by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XVI
UPON the following day we were afoot again, and shortly at handgripswith the enemy. In retrospect, that restless time offers a chaoticprospect, with no peaceful spot amid its turmoils.
All that was reposeful in nature seemed to have become an irony and amockery to us--who knew how an evil demigod had his sacrificial altarsamid our sweetest groves. This idea ruled strongly in my mind uponthat soft autumnal day.
"The net is closing in," said Nayland Smith.
"Let us hope upon a big catch," I replied, with a laugh.
Beyond where the Thames tided slumberously seaward showed the roofs ofRoyal Windsor, the castle towers showing through the autumn haze. Thepeace of beautiful Thames-side was about us.
This was one of the few tangible clews upon which thus far we hadchanced; but at last it seemed indeed that we were narrowing theresources of that enemy of the white race who was writing his name overEngland in characters of blood. To capture Dr. Fu-Manchu we did nothope; but at least there was every promise of destroying one of theenemy's strongholds.
We had circled upon the map a tract of country cut by the Thames, withWindsor for its center. Within that circle was the house from whichmiraculously we had escaped--a house used by the most highly organizedgroup in the history of criminology. So much we knew. Even if wefound the house, and this was likely enough, to find it vacated byFu-Manchu and his mysterious servants we were prepared. But it wouldbe a base destroyed.
We were working upon a methodical plan, and although our cooperatorswere invisible, these numbered no fewer than twelve--all of themexperienced men. Thus far we had drawn blank, but the place for whichSmith and I were making now came clearly into view: an old mansionsituated in extensive walled grounds. Leaving the river behind us, weturned sharply to the right along a lane flanked by a high wall. On anopen patch of ground, as we passed, I noted a gypsy caravan. An oldwoman was seated on the steps, her wrinkled face bent, her chin restingin the palm of her hand.
I scarcely glanced at her, but pressed on, nor did I notice that myfriend no longer was beside me. I was all anxiety to come to somepoint from whence I might obtain a view of the house; all anxiety toknow if this was the abode of our mysterious enemy--the place where heworked amid his weird company, where he bred his deadly scorpions andhis bacilli, reared his poisonous fungi, from whence he dispatched hismurder ministers. Above all, perhaps, I wondered if this would proveto be the hiding-place of the beautiful slave girl who was such apotent factor in the Doctor's plans, but a two-edged sword which yet wehoped to turn upon Fu-Manchu. Even in the hands of a master, a woman'sbeauty is a dangerous weapon.
A cry rang out behind me. I turned quickly. And a singular sight metmy gaze.
Nayland Smith was engaged in a furious struggle with the old gypsywoman! His long arms clasped about her, he was roughly dragging herout into the roadway, she fighting like a wild thing--silently,fiercely.
Smith often surprised me, but at that sight, frankly, I thought that hewas become bereft of reason. I ran back; and I had almost reached thescene of this incredible contest, and Smith now was evidently hard putto it to hold his own when a man, swarthy, with big rings in his ears,leaped from the caravan.
One quick glance he threw in our direction, and made off towards theriver.
Smith twisted round upon me, never releasing his hold of the woman.
"After him, Petrie!" he cried. "After him. Don't let him escape.It's a dacoit!"
My brain in a confused whirl; my mind yet disposed to a belief that myfriend had lost his senses, the word "dacoit" was sufficient.
I started down the road after the fleetly running man. Never once didhe glance behind him, so that he evidently had occasion to fearpursuit. The dusty road rang beneath my flying footsteps. That senseof fantasy, which claimed me often enough in those days of our strugglewith the titanic genius whose victory meant the victory of the yellowraces over the white, now had me fast in its grip again. I was anactor in one of those dream-scenes of the grim Fu-Manchu drama.
Out over the grass and down to the river's brink ran the gypsy who wasno gypsy, but one of that far more sinister brotherhood, the dacoits.I was close upon his heels. But I was not prepared for him to leap inamong the rushes at the margin of the stream; and seeing him do this Ipulled up quickly. Straight into the water he plunged; and I saw thathe held some object in his hand. He waded out; he dived; and as Igained the bank and looked to right and left he had vanishedcompletely. Only ever-widening rings showed where he had been. I hadhim.
For directly he rose to the surface he would be visible from eitherbank, and with the police whistle which I carried I could, ifnecessary, summon one of the men in hiding across the stream. Iwaited. A wild-fowl floated serenely past, untroubled by this strangeinvasion of his precincts. A full minute I waited. From the lanebehind me came Smith's voice:
"Don't let him escape, Petrie!"
Never lifting my eyes from the water, I waved my hand reassuringly.But still the dacoit did not rise. I searched the surface in alldirections as far as my eyes could reach; but no swimmer showed aboveit. Then it was that I concluded he had dived too deeply, becomeentangled in the weeds and was drowned. With a final glance to rightand left and some feeling of awe at this sudden tragedy--this grimgoing out of a life at glorious noonday--I turned away. Smith had thewoman securely; but I had not taken five steps towards him when a faintsplash behind warned me. Instinctively I ducked. From whence thatsaving instinct arose I cannot surmise, but to it I owed my life. Foras I rapidly lowered my head, something hummed past me, something thatflew out over the grass bank, and fell with a jangle upon the dustyroadside. A knife!
I turned and bounded back to the river's brink. I heard a faint crybehind me, which could only have come from the gypsy woman. Nothingdisturbed the calm surface of the water. The reach was lonely ofrowers. Out by the farther bank a girl was poling a punt along, andher white-clad figure was the only living thing that moved upon theriver within the range of the most expert knife-thrower.
To say that I was nonplused is to say less than the truth; I wasamazed. That it was the dacoit who had shown me this murderousattention I could not doubt. But where in Heaven's name WAS he? Hecould not humanly have remained below water for so long; yet hecertainly was not above, was not upon the surface, concealed amongstthe reeds, nor hidden upon the bank.
There, in the bright sunshine, a consciousness of the eerie possessedme. It was with an uncomfortable feeling that my phantom foe might beaiming a second knife at my back that I turned away and hastenedtowards Smith. My fearful expectations were not realized, and I pickedup the little weapon which had so narrowly missed me, and with it in myhand rejoined my friend.
He was standing with one arm closely clasped about the apparentlyexhausted woman, and her dark eyes were fixed upon him with anextraordinary expression.
"What does it mean, Smith?" I began.
But he interrupted me.
"Where is the dacoit?" he demanded rapidly.
"Since he seemingly possesses the attributes of a fish," I replied, "Icannot pretend to say."
The gypsy woman lifted her eyes to mine and laughed. Her laughter wasmusical, not that of such an old hag as Smith held captive; it wasfamiliar, too.
I started and looked closely into the wizened face.
"He's tricked you," said Smith, an angry note in his voice. "What isthat you have in your hand?"
I showed him the knife, and told him how it had come into my possession.
"I know," he rapped. "I saw it. He was in the water not three yardsfrom where you stood. You must have seen him. Was there nothingvisible?"
"Nothing."
The woman laughed again, and again I wondered.
"A wild-fowl," I added; "nothing else."
"A wild-fowl," snapped Smith. "If you will consult your recollectionsof the habits of wild-fowl you will see that this particular specimenwas a RARA AVIS. It's an old trick, Pet
rie, but a good one, for it isused in decoying. A dacoit's head was concealed in that wild-fowl!It's useless. He has certainly made good his escape by now."
"Smith," I said, somewhat crestfallen, "why are you detaining thisgypsy woman?"
"Gypsy woman!" he laughed, hugging her tightly as she made an impatientmovement. "Use your eyes, old man."
He jerked the frowsy wig from her head, and beneath was a cloud ofdisordered hair that shimmered in the sunlight.
"A wet sponge will do the rest," he said.
Into my eyes, widely opened in wonder, looked the dark eyes of thecaptive; and beneath the disguise I picked out the charming features ofthe slave girl. There were tears on the whitened lashes, and she wassubmissive now.
"This time," said my friend hardly, "we have fairly captured her--andwe will hold her."
From somewhere up-stream came a faint call.
"The dacoit!"
Nayland Smith's lean body straightened; he stood alert, strung up.
Another call answered, and a third responded. Then followed the flatlyshrill note of a police whistle, and I noted a column of black vaporrising beyond the wall, mounting straight to heaven as the smoke of awelcome offering.
The surrounded mansion was in flames!
"Curse it!" rapped Smith. "So this time we were right. But, ofcourse, he has had ample opportunity to remove his effects. I knewthat. The man's daring is incredible. He has given himself till thevery last moment--and we blundered upon two of the outposts."
"I lost one."
"No matter. We have the other. I expect no further arrests, and thehouse will have been so well fired by the Doctor's servants thatnothing can save it. I fear its ashes will afford us no clew, Petrie;but we have secured a lever which should serve to disturb Fu-Manchu'sworld."
He glanced at the queer figure which hung submissively in his arms.She looked up proudly.
"You need not hold me so tight," she said, in her soft voice. "I willcome with you."
That I moved amid singular happenings, you, who have borne with me thusfar, have learned, and that I witnessed many curious scenes; but of themany such scenes in that race-drama wherein Nayland Smith and Dr.Fu-Manchu played the leading parts, I remember none more bizarre thanthe one at my rooms that afternoon.
Without delay, and without taking the Scotland Yard men into ourconfidence, we had hurried our prisoner back to London, for my friend'sauthority was supreme. A strange trio we were, and one which excitedno little comment; but the journey came to an end at last. Now we werein my unpretentious sitting-room--the room wherein Smith first hadunfolded to me the story of Dr. Fu-Manchu and of the great secretsociety which sought to upset the balance of the world--to place Europeand America beneath the scepter of Cathay.
I sat with my elbows upon the writing-table, my chin in my hands; Smithrestlessly paced the floor, relighting his blackened briar a dozentimes in as many minutes. In the big arm-chair the pseudogypsy wascurled up. A brief toilet had converted the wizened old woman's faceinto that of a fascinatingly pretty girl. Wildly picturesque shelooked in her ragged Romany garb. She held a cigarette in her fingersand watched us through lowered lashes.
Seemingly, with true Oriental fatalism, she was quite reconciled to herfate, and ever and anon she would bestow upon me a glance from herbeautiful eyes which few men, I say with confidence, could havesustained unmoved. Though I could not be blind to the emotions of thatpassionate Eastern soul, yet I strove not to think of them. Accompliceof an arch-murderer she might be; but she was dangerously lovely.
"That man who was with you," said Smith, suddenly turning upon her,"was in Burma up till quite recently. He murdered a fisherman thirtymiles above Prome only a mouth before I left. The D.S.P. had placed athousand rupees on his head. Am I right?"
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
"Suppose--What then?" she asked.
"Suppose I handed you over to the police?" suggested Smith. But hespoke without conviction, for in the recent past we both had owed ourlives to this girl.
"As you please," she replied. "The police would learn nothing."
"You do not belong to the Far East," my friend said abruptly. "You mayhave Eastern blood in your veins, but you are no kin of Fu-Manchu."
"That is true," she admitted, and knocked the ash from her cigarette.
"Will you tell me where to find Fu-Manchu?"
She shrugged her shoulders again, glancing eloquently in my direction.
Smith walked to the door.
"I must make out my report, Petrie," he said. "Look after theprisoner."
And as the door closed softly behind him I knew what was expected ofme; but, honestly, I shirked my responsibility. What attitude should Iadopt? How should I go about my delicate task? In a quandary, I stoodwatching the girl whom singular circumstances saw captive in my rooms.
"You do not think we would harm you?" I began awkwardly. "No harmshall come to you. Why will you not trust us?"
She raised her brilliant eyes.
"Of what avail has your protection been to some of those others," shesaid; "those others whom HE has sought for?"
Alas! it had been of none, and I knew it well. I thought I graspedthe drift of her words.
"You mean that if you speak, Fu-Manchu will find a way of killing you?"
"Of killing ME!" she flashed scornfully. "Do I seem one to fear formyself?"
"Then what do you fear?" I asked, in surprise.
She looked at me oddly.
"When I was seized and sold for a slave," she answered slowly, "mysister was taken, too, and my brother--a child." She spoke the wordwith a tender intonation, and her slight accent rendered it the moresoft. "My sister died in the desert. My brother lived. Better, farbetter, that he had died, too."
Her words impressed me intensely.
"Of what are you speaking?" I questioned. "You speak of slave-raids,of the desert. Where did these things take place? Of what country areyou?"
"Does it matter?" she questioned in turn. "Of what country am I? Aslave has no country, no name."
"No name!" I cried.
"You may call me Karamaneh," she said. "As Karamaneh I was sold to Dr.Fu-Manchu, and my brother also he purchased. We were cheap at theprice he paid." She laughed shortly, wildly.
"But he has spent a lot of money to educate me. My brother is all thatis left to me in the world to love, and he is in the power of Dr.Fu-Manchu. You understand? It is upon him the blow will fall. You askme to fight against Fu-Manchu. You talk of protection. Did yourprotection save Sir Crichton Davey?"
I shook my head sadly.
"You understand now why I cannot disobey my master's orders--why, if Iwould, I dare not betray him."
I walked to the window and looked out. How could I answer herarguments? What could I say? I heard the rustle of her ragged skirts,and she who called herself Karamaneh stood beside me. She laid herhand upon my arm.
"Let me go," she pleaded. "He will kill him! He will kill him!"
Her voice shook with emotion.
"He cannot revenge himself upon your brother when you are in no way toblame," I said angrily. "We arrested you; you are not here of your ownfree will."
She drew her breath sharply, clutching at my arm, and in her eyes Icould read that she was forcing her mind to some arduous decision.
"Listen." She was speaking rapidly, nervously. "If I help you to takeDr. Fu-Manchu--tell you where he is to be found ALONE--will you promiseme, solemnly promise me, that you will immediately go to the placewhere I shall guide you and release my brother; that you will let usboth go free?"
"I will," I said, without hesitation. "You may rest assured of it."
"But there is a condition," she added.
"What is it?"
"When I have told you where to capture him you must release me."
I hesitated. Smith often had accused me of weakness where this girlwas concerned. What now was my plain duty? That she would utte
rlydecline to speak under any circumstances unless it suited her to do soI felt assured. If she spoke the truth, in her proposed bargain therewas no personal element; her conduct I now viewed in a new light.Humanity, I thought, dictated that I accept her proposal; policy also.
"I agree," I said, and looked into her eyes, which were aflame now withemotion, an excitement perhaps of anticipation, perhaps of fear.
She laid her hands upon my shoulders.
"You will be careful?" she said pleadingly.
"For your sake," I replied, "I shall."
"Not for my sake."
"Then for your brother's."
"No." Her voice had sunk to a whisper. "For your own."