Lord Mayfield obtained a coach in which we could ride the rest of the way to Peking. Most travel in China at this time was in open carts, crude vehicles with solid wooden wheels and no system of springs to lessen the shocks of the road. Carriages were a European luxury, and the Chinese considered them shameless wastes of material and horses.
As we approached the Outer City of Peking, we discussed our immediate goals. “We should inquire of the legation,” Powers said. “We need all the information they’ve got concerning Fu Manchu’s activities. We don’t know anything about what he’s been up to, or what he may be planning.”
“I have already so directed the driver,” Lord Mayfield said. “The British embassy is housed near the Gate of Heavenly Peace. Heavenly Peace! The names of these streets and buildings might be amusing if they weren’t so hideously at odds with the true nature of these people.”
“Not all Chinese are as cruel and mad as Dr. Fu Manchu,” Powers said quietly.
The Queen’s Commissioner did not seem to hear. “After we conclude our business there, we will pay a call on Dr. Fu Manchu himself!”
And that is what transpired. For more than two hours, Lord Mayfield engaged the British diplomats in a heated wrangle concerning official policy, and then we were back in the coach, rattling our way toward the Peking residence of Dr. Fu Manchu. He most certainly knew of our arrival in the Chinese capital, and he must be biding his time. I stared through the coach’s windows as the city revealed itself to me, strikingly beautiful but horrifying, too. Peking makes each man many promises; if the man is fortunate, few of those promises are kept.
“I intend to control Fu Manchu,” Lord Mayfield said. “Just as he tried to control me, I will show him the strength of my will. I have suffered great indignities at his hands. These things must be repaid. Stop here.”
The driver pulled the horses to a halt about fifty yards from the house. We stepped down from the carriage and ordered the driver to wait. With Powers in the lead, we advanced on the building. All three of us were armed with pistols, but they seemed terribly inadequate to me. We were rushing into the lion’s den.
We were fools.
At the estate’s front gates, Lord Mayfield spoke angrily with one of Fu Manchu’s great eunuch guards. It was obvious that the guard did not understand a word of the tirade, and he prevented us from going in. Thus frustrated, Mayfield did not argue further; he aimed his revolver and shot the eunuch twice. “Come with me if you would save your friend,” Mayfield cried. Then he turned and ran into the building.
There was nothing for it but to follow him. We plunged into the cold, dimly lighted house. I saw no one, heard no one, and was aware only of an eerie feeling of emptiness. I felt that we had just made a massive and irreparable error. Mayfield led us deeper into the small palace. “There’s no one here,” he admitted at last.
“If I know him,” Powers said, “he has a secret exit from this rat’s nest.”
“That is quite correct,” came the sibilant voice of Dr. Fu Manchu. He came toward us with a platoon of armed women. We’d been surrounded in the gloom.
They quickly disarmed us. “This is most interesting to me,” Fu Manchu said, showing that hellish smile of his. “I predicted your arrival for Tuesday of last week. I suspect that the unusual weather in the Yellow Sea delayed your ship. No matter. I did not predict this futile and deluded attack upon my property and my person. Now your destiny is mine to choose, and while I decide your fate I must request that you accept my hospitality.” He gestured to his female soldiers.
They led us down a flight of stairs and through the long, dark tunnel to the subterranean court beneath the Palace of the Opal Moon. We were separated and thrust roughly in different directions. Isolated from Willard Powers and Lord Mayfield, I was led through the twisting underground ways until I became hopelessly lost. There was a barred door shut with an old iron lock. A eunuch unlocked it and swung open the portal. There was no light inside. He pushed me forward and I fell into the cell. Someone grabbed my wrists and manacled me to the damp, stinking wall.
After what must have been many minutes I began to be aware that I was not alone in the cell. There was another prisoner, chained to the opposite wall. He man was gaunt and unkempt, exhausted and starved. He was wearing a long fleece-lined coat, such as my cousin Talbot brought back from the Near East during his short tour there on behalf of the Foreign Office. I did not know who this wretched prisoner of Fu Manchu was, but I did not doubt that in a short while I would come to resemble him. The thought made me shudder; my courage had all but seeped away.
Then the man spoke to me. “Musgrave?” he said. His voice was so cracked and weak, it took me a moment to recognize it. It was Holmes. I felt a flood of tears wash down my cheeks. I don’t know which emotion caused them: relief, terror, pity? He looked beyond all hope. He and I were dressed so incongruously; we had obviously taken much different routes to this same damnable end.
“Yes, Holmes. You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.” He never let me forget that foolish statement.
Only a few yards of stone floor separated us, yet in the gloom I could not see his face well. As it was, he aroused my compassion and sympathy, though I knew he had little use for such feelings. He drooped in his chains, rattling them softly now and then as he tried to make himself more comfortable. That was impossible. All these decades later, my body still complains of the abuse it endured beneath the Forbidden City of Peking.
We were visited only by eunuch guards and an ancient, bowed Chinese woman who brought us our daily rations of thin fish soup and rice. I spent endless hours dreaming of food, all kinds of food, even such things as I’d never before desired. My thoughts of escape centered on the huge feasts I would devour afterward.
Holmes and I passed the time relating the wonders and hardships we’d experienced in our separate journeys to Peking. I had learned that Holmes never forgot a single detail of any experience he wished to retain. Now he went over every conversation, every hard-won bit of information, but the exact nature of Fu Manchu’s malevolent scheme still eluded him.
One day I was startled when a tall, muscular Arab entered our cell. “Kind sirs,” he said, “I am Ali as Salaam, a servant of Dr. Fu Manchu. My master regrets the nature of your accommodations and I bring his apologies. He has spared your lives against the direct order of Madame Tzu Hsi, the mother of our emperor. Be assured that Dr. Fu Manchu is working tire lessly to have your death sentences removed and your freedom restored.”
Holmes and I glanced at each other. “We are most grateful,” he said sardonically.
“Tell me about the others,” I said.
Ali turned to me. “Now, Mr. Musgrave, have no fears in behalf of your associates. Lord Mayfield is comfortable in the palace of my master, learning much about Chinese civilization and the problems this land is having with certain European states. Willard Powers has been incarcerated for reasons similar to those that force your own captivity.”
Holmes’s chains rattled. “I fear to ask for details,” he said. “Lord Mayfield is ‘comfortable,’ in your words. Who knows but that you’d describe our condition as comfortable.”
Ali shrugged sadly. “My good sirs, forgive these circumlocutions. You find them unpleasant, but I seek only to avoid unnecessary pain.”
The only response was a short, barking laugh from Holmes.
“Again, good sirs, I am sorry,” Ali said. He lifted his torch high and looked at us both. “I will return again to give you further news. In the meantime I will report that you are both well.” He left the cell and a eunuch slammed the door closed behind him. Once again we were deliv ered into darkness. Neither Holmes nor I spoke for a long while.
The next day—I call it that because I reckoned time according to the twice-daily meals—Holmes tried to engage the old woman in conversation. I supposed it a futile effort, because it was unlikely that this withered old grandmother could speak English, and less likely that she would speak in the presence of
one of the eunuchs. “I would like a better look at this rice,” Holmes said. “I am sure there are all manner of vermin crawling through my food. I know—I feel them in my stomach, creeping in my body. I demand that you bring that torch here!”
Holmes’s voice frightened me. I realized how much I depended on his strength and wisdom. If he’d finally given up to the horror of our confinement, then I was truly alone.
“You are afraid to let me see!” he shrieked, with a shrill cackle. It made me shudder. The old woman spoke a few words in Chinese to the guard with the torch. The eunuch stepped nearer, letting the firelight fall upon the bowl of rice in her hands. Holmes stared at the food, then looked into the woman’s face. “When do I learn all of the puzzle?” he asked. Now his voice was firm and strong, as it always had been.
The old woman pretended she didn’t understand. She shoved the rice bowl forward.
“You brought me here to solve a riddle,” Holmes said. “What has this prison cell to do with it?”
The old woman straightened her fragile body. She seemed taller, stronger, younger. “I must believe that you are ready,” Fu Manchu said. “We will begin the task immediately, if you wish. I am sorry that I cannot release you until you present an acceptable solution. That is the will of my emperor.” In reality it was the will of Madame Tzu Hsi. History proved me correct on this point: Tzu Hsi ruled China with absolute and ruthless power until her death under questionable circumstances in 1908, the day after the emperor’s own death.
“I would prefer a more comfortable consultation,” Holmes said, “but quite evidently my wishes are of little importance.”
Fu Manchu bowed low. “On the contrary, my English friend, I hold you in the greatest esteem. It is only that in this matter I am powerless.”
“I will ignore your rhetorical falsehood,” Holmes said. “Please begin.”
Dr. Fu Manchu spread his hands. “China is compelled to accept the goods and services—and the principles—of the European and American invaders. We may not need these things, but we cannot hide from them. How do we rid China of foreign influences, cleanse China and restore the purity of the past? Peaceful means have failed. Your government doesn’t even realize how hated it is in Peking.”
“I care very little for politics,” Holmes said. “What is your problem?”
“Someone within the Forbidden City is in alliance with these pirates,” Fu Manchu said.
“Then we must decide who has most to gain thereby,” Holmes said.
“The only product the English exploit that has grown more popular in China is opium,” Fu Manchu said. “The Empress Dowager is publicly against the opium trade. However, in truth she permits it to flourish because the habit renders her subjects docile and easier to rule. There is a saying: ‘As long as there is opium, there will be no revolution.’ Nevertheless, I am of the opinion that the Manchu saying is wrong, and that there shall be a revolution whether the people smoke opium or not. In the event of an overthrow, power will fall to those who are familiar with the necessities of government, but who are denied true power under our present system.”
“You mean the eunuchs,” Holmes said.
Fu Manchu spread his bony, clawlike fingers. “It is possible,” he said. “I suspect that An Li, the Grand Eunuch, is as much aware of this problem as I, and that he is making his own plans.”
“What about the Imperial Princes?”
“Possible, although doubtful. The Emperor, after all, is not the son but the nephew of the Dowager Empress. There are princes whose claims to the throne are, like my own, certainly plausible. I am sure that Tzu Hsi is wary of Prince Kung and Prince Chuang. Could one of these men be plotting with the foreign big noses to remove her? Great Britain, Prussia, and even the United States may be helping to install a more sympathetic ruler in Peking. Someone has contacted the Chinese secret societies, the White Lotus and the Triads, and has begun negotiations that would bring them all together beneath a single banner.”
The desolate sound of Holmes’s chains rang out while he thought about these things. “What is it that you fear from them?” he asked.
“I fear nothing, as I told you before. I need to know what is happening in China and what will happen, so that I am not caught unprepared by the winds of change.”
“The others must feel the same,” Holmes said.
“The brass box I sought is again in my possession, and it contains several Celestial Snows which may aid you in your contemplation. I wish I could offer you a more congenial setting, but I will fulfill your needs and Mr. Musgrave’s while you are my guests.”
“I require your promise that you will also protect our friends,” Holmes said.
The odd film covered Fu Manchu’s heavy-lidded green eyes. He made wolf’s teeth and said, “I assure you that I will give each of them my personal attention, and attend to them as each requires.” Then we were suddenly alone. Fu Manchu and the eunuch guard had gone.
“How many different ways can you interpret his last remark?” I asked my friend.
Holmes shook his head sadly. It was not necessary to say anything.
Thus began Holmes’s use of cocaine, which was one of the white powders in the brass box. The identification of the other alkaloids is still a mystery to Western medical science. I watched Holmes submit more often to the lure of Fu Manchu’s assortment of Celestial Snows. His moods changed rapidly, swinging from intense concentration to a curious lassitude. I ascribed these changes to the chemical substances, but eventually I learned that the moods were the cause and not the effect of his use of these compounds. He turned to one to focus his mental abilities; he chose another to relax or to chase boredom.
“You must realize that these substances are a great weapon of his,” I warned. “They are one of his means of controlling the minds of his enemies.”
“I intend to use them sparingly, for quite legitimate purposes,” he said. “I am not going to abuse them to the point of harming my body or my mind.”
“I pray you know when you are nearing that point,” I said. This is the same concern that was voiced years later by Dr. Watson, who watched Holmes poison himself with cocaine, morphine, and opium whenever Holmes felt the situation warranted.
Each day Fu Manchu, having abandoned his disguise, brought Holmes more information about the noblemen and eunuchs who were the principal candidates in the conspiracy to overthrow the rule of Madame Tzu Hsi. Holmes asked short, specific questions about each man: What was his birth? Has he felt adequately rewarded for his services to the government? Did he belong to one of the secret societies? Did he have any personal quarrel against the Imperial family? Fu Manchu answered the questions briefly but completely. The two men, perhaps the two most agile minds I have ever known, discarded many of the suspects easily. They agreed finally that the guilty man was either An Li the Grand Eunuch, or Prince Kung, an enemy of An Li and son of the Emperor Tao Kuang.
“I must speak with both these men,” Holmes said. “Perhaps then I may find a solution. At this moment I believe the threat comes from Prince Kung, who may have enlisted the aid of the Grand Eunuch. An Li, acting by himself, may not be able to find sufficient support beyond the walls of the Forbidden City. He is, after all, a eunuch. It does not seem likely to me that a eunuch could be made ruler of China. He would not have the blessing of the wealthy and powerful Mandarin class, whatever the force of his personality.”
“Nevertheless, Mr. Holmes,” Fu Manchu said languidly, “you must learn never to make preliminary judgments without complete data. Yet in principle I agree with your theory, and we shall see if the future confirms it. I will arrange for An Li and Prince Kung to visit you soon. On those occasions, I will instruct you on the role you must play; these men cannot he lured to this dungeon to speak to a chained prisoner. Therefore I will devise a suitable fiction in a more agreeable setting.”
After the departure of Fu Manchu, Holmes began to discuss the matter with me. I objected that I had few pertinent contributions to make,
but Holmes was not really seeking my advice. It was his habit to examine his puzzles by going over each facet of it aloud. I did make an observation that later proved to be of some importance. “You agree with that yellow robed monster that the threat to the Dowager Empress must be either An Li or this Prince Kung?”
“No, not at all,” Holmes said. “I avoided making that declaration. Instead, I told Fu Manchu that on his list of possible suspects, those two were the only likely candidates.”
“Is it possible the true enemy is someone not on Fu Manchu’s list?”
“Exactly, Musgrave.” Holmes laughed softly. “I believe it is our only genuine hope for escape. Fu Manchu does not plan to let us leave this place alive, but if I can discover the answer to his riddle, I may be able to use it to win our freedom. If his secret rival were An Li or Prince Kung, surely Fu Manchu would be certain of it by now. His opponent is someone he does not suspect, perhaps someone he is unable to suspect. That is the reason he sought advice from me: I am an outsider with a foreigner’s way of looking at things. The doctor hopes that I will be able to see a pattern where he is unable to see anything at all.”
Hours later the cell door opened and Ali came in carrying a torch, unaccompanied by eunuch guards. At the time I didn’t think that unusual. “Good evening, good sirs,” he said.
“Is it evening?” asked Holmes.
“I bring you word from your countrymen. Mr. Holmes, I have never lied to you, yet I have deceived you. It is time to make some important mat ters clear to you. I bring word from the British legation.”
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