'Presently I tell you. You stay here. This one a strong feller?'— indicating myself.
'Sure,' drawled Fletcher; 'strong as a mule he is.'
'All right. I give him one little kiss if he good boy!'
Tossing the tray in the air she caught it, rested its edge upon her hip, turned, and walked away down the room, puffing her cigarette.
'Listen,' I said, bending across the table, 'it was Zarmi who drove the cab that came for Nayland Smith to- day!'
'My God!' whispered Fletcher, 'then it was nothing less than the hand of Providence that brought us here to- night. Yes! I know how you feel, Doctor!—but we must play our cards as they're dealt to us. We must wait— wait.'
Out from the den of the opium-smokers came Zarmi, one hand resting upon her hip and the other uplifted, a smoldering yellow cigarette held between the first and second fingers. With a movement of her eyes she summoned us to join her, then turned and disappeared again through the low doorway.
The time for action was arrived—we were to see behind the scenes of the Joy-Shop! Our chance to revenge poor Smith even if we could not save him. I became conscious of an inward and suppressed excitement; surreptitiously I felt the hilt of the Browning pistol in my pocket. The shadow of the dead Fu-Manchu seemed to be upon me. God! how I loathed and feared that memory!
'We can make no plans,' I whispered to Fletcher, as together we rose from the table; 'we must be guided by circumstance.'
In order to enter the little room laden with those sickly opium fumes we had to lower our heads. Two steps led down into the place, which was so dark that I hesitated, momentarily, peering about me.
Apparently some four of five persons squatted and lay in the darkness about me. Some were couched upon rough wooden shelves ranged around the walls, others sprawled upon the floor, in the center whereof, upon a small tea-chest, stood a smoky brass lamp. The room and its occupants alike were indeterminate, sketchy; its deadly atmosphere seemed to be suffocating me. A sort of choking sound came from one of the bunks; a vague, obscene murmuring filled the whole place revoltingly.
Zarmi stood at the further end, her lithe figure silhouetted against the vague light coming through an open doorway. I saw her raise her hand, beckoning to us.
Circling around the chest supporting the lamp we crossed the foul den and found ourselves in a narrow, dim passage-way, but in cleaner air.
'Come,' said Zarmi, extending her long, slim hand to me.
I took it, solely for guidance in the gloom, and she immediately drew my arm about her waist, leant back against my shoulder and, raising her pouted red lips, blew a cloud of tobacco smoke fully into my eyes!
Momentarily blinded, I drew back with a muttered exclamation. Suspecting what I did of this tigerish half- caste, I could almost have found it in my heart to return her savage pleasantries with interest.
As I raised my hands to my burning eyes, Fletcher uttered a sharp cry of pain. I turned in time to see the girl touch him lightly on the neck with the burning tip of her cigarette.
'You jealous, eh, Charlie?' she said. 'But I love you, too—see! Come along, you strong fellers… .'
And away she went along the passage, swaying her hips lithely and glancing back over her shoulders in smiling coquetry.
Tears were still streaming from my eyes when I found myself standing in a sort of rough shed, stone-paved, and containing a variety of nondescript rubbish. A lantern stood upon the floor; and beside it …
The place seemed to be swimming around me, the stone floor to be heaving beneath my feet… .
Beside the lantern stood a wooden chest, some six feet long, and having strong rope handles at either end. Evidently the chest had but recently been nailed up. As Zarmi touched it lightly with the pointed toe of her little red slipper I clutched at Fletcher for support.
Fletcher grasped my arm in a vice-like grip. To him, too, had come the ghastly conviction—the gruesome thought that neither of us dared to name.
It was Nayland Smith's coffin that we were to carry!
'Through here,' came dimly to my ears, 'and then I tell you what to do… .'
Coolness returned to me, suddenly, unaccountably. I doubted not for an instant that the best friend I had in the world lay dead there at the feet of the hellish girl who called herself Zarmi, and I knew since it was she, disguised, who had driven him to his doom, that she must have been actively concerned in his murder.
But, I argued, although the damp night air was pouring in through the door which Zarmi now held open, although sound of Thames-side activity came stealing to my ears, we were yet within the walls of the Joy-Shop, with a score or more Asiatic ruffians at the woman's beck and call… .
With perfect truth I can state that I retain not even a shadowy recollection of aiding Fletcher to move the chest out on to the brink of the cutting—for it was upon this that the door directly opened. The mist had grown denser, and except a glimpse of slowly moving water beneath me, I could discern little of our surrounding.
So much I saw by the light of a lantern which stood in the stern of a boat. In the bows of this boat I was vaguely aware of the presence of a crouched figure enveloped in rugs—vaguely aware that two filmy eyes regarded me out of the darkness. A man who looked like a lascar stood upright in the stern.
I must have been acting like a man in a stupor; for I was aroused to the realities by the contact of a burning cigarette with the lobe of my right ear!
'Hurry, quick, strong feller!' said Zarmi softly.
At that it seemed as though some fine nerve of my brain, already strained to utmost tension, snapped. I turned, with a wild, inarticulate cry, my fists raised frenziedly above my head.
'You fiend!' I shrieked at the mocking Eurasian, 'you yellow fiend of hell!'
I was beside myself, insane. Zarmi fell back a step, flashing a glance from my own contorted face to that, now pale even beneath its artificial tan, of Fletcher.
I snatched the pistol from my pocket, and for one fateful moment the lust of slaying claimed my mind… . Then I turned towards the river, and, raising the Browning, fired shot after shot in the air.
'Weymouth!' I cried. 'Weymouth!'
A sharp hissing sound came from behind me; a short, muffled cry … and something descended, crushing, upon my skull. Like a wild cat Zarmi hurled herself past me and leapt into the boat. One glimpse I had of her pallidly dusky face, of her blazing black eyes, and the boat was thrust off into the waterway … was swallowed up in the mist.
I turned, dizzily, to see Fletcher sinking to his knees, one hand clutching his breast.
'She got me … with the knife,' he whispered. 'But … don't worry … look to yourself, and …
He pointed, weakly—then collapsed at my feet. I threw myself upon the wooden chest with a fierce, sobbing cry.
'Smith, Smith!' I babbled, and knew myself no better, in my sorrow, than an hysterical woman. 'Smith, dear old man! speak to me! speak to me!… '
Outraged emotion overcame me utterly, and with my arms thrown across the box, I slipped into unconsciousness.
Chapter 9 FU-MANCHU
Many poignant recollections are mine, more of them bitter than sweet; but no one of them all can compare with the memory of that moment of my awakening.
Weymouth was supporting me, and my throat still tingled from the effects of the brandy which he had forced between my teeth from his flask. My heart was beating irregularly; my mind yet partly inert. With something compound of horror and hope I lay staring at one who was anxiously bending over the Inspector's shoulder, watching me.
A whole hour of silence seemed to pass, ere speech became possible; then—
'Smith!' I whispered, 'are you … '
