President Fu-Manchu

by Sax Rohmer

  “Ah! That parcel! You can no doubt enlighten me, Mr. Damopolon? What, roughly, were the dimensions of this Burmese idol?”

  “The monkey? I don’t think it was actually an idol, Doctor; it was, rather, a grotesque ornament. Oh, it was about the size of a small Moorish ape, hollow, and weighing perhaps six or seven pounds.”

  “Was it upon a pedestal?”

  “No. It was completely modeled, even to the soles of the feet and the nails.”

  “Extraordinary!” I muttered. “Uncanny!”

  Some little while longer I remained, and then set out, my doubts in no measure cleared up, for the cottage. To my surprise—for I had no idea that I had tarried so long—dusk was come. I will frankly confess it—I experienced a thrill of supernatural dread at the thought that my path led close beside Black Gap. However, it was a glorious evening, and I should have plenty of light for my return journey. I walked briskly across the moorpath toward the scene of the mysterious crime, hoping that I should find East returned when I gained the cottage.

  Perhaps in a wandering life I have known more thrilling moments than some men; but never while memory serves shall I forget that when, coming abreast of the coppice, and glancing hurriedly into the shadow of the trees… I saw a crouching figure looking out at me!

  Speech momentarily failed me; I stood rooted to the spot. Then:

  “All right, old man!” I heard. “Shall be with you in a moment!”

  It was East!

  Fear changed to the wildest astonishment. Carrying a strange looking bundle, he came out and joined me on the path.

  “Did I frighten you?”

  “Is it necessary to ask!” I cried. “But—whatever were you doing there by the Black Gap?”

  “Fishing! Look what I have caught!”

  He held up for my inspection the object which he carried, by means of two loops of stout cord bound about it. It was a large china figure of an ape!

  “The blue monkey!” he snapped. “Come! I am going to The Warrens.”

  IV

  Again I sat in the fine old library of The Warrens. At the further end of the long, book-laden table, facing me, sat East; Mr. Damopolon occupied a chair on the right, and midway between us, in the centre of the table, presiding over that strange meeting, was the fateful blue monkey.

  “You see, Mr. Damopolon,” said East, “I knew that Sir Jeffrey was carrying this thing”—he indicated the image—“at the time of his death, and, since it had disappeared, I assumed at first that it had been the motive of the crime. Sir Jeffrey had money and other valuables upon him; therefore we were obviously dealing with no ordinary thief.

  “Accordingly, I made inquiries respecting the history of the thing, and found that it possessed but little market value and next to no historical importance. It was of comparatively modern Chinese workmanship, and Sir Jeffrey had bought it, apparently, because it amused him, though why he should have taken the trouble to carry it home, heaven only knows. My first idea—that the curio was a very rare and costly piece—was thus knocked on the head.

  “I sought another motive for a crime so horrible and, by a stroke of intuition, I found one. You may not have had an opportunity of studying the mysterious tracks which so puzzled us, Mr. Damopolon, before they were obliterated, but my friend, the doctor, will bear me out. They commenced, then, close beside the body of the murdered man, and they were, as I now perceive, made by the feet of this blue monstrosity upon the table here!”

  “Impossible,” murmured the secretary incredulously.

  “So it appeared to me at the time, when, although I had not then seen the image of the monkey, I perceived, by the absolutely regular character of the impressions, that they were made, not by a living creature, but by the model of one which had been firmly pressed into the soft ground at slightly varying intervals. Since no footprints other than those of Sir Jeffrey were to be found in the vicinity, I was unable to account for the presence of the person who had made these impressions. I devoted myself to a close scrutiny of those footprints of Sir Jeffrey’s which led up to the scene of the attack. It became apparent, immediately, that someone had followed him… someone who crept silently along behind the unsuspecting victim… someone so clever that he placed his feet almost exactly in the marks made by the baronet!

  “Good! I had accounted for the presence of the murderer. He struck Sir Jeffrey with some heavy implement, but failed to stun him. Then began the struggle, which so churned up the ground that all tracks were lost. The murderer prevailed. He was a man of wonderful nerve. Never once did he place his foot upon virgin ground; not one imprint by which he might be identified did he leave behind him!”

  “Then how,” inquired Damopolon, who was hanging upon every word, “did he leave the scene if—”

  “Listen,” snapped East. “I found by the body the torn paper in which the china image had been wrapped—but no string! I went all the way to London to learn if the parcel had been tied with string and if Sir Jeffrey had been carrying a stick!”

  “But surely,” said Damopolon, “I could have saved you the journey, since I was with the late baronet immediately before he set out for home.”

  “Quite so—but I had another reason for my visit.”

  East shot a sudden glance from Damopolon to myself, and there ensued a moment of electric silence.

  “Beside the track made by the feet of the image,” he resumed slowly, “I found a series of wedge-shaped holes, one on either side of each monkey-impression. Do you follow me, Mr. Damopolon?”

  “Perfectly,” replied the Greek, taking up and lighting a cigarette. “Wedge-shaped holes, you say?”

  “They were the clue for which I sought! I saw it all! The china ape had been used as a stepping-stone! The cunning criminal had thus gained the firm ground in the coppice without leaving a footprint behind!…”

  “But, my dear East,” I interrupted, “I cannot follow you. He stepped from beside the body on to the image, which he had placed at a convenient distance?”

  “Yes. Then, by means of loops of string—see, they are still attached!—he lifted it forward with his feet—”

  “But—”

  “Supporting his weight upon two sticks—Sir Jeffrey’s and his own! Hence the wedge-shaped holes beside the track! He had actually reached firm ground when his own stick snapped off short, and he made the fatal error of leaving the fragment and the ferrule, imbedded in the hole! Here is the fragment!”

  On the table East laid a fragment of an ebony cane, broken off short some three inches above the nickel ferrule.

  “Ebony is so brittle, is it not, Mr. Damopolon?” he said.

  “It is indeed,” agreed Damopolon, standing up as though he believed East to have finished.

  “Yet this stick was made of a particularly fine piece,” added East. “Carter!” he cried loudly.

  The library door opened… and Detective Sergeant Carter, of New Scotland Yard entered, carrying a broken ebony stick. Damopolon dropped his cigarette, and, whilst he stooped to recover it:

  “Carter and I went fishing this afternoon,” said East, “in the Black Gap. The criminal had sought to hide the broken cane—which bears his monogram—and also the image. He had tied them together, filled the image with clay, and dropped them into the water. Fortunately, they stuck upon an outstanding mass of weeds, and we did not fish in vain. Is there any point, Mr. Damopolon, which I have not made clear? I don’t know what implement you used to strike Sir Jeffrey, nor do I know what you did with his ash-stick!…”

  Clutching wildly at the table, I rose to my feet, my gaze set amazedly upon the man thus accused, upon the man I had called my friend, upon the man who owed so much to the dead baronet. And he?… He tossed his cigarette into the hearth and shrugged his shoulders. But, now, I saw that he was deathly pale. He began speaking, in a hoarse, mechanical voice:

  “I struck him with a broken elm branch,” he said. “His hat saved him. I completed the matter with my bare hands. I was desperate.
You need not tell me that Olive—Miss Baird—has confessed to our secret marriage, nor shall I weary you with the many reasons I had to hate her father and the pressing need I had for the fortune which she inherits at his death. It is finished; I have lost, and—”

  “Carter!” cried East. “Quick! quick!”

  But though the detective, who had been edging nearer and nearer to the speaker, now sprang upon him with the leap of a panther, he was too late. The sound of a muffled shot echoed through The Warrens, and the Greek fell with an appalling crash fully over the library table, so that the blue monkey slid across its polished surface and was shattered to bits upon the oaken floor!