Daughter of Fu-Manchu

by Sax Rohmer

  “I arrived in Port Said two weeks ago today. I had nothing to go upon—no evidence to justify summary action; only one fact and a theory…”

  His pipe went out. He paused to relight it.

  “Do I understand, Sir Denis,” I said, “that you’re speaking of Madame Ingomar?”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder.

  “Madame Ingomar? Yes. That’s a nom-de-guerre. Her dossier is filed at Scotland Yard under the name of Fah Lo Suee. You’ll recognize her when you see her, Petrie!”

  “What!”

  “You met her once, some years ago. She was about seventeen in those days; she’s under thirty, now—and the most dangerous woman living.”

  “But who is she?” cried Petrie.

  Nayland Smith turned, a lighted match held between finger and thumb.

  “Dr. Fu-Manchu’s daughter,” he replied.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NAYLAND SMITH EXPLAINS

  “The trail led me from Cairo to Luxor,” said Nayland Smith.

  “Information with which I was supplied from day to day clearly pointed to some attempt on Sir Lionel Barton.

  “Professor Zeitland, I had learned, from facts brought to light after his sudden and mysterious death, had been studying the problem presented to Egyptologists by Lafleur’s Tomb, or the Tomb of the Black Ape. He had contemplated excavations. He deeply resented what he looked upon as Sir Lionel’s intrusion. Did you know this?”

  He turned to me suddenly. His skin, as I now realized, had been artificially darkened. Looking out from that brown mask, his eyes were unnaturally piercing.

  “Perfectly well.”

  Superintendent Weymouth, whose unexpected meeting with Sir Denis had reduced him to an astounded silence, now spoke for the first time since he had entered the room.

  “Probably some of the professor’s notes were stolen,” he said.

  “They were!” rapped Nayland Smith: “which brings us to Barton. Are his notes intact?”

  He shot the question at me with startling rapidity.

  “He made few notes,” I replied. “He had a most astounding memory.”

  “In short, his memory was his notebook! This explains much…”

  He paused for a moment, and then:

  “I immediately adopted the device which you know,” he went on. “Fletcher installed himself here, and I used these rooms as my base of operations. I had first to track Fah Lo Suee to her lair. I use the term advisedly, for she is the most dangerous beast of prey which this century has known.”

  “I simply cannot understand,” cried Petrie, “why Sir Lionel never suspected this woman!”

  Nayland Smith shook his head irritably.

  “I think he did—but too late. However—naturally I distrusted everybody, but I decided to take Barton into my confidence. It was on that occasion, Greville, that we met for the first time. I bear you no ill will, but I could have strangled you cheerfully. Short of revealing my identity, I was helpless… and I decided to stick to my disguise…”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “I was wrong. The enemy struck. Forthright action might have saved him. I must have failed to do even what little I did do, for all the odds were against me, were it not that that very night I made up my mind to try to get to Sir Lionel secretly whilst the camp was sleeping.

  “In one of your workmen, Greville—Said by name—I recognized an old friend! Said was once my groom in Rangoon! I dug him out of his quarters at Kûrna and appointed him my liaison officer.

  “Then, with Said in touch, I started. I had found one man I could trust…

  “I reached Barton’s tent three minutes too late. He had just scrawled that last message—”

  “What!” Weymouth interrupted excitedly. “You actually saw the message?”

  “I read it,” Nayland Smith replied quietly. “Barton, awakened by the needle, miraculously realized what had happened. I am prepared to learn that he expected it… that, at last, he had begun to distrust ‘Madame Ingomar.’ It had just dropped from his hand as I entered.

  “It was my voice, Greville, not his—that awakened you…”

  Nayland Smith ceased speaking, and stepping up to the table, began to knock ash from the steaming bowl of his briar, whilst I watched him in a sort of stupefaction. Petrie and Weymouth were watching him too. Truly, here was a remarkable man.

  “I slipped away as quietly as I had come. I watched for developments… then I set out for the head of the wâdi, where Said was watching. And Said had news for me. Someone had passed his hiding place ten minutes before—someone who slipped by rapidly. Said had not dared to follow. His orders were to wait… but I guessed that he had seen the agent of Fah Lo Suee who had entered Barton’s tent ahead of me, and who had done his appointed work…

  “‘He was Burmese,’ Said assured me, ‘and I saw the mark of kâli on his brow!’

  “In a deep hollow, by the light of my torch, I wrote a message to Fletcher. Said set out for Luxor. I was taking no chances. The result of that message, Petrie, you know—you also, Weymouth. Fletcher despatched two telegrams.

  “Then I returned, and from the slope above Sir Lionel’s tent, overheard the conference. I still distrusted everybody. As early as Lafleur’s time, a certain person was interested in the Tomb of the Black Ape. Of this I am confident. The nature of his interest it remains for us to find out. In the meantime, a member of the family of that great but evil man has penetrated to the Tomb—”

  “Smith!” Petrie interrupted. “Some age-old secret—probably a ghastly weapon of destruction—has lain there, for thousands of years!”

  Nayland Smith stared hard at the speaker; then:

  “Right,” he snapped—“as regards the first part. Wrong as regards the second.”

  Giving us no chance to ask him what he meant:

  “My point of vantage regained,” he went on rapidly, “I saw all that took place. I saw the hut opened and two lanterns placed inside. I realized that it was proposed to carry Sir Lionel there. I saw the body placed in the hut, and the door locked. I could do no more—for Barton.”

  “Since it seemed fairly certain that the objective of these mysterious crimes was the Tomb of the Black Ape, I now made my way round to the enclosure. The door was locked, but I managed to find a spot where I could climb up the fencing and look over. I stared down into the pit and listened intently. In that silence, any movement below must have been clearly audible. But I could not hear a sound.

  “I was mystified—utterly mystified. I began to wonder if poor Barton had been mistaken in his own symptoms. I began to think he might really be dead! Perhaps the man whom Said had seen had had no connection with the matter. For I confess I could imagine no object in inducing that form of artificial catalepsy of which we know Dr. Fu-Manchu to have been a master.

  “Crawling above the camp like a jackal, I taxed my brain to discover some line of action.

  “None of you slept much that night, and I had to watch my steps. It was a nerve-racking business, especially as I suspected that a trained assassin was prowling about somewhere—and possibly covering my movements.

  “Failure seemed to threaten me again. I had failed in London. I had failed here. But I was expecting the return of Said at any moment, now, and presently I heard our prearranged signal: the howling of a dog.

  “He, at least, had done his job. I replied.

  “Perhaps my imitation was a poor one. All I know is that you, Greville, and others, came out into, wâdi with lanterns, and began to search all about the camp.”

  “We did,” I interrupted. “That howling was unnatural. Dogs never came as near to the camp at such an hour.”

  “You found nothing,” Nayland Smith went on; “and when all was quiet again, I crept round and rejoined Said. He had more news. As he had pulled across from Luxor to Kûrna, and in sight of the landing place, a motor-boat had passed, heading upstream. Note that, Weymouth. Standing in the bows was the Burman whom Said had seen near Sir Lionel
’s camp!

  “This set me thinking. I came back here and turned up some recent reports. I discovered, Weymouth, that a certain Sheikh Ismail—who once slipped through our fingers in London—was living in the Oasis of Khârga. This venerable gentleman, for he must be well past eighty, I believe to be the present holder of the title of Sheikh al-Jébal, or head of the murderous sect of the Hashishîn!”

  “A member of the old group!” said Weymouth excitedly.

  “Exactly! And an associate of Dr. Fu-Manchu! As a result, after a few hours’ rest, I started for Esna. And I spent a very profitable day there.”

  “Esna!” I exclaimed. “Why Esna?”

  “Because the old caravan road to the oasis starts from there, and because Esna is upstream. But whilst I was so employed, there’s little doubt, I think, that Fah Lo Suee and her party, operating from Lafleur’s Shaft, were completing the work begun by Barton…”

  “Amazing,” I interrupted, “but fate, I suppose, that not a soul went down all day. The men, of course, were given a holiday.”

  “I know,” Smith said. “Said was with me. However, I got back just before dusk and went straight to the camp to see how the land lay. Everything seemed to be quiet, and I was following the edge of the wâdi and had reached a point just above the hut in which Sir Lionel’s body lay, when I pulled up…

  “It must have been inaudible from the tents. It came from directly below me—a soft, wailing cry. But I knew it! Good God, how well I knew it!…

  “The call of a Dacoit!

  “Over these dangerous madmen, Greville, as well as the Thugs and the Hashishîn, the late Dr. Fu-Manchu had acquired a mysterious control. I dropped flat on the ground, wriggled to the edge and looked down. Nothing moved—the place was dark and silent. But I continued to watch and presently I saw a seeming miracle.

  “The door of the hut was open! I clenched my fists and stared. It was as though the gate of a tomb had opened. I did not know what to expect. But what I saw was this:

  “A thickset brown man, naked except for his loincloth, came out, bending double in the manner of a laden Eastern porter, and carrying on his shoulders the body of Sir Lionel Barton wrapped in a gray blanket!

  “On the threshold, he laid him down. He locked the door with a key he carried, shouldered the body again, and set off up the wâdi… How had he got into the hut and where had he obtained the key?”

  “Weymouth has solved that mystery,” Petrie interrupted. “The key was on Sir Lionel’s chain. He had only partially undressed on the previous night, and the Dacoit must have slipped in between the time that the hut was open and the time that Sir Lionel was carried there.”

  Nayland Smith tugged at his ear, a nervous mannerism which I had already observed, and turning to Weymouth:

  “Congratulations!” he said. “What was your clue?”

  “The man had been chewing betel nut. I found some…”

  “Chunam! Brilliant, Weymouth! No school to equal that of experience. But do you grasp the astounding fact that he had stuck to his post for some twenty hours, with nothing but betel nut to sustain him! Yet he still had the strength of a tiger—as I was to learn!…

  “I started to follow. By the smaller hut as you know, Greville”— turning to me—“there’s a steep path leading to the plateau: it begins as a sort of gully. And in the dense shadow there my Dacoit stopped.

  “Need I say that I was searching madly for a proper course of action? What was the right course? Barton, if not dead, was palpably unconscious. What was the purpose of this mysterious body-snatching? Even if they knew that you, Petrie, had been sent for—”

  “They did!” I interrupted. “I was followed to Cairo!”

  “Even so, I argued, it must be as Barton himself had believed. Someone needed him—alive! My decision was made. I would not arouse the camp—my first, natural impulse—nor interfere in any way. I would follow and see where he was being taken.

  “At which moment I nearly made a fatal mistake. I was on the point of moving from the deep belt of shadow in which I lay concealed, when a second soft call drew my gaze upward to where the path ceased to be a ravine and topped the slope above.

  “Another Dacoit was descending, almost silently, but very swiftly.

  “I shrank back.

  “A low-toned conversation took place in the darkness beneath me; and then the pair raised the body of Sir Lionel and carried it rapidly up the slope and over the top.

  “I gave them twenty seconds. I could risk no more. Then, fairly silent in my soft slippers, I raced up and threw myself prone on the crest… They were heading westward across the plateau.

  “Naturally, I had made myself acquainted with the outstanding peculiarities of the district immediately surrounding Sir Lionel’s excavation; and in a flash, as I lay there, plainly visible in the moonlight should either of the Dacoits have looked back, the truth dawned upon me. I knew where they were making for.

  “They were carrying him to Lafleur’s Shaft!”

  “When at last, using what little cover I could find, I ventured to approach the entrance to the shaft—which, I discovered, is a long, sloping tunnel—the Dacoits were already far ahead of me. I could just see the moving light of a lantern.

  “I stopped, lying flat by the entrance and looking down. What should I do next?

  “For one moment the dreadful idea came to me that they were going to bury him—alive! I had it in mind to rush back to the camp for assistance, since I was single-handed and had no notion how many the enemy numbered.

  “Wiser second thoughts prevailed. Sir Lionel lived. And they needed his knowledge…

  “Of Lafleur’s Shaft I knew next to nothing. From what little I had gathered of its history, I understood that it was an abandoned cutting, terminating in a dead-end some forty feet below the level of the plateau.

  “I waited—until I thought I might venture to descend the shaft to the first bend. It was hot and still—very still. No light showed ahead of me nor could I hear a sound. My sense of mystification increased. Where had they gone? What was their purpose?

  “Risking everything, I flashed a light along the sloping path below me. I saw a rough tunnel terminating in another bend. I began to descend it. Sometimes my foot slipped and I stopped, listening… Not a sound. I descended still further. Lafleur’s Shaft, I learned, forms roughly a slanting figure Z. At last I came to a yawning pit. One fact my lamp revealed—the fact that a ladder rested in it. I stood in darkness, listening again.

  “I could hear nothing.

  “Using my lamp sparingly, I found my way to the head of the ladder and climbed down. On an irregular mass of stone at the base I paused. So far as my scanty information carried me, this was the end of Lafleur’s Shaft. It was empty!

  “Where had the Dacoits gone?

  “I knew, from experience of these wiry little Burmans, that they possessed a gorilla-like strength and that for one to have carried even so heavy a man as Sir Lionel Barton down the ladder slung across his shoulders was not an impossible task.

  “But where had they gone?

  “Cautious examination discovered a ragged gap in one wall of the pit, or well, in which I stood. I groped my way through and found myself in a slanting passage running, roughly, parallel with the tail of the Z of Lafleur’s Shaft, but hewn in the solid rock and obviously of very early origin.

  “Far below to my right, a vague light showed…

  “I stood still again, listening.

  “Voices… then a crashing, booming sound.

  “I crept down the slope. I came to a second ladder, and looking up saw the stars. This was Barton’s excavation! A dim perception of the truth began to dawn on me. I stole down a little further. I lay flat in the passage—watching.

  “In the light of several lanterns I saw a party of half-naked men working feverishly to break away through the wall! They worked under a woman’s direction! I heard her voice—an unforgettable, bell-like voice…”

  “Madame Ingomar!�
�� I shouted—my pent-up excitement at last expressing itself.

  “Undoubtedly Fah Lo Suee. She was questioning Barton, who lay in the passage… and Barton was answering her!”

  “Beyond doubt they had been at their task for hours. Barton, unwillingly—perhaps unwittingly—helped them to complete it. They forced the opening. They all went through—four men led by Fah Lo Suee. Sir Lionel was left where he lay.

  “I began to move back to the ladders. I had them in a trap! Not daring to use a light, I groped my way to the foot of the pit. I climbed to the first platform. Now, using my torch, I went up to the second.

  “Switching off the torch, I pressed myself against the side of the excavation.

  “Three lanterns passed the gap below. I counted them. Their bearers were heading for Lafleur’s Shaft. There was an interval. Then, a fourth light shone out into the pit, it grew brighter.

  “A woman, in native dress, looked up to where I crouched on the platform…

  “She withdrew, and went on. I heard a vague shuffling—a distant voice. Silence came… Three men and one woman. Where was the fourth man—and Barton?

  “The answer was all too obvious… Barton had served the purpose of Fah Lo Suee: his usefulness was ended. Whatever she had sought, she had found. And now I realized that my immediate duty was to Sir Lionel. I crept down again, rung by rung. And, just as I reached the jagged opening, an explanation of the mystery of the fourth man burst upon me with icy certainty…

  “Already it might be too late! Barton had served the purpose for which he had been kept alive. Now, a dead man—not a synthetically dead man—he was to be replaced in the hut. This was the task of the Dacoit who had carried him to Lafleur’s Shaft, and who had remained behind to carry him back!

  “A dim light shone through the newly made opening. I crawled nearer; so near that at last I could touch Sir Lionel’s body.

  “The Dacoit came out, stooping and holding the lantern. He would have been an easy shot but I had decided against the use of firearms. The professional strangler never had a chance; because I’d got my thumb on his jugular and my knee between his lean thighs almost before he suspected I was there. I had little compunction; but these people are queerly constituted. This fellow had sinews like iron wire and the strength of a tiger. Yet, when I removed my grip and wondered how I should tie him up… he was dead!