Emperor Fu Manchu f-13

by Sax Rohmer

  “Look the other way, Yueh Hua. I’m going to dump him here.” Some hazy idea that prayers should be said at such a time flashed through his mind. He dismissed the idea. It was impracticable, in the first place. In the second, the dead man, as a Soviet Communist, was an atheist. He dragged the half-clad body out and dropped it in the canal.

  “May God have mercy on your soul,” he whispered. Tony forced a laugh. “So this is where we say goodbye to our boat. It’s too shallow to sink it here. We shall have to take a chance, and just leave it.”

  * * *

  “Oh, Chi Foh, my dear!” She threw her arms around him. “Your poor little boat—and we have been so happy on it.”

  Tony loved her for the words, but immediately became practical again.

  “We’ll drop whatever we don’t want overboard and pack up the rest. I can carry two bundles on this bamboo rod and you can carry what’s left in the old basket . . .”

  There were tears in Yueh Hua’s eyes as she looked back at the deserted sampan. But she said nothing, and, Yueh Hua going ahead as arranged, and Tony following, still adorned with his huge bamboo hat, they started on the last leg of their journey to Lung Chang.

  The road, when they came to it, didn’t look particularly dangerous, except to motorists. One thing was certain. At that hour, it carried little traffic. On the straight stretches. Tony allowed Yueh Hua to go ahead as far as he could keep her in sight. At bends, she slowed down until he drew nearer.

  He had plenty of opportunity for thinking. Yueh Hua, he knew, had become an indispensable part of his life. He didn’t mean to lose her, whatever she was, where ever she came from.

  Even if this added up to changing his career, he would marry her. He could live with Yueh Hua on a desert island, and be happy. She could be happy, too. She had proved it.

  He heard an automobile coming swiftly from behind!

  Stepping to the side of the neglected road, he let it go by. He was only just in time. It passed at racing speed—a new Buick. He never had a glimpse of the driver. Such speed, on such a road, betrayed urgency.

  Yueh Hua was waiting for him by a bend ahead. He saw that she was frightened.

  “In that car! . . . The man with green eyes! The big black was driving!”

  This was staggering news.

  It might mean, as he had feared, that Dr. Fu Manchu had learned of his contact in Lung Chang!

  He longed to take Yueh Hua into his confidence. Her knowledge of the place, her acute intelligence, her intuition, would be invaluable now. But he was bound to silence.

  The road here passed through an area of unreclaimed land where nature had taken over. They were in a jungle. They found their way to a spot where the fallen branch of a tree offered a seat. Dropping their loads, they sat down. He looked at Yueh Hua. There was no gladness in her eyes.

  “Chi Foh, they know where we are going. He will be waiting for us in Lung Chang!”

  * * *

  But, as Tony watched her, the mystery of Yueh Hua was uppermost in his mind. It was hard to credit the idea that Fu Manchu could have conceived such a burning passion for the grubby little girl Yueh Hua had then appeared to be, as to drive him up to this frantic chase.

  He dismissed the supposition. He himself was the quarry. Perhaps he had made some mistake. Perhaps those hypnotic eyes had read more than he suspected. Dr. Fu Manchu had planned to interview him again. Nayland Smith had saved him. But the reward for his capture, flashed to so many centers, indicated that Fu Manchu knew more than he had credited him with knowing.

  Tony put his arm around the dejected little figure beside him: “Tell me more about your friends in Lung Chang, Yueh Hua. If we can get to them, shall we be safe?”

  “As safe as we can hope to be, Chi Foh. My aunt is an old, retired servant of the Lao family.”

  “Does your aunt live right in the town?”

  “No. In a small house on the estate. It is a mile from from Lung Chang.”

  “This side, or beyond?”

  “This side, Chi Foh.”

  “We have a chance—even if they have found the boat. They won’t be watching your aunt’s house. And we have to get there—fast . . .”

  Chapter X

  It became a forced march. Twice they took cover; once, while a bullock cart heavily loaded went lumbering by, and again when they were nearly overtaken by an old jeep in which four soldiers were traveling toward Lung Chang.

  Tony was less concerned with traffic going the same way as themselves than with any approaching, or with enemy outposts watching the road. For this reason he had wanted to take the lead but had changed his mind when he realized that this would mean leaving Yueh Hua behind. Also, he had learned that she had the instincts of a trained scout.

  But dawn was not far when, footsore in his straw sandals, they reached a point in a long, high wall which had bordered the road for over half a mile. Dimly, he saw Yueh Hua stand still and beckon to him. He hurried forward.

  She stood before a heavy, ornamental gate through the bars of which he could see a large, rambling building partly masked in ornamental gardens—a typical Chinese mansion—on a slope beyond. The high wall evidently surrounded the property.

  “My uncle was Lao Tse-Mung’s gardener,” Yueh Hua explained. “He and his wife always lived here, and my aunt is allowed to stay.”

  “Is that Lao Tse-Mung’s house over there?”

  “Yes, Chi Foh. Please wait a little while outside, where they can’t see you, until I explain”—she hesitated for a second—”who you are.”

  Yueh Hua had led him to the very door of the man he had to see!

  He saw her reach inside the gate. An interval, footsteps, then a woman’s cry—a cry of almost hysterical gladness:

  “My baby! My Yueh Hua!”

  The gate was unlocked. The voice died away into unintelligible babbling as they went in.

  This gave him something else to think about.

  Evidently Yueh Hua had told him her real name. But, unless her aunt had brought her up from childhood, the old woman’s emotion was difficult to explain. And why had Yueh Hua asked him to wait, and gone in first herself?

  In any case, he didn’t have to wait long. She came running back for him.

  “I haven’t told her, Chi Foh, about—us. But she knows how wonderful you have been to me.”

  This clearly was true. Tears were streaming down her aunt’s face when Yueh Hua brought him into the little house, evidently a gate-lodge. She seemed to want to kneel at his feet. He wondered what the exact relationship could be between Yueh Hua and Mat Cha, for this was her aunt’s name. Two people less similar in type it would have been hard to find than this broad-faced old peasant woman and Yueh Hua. But Mai Cha became Tony’s friend on sight, for it was plain that she adored Yueh Hua.

  She left them together while she went to prepare a meal. But Yueh Hua, who seemed to have become suddenly and unaccountably shy, went out to help her.

  He walked quietly under the flowered porch and looked across to the big house in its setting of arches, bridges and formal gardens. He could be there in five minutes. A winding path, easy to follow in starlight, led up to the house.

  Yueh Hua had reached sanctuary, but Tony’s business was with Lao Tse-Mung. Exposure of his real identity to Yueh Hua he couldn’t hope to avoid once he had reported to the friend of Nayland Smith. This he must face.

  But, the major problem remained: where was Dr. Fu Manchu?

  Had this man, who seemed to wield supreme power in the province, out-maneuvered Sir Denis? He could not expect the late gardener’s widow to know anything of what had happened tonight in the big house.

  He must watch his step.

  There were several little bridges to cross and many steps to climb before he reached a terrace which ran the whole length of the house. Flowering vines draped a pergola. Some night-scented variety gave out a strong perfume. He wondered where the main entrance was located, and if he should try to find it.

  He incre
ased his caution; stood still for a moment, listening.

  A murmur of conversation reached him. There were people in some nearby room.

  Step by step, he crept closer, hugging shadowy patches where the vines grew thickly. Three paces more and he would be able to look in.

  But he didn’t take the three paces. He stopped dead. An icy trickle seemed to run down his spine.

  He had heard a voice, pitched in a clear, imperious tone.

  “We have no time to waste.”

  It was the voice of Dr. Fu Manchu!

  He had walked into a trap!

  Tony put out a big effort, checked a mad panorama racing across his brain. Nayland Smith would gain something after all. He fingered the automatic which he had kept handy in a waist belt and moved stealthily forward. Whatever his own end might be, he could at least remove the world menace of Dr. Fu Manchu.

  He could see into the room now.

  It was furnished in true Chinese fashion, but with great luxury. Almost directly facing him, on a divan backed by embroidered draperies, he saw a white-bearded figure wearing a black robe and with a beaded black cap on his head. A snuff bowl lay before him.

  Facing the old mandarin so that his back was toward the terrace, someone sat in a dragon-legged armchair. His close-cropped hair showed the shape of a massive skull.

  Dr. Fu Manchu . . .

  The mandarin’s eyes were half-closed, but suddenly he opened them. He looked fixedly toward the terrace—and straight at Tony!

  Holding a pinch of snuff between finger and thumb and still looking directly at him, he waved his hand gracefully in a sweeping side gesture as he raised the snuff to his nostrils.

  But Tony had translated the gesture.

  It meant that he had moved too near. He could be seen from the room.

  Quickly he stepped to the right. His life hung on a very thin thread. But a wave of confidence surged through him.

  This was Lao Tse-Mung who sat watching him, who had known him instantly for what he was, who had warned him of his danger. A highly acute and unusual character.

  Tony could still see him clearly, through a screen of leaves, but, himself, was invisible from the room.

  The mandarin spoke in light, easy tones.

  “This is the first time you have honored my poor roof, Excellency, in many moons. To what do I owe so great a privilege? ,,

  “I am rarely in Lung Chang,” was the sibilant reply. “I see that it might have been wise to come more often.”

  “My poor hospitality is always at my friends’ disposal.”

  “Doubtless.” Fu Manchu’s voice sank to a venomous whisper. “Your hospitality to members of the present regime is less certain.”

  Lao Tse-Mung smiled slightly, settling himself among his cushions. “I retired long since from the world of politics. Excellency. I give all my time to the cultivation of my vines.”

  “Some of them grow thorns, I believe?”

  “Many of them.”

  “Myself, Lao Tse-Mung, I also cultivate vines. I seek to restore to the garden of China its old glory. And so I fertilize the human vines which are fruitful and tear out those which are parasites, destructive. Let us come to the point.”

  Lao Tse-Mung’s far-seeing eyes sought among the shadows for Tony.

  Tony understood. He was to listen closely.

  “My undivided attention is at your disposal. Excellency.”

  “A man calling himself Wu Chi Foh, who is a dangerous spy, escaped from the jail at Chia-Ting and was later reported to be near Lung Chang. He may carry vital information dangerous to the Peiping regime.” Fu Manchu’s voice became a hiss. “I suggest that you may have news of Wu Chi Foh.”

  Lao Tse-Mung’s expression remained bland, unmoved.

  “I can only assure Excellency that I have no news concerning this Wu Chi Foh. Are you suggesting that I am acquainted with this man?”

  Dr. Fu Manchu’s voice rose on a note of anger. “Your record calls for investigation. As a former high official, you have been allowed privileges. I merely suggest that you have abused them.”

  “My attention remains undivided. Excellency. I beg you to make your meaning clearer.”

  Tony knew that his fate, and perhaps the fate of Lao Tse-Mung, hung in the balance. He knew, too, that he could never have fenced with such an adversary as Fu Manchu, under the X-ray scrutiny of those green eyes, with the imperturbable serenity of the old Mandarin.

  “Subversive elements frequent your house.”

  “The news distresses me.” Lao Tse-Mung took up a hammer which hung beside a small gong. “Permit me to assemble my household for your inspection.”

  “Wait.” The word was spoken imperatively. “There are matters I have to discuss with you, personally. For example, you maintain a private airfield on your estate.”

  Lao Tse-Mung smiled. His smile was directed toward Tony, whom his keen eyes had detected through the cover of leaves.

  “I am sufficiently old-fashioned to prefer the ways of life of my ancestors, but sufficiently up-to-date to appreciate the convenience of modern transport.” Lao Tse-Mung calmly took another pinch of snuff, smiling his sly smile. “I may add that in addition to chairs and rickshaws, I have also several automobiles. We are a long way from the railhead. Excellency, and some of my guests come from distant provinces.”

  “I wish to inspect this airfield. Also, the garage.”

  “It will be an honor and a great joy to conduct you. Let us first visit the airstrip, which is some little distance from the house. Then, as you wish, we can visit the garage. Your own car is there at present. And, as the garage is near the entrance gate, and I know Excellency’s time is valuable”—the shrewd old eyes were staring straight into Tony’s through the darkness—”there should be no unnecessary delay.”

  This statement was astonishing to Tony for several reasons. First, that its ingenuous simplicity would disarm any man, even Dr. Fu Manchu. Second, because it was a veiled suggestion that the visitor was not welcome. Third, because it was unmistakably a direct order to himself.

  He accepted it.

  Silently, he slipped away from the lighted window, back along the terrace, and then began to run headlong down the slope to the gate lodge.

  Old Mai Cha was standing in her doorway.

  “Quick, Mother! Get Yueh Hua! There’s not a minute to spare—”

  “She has already gone, Chi Foh.”

  “Gone!” He stood before her, stricken—unable to understand.

  “Yes, Chi Foh. But she is safe. You will see her again very soon. She has taken all you brought with you in your bundles. You know they are in good keeping.”

  He grasped Mai Cha by the shoulders, drawing her close, peering into her face. Her love for Moon Flower he couldn’t doubt. But what was she hiding?

  “Is this true, Mai Cha?”

  “I swear it, in the name of my father, Chi Foh. I can tell you no more, except that my orders are to lead you to the garage. A car is waiting. You roust hurry—for Yueh Hua’s sake—and for your own, Please follow me.”

  Even in that moment of danger, of doubt, he was struck by the fact that she showed no surprise, only a deep concern. She seemed to be expecting this to happen. She was no longer an emotional old woman. She was controlled, practical.

  A long, gently sloping path, tree-shadowed, which he knew must run parallel to the wall beside nearly a mile of which he and Moon Rower had tramped before coming to the gate, led them to a tiled yard upon which a lighted garage opened. One car, a sleek Rolls, showing no lights, stood in the yard. He saw two other cars in the garage beyond.

  Mai Cha opened a door of the Rolls, and Tony tumbled in. She kissed his hand as he closed the door. In light from the garage behind he saw the back of a driver, a broad-shouldered Chinese with a shaven skull. The car was started. Smoothly, they moved out of the paved yard.

  “Thank God, you’re safe, McKay,” came a snappy voice.

  The driver was Nayland Smith!

&nb
sp; Chapter XI

  “Don’t worry about Lao Tse-Mung, McKay. He has the guile of the serpent and the heart of a great patriot. He could convince men like you and me that night is day that a duck is a swan. He called me an hour ago, and all’s well. This isn’t his first brush with The Master, and my money was on Tse-Mung all along. By the way what about another drink?”

  Tony grinned feebly, watching Nayland Smith mix drinks. It was hard to relax, even now; to accept the fact that, temporarily, he was in safety. He glanced down at a clean linen suit which had taken the place of his Chinese costume and wondered afresh at the efficient underground network of which he had become a member.

  This charming bungalow on a hill overlooking Chungking was the property of the great English drug house of Roberts & Benson and was reserved for the use of their chief buyer. Ray Jenkins, who operated from the firm’s office in the town. As Nayland Smith handed him a glass:

  “You’ll like Jenkins,” Sir Denis rapped in his staccato fashion. “Sound man. And what he doesn’t know about opium, even Dr. Fu Manchu couldn’t teach him. He buys only the best, and Chungking is the place to get it.

  He dropped into a split-cane chair and began to fill his pipe. He wore a well-cut linen suit and would have looked his familiar self but for the shaven skull. Noting Tony’s expression, he laughed his boyish laugh.

  “I know I’m better dressed than you are, McKay because this is my own suit. Yours is borrowed from Jenkins’s wardrobe.”

  Tony laughed, too, and was glad that he could manage it; for, in spite of Mat Cha’s assurance, he was desperately worried about Moon Flower. And inquiries were out of the question.

  “I can only thank you again. Sir Denis, for all you have done.”

  “Forget it, McKay. The old lama is one of ours, and he had orders to look out for you. Your last message had warned me that you expected to be arrested and I notified him. Then, I put Lao Tse-Mung in charge until I arrived.”

  “This is amazing. Sir Denis. I begin to hope that China will shake off the Communists yet.”

  Nayland Smith nodded grimly; lighted his pipe. “From my point of view, there are certain advantages in our recognition of the Peiping crowd. For instance, I can travel openly in China—but I avoid Szechuan.”