by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXVI
THE clammy touch of the mist revived me. The culmination of the scenein the poison cellars, together with the effects of the fumes which Ihad inhaled again, had deprived me of consciousness. Now I knew that Iwas afloat on the river. I still was bound: furthermore, a cloth waswrapped tightly about my mouth, and I was secured to a ring in the deck.
By moving my aching head to the left I could look down into the oilywater; by moving it to the right I could catch a glimpse of theempurpled face of Inspector Weymouth, who, similarly bound and gagged,lay beside me, but only of the feet and legs of Nayland Smith. For Icould not turn my head sufficiently far to see more.
We were aboard an electric launch. I heard the hated guttural voice ofFu-Manchu, subdued now to its habitual calm, and my heart leaped tohear the voice that answered him. It was that of Karamaneh. Histriumph was complete. Clearly his plans for departure were complete;his slaughter of the police in the underground passages had been afinal reckless demonstration of which the Chinaman's subtle cunningwould have been incapable had he not known his escape from the countryto be assured.
What fate was in store for us? How would he avenge himself upon thegirl who had betrayed him to his enemies? What portion awaited thoseenemies? He seemed to have formed the singular determination tosmuggle me into China--but what did he purpose in the case of Weymouth,and in the case of Nayland Smith?
All but silently we were feeling our way through the mist. Astern diedthe clangor of dock and wharf into a remote discord. Ahead hung thefoggy curtain veiling the traffic of the great waterway; but through itbroke the calling of sirens, the tinkling of bells.
The gentle movement of the screw ceased altogether. The launch layheaving slightly upon the swells.
A distant throbbing grew louder--and something advanced upon us throughthe haze.
A bell rang and muffled by the fog a voice proclaimed itself--a voicewhich I knew. I felt Weymouth writhing impotently beside me; heard himmumbling incoherently; and I knew that he, too, had recognized thevoice.
It was that of Inspector Ryman of the river police and their launch waswithin biscuit-throw of that upon which we lay!
"'Hoy! 'Hoy!"
I trembled. A feverish excitement claimed me. They were hailing us.We carried no lights; but now--and ignoring the pain which shot from myspine to my skull I craned my neck to the left--the port light of thepolice launch glowed angrily through the mist.
I was unable to utter any save mumbling sounds, and my companions wereequally helpless. It was a desperate position. Had the police seen usor had they hailed at random? The light drew nearer.
"Launch, 'hoy!"
They had seen us! Fu-Manchu's guttural voice spoke shortly--and ourscrew began to revolve again; we leaped ahead into the bank ofdarkness. Faint grew the light of the police launch--and was gone.But I heard Ryman's voice shouting.
"Full speed!" came faintly through the darkness. "Port! Port!"
Then the murk closed down, and with our friends far astern of us wewere racing deeper into the fog banks--speeding seaward; though of thisI was unable to judge at the time.
On we raced, and on, sweeping over growing swells. Once, a black,towering shape dropped down upon us. Far above, lights blazed, bellsrang, vague cries pierced the fog. The launch pitched and rolledperilously, but weathered the wash of the liner which so nearly hadconcluded this episode. It was such a journey as I had taken oncebefore, early in our pursuit of the genius of the Yellow Peril; butthis was infinitely more terrible; for now we were utterly inFu-Manchu's power.
A voice mumbled in my ear. I turned my bound-up face; and InspectorWeymouth raised his hands in the dimness and partly slipped the bandagefrom his mouth.
"I've been working at the cords since we left those filthy cellars," hewhispered. "My wrists are all cut, but when I've got out a knife andfreed my ankles--"
Smith had kicked him with his bound feet. The detective slipped thebandage back to position and placed his hands behind him again. Dr.Fu-Manchu, wearing a heavy overcoat but no hat, came aft. He wasdragging Karamaneh by the wrists. He seated himself on the cushionsnear to us, pulling the girl down beside him. Now, I could see herface--and the expression in her beautiful eyes made me writhe.
Fu-Manchu was watching us, his discolored teeth faintly visible in thedim light, to which my eyes were becoming accustomed.
"Dr. Petrie," he said, "you shall be my honored guest at my home inChina. You shall assist me to revolutionize chemistry. Mr. Smith, Ifear you know more of my plans than I had deemed it possible for you tohave learned, and I am anxious to know if you have a confidant. Whereyour memory fails you, and my files and wire jackets prove ineffectual,Inspector Weymouth's recollections may prove more accurate."
He turned to the cowering girl--who shrank away from him in pitiful,abject terror.
"In my hands, Doctor," he continued, "I hold a needle charged with arare culture. It is the link between the bacilli and the fungi. Youhave seemed to display an undue interest in the peach and pearl whichrender my Karamaneh so delightful, In the supple grace of her movementsand the sparkle of her eyes. You can never devote your whole mind tothose studies which I have planned for you whilst such distractionsexist. A touch of this keen point, and the laughing Karamaneh becomesthe shrieking hag--the maniacal, mowing--"
Then, with an ox-like rush, Weymouth was upon him!
Karamaneh, wrought upon past endurance, with a sobbing cry, sank to thedeck--and lay still. I managed to writhe into a half-sitting posture,and Smith rolled aside as the detective and the Chinaman crashed downtogether.
Weymouth had one big hand at the Doctor's yellow throat; with his lefthe grasped the Chinaman's right. It held the needle.
Now, I could look along the length of the little craft, and, so far asit was possible to make out in the fog, only one other was aboard--thehalf-clad brown man who navigated her--and who had carried us throughthe cellars. The murk had grown denser and now shut us in like a box.The throb of the motor--the hissing breath of the two who fought--withso much at issue--these sounds and the wash of the water alone brokethe eerie stillness.
By slow degrees, and with a reptilian agility horrible to watch,Fu-Manchu was neutralizing the advantage gained by Weymouth. Hisclawish fingers were fast in the big man's throat; the right hand withits deadly needle was forcing down the left of his opponent. He hadbeen underneath, but now he was gaining the upper place. His powers ofphysical endurance must have been truly marvelous. His breath waswhistling through his nostrils significantly, but Weymouth was palpablytiring.
The latter suddenly changed his tactics. By a supreme effort, to whichhe was spurred, I think, by the growing proximity of the needle, heraised Fu-Manchu--by the throat and arm--and pitched him sideways.
The Chinaman's grip did not relax, and the two wrestlers dropped, awrithing mass, upon the port cushions. The launch heeled over, and mycry of horror was crushed back into my throat by the bandage. For, asFu-Manchu sought to extricate himself, he overbalanced--fell back--and,bearing Weymouth with him--slid into the river!
The mist swallowed them up.
There are moments of which no man can recall his mental impressions,moments so acutely horrible that, mercifully, our memory retainsnothing of the emotions they occasioned. This was one of them. Achaos ruled in my mind. I had a vague belief that the Burman, forward,glanced back. Then the course of the launch was changed. How longintervened between the tragic end of that Gargantuan struggle and thetime when a black wall leaped suddenly up before us I cannot pretend tostate.
With a sickening jerk we ran aground. A loud explosion ensued, and Iclearly remember seeing the brown man leap out into the fog--which wasthe last I saw of him.
Water began to wash aboard.
Fully alive to our imminent peril, I fought with the cords that boundme; but I lacked poor Weymouth's strength of wrist, and I began toaccept as a horrible and imminent possibility, a death from drown
ing,within six feet of the bank.
Beside me, Nayland Smith was straining and twisting. I think hisobject was to touch Karamaneh, in the hope of arousing her. Where hefailed in his project, the inflowing water succeeded. A silent prayerof thankfulness came from my very soul when I saw her stir--when I sawher raise her hands to her head--and saw the big, horror-bright eyesgleam through the mist veil.
