The Wrath of Fu Manchu and Other Stories

by Sax Rohmer

  When she said goodbye to Shaun, Maureen found a strong contingent from the Antonia already halfway through lunch under the palm trees of the Casino. Shelley Downing, the queen of the cruise, was surrounded by her usual court. Mrs Simmonds near by, was lunching with other members of the cruise, and she invited Maureen to join them. When Maureen had begun her lunch: “How did you get on with your shopping, Maureen?” she inquired.

  “I think I got everything,” Maureen said. “Nothing really matches, of course!” Maureen took out a list and checked the items. “Green dye for white stockings. Wrong shade. Beads, earrings. Awful! But they won’t look bad at night. Shoes!” A frown appeared between her level brows. “I’ve forgotten the shoes!”

  Maureen considered the problem with all the seriousness which it called for. Her glance strayed vaguely from the group, and presently paused. She had seen a white coat with a pink stripe—and the man who wore it sat alone at the very next table!

  Their glances met. He smiled and bowed slightly, and then turned away, but Maureen had the uncomfortable feeling that his attention was still fixed on her. For some unaccountable reason, she was suddenly frightened. Perhaps there was nothing in it. But it seemed queer to meet the man again here. Then she squared her shoulders and looked at her watch. Her mind was made up.

  “Just time to get to Simon Arzt’s. I’ll skip lunch.” She pushed her chair back. “They are sure to have something there.” She stood up impetuously and hurried out to find a taxi, an easier matter at the Casino.

  It was only moments later when the dark man put some money on a plate where a bill lay and unobtrusively followed…

  * * *

  When Maureen hurried into the big store her watch told her that she had less than twenty-five minutes to spare before the Antonia was due to sail. It was all very well to live dangerously, Maureen thought, but she mustn’t miss the ship.

  She ran along to the shoe department and once more pulled out the fragment of green material. A young Indian gentleman, with excellent manners and a leisurely style of speech which nearly drove her crazy, examined the sample for a long time.

  “It is an unusual shade, madame.” He sighed.

  “Just bring me a lot of green, shoes. Size five. I must do the best I can.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  He walked away. His carriage was graceful and slow. Maureen saw him pause to discuss something with another customer, and when this conversation ended, he disappeared completely. Maureen, constantly looking at her watch, checked the passing seconds. The polite Indian had not returned when a sound dimly reached her ears. It was the deep warning note of the Antonia’s whistle. She had just fifteen minutes to make the ship!

  She was halfway to the door when the graceful salesman overtook her.

  “Madame!” He dropped a litter of boxes at her feet. “There is plenty of time. Always American ladies are in such a hurry. Now, you see—” he opened a box—“these shoes, madame—”

  “Are they my size?”

  “But, yes, madame.”

  “They’ll do!” Maureen fumbled frantically in her satchel. “The price, please?”

  Maureen thrust several dollar bills into his hand, grabbed the box and ran.

  Out on the street she stood still for a moment, trying to get her bearings. No taxi was in sight.

  Panic threatened, but Maureen conquered it.

  She had come straight from the ship to Simon Arzt’s and she must remember the way… Of course! It suddenly came back to her!

  Looking all the time for a taxi, she set out, almost running. Would they delay sailing if she hadn’t come on board?

  Whatever would happen to her if she got left behind in Port Said?

  * * *

  When he dropped Maureen at the Casino, Shaun had found himself badly puzzled to learn that Theo Leidler’s grey sedan was no longer following. It seemed as if his theory that Leidler had identified him must be wrong.

  But if Leidler wasn’t tailing him, who was he tailing?

  Shaun drove straight to the US Consulate. There was much to do, and little time to do it.

  First, he called the chief of police, to tell him that a dead man was sitting in a certain café in the Arab quarter—unless someone had jogged his elbow, in which case he would be lying on the floor.

  The first ship scheduled to leave Port Said that day was the Antonia at two o’clock; so Shaun’s next call was to Cook’s who were managing the cruise.

  What he learned there convinced him that his time was even more limited than he had supposed.

  Theo Leidler had just booked a passage on the Antonia!

  “Hold one for me!” He hung up.

  Shaun glanced at his watch. He couldn’t hope to get to the café and back.

  But there were so many things he must know.

  He drove to his hotel, bundled his kit into a bag, paid his bill, and made a dash for the police station.

  He spent all of fifteen precious minutes with the chief of police, and then raced to Cook’s to pick up his steamer ticket.

  His taxi wasn’t far from the docks when another car caught his eye. A grey sedan—surely, it was Leidler’s—sped past, swerved in, was pulled up with screaming brakes. The Egyptian driver sprang out. This street was nearly deserted. Heavy shadows, cast by a dock building, lay blackly across it. Shaun had a hazy impression of a slight figure, running.

  Then, that flying shape and Egyptian as well were hidden from him by the sedan.

  “Stop!”

  But Shaun was out on the running-board before his taximan had tune to obey the order. He jumped, took one swift look, and hurled himself forward.

  The Egyptian was dragging the girl into the sedan!

  The hoarse warning of the Antonia’s fog whistle blared deafeningly.

  Shaun saw that the Egyptian driver had one arm around his struggling captive and a hand pressed over her mouth. He nearly had her into the sedan when Shaun’s kick, calculated to thrust his backbone through his scalp, sent the man reeling to the ground. The girl slumped dizzily onto the car step. Shaun caught her. “Maureen” he said tensely.

  She didn’t reply. Her eyes were closed, the lashes looking preposterously long as they drooped on her cheeks.

  The Antonia’s whistle roared a final warning as Shaun stooped and lifted Maureen. She was light as a child as he carried her to the taxi. “Right onto the dock,” he told the man. “Drive like blazes…”

  On board the Antonia the third officer came up to Lorkin, the purser, who stood at the head of the gangway. “Captain’s compliments.” He winked an ironic wink. “He wants to know if you’ve got all your sheep in their pens.”

  “Damn it, no! No! What d’you suppose I am standing here for?” Lorkin was in a very bad humour. “Two new passengers wished onto me by Cook’s at the last minute—not arrived. And my pet headache—Miss Maureen Lonergan.”

  “Very attractive,” the third murmured. “But the pilot’s getting fussy.”

  “Tell him to jump in the ditch! My compliments to the captain—and I’m three passengers short.”

  On the deck above, rails were crowded. A rumour had spread that somebody was missing. This rumour gained strength when yet another deafening bellow came from the great ship’s whistle. Shelley Downing, always in the know, ran up to Mrs Simmonds. “It’s Maureen who’s missing,” she said, “and Maureen was lunching with you!”

  Mrs Simmonds turned an anxious face.

  “I know she was. But she rushed off at the last minute to Simon Arzt’s. Are you sure it’s Maureen?”

  “I just had the news—official!” Shelley nodded, and ran off, birdlike, to exploit her information. Mrs Simmonds turned again to the rail. A sudden commotion arose. A girl was being supported to the gangway by a man in a drill suit! She seemed to be ill. A boy followed on, carrying a leather grip. As they climbed up slowly to the deck Shelley cried shrilly, “It’s Maureen!” and rushed to greet her.

  A husky roar through a megaphone came from
the bridge: “Strike that gangway!”

  “Strike that gangway!” a voice echoed from the dockside.

  The heavy gangway had begun to swing clear, when a man came running. Two Arabs ran sweating behind him shouldering baggage.

  “Hold it!” the dockside voice commanded.

  Down came the gangway-—and up climbed the belated passenger who wore a white coat, with a faint pink stripe. The Arab boys dropped their loads on the deck and raced down again to shore. “Strike that blasted gangway!” This final order from the bridge threatened to split the megaphone.

  The gangway was swung clear of the ship.

  Captain William McAndrew, RNUR, DSO, loved discipline and hated cruises…

  * * *

  “You’re quite sure you feel all right?”

  Maureen, lying on a bed in the surgery, looked up into Shaun Bantry’s worried face with a sort of wonder. She had never expected to see him again.

  “Quite sure.”

  “But a lucky escape,” the ship’s doctor declared. “And a most mysterious outrage.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” Shaun stared at the doctor. “An attempt at abduction in broad daylight! What was the stuff on the sponge?”

  “Ethyl chloride. No bad after effects.”

  “They gave it to me when I had my operation for tonsils.” Maureen spoke in a low voice. “That was years back but I remember the smell.” She sat up on the bed, smoothing her disordered hair. “You’ve been very kind, Mr Bantry. First you picked up my silly beads, and then you saved me from that awful man, and—” she forced a smile—“this time I have really taken you out of your way!”

  “Not a bit of it! I booked a passage at Cook’s half an hour ago!”

  He grinned cheerfully, waved his hand and walked out of the surgery, leaving Maureen to think about the look in his eyes and to wonder if it could be possible that he had joined the Antonia just because… But, no! That idea was plain silly—stupid vanity.

  Shaun, unpacking the one grip with which he had travelled from Paris to Istanbul, Istanbul to Cairo and Cairo to Port Said, was thinking he was lucky to have got a comfortable outside room at such short notice, and asking himself how long he was likely to occupy it. His job demanded swift decisions. The fact that Maureen was a passenger on the Antonia had helped him to make this one.

  It seemed oddly like fate. He wondered if at last he had met the right woman. Certainly, that flushed piquant face all too often got between him and his job. But the job was what mattered first, and Shaun confessed himself to be the most hopelessly mystified man at that hour afloat on the Mediterranean. Why had Theo Leidler booked passage on the Antonia?

  And was he really aboard? It was Leidler’s driver who had attacked Maureen. Perhaps Leidler had made a last-minute change of plan or waited so long that he missed the ship. If that had happened, Shaun would feel like a hundred per cent, pure idiot. In the excitement of getting Maureen safely aboard, he would have let his quarry slip. He hadn’t even the vaguest idea of the ship’s next port of call.

  Striding swiftly, he went up on deck.

  Cruise passengers were crowding aft for a last glimpse of Port Said. Shaun attracted a lot of attention. He had been pointed out by Shelley Downing as the man who helped Maureen up the gangway. But he remained completely indifferent to the stares. He was looking for Leidler.

  Suddenly he found Maureen, forward on the promenade deck, lying on a long chair. Then, the shock came. Theo Leidler sat very close to her, deep in earnest conversation.

  Maureen looked up, beckoned eagerly, and Shaun, trying to show no sign of the utter bewilderment he felt, joined them.

  She raised her glance to Leidler. “This is Mr Shaun Bantry.”

  Leidler showed two rows of perfect teeth. The effort could not be called a smile. He had changed into a smart white linen suit. Shaun noted that his perfectly waved hair was almost blue-black.

  “I’m delighted to meet you, Mr Leidler.”

  “Won’t you sit down? The next chair belongs to Mrs Simmonds. She won’t mind.” Shaun sat down. “I was just telling Mr Leidler about what happened to me this morning.”

  Shaun glanced across at Leidler. The situation demanded tact. “Queer affair, wasn’t it?” He met the gaze of illegible dark eyes. “Even in Port Said today such an outrage is unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

  “More than unusual!” Theo Leidler had a slight accent: he was believed to be Romanian. “I can only suppose that Miss Lonergan had attracted the attention of some wealthy Egyptian connoisseur. It was most fortunate that someone was near.”

  “I thought so, too. And your theory is good. Except that old French sedan hardly looked like the property of a pasha.”

  Leidler shrugged his shoulders.

  “You wouldn’t expect him to send his own automobile on such a business?”

  “No.” Shaun looked thoughtful. “I expect it was hired for the purpose. I’m sorry that I hadn’t time to call the police.”

  “Then the man got clear away?” A faint note of eagerness crept into Leidler’s voice.

  “I’m afraid he did. But I hope I broke his jaw.” Shaun took out his cigarette case. “Of course, I could send the police a radio.”

  “By now it would be useless,” Leidler decided. “Nothing could be done about it.”

  But Shaun was thinking that a lot of things could be done about it, for some of which he had already arranged. One point became clear. Unless Leidler’s acting was superlative, he had no suspicions. Quite definitely, he hadn’t been tailing Shaun that morning. Then he must have been following Maureen!

  In the name of sanity, what for? Shaun had no idea how long Leidler had known her, but the “wealthy connoisseur” he had mentioned might be Leidler himself. If the abduction had succeeded, he wouldn’t have come on board. Some watcher must have passed the news of its failure to him, wherever he was waiting; and Leidler had rushed to join the ship.

  The Antonia had followed a lazy course around the Mediterranean and now was heading back to the States. The return run would be along the African coast: next port of call Tunis. Shaun wondered if Leidler might intend to leave the ship there and then decided angrily to abandon conjecture.

  All his deductions were being proved wrong. He must get more data, and do some hard thinking. When a radio message was brought to him, he made it an excuse to go. Maureen, left alone with Theo Leidler, gave Shaun an almost pathetic look as he walked away.

  Shaun went below and made the acquaintance of Lorkin, the purser. He asked for certain information. Lorkin, who had had a trying morning, was far from amiable. “This is a British ship, you know. I should have to get the Old Man’s okay.”

  Shaun gave Lorkin a cheerful grin. “Old Man in as bad a humour as you are?”

  “Worse.” Lorkin opened a locker and exposed a row of bottles. “Capitan McAndrew is a martinet. The hitch in Port Said has ruined his day. Scotch or bourbon?”

  It was easy after that.

  Two more radiograms were brought to Shaun in the purser’s room. After he had read them he felt pleased with the work of the Port Said police but more completely fogged than ever about the relationship between Theo Leidler and Maureen. He was inclined to feel unhappy, but didn’t blame the purser’s whisky.

  Lorkin had produced all the information he had on Leidler. The man had crossed twice before in the Antonia on her usual run from Southampton to New York. His United States passport described him as a business manager.

  He had always come aboard at Cherbourg. “Hell of a lad for the ladies,” was Lorkin’s only comment.

  “He’s the hell of a lad altogether,” Shaun assured him. “Theo Leidler is the big shot of the most successful gang of loot traffickers operating between Europe and the United States. Before this ship docks in New York I intend to prove it.”

  * * *

  Shaun had many things to keep him busy. He positively haunted the radio office, sending and receiving messages. At five o’clock he took a wa
lk around. He discovered Maureen and Mrs Simmonds having tea on deck. Leidler was in attendance.

  Shaun joined the party but declined tea.

  “Isn’t the Mediterranean a simply wonderful blue?” Mrs Simmonds said.

  “Yes.” Shaun glanced at Maureen, “It’s the colour of some Irish eyes.”

  Maureen began speaking, quickly. “I’m going back to my room after tea, to work until cocktail time. I shan’t have my dress ready for St Patrick’s night if I don’t.”

  “St Patrick’s night? That’s tomorrow, isn’t it? Some special jamboree?”

  “A fancy dress ball.” Maureen met Shaun’s lingering gaze. “With prizes.”

  Shaun moved quickly, as Maureen stood up, to help her out of her long chair. Their glances met. “I shall be through by six o’clock.” Maureen spoke softly.

  “May I call for you?”

  She nodded, smiled at Theo Leidler, who was frowning, and hurried away.

  Shaun sat down again, but Leidler didn’t seem disposed to stay. He hesitated for a moment, his glance following the slim figure, then bowed in his Continental way to Mrs Simmonds, ignored Shaun, and walked off in the opposite direction.

  “You know—” Shaun turned to Mrs Simmonds, “I don’t understand that man.”

  “I don’t think I want to!”

  “Oh, you feel like that about him? Is he an old friend of Miss Lonergan’s?”

  “She never saw him until this morning!”

  This was what Shaun wanted to know, and he soon knew all that Mrs Simmonds had to tell him: Maureen’s first meeting with Theo Leidler outside some shop (she didn’t know the name) in the Arab quarter; her second during lunch at the Casino; how, from the moment he came on board Leidler had tried to monopolise her. Shaun felt better about everything as he hurried back to his room.

  * * *

  When Shaun knocked on Maureen’s door at six o’clock, she came out at once. She had changed her frock, and, Shaun thought, was a radiant vision. “Your dress looks as though it came from Paris.”

  Maureen laughed. She was very happy. “It didn’t. It came from New York. Oh! We’re going the wrong way! The bar’s upstairs.”