Works of Sax Rohmer

by Sax Rohmer

  I moved on to the door which communicated with the first of the range of forcing houses, or the last in the order in which I had inspected them. It was the one containing the pitcher plants and other fly-catching varieties.

  It was dimly lighted within, and the door slid open as I pressed the control button. I closed it, adjusted the gauge, then opened the inner door and went in.

  The steamy heat of the place attacked me at once. It was like stepping out of a temperate clime into the heart of a jungle. The air was laden with perfumes — pleasant and otherwise; the predominant smell being that of an ineffable rottenness which characterizes swampy vegetation.

  I threaded my way along a narrow path. So far, I had met with success — probably all the doors were unfastened.

  It proved to be so, nor did I meet a soul on the way.

  And when at last I stood in the most imposing house of all, palms towering high above my head, I became conscious of an apprehension against which I must fight... that the note of recall would suddenly sound in my brain.

  Yet to discard the metal ring would have been folly.

  There was an odd whispering among the dim palm-tops, for the place was but half lighted. It felt and smelled like a tropical forest. Much of the glass comprising the walls was semi-opaque. What lay beyond, I had no means of finding out.

  I moved cautiously along until I came to that spiral staircase I had noted. It was situated at no great distance from the doorway through which I had originally entered.

  Cautiously I began to ascend, my rubber-soled shoes creating a vague thrumming sound upon the metal steps. I reached the top of the first staircase and saw before me a narrow gangway with a single handrail — not unlike those found in engine rooms.

  Palm boles towered above me, and fronds of lower foliage extended across the platform. I advanced, sometimes ducking under them, to where vaguely I had seen a second stair leading higher. I mounted this until I found myself among the tops of wildly unfamiliar trees; narrow galleries branched off in several directions. I selected one which seemed to lead to the glass wall. I saw queer fruit glowing in the crowns of trees unknown. Normally I could not have resisted inspecting it more closely; but tonight my professional enthusiasms must be subdued: a task of intense urgency claimed me.

  Then, I had almost come to where one gangway joined another running flat against the glass wall, up very near to the arching roof, when I pulled up, inhaled deeply, and clutched at the hand rail...

  Uttering a shrill whistling sound, something swung from a golden crest on my right, perched for a moment on the rail, not a yard from where I stood, chattered up at me and sprang into bright green foliage of an overhanging palm!

  My heart was beating rapidly — but I tried to laugh at myself.

  It was Fu-Manchu’s marmoset!

  I had begun to move on again when once more I pulled up. Surely it was not the doctor’s custom to allow his pet to roam at large in these houses? It had presumably escaped from its usual quarters, and sooner or later the doctor, or someone else, would see it.

  I stood still, listening. I could hear nothing save the faint whispering of the leaves.

  Moving on to the side gallery, I saw ahead of me through glass windows a rugged slope topped by a ruined wall, and beyond the wall an ancient building. Stepping slightly to the right, I could see more of the place — a narrow street descending in cobbled steps, and another more modern building, from the arched entrance of which light shone out upon the cobbles. Looking higher, I saw a cloudless sky gemmed with stars.

  This, beyond doubt, was the back of Ste Claire, and these huge forcing houses were built against the slope which ran down from it to the sea.

  In other words, as I stood, the sea was behind me. I must seek an exit in that direction. I walked back along the gangways to the head of the spiral staircase, seeing nothing of Peko, the marmoset, on my way.

  I descended, proceeded along the second gallery to the lower stair, and so reached the rubber-covered floor again.

  Instantly, I noticed something which pulled me up dead in my tracks... an unmistakable smell of opium!

  I turned slowly, fists clenched, looking towards those doors which I knew to communicate with the study of Dr. Fu-Manchu.

  Both doors, the inner and the outer, were open!

  From where I stood I could see the farther wall of the room — I could see a silk lantern suspended from the ceiling; some of the books in their barbaric bindings; the thick carpet; and even that Chinese stool upon which I had sat.

  Not a sound reached me.

  Something, perhaps a natural cowardice, was urging me to go back — to go back — but I conquered it, and went forward, very cautiously.

  I believe I had rarely done anything so truly praiseworthy as when I crossed the space between those two doors, and, craning forward inch by inch, peeped into the study.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT. EVIL INCARNATE

  I withdrew my head with hare-like rapidity and clenched my teeth so sharply, stifling an exclamation, that I heard the click as they came together.

  Dr. Fu-Manchu was seated in the big throne-like chair behind the writing table.

  One glimpse only I had of him in profile, but it had wrecked my optimism — reduced me to a state of helpless despair.

  I stood now on the threshold, not daring to move, scarce daring to breathe. He was seated, I had seen in that lightning glimpse, his head resting against the back of the padded chair, bolt upright, his yellow taloned hands clutching the arms. It was like a vision of a Pharoah dead upon his throne.

  The open doors were explained: he had heard me approaching. He was waiting for me!... What explanation could I offer?

  So much more than my own life was at stake, that I stood there, aware that a cold perspiration had broken out upon my skin, fighting for composure, demanding of my dull brain some answer to the inquisition to which at any moment I expected to be submitted.

  Silence!

  Not a sound came from that study out of which opium fumes floated to my nostrils.

  It was possible, it was just possible, that he had not heard my approach. This being so, it was also possible that he did not know the identity of the intruder whom, presumably, he had heard mounting or dismounting the iron staircase.

  I might creep back, and if questioned later, brazen the thing out. One objective I must keep in mind — my freedom!

  Silence!

  The sickly smell of opium mingling with a damp miasma from the palm house. So still it was that I could hear my heart beating, and hear — or thought I could hear — that faint rustling in the tree-tops, that curious communion among tropical leaves which never ceases, day or night.

  I began to recover courage.

  After all, my duties were of a character which rendered wakefulness difficult. What more natural as a botanist than that I should keep my mind alert by inspecting the unique products of those wonderful houses? Finding these doors open, what more natural than that I should investigate?

  Very cautiously, very quietly, I bent forward again, and this time ventured to look long and steadily.

  Like Seti the First, Dr. Fu-Manchu sat in his throne-chair. I knew that I had never seen so majestic an outline, nor so wonderful a brow, such tremendous power in any human lineaments. He was motionless, his hands resting upon the dragon chair-arms; he might have been carved from old ivory.

  My rubber-soled shoes making no sound, I stepped into the room and stood watching him closely. His eyes were closed. He was asleep, or —

  I glanced at the jade-bowled pipe which lay upon the table before him. I sniffed the fumes with which the room was laden.

  Drugged!

  Here was the explanation which I had been slow to grasp.

  Dr. Fu-Manchu was in an opium trance... possibly the only sleep which that restless, super-normal brain ever knew!

  I glanced rapidly about the room, wondering if any other man, not enthralled by the Blessing of the Celestial Vision, had ever v
iewed its strange treasures and lived to tell the world of them.

  And now, as I stood there in the presence of that insensible enemy of Western civilization, I asked myself a question: What should I do?

  If I could find a way out of this maze I believed I had a fighting chance to escape from Ste Claire. I was in China only in the sense that this place was under the domination of the Chinese doctor. Actually, I was in France; my friends were within easy reach if I could get in touch with them.

  Why should I not kill him?

  He had killed Petrie — dear old Petrie, one of the best friends I had ever had in life: he had killed, for no conceivable reason, those other poor workers in vineyards and gardens. And, according to Sir Denis, this was but the beginning of the sum of his assassinations!

  I stood quite close to him; only the big table divided us. And I studied the majestic, evil mask which was the face of Dr. Fu-Manchu.

  He was helpless, and I was a young, vigorous man. Would it be a worthy or an unworthy deed? It is an ethical point which to this day I have never settled satisfactorily.

  All I can say in defence of my inaction is that, confronting Dr. Fu-Manchu, helpless and insensible, I knew, although my reason and my Celtic blood rose in revolt against me, that something deep down in my consciousness bade me not to touch him!

  Supreme Evil sat enthroned before me, at my mercy — perhaps the nearest approach to Satan incarnate which this troubled world has ever known. And perhaps, for that reason, inviolable.

  I dared not lay a finger upon him — and I knew it!

  No, I must pursue my original plan — gain my freedom.

  The mahogany-arched recess communicated, I knew, with a corridor at the end of which was a stair leading to the rooms with white doors. The door which faced the table opened into the big laboratory called the radio research room.

  Which of these should I attempt?

  I had decided upon that leading to the laboratory when something occurred to me which produced a chill at my heart.

  The opened doors into the palm house!

  Who had opened them, since, obviously, Dr. Fu-Manchu had not done so?

  I stood quite still for a moment; then turned slowly and looked out into that misty jungle beyond.

  Someone had come out of this room during the time that I had been creeping about upon those gangways in the palm-tops. A patrol? A patrol who, having heard me, would now be waiting for me.

  I listened; but no sound came from that tropical jungle. And now dawned a second thought. One acquainted with the iron routine of that place would never have left both doors open!

  What did it mean?

  An urge to escape from this drug-laden room, from the awful still figure in the carven chair, seized me.

  I stepped softly towards the archway — only to realize that the control was hidden. I could see no trace of one of those familiar glass buttons, resembling bell pushes, which took the place of door-knobs in this singular household. Perforce, then, I must try my luck in the radio research room.

  Beside the door facing Dr. Fu-Manchu I could see the control button which opened it. I turned, pressed that button... and the door slid silently open.

  I stepped out into the violet-lighted laboratory.

  Looking swiftly right and left I could see no one. The place was empty, as when I had first discovered myself in its vastness. Almost directly at my feet a black line was marked upon the rubber floor.

  I inhaled deeply. Could I cross it?

  Clenching my teeth, I stepped forward. Nothing happened. I was free of the radio research room!

  But now my case was growing desperate. I could not believe myself to be the only person awake in that human anthill. Sooner or later I must be detected and challenged. My only chance was to find another way out of the radio research room. And now it occurred to me that there might be none!

  Avoiding those black marks upon the dull grey floor which outlined the settings of certain pieces of mechanism and of tables laden with indefinable instruments, I walked in the direction of the further end of the dimly lighted place, until I came to the glass wall.

  A great part of it was occupied by shelves containing stores of all kinds. I knew that the door — if a door existed — must be somewhere in the opening between the shelves.

  Desperately I began to search for it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. PURSUIT

  I could see no indication of a control in the first recess which I explored. But the wall was divided into panels or sections, framed in narrow strips of some dull, white metal, and experience had taught me that any one of these might be a hidden door.

  I groped hopelessly, as I had groped along the wall of the apartment which had been allotted to me, seeking the hidden exit by which Fleurette and, later, Fah Lo Suee had gone out.

  A slight sound in that vast, silent room brought me twisting about.

  As I turned, my down-stretched hands pressed against the glass panel behind me. I could see nothing to account for the sound which I had heard, or imagined I had heard... but I felt the glossy surface upon which my hand rested sliding away to the right!

  I turned again — and looked up an uncarpeted staircase to where, far above, a silk-shaded lantern hung upon a landing.

  Doubting, hesitating, I looked alternately at the stairway and back along the laboratory. This way led upward, and my route was downward to the sea. But, what was more important — I must learn the secret of these doors! There might be others yet to be negotiated. I determined to experiment.

  The door had slid open to the right. I remembered that my hand had rested at a point about three feet from the floor. I pressed now right of the door, but there was no response. I pressed to the left. The door remained open. Baffled, I stepped back — and the door closed, swiftly and silently!

  The principle was obscure, but the method I had solved.

  I opened it again and stepped in to the foot of the stairs.

  How did I close it now?

  The solution of this problem evaded me. I began to mount the stairs — and as my foot touched the first step, the door closed behind me!

  I mounted, silent in my rubber-soled shoes, reached the landing and looked about me, wondering what I should do next.

  A short, dark passage opened to the right, and another, longer one, to the left. At the end of the latter I saw a green light burning. I could hear no sound. I determined to explore the shorter passage first. I began to tiptoe along it; then I paused and stood stock still.

  The door at the foot of the stairs had opened, and someone had come through.

  I was being followed!

  A momentary panic touched me. Had the opium sleep of Dr. Fu-Manchu been an elaborate pretence? Could it be that he, after all, had been watching me throughout? — that it was this dreadful being himself who was upon my track?

  I hurried to the end of that narrow passage; but there were doors neither right nor left, nor at its terminus.

  It was wood-panelled, and I looked about desperately for one of the control buttons. Suddenly I saw one, pressed it, and the door slid open.

  I filled my lungs with sharp night air, and I looked upon the stars. I stood on a paved terrace bordered by a low parapet. Below me lay a rocky gorge cloaked in vegetation. Beyond was the sea, and instinct told me, the beach of Ste Claire.

  Steps descended on the left. I made no attempt to close the door, but began hurrying down.

  Rock plants, ferns, cacti, grew upon the wall. Moonlight painted a sharp angle of shadow upon the steps. I came to a bend and turned. The steps below were completely in shadow. I began to grope my way down.

  And at the third step I pulled up sharply and listened.

  Someone had come out on to the terrace above; he was following me!

  I had yet to find my way to the sea; but having won freedom from the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu and gained the clean free air, it would be a dead man that this tracker carried back again. And unless he shot me down before coming to c
lose quarters, there would be a classic struggle at some point between this and the beach.

  The insidious atmosphere of that secret place, as I realized now, had taken its toll of my spirit. But under the stars — free — free from that ghastly thralldom, my cold hatred of the Chinese doctor and of all his works and his creatures surged back upon me chokingly.

  Fleurette!

  The dark schemes of Fah Lo Suee could never save her. One hope only I had, and I included Fleurette in it optimistically, for no word of love had ever passed between us.

  I must find Nayland Smith — surround this scorpion’s nest — and put an end to the menace which threatened the peace of the world. Courage came to me: I felt capable of facing even Dr. Fu-Manchu himself.

  And throughout this time I had been groping my way down dark steps; and now I came to yet another bend. Thus far I had made no sound. I stood still, listening; and clearly I heard it... footsteps following me.

  It was eerie — uncanny.

  Whomever it might be, the Chinese doctor or one of his creatures, why had he not challenged me — why this silent pursuit? I could only suppose that a trap awaited me.

  Someone was on guard at the foot of the stairs, and the one who followed was content to make sure that I did not double back.

  Some impassable obstacle lay between me and the beach. It might be — and the thought turned my heart cold — such an obstacle as I had once met with in the radio research room!

  In that event, I should be trapped.

  I pulled up, groping upon the wall beside the steps. Some kind of creeping plant grew there in profusion, indeterminable in the darkness. I pulled it aside and craned over, looking down.

  Below, as I dimly saw, was a sheer descent of a hundred feet or more. These steps were built around the face of the gorge. Lacking ropes, there was no other means of reaching the beach.