Emperor Fu Manchu f-13

by Sax Rohmer

At Chia-Ting! The ways of these people were strange and tortuous. Did they know more than he supposed? Was this little stowaway a spy? Perhaps it was a plot to learn where he was going, to identify his associates.

  He finished shaving. The girl, her hands clasped, waited with entreaty in her eyes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Yueh Hua. I can cook, and fish, and manage a boat. I won’t be any trouble!”

  Yeuh Hua meant “Moon Flower”. This poor little waif hardly looked the part.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “A small village ten miles from Chia-Ting. It is called Su-Chien.”

  “And what were you doing in Chia-Ting?”

  “Running away from my stepfather.” She spoke eagerly. “He had sold me to Fuen Chang, a horrible old man who would have beaten me. It is his only pleasure, beating girls.”

  “You had friends in Chia-Ting, I suppose?”

  “Yes.” Yueh Hua nodded. “My sister. But she had gone. There was nothing to do but try to get to my aunt. It is a long way.”

  Tony sponged his face, washed the shaving brush, and began, very thoughtfully, to clean the razor blade. If this girl was an agent of the Master she certainly knew her piece.

  “Where does your aunt live?”

  “In Lung Chang.”

  “Where is Lung Chang?”

  “On the Lu Ho,7

  This startled him. He was far from sure of his route to the Lu Ho.

  “Do you know the way to Lung Chang?”

  “Of course!” There came a flash of white teeth in the grimy face. “I used to go there in my father’s boat. I mean, my real father.”

  “I see.” He replaced the razor in its box. “What I don’t see is why you came on to my boat and fell asleep.”

  “I was tired and frightened. I had walked a long way. People were beginning to notice me—to follow me. I came on your boat to hide. I don’t remember falling asleep. Are you angry with me?”

  Chapter IV

  Some hours before this interesting conversation took place, a less amiable conversation had been held in the office of the governor of the prison. Dr. Fu Manchu sat behind the desk. The old governor and Colonel Soong stood before him.

  “I fear. Colonel Soong, that here is some serious breach of discipline. There would seem to be traitors among your men.” He spoke softly, but there was menace in every syllable.

  Colonel Soong’s voice was unsteady when he replied, “I assure you. Most High, it is not so. This man’s escape Was magic.”

  The narrowed green eyes were turned in the old governor’s direction.

  “Who had charge of the keys?”

  “The head jailer. Highness.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “In their usual place where he placed them having re-locked the prisoner in his cell after his interview with Highness.”

  “Were they ever left unprotected?”

  “Never. The head jailer and another were in the room up to the very moment that Highness ordered the prisoner to be brought here again.”

  “Unless both men are lying, duplicate keys were smuggled into the prisoner’s cell. And what of the main gate?”

  Colonel Soong broke in. “The main gate was found locked, Most High. The man on guard reports that no one passed, that the gate was never opened.”

  Dr. Fu Manchu took a pinch of snuff from a small silver box before him. “I shall interrogate these men later. I have means of learning the truth without resorting to your barbarous methods, Colonel Soong. The discipline of your men is disgraceful. Several patients undergoing special treatment in the clinic which I recently established have wandered from the compound and into the town. Yet you have orders to patrol the area day and night. These patients are suffering from a dangerous infectious disease. How do you explain this laxity?”

  Colonel Soong’s yellow face had assumed a grey tinge. “Most High, my troops have orders not to touch them—although some have done so. They report that these people are not human. They are dead men who have escaped from their tombs!”

  “Fools!” Dr. Fu Manchu’s cold voice rose on a sudden note of frenzy. “I am doomed to be served by fools!” He clenched his hands, and by an obvious effort of will conquered his anger. “This man who calls himself Wu Chi Foh must be recaptured. You lost him. Find him. Colonel Soong—move. I shall accompany you . . .

  Tony decided that his best course would be to pretend to believe Yueh Hua, so he asked, “Is Lung Chang far from Niu-fo-Tu?”

  “About eight miles. We have to pass it. We used to come to this place sometimes, too. It is called Pool of Lily Dreams. Once it was part of the garden of a big house. But the house has gone. May I come and show you the way to Niu-fo-tu? I can row the boat when you want to rest.”

  Her eagerness was pathetic. He nodded, and smiled for the first time.

  “All right, Yueh Hua. “I’ll take you to Lung Chang.”

  “Oh, thank you! You are very good.” And he read deep gratitude in the blue eyes. “Please—” as he was about to replace his washing kit—”may I—”

  Tony handed her soap and comb. “The towel’s wet, but it’s the only one.”

  Yeuh Hua grabbed them and jumped ashore. He saw her heading for a clump of alders where the bank sloped down to the pool.

  He was hunting for some plausible explanation of how he had come by his canned provisions, when he heard her running back. Her hair was wet. And she was trying to fasten a ragged pajama jacket, which, with baggy trousers, made up her costume.

  “Quick! We must be quick!”

  She jumped on board with the agility of a wild goat, throwing down soap and towel.

  “What’s the matter, Yueh Hua?”

  “Coming along—now! A motor boat! It must be the police—for me! They think I stole your sampan!”

  The widely opened eyes never wavered.

  “Wait,” Tony said. “Don’t stir until I come back.”

  Yueh Hua was right.

  An old fourteen-foot motor craft was coming down. Colonel Soong stood up in the stern, sweeping the banks on either side through field-glasses.

  Tony raced back. When he reached the boat he pulled up, staring. Yeuh Hua had cast off and stood at the oar, ready to leave.

  “Be quick! I know a hiding-place. These people are new here. They may not find us.”

  He climbed aboard and sat down watching her. He might as well let her have her way, for he had no plan of his own.

  She swung the sampan about with an easy, deep sweep of the long oar. Then, using a minimum of effort, she headed straight across the pool, avoiding traps set by clumps of wild lilies, and drove straight in through a forest of rushes with a sudden powerful stroke. For a moment, he thought they were stranded. Then, using the oar like a punt pole, Yueh Hua got the boat free, and they were in a smaller pool, deep and clear, roofed over by the foliage of majestic old willows.

  “That was very good, Yeuh Hua.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “Yes. An Army officer, with field-glasses.”

  “Not—a tall, thin man, wearing a long cloak?”

  Tony was startled, but hid the fact. “No. Short, wearing uniform. Are you afraid of this tall man?”

  “Yes . . . Ssh! Sounds carry over the pool. They had stopped, but they are just turning in.”

  And, as she spoke, the engine coughed into action again. Although he couldn’t see. Tony knew that the motor boat had entered the narrow opening, that Colonel Soong would be inspecting the banks of the pool. They lay down side by side, peering through the rushes.

  A sudden protective impulse made him put his arm around Yueh Hua’s shoulders. He realized that she was still wet from her bath—hadn’t had time to use a towel. And she was trembling.

  At last came Colonel Soong’s grating voice: “Nobody here. Back out.”

  The motor craft went coughing out astern.

  As the sound of the engine died away. Tony stood up, helping Yueh Hua to her fe
et. It was dark under the willows and he could hardly see her face.

  “Thank you, Yueh Hua,” he said. “You are wet and will catch cold. Dry yourself. I won’t look.”

  He ducked forward under the matting roof, turned his back, and lighted a cigarette.

  His first ideas about Yueh Hua required an overhaul. Even Chinese duplicity couldn’t account for what had happened. She was as scared of Colonel Soong as he was himself—and desperately afraid of Dr. Fu Manchu. Her explanation that she might be suspected of stealing his boat didn’t add up, either. Agreed that she was running away, from whom was she running? Someone far more formidable than her stepfather. And there were other points . . .

  “Please come out. I’m dry now.”

  The bell voice recalled him from speculation. He went out to the stem. Yueh Hua had tidied up considerably. But he knew her clothing must be damp. She was smiling shyly.

  “Do I look any better?”

  He thought she looked very well indeed. There were few Mongolian characteristics. Prominent cheekbones and very slightly slanting eyes—yes. But many Celts had these. Now that her face was clean, he saw that she had a fresh, healthy complexion. In fact, he decided that Yueh Hua was quite pretty in a quaint way.

  He planned to remain hidden where they were until the searchers returned and passed on the way up to Chia-Ting. Yueh Hua shook her head.

  “When they don’t find the sampan anywhere we could have got to in this time, they will search again on the way back. Someone may tell them of this place. It was once used as duck decoy.”

  Tony thought viciously of his .38, and wondered how many of the crew, beginning with Colonel Soong, he could knock off as they came into the decoy. But he dismissed the idea quickly.

  We shall have to cross the river before they come back and hide in a creek I know there,” she continued.

  “Is it used much?”

  “No. It is too shallow.”

  This program was a desperate venture. For, should the motor cruiser turn about sooner than anticipated, they could be trapped on the way over. He pointed out that Soong might search the creek.

  “It is upstream. They will have searched it coming down.”

  Tony grasped the long sweep and began to pole along the bank, edging the boat toward the opening through the rushes.

  “Nearer the middle,” Yueh Hua directed. “Look—where the dragon-fly is.”

  He gave a powerful thrust. The bow of the sampan was driven in some three feet, then progress was checked.

  “Another push from this side—hard.”

  He swung the oar over, found a firm spot, and thrust with all his weight. The boat glided along an unseen channel, and they were out again in the main part of the pool.

  “Let me go ashore first and see if the river is clear,” Yueh Hua said.

  Tony rowed in to the spot against which he had first tied up, and she leaped ashore lightly and ran off through the cactus lining the bank. He waited, listening. And as he listened, he heard voices singing some monotonous song, and faintly, the sound of a reed pipe.

  Yueh Hua came running back.

  “A big raft coming down! They may have been told to look out for us. We must wait until they pass.”

  He nodded. But every minute’s delay might mean capture.

  The sounds drew nearer. The song was a bawdy ditty once popular on the Hong Kong Flower Boats. Tony glanced at Yueh Hua, but read only anxiety in her face. They stayed quite silent until the raft had gone by.

  Then he swung the sampan through the opening. The stream was deserted. Piloted by Yueh Hua, they crossed; Tony found the narrow creek, rowed the boat into it until Yueh Hua called, “Stop here!”

  There was a mat shed—a rough hut—under the trees. He turned to her in sudden doubt.

  “Are there people here?”

  “I hope not. It is used sometimes by fishers, but nobody lives in it.”

  In fact, the tumble-down place proved to be deserted. It was so far gone in decay that not even an eel fisher would have consented to live there. The palm roof was full of holes and the bamboo framework largely collapsed. When he had tied up the boat he secretly charged his .38 and slipped its comforting weight into a pouch inside his ragged pants.

  “I must find my way along the bank to the end of the creek, Yueh Hua, and watch for the motor boat.”

  She touched his arm. “Please, let me come, too.”

  * * *

  They set out together in blazing sunshine. There was a sort of path through thick undergrowth, but evidently it hadn’t been used for a long time. Then came the bare banks lower down. There proved to be a wandering gully, though, which gave good cover and which led them to the river only some yards above the creek.

  They had trudged along in silence. Now both looked upstream. The raft was no longer in sight. The river showed deserted. They sat down side by side among the rushes and wild grass, watching a slow tide go whispering by. Tony felt that Yueh Hua was furtively studying him. He glanced at her.

  She smiled. “What is your honorable name, if you please?” “My family name is Wu. I am called Chi Foh.” “Mine is Kwee. You don’t belong in this part of China?” He looked at her searchingly. She was still smiling. “No. My father—” (He hesitated. He had nearly said “was a merchant”)—”is a storekeeper in Hong Kong. I was brought up there.”

  His father had been senior partner in the firm of McKay, Anderson and Furth, Incorporated, tea exporters. “I suppose, Chi Foh, he was ruined by the war?” But he didn’t answer. He had heard the asthmatic coughing of Colonel Soong’s motor craft. They were coming back, close to the right bank.

  Yueh Hua grasped his hand. He saw that her lips trembled. “We must lie behind these rushes, Chi Foh. We can see from there, but they won’t see us.”

  They crept back from the bank and lay down side by side. The old cruiser was very close now.

  Almost unconsciously, he put his left arm around Yueh Hua’s shoulders.

  From where he lay, he couldn’t see Soong in the stern. But he could see a man who stood up in the bows. It was the giant Nubian!

  Then, came a voice, a clear, imperious voice. It sent a trickle of ice down Tony’s spine.

  “I fear. Colonel Soong, that you are wasting valuable time.”

  The motor boat had swung around slightly on the current. He saw Soong in the stem, field-glasses in hand—and he saw someone else, seated in the cabin behind the man at the wheel. A figure wrapped in a dark cloak.

  Yueh Hua trembled so violently that he glanced at her anxiously. Every trace of color had left her face.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, and held her closely. “They can’t see us.”

  But she didn’t answer. Colonel Soong’s harsh tones were raised unsteadily. “I assure you. Most High, it is not so. The escaped prisoner must certainly have come this way.”

  Most High! Nayland Smith hadn’t over-estimated the power of The Master. The mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu seemed to be all set to take over the reins of government. British Secret Service wasn’t far wrong in regarding him as a danger to the Western World.

  “I regret that I cannot share your confidence.” The words were spoken in sibilant, cultured Chinese. Then with a change of language to what Tony thought might be Arabic, a short sentence followed.

  The Nubian spun around and stood at attention. He shook his head and answered briefly in the same guttural tongue.

  “I was inclined—” Fu Manchu was addressing Soong—”to send Mahmud ashore again to search the mat shed on the creek. But he assures me no one has been there. I believe him, for he has the instincts of a hunting leopard.”

  The motor cruiser had drifted now to within a few yards of the bank. It was plain enough that “Mahmud” on his former visit must have followed the gully in which they lay, that if he did come ashore again he could hardly fail to stumble over them.

  Tony fingered the useful weapon in his pocket. The big negro, if he came, might carry a gun; Soong was
armed. There might be other arms on board. But there were only four men to deal with. Given luck, and surprise to help him, he thought he could deal with them.

  Silence for a few seconds, and then, “Shall I go, myself, Highness?” Soong volunteered.

  Tony was planning his tactics. If Soong came ashore, he would shoot the big negro first, then, before the colonel could grasp what had happened, he would shoot Soong.

  “Proceed upstream,” the imperious voice commanded. “We passed no other possible hiding-place on our way down. Therefore, we cannot have left the sampan behind . . .”

  * * *

  Late that evening, Dr. Fu Manchu sat at the lacquered desk, reading. Old General Huan, from his favorite seat on cushions, watched him.

  “I observe that Andre Skobolov is expected here tomorrow. You have instructions from Peiping to entertain him. Why was the presence of this dangerous Soviet agent in China not reported to me?” Fu Manchu glanced up from the notes which lay before him on the desk. “It would seem that our intelligence service is sleeping.”

  General Huan Tsung-Chao slightly shook his head. “This man Skobolov travels almost as secretly as you do, Master.”

  Dr. Fu Manchu’s eyes glittered wickedly from under half-lowered lids. “I have perhaps been misled in my belief that the elusive escaped prisoner was a British agent acting under Nayland Smith. His remarkable disappearance is more easily explained if he is a secret agent of the Soviet. They have facilities here which are denied to Nayland Smith.”

  “If that were so, why should he have been imprisoned?”

  “Wake up, Tsung-Chao! The identity of such an agent would not be known to the blundering Colonel Soong, nor to the prison governor. It pains me to think that I may have saved the life of a Soviet spy!”

  Old General Huan smiled a wry, wrinkled smile. “There is unfortunate news, Master, which may confirm your suspicions. But I am assured that Wu Chi Foh could not have had anything to do with the documents.”

  Fu Manchu’s eyes became fully opened. They blazed. His expression remained immobile as a mask. But when he spoke it was in tones very subdued, oddly sibilant.

  “Unfortunate news? Documents? What have you to tell me?”

  And, outwardly calm as always, Huan Tsung-Chao replied, “My house in Chengtu was entered last night and important papers stolen from my office. Amongst these documents—for no other valuables are missing—was the Si-Fan Register . . .”