by Sax Rohmer
“We are very sorry to disturb you,” Tony began. “But—”
The Chinese woman’s expressionless features melted in a smile. “I am so glad to see you, Mr. Chi Foh! The doctor has been very anxious. Where is the dear young Miss?”
Tony assured her that the young Miss was very well, and they went in and up to their old quarters. Nayland Smith made a dash to the writing-desk in the living-room, took out the two radio equipments which they had left there. He strapped one to his wrist, adjusting the tiny dial.
“Calling the lama,” he said; and a moment later, “Nayland Smith here. Regret disturbing you so early . . . Good . . .Yes, back at your cousin’s house. Just one thing. It’s urgent. What is the call number of the instrument you got through to von Wehmer?” He grabbed a pencil from the desk; listened and scribbled. “Good! Now I can move. See you later.”
Tony had listened breathlessly. “These things are magic. Sir Denis!”
“Yes!” Nayland Smith smiled grimly. “We pinched the secret from Fu Manchu—and now it’s working in his own interests! For mercy’s sake get me a drink. There’s still something in the locker.
He found his pipe and pouch where he had left them, filled and lighted his old briar. Tony opened the closet which they used as a wine cellar.
“Beer or whiskey Sir Denis? Beer a trifle warm.”
“Beer. I’m thirsty.” He drank a glass of frothy, imported beer, then: “Now for von Wehmer,” he muttered.
Tony watched anxiously while Sir Denis twirled the tiny dial, the figures on which only a keen eye could distinguish. There was a nerve-racking interval . . . but no reply.
Nayland Smith’s lean face assumed an expression Tony had never seen there before. “He can’t surely have left already! “ Sir Denis muttered.
Even as he spoke, came a faint voice.
“Von Wehmer?” Tony whispered.
Nayland Smith nodded, signaled him to come nearer to listen.
“Nayland Smith here! Your delay worried me.”
“I keep my radio hidden.” Von Wehrner spoke English with a German accent. “I was engaged, and so—”
“Everything is ready, von Wehmer. When do you leave?”
“My Russian successor is due tomorrow.”
“Then we must act tonight!”
“I fear so. Is it possible?”
“Yes!” Nayland Smith rapped. “It has to be. How long will it take to make your arrangements?”
“I have already installed the necessary equipment in each of the buildings. No one can detect it. I have only to connect them with the power house and make contact and all will be over.”
“From the time you make contact, how long will you have to get clear?”
“It is a simple device which controls the contact. I can set it for no longer than thirty minutes. But this should be enough.”
“What time would suit you best? Give me as long as you can.” “Between fifteen minutes after midnight and one a.m. would be best.”
“Good enough. Have your radio handy. We must keep in constant touch. . . “
Tony stared at Nayland Smith. “Does this mean that after getting the manuscript from the Lama we are not going to rush it to Fu Manchu?”
Nayland Smith relighted his pipe, which had gone out.
“It seems unavoidable to me, if I’m to carry out my promise to von Wehmer.”
“But, Sir Denis!” Tony blazed, “what will become of Moon Flower and her father if things happen to go wrong?”
Nayland Smith smoked furiously. “That problem has been bothering me, McKay. But there’s a way out. We must drop off here tonight when we return from Niu-fo-Tu and leave the thing in your charge. I’ll go on to the research station and—”
“Stop! That’s plain nonsense. Sir Denis. I won’t do it!”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t,” Nayland Smith remarked dryly “There is another way: To leave the manuscript, packed and sealed, with our good friend the doctor. If we don’t claim it before daylight tomorrow, he must undertake to have it delivered at once to General Huan.”
Tony began to walk up and down in agitated thought, then: “I have another idea,” he said. “If you think it’s crazy, say so. We shall have to leave the Buick in some place well away from the germ plant. That’s clear. Neither of us knows the route there. The doctor has a car, and a driver who possibly does know the way—”
“I rather warm to your idea,” Nayland Smith rapped. “We take the manuscript with us? Having parked the car, we leave our driver with instructions to wait for us for an agreed time, and then to hurry back to the General’s house and deliver the package. This means delaying here until our host is awake and his chauffeur reports for duty.”
“I think it’s worth it. Sir Denis, on both counts.”
And, almost as he spoke, their host the doctor, whom they saw rarely, knocked on the door and came in. He wore a brown dressing robe over his pajamas, an attire which increased his resemblance to his cousin the Lama. Like his cousin, he spoke perfect English.
“How glad I am to see you. Sir Denis—and you. Captain McKay! Your absence began to disturb me.”
Nayland Smith apologized for arousing him so early, and then broached the subject of the driver for their midnight journey . . . “We should, of course, pay him handsomely for his services. He would be in no danger, and this will see the last of us; you can sleep in peace!”
“You may rest assured that Tung will be waiting for you. Sir Denis. He knows the road to Hua-Tzu perfectly. It is a difficult road at night. I formerly had a patient in that village . . .”
Half an hour later they were on their way to Niu-fo-Tu . . .
* * *
Nayland Smith knew this route well; so did Tony. They had traveled it recently with the Lama. They were stopped once only, at Jung. But their papers, issued by the governor of the province, produced polite bows and instant permission to proceed. Sir Denis drove the Buick as though competing in an overland race, and they reached Niu-fo-Tu in just under three hours.
He pulled up in sight of the gate.
“I have been thinking, McKay. Openly to visit the Lama might be dangerous—for the Lama. We still wear Chinese dress. But our visit, coming in an automobile, might reach the ears of Fu Manchu and result in inquiries. You know the way from here to the back entrance. Off you go! I’ll call him to expect you.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Tinker with the engine until you come back!”
Tony grinned and set out at a steady trot for the path he remembered so well, the path on which he had found the abandoned Ford and been attacked in the dark by Nayland Smith who mistook him for an enemy. He found it easily enough and turned in
off the road.
The Ford had disappeared, as he had expected. He passed the spot, and a run of a few hundred yards brought him out in sight of that stretch of wasteland upon which the rear windows of the Lama’s house looked out. Although no one was in sight, he dropped to a walk as he crossed to the door. It was wide open, and he entered without hesitation and went on to the door of the Lama’s study. That also was open.
“Come in. Captain McKay.” Dr. Li Wu Chang, the Lama, stood up to greet him. “You are indeed welcome!”
“It’s good to see you again. Sir Denis has told you what I’ve come for?”
The Lama held up a sealed package. “Here is the cipher manuscript. And here”—he indicated a long envelope which lay before him—”is the result of many hours of labor I have held it deliberately until it was complete.”
“What is it?” Tony wanted to know.
“I have broken the cipher, my son, and this is its translation in plain English!”
“Gosh!” Tony whispered. “That’s genius!”
“Merely acquired knowledge and perseverance. There is no merit in a special talent unless its exercise is of use to others.”
Tony dropped down on a stool and faced the Lama who had resumed his seat behind the low table. A fai
nt smell of incense which pervaded the air carried him back to his first interview with Dr. Li Wong Chang.
“Certain perfumes stimulate the subconscious,” the Lama said, as if reading his thoughts. “What troubles your mind?”
“Tell me, first. Doctor, what is this manuscript?”
“It is a Register of the Order of the Si-Fan—one of the most powerful secret societies in the world. It contains the names of every lodge-master in China, some of them men of great influence. It includes the name of the Grand Master . . . General Huan Tsung-Chao, governor of the province!”
Tony’s brain was in a whirl.
“Confide your problem to me. Captain McKay,” the gentle voice urged. “For I see you have one. It may be I can help you to solve it.”
And Tony, without hesitation, told him of Nayland Smith’s bargain with Dr. Fu Manchu . . . “Sir Denis has such a nice sense of honor,” he explained finally, “that if he knows the cipher has been broken, having told Fu Manchu that it was undecipherable, I’m uncertain of his reaction.”
The Lama closed his eyes for a few moments and evidently reflected deeply. Then, he spoke again.
“Sir Denis is a throwback to the age of chivalry. Your course is clear. Forget what I have told you. Take this decoding of the manuscript, but produce it only when you are all in safety. I set the overthrow of the archcriminal called Dr. Fu Manchu, obviously not his real name, above all subtleties of conscience. If I err, the error is mine. Go, Captain McKay, for I know time is of vital importance to you . . .”
Chapter XXIII
Tony was forever looking at his watch. The hours of waiting in the doctor’s house at Chia-Ting had been hours of torture. He was so near to Moon Flower, yet so far away; for not mileage but a touch-and-go midnight venture lay between them.
Nayland Smith had called von Wehrner on the secret radio soon after their arrival, but von Wehrner had explained, briefly, that while the technical staff remained he could not safely talk. Now, he was free to do so, and Sir Denis, notebook in hand, was riddling him with quick-fire questions and noting his replies.
They had met Tung, who had undertaken to drive them to their dangerous rendezvous. He was a competent-looking lad, not uneducated, although he had little English. He assured them that he knew the road to Hua-Tzu by day or night.
He was instructed to have the Buick in condition by ten o’clock.
Nayland Smith made a final note and turned to Tony.
“I have the essential facts, McKay. You’re all strung up. Take a drink while I make a rough sketch. Might as well finish the bottle. We shan’t be coming back!”
Tony mixed a drink, lighted a cigarette, and watched Sir Denis making a pencil sketch on a writing pad.
“I wonder what you’re doing,” he said, rather irritably.
Nayland Smith looked up, grinned. “You’ll be with Jeanie in a few hours, McKay. The symptoms stick out like brass knobs. Simmer down. Come here and let me explain.” Tony crossed and looked down at a crude plan. “This is the back of the enclosure you saw. Here is the bungalow where von Wehrner lives. Note that it’s a long way from the only gate, but quite near the wire fence. Here, and here”—he indicated two crosses—”are the spots at which sentries are posted at night. They operate on a circulatory system. A moves around to B’s post, B moves on, and so forth, every hour. So that they report one by one to the sergeant at the gate. All clear?”
Tony, now absorbed in the job before them, nodded. “It’s a routine we scrapped years ago.”
“Suits us!” Nayland Smith rapped. “Have you noticed the weather? It’s going to be a cloudy night. The fence, of course, is lethally electrified. But von Wehrner will switch the juice off. He’ll join us here.” He marked a point midway between the two crosses. “All clear?”
“Except the wire fence. Are we taking ladders?”
“Von Wehrner has made his own. He’s an active ten-stone man. Cord, with bamboo rungs. Easily tossed over the fence. Any questions?”
“No—except where do we park the Buick? Beyond the village there’s no road I know of. The Russian camp isn’t far up the hill and there’s a road from the camp to the research station. But even if we could reach it, we daren’t use it.”
“Too bad. We shall have to walk there and back!”
* * *
At ten o’clock they were on their way; Tung at the wheel, Sir Denis and Tony seated behind.
“We can’t use our radio until this man’s out of the way,” Tony whispered.
“I don’t intend to do so!” Nayland Smith rapped. “Have you noticed the weather?”
“Yes. There’s a hell of a thunderstorm brewing. We’ll probably be drenched.”
Nayland Smith was silent; began to charge his pipe.
Tony thought hard. There were many snags to be looked for. If the storm broke, a flash of lightning might reveal them to the sentries. There were other unpleasant possibilities . . .
As though a dam had burst in the sky, rain crashed down on to the roof of the car. In a white blaze of lightning he saw the road ahead. It led up into the hills, was little more than a goat track which no reasonably sane motorist would have fancied even in ideal weather. Now, it had become a raging cataract.
A crash of thunder came like that of a mighty bomb. Tony glanced at Nayland Smith. He was lighting his pipe. And the Chinese driver held steadily on his course, axle deep in water.
“I presume that this car belongs to General Huan, but I don’t want it to break down all the same,” Sir Denis remarked in his dry way.
The deluge ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The next roar of phantom artillery was farther away, the lightning less blinding. The storm was passing eastward. They had crossed the crest of the rocky hill, and Tony, in a moment of illumination, saw a densely wooded valley below, oak, aider, and other varieties he hadn’t time to identify.
They descended a road winding through trees, the driver picking
his way by the aid of powerful headlights. This road brought them at last to the bank of a sullenly running stream, and here the driver suddenly slowed down.
“This is Hua-Tzu, sir. Do you wish me to drive through?”
Tony and Nayland Smith stepped out on the muddy track. “I think,” Tony said, peering around in the gloom, “it might be wiser to park the car right here. The path to the Russian camp starts at the farther end of the village street, I remember.”
“Good,” Nayland Smith snapped, glanced at the illuminated dial of his wrist-watch and instructed Tony to switch off the headlights. “Park here somewhere”—he spoke Chinese—”near the roadside, and for your life don’t be seen. Here is the parcel you have to deliver to General Huan. Does your watch keep good time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you understand—you wait for us until three o’clock. If we’re not here by three, you start for the governor’s house. For God’s sake don’t fall asleep!”
“I understand. I shall not fall asleep.”
“Now let’s find a spot to hide the car.”
They explored back up the slope, and Tony presently found an opening in a plantation of alders wide enough to admit the Buick. Tung brought the car up and backed in.
“Smoke if you like,” Sir Denis told him. “But stamp your cigarette out if anybody comes near.”
“I understand.”
And so they left Tung and moved on.
* * *
Not a light showed in the one straggling street of the riverside village. They reached the path which Tony remembered without meeting anything human or animal and began to climb the hill toward the Russian camp. Through a rift in the racing clouds the moon peeped out for a few seconds and Tony saw the group of huts just ahead.
“Here we take to the rough!” he said.
They turned left into a tangle of scrub and made a detour around the camp, in which, as in the village, no light was visible. Above the camp. Tony led the way back to the rough road which connected the camp with the research p
lant. They stayed on the road during darkness, but ducked into cover whenever the moon broke through; and presently:
“We must be near the gate now,” Tony decided. “Better stick in the rough and work left.”
In this way, in sudden moonlight, they had their first view of the wired enclosure and of the hut beside the gate. There was a light in the window of the hut. Beyond, they could see the group of buildings.
“I went no farther than this,” Tony reported. “To get round to the other side we shall have to explore, keeping well out of sight.”
“Good enough,” Nayland Smith agreed. “Let’s hope there’s cover all the way.”
There proved to be up to the time that they sighted the first sentry. He was squatting on the ground, smoking. Just beyond came a patch of coarse grass which offered no cover at all. They had to creep farther away from the fence before they found bushes. Kept on their circular course only by rare bursts of moonlight, they passed the third sentry, who was asleep, and Nayland Smith looked at his watch.
“We’re there! And it’s just twelve o’clock. We have to wait for the sentries to change over.” He lay flat down.
“I welcome the rest!”
And, as they lay there, came the sound of a distant whistle from the direction of the gate. Soon they heard footsteps, voices. Then, one of the guards (presumably the one who had been asleep) tramped past and disappeared.
“I wonder if the sergeant ever does a round of inspection,” Nayland Smith murmured. “Better wait and make sure. “
They waited for some time, but heard and saw nothing. During a longish spell of moonlight Tony had a clear view of the upper part of a hut nestling amid bamboos. It stood less than fifty yards from the wire fence.
“I suppose that’s where von Wehmer lives. Sir Denis?”
“According to my notes, it is. He described it as roughly midway between two of the points where guards are posted. I’ll try to get him, now. When we know he’s starting, we must crawl over to the fence and lie in that tangle of long grass and weeds which borders the wire.” He paused. “Come nearer to shield me from the guard to the south of us. I must have light to see the dial.”