by Sax Rohmer
“How is she?” he asked.
“Fine. She’s coming up after a little rest. But where’s Dr. Fu Manchu?”
Sir Denis pointed to an open drawer of the bureau. “There — all we have of him! A tape recorder playing back our conversations in Cairo. If you and I had listened a while longer, we should have heard my voice as well. Brought over for the benefit of my successor. The cunning devil!”
Brian stared about the room incredulously, still half expecting to see the dark spectacles of Dr. Hessian — the only picture he had of the dreaded Fu Manchu — peering out from some shadowy corner.
“But the door! What was the danger of opening the door?”
“The danger’s on the table there,” Harkness called out “Three ordinary bell-pushers were under the carpet where anybody coming in couldn’t miss stepping on one of them.”
“Wired to the receiver you shot to pieces,” Sir Denis added grimly. “If Lola hadn’t lost her head — although God knows I don’t blame her — we might have disconnected them, and so had the secret of the Sound Zone in our hands!”
“Then the other thing” — Brian nodded toward the cabinet— “was connected all the time?”
“It was. One step, and Lola, as well as everyone else and everything breakable in the penthouse, would have gone west. Which reminds me of something you may be able to tell me… the French windows. You saw the demonstration. Why weren’t the windows blown out?”
Brian thought hard. He tried to picture this room as he had seen it then, and a memory came.
“I think I can tell you. I remember now that just before Dr. Hessian began to talk, the Japanese lowered what looked like metal shutters over the windows, and then drew those drapes over them.”
“The shutters are still there,” Sir Denis told him. “Couldn’t make out if they were a hotel fixture. Now I know they should be examined. Evidently made of some material nonconductive of the fatal sound.”
Harkness stood up from his examination of the cabinet and lighted a cigarette.
“Fu Manchu planned to leave no evidence, Mr. Merrick,” he remarked. “We found a small, but I guess effective, time bomb inside this thing. Dakin worked with a bomb-disposal squad in England during the war. He’s an expert. He’s out in the kitchen fixing it.”
“You see, Merrick?” Nayland Smith snapped. “I’m naturally proud of Scotland Yard, but your FBI isn’t without merit. What d’you make of that set, Harkness?”
“This is by no means an ordinary radio set, Sir Denis. It’s some kind of transmitter. Though what it transmits and where it gets it from are mysteries. We haven’t tinkered with it. That’s a laboratory job. But Dakin thinks it can convert all sorts of sounds into that one high inaudible note on which we had a report from Number One. Evidently this note doesn’t become dangerous until it has passed through the special receiver.”
“It’s the receiver that converts the sound,” a clear voice explained.
All three turned in a flash. Lola stood there smiling at them. Sir Denis was first with a chair. Lola thanked him and sat down.
“If you feel up to it, Miss Erskine,” he said quietly, “perhaps you would explain in more detail.”
“I feel up to anything. Particularly, I feet like an idiot for getting hysterical and then passing out. You see, Sir Denis, he” — she seemed to avoid naming Dr. Fu Manchu, as Nayland Smith had known others to do— “was good enough to give me all particulars before leaving me to be shattered. The transmitter, he informed me, is really a sort of selector, or filter. It picks up only certain high notes, vocal or instrumental. On an ordinary receiving set this would come through as atmospheric interferences. It was the thing that Brian blew up that converted the sound to what he called ‘the superaural key,’ which shatters everything within range.” She glanced up as Dakin returned from the kitchen.
“It’s harmless now, sir,” he reported to Nayland Smith. “We’ve saved some evidence.”
Another member of Harkness’ party appeared in the doorway.
“What now?” Harkness demanded.
“Doc Alex reports that he’s suffering from thundering concussion — but there isn’t a single bruise on his head!”
“Who’s this?” Brian asked.
“Sergeant Ruppert.”
“Sergeant Ruppert! Where did you find him?”
“In the apartment of our next-door neighbors,” Nayland Smith told him dryly, “while you were taking care of Miss Erskine.” He turned to the man at the door. “Does the doctor think he will recover?”
“He does, sir — and hopes there’ll be no complications.”
“They found a dead man in there, too. Mr. Merrick,” Harkness broke in. “You mightn’t recognize him, the way he looks now. But up till today we all mistook him for Sir Denis.”
“I know. But what about the man in the blue turban?”
“Prince Ranji Bhutani?” Harkness laughed. “He and his servant have vanished, of course. I don’t imagine the ‘prince’ was wearing his blue turban! They must have got away soon after strangling your double, Sir Denis. We had that pair under observation already and there’s a fifty-fifty chance we can pick them up.”
“If Sergeant Ruppert was found there, they evidently got him, too.”
Ray Harkness shook his head. “Four guests on your floor, Mr. Merrick, checked out earlier today. We don’t know if any of them belonged to the gang. Only one, Mrs. Nadia Narovska, has disappeared like the ‘prince’ and left her luggage behind. Said to be a very good-looker.”
“But she may be coming back,” Brian pointed out. “The manager reports she came in only a few minutes before the elevator was stopped and the Sergeant went on duty at the stair door. How did she get out?”
“But it would be impossible for her to have overpowered a big fellow like that!”
“If she belonged to Dr. Fu Manchu,” Nayland Smith said bitterly, “and she sounds like one of his women, nothing is impossible! I haven’t settled down yet to the fact that that cunning fiend has escaped me again. In my crazy overconfidence I missed my chance. It was my duty to the world when I stood before him to shoot him dead.” He banged his fist into the palm of his left hand. “They all slipped away in whatever time they had between the attack on Ruppert and the time Merrick and I came upstairs. Once they were on street level, New York was open to them. Our hush-hush policy has defeated its own ends. Dr. Fu Manchu can assume many personalities and he probably had a car waiting.”
“It’s not so black as you paint it,” Harkness insisted. “We may have lost the secret of this wonderful air cover, but if the price Uncle Sam had to pay for it was putting our defenses in the hands of Dr. Fu Manchu, we gain more than we lose.”
Nayland Smith forced a smile. “You may be right. Dr. Fu Manchu has still to get out of the country… Oh, Merrick, Miss Erskine has passed through a frightful ordeal. I suggest you take her along for a good dinner. Dine downstairs. I’ll page you when your father arrives. We shall all have many things to talk about. And I can see you have a lot of things to say to Lola.”
EMPEROR FU MANCHU
This is the thirteenth and last novel in the Fu Manchu series. Published in 1959 by Jenkins, Rohmer continues to update and modernise his Oriental master criminal, with a typically 1950’s theme: the Cold War. Rohmer was living in the United States when he wrote this story, so would have seen the effect of the Cold War on one of the key participating nations at first hand. Fu Manchu, it has been estimated, is approximately one hundred years old in this tale, which would have seemed improbable to the reader of the 1950’s had they not known that the villain had spent decades perfecting a serum to give everlasting life, hence his ability to pursue his deadly missions with such vigour.
Despite the fact that this story is about the Cold War, which everyone associates primarily with America and Russia, the threat in this story is lurking in Northern China. This time, the indomitable Sir Denis Nayland Smith teams up with former US soldier Tony McKay. McKay has persona
l reasons for taking on the mission he is offered – he believes that the Chinese Communist regime killed his father and ruined the family business. McKay’s mission is dangerous; working alone, with only Nayland Smith as a contact, he must infiltrate the deepest territories of the threat created by the deadly Si Fan and find out who is behind the latest plot to dominate the world – the shadowy figure known as “The Master”. McKay is warned not to touch the “living dead” creatures which walk the remote area he will travel to; these Cold Men are dangerous and under the influence of a man known only as the “Devil Doctor”, but Nayland Smith has a hunch it is actually Fu Manchu that is behind these ghastly monsters. Once in the field, McKay discovers Russian camp which was apparently there to guard a leprosy research centre. However, McKay is sure it is actually a “germ centre” - the threat of germ warfare being very much a favourite insecurity of the West at that time, it was a good choice of sneaky Russian weapon for Rohmer to make. Alas, McKay is betrayed only a few weeks into his mission and ends up languishing in a rat infested cell.
Not that far from McKay’s cell, there is a large house tucked away in the hills. Its resident is the deadly Fu Manchu, who, having been ejected from the West, has returned to China to lead the Si Fan in the fight against communism, both in China and Russia. “I shall restore this ancient Empire to more than its former glory!” states Fu Manchu. “Communism, with its vulgarity, its glorification of the worker, I shall sweep from the earth!...... I shall win control of the West as well as of the East!”. In other words, Fu Manchu will not tolerate the Imperialism of the Communist regimes, as they impede his own plans for domination. However, he must still be stopped, but first, McKay must gain his freedom to pursue the old enemy of the West.
Rohmer has worked hard in this story to keep all his characters up to date. Nayland Smith has a James bond style watch that doubles as a communication device (rather like today’s “smart” wrist watch!) but it is Fu Manchu that must be credited with its design, we find out. This is also the story — sadly, the last — in which Fu Manchu becomes a genuinely nuanced personality; in his speeches we can witness his calculating, highly intelligent mind at work as Fu Manchu finally steps out of the mists and shadows of early twentieth century into the technicolor world of 1950’s fiction. We find out that he studied at Heidelberg University, The Sorbonne and, bizarrely, the University of Edinburgh, so Fu Manchu is well versed in the ways of the West, suggesting he is more at ease with non-Oriental culture than he would have his enemies believe. Notions of sorcery and the occult are now largely replaced by scientific foul play. After all, who needs magic to scare the 1950’s reader when one has germ warfare and the atom bomb to do the job more effectively?
A fascinating swan song for both Rohmer and our favourite villain, this novel is an interesting comment on the times and a clever reworking of the global ambitions of Fu Manchu.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER ONE
“Once you pass the second Bamboo Curtain, McKay, unless my theories are all haywire, you’ll be up against the greatest scientific criminal genius who has ever threatened the world.”
Tony McKay met the fixed regard of cold gray eyes which seemed to be sizing him up from the soles of his shoes to the crown of his head. The terse words and rapid, clipped sentences of the remarkable man he had come to meet penetrated his brain with a bulletlike force. He knocked ash from his cigarette. The sounds and cries of a busy Chinese street reached him through an open window.
“I didn’t expect to be going to a cocktail party, Sir Denis.”
Sir Denis Nayland Smith smiled, and the lean, tanned face, the keen eyes, momentarily became those of a boy.
“I think you’re the fellow I’m looking for. You served with distinction in the United States Army, and come to me highly recommended. May I ask if you have some personal animus against the Communist regime in China?”
“You may. I have. They brought about my father’s death and ruined our business.”
Nayland Smith relighted his briar pipe. “An excellent incentive. But it’s my duty to warn you about the kind of job you’re taking on. Right from the moment you leave this office you’re on your own. You’re an undercover agent — a man alone. Neither London nor Washington knows you. But we shall be in constant touch. You’ll be helping to save the world from slavery.”
Tony nodded; stabbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “No man could be better equipped for what you have to do. You were born here, and you speak the language fluently. With your facial features you can pass for Chinese. There’s no Iron Curtain here. But there are two Bamboo Curtains. The first has plenty of holes in it; the second so far has proved impenetrable. Oddly enough, it isn’t in the Peiping area, but up near the Tibetan frontier. We have to know the identity of the big man it conceals. He’s the real power behind the strange scheme.”
“But he must come out sometimes,” Tony protested.
“He does. He moves about like a shadow. All we can learn about him is that he’s known and feared as ‘the Master.’ His base seems to be somewhere in the province of Szechuan — and this province is behind the second Bamboo Curtain.”
“Is that where you want me to go, Sir Denis?”
“It is. You could get there through Burma—”
“I could get a long way from right here, with a British passport, as a representative of, say, Vickers. Then I could disappear and become a Chinese coolie from Hong Kong — that’s safe for me — looking for a lost relative or girl friend, or somebody.”
“Make your own choice, McKay. I have a shrewd idea about the identity of the Master.”
“You think you know who he is?”
“I think he is the president of the most dangerous secret society in the world, the Si-Fan — Dr. Fu-Manchu.”
“Dr. Fu-Manchu.”
“I believe he’s up to his old game, running with the hare and hunting with the hounds—”
There was a sound resembling the note of a tiny bell. Nayland Smith checked his words and adjusted what looked like an Air Force wrist watch. Raising his hand, he began to speak into it. Tony realized that it must be some kind of walkie-talkie. The conversation was unintelligible, but when it ended, Nayland Smith glanced at him in an odd way.
“One of my contacts in Szechuan,” he explained drily. “Reports the appearance of another Cold Man in Chia-Ting. They’re creating a panic.”
“A Cold Man? I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I. But it’ll be one of your jobs to find out. They are almost certainly monstrosities created by Dr. Fu-Manchu. I know his methods. They seem to be Burmese or Tibetans. Orders are issued that anyone meeting a Cold Man must instantly report to the police; that on no account must the creature be touched.”
“Why?”
“I can’t say. But they have been touched — and although they’re walking about, their bodies are said to be icily cold.”
“Good God! Zombies — living dead men!”
“And they always appear in or near Chia-Ting. You should head for there. You’ll have one of these.” Nayland Smith tapped the instrument he wore on his wrist. “I may as well confess it’s a device we pinched from Dr. Fu-Manchu. Found on a prisoner. It looks like a wrist watch. One of our research men broke down t
he formula and now a number of our agents are provided with them. You can call me here at any time, and I can call you. Whatever happens, don’t lose it. Notify me regularly where you are — if anything goes wrong, get rid of it, fast.”
“I’m all set to start.”
“There’s some number one top secret being hidden in Szechuan. Military Intelligence thinks it’s a Soviet project. I believe it’s a Fu-Manchu project. He may be playing the Soviets at their own game. Dr. Fu-Manchu has no more use for Communism than I have for Asiatic flu. But so far all attempts to solve the puzzle have come apart. Local agents are only of limited use, but you may find them helpful and they’ll be looking out for you. You’ll have the sign and countersigns. Dine with me tonight and I’ll give you a thorough briefing.”
CHAPTER TWO
There was a rat watching him. In the failing light he couldn’t see its body, but he could see its eyes. Waiting hungrily, no doubt, for any scrap of rice he might leave in the bowl. Well, the rat would be in luck. The rice was moldy.
Tony McKay drank a little more tepid water and then lay back on his lice-ridden mattress, his head against the wall, looking up at a small square window. Iron bars crisscrossed the opening and now, as dusk fell, hardly any light came in. He could have dealt with the iron bars, in time, but the window was just out of reach — two inches out of reach.
It was another example of Chinese ingenuity, like the platter of ripe peaches his jailer had left in the dungeon one morning. By walking to the end of the chain clamped to his right ankle and lying flat, he could stretch his arm across the grimy floor — to within two inches of the fruit!
But none of their cunning tricks would pay off. Physically he was getting below par, but his will remained as strong as on the day he left Hong Kong, unless…
He dismissed the thought.
A dark shape crossed the pattern of the bars, became lost in the shadow of a stone ledge which ran from the window around the angle to the grilled door. Two more wicked little eyes appeared beside the pair in the corner of the cell. The rat’s mate had joined up.