by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXI
TIME wore on and seemingly brought us no nearer, or very little nearer,to our goal. So carefully had my friend Nayland Smith excluded thematter from the press that, whilst public interest was much engagedwith some of the events in the skein of mystery which he had come fromBurma to unravel, outside the Secret Service and the special departmentof Scotland Yard few people recognized that the several murders,robberies and disappearances formed each a link in a chain; fewer stillwere aware that a baneful presence was in our midst, that a past masterof the evil arts lay concealed somewhere in the metropolis; searchedfor by the keenest wits which the authorities could direct to the task,but eluding all--triumphant, contemptuous.
One link in that chain Smith himself for long failed to recognize. Yetit was a big and important link.
"Petrie," he said to me one morning, "listen to this:
"'. . . In sight of Shanghai--a clear, dark night. On board the deck ofa junk passing close to seaward of the Andaman a blue flare started up.A minute later there was a cry of "Man overboard!"
"'Mr. Lewin, the chief officer, who was in charge, stopped the engines.A boat was put out. But no one was recovered. There are sharks inthese waters. A fairly heavy sea was running.
"'Inquiry showed the missing man to be a James Edwards, second class,booked to Shanghai. I think the name was assumed. The man was somesort of Oriental, and we had had him under close observation. . . .'"
"That's the end of their report," exclaimed Smith.
He referred to the two C.I.D. men who had joined the Andaman at themoment of her departure from Tilbury.
He carefully lighted his pipe.
"IS it a victory for China, Petrie?" he said softly.
"Until the great war reveals her secret resources--and I pray that theday be not in my time--we shall never know," I replied.
Smith began striding up and down the room.
"Whose name," he jerked abruptly, "stands now at the head of our dangerlist?"
He referred to a list which we had compiled of the notable menintervening between the evil genius who secretly had invaded London andthe triumph of his cause--the triumph of the yellow races.
I glanced at our notes. "Lord Southery," I replied.
Smith tossed the morning paper across to me.
"Look," he said shortly. "He's dead."
I read the account of the peer's death, and glanced at the longobituary notice; but no more than glanced at it. He had but recentlyreturned from the East, and now, after a short illness, had died fromsome affection of the heart. There had been no intimation that hisillness was of a serious nature, and even Smith, who watched over hisflock--the flock threatened by the wolf, Fu-Manchu--with jealous zeal,had not suspected that the end was so near.
"Do you think he died a natural death, Smith?" I asked.
My friend reached across the table and rested the tip of a long fingerupon one of the sub-headings to the account:
"SIR FRANK NARCOMBE SUMMONED TOO LATE."
"You see," said Smith, "Southery died during the night, but Sir FrankNarcombe, arriving a few minutes later, unhesitatingly pronounced deathto be due to syncope, and seems to have noticed nothing suspicious."
I looked at him thoughtfully.
"Sir Frank is a great physician," I said slowly; "but we must rememberhe would be looking for nothing suspicious."
"We must remember," rapped Smith, "that, if Dr. Fu-Manchu isresponsible for Southery's death, except to the eye of an expert therewould be nothing suspicious to see. Fu-Manchu leaves no clews."
"Are you going around?" I asked.
Smith shrugged his shoulders.
"I think not," he replied. "Either a greater One than Fu-Manchu hastaken Lord Southery, or the yellow doctor has done his work so wellthat no trace remains of his presence in the matter."
Leaving his breakfast untasted, he wandered aimlessly about the room,littering the hearth with matches as he constantly relighted his pipe,which went out every few minutes.
"It's no good, Petrie," he burst out suddenly; "it cannot be acoincidence. We must go around and see him."
An hour later we stood in the silent room, with its drawn blinds andits deathful atmosphere, looking down at the pale, intellectual face ofHenry Stradwick, Lord Southery, the greatest engineer of his day. Themind that lay behind that splendid brow had planned the construction ofthe railway for which Russia had paid so great a price, had conceivedthe scheme for the canal which, in the near future, was to bring twogreat continents, a full week's journey nearer one to the other. Butnow it would plan no more.
"He had latterly developed symptoms of angina pectoris," explained thefamily physician; "but I had not anticipated a fatal termination sosoon. I was called about two o'clock this morning, and found LordSouthery in a dangerously exhausted condition. I did all that waspossible, and Sir Frank Narcombe was sent for. But shortly before hisarrival the patient expired."
"I understand, Doctor, that you had been treating Lord Southery forangina pectoris?" I said.
"Yes," was the reply, "for some months."
"You regard the circumstances of his end as entirely consistent with adeath from that cause?"
"Certainly. Do you observe anything unusual yourself? Sir FrankNarcombe quite agrees with me. There is surely no room for doubt?"
"No," said Smith, tugging reflectively at the lobe of his left ear."We do not question the accuracy of your diagnosis in any way, sir."
The physician seemed puzzled.
"But am I not right in supposing that you are connected with thepolice?" asked the physician.
"Neither Dr. Petrie nor myself are in any way connected with thepolice," answered Smith. "But, nevertheless, I look to you to regardour recent questions as confidential."
As we were leaving the house, hushed awesomely in deference to theunseen visitor who had touched Lord Southery with gray, cold fingers,Smith paused, detaining a black-coated man who passed us on the stairs.
"You were Lord Southery's valet?"
The man bowed.
"Were you in the room at the moment of his fatal seizure?"
"I was, sir."
"Did you see or hear anything unusual--anything unaccountable?"
"Nothing, sir."
"No strange sounds outside the house, for instance?"
The man shook his head, and Smith, taking my arm, passed out into thestreet.
"Perhaps this business is making me imaginative," he said; "but thereseems to be something tainting the air in yonder--something peculiar tohouses whose doors bear the invisible death-mark of Fu-Manchu."
"You are right, Smith!" I cried. "I hesitated to mention the matter,but I, too, have developed some other sense which warns me of theDoctor's presence. Although there is not a scrap of confirmatoryevidence, I am as sure that he has brought about Lord Southery's deathas if I had seen him strike the blow."
It was in that torturing frame of mind--chained, helpless, in ourignorance, or by reason of the Chinaman's supernormal genius--that welived throughout the ensuing days. My friend began to look like a manconsumed by a burning fever. Yet, we could not act.
In the growing dark of an evening shortly following I stood idlyturning over some of the works exposed for sale outside a second-handbookseller's in New Oxford Street. One dealing with the secretsocieties of China struck me as being likely to prove instructive, andI was about to call the shopman when I was startled to feel a handclutch my arm.
I turned around rapidly--and was looking into the darkly beautiful eyesof Karamaneh! She--whom I had seen in so many guises--was dressed in aperfectly fitting walking habit, and had much of her wonderful hairconcealed beneath a fashionable hat.
She glanced about her apprehensively.
"Quick! Come round the corner. I must speak to you," she said, hermusical voice thrilling with excitement.
I never was quite master of myself in her presence. He must have beena man of ice who could have been, I think, for her bea
uty had all thebouquet of rarity; she was a mystery--and mystery adds charm to awoman. Probably she should have been under arrest, but I know I wouldhave risked much to save her from it.
As we turned into a quiet thoroughfare she stopped and said:
"I am in distress. You have often asked me to enable you to captureDr. Fu-Manchu. I am prepared to do so."
I could scarcely believe that I heard right.
"Your brother--" I began.
She seized my arm entreatingly, looking into my eyes.
"You are a doctor," she said. "I want you to come and see him now."
"What! Is he in London?"
"He is at the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu."
"And you would have me--"
"Accompany me there, yes."
Nayland Smith, I doubted not, would have counseled me against trustingmy life in the hands of this girl with the pleading eyes. Yet I didso, and with little hesitation; shortly we were traveling eastward in aclosed cab. Karamaneh was very silent, but always when I turned to herI found her big eyes fixed upon me with an expression in which therewas pleading, in which there was sorrow, in which there was somethingelse--something indefinable, yet strangely disturbing. The cabman shehad directed to drive to the lower end of the Commercial Road, theneighborhood of the new docks, and the scene of one of our earlyadventures with Dr. Fu-Manchu. The mantle of dusk had closed about thesqualid activity of the East End streets as we neared our destination.Aliens of every shade of color were about us now, emerging fromburrow-like alleys into the glare of the lamps upon the main road. Inthe short space of the drive we had passed from the bright world of theWest into the dubious underworld of the East.
I do not know that Karamaneh moved; but in sympathy, as we neared theabode of the sinister Chinaman, she crept nearer to me, and when thecab was discharged, and together we walked down a narrow turningleading riverward, she clung to me fearfully, hesitated, and evenseemed upon the point of turning back. But, overcoming her fear orrepugnance, she led on, through a maze of alleyways and courts, whereinI hopelessly lost my bearings, so that it came home to me how wholly Iwas in the hands of this girl whose history was so full of shadows,whose real character was so inscrutable, whose beauty, whose charmtruly might mask the cunning of a serpent.
I spoke to her.
"S-SH!" She laid her hand upon my arm, enjoining me to silence.
The high, drab brick wall of what looked like some part of a dockbuilding loomed above us in the darkness, and the indescribablestenches of the lower Thames were borne to my nostrils through agloomy, tunnel-like opening, beyond which whispered the river. Themuffled clangor of waterside activity was about us. I heard a keygrate in a lock, and Karamaneh drew me into the shadow of an open door,entered, and closed it behind her.
For the first time I perceived, in contrast to the odors of the courtwithout, the fragrance of the peculiar perfume which now I had come toassociate with her. Absolute darkness was about us, and by thisperfume alone I knew that she was near to me, until her hand touchedmine, and I was led along an uncarpeted passage and up an uncarpetedstair. A second door was unlocked, and I found myself in anexquisitely furnished room, illuminated by the soft light of a shadedlamp which stood upon a low, inlaid table amidst a perfect ocean ofsilken cushions, strewn upon a Persian carpet, whose yellow richnesswas lost in the shadows beyond the circle of light.
Karamaneh raised a curtain draped before a doorway, and stood listeningintently for a moment.
The silence was unbroken.
Then something stirred amid the wilderness of cushions, and two tinybright eyes looked up at me. Peering closely, I succeeded indistinguishing, crouched in that soft luxuriance, a little ape. It wasDr. Fu-Manchu's marmoset. "This way," whispered Karamaneh.
Never, I thought, was a staid medical man committed to a more unwiseenterprise, but so far I had gone, and no consideration of prudencecould now be of avail.
The corridor beyond was thickly carpeted. Following the direction of afaint light which gleamed ahead, it proved to extend as a balconyacross one end of a spacious apartment. Together we stood high upthere in the shadows, and looked down upon such a scene as I nevercould have imagined to exist within many a mile of that district.
The place below was even more richly appointed than the room into whichfirst we had come. Here, as there, piles of cushions formed splashesof gaudy color about the floor. Three lamps hung by chains from theceiling, their light softened by rich silk shades. One wall was almostentirely occupied by glass cases containing chemical apparatus, tubes,retorts and other less orthodox indications of Dr. Fu-Manchu'spursuits, whilst close against another lay the most extraordinaryobject of a sufficiently extraordinary room--a low couch, upon whichwas extended the motionless form of a boy. In the light of a lampwhich hung directly above him, his olive face showed an almoststartling resemblance to that of Karamaneh--save that the girl'scoloring was more delicate. He had black, curly hair, which stood outprominently against the white covering upon which he lay, his handscrossed upon his breast.
Transfixed with astonishment, I stood looking down upon him. Thewonders of the "Arabian Nights" were wonders no longer, for here, inEast-End London, was a true magician's palace, lacking not itsbeautiful slave, lacking not its enchanted prince!
"It is Aziz, my brother," said Karamaneh.
We passed down a stairway on to the floor of the apartment. Karamanehknelt and bent over the boy, stroking his hair and whispering to himlovingly. I, too, bent over him; and I shall never forget the anxietyin the girl's eyes as she watched me eagerly whilst I made a briefexamination.
Brief, indeed, for even ere I had touched him I knew that the comelyshell held no spark of life. But Karamaneh fondled the cold hands, andspoke softly in that Arabic tongue which long before I had divined mustbe her native language.
Then, as I remained silent, she turned and looked at me, read the truthin my eyes, and rose from her knees, stood rigidly upright, andclutched me tremblingly.
"He is not dead--he is NOT dead!" she whispered, and shook me as achild might, seeking to arouse me to a proper understanding. "Oh, tellme he is not--"
"I cannot," I replied gently, "for indeed he is."
"No!" she said, wild-eyed, and raising her hands to her face as thoughhalf distraught. "You do not understand--yet you are a doctor. You donot understand--"
She stopped, moaning to herself and looking from the handsome face ofthe boy to me. It was pitiful; it was uncanny. But sorrow for thegirl predominated in my mind.
Then from somewhere I heard a sound which I had heard before in housesoccupied by Dr. Fu-Manchu--that of a muffled gong.
"Quick!" Karamaneh had me by the arm. "Up! He has returned!"
She fled up the stairs to the balcony, I close at her heels. Theshadows veiled us, the thick carpet deadened the sound of our tread, orcertainly we must have been detected by the man who entered the room wehad just quitted.
It was Dr. Fu-Manchu!
Yellow-robed, immobile, the inhuman green eyes glittering catlike even,it seemed, before the light struck them, he threaded his way throughthe archipelago of cushions and bent over the couch of Aziz.
Karamaneh dragged me down on to my knees.
"Watch!" she whispered. "Watch!"
Dr. Fu-Manchu felt for the pulse of the boy whom a moment since I hadpronounced dead, and, stepping to the tall glass case, took out along-necked flask of chased gold, and from it, into a graduated glass,he poured some drops of an amber liquid wholly unfamiliar to me. Iwatched him with all my eyes, and noted how high the liquid rose in themeasure. He charged a needle-syringe, and, bending again over Aziz,made an injection.
Then all the wonders I had heard of this man became possible, and withan awe which any other physician who had examined Aziz must have felt,I admitted him a miracle-worker. For as I watched, all but breathless,the dead came to life! The glow of health crept upon the olivecheek--the boy moved--he raised his hands above his head--he sat up,supp
orted by the Chinese doctor!
Fu-Manchu touched some hidden bell. A hideous yellow man with ascarred face entered, carrying a tray upon which were a bowl containingsome steaming fluid, apparently soup, what looked like oaten cakes, anda flask of red wine.
As the boy, exhibiting no more unusual symptoms than if he had justawakened from a normal sleep, commenced his repast, Karamaneh drew megently along the passage into the room which we had first entered. Myheart leaped wildly as the marmoset bounded past us to drop hand overhand to the lower apartment in search of its master.
"You see," said Karamaneh, her voice quivering, "he is not dead! Butwithout Fu-Manchu he is dead to me. How can I leave him when he holdsthe life of Aziz in his hand?"
"You must get me that flask, or some of its contents," I directed."But tell me, how does he produce the appearance of death?"
"I cannot tell you," she replied. "I do not know. It is something inthe wine. In another hour Aziz will be again as you saw him. Butsee." And, opening a little ebony box, she produced a phial halffilled with the amber liquid.
"Good!" I said, and slipped it into my pocket. "When will be the besttime to seize Fu-Manchu and to restore your brother?"
"I will let you know," she whispered, and, opening the door, pushed mehurriedly from the room. "He is going away to-night to the north; butyou must not come to-night. Quick! Quick! Along the passage. He maycall me at any moment."
So, with the phial in my pocket containing a potent preparation unknownto Western science, and with a last long look into the eyes ofKaramaneh, I passed out into the narrow alley, out from the fragrantperfumes of that mystery house into the place of Thames-side stenches.
