by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXII
"WE must arrange for the house to be raided without delay," said Smith."This time we are sure of our ally--"
"But we must keep our promise to her," I interrupted.
"You can look after that, Petrie," my friend said. "I will devote thewhole of my attention to Dr. Fu-Manchu!" he added grimly.
Up and down the room he paced, gripping the blackened briar between histeeth, so that the muscles stood out squarely upon his lean jaws. Thebronze which spoke of the Burmese sun enhanced the brightness of hisgray eyes.
"What have I all along maintained?" he jerked, looking back at meacross his shoulder--"that, although Karamaneh was one of the strongestweapons in the Doctor's armory, she was one which some day would beturned against him. That day has dawned."
"We must await word from her."
"Quite so."
He knocked out his pipe on the grate. Then:
"Have you any idea of the nature of the fluid in the phial?"
"Not the slightest. And I have none to spare for analytical purposes."
Nayland Smith began stuffing mixture into the hot pipe-bowl, anddropping an almost equal quantity on the floor.
"I cannot rest, Petrie," he said. "I am itching to get to work. Yet,a false move, and--" He lighted his pipe, and stood staring from thewindow.
"I shall, of course, take a needle-syringe with me," I explained.
Smith made no reply.
"If I but knew the composition of the drug which produced the semblanceof death," I continued, "my fame would long survive my ashes."
My friend did not turn. But:
"She said it was something he put in the wine?" he jerked.
"In the wine, yes."
Silence fell. My thoughts reverted to Karamaneh, whom Dr. Fu-Manchuheld in bonds stronger than any slave-chains. For, with Aziz, herbrother, suspended between life and death, what could she do save obeythe mandates of the cunning Chinaman? What perverted genius was his!If that treasury of obscure wisdom which he, perhaps alone of livingmen, had rifled, could but be thrown open to the sick and suffering,the name of Dr. Fu-Manchu would rank with the golden ones in thehistory of healing.
Nayland Smith suddenly turned, and the expression upon his face amazedme.
"Look up the next train to L--!" he rapped.
"To L--? What--?"
"There's the Bradshaw. We haven't a minute to waste."
In his voice was the imperative note I knew so well; in his eyes wasthe light which told of an urgent need for action--a portentous truthsuddenly grasped.
"One in half-an-hour--the last."
"We must catch it."
No further word of explanation he vouchsafed, but darted off to dress;for he had spent the afternoon pacing the room in his dressing-gown andsmoking without intermission.
Out and to the corner we hurried, and leaped into the first taxi uponthe rank. Smith enjoined the man to hasten, and we were off--all inthat whirl of feverish activity which characterized my friend'smovements in times of important action.
He sat glancing impatiently from the window and twitching at the lobeof his ear.
"I know you will forgive me, old man," he said, "but there is a littleproblem which I am trying to work out in my mind. Did you bring thethings I mentioned?"
"Yes."
Conversation lapsed, until, just as the cab turned into the station,Smith said: "Should you consider Lord Southery to have been the firstconstructive engineer of his time, Petrie?"
"Undoubtedly," I replied.
"Greater than Von Homber, of Berlin?"
"Possibly not. But Von Homber has been dead for three years."
"Three years, is it?"
"Roughly."
"Ah!"
We reached the station in time to secure a non-corridor compartment toourselves, and to allow Smith leisure carefully to inspect theoccupants of all the others, from the engine to the guard's van. Hewas muffled up to the eyes, and he warned me to keep out of sight inthe corner of the compartment. In fact, his behavior had me burstingwith curiosity. The train having started:
"Don't imagine, Petrie," said Smith "that I am trying to lead youblindfolded in order later to dazzle you with my perspicacity. I amsimply afraid that this may be a wild-goose chase. The idea upon whichI am acting does not seem to have struck you. I wish it had. The factwould argue in favor of its being sound."
"At present I am hopelessly mystified."
"Well, then, I will not bias you towards my view. But just study thesituation, and see if you can arrive at the reason for this suddenjourney. I shall be distinctly encouraged if you succeed."
But I did not succeed, and since Smith obviously was unwilling toenlighten me, I pressed him no more. The train stopped at Rugby, wherehe was engaged with the stationmaster in making some mysteriousarrangements. At L--, however, their object became plain, for ahigh-power car was awaiting us, and into this we hurried and ere thegreater number of passengers had reached the platform were being drivenoff at headlong speed along the moon-bathed roads.
Twenty minutes' rapid traveling, and a white mansion leaped into theline of sight, standing out vividly against its woody backing.
"Stradwick Hall," said Smith. "The home of Lord Southery. We arefirst--but Dr. Fu-Manchu was on the train."
Then the truth dawned upon the gloom of my perplexity.
