“Isn’t it remarkable. General,” Sir Denis asked, “that Dr. Fu Manchu should have chosen last night for an attempt on the Soviet station? I had supposed the return of the manuscript before you to be of paramount interest.”
General Huan rested his hand on the parchment bound Si-Fan Register.
“It is of great interest to me, also. Sir Denis. But The Master accepted your word that it would be restored as you accepted his that you and your friends should be free to leave. His reason for moving last night was that he feared the replacement of Dr. von Wehmer might result in more stringent precautions being taken.”
“You tell me you have no news of him. This I don’t understand.”
The lined, remarkable old face relaxed in a smile
“There are many things. Sir Denis, concerning your own part in the affair which I do not understand! The Cold Men, in three parties, were instructed, hypnotically, to obey Mahmud—a former sergeant-major of French-Algerian infantry. Contrary to my advice, The Master—aware that these awful creatures are strangely affected by electric storms—set out shortly after Dr. Matsukata and Mahmud to take personal charge.”
He paused, and very deliberately took a pinch of snuff.
“Dr. Matsukata tells me that the third party, whom he held in reserve, revolted. You are aware of what occurred later. You have scrupulously carried out your undertaking. Sir Denis, and I have arranged suitable transport for all of you, as The Master authorized me to do. I have included Dr. von Wehmer, whose presence in your party is one of the things I do not understand.” He smiled again, a sly smile. “If you should call at Lung Chang, please give my best wishes to a mutual friend there. You will be provided with papers ensuring your free passage . . .”
* * *
Many hours later, in Lao Tse-Mung’s library, a setting sun gleamed on the many bound volumes, cabinets and rare porcelain. Moon Flower was curled up on a cushioned settee; Tony’s glance lingered on her adoringly. Their courteous host had personally conducted his old friend, Cameron-Gordon, and the unexpected guest, von Wehmer, to their apartments, and Nayland Smith lay back in a big rest-chair, relighting his pipe and looking gloriously at ease.
“Is it possible. Sir Denis, that Dr. Fu Manchu is dead?” Tony asked suddenly.
Nayland Smith looked up at him, match in hand. “Judging from a long experience, highly improbable!”
“Because, it would be rather a pity, in view of something I have here.” He pulled out the long envelope containing the translation of the cipher manuscript.
“The Lama advised me not to show it to you until we were out of danger.”
“What the devil is it?” Sir Denis rapped, and took the envelope from Tony.
“It’s the Lama’s deciphering of the manuscript!”
“A list, the Lama told me, of every Si-Fan lodge master in China—some of them prominent persons—including General Huan!”
Nayland Smith dropped back in his chair.
“I said, McKay, when you recovered the thing from Andre Skobolov, that I believed it to be the most powerful weapon against Fu Manchu, which I ever held in my hands. An understatement. It could shatter his dream empire!”
The End
