 26. The return of Dr. Fu Manchu by Saxe Romer, chapter 26, The Fiery Hand. Smith walked ahead of me upstairs. He had snapped up the light in the hallway, and now he turned and cried back loudly, I fear we shall never get servants to stay here. 27. Again I detected the appeal to a hidden audience, and there was something very uncanny in the idea. The house was now deathly still, the ringing had entirely subsided. In the upper corridor my companion, who seemed to be well acquainted with the position of the switches, again turned up all the lights, and in pursuit of the strange comedy which he saw fit to enact, addressed me continuously in the loud and unnatural voice which he had adopted as part of his disguise. We looked into a number of rooms all well and comfortably furnished, but although my imagination may have been responsible for the idea, they all seemed to possess a chilly and repellent atmosphere. I felt that to essay sleep in any one of them would be the nearest farce, that the place to all intents and purposes was uninhabitable, that something incalculably evil presided over the house. And through it all, so obtuse was I, that no glimmer of the truth entered my mind. Outside again in the long brightly lighted corridor we stood for a moment as if a mutual anticipation of some new event pending had come to us. It was curious that sudden pulling up and silent questioning of one another, because, although we acted thus, no sound had reached us. A few seconds later our anticipation was realized, from the direction of the stairs it came, a low wailing in a woman's voice, and the sweetness of the tones added to the terror of the sound. I clutched at Smith's arm convulsively whilst that uncanny cry rose and fell, rose and fell, and died away. Neither of us moved immediately. My mind was working with feverish rapidity, and seeking to run down a memory which the sound had stirred into faint quickness. My heart was still leaping wildly when the wailing began again, rising and falling in regular cadence. At that instant I identified it. During the time Smith and I had spent together in Egypt two years before searching for Karamina, I had found myself on one occasion in the neighborhood of a native cemetery near to Bedra Shaheen, and now the scene which I had witnessed there rose up again vividly before me, and I seemed to see a little group of black-robed women clustered together about a native grave, for the wailing which was now dying away again in the Gables was the same, or almost the same, as the wailing of those Egyptian mourners. The house was very silent again, now. My forehead was damp with perspiration, and I became more and more convinced that the uncanny ordeal must prove too much for my nerves. Here though too I had accorded little credence to tales of the supernatural, but face to face with such manifestations as these, I realized that I would have faced rather a group of armed daiquets, nay Dr. Fu Manchu himself, than have remained another hour in that ill-omend house. My companion must have read as much in my face, but he kept up the strange and to me purposeless comedy when he presently spoke. I feel it to be incumbent upon me to suggest, he said, that we spend the night in a hotel after all. He walked rapidly downstairs and into the library and began to strap up the grip. After all, he said, there may be a natural explanation of what we've heard, for it is noteworthy that we have seen actually nothing. It might even be possible to get used to the wailing and the wailing after a time. Frankly, I am loath to go back on my bargain. Whilst I stared at him in amazement he stood there indeterminate as it seemed then. Come, pierce! he cried loudly. I can see that you do not share my views, but for my part I shall return to morrow and devote further attention to the phenomena. Extinguishing the light he walked out into the hallway carrying the grip in his hand. I was not far behind him. We walked toward the door together and, turn the light out, pierce! directed Smith. The switch is at your elbow. We can see our way to the door well enough now. In order to carry out these instructions it became necessary for me to remain a few paces in the rear of my companion, and I think I have never experienced such a pang of nameless terror as pierced me at the moment of extinguishing the light. For Smith had not yet opened the door and the utter darkness of the gables was horrible beyond expression. Surely darkness is the most potent weapon of the unknown. I know that at the moment my hand left the switch I made for the door as though the hosts of hell pursued me. I collided violently with Smith. He was evidently facing toward me in the darkness, for at the moment of our collision he grasped my shoulder as in a vice. I got, Petrie, look behind you, he whispered. I was unable to judge to the extent and reality of his fear by the fact that the strange subterfuge of addressing me o'er his pierce was forgotten. I turned in a flash. Never can I forget what I saw. Many strange and terrible memories are mine, memories stranger and more terrible than those of the average man, but this thing which now moves slowly down upon us through the impenetrable gloom of that haunted place was, if the term be understood, almost absurdly horrible. It was a medieval legend come to life in modern London. It was as though some horrible chimera of the black and ignorant past was become create and potent in the present. A luminous hand, a hand in the veins of which fire seemed to run so that the texture of the skin and the shape of the bones within were perceptible. In short, a hand of glowing fiery flesh clutching a short knife or dagger which also glowed with the same hellish internal luminance was advancing upon us where we stood, not three paces removed. What I did or how I came to do it I can never recall. In all my years I have experienced nothing to equal the stark panic which seized upon me then. I know that I uttered a loud and frenzied cry. I know that I tore myself like a madman from Smith's restraining grip. Don't touch it, keep away for your life! I heard. But dimly I recollect that, finding the thing approaching yet nearer, I lashed out with my fists madly, blindly, and struck something palpable. What was the result I cannot say? At that moment my recollections merged into confusion. Something or someone, Smith, as I afterward discovered, was hauling me by main force through the darkness. I fell a considerable distance on to gravel which lacerated my hands and gashed my knees. Then, with the cool night air fanning my brow, I was running, running, my breath coming in hysterical sobs. Beside me fled another figure, and my definite recollections commenced again at that point. For this companion of my flight from the Gables threw himself roughly against me to alter my course. Not that way, not that way! came pantingly. Not on to the heath we must keep to the road. It was Nail and Smith. That healing realisation came to me, bringing such a gladness as no words of mine can express nor convey. Still we ran on. There's a policeman's lantern! panted my companion. They'll attempt nothing now. I gulped down a stiff brandy and soda, then glanced across to where Nail and Smith lay extended on the long cane chair. Perhaps you will explain, I said, for what purpose you submitted me to that ordeal. If you propose to correct my scepticism concerning supernatural manifestations you have succeeded. Yes, said my companion musingly. They are devilishly clever, but we knew that already. I stared at him fatuously. Have you ever known me to waste my time when there was important work to do, he continued? Do you seriously believe that my ghost hunting was undertaken for amusement? Really, Petrie, although you are very fond of assuring me that I need a holiday, I think the shoe is on the other foot. From the pocket of his dressing-gown he took out a piece of silk fringe which had apparently been torn from a scarf and rolling it into a ball tossed it across to me. Smell, he snapped. I did as he directed and gave a great start. The silk exhaled a faint perfume, but its effect upon me was as though someone had cried aloud. Caramena! Beyond doubt the silk and fragment had belonged to the beautiful servant of Dr. Fu Manchu to the dark-eyed seductive Caramena. Nail and Smith was watching me keenly. You recognise it, yes? I placed the piece of silk upon the table, slightly shrugging my shoulders. It was sufficient evidence in itself, continued my friend, but I thought it better to seek confirmation and the obvious way was to pose as the newly sea of the gables. But Smith, I began. Let me explain, Petrie. The history of the gables seemed to be susceptible of only one explanation. In short it was fairly evident to me that the object of the manifestations was to ensure the place being kept empty. This idea suggested another, and with them both in mind I set out to make my inquiries, first taking the precaution to disguise my identity to which Weymouth gave me the freedom of Scotland Yard's fancy wardrobe. I did not take the agent into my confidence, but posed as a stranger who had heard the house was to be let furnished and thought it might suit his purpose. My inquiries were directed to a particular end, but I failed to achieve it at the time. I had theories, as I have said, and when, having paid the deposit and secured possession of the keys, I was unable to visit the place alone. I was fortunate enough to obtain evidence to show that my imagination had not misled me. You were very curious the other morning, I recall, respecting my object in borrowing a large brace and bit. My object, Petrie, was to bore a series of holes in the wanescoting of various rooms at the Gables, in inconspicuous positions, of course. But my dear Smith, I cried, you are merely adding to my mystification. He stood up and began to pace the room in his restless fashion. I had cross-examined Weymouth closely regarding the phenomenon of the bell-ringing, and an exhaustive search of the premises led to the discovery that the house was in such excellent condition that, from ground floor to attic, there was not a solitary crevice large enough to admit the passage of a mouse. I suppose I must have been staring very foolishly indeed, for Nail and Smith burst into one of his sudden laughs. A mouse, I said, butchery, he cried. With a brace and bit I rectified that matter. I made the holes I have mentioned, and before each set a trap baited with a piece of succulent toasted cheese. Just open that grip. The light at last was dawning upon my mental darkness, and I pounced upon the grip which stood upon a chair near the window and opened it. A sickly smell of cooked cheese assailed my nostrils. Mind your fingers, cried Smith, some of them are still set possibly. Out of the grip I began to take mouse traps. Two or three of them were still set, but in the case of the greater number the catches had slipped. Nine I took out and placed upon the table, and all were empty. In the tenth there crouched, panting, its soft furry body dank with perspiration. A little white mouse. Only one capture, cried my companion, showing how well fed the creatures were. Examine his tail. But already I had perceived that to which Smith would draw my attention, and the mystery of the astral bells was a mystery no longer. Bound to the little creature's tail, close to the root, with fine soft wire, such as is used for making up bouquets, were three tiny silver bells. I looked across at my companion in speechless surprise. Almost childish, is it not, he said, yet by means of this simple device the gables had been an empty of occupant after occupant. There was small chance of the trick being detected, for as I have said there was absolutely no aperture from roof to basement, by means of which one of them could have escaped into the building. Then they were admitted into the wall cavities and the rafter from some cellar underneath Petrie to which, after a brief scamper under the floors and over the ceilings, they instinctively returned for the food they were accustomed to receive, and for which even had it been possible which it was not, they had no occasion to forage. I too stood up, for excitement was growing within me. I took up the piece of silk from the table. Where did you find this? I asked, my eyes upon Smith's keen face. In a sort of wine cellar, Petrie, he replied, under the stair, there is no cellar proper to the gables, at least no such cellar appears in the plans. But there is one beyond doubt, yes. It must be part of some older building which occupied the site before the gables was built. One can only surmise that it exists, although such a surmise is a fairly safe one, and the entrance to the subterranean portion of the building is situated beyond doubt in the wine cellar. Of this we have at least two evidences. The finding of the fragment of silk there, and the fact that in one case at least, as I learned, the light was extinguished in the library unaccountably. This could only have been done in one way, by manipulating the main switch, which is also in the wine cellar. But Smith, I cried, do you mean that Fu Manchu? Nailen Smith turned in his promenade of the floor and stared into my eyes. I mean that Dr. Fu Manchu has had a hiding place under the gables for an indefinite period. He replied, I always suspected that a man of his genius would have a second retreat prepared for him anticipating the event of the first being discovered. Oh, I don't doubt it. The place is probably extensive, and I am almost certain, though the point has to be confirmed, that there is another entrance from the studio further along the road. We know now why our recent searchings in the east end have proved futile, while the house and museum street was deserted. He has been lying low in this burrow at Hampstead. But the hand-Smith, the luminous hand, Nailen Smith laughed shortly. Your superstitious fears overcame you to such an extent, Petrie, and I don't wonder at it. The sight was a ghastly one, that probably you don't remember what occurred when you struck out at that same ghostly hand. I seem to hit something. That was why we ran. Then I think our retreat had all the appearance of a rout as I intended that it should. Pardon my playing upon your very natural fears, old man, but you could not have simulated panic half so naturally. And if they had suspected that the device was discovered, we might never have quitted the gables alive. It was touch and go for a moment. But turn out the light, snapped my companion. Wondering greatly I did as he desired, I turned out the light, and in the darkness of my own study I saw a fiery fist being shaken at me threateningly. The bones were distinctly visible, and the luminosity of the flesh was truly ghastly. Turn on the light again, cried Smith. Deeply mystified I did so, and my friend tossed a little electric pocket-lamp onto the writing-table. They used merely a small electric lamp fitted into the handle of a glass dagger, he said, with a sort of contempt. It was a very effective, but the luminous hand is a phenomenon producible by any one who possesses an electric torch. The gables will be watched. At last, Petrie, I think we have Fu Manchu in his own trap. CHAPTER 27 THE NIGHT OF THE RAID Dash it all, Petrie! cried Smith. This is most annoying! The bell was ringing furiously, although midnight was long passed. Whom could my late visitor be? Almost certainly this ringing portended an urgent case. In other words, I was not fated to take part in what I anticipated would prove to be the closing scene of the Fu Manchu drama. Everyone is in bed, I said roofily, and how could I possibly see a patient in this costume? Smith and I were both arrayed in rough tweeds, and anticipating the labours before us, had dispensed with collars and wore soft mufflers. It was hard to be called upon to face a professional interview dressed thus, and having a big tweed cap pulled down over my eyes. Across the writing-table we confronted one another in dismayed silence whilst below the bell sent up its ceaseless clanger. It has to be done, Smith, I said regretfully. Almost certainly it means a journey and probably an absence of some hours. I threw my cap upon the table and turned up my coat to hide the absence of collar and started for the door. My last sight of Smith showed him standing looking after me, tugging at the lobe of his ear and clicking his teeth together in suppressed irritability. I stumbled down the dark stairs along the hall and opened the front door. Vaguely visible in the light of a street lamp which stood at no great distance away, I saw a slender man of medium height confronting me. From the shadowed face, too large and luminous eyes looked out into mine. My visitor, who despite the warmth of the evening wore a heavy great coat, was an oriental. I drew back apprehensively, then, Ah, Dr. Beatry, he said, in a softly musical voice which made me start again. Do God be all praise that I have found you? Some emotion which at present I could not define was stirring within me. Where had I seen this graceful eastern youth before? Where had I heard that soft voice? Do you wish to see me professionally? I asked, yet even as I put the question I seemed to know it unnecessary. Still you know me no more, said the stranger, and his teeth gleamed in a slight smile. Heavens! I knew now what had struck that vibrant cord within me. The voice, though infinitely deeper, yet had an unmistakable resemblance to the dulcet tones of Karamina. And of Karamina whose eyes haunted my dreams, whose beauty had done much to embitter my years. The oriental youth stepped forward with an outstretched hand. So you know me no more, he repeated, but I know you, and give praise to Allah that I have found you. I stepped back, pressed the electric switch, and turned with leaping heart to look into the face of my visitor. It was a face of the purest Greek beauty, a face that might have served as a model for praxiteles. The skin had a golden pallor which, with a crisp black hair and magnetic yet velvety eyes, suggested to my fancy that this was the young Antoninus risen from the Nile, whose wraith now appeared to me out of the night. I stifled a cry of surprise, not unmingled with gladness. It was Aziz, the brother of Karamina. Never could the entrance of a figure upon the stage of a drama have been more dramatic than the coming of Aziz upon this night of all nights. I seized the outstretched hand and drew him forward, then reclosed the door and stood before him a moment in doubt. A vaguely troubled look momentarily crossed the handsome face. With the oriental's unearing instinct he had detected the reserve of my greeting. Yet when I thought of the treachery of Karamina, when I remember how she whom we had befriended, whom we had rescued from the house of Fu Manchu, now had turned like the beautiful viper that she was to strike at the hand that caressed her. And I thought how to night we were set upon raiding the place where the evil Chinese doctor looked in hiding, were set upon the arrest of that malignant genius and all his creatures, Karamina amongst them. Is it strange that I hesitated? Yet again when I thought of my last meeting with her, and of how twice she had risked her life to save me. So avoiding the gaze of the lad I took his arm, and in silence we two ascended the stairs and entered my study. When Nalen Smith stood bolt upright beside the table, his steely eyes fixed upon the face of the new arrival. No look of recognition crossed the bronze features, and as these, who had started forward with outstretched hands, fell back a step and looked pathetically from me to Nalen Smith, and from the grimmer commissioner back again to me, the appeal in the velvet eyes was more than I could tolerate unmoved. Smith, I said shortly, you remember Aziz? Not a muscle visibly moved in Smith's face as he snapped back. I remember him perfectly. He has come, I think, to seek our assistance. Yes, yes! cried Aziz, laying his hand upon my arm with a gesture painfully reminiscent of Karamina. I came only to night to London. O my gentlemen, I have searched and searched and searched until I am weary. Often I have wished to die, and then at last I come to Rangoon. To Rangoon! snapped Smith, still with the grey eyes fixed almost fiercely upon the lad's face. To Rangoon, yes, and there I heard news at last. I hear that you have seen her, have seen Karamina, that you are back in London. He was not entirely at home with his English. Now I know then that she must be here too. I ask them everywhere, and they answer yes. Oh, Smith Basha! He stepped forward and impulsively seized both Smith's hands. You know where she is. Take me to her. Smith's face was a study in perplexity now. In the past we had befriended the young Aziz, and it was hard to look upon him in the light of an enemy. Yet had we not equally befriended his sister and she? At last Smith glanced across at me, where I stood just within the doorway. What do you make of it, Petrie? he said harshly. Personally I take it to mean that our plans have leaked out. He sprang suddenly back from Aziz, and I saw his glance travelling rapidly over the slight figure as if in quest of concealed arms. I take it to be a trap. A moment he stood so regarding him, and despite my well-grounded distrust of the Oriental character, I could have sworn that the expression of pain-surprise upon the youth's face was not simulated, but real. Even Smith, I think, began to share my view, for suddenly he threw himself onto the white cane rest-chair, and still fixedly regarding Aziz. Perhaps I have wronged you, he said. If I have, you shall know the reason presently. Tell your own story. There was a pathetic humidity in the velvet eyes of Aziz, eyes so like those others that were ever looking into mine in dreams. As glancing from Smith to me, he began, hands outstretched characteristically, palms upward and fingers curling, to tell in broken English the story of his search for Karamina. It was Fumanchu, my kind gentleman. It was the Hakim who is really not a man at all, but an Ifrit. He found us again less than four days after you had left us, Smith Basha. He found us in Cairo, and to Karamina he made the forgetting of all things, even of me, even of me. Naelyn Smith snapped his teeth together sharply, then. What do you mean by that, he demanded? For my own part I understood well enough, remembering how the brilliant Chinese doctor once had performed such an operation as this upon poor Inspector Weymouth, how, by means of an injection of some serum prepared, as Karamina afterward told us, from the venom of a swamp adder or similar reptile, he had induced amnesia or complete loss of memory. I felt every drop of blood recede from my cheeks. Smith, I began, let him speak for himself, interrupted my friend sharply. They tried to take us both, continued Aziz, still speaking in that soft, melodious manner, but with deep seriousness I escaped, I, who am swift afoot, hoping to bring help. He shook his head sadly, but except the all-powerful, who is so powerful as the Hakim Fu Manchu, I hid, my gentleman, and watched and waited one, two, three weeks. At last I saw her again, my sister Karamina, but ah, she did not know me. Did not know me Aziz, her brother. She was in an Arabia, and passed me quickly along the Sharina and Nazin. I ran, and ran, and ran, crying her name, but although she looked back, she did not know me. And she did not know me. I felt that I was dying, and presently I fell upon the steps of the Mosque of Abu. He dropped the expressive hands wearily to his sides, and sank his chin upon his breast. And then, I said huskily, for my heart was fluttering like a captive bird. Alas, from that day to this I see her no more, my gentleman. I travel not only in Egypt, but near and far, I see her no more until in Rangoon. I hear that which brings me to England again. He extended his palms naively. And here I am, Smith Basha. Smith sprang upright again, and turned to me. Either I am growing over credulous, he said, or Aziz speaks the truth. But he held up his hand. You can tell me all that at some other time, Petrie. We must take no chances. Sergeant Carter is downstairs with the cab. You might ask him to step up. He and Aziz can remain here until our return. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE SAMMARISE SWORD. The muffled drumming of sleepless London seemed very remote from us, as side by side we crept up the narrow path to the studio. This was a starry but moonless night, and the little dingy white building with a solitary tree peeping in silhouette above the glazed roof bore an odd resemblance to one of those tombs, which form a city of the dead so near to the city of feverish life on the slopes of the Mochitam Hills. This line of reflection proved unpleasant, and I dismissed it sternly from my mind. A shriek of a train whistle reached me, a sound which breaks the stillness of the most silent London night, telling of the ceaseless, febriar life of the great world capital whose activity ceases not with the coming of darkness. Around and about us a very great stillness reigned, however, and the velvet dusk which, with the star-jeweled sky, was strongly suggestive of an eastern night, gave up no sign to show that it masked the presence of more than twenty men. Some distance away to our right was the Gables, that sinister and deserted mansion which we assumed, and with good reason, to be nothing less than the gateway to the subterranean abode of Dr. Fu Manchu. Before us was the studio, which, if Naelyn Smith's deductions were accurate, concealed a second entrance to the same mysterious dwelling. As my friend, glancing cautiously all about him, inserted the key in the lock, an owl hooted dismally almost immediately above our heads. I caught my breath sharply for it might be a signal, but looking upward I saw a great black shape float slantingly from the tree beyond the studio into the coppice on the right which hemmed in the Gables. Silently the owl winged its uncanny flight into the greater darkness of the trees, and was gone. Smith opened the door and we stepped into the studio. Our plans had been well considered, and in accordance with these I now moved up beside my friend, who was dimly perceptible to me in the starlight which found access through the glass roof, and pressed the catch of my electric pocket lamp. I suppose that by virtue of my self-imposed duty as chronicler of the deeds of Dr. Fu Manchu, the greatest and most evil genius whom the later centuries have produced, the man who dreamt of a universal yellow empire, I should have acquired a certain facility in describing bizarre happenings, but I confess that it fails me now as I attempt in cold English to portray my emotions when the white beam from the little lamp cut through the darkness of the studio, and shone fully on the beautiful face of Karamina. Less than six feet away from me she stood, arrayed in a gauzy dress of the harem, her fingers and slim white arms laden with barbaric jewellery, the light wavered in my suddenly nervous hand gleaming momentarily upon bare ankles and golden anklets upon little red leather shoes. I spoke no word and Smith was as silent as I, both of us I think was speechless rather from amazement than an obedience to the evident wishes of Fu Manchu's slave girl. Yet I have only to close my eyes at this moment to see her as she stood, one finger raised to her lips and joining us to silence. She looked ghastly pale in the light of the lamp, but so lovely that my rebellious heart threatened already to make a fool of me. So we stood in that untidy studio, with canvases and easels heaped against the wall and with all sorts of litter about us, a trio strangely met and one to have amused the high gods watching through the windows of the stars. Came in a whisper from Karamina. I saw the red lips moving and read a dreadful horror in the widely opened eyes, in those eyes like pools of mystery to taunt the thirsty soul. The world of realities was slipping past me. I seemed to be losing my hold on things actual. I had built up an eastern palace about myself and Karamina wherein the world shut out. I might pass the hours and reading the mystery of those dark eyes. Nail and Smith brought me sharply to my senses. Steady with the light, Petrie. He hissed in my ear. My skepticism has been shaken tonight, but I am taking no chances. He moved from my side and forward toward that lovely, unreal figure which stood immediately before the model's throne and its background of plush curtains. Karamina started forward to meet him suppressing a little cry whose real anguish could not have been simulated. Go back! Go back! She whispered urgently and thrust out her hands against Smith's breast. For God's sakes, go back! I have risked my life to come here tonight. He knows and is ready. The words were spoken with passionate intensity and Nail and Smith hesitated. To my nostrils was wafted that faint, delightful perfume which, since one night, two years ago it had come to disturb my senses. Had taunted me many times as the mirage taunts the parched Sahara traveller. I took a step forward. Don't move! snapped Smith. Karamina clutched friendsedly at the lapels of his coat. Listen to me! she said, beseechingly in stamped one little foot upon the floor. Listen to me! You are a clever man, but you know nothing of a woman's heart. Nothing, nothing is seeing me, hearing me, knowing as you do know I risk. You can doubt that I speak the truth, and I tell you that it is death to go behind those curtains that he—that's what I want to know! snapped Smith, his voice quivered with excitement. Suddenly grasping Karamina by the waist, he lifted her and set her aside. Then in three bounds he was onto the model's throne and had torn the plush curtains bodily from their fastenings. How it occurred I cannot hope to make clear, for hear my recollections merge into chaos. I know that Smith seemed to topple forward amid the purple billows of velvet, and his muffled cry came to me, Petrie, my God! Petrie! The pale face of Karamina looked up into mine and her hands were clutching me, but the glamour of her personality had lost its hold, for I knew, heavens, how poignantly it struck home to me that Nalen Smith was gone to his death. What I hope to achieve, I know not. But hurling the trembling girl aside, I snatched the browning pistol from my coat pocket, and with the ray of the lamp directed upon the purple mound of velvet, I leaped forward. I think I realized that the curtains had masked a collapsible trap, a sheer pit of blackness, an instant before I was precipitated into it, but certainly the knowledge came too late. With the sound of a soft, shuddering cry in my ears I fell, dropping lamp and pistol, and clutching at the fallen hangings, but they offered me no support. My head seemed to be bursting. I could utter only a hoarse groan as I fell, fell, fell. When my mind began to work again in returning consciousness, I found it to be laden with reproach. How often in the past had we blindly hurled ourselves into just such a trap as this, should we never learn that where Fu Manchu was, impetuosity must prove fatal? On two distinct occasions in the past we had been made the victims of this device, yet even although we had had practically conclusive evidence that this studio was used by Dr Fu Manchu, we had relied upon its floor being as secure as that of any other studio, we had failed to sound every foot of it, air-trusting our weight to its support. There is such a divine simplicity in the English mind that one may lay one's plans with mathematical precision and rely upon the Nailand Smiths and Dr Petrie's to play their awa-ted parts, accepting two faithful followers my friends are long since departed. But here in these vaults, which time has overworked and which are as secret and as serviceable today as they were two hundred years ago, I wait patiently with my trap set like the spider for the fly. To the sound of that taunting voice I opened my eyes, as I did so I strove to spring upright only to realise that I was tied fast to a heavy ebony chair inlaid with ivory and attached by means of two iron brackets to the floor. Even children learn from experience, continued the unforgettable voice, alternately guttural and sibilant, but always as deliberate as though the speaker were choosing with care words which should perfectly clothe his thoughts. For a blunt child fears the fire, says your English adage. But Mr Kamashna Nailand Smith, who enjoys the confidence of the India office, who is empowered to control the movements of the criminal investigation department, learns nothing from experience. He is less than a child, since he has twice or actually precipitated himself into a chamber charged with an anesthetic prepared by a process of my own from the lycoperdon or common puffball. I became fully master of my senses and I became fully alive to a stupendous fact. At last it was ended. We were utterly in the power of Dr Fu Man Chu. Our race was run. I sat in a low vaulted room. The roof was of ancient brickwork, but the walls were draped with exquisite Chinese fabric, having a green ground whereupon was a design representing a grotesque procession of white peacocks. A green carpet covered the floor and the whole of the furniture was of the same material as the chair to which I was strapped, vis ebony inlaid with ivory. This furniture was scanty. There was a heavy table in one corner of the Dungeon-esque place, on which were a number of books and papers. Before this table was a high-backed, heavily-carbon chair. A smaller table stood upon the right of the only visible opening. A low door partially draped with beadwork curtains, above which hung a silver lamp. On this smaller table a stick of incense in a silver holder sent up a pencil of vapor into the air, and the chamber was loaded with the sickly sweet fumes. A faint haze from the incense stick hovered up under the roof. In the high-backed chair sat Dr Fu Man Chu wearing a green robe upon which was embroidered a design, the subject of which, at first glance, was not perceptible, but which presently I made out to be a huge white peacock. He wore a little cap perched upon the dome of his amazing skull, and with one clawish hand resting upon the ebony of the table, he sat slightly turned toward me, his emotionless face, a mask of incredible evil. In spite of or because of the high intellect written upon it, the face of Dr Fu Man Chu was more utterly repellent than any I have ever known, and the green eyes, eyes green as those of a cat in the darkness, which sometimes burned like witch lamps, and sometimes were horribly filmed like nothing human or imaginable, might have mirrored not a soul, but an emanation of hell incarnate in this gaunt high-shouldered body. Stretched flat upon the floor lay Naelyn Smith partially stripped, his arms thrown back over his head, and his wrists chained to a stout iron staple attached to the wall. He was fully conscious and staring intently at the Chinese doctor. His bare ankles also were manacled and fixed to a second chain which quivered totally across the green carpet, and passed out through the doorway being attached to something beyond the curtain, and invisible to me from where I sat. Fu Man Chu was now silent. I could hear Smith's heavy breathing and hear my watch ticking in my pocket. I suddenly realized that although my body was lashed to the ebony chair, my hands and arms were free. Next, looking daisily about me, my attention was drawn to a heavy sword which stood hilt upward against the wall within reach of my hand. It was a magnificent piece of Japanese workmanship, a long curved damacined blade having a double-handed hilt of steel inlaid with gold and resembling fine cuffed work. A host of possibilities swept through my mind. Then I perceived that the sword was attached to the wall by a thin steel chain some five feet in length. If you had the dexterity of a Mexican knife-thrower, came the guttural voice of Fu Man Chu, you would be unable to witch me, dear Dr. Petrie. The Chinaman had read my thoughts. Smith turned his eyes upon me momentarily, only to look away again in the same direction of Fu Man Chu. My friend's face was slightly pale beneath the tan, and his jaw muscle stood out with unusual prominence. By this fact alone did he reveal his knowledge that he lay at the mercy of this enemy of the white race, of this inhuman being who himself knew no mercy, of this man whose very genius was inspired by the cool, calculated cruelty of his race, of that race which to this day disposes of hundreds, nay, thousands of its unwanted girl-children by the simple measure of throwing them down a well specially dedicated to the purpose. The weapon near your hand, continued the Chinaman imperturbably, is a product of the civilisation of our near neighbours, the Japanese, a race to whose courage I prostrate myself in meekness. It is the sword of a samurai, Dr. Petrie. It is of very great age and was until an unfortunate misunderstanding with myself led to the extinction of the family, a treasured possession of a noble Japanese house. The soft voice into which an occasional sibilance crept, that which never rose above a cool monotone, gradually was lashing me into fury, and I could see the muscles moving in Smith's jaws as he convulsively clenched his teeth. Whereby I knew that, impotent, he burned with a rage at least as great as mine, but I did not speak, and did not move. The ancient tradition of seppuku, continued the Chinaman, or harikari, still rules, you know, in the great families of Japan. There is a sacred ritual that the samurai who dedicates himself to this honourable end must follow strictly the ritual. As I position the exact nature of the ceremony, might possibly interest you, Dr. Petrie, but a technical account of the two incisions which the sacrifant employs in his self-dismissal might, on the other hand, bore Mr. Neywan Smith. Therefore I will merely enlighten you upon one little point, a minor one, but interesting to the student of human nature. In short, even a samurai, and no braver race, has ever honoured the world, sometimes hesitates to complete the operation. The weapon near to your hand, my dear Dr. Petrie, is known as the friend's sword. On such occasions, as we are discussing, a trusty friend is given the post, an honoured one of standing behind the brave man who offers himself to his gods. And should the ratters' courage momentarily fail him, the friend with the torusty blade, to which I now especially direct your attention, diverts the heroine's mind from his digression, and rectifies his temporary breach of etiquette by severing the cervical vertebra of the spinal column with the friendly blade, which you can reach quite easily, Dr. Petrie, if you care to extend your hand. Some dim perceptions of the truth was beginning to creep into my mind. When I say a perception of the truth, I mean rather of some part of the purpose of Dr. Fu Manchu, of the whole horrible truth of the scheme which had been conceived by that mighty evil man I had no glimmering, but I foresaw that a frightful ordeal was before us both. That I hold you on a high esteem, continued Fu Manchu, is a fact which must be apparent to you by this time, but in regard to your companion, I entertain very different sentiments. Always underlying the deliberate calm of the speaker, sometimes showing itself in an unusually deep guttural, and sometimes in an unusually serpentine sibilance, lurked the frenzy of hatred which in the past had revealed itself occasionally in wild outbursts. Momentarily I expected such an outburst now, but it did not come. One quality possessed by Mr. Nelon Smith, continued the chime, and I admire, I refer to his courage. I would wish that all courageous a man should seek his own end, should voluntarily face himself from the path of that world movement which he is powerless to check. In short, I would have him show himself a samurai. Or was his friend, you shall remain so to the end, Dr. Petrie. I have arranged for this. He struck lightly a little silver gong, dependent from the corner of the table, whereupon, from the curtain doorway, there entered a short, thickly built burman whom I recognized for a dakut. He wore a shoddy blue suit which had been made for a much larger man, but these things claimed little of my attention, which automatically was directed to the load beneath which the burman labored. And upon his back he carried a sort of wire box, rather less than six feet long, some two feet high and about two feet wide. In short, it was a stout framework, covered with fine wire netting on the top, sides, and ends, but being open at the bottom. It seemed to be made in five sections, or to contain four sliding partitions which could be raised or lowered at will. These were of wood, and in the bottom of each was cut a little arch. The arches of the four partitions varied in size so that whereas the first was not more than five inches high, the fourth opened almost to the wire roof of the box or cage, and a fifth, which was but little higher than the first, was cut in the actual end of the contrivance. So intent was I upon this device, the purpose of which I was wholly unable to divine, that I directed the whole of my attention upon it. Then, as the burman paused in the doorway, resting a corner of the cage upon the brilliant carpet, I glanced towards Fu Manchu. He was watching Nailan Smith and revealing his irregular yellow teeth, the teeth of an opium smoker, in the awful, mirthless smile which I knew. God! whispered Smith, the six gates! The knowledge of my beautiful country serves you well, replied Fu Manchu gently. Instantly I looked to my friend, and every drop of blood seemed to recede from my heart, leaving it cold in my breast. If I did not know the purpose of the cage, obviously Smith knew it all too well. His pallor had grown more marked, and although his gray eyes stared defiantly at the Chinaman, I, who knew him, could read a deathly horror in their depths. The Dakot, in obedience to a guttural order from Dr. Fu Manchu, placed the cage upon the carpet, completely covering Smith's body, but leaving his neck and head exposed. The seared and pockmarked face set in a sort of placid lear, the Dakot adjusted the sliding partitions to Smith's recumbent form, and I saw the purpose of the graduated arches. They were intended to divide a human body in just such a fashion, and, as I realized, were most cunningly shaped to that end. The whole of Smith's body lay now in the wire cage, each of the five compartments whereof was shut off from its neighbor. The Berman stepped back and stood waiting in the doorway. Dr. Fu Manchu, removing his gaze from the face of my friend, directed it now upon me. Mr. Commissioner Ney-Wan Smith shall have the honour of acting as a heroine, admitting himself to the mysteries, said Fu Manchu softly, and you, Dr. Petrie, shall be the friend. Chapter 29 of the Return of Dr. Fu Manchu This slipper-vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elaine Tweddle. The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu by Sacks-Romer. Chapter 29 The Six Gates He glanced toward the Berman, who retired immediately, to re-enter a moment later carrying a curious leather sack in shape not unlike that of a sacca or Arab water carrier. Opening a little trap in the top of the first compartment of the cage, that is the compartment which covered Smith's bare feet and ankles, he inserted the neck of the sack, then suddenly seized it by the bottom and shook it vigorously. Before my horrified gaze, four huge rats came tumbling out from the bag into the cage. The daiquets snatched away the sack and snapped the shutter fast. My moving mist obscured my sight, a mist through which I saw the green eyes of Dr. Fu Manchu fixed upon me, and through which, as from a great distance his voice sunk to a snake-like hiss came to my ears. Cantonese rats, Dr. Petrie, the most ravenous in the world. They have eaten nothing for nearly a week. Then all became blurred as though a painter with a brush steeped in red had smudged out the details of the picture. For an indefinite period which seemed like many minutes, yet probably was only a few seconds, I saw nothing and heard nothing. My sensory nerves were dulled entirely. From this state I was awakened and brought back to the realities by a sound which ever afterward I was doomed to associate with that ghastly scene. This was the squealing of the rats. The red mist seemed to disperse at that, and with frightfully intense interest, I began to study the awful torture to which Naelyn Smith was being subjected. The backward had disappeared, and Fu Manchu placidly was watching the four lean and hideous animals in the cage. As I also turned my eyes in that direction the rats overcame their temporary fear and began, You have been good enough to notice, said the Chinaman, his voice still sunk in that sibilant whisper. My partiality for dumb allies, though have met my scorpions, my deaf adults, my baboon man. The uses of such a playful little animal as I momma said, have never been fully appreciated before, I think. But to an indiscretion of this last name bet of mine, I seem to remember that you owed something in the past, Dr. Petrie. Naelyn Smith stifled a deep groan. One rapid glance I ventured at his face, it was grayish you now, and dank with perspiration. His gaze met mine, the rats had almost ceased squealing. Much depends upon yourself, Dr. continued Fu Manchu, slightly raising his voice. I credit Mr. Commissioner Naelyn Smith with courage high enough to sustain the raising of all the gates, but I estimate the strength of your friendship highly also, and predict that you will use the sword of the samurai, certainly not later than the time when I shall raise the third gate. A low shattering sound which I cannot hope to describe, but alas I can never forget, broke from the lips of the tortured man. In China, resumed Fu Manchu, we call this quaint fancy the six gates of joyful wisdom. The first gate by, which the rats are admitted, is called the gate of joyous hope. The second, the gate of mirthful doubt. The third gate is poetically named the gate of Toru Arapcha, and the fourth, the gate of a gentle subtle. I once was honoured in the friendship of an exalted mandarin, who sustained the course of joyful wisdom to the raising of the fifth gate, called the gate of sweet desires. And the admission of the twentieth rat. I estimate him almost equally with my ancestors. The sixth or gate celestial whereby a man enters into the joy of complete understanding I have dispensed with, here substituting a Japanese fancy of an antiquity nearly as great and honourable. The introduction of this element of speculation I count a happy thought, and accordingly take pride to myself. The sword, Petrie, whispered Smith. I should not have recognised his voice, but he spoke quite evenly and steadily. I rely upon you, old man, to spare me the humiliation of asking mercy from that yellow fiend. My mind throughout this time had been gaining a sort of dreadful clarity. I had avoided looking at the sword of Harikari, when my thoughts had been leading me mercilessly up to the point at which we were now arrived. No vestige of anger or condemnation of the inhuman being seated in the ebony chair remained. That was past. Of all that had gone before, and of what was to come in the future, I thought nothing, knew nothing. Our long fight against the yellow group, our encounters with the numberless creatures of Fu Manchu, the Dakwits, even Karamina were forgotten. Blotted out, I saw nothing of the strange appointments of that subterranean chamber, but face to face with the supreme moment of a lifetime, I was alone with my poor friend and God. The rats began squealing again. They were fighting. Quick, Beatri, quick, man, I am weakening. I turned and took up the samurai sword. My hands were very hot and dry, but perfectly steady, and I tested the edge of the heavy weapon upon my left thumbnail as quietly as one might test a razor blade. It was as keen this blade of ghastly history as any razor ever wrought in Sheffield. I seized the graven hilt, bent forward in my chair, and raised the friend sword high above my head. With the heavy weapon poised there, I looked into my friend's eyes. They were feverishly bright, but never in all my days, nor upon the many beds of suffering which it had been my lot to visit, had I seen an expression like that within them. The raising of the fast gate is always a crucial moment, came the guttural voice of the Chinaman. Although I did not see him and barely heard his words, I was aware that he had stood up and was bending forward over the lower end of the cage. No, Beatri, no, God bless you, and good-bye. From somewhere, somewhere, remote, I heard a horse and animal-like cry followed by the sound of a heavy fall. I can scarcely bear to write of that moment, for I had actually begun the downward sweep of the great sword when that sound came, a faint hope speaking of aid where I had thought no aid possible. How I contrived to divert the blade I do not know to this day, but I do know that its mighty sweep sheared a lock from Smith's head and laid bare the scalp. With the hilt in my quivering hands I saw the blade bite deeply through the carpet and floor above Nalen Smith's skull. There, buried fully two inches in the woodwork, it stuck, and still clutching the hilt I looked to the right and across the room. I looked to the curtain doorway. Fu Man Chu, with one long claw-like hand upon the top of the first gate, was bending over the trap, but his brilliant green eyes were turned in the same direction as my own upon the curtain doorway. Upright within it, her beautiful face as pale as death, but her great eyes blazing with a sort of splendid madness, stood Karamina. She looked not at the tortured man, not at me, but fully at Dr. Fu Man Chu. With one hand clutched the trembling draperies, now she suddenly raised the other so that the jewels on her white arm glittered in the light of the lamp above the door. She held my browning pistol. Fu Man Chu sprang upright, inhaling sibilantly, as Karamina pointed the pistol point blank at his high skull and fired. I saw a little red streak appear up by the neutral-colored hair under the black cap. I became, as a detached intelligence, unlinked with the corporeal, looking down upon a thing which, for some reason, I had never thought to witness. Fu Man Chu threw up both arms so that the sleeves of the green robe fell back to the elbows. He clutched at his head and the black cap fell behind him. He began to utter short, guttural cries. He swayed backward to the right, to the left, then lurched forward right across the cage. There he lay, writhing, for a moment, his baneful eyes turned up, revealing the whites, and the great gray rats released began leaping about the room. Two shot-like gray streaks passed the slim figure in the doorway, one darted behind the chair to which I was lashed, and the fourth ran all around against the wall. Fu Man Chu, prostrate across the overturned cage, lay still, his massive head sagging downward. I experienced a mental repetition of my adventure in the earlier evening. I was dropping, dropping, dropping into some bottomless pit. Warm arms were about my neck and burning kisses upon my lips. End of Chapter 29. Recording by Elaine Tweddle, Sterling, Ontario. Chapter 30 of The Return of Dr. Fu Man Chu This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elaine Tweddle. The Return of Dr. Fu Man Chu by Sax Romer. Chapter 30. The Call of the East I seemed to haul myself back out of the pit of unconsciousness by the aid of two little hands which clasped my own. I uttered a sigh that was almost a sob and opened my eyes. I was sitting in the big red leather and arm chair in my own study. And a lovely but truly bizarre figure in a harem dress was kneeling on the carpet at my feet, so that my first sight of the world was the sweetest sight that the world had to offer me. The dark eyes of Karamina, with tears trembling like jewels upon her lashes. I looked no further than that. He did not if there were others in the room beside we too, but gripping the jewel-laden fingers in what must have been a cool clasp. I searched the depths of the glorious eyes an ever-growing wonder. What change had taken place in those limpid mysterious pools? Why was a wild madness growing up within me like a flame? Why was the old longing return ten thousand fold to snatch that pliant exquisite shape to my breast? No word was spoken, but the spoken words of a thousand ages could not have expressed one tithe of what was held in that silent communion. A hand was laid hesitatingly on my shoulder. I tore my gaze away from the lovely face of near to mine and glanced up. Aziz stood at the back of my chair. God is all-merciful, he said. My sister is restored to us. I loved him for the plural, and she remembers. Those few words were enough. I understood now that this lovely girl, who half nailed, half lay at my feet, was not the evil perverted creature of Fu Manchu, whom we had gone out to arrest with the other vile servants of the Chinese doctor, but was the old, beloved companion of two years ago, the caramena for whom I had sought long and wearily in Egypt, who had been swallowed up and lost to me in that land of mystery. The loss of memory which Fu Manchu had artificially induced was subject to the same inexplicable laws which ordinarily rule in cases of amnesia. The shock of her brave action that night had begun to affect a cure the sight of Aziz had completed it. Inspector Weymouth was standing by the writing-table. My mind cleared rapidly now, and standing up but without releasing the girl's hands so that I drew her up beside me, I said. Weymouth, where is— He's waiting to see you, doctor, replied the Inspector. A pang almost physical struck at my heart. Poor dear old Smith, I cried, with a break in my voice. Dr. Gray, a neighbouring practitioner, appeared in the doorway at the moment that I spoke the words. It's all right, Petrie, he said reassuringly. I think we took it in time. I have thoroughly quarterised the wounds and granted that no complication sets in. He'll be on his feet again in a week or two. I suppose I was in a condition closely bordering upon the hysterical. At any rate, my behaviour was extraordinary. I raised both my hands above my head. Thank God! I cried at the top of my voice. Thank God! Thank God! Thank him indeed! responded the musical voice of Aziz. He spoke with all the passionate devoutness of the true Muslim. Everything, even Karamina, was forgotten, and I started for the door as though my life depended upon my speed, with one foot upon the landing I turned, looked back, and met the glance of Inspector Weymouth. What have you done with the body? I asked. We haven't been able to get to it. That end of the vault collapsed two minutes after we hold you out. As I write now, of those strange days, already they seem remote and unreal, but where other and more dreadful memories already are grown misty, the memory of that evening in my rooms remains clear-cut and intimate. It marked a crisis in my life. During the days that immediately followed, while Smith was slowly recovering from his hurts, I made my plans deliberately, and I prepared to cut myself off from all associations, prepared to exile myself gladly, how gladly I cannot hope to express in mere cold words. That my friend approved of my projects, I cannot truthfully state, but his disapproval at least was not openly expressed. To Karamina I said nothing of my plans, but her complete reliance in my powers to protect her now from all harm was at once pathetic and exquisite. Since always I have sought in these chronicles to confine myself to the facts directly relating to the malignant activity of Dr. Fu Manchu, I shall abstain from burdening you with details of my private affairs. As an instrument of the Chinese doctor, it has sometimes been my duty to write of the beautiful Eastern girl. I cannot suppose that my readers have any further curiosity, respecting her from the moment that fate freed her from that awful servitude. Therefore, when I shall have dealt with the episodes which marked our voyage to Egypt, I had opened negotiations in regard to a practice in Cairo. I may honorably lay down my pen. These episodes opened dramatically upon the second night of the voyage from Marseille. End of Chapter 30 Recording by Elaine Tweddle Sterling, Ontario Chapter 31 of The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elaine Tweddle The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu by Sax Romer Chapter 31 My Shadow Lies Upon You I suppose I did not awake very readily. Following the nervous vigilance of the past six months, my tired nerves in the enjoyment of this relaxation were rapidly recuperating. I no longer feared to awake to find a knife at my throat. No longer dreaded the darkness as a foe. So that the voice may have been calling indeed had been calling for some time, and of this I had been hazily conscious before I finally awoke. Then ere the new sense of security came to reassure me, the old sense of impending harm set my heart leaping nervously. There was always a certain physical panic attendant upon such awakening in the still of night, especially in novel surroundings. Now I sat up abruptly, clutching at the rail of my birth and listening. There was a soft thudding on my cabin door, and a voice low and urgent was crying my name. Through the open porthole the moonlight streamed into my room, and save for a remote and soothing throb inseparable from the progress of a great steamship. Nothing else disturbed the stillness. I might have floated lonely upon the bosom of the Mediterranean. But there was the drumming on the door again and the urgent appeal. Dr. Petrie! Dr. Petrie! I threw off the bed clothes and stepped onto the floor of the cabin, fumbling hastily for my slippers, a fear that something was amiss, that some aftermath, some wraith of the dread Chinaman was yet to come to disturb our premature peace began to haunt me. I threw open the door. Upon the gleaming deck, blackly outlined against a wondrous sky, stood a man who wore a blue great coat over his pajamas, and whose unstocking feet were thrust into red slippers. It was Platt, the Marconi operator. I'm awfully sorry to disturb you, Dr. Petrie, he said, and I was even less anxious to arouse your neighbour, but someone seems to be trying to get a message, presumably urgent, through to you. To me, I cried, and I cannot make it out, admitted Platt, running his fingers through dishevelled hair, but I thought it better to arouse you. Will you come up? I turned without a word, slipped into my dressing-gown, and with Platt's past aft along the deserted deck. The sea was as calm as a great lake. Ahead on the port bow, an angry flambeau burned redly beneath the peaceful vault of the heavens. Platt nodded absently in the direction of the weird flames. Stromboli, he said, we should be nearly through the straits by breakfast time. We mounted the narrow chair to the Marconi deck. At the table sat Platt's assistant, with the Marconi attachment upon his head, an apparatus which always set me thinking of the electric chair. Have you got it? demanded my companion as we entered the room. It's still coming through, replied the other without moving, but in the same jerky fashion. Every time I get it, it seems to have gone back to the beginning, just Dr. Petrie, Dr. Petrie. He began to listen again for the elusive message I turned to Platt's. Where is it being sent from? I asked. Platt's shook his head. That's the mystery, he declared look, and he pointed to the table. According to the Marconi charge, there's a massagerie boat due west between Arsene and Marseille, and the Homeward Bound P&O, which we passed this morning, must be getting on that way also by now. The Isis is somewhere ahead, but I've spoken to all these, and the message comes from none of them. Then it may come from Messina. It doesn't come from Messina, replied the man at the table, beginning to write rapidly. Platt's stepped forward and bent over the message which the other was writing. Here it is! he cried, excitedly. We're getting it! Stepping in turn to the table, I leaned over between the two and read these words as the operator wrote them down. Dr. Petrie, my shadow. I drew a quick breath and gripped Platt's shoulder harshly. His assistant began fingering the instrument with irritation. Lost it again, he muttered. This message, I began. But again the pencil was travelling over the paper. Lies upon you all. End of message. The operator stood up and unclasped the receiver from his ears. There, high above the sleeping ship's company, with the carpet of the blue Mediterranean stretched indefinitely about us, we three stood looking at one another. By virtue of a miracle of modern science, someone divided from me by mile upon mile of boundless ocean had spoken, and had been heard. Is there no means of learning, I said, from whence this message emanated? Platt's shook his head, perplexedly. They gave no cold word, he said. God knows who they were. It's a strange business and a strange message. Have you any sort of idea, Dr. Petrie, respecting the identity of the sender? I stared him hard in the face, an idea had mechanically entered my mind, but one of which I did not choose to speak, since it was opposed to human possibility. But had I not seen with my own eyes the bloody streak across his forehead, as the shot fired by Karamena entered his high skull, had I not known, so certainly as it is given to man to know, that the giant intellect was no more, the mighty will impotent, I should have replied. The message is from Dr. Fu Manchu. My reflections were rudely terminated, and my sinister thoughts given new stimulus, by a loud, though muffled cry, which reached me from somewhere in the ship below. Both my companions started as violently as I, whereby I knew that the mystery of the wireless message had not been without its effect upon their minds also. But whereas they paused in doubt, I leaked from the room and almost threw myself down the ladder. It was Karamena who had uttered that cry of fear and horror. Although I could perceive no connection betwixt the strange message and the cry in the night, intuitively I linked them, intuitively I knew that my fears had been well grounded, that the shadow of Fu Manchu still lay upon us. Karamena occupied a large stateroom aft on the main deck, so that I had to descend from the upper deck on which my own room was situated to the promenade deck, again to the main deck, and then proceed nearly the whole length of the alleyway. Karamena and her brother Aziz, who occupied a neighbouring room, met me near the library. Karamena's eyes were wide with fear, her peerless colouring had fled and she was white to the lips. Aziz, who wore a dressing gown thrown hastily over his night attire, had his arm protectively about the girl's shoulders. The mummy! she whispered tremulously. The mummy! There came a sound of opening doors, and several passengers whom Karamena's cries had alarmed appeared in various stages of undress. A stewardess came running from the far end of the alleyway, and I found time to wonder at my own speed for, starting from the distant Marconi deck, yet I had been the first to arrive upon the scene. Stacey, the ship's doctor, was quartered at no great distance from the spot, and he now joined the group. Anticipating the question which trembled upon the lips of several of those about me, come to Dr. Stacey's room. I said, taking Karamena's arm, we will give you something to enable you to sleep. I turned to the group. My patient has had severe nerve trouble, I explained, and has developed some nambulistic tendencies. I declined the stewardess's offer of assistance with a slight shake of the head, and shortly the four of us entered the doctor's cabin on the deck above. Stacey carefully closed the door. He was an old fellow student of mine, and already he knew much of the history of the beautiful eastern girl and her brother as is. I fear there's mischief afoot, Petrie, he said. Thanks to your presence of mine, the ship's gossips need know nothing of it. I glanced at Karamena, who, since the moment of my arrival, had never once removed her gaze from me. She remained in that state of passive fear in which I had found her, the lovely face pallid, and she stared at me fixedly in a childish, expressionless way which made me fear that the shock to which she had been subjected, whatever its nature, had caused a relapse into that strange condition of forgetfulness from which a previous shock had aroused her. I could see Stacey shared my view for, something has frightened you, he said gently, seating himself on the arm of Karamena's chair and patting her hand as if to reassure her. Tell us all about it. For the first time since our meeting that night, the girl turned her eyes from me and glanced up at Stacey, a sudden warm blush steaming over her face and throat and as quickly departing, to leave her even more pale than before. She grasped Stacey's hand in both her own and looked again at me. Send for Mr. Nalen Smith without delay, she said, and her sweet voice was slightly tremulous. He must be put on his guard. I started up. Why, I said, for God's sake tell us what had happened. Aziz, who evidently was as anxious as myself for information and who now knelt at his sister's feet looking at her with that strange love which was almost adoration in his eyes, glanced back at me and nodded his head rapidly. Something, Karamena paused, shuddering violently, some dreadful thing like a mummy escaped from its tomb, came into my room tonight through the porthole. Through the porthole, echoed Stacey amazingly, yes, yes, through the porthole, a creature tall and very, very thin. He wore wrappings, yellow wrappings, swathed about his head so that only his eyes, his evil gleaming eyes were visible. From waist to knees he was covered also but his body, his feet and his legs were bare. Was he, I began, he was a brown man, yes? Karamena, divining my question, nodded and the shimmering cloud of her wonderful hair, hastily confined, burst free and rippled about her shoulders. A gaunt, fleshless brown man who bent and writhed bony fingers, saw a thug, I cried. He, it, the mummy thing, would have strangled me if I had slept for he crouched over the berth, seeking, seeking. I clenched my teeth convulsively, but I was sitting up with a light on. Interrupted Stacey in surprise. No, added Karamena, the light was out. She turned her eyes toward me as the wonderful blush overspread her face once more. I was sitting, thinking. It all happened within a few seconds and, quite silently, as the mummy crouched over the berth, I unlocked the door and leaped out into the passage. I think I screamed. I did not mean to. No, Dr. Stacey, there is not a moment to spare. Mr. Nalen Smith must be warned immediately. Some horrible servant of Dr. Fu Man Shu is on the ship! The Return of Dr. Fu Man Shu by Sachs Romer Chapter 32 The Tragedy Nalen Smith leaned against the edge of the dressing-table, attired in pyjamas. The little stateroom was hazy with smoke, and my friend gripped at the charred briar between his teeth, and watched the blue-gray clouds arising from the bowl in an abstracted way. I knew that he was thinking hard, and from the fact that he had exhibited no surprise when I had related to him the particulars of the attack upon Karamena, I judged that he had half anticipated something of the kind. Suddenly he stood up, staring at me fixedly. Your tact saved the situation, Petrie. He snapped. It failed you momentarily, though, when you proposed to me just now that we should musker the laskers for inspection. Our game is to pretend that we know nothing, that we believe Karamena to have had a bad dream. But Smith, I began. It would be useless, Petrie, he interrupted me. You cannot suppose that I overlook the possibility of some creature of the doctors being among the laskers. I can assure you that not one of them answers to the description of the midnight assailant. From the girl's account we have to look, discarding the idea of a revivified mummy, for a man of unusual height. There's no lasker of unusual height on board, and from the visible evidence that he entered the stateroom through the porthole, we have to look for a man more than normally thin. In a word, the servant of Dr. Fu Man Chu, who attempted the life of Karamena, is either in hiding on the ship or, if visible, is disguised. With his usual clarity of vision, Naelyn Smith had visualised the facts of the case. I passed, in mental survey, each one of the passengers, and those of the crew whose appearance were familiar to me, were the result that I had to admit the justice of my friends' conclusions. Smith began to pace the narrow strip of carpet between the dressing table and the door. Suddenly he began again. From our knowledge of Fu Man Chu and of the group surrounding him, and don't forget, surviving him, we may further assume that the wireless message was no gratuitous piece of melodrama, but that it was directed to a definite end. Let us endeavour to link up the chain a little. You occupy an upper deck berth, so do I. Experience of the Chinaman has forced a habit in both of us, that of sleeping with closed windows. Your port was fastened, and so was my own. Karamena is quartered on the main deck, and her brother's stateroom opens into the same alleyway. Since the ship is in the straits of Messina and the glass is set fair, the stewards have not closed the portholes nightly at present. We know that that of Karamena's stateroom was open. Therefore, in any attempt upon our quartet, Karamena would automatically be selected for the victim, since, failing you or myself, she may be regarded as being the most obnoxious to Dr. Fu Manchu. I nodded, comprehendingly, Smith's capacity for throwing the white light of reason into the darkest places often amazed me. You may have noticed, he continued, that Karamena's room is directly below your own. In the event of any outcry, you would be sooner upon the scene than I should, for instance, because I sleep on the opposite side of the ship. This circumstance I take to be the explanation of the wireless message, which, because of its hesitancy, a piece of ingenuity very characteristic of the group, led to your being awakened and invited up to the Marconi deck. In short, it gave the would-be assassin a better chance of escaping before your arrival. I watched my friend in growing wonder. The strange events, seemingly having no link, took their places in the drama and became well-ordered episodes in a plot that only a criminal genius could have devised. As I studied the keen, bronzed face, I realised to the full the stupendous mental power of Dr. Fu Manchu, measuring it by the criterion of Nailin Smith's. For the cunning Chinaman, in a sense, had foiled this brilliant man before me, whereby, if by naught else, I might know him a master of his evil art. I regard the episode, continued Smith, as a posthumous attempt of the doctors, a legacy of hate, which may prove more disastrous than any attempt made upon us by Fu Manchu in life. Some fiendish member of the murder-group is on board the ship. We must, as always, meet Gile with Gile. There must be no appeal to the captain, no public examination of passengers and crew. One attempt has failed. I do not doubt that others will be made. At present you will enact the role of physician in attendance upon Karamina, and will put it about for whom it may interest that a slight return of her nervous trouble is causing her to pass uneasy nights. I can safely leave this part of the case to you, I think? I nodded rapidly. I haven't trouble to make inquiries, added Smith, but I think it probable that the regulation respecting closed ports will come into operation immediately we have passed the straits, or at any rate immediately there is any likelihood of bad weather. You mean? I mean that no alteration should be made in our habits. A second attempt along similar lines is to be apprehended to-night. After that we may begin to look out for new danger. I pray we may avoid it, I said fervently. As I entered the saloon for breakfast in the morning I was subjected to solicitous inquiries from Mrs. Pryer, the gossip of the ship. Her room adjoined Karamina's, and she had been one of the passengers aroused by the girl's cries in the night. Strictly adhering to my role, I explained that my patient was threatened with a second nervous breakdown, and was subject to vivid and disturbing dreams. One or two other inquiries I met in the same way, escaping to the corner-table reserved to us. That iron-bound code of conduct which rules the Anglo-Indian in the first days of the voyage had threatened to ostracize Karamina and Aziz by reason of the eastern blood to which their brilliant but peculiar type of beauty bore witness. Smith's attitude, however, and in a Burmese commissioner it constituted something of a law, had done much to break down the barriers. The extraordinary beauty of the girl had done the rest. So that now, far from finding themselves shunned, the society of Karamina and her romantic-looking brother was universally courted. The last inquiry that morning, respecting my interesting patient, came from the bishop of Damascus, a benevolent old gentleman whose ancestry was not wholly innocent of oriental strains, and who sat at a table immediately behind me. As I settled down to my porridge, he turned his chair slightly and bent to my ear. Mrs. Pryor tells me that your charming friend was disturbed last night, he whispered. She seems rather pale this morning. I sincerely trust that she is suffering no ill effect. I swung around with a smile. Owing to my carelessness there was a slight collision, and the poor bishop, who had been invalidated to England after typhoid, in order to undergo special treatment, suppressed an exclamation of pain, although his fine dark eyes gleamed kindly upon me through the pebbles of his gold-rimmed piznez. Indeed, despite his eastern blood, he might have posed for a saddler picture, his small and refined features seeming out of place above the bulky body. Can you forgive my clumsiness? I began, but the bishop raised his small, slim-fingered hand of old ivory hue deprecatingly. His system was supercharged with typhoid bacilli, and, as sometimes occurs, the superfluous bugs had sought exit. He could only walk with the aid of two stout sticks, and bent very much at that. His left leg had been surgically scraped to the bone, and I appreciated the exquisite torture to which my awkwardness had subjected him. But he would entertain no apologies, pressing his inquiry respecting Karamina in the kindly manner, which made him so deservedly popular on board. Many thanks for your solicitude, I said. I have promised her sound repose to-night, and, since my professional reputation is at stake, I shall see to it that she secures it. In short, we were in pleasant company, and the day passed happily enough and without notable event. Smith spent some considerable time with the chief officer, wandering about unfrequented parts of the ship. I learned later that he had explored the Laska's quarters, the folks' hall, the engine room, and had even descended to the stoke-hold, that this was done so unostentatiously that it occasioned no comment. With the approach of evening, in place of that physical contentment which usually heralds the dinner-hour at sea, I experienced a fit of the seemingly causeless apprehension, which too often in the past had harbingered the coming of grim events, which I had learnt to associate with a nearing presence of one of Fu Manchu's death agents. In view of the facts, as I afterwards knew them to be, I cannot account for this. Yet in an unexpected manner my forebodings were realised. That night I was destined to meet a sorrow surpassing any which my troubled life had known. Even now I experience great difficulty in relating the matters which befell, in speaking of the sense of a revocable loss which came to me. Briefly then, at about ten minutes before the dining-hour, whilst all the passengers, myself included, were below dressing, a faint cry arose from somewhere aft on the upper deck, a cry which was swiftly taken up by other voices, so that presently a deck-steward echoed it immediately outside my own stateroom. Man overboard! Man overboard! All my premonitions, rallying in that one sickening moment, I sprang out on the deck, half-dressed as I was, and leaping past the boat which swung, nearly opposite my door, craned over the rail looking astern. For a long time I could detect nothing unusual. The engine-room telegraph was ringing, and the motion of the screws momentarily ceased. Then, in response to further ringing, recommenced, but so as to jar the whole structure of the vessel, whereby I knew that the engines were reversed. Peering intently into the wake of the ship I was, but dimly aware of the ever-growing turmoil around me, of the swift mustering of a boat's crew, of the shouted orders of the third officer, suddenly I saw it, a sight which was to haunt me for succeeding days and nights. Half in the streak of the wake, and half out of it, I perceived the sleeve of a white jacket, and very near to it a soft-felt hat. The sleeve rose up once into clear view, seemed to describe a half-circle in the air, then sink back again into the glassy swell of the water. Only the hat remained floating upon the surface. By evidence of the white sleeve alone I might have remained unconvinced, although upon the voyage I had become familiar enough with the drill shooting jacket. But the presence of the grey-felt hat was almost conclusive. The man overboard was Nayland Smith. I cannot hope, writing now, to convey in any words at my command a sense even remote of the utter loneliness which in that dreadful moment closed coldly down upon me. To spring overboard to the rescue was a natural impulse, but to have obeyed it would have been worse than quixotic. In the first place the drowning man was close upon half a mile a stern. In the second place others had seen the hat and the white coat as clearly as I, among them the third officer, standing upright in the stern of the boat which, with commendable promptitude, had already been swung into the water. The steamer was being put about, describing a wide arc around the little boat dancing on the deep blue rollers. Of the next hour I cannot bear to write at all. Long as I had known him I was ignorant of my friend's powers as a swimmer, that I judged that he must have been a poor one from the fact that he had sunk so rapidly in a calm sea. Accept the hat. No trace of Nalen Smith remained when the boat got to the spot. End of Chapter 32. Recording by Elaine Tweddle, Sterling, Ontario. Chapter 33 of the Return of Dr. Fu Manchu. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elaine Tweddle. The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu by Sax Romer. Chapter 33. The Mummy. Dinner was out of the question that night for all of us. Caramena, who had spoken no word but grasping my hands, had looked into my eyes, her own glassy with unshed tears, and then stolen away to her cabin, had not since reappeared. Seated upon my birth I stared unseeingly before me, upon a changed ship, a changed sea and sky, upon another world. The poor old bishop my neighbour had glanced in several times as he hobbled by, and his spectacles were unmistakably humid. But even he had vouchsafed no word, realizing that my sorrow was too deep for such consolation. When at last I became capable of connected thought I found myself faced by a big problem. Should I place the facts of the matter as I knew them to be before the Captain, or could I hope to apprehend Fu Manchu's servant by the methods suggested by my poor friend? That Smith's death was an accident I did not believe for a moment, and it was impossible not to link it with the attempt upon Caramena. In my misery and doubt I determined to take counsel with Dr. Stacey, I stood up and passed out onto the deck. Those passengers whom I met on my way to his room regarded me in respectful silence. By contrast Stacey's attitude surprised and even annoyed me. I'd be prepared to stake all I possess, although it's not much, he said, that this was not the work of your hidden enemy. He blankly refused to give me his reasons for the statement, and strongly advised me to watch and wait, but to make no communication to the Captain. At this hour I can look back and savor again something of the profound ejection of that time. I could not face the passengers. I even avoided Caramena and Aziz. I shut myself in my cabin and sat staring aimlessly into the growing darkness. The steward knocked once and inquiring if I needed anything, but I dismissed him abruptly, and so I passed the evening and the greater part of the night. Those groups of promenaders who passed my door invariably were discussing my poor friend's tragic end, but as the night wore on the deck grew empty and I sat amid a silence that in my miserable state I welcomed more than the presence of any friend, saving only the one whom I should never welcome again. Since I had not counted the bells to this day I have only the vaguest idea respecting the time where at the next incident occurred which it is my duty to chronicle. Perhaps I was on the verge of falling asleep seated there as I was. At any rate I could scarcely believe myself awake when, unheralded by any footsteps to indicate his coming, someone who seemed to be crouching outside my stateroom, slightly raised himself and peered in through the porthole which I had not troubled to close. He must have been a fairly tall man to have looked in at all, and although his features were indistinguishable in the darkness his outline which was clearly perceptible against the white boat beyond was unfamiliar to me. He seemed to have a small and oddly swathed head, and what I could make out of the gaunt neck and square shoulders in some way suggested an unnatural thinness. In short the smudgy silhouette in the porthole was weirdly like that of a mummy. For some moments I stared at the apparition then rousing myself from the apathy into which I had sunk. I stood up very quickly and stepped across the room. As I did so the figure vanished, and when I threw open the door and looked out upon the deck the deck was wholly untenanted. I realised at once that it would be useless even had I chosen the course to seek confirmation of what I had seen from the officer on the bridge. My own birth, together with the one adjoining, that of the bishop, was not visible from the bridge. For some time I stood in my doorway wondering in a disinterested fashion which I now cannot explain. If the hidden enemy had revealed himself to me, or if disordered imagination had played me a trick. Later I was destined to know the truth of the matter, but when at last I fell into a troubled sleep that night I was still in some doubt upon the point. My state of mind when I awakened on the following day was indescribable. I found it difficult to doubt that Nayland Smith would meet me on the way to the bathroom as usual with the cracked briar fuming between his teeth. I felt myself almost compelled to pass around to his stateroom in order to convince myself that he was not totally there. The catastrophe was still unreal to me, and the world of dream-world. Indeed I retained scarcely any recollections of the traffic of the day, or of the days that followed until we reached Port Said. Two things only made any striking appeal to my dulled intelligence at that time. These were the aloof attitude of Dr. Stacey, who seemed carefully to avoid me, and a curious circumstance which the Second Officer mentioned in conversation one evening as we strolled up and down the main deck together. Now that I was fast asleep at my post, Dr. Petrie, he said, or last night, in the middle watch, someone or something came over the side of the ship just after the bridge, slipped across the deck and disappeared. I stared at him, wonderingly, Do you mean something that came up out of the sea? I said. Nothing could very well have come up out of the sea, he replied, smiling slightly, so that it must have come up from the deck below. Was it a man? It looked like a man, and a fairly tall one, but he came and was gone like a flash, and I saw no more of him up to the time I was relieved. To tell you the truth, I did not report it because I thought I must have been dozing. It's a dead slow watch, and the navigation on this part of the run is child's play. I was on the point of telling him what I had seen myself two evenings before, but for some reason I refrained from doing so. Although I think had I confided in him, he would have abandoned the idea that what he had seen was phantasmal, for the pair of us could not very well have been dreaming. Some malignant presence haunted the ship. I could not doubt this, yet I remained passive, sunk in a lethargy of sorrow. We were scheduled to reach Port Said at about eight o'clock in the evening, but by reason of the delay occasion so tragically, I learned that in all probability we should not arrive earlier than midnight, whilst passengers would not go ashore until the following morning. Karamina, who had been staring ahead all day, seeking a first glimpse of her native land, was determined to remain up until the hour of our arrival, but after dinner a notice was posted up that we should not be in before two am. Even those passengers who were the most enthusiastic they were upon determined to postpone for a few hours their first glimpse of the land of the Pharaohs, and even to forego the sight, one of the strangest and most interesting in the world, of Port Said by night. For my own part I confess that all the interest and hope with which I had looked forward to our arrival had left me, and often I detected tears in the eyes of Karamina, whereby I knew that the coldness in my heart had manifested itself even to her. I had sustained the greatest blow of my life, and not even the presence of so lovely a companion could entirely recompense me for the loss of my dearest friend. The lights of the Egyptian shore were faintly visible when the last group of stragglers on deck broke up. I had long since prevailed upon Karamina to retire, and now utterly sick at heart I sought my own stateroom, mechanically undressed, and turned in. It may or may not be singular that I had neglected all precautions since the night of the tragedy. I was not even conscious of a desire to visit retribution upon our hidden enemy. In some strange fashion I took it for granted that there would be no further attempts upon Karamina, Aziz, or myself. I had not troubled to confirm Smith's surmise, respecting the closing of the portholes, but I know now for a fact that, whereas they had been closed from the time of our leaving the Straits of Messina, to night, in sight of the Egyptian coast, the regulation was relaxed again. I cannot say if this is usual, but that it occurred on this ship is a fact to which I can testify, a fact to which my attention was to be drawn dramatically. The night was steamingly hot, and because I welcomed the circumstance that my own port was widely opened, I reflected that those on the lower decks might be open also. A faint sense of danger stirred within me. Indeed, I sat upright and was about to spring out of my birth, when that occurred which induced me to change my mind. All passengers had long since retired, and a midnight silence descended upon the ship, for we were not yet close enough to port for any unusual activities to have commenced. Clearly, outlined in the open porthole, there suddenly arose that same grotesque silhouette which I had seen once before. Prompted by I know not what, I lay still and simulated heavy breathing, for it was evident to me that I must be partially visible to the watcher, so bright was the night. For ten, twenty, thirty seconds he studied me in absolute silence, that gaunt thing so like a mummy, and with my eyes partly closed I watched him, breathing heavily all the time. Then, making no more noise than a cat, he moved away across the deck, and I could judge of his height by the fact that his small, swathed head remained visible almost to the time that he passed to the end of the white boat which swung opposite my stateroom. In a moment I slipped quietly to the floor, crossed and peered out of the porthole, so that at last I had a clear view of the sinister mummy-man. He was crouching under the bow of the boat, and attaching to the white rails below a contrivance of a kind with which I was not entirely unfamiliar. This was a thin ladder of silk and rope, having bamboo rungs with two metal hooks for attaching it to any suitable object. The one thus engaged was, as Caramena had declared, almost superhumanly thin. His loins were swathed in a sort of linen garment, and his head so bound about, turban fashion, that only his gleaning eyes remained visible. The bare limbs and body were of a dusky yellow colour, and at sight of him I experienced a sudden nausea. My pistol was in my cabin trunk, and to have found it in the dark without making a good deal of noise would have been impossible. Douting how I should act, I stood watching the man with the swathed head whilst he threw the end of the ladder over the side, crept past the bow of the boat, and swung his gaunt body over the rail, exhibiting the agility of an ape. One quick glance for an aft he gave, and then began to swarm down the ladder, in which instant I knew his mission. With a choking cry which forced itself unwilled from my lips, I tore at the door, threw it open, and sprang across the deck. Plans I had none, and since I carried no instrument wherewith to sever the ladder, the murderer might indeed have carried out his design for all that I could have done to prevent him. Were it not that another took a hand in the game. At the moment that the mummy man, his head now on a level with the deck, perceived me he stopped dead. Coincident with his stopping, the crack of a pistol shot sounded from immediately beyond the boat. Uttering a sort of sobbing sound, the creature fell, then clutched with straining yellow fingers at the rails, and seemingly by dint of great effort, swarmed along aft some twenty feet with incredible swiftness and agility, and clambered onto the deck. A second shot cracked sharply and a voice, God! I was mad! cried, Hold him, Petrie. Rigid with fearful astonishment I stood, as out from the boat above me leaped a figure, a tired solely in shirt and trousers. The newcomer leaped away in the wake of the mummy man who had vanished around the corner by the smoke-room. Over his shoulder he cried back at me. The bishop's stateroom, see that no one enters. I clutched at my head which seemed to be fiery hot. I realised in my own person the sensation of one who knows himself mad. For the man who pursued the mummy was Nailand Smith. I stood in the bishop's stateroom. Nailand Smith, his gaunt face wet with perspiration beside me, handling certain odd-looking objects which littered the place and lay about amid the discardant garments of the absent cleric. Pneumatic pads, he snapped. The man was a walking ear-cushion. He gingerly fingered two strange rubber appliances for distending the cheeks. He muttered, dropping them disgustedly on the floor. His hands and wrists betrayed him, Petrie. He wore his cuffion usually long, but he could not entirely hide his bony wrists. To have watched him whilst remaining himself unseen was next to impossible. Hence my device of tossing a dummy overboard calculated to float for less than ten minutes, and actually floated nearly fifteen as a matter of fact, and I had some horrible moments. Smith, I said, how could you submit me? He clapped his hands on my shoulder. My dear old chap, there was no other way, believe me. From that boat I could see right into his stateroom, but once in I dare not leave it, except late at night, stealthily. The second spotted me one night, and I thought the game was up, but evidently he didn't report it. But you might have confided. Impossible. I'll admit I nearly fell to the temptation that first night, for I could see into your room as well as into his. He slapped me boisterously on the back, but his grey eyes were suspiciously moist. Dear old Petrie, thank God for our friends. But you'd be the first to admit, old man, that you're a dead rotten actor, and your portrayal of grief for the loss of a valued chum would not have convinced a soul on board. Therefore I made use of Stacey, whose callous attitude was less remarkable. God, Petrie! I nearly bagged our man the first night. The elaborate plan, Marconi's message to get you out of the way, and so forth, had miscarried, and he knew the porthole trick would be useless once we got into the open sea. He took a big chance. He discarded his clerical guys and peeped into your room. You remember? But you were awake. And I made no move when he slipped back to his own cabin. I wanted to take him red-handed. Have you any idea who he is? No more than where he is. Probably some creature of Dr. Fu Manchu, specially chosen for the purpose. Obviously a man of culture, and probably of thug ancestry. I hit him in the shoulder. But even then he ran like a hare. Though he searched the ship with that result, he may have gone overboard and enchanced the swim to shore. We stepped out onto the deck. Around us was that unforgettable scene, Port Said by night. The ship was barely moving through the glassy water now. Smith took my arm, and we walked forward. Above us was the mighty piece of Egypt's sky, a blaze with splendor. Around and about us moved the unique turmoil of the clearing-house of the Near East. I would give much to know the real identity of the Bishop of Damascus, muttered Smith. He stopped abruptly, snapping his teeth together, and grasping my arm as in a vice. Hard upon his words had followed the rattling clanger as the great anchor was let go. But horribly intermingled with the metallic roar, they came to us such a fearful, inarticulate shrieking as to chill one's heart. The anchor plunged into the water of the harbor. The shrieking ceased. Smith turned to me, and his face was tragic, and the light of the arc lamp swung hard by. We shall never know, he whispered. God forgive him. He must be in bloody tatters now, Petrie. The poor fool was hiding in the chain-locker. A little hand stole into mine. I turned quickly. Karamina stood beside me. I placed my arm about her shoulders, drawing her close, and I blushed to relate that all else was forgotten. For a moment, heedless of the fearful turmoil forward, Naelyn Smith stood looking at us. Then he turned with his rare smile, and walked aft. Perhaps you're right, Petrie, he said. End of Chapter 33. Recording by Elaine Tweddle, Stirling, Ontario. End of The Return of Dr. Fu Man Chu by Saxe Romer