his father, with the President.
But it was the part played by Lola which crowned his misery. Peter Wellingham, he knew now, was a Red agent. Beyond doubt he had been right when he thought it was Lola he had seen with Wellingham in Hyde Park. Lola had drawn his attention to The Times advertisement. If any room for doubt had remained, seeing her in the company of the false Nayland Smith would have swept it away. How little either of them could have suspected that their murder plot was known!
Brian groaned in his misery. From first to last he had been in the hands of creatures of Dr. Fu Manchu.
Zoe Montero—Ahmad—all had played him like a hooked fish!
He remembered, bitterly, Lola saying about The Times advertisement, “It read like a job created purposely for you.” It had been created purposely for him, and she knew it!
Fu Manchu or the Reds, whichever of them she worked for, had sent her off to New York to take him over as soon as he arrived. They were naturally anxious to know if he suspected anything. Many other questions about Nayland Smith recurred to him, and he could see their purpose, now… . Perhaps little Zoe—alone—had really weakened and tried to help him.
He would have loved to think so.
But Lola …
This mood of self-contempt so burned him up that he wanted to curse aloud. It called for a mighty effort to put his own petty troubles aside, to get back to the concrete inescapable fact that he was still involved in a giant conspiracy which might change world history.
He looked at the time. Surely Sir Denis should be back?
And, as he arrived at this conclusion, Sir Denis did come back. He entered quietly, put one finger to his lips, and pointed to the open door of Brian’s room.
They went in, and Nayland Smith closed the door.
“Lucky I was warned that our living-room is wired,” he remarked.
“Well—I think I have passed, Merrick. At least, I’m still alive! But those X-ray eyes may have seen more than Fu Manchu thought it diplomatic to give away. He was employed by the Reds—rather reluctantly, I gather—to carry out a certain scheme.”
“He—your double—told me the same thing! That Fu Manchu had been employed to prevent Dr. Hessian’s invention falling into the hands of the United States!”
“That was the story my double sold to the authorities. Remember, he was accepted for myself. Hessian wasn’t doubted. The only dark horse in the stable was you! The F.B.I. rarely let you out of their sight!”
“You mean they suspected me of being a Red spy?” Brian blazed angrily.
“They didn’t know what or whom to suspect, Merrick, until I came on the scene. By the way, they’ll be expecting me to report. But I’m in rather a quandary.”
“IfFu Manchu already knows the secret of this sound cover, what on earth is he doing here?”
Nayland Smith laughed dryly. “What Fu Manchu, himself, described to me as the ‘so-called Hessian Sound Zone’ he really meant to place in the hands of the United States! He had no intention of following his Red instructions. These were designed simply to prevent the President signing an order to Chiefs of Staff which would have upset certain of their plans.
It involved an urgent telephone call from the White House, a mouthpiece which ejected an odourless gas, and some other details which Fu Manchu could undoubtedly have provided.”
“But why such an elaborate set-up?”
Nayland Smith began to fill his pipe, glancing aside at Merrick.
“Have you ever thought how hard it would be to get the President of the United States alone? Had the Red plan been carried out, he would have been struck down by what any physician would have diagnosed as a heart attack, and been incapable of transacting any business for a long time!”
“Good God! What a villainous plot!”
“But child’s play for Dr. Fu Manchu. That’s why he was employed.”
“Then the Hessian Sound Zone is just an illusion—a hoax?”
Nayland Smith dropped his pouch back into his pocket; struck a wooden match.
“Not a bit of it. The Sound Zone is Dr. Fu Manchu’s invention. He’s a scientific genius. The thing is an astounding reality!”
“Astounding’s an understatement.”
“It would give complete immunity from blast. No projectile could penetrate it. The nuclear fall-out would be dispersed over a wide area of the upper atmosphere. This, if such horrible weapons are ever used, is unavoidable. The consequences would depend upon the direction of the wind over which no man, not even Dr. Fu Manchu, has control.”
“Then why not let bygones be bygones, if Fu Manchu has really come clean?”
“Because, to mention one reason, its adoption, whilst making America, and I suppose the other Western allies, immune to direct air attack, would also give the Si-Fan absolute control of the Near and Far East.”
“But if it’s real——”
“Just so, Merrick.” Sir Denis lighted his pipe. “That’s why we have to hold the candle to the devil. That’s why we can’t arrest the two assassins next door, and produce the body which, I suppose, is hidden there. That’s why I don’t know what to report.”
Brian was dumbfounded. “You mean that, after what happened tonight, Fu Manchu will still go ahead with his project?”
Nayland Smith nodded; dropped the match-end in a tray.
“It’s his master-plot. He won’t resign it easily.”
The smell of tobacco-smoke spurred Brian to light a cigarette; to put himself in the background; concentrate on these vast issues at stake.
“This master-plot may be clear to you, Sir Denis, but I can’t get it.
Why would the fact (and I accept your word it is a fact), that the West was safe from air attack, help this amazing man to take over the East?”
“Because the Reds, helpless to retaliate, could be blasted into submission, or unconditional surrender. And the vast underground movement throughout the East, which he has developed, would seize power. There’d be no holding him! I assure you, Merrick, that Hitler and Stalin were babes and sucklings compared to Dr. Fu Manchu!”
Nayland Smith continued his usual promenade. Brian was deep in thought.
“His cutting-in with a double for yourself,” he admitted, “wasn’t far short of criminal genius. His
preparations to handle the thing if you happened to be alive were masterly.”
“Dragging the son of a prominent Senator and friend of the President
into his programme also had elements of talent,” Sir Denis remarked dryly. “Never underestimate Dr. Fu Manchu. If he hadn’t been bitten by the bug called Power he would be honoured today as one of the world’s greatest intellects. Fortunately (in this case) like many men of genius, he’s more than slightly mad.”
“But what are you going to do?” Brian demanded. “The F.B.I, know, now, that Dr. Hessian isn’t the real man——”
“They don’t!” Nayland Smith rapped. “I haven’t told them. They accepted my double and Hessian as authentic. They began to worry about Nayland Smith the Second. Thought I had been brain-washed or something; but, all through, never doubted Hessian. They know now that my understudy wasn’t Nayland Smith; but they believe that Hessian is Hessian and that the purpose of the plot is to steal his invention.”
“Then why keep them in the dark?”
“Because, as he believes that I am his own man (I hope), Fu Manchu still plans to meet the President tonight and to hand over his system to the United States! The late Nayland Smith the Second was an actor called William Hailsham, an active member of the Communist Party. My orders are to tell the committee that the impostor attempted to kill me and that in self-defence I strangled him!”
“But are you really going to do it?”
Nayland Smith twitched the lobe of his ear. “I don’t know. I’m thinking hard… .”
*
This remarkable conversation was still going on in Brian’s room in Suite 420B when a tall, spare figure wearing a long black coat and a wide-brimmed black hat rapped in a peculiar manner on the door of Suite 420C.
The door was opened immediately by the slender man who wore a blue turban.
He salaamed deeply. “Master!”
Dr. Fu Manchu walked in with his majestic yet curiously feline step, and in the main room, which, although richly furnished, was smaller than that in the adjoining suite, faced the second occupier—whose apelike ugliness had so appalled Brian when he had seen him through a hole in the screen.
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