Emperor Fu-Manchu (10 page)

There was also a bound book containing a number of manuscript papers in Chinese, which, although he knew written Chinese, Tony was unable to decipher.

He put the book and the correspondence back in the broken briefcase and dropped the briefcase in the locker.

The body of the dead Russian had to be disposed of. This was clear enough. When it was found, and eventually it would be found, the evidence must suggest that he had fallen into the hands of thieves who had taken whatever he had had in his possession. Therefore, the money belt must not be found on him.

Tony removed the belt, then switched off the flashlight and rejoined Yueh Hua who was watching him, wide-eyed.

“Can we reach Lung Chang by water from here, Yueh Hua?”

“No, Chi Foh. We can go up this canal a little way further. Then, we must take to the road. But—”

“Is it a straight road?”

“There are no straight roads in China.”

He forced a laugh and kissed her. “All the same, that’s what we must do. Somewhere, I am going to throw the dead man overboard.”

“That is right,” Yueh Hua agreed. “We need not carry much. When we get to Lung Chang, my aunt will take care of us. But”—she drew back—“you will lose your boat.”

Tony was baffled. “I must take a chance. I have some money left… or I might steal another sampan, as you meant to steal mine.”

He pushed the boat out of the little backwater and headed upstream. Yueh Hua, he knew, was unusually high-strung. She watched him in a queer way he didn’t like. At a point on the deserted canal where there was a sort of waterway crossroads, he stopped rowing.

“Take the oar, Yueh Hua. I’m going to dump him overboard.”

Some hazy idea that prayers should be said at such a time flashed through his mind. He dismissed the idea. It was impractical, in the first place. Secondly, the dead man, as a Soviet Communist, was an atheist. He dragged the half-clad body out and dropped it in the canal.

“May God have mercy on your soul,” he whispered.

* * *

They rowed on to a spot where a footbridge spanned the canal. Yueh Hua studied the situation carefully.

“There is a path from this bridge, Chi Foh, which leads to a main road—the road to Lung Chang.”

Tony forced a laugh. “So this is where we say goodbye to our boat. It’s too shallow to sink it here. We shall have to take a chance and just leave it.”

“Oh, Chi Foh, my darling.” She threw her arms around him. “We have been so happy on this little boat.”

Tony loved her for the words, but immediately became practical again.

“We’ll drop whatever we don’t want overboard and pack up the rest. I can carry the big bundles on this bamboo rod and you can carry what’s left in the old basket…”

Yueh Hua going ahead as arranged and Tony following, still adorned with his huge bamboo hat, they started on the last leg of their journey to Lung Chang.

The road, when they came to it, didn’t look particularly dangerous, except to motorists. One thing was certain. At that hour, it carried little traffic.

He had plenty of opportunity for thinking. Yueh Hua, he knew, had become an indispensable part of his life. He didn’t mean to lose her, whatever she was, wherever she came from.

Even if this amounted to changing his career, he would marry her. He could live with Yueh Hua on a desert island and be happy. She could be happy, too. She had proved it.

He heard an automobile coming swiftly from behind.

Stepping to the side of the neglected road, he let it go by. He moved just in time. It passed at racing speed, a new Buick. He never got a glimpse of the driver. Such speed, on such a road, betrayed urgency.

Yueh Hua was waiting for him by a bend ahead. He saw that she was frightened.

“In that car. The man with green eyes. The big black was driving.”

This was staggering news.

It might mean, as he had feared, that Dr. Fu-Manchu had learned of his contact in Lung Chang!

He longed to take Yueh Hua into his confidence. Her knowledge of the place, her acute intelligence, her intuition, would be invaluable now. But he was bound to silence.

The road here passed through an area of unreclaimed land where nature had taken over. They were in a jungle. They found their way to a spot where the fallen branch of a tree offered a seat. Dropping their loads, they sat down. He looked at Yueh Hua. There was no gladness in her eyes.

“Chi Foh, they know where we are going.
He
will be waiting for us in Lung Chang.”

But, as Tony watched her, the mystery of Yueh Hua was uppermost in his mind. It was hard to believe that Fu-Manchu could have conceived such a burning passion for the grubby little girl Yueh Hua had then appeared to be, that he would be driven to this frantic chase.

He dismissed the supposition. He himself was the quarry. Perhaps he had made some mistake. Perhaps those hypnotic eyes had read more than he suspected. Dr. Fu-Manchu had planned to interview him again. Nayland Smith had saved him. But the fact that news of the reward for his capture had been flashed to so many centers indicated that Fu-Manchu knew more than he had credited him with knowing.

Tony put his arm around the dejected little figure beside him. “Tell me more about your friends in Lung Chang, Yueh Hua. If we can get to them, shall we be safe?”

“As safe as we can hope to be, Chi Foh. My aunt is an old, retired servant of the Lao family.”

“Does your aunt live right in the town?”

“No. In a small house on the estate. It is a mile from Lung Chang.”

“This side, or beyond?”

“This side, Chi Foh.”

“We have a chance, even if they have found the boat. They won’t be watching your aunt’s house. And we have to get there—fast.”

I
t became a forced march. Twice they took cover; once, while a heavily loaded bullock cart went lumbering by, and again when they were nearly overtaken by an old jeep in which four soldiers were traveling toward Lung Chang.

Dawn was not far off when they reached a point in a long, high wall which had bordered the road for over half a mile. Dimly, he saw Yueh Hua stand still and beckon to him. He hurried forward.

She stood before a heavy, ornamental gate through which he could see a large, rambling building partly masked in ornamental gardens—a typical Chinese mansion—on a slope beyond. The high wall evidently surrounded the property.

“My uncle was Lao Tse-Mung’s gardener,” Yueh Hua explained. “He and his wife always lived here, and my aunt is allowed to stay.”

“Is that Lao Tse-Mung’s house over there?”

“Yes, Chi Foh. Please wait outside for a little while where they can’t see you, until I explain”—she hesitated for a second—“who you are.”

Yueh Hua had led him to the very door of the man he had to see! He saw her reach inside the gate. An interval, footsteps, then a woman’s cry—a cry of almost hysterical gladness.

“My baby! My Yueh Hua!”

The gate was unlocked. The voice died away into unintelligible babbling as they went in.

This gave him something else to think about.

Evidently Yueh Hua had told him her real name. But why had Yueh Hua asked him to wait, and gone in first herself?

In any case, he didn’t have to wait long. She came running back for him.

“I haven’t told her, Chi Foh, about us. But she knows how wonderful you have been to me.”

This clearly was true. Tears were streaming down her aunt’s face when Yueh Hua brought him into the little house, evidently a gate-lodge. She seemed to want to kneel at his feet. He wondered what the exact relationship could be between Yueh Hua and Mai Cha, her aunt. It would have been hard to find two people less similar in type than this broad-faced old peasant woman and Yueh Hua. But Mai Cha became Tony’s friend on sight, for it was plain that she adored Yueh Hua.

She left them together while she went to prepare a meal. But Yueh Hua, who seemed to have become suddenly and unaccountably shy, went out to help her.

He walked quietly under the flowered porch and looked across to the big house and its setting of arches, bridges, and formal gardens. He could be there in five minutes. A winding path, easy to follow in starlight, led up to the house.

Yueh Hua had reached sanctuary, but Tony’s business was with Lao Tse-Mung. He couldn’t hope to avoid exposure of his real identity to Yueh Hua once he had reported to the friend of Nayland Smith. This he must face.

But, the major problem remained. Where was Dr. Fu-Manchu?

Had this man, who seemed to wield supreme power in the province, out-maneuvered Sir Denis? He could not expect the late gardener’s widow to know anything of what had happened tonight in the big house.

He must watch his step.

There were several little bridges to cross and many steps to climb before he reached a terrace which ran the whole length of the house. Flowering vines draped a pergola. Some night-scented variety gave out a strong perfume. He wondered where the main entrance was located, and if he should try to find it.

He stood still for a moment, listening.

A murmur of conversation reached him. There were people in some nearby room. Step by step, he crept closer, hugging shadowy patches where the vines grew thickly. Three paces more and he would be able to look in.

But he didn’t take the three paces. He stopped dead.

An icy chill seemed to run down his spine.

He had heard a voice, pitched in a clear, imperious tone.

“We have no time to waste.”

It was the voice of
Dr. Fu-Manchu!

He had walked into a trap.

* * *

Tony checked a mad panorama of thoughts racing across his brain. Nayland Smith would gain something after all. He fingered the automatic which he had kept handy in a waist belt and moved stealthily forward. Whatever his own end might be, he could at least remove the world menace of Dr. Fu-Manchu.

He could see into the room now.

It was furnished, in true Chinese fashion, but with great luxury. Almost directly facing him, on a divan backed by embroidered draperies, he saw a white-bearded figure wearing a black robe and a beaded black cap. A snuff bowl lay before him.

Facing the old mandarin so that his back was toward the terrace, someone sat in a dragon-legged armchair. His close-cropped hair showed the massive skull beneath.

Dr. Fu-Manchu.

The mandarin’s eyes were half-closed, but suddenly he opened them. He looked fixedly toward the terrace, and straight at Tony.

Holding a pinch of snuff between finger and thumb and still looking directly at him, he waved his hand gracefully in a sweeping side gesture as he raised the snuff to his nostrils.

But Tony had translated the gesture.

It meant that he had moved too close. He could be seen from the room.

Quickly he stepped to the right. A wave of confidence surged through him.

This was Lao Tse-Mung who sat watching him, who had known him instantly for what he was, who had warned him of his danger. A highly acute and unusual character.

Tony could still see him clearly through a screen of leaves.

The mandarin spoke in light, easy tones.

“This is the first time you have honored my poor roof, Excellency, in many moons. To what do I owe so great a privilege?”

“I am rarely in Lung Chang,” was the sibilant reply. “I see that it might have been wise to come more often.”

“My poor hospitality is always at my friends’ disposal.”

“Doubtless.” Fu-Manchu’s voice sank to a venomous whisper. “Your hospitality to members of the present regime is less certain.”

Lao Tse-Mung smiled slightly, settling himself among his cushions. “I retired long ago from the world of politics, Excellency. I give all my time to the cultivation of my vines.”

“Some of them grow thorns, I believe?”

“Many of them.”

“Myself, Lao Tse-Mung, I also cultivate vines. I seek to restore to the garden of China its old glory. And so I fertilize the human vines which are fruitful and tear out those which are parasites, destructive. Let us come to the point.”

Lao Tse-Mung’s far-seeing eyes sought among the shadows for Tony.

Tony understood. He was to listen closely.

“My undivided attention is at your disposal, Excellency.”

“A man calling himself Wu Chi Foh, who is a dangerous spy, escaped from the jail at Chia-Ting and was later reported to be near Lung Chang. He may be carrying vital information dangerous to the Peiping regime.” Fu-Manchu’s voice became the familiar hiss. “I wonder if you, perhaps, have news of Wu Chi Foh.”

Lao Tse-Mung’s expression remained bland, unmoved.

“I can only assure Excellency that I have no news concerning this Wu Chi Foh. Are you suggesting that I am acquainted with this man?”

Dr. Fu-Manchu’s voice rose on a note of anger. “Your record calls for investigation. As a former high official, you have been allowed privileges. I merely suggest that you have abused them.”

“My attention remains undivided, Excellency. I beg you to make your meaning clearer.”

Tony knew that his fate, and perhaps the fate of Lao Tse-Mung, hung in the balance. He knew, too, that he could never have fenced with such an adversary as Fu-Manchu, under the X-ray scrutiny of those green eyes, with the imperturbable serenity of the old mandarin.