The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu
Sax Rohmer
Published: 1913
About Rohmer:
Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward (15 February 1883 - 1 June 1959), better known as Sax Rohmer, was a prolific English novelist. He is most remembered for his series of novels featuring the master criminal Dr. Fu Manchu. Born in Birmingham he had an entirely working class education and early career before beginning to write. His first published work was in 1903, the short story The Mysterious Mummy for Pearson's Weekly. He made his early living writing comedy sketches for music hall performers and short stories and serials for magazines. In 1909 he married Rose Knox. He published his first novel Pause! anonymously in 1910 and the first Fu Manchu story, The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu, was serialized over 1912-13. It was an immediate success with its fast paced story of Sir Denis Nayland Smith and Dr. Petrie facing the worldwide conspiracy of the 'Yellow Peril'. The Fu Manchu stories, together with those featuring Gaston Max or Morris Klaw, made Rohmer one of the most successful and well-paid writers in of the 1920s and 1930s. But Rohmer was very poor at handling his wealth. After World War II the Rohmers moved to New York. Rohmer died in 1959 due to an outbreak of avian influenza ('Asian Flu').
Chapter 1
'A gentleman to see you, Doctor.'
From across the common a clock sounded the half-hour.
'Ten-thirty!' I said. 'A late visitor. Show him up, if you please.'
I pushed my writing aside and tilted the lamp-shade, as footsteps sounded on the landing. The next moment I had jumped to my feet, for a tall, lean man, with his square-cut, clean-shaven face sun-baked to the hue of coffee, entered and extended both hands, with a cry:
'Good old Petrie! Didn't expect me, I'll swear!'
It was Nayland Smith-whom I had thought to be in Burma!
'Smith,' I said, and gripped his hands hard, 'this is a delightful surprise! Whatever-however-'
'Excuse me, Petrie!' he broke in. 'Don't put it down to the sun!' And he put out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
I was too surprised to speak.
'No doubt you will think me mad,' he continued, and, dimly, I could see him at the window, peering out into the road, 'but before you are many hours older you will know that I have good reason to be cautious. Ah, nothing suspicious! Perhaps I am first this time.' And, stepping back to the writing-table he relighted the lamp.
'Mysterious enough for you?' he laughed, and glanced at my unfinished MS. 'A story, eh? From which I gather that the district is beastly healthy-what, Petrie? Well, I can put some material in your way that, if sheer uncanny mystery is a marketable commodity, ought to make you independent of influenza and broken legs and shattered nerves and all the rest.'
I surveyed him doubtfully, but there was nothing in his appearance to justify me in supposing him to suffer from delusions. His eyes were too bright, certainly, and a hardness now had crept over his face. I got out the whisky and siphon, saying:
'You have taken your leave early?'
'I am not on leave,' he replied, and slowly filled his pipe. 'I am on duty.'
'On duty!' I exclaimed. 'What, are you moved to London or something?'
'I have got a roving commission, Petrie, and it doesn't rest with me where I am to-day nor where I shall be to-morrow.'
There was something ominous in the words, and, putting down my glass, its contents untasted, I faced round and looked him squarely in the eyes. 'Out with it!' I said. 'What is it all about?'
Smith suddenly stood up and stripped off his coat. Rolling back his left shirt-sleeve he revealed a wicked- looking wound in the fleshy part of the forearm. It was quite healed, but curiously striated for an inch or so around.
'Ever seen one like it?' he asked.
'Not exactly,' I confessed. 'It appears to have been deeply cauterized.'
'Right! Very deeply!' he rapped. 'A barb steeped in the venom of a hamadryad went in there!'
A shudder I could not repress ran coldly through me at mention of that most deadly of all the reptiles of the East.
'There's only one treatment,' he continued, rolling his sleeve down again, 'and that's with a sharp knife, a match, and a broken cartridge. I lay on my back, raving, for three days afterwards, in a forest that stank with malaria, but I should have been lying there now if I had hesitated. Here's the point. It was not an accident!'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that it was a deliberate attempt on my life, and I am hard upon the tracks of the man who extracted that venom-patiently, drop by drop-from the poison-glands of the snake, who prepared that arrow, and who caused it to be shot at me.'
'What fiend is this?'
'A fiend who, unless my calculations are at fault is now in London, and who regularly wars with pleasant weapons of that kind. Petrie, I have traveled from Burma not in the interests of the British Government merely, but in the interests of the entire white race, and I honestly believe-though I pray I may be wrong-that its survival depends largely upon the success of my mission.'
To say that I was perplexed conveys no idea of the mental chaos created by these extraordinary statements, for into my humdrum suburban life Nayland Smith had brought fantasy of the wildest. I did not know what to think, what to believe.
'I am wasting precious time!' he rapped decisively, and, draining his glass, he stood up. 'I came straight to you, because you are the only man I dare to trust. Except the big chief at headquarters, you are the only person in England, I hope, who knows that Nayland Smith has quitted Burma. I must have someone with me, Petrie, all the time-it's imperative! Can you put me up here, and spare a few days to the strangest business, I promise you, that ever was recorded in fact or fiction?'
I agreed readily enough, for, unfortunately, my professional duties were not onerous.
'Good man!' he cried, wringing my hand in his impetuous way. 'We start now.'
'What, to-night?'
'To-night! I had thought of turning in, I must admit. I have not dared to sleep for forty-eight hours, except in fifteen-minute stretches. But there is one move that must be made to-night and immediately. I must warn Sir Crichton Davey.'
'Sir Crichton Davey-of the India-'
'Petrie, he is a doomed man! Unless he follows my instructions without question, without hesitation-before Heaven, nothing can save him! I do not know when the blow will fall, how it will fall, nor from whence, but I know that my first duty is to warn him. Let us walk down to the corner of the common and get a taxi.'
How strangely does the adventurous intrude upon the humdrum; for, when it intrudes at all, more often than not its intrusion is sudden and unlooked for. To-day, we may seek for romance and fail to find it: unsought, it lies in wait for us at most prosaic corners of life's highway.
The drive that night, though it divided the drably commonplace from the wildly bizarre-though it was the bridge between the ordinary and the outre-has left no impression upon my mind. Into the heart of a weird mystery the cab bore me; and in reviewing my memories of those days I wonder that the busy thoroughfares through which we passed did not display before my eyes signs and portents-warnings.
