He, too, saluted the doctor as one doing reverence to a pagan god.
“Everything found in his possession,” Fu Manchu demanded, speaking Hindustani. “Quickly. Show me.”
The thickset man ran to an open suit-case, took out a parcel and
spread all it contained on a table. “Here is everything, Master.”
Fu Manchu examined the exhibits found on the person of the dead man, one by one. A silver disk stamped with a number and a curious design seemed to excite him strangely. His eyes, when he raised them, gleamed with a light of madness.
He turned, pointed to an outsize wardrobe trunk standing against the wall. On it was painted “Prince Ranji Bhutan!.”
“Unlock it!” he commanded.
His voice, which ranged at times from the guttural to a sort of menacing hiss, was no more than audible.
The younger man, his handsome but sinister features registering intense alarm, produced a bunch of keys and, not without difficulty, unlocked the big trunk.
Upright inside, and secured with leather straps, the double of Nayland Smith stood, his head drooping so that the swollen features were in shadow. Dr. Hu Manchu stepped forward and tilted the head upward—no easy matter, for the neck muscles were already stiff.
From a pocket of his black coat he took out a lens and, peering closely, examined the nose of the victim.
He replaced the lens, turned, and struck the long-armed thug a flat-handed blow across his face. The younger killer fell to his knees, clasping his hands.
“Master!”
“Fools!” Fu Manchu’s features were contorted; his expression was that of a dangerous maniac. “You have killed the wrong man!” . . . By a stupendous effort of will, he recovered his usual calm. “Relock the trunk.
Remain here until further orders reach you.”
With his silent, catlike walk, Dr. Fu Manchu turned away, opened the door, and went out. He passed the suite occupied by Nayland Smith, and went up to the penthouse. In the dark room which adjoined that equipped for the demonstration he seated himself at the radio switchboard and made an adjustment.
A point of blue light appeared. A woman spoke. “Yes, Doctor?”
“Tonight’s plans changed. Report to me—immediately… .”
At about this time, Brian, chain-smoking in his agitation, was watching Nayland Smith pacing the floor of the room like an English Guardsman on sentry duty. At last, Sir Denis broke his long silence.
“I have chosen my course, Merrick. Heaven grant it’s the right one.
Bearing in mind what I mean to do tonight— must do—I doubt if Fu Manchu’ s secret device would be handed over. He has the cunning of the serpent. He takes fantastic risks; but always assures himself of a way out.
My explanation to the committee, which I am supposed to give verbatim (the deceased actor was evidently a quick study), would certainly break up
the conference.”
“Sure! Just what I was thinking! The meeting tonight——”
“I can’t believe that a man so astute as Dr. Fu Manchu ever intended it to take place. He has changed his plans. He may be laying another trap—he may be preparing to make a getaway! This could only mean that the cunning devil recognized me!”
“Then why didn’t he bump you off when he had you up there in the penthouse?”
“Think again, Merrick,” Sir Denis rapped. “Consider t w o dead Nayland Smiths on his hands in the Babylon-Lido! No. There hasn’t been time to move the other one. We may lose the secret of the Sound Zone, but, at last, we have Dr. Fu Manchu!”
“What are we going to do?”
Nayland Smith knocked ash from the hot bowl of his pipe.
“I can’t stop the others. That doesn’t matter. But I shall signal the plane bringing your father and the President, and their course will be changed. We don’t know what new devilry may be brewing, and I daren’t risk it. Our best defence is attack.”
He headed for the door.
“What’s my job?” Brian wanted to know.
“We’ll slip down and talk to Ray Harkness. He’s in charge of the F.B.I, engaged on this job. We have worked together before. This double business has shaken him badly. Before I went up tonight we arranged a password—in case the wrong man had survived!”
Chapter 17
Brian saw a smallish, dapper man who might have been an accountant or a bank manager, but couldn’t possibly be a detective, except that it happened he was.
He jumped up as they came in.
“Bamboo!” Nayland Smith greeted (presumably the arranged password). “Virtue triumphed for once in a while, Harkness!”
Raymond Harkness sat down again. “Thank God I see you alive! It was a crazy, and, in my opinion, an unnecessary risk.”
Nayland Smith rested his head on Harkness’s shoulder.
“Your staff work was excellent. Merrick, here, threatened to disturb the plan at a critical moment. But our luck held, and I held on to Merrick.
By the way, you haven’t met.”
“No.” Harkness shook hands with Brian, smiling. “But we have wasted
a lot of time covering you, Mr. Merrick! For heaven’s sake what happened? Where’s … the other one? We knew all the details of the trap, but not what it was planned to do when you walked into it.”
“An expert job of strangling! He never uttered a sound.”
“Good God! They have murdered their own man?” Sir Denis nodded.
“What have they done with his body?”
“Still in the room next to ours, I suppose. But if we’re to get the whole gang in the bag I want quick action. You have the list of tenants occupying apartments on our floor?”
Harkness held up a typed sheet. “It’s been impossible, at short notice, to check all of them. But speaking of the room next to yours——”
“No time, now. Look—I’ll tell you what we must do. Hold the elevators on this floor. Instruct operators to tell upcoming passengers to use stairs. There are two elevators but only one stair. Post a good man at the foot of the stair. Order him to direct such passengers to this room.
Keep your door open. Tell ‘em what you like, but hold ‘em.”
Harkness raised his eyebrows, but took up the phone and gave these unwelcome instructions to the hotel office, adding, “To go into force as from now.” He hung up, glanced at Nayland Smith. “Well—what about anyone coming down7”
“They must be told to go up again until further notified. Police Department orders. An experienced patrolman in uniform best for stair job.”
Harkness nodded and spoke again on the phone. Then: ‘You’re in charge tonight, Sir Denis,” he acknowledged, “but we’ve worked together before and I like to know what to expect. Do you think it’s a plot against the President?”
“Not against his life, Harkness,” Nayland Smith rapped. “At least, I don’t think so. But in any event he won’t be here. I gave orders a few minutes ago to have his course diverted.”
Raymond Harkness watched Sir Denis with steady eyes.
“Then you believe Fu Manchu is still in Manhattan?”
“I know it.”
“Where?”
“In the penthouse!”
“What!” Harkness sprang up. “Then he’s holding Dr. Hessian! He’s in our hands! What are we waiting for?”
“Go easy!” Nayland Smith smiled his grim smile. “And don’t worry about Dr. Hessian. I’m looking after him!”
Harkness sat down again. “You know, now that I hear you, and see you, I wonder I ever fell for your double! But at the time I was completely sold.”
“So was everybody else. Who but Dr. Fu Manchu could have pulled
off such a thing?”
There was a rap on the room door, and a smart-looking police sergeant came in and saluted. Harkness looked up.
“Ah! It’s Sergeant Ruppert. I knew you were detailed for duty here tonight. I want you to mount guard at the foot of the stair to the floor above. Stand on the other side of th
e door. No need to alarm residents on this floor. Anyone wanting to go up to be directed to this apartment.
Make sure they come here, but don’t lose sight of the staircase exit.
Anyone coming down to be sent back— anyone. All clear?”
“All ready, sir. But what about the elevators?”
“They’ve been stopped from this floor upward.” Harkness glanced at Nayland Smith. “Anything else?”
“One thing,” Sir Denis rapped. “Jump to it, Sergeant! Every minute counts!” Sergeant Ruppert saluted and ran out. “Any news from Number One, Harkness?”
Raymond Harkness shook his head. “No. Can’t figure it out. She expected to have something to report on the latest move. It could be useful. But not a word. And I can’t locate her. I hope——”
“So do I.” There was a deep sincerity in Nayland Smith’s voice. “She takes risks few men would take—and Fu Manchu is merciless … . “
*
“How many have you on duty tonight, Harkness?” Nayland Smith asked. “Without Merrick and myself?”
“Eleven. Four F.B.I.s and, on the present occasion, nine police. Four in uniform, including the sergeant, and five plain-clothes men. If I can count Number One, twelve.”
“Assemble them all here. There are seven apartments upstairs, including mine. I want them all searched. You have keys from the management?”
“Here.”
“I’ll take the key of the stair door to the penthouse and the key of the inside door.”
Harkness passed over three keys. “There are two doors to the penthouse,” he explained. “The second I believe opens into a kitchen.”
“And now, can you lend Merrick a gun?”
“Sure.” Harkness pulled a drawer open and took out a regulation police revolver. “It isn’t easy to carry, Mr. Merrick, but it’s practical.”
“Thanks.”
Brian put the heavy weapon in a coat pocket. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but the more exciting it turned out to be the better he
would like it. He needed an antidote to his mood of angry self-contempt.
“Let the whole party stand by, Harkness,” Sir Denis went on in his quick-fire way, “until I give the word. Merrick and I are going to do a spot of reconnaissance. If a trap is being laid we don’t want to walk into it.”
They met no one in the long corridor as they headed towards the elevators. The door to the stair, with a red light above it, was in a side passage a few paces beyond. It was that hour which comes in every big hotel when nearly all the guests are out for the evening.
Suddenly, Nayland Smith said something which brought Brian to a stop as though he had hit a wall.
“I pray no harm has come to Lola Erskine,” he rapped.
Brian made a gasping sound; stood stock still. Sir Denis paused, looked back, and then stared, amazed, at the suddenly pale face he saw behind him.
“Merrick! What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
Brian tried hard to recover poise. It wasn’t easy.
“I’m sorry—behaving like a fool. But you did say Lola Erskine?”
“I did. What about it?”
“Is she the woman you called Number One, who was expected to report to Mr. Harkness?”
“She is.” Nayland Smith stared hard. “She’s the star operative I mentioned to you, who had worked her way into the Reds’ confidence, and from there (an even more astonishing undercover feat) into the Secret Order of the Si-Fan. Have you met her?”
“Yes.” Brian spoke hoarsely, but had himself in hand again. “In London.”
“In London? Then it was she who sent the information that you had been employed by Red agents. Wonderful girl! She was the first person to suspect my double. You see, Merrick she was working close to Dr. Fu Manchu! Just think of that! A mere girl—and a very pretty one; she met me at Idlewild— getting away with such a thing!”
“ I am thinking, Sir Denis, and I’m frightened stiff. Because, you see, I’m very fond of Lola.”
Nayland Smith smiled—the smile Brian remembered.
“Ho, ho! That’s how the wind blows! I’m frightened, too. First, I owe my freedom to her. She was responsible for the search of the house in Cairo. Second, I owe her my life. She learned all about the trap set for me here, briefing me (I knew all the routine), and was instrumental in getting my double’s instructions mixed up.”
Brian clenched his fists. “If Dr. Fu Manchu knows the truth. Sir Denis, he must know——”
“That Lola Erskine has double-crossed him? .. . That’s why I’m frightened.”
They had been standing still in the long passage, talking in hushed voices; and now:
“Come on!” Nayland Smith rapped. “We must act.”
He set off at a run. As they passed the elevators and turned into the passage where a red light shone above the stair door, Brian found himself wondering if a girl like Lola could possibly give a damn for such a despicable, distrustful creature as himself… .
Nayland Smith pulled the heavy door open.
“Hullo! What’s this?”
There was no one there!
“Where’s Sergeant Ruppert?” Brian cried out.
Sir Denis raised his hand. “Ssh! We don’t know who may be listening.
But I don’t like it. Come on—and be ready for anything.”
He started up the stair, walking softly, one hand in a pocket of his tweed jacket. At the top he peered out cautiously along the corridor. It was empty from end to end. He banged his fist into the palm of his left hand.
“I should have known better than to rely on one man in dealing with Fu Manchu!”
“What do you figure happened? He didn’t call out. We’d have heard him!”
“When it happened is what worries me. How long has this stair been open? Stand by, Merrick. Have your gun handy. If anyone comes near you, cover him and make him stand still, hands up, until I return.”
And Nayland Smith darted back down the stairs…
“When it had happened” was fully twenty minutes earlier. Apartment 421 was across the passage and not far from Nayland Smith’s suite. A smartly-dressed woman, her beauty hall-marked with the stamp of sophistication which some men (particularly young ones) find irresistible, had just come in. She had not long returned from Idlewild where Dr. Fu Manchu had ordered her to go to report the instant of Sir Denis’s arrival.
She had means of learning such things, for beauty is a key which opens many doors.
Wearily she tossed an expensive hat on to the bed and sat down in front of her mirror. She opened a cream leather jewel case, unstrapped a conspicuous, diamond-studded wristwatch and was about to put it away when a voice spoke— apparently coming from the watch.
“Where are you now?”
She started, stooped forward, and answered, “Back in my room, Doctor.”
“No one obstructed you?”
“No one.”
“You have done well. You were only just in time. But there is more to
do. Put the amethyst ring on your finger. It is live. Be careful not to turn the bezel until needed. Remember the volume is low. Direct contact is necessary. Wear the diamond watch also. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“Your freedom is in your hands tonight.”
The woman’s eyes opened widely. They were of the colour of the ring which Dr. Fu Manchu had ordered her to wear— amethyst—and, with her auburn hair, gave her an exotic beauty. Her delicate colour paled as she spoke:
“You mean—my complete freedom?”
“Your absolute freedom. The task I am giving you shall be your last.
So you cannot afford to fail. These are your orders.…”
As an immediate result of those orders, Sergeant Mike Ruppert, taking up his station at the foot of the stairs, a post which he expected to find very dull, had just ventured to start a cigarette when he heard light footsteps descending.
He dropped he cigarette and put his foot on it, tur
ned—and saw a vision.
A disturbingly attractive woman was coming down. From her slender foot, her arched instep, to the flaming crown of her wonderful hair, Sergeant Ruppert found no flaw in her beauty. He began to rack his memory, convinced that she must be a film star. For he suffered from a fixed idea that Hollywood had a corner in such feminine perfection.
She smiled alluringly, and made to pass him.
Sergeant Ruppert intruded his bulk. “Sorry, lady. No one allowed down this way.”
“What do you mean, Sergeant?” She had an enchanting accent. “I live here. You can’t keep a guest a prisoner!”
The sergeant wasn’t enjoying his job. “Department orders, miss.
There’s—er—some inquiry going on. It’ll be all clear soon.”
“Soon! But my friend is waiting.”
“He’ll wait!” Sergeant Ruppert grinned.
A ghost of the smile stole back to the lovely face.
“He is a she, my sergeant! But please let me go. It is bad enough that the elevators are out of order, that I have to walk up and down. But this!”
“That’s right.” The sergeant was sympathetic. “But it’s not my fault, miss. All I can do is obey orders,”
“It is so stupid!” she pouted. “Never again do I stay at the Babylon-Lido! I shall go up and call the manager. Come with me. You shall hear that I am to be allowed to go out.”
“Sorry, miss. I’d like nothing better——”
“I can give you a nice cool drink while I phone.”
Sergeant Ruppert had never heard of St. Anthony, but he was going
through similar fires. Years of discipline won. Dizzy but unconquered: “I can’t leave my post, miss,” he told her.
“Ah, parbleu!” she sighed. (“French,” the sergeant decided!) “So I am imprisoned—yes?”
“It’s not as bad as that, lady. I’ll tell you what you do. I don’t think it’s meant for a young lady like you to be inconvenienced. So go back to your apartment and call the manager like you said. Ask him to speak to the officer in charge, and——”
She turned away impulsively. “It is preposterous! All this trouble! …
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