by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XV
THE train was late, and as our cab turned out of Waterloo Station andbegan to ascend to the bridge, from a hundred steeples rang out thegongs of midnight, the bell of St. Paul's raised above them all to viewith the deep voice of Big Ben.
I looked out from the cab window across the river to where, toweringabove the Embankment, that place of a thousand tragedies, the light ofsome of London's greatest caravanserais formed a sort of minorconstellation. From the subdued blaze that showed the publicsupper-rooms I looked up to the hundreds of starry points marking theprivate apartments of those giant inns.
I thought how each twinkling window denoted the presence of some birdof passage, some wanderer temporarily abiding in our midst. There,floor piled upon floor above the chattering throngs, were these lessgregarious units, each something of a mystery to his fellow-guests,each in his separate cell; and each as remote from real humancompanionship as if that cell were fashioned, not in the bricks ofLondon, but in the rocks of Hindustan!
In one of those rooms Graham Guthrie might at that moment be sleeping,all unaware that he would awake to the Call of Siva, to the summons ofdeath. As we neared the Strand, Smith stopped the cab, discharging theman outside Sotheby's auction-rooms.
"One of the doctor's watch-dogs may be in the foyer," he saidthoughtfully, "and it might spoil everything if we were seen to go toGuthrie's rooms. There must be a back entrance to the kitchens, and soon?"
"There is," I replied quickly. "I have seen the vans delivering there.But have we time?"
"Yes. Lead on."
We walked up the Strand and hurried westward. Into that narrow court,with its iron posts and descending steps, upon which opens a well-knownwine-cellar, we turned. Then, going parallel with the Strand, but onthe Embankment level, we ran round the back of the great hotel, andcame to double doors which were open. An arc lamp illuminated theinterior and a number of men were at work among the casks, crates andpackages stacked about the place. We entered.
"Hallo!" cried a man in a white overall, "where d'you think you'regoing?"
Smith grasped him by the arm.
"I want to get to the public part of the hotel without being seen fromthe entrance hall," he said. "Will you please lead the way?"
"Here--" began the other, staring.
"Don't waste time!" snapped my friend, in that tone of authority whichhe knew so well how to assume. "It's a matter of life and death. Leadthe way, I say!"
"Police, sir?" asked the man civilly.
"Yes," said Smith; "hurry!"
Off went our guide without further demur. Skirting sculleries,kitchens, laundries and engine-rooms, he led us through thosemysterious labyrinths which have no existence for the guest above, butwhich contain the machinery that renders these modern khans theAladdin's palaces they are. On a second-floor landing we met a man ina tweed suit, to whom our cicerone presented us.
"Glad I met you, sir. Two gentlemen from the police."
The man regarded us haughtily with a suspicious smile.
"Who are you?" he asked. "You're not from Scotland Yard, at any rate!"
Smith pulled out a card and thrust it into the speaker's hand.
"If you are the hotel detective," he said, "take us without delay toMr. Graham Guthrie."
A marked change took place in the other's demeanor on glancing at thecard in his hand.
"Excuse me, sir," he said deferentially, "but, of course, I didn't knowwho I was speaking to. We all have instructions to give you everyassistance."
"Is Mr. Guthrie in his room?"
"He's been in his room for some time, sir. You will want to get therewithout being seen? This way. We can join the lift on the thirdfloor."
Off we went again, with our new guide. In the lift:
"Have you noticed anything suspicious about the place to-night?" askedSmith.
"I have!" was the startling reply. "That accounts for your finding mewhere you did. My usual post is in the lobby. But about eleveno'clock, when the theater people began to come in I had a hazy sort ofimpression that someone or something slipped past in thecrowd--something that had no business in the hotel."
We got out of the lift.
"I don't quite follow you," said Smith. "If you thought you sawsomething entering, you must have formed a more or less definiteimpression regarding it."
"That's the funny part of the business," answered the man doggedly. "Ididn't! But as I stood at the top of the stairs I could have swornthat there was something crawling up behind a party--two ladies and twogentlemen."
"A dog, for instance?"
"It didn't strike me as being a dog, sir. Anyway, when the partypassed me, there was nothing there. Mind you, whatever it was, ithadn't come in by the front. I have made inquiries everywhere, butwithout result." He stopped abruptly. "No. 189--Mr. Guthrie's door,sir."
Smith knocked.
"Hallo!" came a muffled voice; "what do you want?"
"Open the door! Don't delay; it is important."
He turned to the hotel detective.
"Stay right there where you can watch the stairs and the lift," heinstructed; "and note everyone and everything that passes this door.But whatever you see or hear, do nothing without my orders."
The man moved off, and the door was opened. Smith whispered in my ear:
"Some creature of Dr. Fu-Manchu is in the hotel!"
Mr. Graham Guthrie, British resident in North Bhutan, was a big,thick-set man--gray-haired and florid, with widely opened eyes of thetrue fighting blue, a bristling mustache and prominent shaggy brows.Nayland Smith introduced himself tersely, proffering his card and anopen letter.
"Those are my credentials, Mr. Guthrie," he said; "so no doubt you willrealize that the business which brings me and my friend, Dr. Petrie,here at such an hour is of the first importance."
He switched off the light.
"There is no time for ceremony," he explained. "It is now twenty-fiveminutes past twelve. At half-past an attempt will be made upon yourlife!"
"Mr. Smith," said the other, who, arrayed in his pajamas, was seated onthe edge of the bed, "you alarm me very greatly. I may mention that Iwas advised of your presence in England this morning."
"Do you know anything respecting the person called Fu-Manchu--Dr.Fu-Manchu?"
"Only what I was told to-day--that he is the agent of an advancedpolitical group."
"It is opposed to his interests that you should return to Bhutan. Amore gullible agent would be preferable. Therefore, unless youimplicitly obey my instructions, you will never leave England!"
Graham Guthrie breathed quickly. I was growing more used to the gloom,and I could dimly discern him, his face turned towards Nayland Smith,whilst with his hand he clutched the bed-rail. Such a visit as ours, Ithink, must have shaken the nerve of any man.
"But, Mr. Smith," he said, "surely I am safe enough here! The place isfull of American visitors at present, and I have had to be content witha room right at the top; so that the only danger I apprehend is that offire."
"There is another danger," replied Smith. "The fact that you are atthe top of the building enhances that danger. Do you recall anythingof the mysterious epidemic which broke out in Rangoon in 1908--thedeaths due to the Call of Siva?"
"I read of it in the Indian papers," said Guthrie uneasily. "Suicides,were they not?"
"No!" snapped Smith. "Murders!"
There was a brief silence.
"From what I recall of the cases," said Guthrie, "that seemsimpossible. In several instances the victims threw themselves from thewindows of locked rooms--and the windows were quite inaccessible."
"Exactly," replied Smith; and in the dim light his revolver gleameddully, as he placed it on the small table beside the bed. "Except thatyour door is unlocked, the conditions to-night are identical. Silence,please, I hear a clock striking."
It was Big Ben. It struck the half-hour, leaving the stillnesscomplete. In that room, high above the activit
y which yet prevailedbelow, high above the supping crowds in the hotel, high above thestarving crowds on the Embankment, a curious chill of isolation sweptabout me. Again I realized how, in the very heart of the greatmetropolis, a man may be as far from aid as in the heart of a desert.I was glad that I was not alone in that room--marked with thedeath-mark of Fu-Manchu; and I am certain that Graham Guthrie welcomedhis unexpected company.
I may have mentioned the fact before, but on this occasion it became sopeculiarly evident to me that I am constrained to record it here--Irefer to the sense of impending danger which invariably preceded avisit from Fu-Manchu. Even had I not known that an attempt was to bemade that night, I should have realized it, as, strung to high tension,I waited in the darkness. Some invisible herald went ahead of thedreadful Chinaman, proclaiming his coming to every nerve in one's body.It was like a breath of astral incense, announcing the presence of thepriests of death.
A wail, low but singularly penetrating, falling in minor cadences to anew silence, came from somewhere close at hand.
"My God!" hissed Guthrie, "what was that?"
"The Call of Siva," whispered Smith.
"Don't stir, for your life!"
Guthrie was breathing hard.
I knew that we were three; that the hotel detective was within hail;that there was a telephone in the room; that the traffic of theEmbankment moved almost beneath us; but I knew, and am not ashamed toconfess, that King Fear had icy fingers about my heart. It wasawful--that tense waiting--for--what?
Three taps sounded--very distinctly upon the window.
Graham Guthrie started so as to shake the bed.
"It's supernatural!" he muttered--all that was Celtic in his bloodrecoiling from the omen. "Nothing human can reach that window!""S-sh!" from Smith. "Don't stir."
The tapping was repeated.
Smith softly crossed the room. My heart was beating painfully. Hethrew open the window. Further inaction was impossible. I joined him;and we looked out into the empty air.
"Don't come too near, Petrie!" he warned over his shoulder.
One on either side of the open window, we stood and looked down at themoving Embankment lights, at the glitter of the Thames, at thesilhouetted buildings on the farther bank, with the Shot Tower startingabove them all.
Three taps sounded on the panes above us.
In all my dealings with Dr. Fu-Manchu I had had to face nothing souncanny as this. What Burmese ghoul had he loosed? Was it outside, inthe air? Was it actually in the room?
"Don't let me go, Petrie!" whispered Smith suddenly. "Get a tight holdon me!"
That was the last straw; for I thought that some dreadful fascinationwas impelling my friend to hurl himself out! Wildly I threw my armsabout him, and Guthrie leaped forward to help.
Smith leaned from the window and looked up.
One choking cry he gave--smothered, inarticulate--and I found himslipping from my grip--being drawn out of the window--drawn to hisdeath!
"Hold him, Guthrie!" I gasped hoarsely. "My God, he's going! Holdhim!"
My friend writhed in our grasp, and I saw him stretch his arm upward.The crack of his revolver came, and he collapsed on to the floor,carrying me with him.
But as I fell I heard a scream above. Smith's revolver went hurtlingthrough the air, and, hard upon it, went a black shape--flashing pastthe open window into the gulf of the night.
"The light! The light!" I cried.
Guthrie ran and turned on the light. Nayland Smith, his eyes startingfrom his head, his face swollen, lay plucking at a silken cord whichshowed tight about his throat.
"It was a Thug!" screamed Guthrie. "Get the rope off! He's choking!"
My hands a-twitch, I seized the strangling-cord.
"A knife! Quick!" I cried. "I have lost mine!"
Guthrie ran to the dressing-table and passed me an open penknife. Isomehow forced the blade between the rope and Smith's swollen neck, andsevered the deadly silken thing.
Smith made a choking noise, and fell back, swooning in my arms.
When, later, we stood looking down upon the mutilated thing which hadbeen brought in from where it fell, Smith showed me a mark on thebrow--close beside the wound where his bullet had entered.
"The mark of Kali," he said. "The man was a phansigar--a religiousstrangler. Since Fu-Manchu has dacoits in his service I might haveexpected that he would have Thugs. A group of these fiends would seemto have fled into Burma; so that the mysterious epidemic in Rangoon wasreally an outbreak of thuggee--on slightly improved lines! I hadsuspected something of the kind but, naturally, I had not looked forThugs near Rangoon. My unexpected resistance led the strangler tobungle the rope. You have seen how it was fastened about my throat?That was unscientific. The true method, as practiced by the groupoperating in Burma, was to throw the line about the victim's neck andjerk him from the window. A man leaning from an open window is verynicely poised: it requires only a slight jerk to pitch him forward. Noloop was used, but a running line, which, as the victim fell, remainedin the hand of the murderer. No clew! Therefore we see at once whatcommended the system to Fu-Manchu."
Graham Guthrie, very pale, stood looking down at the dead strangler.
"I owe you my life, Mr. Smith," he said. "If you had come five minuteslater--"
He grasped Smith's hand.
"You see," Guthrie continued, "no one thought of looking for a Thug inBurma! And no one thought of the ROOF! These fellows are as active asmonkeys, and where an ordinary man would infallibly break his neck,they are entirely at home. I might have chosen my room especially forthe business!"
"He slipped in late this evening," said Smith. "The hotel detectivesaw him, but these stranglers are as elusive as shadows, otherwise,despite their having changed the scene of their operations, not onecould have survived."
"Didn't you mention a case of this kind on the Irrawaddy?" I asked.
"Yes," was the reply; "and I know of what you are thinking. Thesteamers of the Irrawaddy flotilla have a corrugated-iron roof over thetop deck. The Thug must have been lying up there as the Colassiepassed on the deck below."
"But, Smith, what is the motive of the Call?" I continued.
"Partly religious," he explained, "and partly to wake the victims! Youare perhaps going to ask me how Dr. Fu-Manchu has obtained power oversuch people as phansigars? I can only reply that Dr. Fu-Manchu hassecret knowledge of which, so far, we know absolutely nothing; but,despite all, at last I begin to score."
"You do," I agreed; "but your victory took you near to death."
"I owe my life to you, Petrie," he said. "Once to your strength ofarm, and once to--"
"Don't speak of her, Smith," I interrupted. "Dr. Fu-Manchu may havediscovered the part she played! In which event--"
"God help her!"