Daughter of Fu-Manchu (19 page)

“Sokel would have taken his place.

“The distressing death of an obscure guest from Smyrna would have been hushed up as much as possible by the hotel authorities— and Mr. Solkel would have lunched with the prime minister in the morning. I am even prepared to believe that the back of the fireplace in Number 41 would have been carefully replaced; although I fail to see how the same could have been done for this one. The dwarf, no doubt, would have been despatched by the new pasha in a crate as a piece of baggage to some suitable address.”

“But how did the dwarf get in?” I exclaimed.

“Almost certainly in the wardrobe trunk which Mr. Solkel received today,” Weymouth answered.

“You’re right,” Smith confirmed.

“But,” I cried, “how could the impostor, granting his extraordinary resemblance to Swâzi Pasha, have carried on?”

“Quite easily,” Smith assured me. “He knew all that Swâzi knew. He was perfectly familiar with the latter’s movements and with his peculiarly secluded life. He was intimately acquainted with his domestic affairs.”

“But,” said Petrie, “who
is
he?”

“Swâzi Pasha’s twin brother,” was the astounding reply; “his deadly enemy, and a member of the Council of Seven.”

“But the real Swâzi Pasha?”

“Is at the Platz Hotel,” Smith replied, “masquerading as a member of his own suite.”

He was silent for a moment, and, then:

“The first time I ever used a sandbag,” he said reflectively, weighing one of those weapons in his hand. “But having actually reached Victoria without incident, I determined that
this
was the point of attack. A transfer of overcoats was made on the train, and the muffled gentleman who entered the Park Avenue was not Swâzi Pasha, but I! Multan Bey, the secretary, escaped at a suitable moment and left me in sole possession of Suite Number 5.

“I didn’t know what to expect, but I was prepared for anything. And you must remember, Petrie,”—turning to the latter—“that I had had some little experience of the methods of this group! I heard the sound, faint though it was, high up in the ventilation shaft—the same which disturbed you, Greville. Then a hazy idea of what to expect dawned on my mind. A sandbag, the history of which I must tell you later, was in my trunk in the lobby. As I came out to secure it, since. I considered it to be the most suitable instrument for my purpose, I heard your soft but rapid footsteps, Greville. I realized that
someone
was approaching the door; that he must be stopped knocking or ringing at all costs, since my purpose was to catch the enemy red-handed.”

There was a pause, and then:

“It’s very late,” said Dr. Petrie slowly, his gaze set upon Nayland Smith; “but I think, Smith, you owe us some further explanation.”

“I agree,” Nayland Smith replied quietly.

It was a strange party which gathered in the small hours in Dr. Petrie’s sitting room. Petrie’s wife, curled up in a shadowy corner of the divan, seemed in her fragile beauty utterly apart from this murderous business which had brought us together. Yet I knew that in the past she had been intimately linked with the monstrous organization which again was stretching out gaunt hands to move pieces on the chessboard of the world. Weymouth, in an armchair, smoked in stolid silence. Petrie stood on on the hearthrug watching Nayland Smith. And I, seated by the writing table, listened to a terse, unemotional account of an experience such as few men have passed through. Nayland Smith, speaking rapidly and smoking all the time—striking many matches, for his pipe constantly went out— paced up and down the room.

“You have asked me, Petrie,” he said, “to explain why I allowed you to believe that I was dead. The answer is this: I had learned during, my investigations in Egypt that an inquirer who has no official existence possesses definite advantages. My dear fellow,” — he turned impulsively to the doctor—“I knew it would hurt, but I knew there was a cure. Forgive me. The fate of millions was at stake. I will tell you the steps by which I arrived at this decision.

“I don’t know how much you recall, Greville, of that meeting at the house of the Sheikh Ismail. But you remember that I recognized the venerable mandarin who received us in the lobby? It was none other than Ki Ming, president of the Council of Seven! You remember the raid in London, Weymouth, and the diplomatic evasion by which he slipped through our fingers?”

“Very clearly,” Weymouth replied.

“One of the finest brains and most formidable personalities in the world today. I rank him second only to Dr. Fu-Manchu. I have yet to test the full strength of the lady known as ‘Madame Ingomar,’ but possibly she is deserving of a place. We shall see. I doubted if he knew me, Greville. Even had I been sure, I don’t know what I could have done. But at least I knew my man and saw our danger.”

“I
had seen it all along,” I interrupted.

Nayland Smith smiled, and:

“A V. C. would not be too high a reward for your courage on that occasion!” he said. “Had the mandarin been sure, he would never have admitted us to the council.
He only suspected;
but he took instant steps to check these suspicions. I didn’t like the way Sheikh Ismail looked at us when he came in.

“A messenger had been despatched to el-Khârga to make sure that the Tibetan deputies had actually set out. He found them on the way. They must have succeeded in attracting his attention. That messenger was the third member of the Burmese party—the Dacoit who was absent from the council.

“The two gong notes told me what had happened. As Ki Ming began to speak—denouncing us—I glanced back.

“That gigantic Negro doorkeeper—he had entered and approached us silently as a cat—was in the act of throwing a silk scarf over your head!… the third Dacoit stood at my elbow.

“One’s brain acts swiftly at such times. I realized that the mandarin’s orders were that we be taken alive. But simultaneously, I realized that the Sheikh el-Jébal had his atrociously wicked eyes fixed upon me in an unmistakable way.

“These thoughts, these actions, occupied seconds. I could not possibly save you. Resistance to such men and such numbers was out of the question. I could only hope to save myself and to rescue you by cunning.”

Such a statement, spoken incisively, coolly, from another than Sir Denis Nayland Smith must have sounded equivocal. Coming from him, it sounded what it was—the considered decision of a master strategist.

“You remember our position, Greville? We weren’t ten paces from the steps on the top of which Fah Lo Suee stood. Anticipating the intention of the Old Man of the Mountain and of the Burman who now sprang like a leopard, I ducked. He missed me… and I raced across the floor, up the steps, and before madame could realize my purpose, had one arm around her waist and the muzzle of a pistol tight against her ear!”

Nayland Smith paused for a moment, and we remained silent, spellbound, until:

“She is not human, that woman,” came a hushed voice. “She is a vampire—she has
his
blood in her.”

All eyes turned in the direction of the divan. Mrs. Petrie was the speaker.

“I agree with you,” Nayland Smith replied coolly. “A human woman would have screamed, fought, or fainted. Fah Lo Suee merely smiled, and scornfully. Nevertheless I had won, for the moment. Her lips smiled, but her cold green eyes read the truth in mine.

“‘Tell them,’ I directed her, ‘that if anyone stirs a finger I shall shoot you!’

“She continued to smile, and ‘Please move your pistol,’ she asked, ‘so that I may speak.’ I moved the pistol swiftly from her head to her heart. She looked aside at me and paid me a compliment which I shall always value: ‘You are clever,’ she said. Then she spoke to the petrified murderers in the room below.

“I risked one swift glance… You had disappeared, Greville. The Negro had carried you out!… Fah Lo Suee began to speak. The cloak of her father has fallen upon her. She spoke as coolly as if I had not been present. First in Chinese, then in Hindustani, and thirdly in Arabic.

“Then: ‘Order all to remain where they are,’ I said —‘except one, who is to give instructions for my friend to be brought to meet me outside the house.’ She gave these orders—and the frustrated Dacoit, who still crouched on the mattress where he had fallen, went to carry out my directions.

“‘Lead the way!’ I said.

“She turned, I knew I was safe for the moment. We entered a little room upon which the big doors opened. This room was not empty… She was well guarded. And never can I forget her guards! Half a dozen words, however, reduced them to impotence. I could not afford to take my eyes off Fah Lo Suee for long; but nevertheless, as we passed through that anteroom, I solved a mystery. I grasped the explanation of something which has been puzzling us since it became evident that the first step in this new campaign of devilry was directed towards the Tomb of the Black Ape.”

He paused, beginning to knock out his pipe, and:

“Yes, Sir Denis,” I said eagerly, “go on!”

He turned to me smiling grimly.

“This is your particular province, Greville,” he continued, “which fate brought into mine. It isn’t any secret of the ancient Egyptians; it’s something more dangerous—more useful. For in that room, Petrie,” he turned now to the doctor—“were phials, instruments, and queer-looking yellow-bound books. Also several caskets, definitely of Chinese workmanship.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Petrie confessed.

“Possibly I can enlighten you,” said Nayland Smith, “for I think I have solved the mystery. At some time between his supposed death in 1917 and this year, Dr. Fu-Manchu concealed there the essential secrets of his mastery of the Eastern world; the unique drugs, the unknown works dealing with their employment—and the powers, whether tangible—amulets and signets—or instructional and contained in his papers, which gave him control of practically all the fanatical sects of the East.”

“Good God!” Weymouth murmured.

“This was what Dr. Fu-Manchu’s daughter went to Egypt to recover. This was why Professor Zeitland was murdered. Barton escaped by a miracle. Their possession, you understand…”

He paused in his restless promenade and looked about from face to face.

“Their possession made her mistress of the most formidable criminal organization in the world!”

“I walked with Fah Lo Suee through that strange house, across a path to a garden at the back—not that through which we had entered— and out onto a narrow road bordering the wall on the side which faced the palm grove. This path was deserted.

“‘Where is he?’ I demanded.

“Fah Lo Suee smiled a mocking smile, and:

“‘You must be patient,’ she replied. ‘They have to bring him a long way.’

“I pocketed my pistol and contented myself with keeping an arm around her. It was a natural gesture, but one for which I was to pay a high price, as I shall tell you.”

“Two men appeared around the angle of the wall carrying a limp body. They hesitated, looking towards us. Madame raised her hand. They came on… I saw you, “Greville, lying on the sandy path at my feet, insensible.

“I continued to clutch Fah Lo Suee tightly, and now I reached for my pistol. I had detected one of the Negro bearers looking across my shoulder in a curiously significant way…”

He paused and struck a match; then:

“It was short warning,” he added, “but it might have been enough. If I had had the pistol against Fah Lo Suee’s ribs, today the world would be rid of a very dangerous devil.

“Someone dropped from the wall behind me… and a swift blow with a sandbag concluded this episode!”

Nayland Smith raised his hand reflectively to his skull.

“I woke up amid complete silence, my head singing like a kettle. I was slow to realize the facts; but when I did I was appalled. That lonely house is shunned by all, I have learned; for the Sheikh Ismail has an evil reputation as a dealer in Black Magic. I was a prisoner there. What were my chances?

“I was in a cell, Greville,”—he suddenly turned to me in the course of his ceaseless rambling walk—“some three yards square. I was lying on the hard mud floor. Not a thing had been taken from me; even my pistol remained in my belt… and the sandbag which had downed me lay close by! A subtle touch, that—But tonight I capped the jest! A window, just beyond reach, admitted light. There wasn’t a scrap of furniture in the place. It had a heavy door reinforced with iron. I was desperately thirsty… and on the ledge of the window above me, I saw a water jar standing on a tray.

“Knowing myself to be in Egypt and failing my experience of Chinese humor, I might have questioned the meaning of all this. But, looking at the lock of the door, and taking out my pistol—to, learn that the shells had been withdrawn—I knew. And I resigned myself.

“It was physically impossible to reach the water jar on the window ledge.

“I had been judged worthy of that Chinese penalty known as The Protracted Death…”

“Perhaps I groaned when these facts forced themselves upon me. You see, Greville, as we entered the saloon I had recognized another undesirable acquaintance… Ibrahîm Bey—Swâzi’s twin brother!

“I have known Swâzi Pasha for many years and in my newer capacity at Scotland Yard have had intimate dealings with him. Beyond doubt he stands between Turkey and that indeterminable menace some believe to emanate from Moscow and others from elsewhere—but which includes Turkey in its program.

“Recognizing now the fact that Ibrahîm—a cold-blooded sedition monger—was a member of the Council of Seven, I knew! Here was the clue to those mysterious movements—of which you, Weymouth, had news, and which were painfully familiar to myself in the Near and Far East.

“Swâzi Pasha was doomed!… So, likewise, was I—the one man who might have saved him!

“You tell me, Weymouth, and you also, Petrie, that you searched the Sheikh’s house from roof to cellar. One spot of cellar you overlooked—the spot in which I awakened!

“I had no means of knowing how long I had been unconscious. My wrist watch remained but had been smashed, doubtless as I fell. I had no means of learning if the raid had taken place. Two ideas were paramount. First, your fate, Greville. Second, Swâzi Pasha.