The Hand Of Fu-Manchu

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXIII

  ARREST OF SAMARKAN

  "As the high gods willed it," explained Nayland Smith, tenderlymassaging his throat, "Mr. Forsyth, having just left the docks,chanced to pass along Three Colt Street on Wednesday night at exactlythe hour that _I_ was expected! The resemblance between us is rathermarked and the coincidence of dress completed the illusion. Thatdevilish Eurasian woman, Zarmi, who has escaped us again--of courseyou recognized her?--made a very natural mistake. Mr. Forsyth, however,made no mistake!"

  I glanced at the chief officer of the _Andaman_, who sat in an armchairin our new chambers, contentedly smoking a black cheroot.

  "Heaven has blessed me with a pair of useful hands!" said the seaman,grimly, extending his horny palms. "I've an old score against thoseyellow swine; poor George and I were twins."

  He referred to his brother who had been foully done to death by one ofthe creatures of Dr. Fu-Manchu.

  "It beats me how Mr. Smith got on the track!" he added.

  "Pure inspiration!" murmured Nayland Smith, glancing aside from thesiphon wherewith he now was busy. "The divine afflatus--and the samewhereby Petrie solved the Zagazig cryptogram!"

  "But," concluded Forsyth, "I am indebted to you for an opportunity ofmeeting the Chinese strangler, and sending him to join the Burmeseknife expert!"

  Such, then, were the episodes that led to the arrest of M. Samarkan,and my duty as narrator of these strange matters now bears me on tothe morning when Nayland Smith was hastily summoned to the prison intowhich the villainous Greek had been cast.

  We were shown immediately into the Governor's room and were invited bythat much disturbed official to be seated. The news which he had toimpart was sufficiently startling.

  Samarkan was dead.

  "I have Warder Morrison's statement here," said Colonel Warrington,"if you will be good enough to read it----"

  Nayland Smith rose abruptly, and began to pace up and down the littleoffice. Through the open window I had a glimpse of a stooping figurein convict garb, engaged in liming the flower-beds of the prisonGovernor's garden.

  "I should like to see this Warder Morrison personally," snapped myfriend.

  "Very good," replied the Governor, pressing a bell-push placed closebeside his table.

  A man entered, to stand rigidly at attention just within the doorway.

  "Send Morrison here," ordered Colonel Warrington.

  The man saluted and withdrew. As the door was reclosed, the Colonelsat drumming his fingers upon the table, Nayland Smith walkedrestlessly about tugging at the lobe of his ear, and I absentlywatched the convict gardener pursuing his toils. Shortly, sounded arap at the door, and--

  "Come in," cried Colonel Warrington.

  A man wearing warder's uniform appeared, saluted the Governor, andstood glancing uneasily from the Colonel to Smith. The latter hadnow ceased his perambulations, and, one elbow resting upon themantelpiece, was staring at Morrison--his penetrating gray eyes ashard as steel. Colonel Warrington twisted his chair around, fixinghis monocle more closely in its place. He had the wiry white mustacheand fiery red face of the old-style Anglo-Indian officer.

  "Morrison," he said, "Mr. Commissioner Nayland Smith has somequestions to put to you."

  The man's uneasiness palpably was growing by leaps and bounds. He wasa tall and intelligent-looking fellow of military build, though sparefor his height and of an unhealthy complexion. His eyes were curiouslydull, and their pupils interested me, professionally, from the verymoment of his entrance.

  "You were in charge of the prisoner Samarkan?" began Smith harshly.

  "Yes, sir," Morrison replied.

  "Were you the first to learn of his death?"

  "I was, sir. I looked through the grille in the door and saw him lyingon the floor of the cell."

  "What time was it?"

  "Half-past four A.M."

  "What did you do?"

  "I went into the cell and then sent for the head warder."

  "You realized at once that Samarkan was dead?"

  "At once, yes."

  "Were you surprised?"

  Nayland Smith subtly changed the tone of his voice in asking the lastquestion, and it was evident that the veiled significance of the wordswas not lost upon Morrison.

  "Well, sir," he began, and cleared his throat nervously.

  "Yes, or no!" snapped Smith.

  Morrison still hesitated, and I saw his underlip twitch. Nayland Smith,taking two long strides, stood immediately in front of him, glaringgrimly into his face.

  "This is your chance," he said emphatically; "I shall not give youanother. You had met Samarkan before?"

  Morrison hung his head for a moment, clenching and unclenching hisfists; then he looked up swiftly, and the light of a new resolutionwas in his eyes.

  "I'll take the chance, sir," he said, speaking with some emotion, "andI hope, sir"--turning momentarily to Colonel Warrington--"that you'llbe as lenient as you can; for I didn't know there was any harm in whatI did."

  "Don't expect any leniency from me!" cried the Colonel. "If there hasbeen a breach of discipline there will be punishment, rely upon it!"

  "I admit the breach of discipline," pursued the man doggedly; "but Iwant to say, here and now, that I've no more idea than anybody elsehow the----"

  Smith snapped his fingers irritably.

  "The facts--the facts!" he demanded. "What you _don't_ know cannothelp us!"

  "Well, sir," said Morrison, clearing his throat again, "when theprisoner, Samarkan, was admitted, and I put him safely into his cell,he told me that he suffered from heart trouble, that he'd had anattack when he was arrested and that he thought he was threatenedwith another, which might kill him----"

  "One moment," interrupted Smith, "is this confirmed by the policeofficer who made the arrest?"

  "It is, sir," replied Colonel Warrington, swinging his chair aroundand consulting some papers upon his table. "The prisoner was overcomeby faintness when the officer showed him the warrant and asked to begiven some cognac from the decanter which stood in his room. This wasadministered, and he then entered the cab which the officer hadwaiting. He was taken to Bow Street, remanded, and brought here inaccordance with some one's instructions."

  "_My instructions_" said Smith. "Go on, Morrison."

  "He told me," continued Morrison more steadily, "that he suffered fromsomething that sounded to me like apoplexy."

  "Catalepsy!" I suggested, for I was beginning to see light.

  "That's it, sir! He said he was afraid of being buried alive! He askedme, as a favor, if he should die in prison to go to a friend of hisand get a syringe with which to inject some stuff that would do awaywith all chance of his coming to life again after burial."

  "You had no right to talk to the prisoner!" roared Colonel Warrington.

  "I know that, sir, but you'll admit that the circumstances were peculiar.Anyway, he died in the night, sure enough, and from heart failure,according to the doctor. I managed to get a couple of hours leave inthe evening, and I went and fetched the syringe and a little tube ofyellow stuff."

  "Do you understand, Petrie?" cried Nayland Smith, his eyes blazingwith excitement. "Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly."

  "It's more than I do, sir," continued Morrison, "but as I wasexplaining, I brought the little syringe back with me and I filled itfrom the tube. The body was lying in the mortuary, which you've seen,and the door not being locked, it was easy for me to slip in there fora moment. I didn't fancy the job, but it was soon done. I threw thesyringe and the tube over the wall into the lane outside, as I'd beentold to do.

  "What part of the wall?" asked Smith.

  "Behind the mortuary."

  "That's where they were waiting!" I cried excitedly. "The buildingused as a mortuary is quite isolated, and it would not be a difficultmatter for some one hiding in the lane outside to throw one of thoseladders of silk and bamboo across the top of the wall."

  "But, my good sir," interrupted the Governor i
rascibly, "whilst Iadmit the possibility to which you allude, I do not admit that a deadman, and a heavy one at that, can be carried up a ladder of silk andbamboo! Yet, on the evidence of my own eyes, the body of the prisoner,Samarkan, was removed from the mortuary last night!"

  Smith signaled to me to pursue the subject no further; and indeed Irealized that it would have been no easy matter to render the amazingtruth evident to a man of the Colonel's type of mind. But to me thefacts of the case were now clear enough.

  That Fu-Manchu possessed a preparation for producing artificialcatalepsy, of a sort indistinguishable from death, I was well aware.A dose of this unknown drug had doubtless been contained in the cognac(if, indeed, the decanter had held cognac) that the prisoner had drunkat the time of his arrest. The "yellow stuff" spoken of by Morrison Irecognized as the antidote (another secret of the brilliant Chinesedoctor), a portion of which I had once, some years before, actuallyhad in my possession. The "dead man" had not been carried up theladder; he had climbed up!

  "Now, Morrison," snapped Nayland Smith, "you have acted wisely thusfar. Make a clean breast of it. How much were you paid for the job?"

  "Twenty pounds, sir" answered the man promptly, "and I'd have done itfor less, because I could see no harm in it, the prisoner being dead,and this his last request."

  "And who paid you?"

  Now we were come to the nub of the matter, as the change in the man'sface revealed. He hesitated momentarily, and Colonel Warringtonbrought his fist down on the table with a bang. Morrison made a sortof gesture of resignation at that, and--

  "When I was in the Army, sir, stationed at Cairo," he said slowly, "Iregret to confess that I formed a drug habit."

  "Opium?" snapped Smith.

  "No, sir, hashish."

  "Good God! Go on."

  "There's a place in Soho, just off Frith Street, where hashish issupplied, and I go there sometimes. Mr. Samarkan used to come, andbring people with him--from the New Louvre Hotel, I believe. That'swhere I met him."

  "The exact address?" demanded Smith.

  "Cafe de l'Egypte. But the hashish is only sold upstairs, and no oneis allowed up that isn't known personally to Ismail."

  "Who is this Ismail?"

  "The proprietor of the cafe. He's a Greek Jew of Salonica. An oldwoman used to attend to the customers upstairs, but during the lastfew months a young one has sometimes taken her place."

  "What is she like?" I asked eagerly.

  "She has very fine eyes, and that's about all I can tell you, sir,because she wears a yashmak. Last night there were two women there,both veiled, though."

  "Two women!"

  Hope and fear entered my heart. That Karamaneh was again in thepower of the Chinese Doctor I knew to my sorrow. Could it be thatthe Cafe de l'Egypte was the place of her captivity?