by Sax Rohmer
As Nayland Smith sprang forward, the Cold Man turned, a murderous grin on his face.
“Oblige me by stepping aside, gentlemen,” General Huan cried in a tone of command.
Both twisted around, astounded by the words and the manner.
General Huan thrust himself before them. The necropolite plucked a knife from his loincloth. And at that same moment the long, curved blade of the great sword whistled through the air—and the grinning head rolled on the rug-covered floor. The trunk collapsed slowly, then slumped.
“See!” General Huan held up the blade. “No more blood than if one carved a fish! The creatures are not human . . .”
* * *
Cameron-Gordon had been stunned by a blow on his skull, received as the Cold Man silently entered through the window. Or so Nayland Smith deduced when his old friend came to his senses and stared dazedly across the room to where Tony knelt beside the divan whispering soothing words to Moon Flower. Her experience with a necropolite had brought her to the verge of hysteria, a feminine weakness which she despised.
The icy remains of her attacker, in two parts, had been removed before she recovered from the swoon; and General Huan had gone to call those male members of his staff who slept in the servants’ annexe to assist in the search for the Cold Men still at large.
Assured by Cameron-Gordon that he had suffered no physical injury, Nayland Smith jumped up and glanced quizzically at Tony.
“Come on, McKay!” he rapped. “Jeanie will be all right now with her father to look after her. We’re wanted downstairs.”
“Close those shutters,” Tony called to Cameron-Gordon as he started, “and lock the door after us!”
Their assistance proved to be unnecessary, however. Matsukata, fully restored, and Dr. von Wehmer, on their way to the house, had almost stumbled over several Cold Men lying in a state of coma induced by a surfeit of looted food and wine. Another, making his exit in the same way, from an upstairs window, had fallen on his head and lay unconscious on a tiled path.
Matsukata’s manner was furtive. From the way in which he glanced at von Wehrner, Tony knew that there were questions he wanted to ask, and from the way he avoided meeting Nayland Smith’s eyes that there were inquiries he didn’t want to answer. In fact, he seemed to be half-dazed.
In the light of early morning Nayland Smith and Tony sat in Huan Tsung-Chao’s study, the room with the large lacquered desk. General Huan was seated behind the desk.
“Isn’t it remarkable. General,” Sir Denis asked, “that Dr. Fu Manchu should have chosen last night for an attempt on the Soviet station? I had supposed the return of the manuscript before you to be of paramount interest.”
General Huan rested his hand on the parchment bound Si-Fan Register.
“It is of great interest to me, also. Sir Denis. But The Master accepted your word that it would be restored as you accepted his that you and your friends should be free to leave. His reason for moving last night was that he feared the replacement of Dr. von Wehmer might result in more stringent precautions being taken.”
“You tell me you have no news of him. This I don’t understand.”
The lined, remarkable old face relaxed in a smile
“There are many things. Sir Denis, concerning your own part in the affair which I do not understand! The Cold Men, in three parties, were instructed, hypnotically, to obey Mahmud—a former sergeant-major of French-Algerian infantry. Contrary to my advice, The Master—aware that these awful creatures are strangely affected by electric storms—set out shortly after Dr. Matsukata and Mahmud to take personal charge.”
He paused, and very deliberately took a pinch of snuff.
“Dr. Matsukata tells me that the third party, whom he held in reserve, revolted. You are aware of what occurred later. You have scrupulously carried out your undertaking. Sir Denis, and I have arranged suitable transport for all of you, as The Master authorized me to do. I have included Dr. von Wehmer, whose presence in your party is one of the things I do not understand.” He smiled again, a sly smile. “If you should call at Lung Chang, please give my best wishes to a mutual friend there. You will be provided with papers ensuring your free passage . . .”
* * *
Many hours later, in Lao Tse-Mung’s library, a setting sun gleamed on the many bound volumes, cabinets and rare porcelain. Moon Flower was curled up on a cushioned settee; Tony’s glance lingered on her adoringly. Their courteous host had personally conducted his old friend, Cameron-Gordon, and the unexpected guest, von Wehmer, to their apartments, and Nayland Smith lay back in a big rest-chair, relighting his pipe and looking gloriously at ease.
“Is it possible. Sir Denis, that Dr. Fu Manchu is dead?” Tony asked suddenly.
Nayland Smith looked up at him, match in hand. “Judging from a long experience, highly improbable!”
“Because, it would be rather a pity, in view of something I have here.” He pulled out the long envelope containing the translation of the cipher manuscript.
“The Lama advised me not to show it to you until we were out of danger.”
“What the devil is it?” Sir Denis rapped, and took the envelope from Tony.
“It’s the Lama’s deciphering of the manuscript!”
“What!” Nayland Smith blew the match out in the nick of time, leapt to his feet. “This is incredible—”
“A list, the Lama told me, of every Si-Fan lodge master in China—some of them prominent persons—including General Huan!”
Nayland Smith dropped back in his chair.
“I said, McKay, when you recovered the thing from Andre Skobolov, that I believed it to be the most powerful weapon against Fu Manchu, which I ever held in my hands. An understatement. It could shatter his dream empire!”
The End
FB2 document info
Document ID: ce1eec52-aa73-49ba-874f-48067f0d5046
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 2.9.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.67, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Sax Rohmer
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