CHAPTER IX
FU-MANCHU
Many poignant recollections are mine, more of them bitter than sweet;but no one of them all can compare with the memory of that moment ofmy awakening.
Weymouth was supporting me, and my throat still tingled from theeffects of the brandy which he had forced between my teeth from hisflask. My heart was beating irregularly; my mind yet partly inert.With something compound of horror and hope I lay staring at one whowas anxiously bending over the Inspector's shoulder, watching me.
_It was Nayland Smith._
A whole hour of silence seemed to pass, ere speech became possible;then--
"Smith!" I whispered, "are you ..."
Smith grasped my outstretched, questing hand, grasped it firmly,warmly; and I saw his gray eyes to be dim in the light of the severallanterns around us.
"Am I alive?" he said. "Dear old Petrie! Thanks to you, I am not onlyalive, but free!"
My head was buzzing like a hive of bees, but I managed, aided byWeymouth, to struggle to my feet. Muffled sounds of shouting andscuffling reached me. Two men in the uniform of the Thames Police werecarrying a limp body in at the low doorway communicating with theinfernal Joy-Shop.
"It's Fletcher," said Weymouth, noting the anxiety expressed in myface. "His missing lady friend has given him a nasty wound, but he'llpull round all right."
"Thank God for that," I replied, clutched my aching head. "I don'tknow what weapon she employed in my case, but it narrowly missedachieving her purpose."
My eyes, throughout, were turned upon Smith, for his presence there,still seemed to me miraculous.
"Smith," I said, "for Heaven's sake enlighten me! I never doubtedthat you were ..."
"In the wooden chest!" concluded Smith grimly, "Look!"
He pointed to something that lay behind me. I turned, and saw the boxwhich had occasioned me such anguish. The top had been wrenched offand the contents exposed to view. It was filled with a variety of goldornaments, cups, vases, silks, and barbaric brocaded raiment; it mightwell have contained the loot of a cathedral. Inspector Weymouthlaughed gruffly at my surprise.
"What is it?" I asked, in a voice of amazement.
"It's the treasure of the Si-Fan, I presume," rapped Smith. "Where ithas come from and where it was going to, it must be my immediatebusiness to ascertain."
"Then you ..."
"I was lying, bound and gagged, upon one of the upper shelves in theopium-den! I heard you and Fletcher arrive. I saw you pass throughlater with that she-devil who drove the cab to-day ..."
"Then the cab ..."
"The windows were fastened, unopenable, and some anaesthetic wasinjected into the interior through a tube--that speaking-tube. I knownothing further, except that our plans must have leaked out in somemysterious fashion. Petrie, my suspicions point to high quarters. TheSi-Fan score thus far, for unless the search now in progress bringsit to light, we must conclude that they have the brass coffer."
He was interrupted by a sudden loud crying of his name.
"Mr. Nayland Smith!" came from somewhere within the Joy-Shop. "Thisway, sir!"
Off he went, in his quick, impetuous manner, whilst I stood there,none too steadily, wondering what discovery this outcry portended.I had not long to wait. Out by the low doorway come Smith, a grimlytriumphant smile upon his face, carrying the missing brass coffer!
He set it down upon the planking before me.
"John Ki," he said, "who was also on the missing list, had draggedthe thing out of the cellar where it was hidden, and in another minutemust have slipped away with it. Detective Deacon saw the light shiningthrough a crack in the floor. I shall never forget the look John gaveus when we came upon him, as, lamp in hand, he bent over the preciouschest."
"Shall you open it now?"
"No." He glanced at me oddly. "I shall have it valued in the morningby Messrs. Meyerstein."
He was keeping something back; I was sure of it.
"Smith," I said suddenly, "the man with the limp! I heard him in theplace where you were confined! Did you ..."
Nayland Smith clicked his teeth together sharply, looking straightlyand grimly into my eyes.
"I _saw_ him!" he replied slowly; "and unless the effects of theanaesthetic had not wholly worn off ..."
"Well!" I cried.
"The man with the limp is _Dr. Fu-Manchu!_"