The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu

  CHAPTER XVIII

  TO pursue further the adventure on the marshes would be a task at onceuseless and thankless. In its actual and in its dramatic significanceit concluded with our parting from Karamaneh. And in that parting Ilearned what Shakespeare meant by "Sweet Sorrow."

  There was a world, I learned, upon the confines of which I stood, aworld whose very existence hitherto had been unsuspected. Not theleast of the mysteries which peeped from the darkness was the mysteryof the heart of Karamaneh. I sought to forget her. I sought toremember her. Indeed, in the latter task I found one more congenial,yet, in the direction and extent of the ideas which it engendered, onethat led me to a precipice.

  East and West may not intermingle. As a student of world-policies, asa physician, I admitted, could not deny, that truth. Again, ifKaramaneh were to be credited, she had come to Fu-Manchu a slave; hadfallen into the hands of the raiders; had crossed the desert with theslave-drivers; had known the house of the slave-dealer. Could it be?With the fading of the crescent of Islam I had thought such things tohave passed.

  But if it were so?

  At the mere thought of a girl so deliciously beautiful in the brutalpower of slavers, I found myself grinding my teeth--closing my eyes ina futile attempt to blot out the pictures called up.

  Then, at such times, I would find myself discrediting her story.Again, I would find myself wondering, vaguely, why such problemspersistently haunted my mind. But, always, my heart had an answer.And I was a medical man, who sought to build up a familypractice!--who, in short, a very little time ago, had thought himselfpast the hot follies of youth and entered upon that staid phase of lifewherein the daily problems of the medical profession hold absolute swayand such seductive follies as dark eyes and red lips find--noplace--are excluded!

  But it is foreign from the purpose of this plain record to enlistsympathy for the recorder. The topic upon which, here, I have venturedto touch was one fascinating enough to me; I cannot hope that it holdsequal charm for any other. Let us return to that which it is my dutyto narrate and let us forget my brief digression.

  It is a fact, singular, but true, that few Londoners know London.Under the guidance of my friend, Nayland Smith, I had learned, sincehis return from Burma, how there are haunts in the very heart of themetropolis whose existence is unsuspected by all but the few; placesunknown even to the ubiquitous copy-hunting pressman.

  Into a quiet thoroughfare not two minutes' walk from the pulsing lifeof Leicester Square, Smith led the way. Before a door sandwiched inbetween two dingy shop-fronts he paused and turned to me.

  "Whatever you see or hear," he cautioned, "express no surprise."

  A cab had dropped us at the corner. We both wore dark suits and fezcaps with black silk tassels. My complexion had been artificiallyreduced to a shade resembling the deep tan of my friend's. He rang thebell beside the door.

  Almost immediately it was opened by a negro woman--gross, hideouslyugly.

  Smith uttered something in voluble Arabic. As a linguist hisattainments were a constant source of surprise. The jargons of theEast, Far and Near, he spoke as his mother tongue. The womanimmediately displayed the utmost servility, ushering us into anill-lighted passage, with every evidence of profound respect.Following this passage, and passing an inner door, from beyond whenceproceeded bursts of discordant music, we entered a little room bare offurniture, with coarse matting for mural decorations, and a patternlessred carpet on the floor. In a niche burned a common metal lamp.

  The negress left us, and close upon her departure entered a very agedman with a long patriarchal beard, who greeted my friend with dignifiedcourtesy. Following a brief conversation, the aged Arab--for such heappeared to be--drew aside a strip of matting, revealing a dark recess.Placing his finger upon his lips, he silently invited us to enter.

  We did so, and the mat was dropped behind us. The sounds of crudemusic were now much plainer, and as Smith slipped a little shutteraside I gave a start of surprise.

  Beyond lay a fairly large apartment, having divans or low seats aroundthree of its walls. These divans were occupied by a motley company ofTurks, Egyptians, Greeks, and others; and I noted two Chinese. Most ofthem smoked cigarettes, and some were drinking. A girl was performinga sinuous dance upon the square carpet occupying the center of thefloor, accompanied by a young negro woman upon a guitar and by severalmembers of the assembly who clapped their hands to the music or hummeda low, monotonous melody.

  Shortly after our entrance into the passage the dance terminated, andthe dancer fled through a curtained door at the farther end of theroom. A buzz of conversation arose.

  "It is a sort of combined Wekaleh and place of entertainment for acertain class of Oriental residents in, or visiting, London," Smithwhispered. "The old gentleman who has just left us is the proprietoror host. I have been here before on several occasions, but have alwaysdrawn blank."

  He was peering out eagerly into the strange clubroom.

  "Whom do you expect to find here?" I asked.

  "It is a recognized meeting-place," said Smith in my ear. "It isalmost a certainty that some of the Fu-Manchu group use it at times."

  Curiously I surveyed all these faces which were visible from thespy-hole. My eyes rested particularly upon the two Chinamen.

  "Do you recognize anyone?" I whispered.

  "S-sh!"

  Smith was craning his neck so as to command a sight of the doorway. Heobstructed my view, and only by his tense attitude and some subtle waveof excitement which he communicated to me did I know that a new arrivalwas entering. The hum of conversation died away, and in the ensuingsilence I heard the rustle of draperies. The newcomer was a woman,then. Fearful of making any noise I yet managed to get my eyes to thelevel of the shutter.

  A woman in an elegant, flame-colored opera cloak was crossing the floorand coming in the direction of the spot where we were concealed. Shewore a soft silk scarf about her head, a fold partly draped across herface. A momentary view I had of her--and wildly incongruous she lookedin that place--and she had disappeared from sight, having approachedsomeone invisible who sat upon the divan immediately beneath our pointof vantage.

  From the way in which the company gazed towards her, I divined that shewas no habitue of the place, but that her presence there was as greatlysurprising to those in the room as it was to me.

  Whom could she be, this elegant lady who visited such a haunt--who, itwould seem, was so anxious to disguise her identity, but who wasdressed for a society function rather than for a midnight expedition ofso unusual a character?

  I began a whispered question, but Smith tugged at my arm to silence me.His excitement was intense. Had his keener powers enabled him torecognize the unknown?

  A faint but most peculiar perfume stole to my nostrils, a perfume whichseemed to contain the very soul of Eastern mystery. Only one womanknown to me used that perfume--Karamaneh.

  Then it was she!

  At last my friend's vigilance had been rewarded. Eagerly I bentforward. Smith literally quivered in anticipation of a discovery.Again the strange perfume was wafted to our hiding-place; and, glancingneither to right nor left, I saw Karamaneh--for that it was she I nolonger doubted--recross the room and disappear.

  "The man she spoke to," hissed Smith. "We must see him! We must havehim!"

  He pulled the mat aside and stepped out into the anteroom. It wasempty. Down the passage he led, and we were almost come to the door ofthe big room when it was thrown open and a man came rapidly out, openedthe street door before Smith could reach him, and was gone, slamming itfast.

  I can swear that we were not four seconds behind him, but when wegained the street it was empty. Our quarry had disappeared as if bymagic. A big car was just turning the corner towards Leicester Square.

  "That is the girl," rapped Smith; "but where in Heaven's name is theman to whom she brought the message? I would give a hundred pounds toknow what business is afoot. To think that we have had such
anopportunity and have thrown it away!"

  Angry and nonplused he stood at the corner, looking in the direction ofthe crowded thoroughfare into which the car had been driven, tugging atthe lobe of his ear, as was his habit in such moments of perplexity,and sharply clicking his teeth together. I, too, was very thoughtful.Clews were few enough in those days of our war with that giantantagonist. The mere thought that our trifling error of judgmenttonight in tarrying a moment too long might mean the victory ofFu-Manchu, might mean the turning of the balance which a wiseprovidence had adjusted between the white and yellow races, wasappalling.

  To Smith and me, who knew something of the secret influences at work tooverthrow the Indian Empire, to place, it might be, the whole of Europeand America beneath an Eastern rule, it seemed that a great yellow handwas stretched out over London. Doctor Fu-Manchu was a menace to thecivilized world. Yet his very existence remained unsuspected by themillions whose fate he sought to command.

  "Into what dark scheme have we had a glimpse?" said Smith. "What Statesecret is to be filched? What faithful servant of the British Raj tobe spirited away? Upon whom now has Fu-Manchu set his death seal?"

  "Karamaneh on this occasion may not have been acting as an emissary ofthe Doctor's."

  "I feel assured that she was, Petrie. Of the many whom this yellowcloud may at any moment envelop, to which one did her message refer?The man's instructions were urgent. Witness his hasty departure.Curse it!" He dashed his right clenched fist into the palm of his lefthand. "I never had a glimpse of his face, first to last. To think ofthe hours I have spent in that place, in anticipation of just such ameeting--only to bungle the opportunity when it arose!" Scarce heedingwhat course we followed, we had come now to Piccadilly Circus, and hadwalked out into the heart of the night's traffic. I just dragged Smithaside in time to save him from the off-front wheel of a big Mercedes.Then the traffic was blocked, and we found ourselves dangerously pennedin amidst the press of vehicles.

  Somehow we extricated ourselves, jeered at by taxi-drivers, whonaturally took us for two simple Oriental visitors, and just beforethat impassable barrier the arm of a London policeman was lowered andthe stream moved on a faint breath of perfume became perceptible to me.

  The cabs and cars about us were actually beginning to move again, andthere was nothing for it but a hasty retreat to the curb. I could notpause to glance behind, but instinctively I knew that someone--someonewho used that rare, fragrant essence--was leaning from the window ofthe car.

  "ANDAMAN--SECOND!" floated a soft whisper.

  We gained the pavement as the pent-up traffic roared upon its way.

  Smith had not noticed the perfume worn by the unseen occupant of thecar, had not detected the whispered words. But I had no reason todoubt my senses, and I knew beyond question that Fu-Manchu's lovelyslave, Karamaneh, had been within a yard of us, had recognized us, andhad uttered those words for our guidance.

  On regaining my rooms, we devoted a whole hour to considering what"ANDAMAN--SECOND" could possibly mean.

  "Hang it all!" cried Smith, "it might mean anything--the result of arace, for instance."

  He burst into one of his rare laughs, and began to stuff broadcutmixture into his briar. I could see that he had no intention ofturning in.

  "I can think of no one--no one of note--in London at present upon whomit is likely that Fu-Manchu would make an attempt," he said, "exceptourselves."

  We began methodically to go through the long list of names which we hadcompiled and to review our elaborate notes. When, at last, I turnedin, the night had given place to a new day. But sleep evaded me, and"ANDAMAN--SECOND" danced like a mocking phantom through my brain.

  Then I heard the telephone bell. I heard Smith speaking.

  A minute afterwards he was in my room, his face very grim.

  "I knew as well as if I'd seen it with my own eyes that some blackbusiness was afoot last night," he said. "And it was. Withinpistol-shot of us! Someone has got at Frank Norris West. InspectorWeymouth has just been on the 'phone."

  "Norris West!" I cried, "the American aviator--and inventor--"

  "Of the West aero-torpedo--yes. He's been offering it to the EnglishWar Office, and they have delayed too long."

  I got out of bed.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that the potentialities have attracted the attention of Dr.Fu-Manchu!"

  Those words operated electrically. I do not know how long I was indressing, how long a time elapsed ere the cab for which Smith had'phoned arrived, how many precious minutes were lost upon the journey;but, in a nervous whirl, these things slipped into the past, like thetelegraph poles seen from the window of an express, and, still in thattense state, we came upon the scene of this newest outrage.

  Mr. Norris West, whose lean, stoic face had latterly figured so oftenin the daily press, lay upon the floor in the little entrance hall ofhis chambers, flat upon his back, with the telephone receiver in hishand.

  The outer door had been forced by the police. They had had to remove apiece of the paneling to get at the bolt. A medical man was leaningover the recumbent figure in the striped pajama suit, andDetective-Inspector Weymouth stood watching him as Smith and I entered.

  "He has been heavily drugged," said the Doctor, sniffing at West'slips, "but I cannot say what drug has been used. It isn't chloroformor anything of that nature. He can safely be left to sleep it off, Ithink."

  I agreed, after a brief examination.

  "It's most extraordinary," said Weymouth. "He rang up the Yard aboutan hour ago and said his chambers had been invaded by Chinamen. Thenthe man at the 'phone plainly heard him fall. When we got here hisfront door was bolted, as you've seen, and the windows are three floorsup. Nothing is disturbed."

  "The plans of the aero-torpedo?" rapped Smith.

  "I take it they are in the safe in his bedroom," replied the detective,"and that is locked all right. I think he must have taken an overdoseof something and had illusions. But in case there was anything in whathe mumbled (you could hardly understand him) I thought it as well tosend for you."

  "Quite right," said Smith rapidly. His eyes shone like steel. "Layhim on the bed, Inspector."

  It was done, and my friend walked into the bedroom.

  Save that the bed was disordered, showing that West had been sleepingin it, there were no evidences of the extraordinary invasion mentionedby the drugged man. It was a small room--the chambers were of thatkind which are let furnished--and very neat. A safe with a combinationlock stood in a corner. The window was open about a foot at the top.Smith tried the safe and found it fast. He stood for a moment clickinghis teeth together, by which I knew him to be perplexed. He walkedover to the window and threw it up. We both looked out.

  "You see," came Weymouth's voice, "it is altogether too far from thecourt below for our cunning Chinese friends to have fixed a ladder withone of their bamboo rod arrangements. And, even if they could get upthere, it's too far down from the roof--two more stories--for them tohave fixed it from there."

  Smith nodded thoughtfully, at the same time trying the strength of aniron bar which ran from side to side of the window-sill. Suddenly hestooped, with a sharp exclamation. Bending over his shoulder I sawwhat it was that had attracted his attention.

  Clearly imprinted upon the dust-coated gray stone of the sill was aconfused series of marks--tracks call them what you will.

  Smith straightened himself and turned a wondering look upon me.

  "What is it, Petrie?" he said amazedly. "Some kind of bird has beenhere, and recently." Inspector Weymouth in turn examined the marks.

  "I never saw bird tracks like these, Mr. Smith," he muttered.

  Smith was tugging at the lobe of his ear.

  "No," he returned reflectively; "come to think of it, neither did I."

  He twisted around, looking at the man on the bed.

  "Do you think it was all an illusion?" asked the detective.

  "What abo
ut those marks on the window-sill?" jerked Smith.

  He began restlessly pacing about the room, sometimes stopping beforethe locked safe and frequently glancing at Norris West.

  Suddenly he walked out and briefly examined the other apartments, onlyto return again to the bedroom.

  "Petrie," he said, "we are losing valuable time. West must be aroused."

  Inspector Weymouth stared.

  Smith turned to me impatiently. The doctor summoned by the police hadgone. "Is there no means of arousing him, Petrie?" he said.

  "Doubtless," I replied, "he could be revived if one but knew what drughe had taken."

  My friend began his restless pacing again, and suddenly pounced upon alittle phial of tabloids which had been hidden behind some books on ashelf near the bed. He uttered a triumphant exclamation.

  "See what we have here, Petrie!" he directed, handing the phial to me."It bears no label."

  I crushed one of the tabloids in my palm and applied my tongue to thepowder.

  "Some preparation of chloral hydrate," I pronounced.

  "A sleeping draught?" suggested Smith eagerly.

  "We might try," I said, and scribbled a formula upon a leaf of mynotebook. I asked Weymouth to send the man who accompanied him to callup the nearest chemist and procure the antidote.

  During the man's absence Smith stood contemplating the unconsciousinventor, a peculiar expression upon his bronzed face.

  "ANDAMAN--SECOND," he muttered. "Shall we find the key to the riddlehere, I wonder?"

  Inspector Weymouth, who had concluded, I think, that the mysterioustelephone call was due to mental aberration on the part of Norris West,was gnawing at his mustache impatiently when his assistant returned. Iadministered the powerful restorative, and although, as latertranspired, chloral was not responsible for West's condition, theantidote operated successfully.

  Norris West struggled into a sitting position, and looked about himwith haggard eyes.

  "The Chinamen! The Chinamen!" he muttered.

  He sprang to his feet, glaring wildly at Smith and me, reeled, andalmost fell.

  "It is all right," I said, supporting him. "I'm a doctor. You havebeen unwell."

  "Have the police come?" he burst out. "The safe--try the safe!"

  "It's all right," said Inspector Weymouth. "The safe is locked--unlesssomeone else knows the combination, there's nothing to worry about."

  "No one else knows it," said West, and staggered unsteadily to thesafe. Clearly his mind was in a dazed condition, but, setting his jawwith a curious expression of grim determination, he collected histhoughts and opened the safe.

  He bent down, looking in.

  In some way the knowledge came to me that the curtain was about to riseon a new and surprising act in the Fu-Manchu drama.

  "God!" he whispered--we could scarcely hear him--"the plans are gone!"