Emperor Fu Manchu f-13

by Sax Rohmer

  “Who’s scaring you?” came a snappy voice from the direction of the doorway.

  Tony turned—and there was Nayland Smith smiling at them. He wore his workman’s clothes.

  “Where on earth have you been?” Tony asked. “And at what time did you start?”

  “I started some time before daylight, McKay. I didn’t disturb you by taking a bath, so I’ll take one now. As to where I have been, I have been finishing the job of clearing the course. All we’re waiting for is word from Cameron-Gordon. Be with you in ten minutes.”

  And a moment later they heard the bath water turned on; for the house of the Lama’s cousin, who had graduated in New York, boasted Western equipment.

  During breakfast, in spite of Moon Flower’s cross examination, Nayland Smith evaded any explanation of his plans. “I believe, Jeanie, I have done all that can be done so far. Our next move will be touch-and-go. And I don’t want to raise false hopes.”

  He spent the forenoon smoking his pipe near the window, constantly watching the passers by. Once, he spoke to Tony, out of Moon Flower’s hearing: “If they once suspected we were here, all my plans would be shattered.”

  Tony felt like a greyhound on the leash, and Moon Flower, reproachfully, retired to her own room.

  During luncheon, Nayland Smith tried to divert their gloomy thoughts with memories of his many encounters with Dr. Fu Manchu, particularly those in which he had foiled the cunning Chinese scientist. “I’m only a moderately competent policeman. This man is a criminal genius. But I have had him on the mat more than once. Unfortunately, he always got up again . . .”

  The afternoon was passed in the same way; and when evening drew near, Nayland Smith’s imperturbable calm began to show signs of breaking down. Several times he looked at his watch, then out of the window again, until suddenly:

  “Here she is!” he cried out, and sprang to the room door in his eagerness.

  Shun-Hi, flushed and excited, came in. Moon Flower ran to meet her.

  “Here it is, Miss Yueh Hua. The answer from your father!”

  Moon Flower almost snatched a folded sheet of paper which Shun-Hi held in her hand.

  “Quick, Jeanie—is it for tonight?” Nayland Smith snapped.

  She read quickly, tears in her eyes, then looked up.

  “Yes! To-night! Oh, Sir Denis, please God you succeed!”

  * * *

  In the dusk, Tony and Nayland Smith set out. They had weathered a bad storm with Moon Flower.

  “I simply dare not take her, McKay,” Sir Denis said. “I understand her anxiety to see her father; but if anything goes wrong tonight, we shall have walked into hell! Whatever happens to you and me, Jeanie will be safe, if she does as I told her to do. You heard my instructions to Lao Tse-Mung. If we get Cameron-Gordon clear, the plans are laid for Jeanie and her father to fly to Hong Kong. Your capture of the Chinese manuscript was a divine miracle. We may have Dr. Fu Manchu at our mercy. But Skobolov’s correspondence has given me ideas about the Soviet research center We are going to take a look at the Soviet research center, McKay . . .”

  They followed the route which they had taken before when Shun-Hi had led them to the staff entrance of General Huan’s house. But tonight the streets were not thronged. In one quarter a fringe of which touched their route they could see in adjoining streets lighted lanterns, and hear barbaric music, but it was soon left behind.

  Once clear of the outskirts of the town, two working men and their moon-shadows alone walked the highway.

  There was something melancholy in the empty countryside, in the breathless silence, which bred in Tony’s mind a sense of foreboding. In his long journey by land and water, before he had met Moon Flower, he had known many such lonely nights; but they had not created quite the same impression of impending harm. Nayland Smith had been silent for some time. Suddenly he spoke.

  “Your automatic is ready, I take it, McKay?”

  And the words suggested to Tony that Sir Denis was victim of a similar depression.

  “Yes, sure.”

  “So’s my revolver. Always want to be prepared.”

  Tony was possessed by an urgent desire to talk, and so, “You said you had cleared the course,” he went on, trying to speak lightly. “To which part of the course did you refer?”

  “The last hundred yards,” Nayland Smith said, and fell silent again.

  Twenty paces on, he stopped suddenly, grasped Tony’s arm. “Listen!”

  Tony stood stock-still, and listened. He could hear nothing.

  “What did you think you heard?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  “Someone behind us. But there’s no one in sight.”

  But, as they resumed their march, Tony knew that the shadow which had fallen upon his spirits had also touched Nayland Smith.

  They reached the point where they had turned into the poppy field, but now kept to the highroad. Soon, they were on the path into which Shim-Hi and her friends had gone, and deep in the shadow of the cypresses. Tony’s spirits sank even lower in the darkness,

  Nayland Smith pulled up, detained him with a touch.

  A weird, plaintive wail rose on the night—died away.

  “Stupid of me,” Sir Denis rapped. “For one unpleasant moment I thought it was a dacoit. Night hawk!”

  They came to the lane bordering the high wall. Nayland Smith looked swiftly to right and left before stepping out. That side on which they stood, opposite the wall, lay in shadow. “All clear. Come on!”

  Almost silent in their straw sandals they moved on nearer to the door in the wall. In the shade of the banyan tree, Nayland Smith turned aside, plunging into undergrowth. Tony followed. He was completely at a loss until Sir Denis produced a flashlamp and shone a light on to the tangled roots of the great tree.

  “Look!”

  And Tony looked; was astounded by what he saw.

  A long, slender bamboo ladder lay there!

  “Always glad to learn from the enemy, McKay. This clears the course from here to the laboratory, where Cameron-Gordon is waiting for us!”

  “You still have me guessing.”

  Nayland Smith laughed. “This ladder is light enough for a child to carry. It’s long enough to reach the top of General Huan’s wall. It’s strong enough to support a man of reasonable weight. We’re both lean specimens. All clear?”

  “So far, all clear. But where did you get it?”

  “I found a friendly carpenter. Told him I was a gardener employed in a place where there were tall trees to be pruned. He had the ladder ready by evening. I collected it, and carried it halfway to the governor’s house, where I parked it in a clump of bamboos. Quite impossible to spot from the road. Early next morning, when no one was about, I carried it here.”

  He dragged the light ladder from the out-flung roots of the tree.

  “I get it!” Tony spoke excitedly.

  “What a frozen dacoit can do, we can do!”

  They returned to the lane. Tony carrying the ladder on his shoulder. “I have to look out for the peach tree?”

  “Right. Go ahead. I want to keep an eye on the lane behind.”

  Tony tramped on. Promise of action blew aside the cloud of foreboding which had crept over him. And soon, against the bright sky, he saw peach blossom peeping over the wall, to awaken a memory of a Japanese water-color painting.

  “All clear,” Nayland Smith rapped. “Set the ladder up, McKay.”

  Tony found a spot among the weeds at the foot of the wall where he could make the base of the ladder firm, and gingerly maneuvered its delicate frame into place.

  “All ready”

  “Stand by, McKay. I must make sure that the trellis is strong enough to be safe. We may want to retire in a hurry!”

  Nayland Smith went up the ladder with an agility surprising in a man no longer young. Tony watched, breathless with excitement. Sir Denis climbed over the wall and began to climb down on the other side. When his head was level with the pink blossom:

 
; “Follow on,” he instructed. “Safe as an oak staircase!”

  “Do I leave the ladder?”

  “No choice, McKay. If it’s moved, we’ll have to drop from the wall.”

  Tony was up in a count of seconds; looked over the top. He saw a well-planted orchard, pear trees, plum, and other fruits. Nayland Smith stood below.

  “A wire frame, clamped to the wall. Perpendicular but safe.”

  Tony swung his leg over, found a stout branch and scrambled down.

  “What’s our direction. Sir Denis?”

  “Not quite sure. Must get my bearings.”

  Nayland Smith stood there, in the shadow of the wall, tugging at his ear.

  “Shun-Hi tried to explain the location of the laboratory.”

  “She did. And it’s clear in my mind, now. Follow on.”

  * * *

  They had to make a wide detour around the house. The property was landscaped as a pleasure garden, with lily ponds and streams of running water; with miniature waterfalls amid a blaze of rockery flowers. In moonlight it was entrancing, but Tony felt more concern about sticking to the shadows than admiration of the many beauties of the garden.

  The laboratory, when at last they sighted it, proved to be partly screened in a grove of orange trees. This was all to the good. It was an ugly building evidently of recent construction; a long, narrow hut, but much larger than Tony had visualized.

  “We have to show ourselves in the moonlight to reach the orange trees, which frightens me,” Nayland Smith said. “But at this point we’re not in view from the house.”

  “There isn’t a light in the house,” Tony pointed out.

  “That’s what frightens me. Let’s make a dash for it!”

  They raced across the moon bright patch and into the shadow of the trees.

  Two windows of the laboratory building were lighted; a small one near the door; a larger at the side of the hut. Tony pushed forward. But Nayland Smith stood still, looking back, listening. He said nothing, but joined Tony on a narrow path which led to the door.

  He rapped on the panels. The light in the window disappeared. The door was opened, and a man in a white coat peered out.

  “Smith!”

  “Cameron-Gordon!”

  “Quick! Come in! Who’s with you?”

  “Tony McKay, one of us.”

  They entered in darkness. The door was closed again and a light sprang up.

  * * *

  Tony saw a tiny room, with a table and two chairs, such as Shun-Hi had described. The man in the white coat spoke hoarsely:

  “Thank God you found me, Smith! I didn’t know you were in China. And God bless Jeanie for getting my message through! I didn’t want to show a light when I opened the door. I never know when I’m watched.”

  “Nor do I,” Nayland Smith rapped. “I suggest we start.” Cameron-Gordon had his hand in a fervent grip of greeting. “Wait just a few moments, Smith. I want you to see the kind of work I do.” He transferred the hand grip to Tony. “You must be a sound man to be here, and I’m glad to meet you.”

  He opened a door, beckoned them to follow. They did so, reluctantly.

  On the threshold they halted, both together. There was a muffled buzzing sound, and a strange, repulsive odor The place was lined by glass cases, in which, as Cameron-Gordon switched light on, a feverish activity came to life. The cases were filled with insects, some with wings and some without; huge flies, bloated spiders, ants, centipedes, scorpions!

  “My God!” Tony muttered.

  “I have seen something like this before,” Nayland Smith said; “in another of Fu Manchu’s establishments.”

  “My dear Smith”—Cameron-Gordon was alight with the enthusiasm of the specialist—”he is doing work here which, if it were used for the good of humanity would make his name immortal. His knowledge of entomology is stupendous.”

  “I have had some experience of it,” Nayland Smith rapped dryly “ ‘My little allies’, he once called these horrors.”

  Cameron-Gordon ignored the interruption. “His experiments, Smith, are daring beyond what is allowed to God-fearing men. He has bred hybrids of the insect world which never before existed except for sufferers from delirium tremors I’ll show you some. But he has also prepared drugs from these sources which, if made available to physicians, would almost certainly wipe out the ravages of many fatal diseases.”

  “Tell me, Doctor,” Tony said faintly, “what is that?”

  He was staring at a case which contained an enormous centipede of a dull red color It was fully a foot long and was moving around its glass prison with horrible, febrile activity.

  “A Mexican specimen of the morsitans species. Twice its hitherto known largest size. From its toxin he hopes to prepare an inoculation giving immunity from cholera. One of my duties is to extract the toxin!”

  “And what about this hideous spider?”

  “Known in New Zealand as a katipo, but in this instance, crossed with a tarantula! Its sting is deadly. Dr. Fu Manchu has a poison made from that creature’s toxin which, swallowed—and it’s tasteless—would kill in five minutes; injected, kill instantly! Look at that colony of red ants! Another hybrid species. They multiply from hundreds to millions in a short time. They eat anything. Set loose here in China, they would turn Asia into a desert from the sea to the Himalayas in a few months!”

  Nayland Smith was glancing anxiously at his watch. But Cameron-Gordon remained in the grip of professional enthusiasm.

  “These”—he pointed—”are plague fleas. They are reinforced with plague-cultures. One bite would mean the end—I have to feed them!”

  Sir Denis broke in: “These cases rilled with buzzing flies particularly interest me. What are they?”

  “ Tsetse flies,” Cameron-Gordon told him, turning. “Each one of the cases is kept at a different temperature, which I regulate. The first, at which you are looking, is kept at tropical heat, the normal temperature for these insects. The second is sub-tropical. The third is temperate. And the fourth is arctic. So far, we have failed with the fourth. But some of the flies in there are still alive.”

  “So I see.”

  “They are fed on blood plasma, charged with the trypanosome of sleeping-sickness. They are so reinforced that their bite would induce a form of the disease which would pass through its entire course in a matter of days instead of months! They could operate anywhere short of the Arctic Circle. They are utterly damnable!”

  Nayland Smith looked grimly at Tony. “Now we know how Skobolov died!”

  And, as he spoke, the light went out.

  “I fear,” came a cold, sibilant voice, “that you know too much. Sir Denis . . .”

  In complete darkness. Tony, his heart beating a tattoo, realized that he stood nearest to the door. He reached it—to find it unopenable.

  “We’re trapped, McKay!” Nayland Smith said. “What about—”

  “What about the other door, you were thinking. Sir Denis?” came the mocking voice. “Unfortunately, as it belongs to my laboratory, I make a point of keeping it locked.

  Tony, cool again after that first shock, began to peer through the darkness in the direction from which the voice came. His hand closed over the butt of his automatic. He had seen something.

  High up at the end of this home of insect horrors, he saw a square patch of dim light. He raised his automatic and fired.

  The odor of the discharge mingled with the other unpleasant smell which haunted the place. Vibration caused a rattle of glass, but it came from the surrounding cases. Then, the silence was complete again, except for faint buzzing of the tsetse flies and whispering sounds made by some of the other inhabitants of the cases.

  “No good, McKay,” Nayland Smith said sharply. “I saw that opening, too.”

  “It’s over the door of my workroom,” Cameron-Gordon whispered. “That’s where he is.”

  His words were answered by a harsh laugh from Dr. Fu Manchu.

  “Since the arrival of my
old acquaintance. Sir Denis, in China, I have made it a practice to look in unobtrusively whenever you have remained late at work. Dr. Cameron-Gordon. To-night I seem to have disturbed you showing your friends around this small collection of rare specimens.”

  “Enough of idle chatter!” Nayland Smith cried angrily. “You have trapped us. Very well—come and take us!”

  “Sir Denis, how strangely you misread my purpose. If I desired your death, it would be necessary only to shatter any one of the cases of specimens surrounding you—which I assure you I could do without exposing myself to your fire. Should you prefer the tsetse flies? This would be a lingering death. Or, perhaps, the fleas and the painful result of bubonic plague?”

  “You’re not a man, you’re a demon!” Tony rasped.

  “I have knowledge which few men possess, Mr. McKay—that, I understand, is your name. And as you are clearly a man of courage, possibly you would prefer to try to repel in the dark the attack of my katipo tarantula? He is a strangely active nocturnal creature.”

  “Stop talking!” Nayland Smith shouted. “Words don’t frighten us. Smash everything in the place, if you like, but stop talking!”

  “That is indeed the familiar language of the British policeman! But for your very stubbornness I admire you. Sir Denis. Dr. Cameron-Gordon is useful to me, and I believe I could use the qualities of Mr. McKay also.”

  “You never will!” Tony assured him.

  “Let me explain myself,” the cold, emotionless voice continued.

  “There are more ways than the way of drugs, of physical pain, to enforce obedience. One of these means I hold in my hands. There is no place for heroics. Dismiss any plans you may have made. I assure you that you have no alternative other than acceptance of my terms—whatever they may be . . .”

  Chapter XIX

  Tony opened his eyes; looked around. He closed his eyes again. This was part of the dream. In the part which had passed earlier he had wandered in a strange paradise. There were trees laden with blossoms he had never seen before and the ground upon which he trod was carpeted with flowers. The air was filled with their intoxicating perfume.