Emperor Fu-Manchu (25 page)

“This is Hua-Tzu, sir. Do you wish me to drive through?”

* * *

Tony and Nayland Smith stepped out on the muddy track. “I think,” Tony said, peering around in the gloom, “it might be wiser to park the car right here. The path to the Russian camp starts at the further end of the village street, I remember.”

“Good,” Nayland Smith said as he glanced at the illuminated dial of his wrist watch and instructed Tony to switch off the headlights. “Park here somewhere”—he spoke Chinese to the driver—“near the roadside, and for your life don’t be seen. Here is the parcel you have to deliver to General Huan. Does your watch keep good time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you understand—you wait for us until three o’clock. If we’re not here by three, you start for the governor’s house. For God’s sake don’t fall asleep!”

“I understand. I shall not fall asleep.”

“Now let’s find a spot to hide the car.”

They explored back up the slope, and Tony found an opening in a plantation of alders wide enough to admit the Buick. Tung brought the car up and backed in.

“Smoke if you like,” Sir Denis told him. “But stamp your cigarette out if anybody comes near.”

“I understand.”

And so they left Tung and moved on.

* * *

Not a single light showed in the one straggling street of the riverside village. They reached the path which Tony remembered without meeting anything human or animal, and began to climb the hill toward the Russian camp. Through a rift in the racing clouds the moon peeped out for a few seconds, and Tony saw the group of huts just ahead.

“Here we start roughing it,” he said.

They turned left into a tangle of scrub and made a detour around the camp, in which, as in the village, no light was visible. Above the camp, Tony led the way back to the rough road which connected the camp with the research plant. They stayed on the road during darkness, but ducked into cover whenever the moon broke through.

“We must be near the gate now,” Tony decided after a while. “Better stick in the rough and work our way left.”

In this way, in sudden moonlight, they had their first view of the wired enclosure and of the hut beside the gate. There was a light in the window of the hut. Beyond, they could see the group of buildings.

“I went no further than this,” Tony reported. “To get around to the other side we’ll have to explore, keeping well out of sight.”

“Good enough,” Nayland Smith agreed. “Let’s hope there’s cover all the way.”

There was, until the time they sighted the first sentry. He was squatting on the ground, smoking. Just beyond was a patch of coarse grass which offered no cover at all. They had to creep further away from the fence before they found bushes. Kept on their circular course only by rare bursts of moonlight, they passed the third sentry, who was asleep, and Nayland Smith looked at his watch.

“We’re there. And it’s just twelve o’clock. We have to wait for the sentries to change over.” He lay flat.

As they rested there, they heard the sound of a distant whistle from the direction of the gate. Soon there were footsteps, voices. Then one of the guards tramped past and disappeared.

“I wonder if the sergeant ever does a round of inspection,” Nayland Smith murmured. “Better wait and make sure.”

They waited for some time, but heard and saw nothing. During a spell of moonlight, Tony had a clear view of the upper part of a hut nestling amid bamboos. It stood less than fifty yards from the wire fence.

“I suppose that’s where von Wehrner lives, Sir Denis?”

“According to my notes, it is. He described it as roughly midway between two of the points where guards are posted. I’ll try to get him, now. When we know he’s starting, we must crawl over to the fence and lie in that tangle of long grass and weeds which borders the wire. Come nearer to shield me from the guard to the south of us. I must have light to see the dial.”

Tony did so, and Nayland Smith shone a momentary light from a flashlight on the dial of his wrist-radio, then switched it off. Tony crouched close beside him, listening intently.

Presently they heard the faint voice of Dr. von Wehrner. “I’m waiting in the powerhouse, Sir Denis. If you’re ready, I’ll make the connection, run back to my bungalow and get what I want, then steal through the bamboos to join you.”

“Wait until clouds cover the moon,” Nayland Smith warned.

“Trust me to be careful.”

“Phew!” Nayland Smith breathed. “So far, all according to plan.”

Tony experienced a feeling of exultation and tingling apprehension. Storm clouds were sweeping the sky. “Shall we move over, Sir Denis?”

“Yes. Crawl. And lie flat if the moon breaks through.” Their dingy-hued Chinese clothes were admirable camouflage, and they crept across into the tangle of undergrowth fringing the fence without difficulty.

They had no sooner reached this cover when, from the direction of the distant gate, came the sound of a choking scream. It broke off suddenly, as if the one who screamed had been swiftly silenced.

“What the devil’s that?” Nayland Smith growled.

Whatever it was it had alerted the sentries to their right and left. Two shouts came simultaneously. Then one of the voices shouted alone, and silence fell.

“I wish I knew Russian,” Tony muttered.

“So do I,” Nayland Smith said. “But it doesn’t matter. The men aren’t moving. We daren’t use a light out here. So I can’t call von Wehrner. We can only wait and hope for the best.”

They lay there, waiting and listening.

To Tony, keyed up to a high pitch, it seemed that every passing minute was ten times as long. Presently he became conscious of a vague, muffled tumult from somewhere inside the wired enclosure.

“You hear it?” Nayland Smith whispered. “God knows what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s something we don’t want.”

Through a break in the clouds, moonlight peeped out for a few fleeting seconds. Tony stared anxiously into the bamboo plantation masking von Wehrner’s bungalow, but saw nothing. The muted, indescribable disturbance continued.

Darkness again.

“Sir Denis!” It was a husky whisper.

“Von Wehrner!”

“Move a few yards to your left. I’m throwing a weighted line across. Be quick.”

Tony’s heart leapt with excitement as they quickly scuffled toward the spot where a shadowy figure now appeared on the other side of the fence. When they reached the spot, they heard von Wehrner’s voice.

“Here’s the line,” he told them. “Catch it and pull.”

Some heavy object was thrown over the fence. It almost fell into Tony’s hands. He grabbed it—a bronze paperweight—and pulled on the line to which it was tied. He had the end of a rope ladder in his hands when it struck.

“Stop pulling,” von Wehrner said hoarsely. He seemed to be in a state of panic. “You’ll break the ladder. Hold it fast. I’m coming over.”

“Hurry,” Nayland Smith urged softly. “I think the moon’s breaking through.”

He and Tony hung on to the end of the ladder as von Wehrner mounted on the other side. Astride the top of the fence, he tossed a briefcase into the tangled grass near Tony, and turned and groped for a rung of the ladder. Faint moonlight through the tail of a racing cloud began to dilute the darkness.

“Stand clear.”

As they released their hold, von Wehrner dropped beside them.

“Lie flat down,” Nayland Smith whispered. “We must chance the ladder.”

They were none too soon, for just then the moon burst fully out from a patch of starry sky, and it seemed to Tony that the landscape was drenched in silvery light, that the ladder hanging from the fence must surely be seen.

The next few minutes were among the most nerve-racking of the night. Von Wehrner was gasping. He began to speak in a low, breathless voice.

“I had made the connection in the powerhouse… hurried back to the bungalow. I went in, using a flashlight. On my desk I had left the ladder, carefully rolled, in a black canvas bag, and my briefcase… I heard padding footsteps behind me.”

He stopped, listening. They were all listening. That indefinable disturbance continued, but no sound came from the sentries. The moon was becoming veiled again. Nayland Smith passed his flask to von Wehrner, who accepted it gratefully. After he handed it back he began to speak again.

“I had a dreadful sense of chill. Physical. Something
cold
was behind me. You will think I am mad. I picked up an old lancet which lay there. I use it as a pencil sharpener. I turned, and the light of my lamp showed me a gray thing, nearly naked. Its eyes were a dead man’s eyes…

“It sprang upon me. It was supernaturally cold. The mouth was open in a hideous grin. I was held in a grip of ice. I plunged the lancet into the grinning mouth and upward through the soft palate. The creature relaxed and I was able to struggle free. For heaven’s sake, what
was
it?”

“I know what it was,” Nayland Smith remarked grimly. “And it means we have to move—fast! Dark enough now. Crawl after me, Doctor.”

As they crept across the open ground to the cover beyond, Tony knew, too, what it was. Fu-Manchu had chosen that night to raid the research station. He understood, at last, the muffled disturbance which filled the night. The place had been taken over by Cold Men—
necropolites.

They had not reached cover long when there was evidence that the Cold Men were outside as well as inside. A shriek, instantly stifled, came from the direction of the sentry on the south.

“Back the way we came,” Nayland Smith spoke between clenched teeth. “And God help us now.”

Then began the detour around the plant by which they had come. Von Wehrner had recovered from the horror of an encounter with a Cold Man and they made good going. Once, Tony heard von Wehrner mutter, “There was no hemorrhage.” And he knew that he was still thinking about the
necropolite.

But at last they reached the point where the road from the Russian camp ended before the gate of the enclosure.

“The gate’s open,” Nayland Smith said. “They must have overpowered the sergeant, and he must have had the key.”

Tony found it hard to credit what he saw. Just before a trailing cloud obscured the moon again, a company of gray phantoms became detached from the shadows like floating vapor or evil spirits materializing, and swept into the open gateway.

“
W
hat’s this?” Nayland Smith’s voice was grim. They had reached the foot of the path, which came out at one end of the village street. The Russian camp lay behind them silent and evidently undisturbed. On a path of scrub near the river bank a truck was parked.

“It wasn’t here before,” Tony muttered.

“There’s probably someone in the cab,” Sir Denis muttered. “We shall have to find a way behind the houses. The truck must be waiting for the Cold Men.”

They discovered the path they were looking for, and they followed it to a point where a bend made it safe to return to the crooked street. They had just done so and were headed for the spot where Tung awaited them, when something happened which brought them to a sudden halt.

A piercing scream came from the other end of the village.

“Mahmud!… Master! Help! Help!”

The cry was checked in a significant way.

“It was the Japanese, Matsukata,” Tony spoke in a hushed voice. “What the devil does it mean?”

“It means,” Nayland Smith explained savagely, “that hell’s let loose. Matsukata has lost control of the Cold Men. No time to talk. Listen!”

They heard the grating roar of a heavy engine starting.

“It is the big truck,” von Wehrner said hoarsely.

“Back into cover!” Sir Denis ordered. “There’s just time.”

They ran back to the opening between two small houses from which they had just come out, as the heavy vehicle appeared along the street. Tony tried to see the man in the cab, but failed to identify him. And as the truck passed, from its interior came a sort of muffled chant:
“Looma! Looma!”

Shocked into silence, they saw the vehicle with its load of living-dead demons speeding up the winding road.

All three were listening in tense suspense. But when the sound of the motor died away in the distance their tension relaxed.

“They have passed Tung.” Sir Denis sighed with relief. “Come on. This place isn’t healthy.”

* * *

Tung was waiting in the plantation of alders, and Tony felt so relieved that he wanted to cheer.

“A big truck,” the man reported, “passed here soon after you left. It has just passed again. Soon after the first time, a small car also went by. It has not returned.”

Tung drove the Buick onto the road, and in a short time they were on their way. Their driver did his best on the gradient, for Tony had urged him to hurry. Nayland Smith consulted his watch.

“We made a record coming down, von Wehrner. Just twenty-seven minutes since we picked you up.”

“I was delayed joining you. I set the clock for thirty minutes. But those creatures who entered the plant may have…”

His words were drowned in a shattering explosion that shook the solid earth. All four wheels momentarily left the surface, then dropped back with a sickening thud. Storm clouds, still moving overhead, became ruddy as though a setting sun burned under them. Fiery fragments began to fall in the road and on the roof of the car.