CHAPTER XI
IN THE FOG
"But, Smith," I began, as my friend hurried me along the corridor, "youare not going to leave the box unguarded?"
Nayland Smith tugged at my arm, and, glancing at him, I saw himfrowningly shake his head. Utterly mystified, I neverthelessunderstood that for some reason he desired me to preserve silence forthe present. Accordingly I said no more until the lift brought us downinto the lobby and we had passed out from the New Louvre Hotel,crossed the busy thoroughfare and entered the buffet of anestablishment not far distant. My friend having ordered cocktails--
"And now perhaps you will explain to me the reason for your mysteriousbehavior?" said I.
Smith, placing my glass before me, glanced about him to right and left,and having satisfied himself that his words could not be overheard--
"Petrie," he whispered, "I believe we are spied upon at the New Louvre."
"What!"
"There are spies of the Si-Fan--of Fu-Manchu--amongst the hotelservants! We have good reason to believe that Dr. Fu-Manchu at onetime was actually in the building, and we have been compelled to drawattention to the state of the electric fitting in our apartments, whichenables any one in the corridor above to spy upon us."
"Then why do you stay?"
"For a very good reason, Petrie, and the same that prompts me toretain the Tulun-Nur box in my own possession rather than to depositit in the strong-room of my bank."
"I begin to understand."
"I trust you do, Petrie; it is fairly obvious. Probably the plan is aperilous one, but I hope, by laying myself open to attack, toapprehend the enemy--perhaps to make an important capture."
Setting down my glass, I stared in silence at Smith.
"I will anticipate your remark," he said, smiling dryly. "I am awarethat I am not entitled to expose _you_ to these dangers. It is _my_duty and I must perform it as best I can; you, as a volunteer, areperfectly entitled to withdraw."
As I continued silently to stare at him, his expression changed; thegray eyes grew less steely, and presently, clapping his hand upon myshoulder in his impulsive way--
"Petrie!" he cried, "you know I had no intention of hurting yourfeelings, but in the circumstances it was impossible for me to say less."
"You have said enough, Smith," I replied shortly. "I beg of you to sayno more."
He gripped my shoulder hard, then plunged his hand into his pocket andpulled out the blackened pipe.
"We see it through together, then, though God knows whither it willlead us."
"In the first place," I interrupted, "since you have left the chestunguarded----"
"I locked the door."
"What is a mere lock where Fu-Manchu is concerned?"
Nayland Smith laughed almost gaily.
"Really, Petrie," he cried, "sometimes I cannot believe that you meanme to take you seriously. Inspector Weymouth has engaged the roomimmediately facing our door, and no one can enter or leave the suiteunseen by him."
"Inspector Weymouth?"
"Oh! for once he has stooped to a disguise: spectacles, and a mufflerwhich covers his face right up to the tip of his nose. Add to this aprodigious overcoat and an asthmatic cough, and you have a picture ofMr. Jonathan Martin, the occupant of room No. 239."
I could not repress a smile upon hearing this description.
"No. 239," continued Smith, "contains two beds, and Mr. Martin'sfriend will be joining him there this evening."
Meeting my friend's questioning glance, I nodded comprehendingly.
"Then what part do _I_ play?"
"Ostensibly we both leave town this evening," he explained; "but Ihave a scheme whereby you will be enabled to remain behind. We shallthus have one watcher inside and two out."
"It seems almost absurd," I said incredulously, "to expect any memberof the Yellow group to attempt anything in a huge hotel like the NewLouvre, here in the heart of London!"
Nayland Smith, having lighted his pipe, stretched his arms and staredme straight in the face.
"Has Fu-Manchu never attempted outrage, murder, in the heart of Londonbefore?" he snapped.
The words were sufficient. Remembering black episodes of the past (oneat least of them had occurred not a thousand yards from the very spotupon which we now stood), I knew that I had spoken folly.
Certain arrangements were made then, including a visit to ScotlandYard; and a plan--though it sounds anomalous--at once elaborate andsimple, was put into execution in the dusk of the evening.
London remained in the grip of fog, and when we passed along thecorridor communicating with our apartments, faint streaks of yellowvapor showed in the light of the lamp suspended at the further end.I knew that Nayland Smith suspected the presence of some spyingcontrivance in our rooms, although I was unable to conjecture how thiscould have been managed without the connivance of the management. Inpursuance of his idea, however, he extinguished the lights a momentbefore we actually quitted the suite. Just within the door he helpedme to remove the somewhat conspicuous check traveling-coat which Iwore. With this upon his arm he opened the door and stepped out intothe corridor.
As the door slammed upon his exit, I heard him cry: "Come along,Petrie! we have barely five minutes to catch our train."
Detective Carter of New Scotland Yard had joined him at the threshold,and muffled up in the gray traveling-coat was now hurrying with Smithalong the corridor and out of the hotel. Carter, in build and features,was not unlike me, and I did not doubt that any one who might bespying upon our movements would be deceived by this device.
In the darkness of the apartment I stood listening to the retreatingfootsteps in the corridor. A sense of loneliness and danger assailedme. I knew that Inspector Weymouth was watching and listening from theroom immediately opposite; that he held Smith's key; that I couldsummon him to my assistance, if necessary, in a matter of seconds.
Yet, contemplating the vigil that lay before me in silence anddarkness, I cannot pretend that my frame of mind was buoyant. I couldnot smoke; I must make no sound.
As pre-arranged, I cautiously removed my boots, and as cautiouslytiptoed across the carpet and seated myself in an arm-chair. Idetermined there to await the arrival of Mr. Jonathan Martin's friend,which I knew could not now be long delayed.
The clocks were striking eleven when he arrived, and in the perfectstillness of that upper corridor. I heard the bustle which heraldedhis approach, heard the rap upon the door opposite, followed by amuffled "Come in" from Weymouth. Then, as the door was opened, I heardthe sound of a wheezy cough.
A strange cracked voice (which, nevertheless, I recognized for Smith's)cried, "Hullo, Martin!--cough no better?"
Upon that the door was closed again, and as the retreating footstepsof the servant died away, complete silence--that peculiar silencewhich comes with fog--descended once more upon the upper part of theNew Louvre Hotel.