'The Council of Seven,' Weymouth explained, in his kindly way, 'was an organisation with headquarters in China.... '
'In Honan,' Smith jerked.
'The president, or so we always believed,' Weymouth continued, 'was Dr. Fu Manchu. Its objects we never learned except in a general way. '
'World domination,' Petrie suggested.
'Well, that's about it, I suppose. Their methods, Greville, included wholesale robbery and murder. Everybody in their path they removed. Poison was their favourite method, animal or vegetable, and they appar- ently controlled in their campaign the under- world of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. They made the mistake of meeting in London, and'--his tone grew very grim --'we got a few of them. '
'But not all,' Nayland Smith added. He suddenly grasped my shoulder, and: 'Are you beginning to understand,' he asked, 'what was hidden in the Tomb of the Black Ape?'
I looked at him in blank surprise.
'I can see no connection,' I confessed.
'Something,' he went on tensely, 'which has enabled the woman you know as Madame Ingomar, after an interval of thirteen years, to summon the Council of Seven!'
6
In the shadow cast by a lebbekh tree we all crouched, Nayland Smith having his glasses focused upon the door in a long high wall.
The two Afghans had approached and now stood before this door. So silent was the night that we distinctly heard one of them beat on the panels. He knocked seven times....
I saw the door open. Faintly to my ears came the sound of a strange word. It was repeated--by another voice. The murderous Asiatics were admitted. The door was closed again.
'Representatives of at least two murder societies have arrived,' said Smith, dropping the glasses and turning. 'We are learning something, but not enough. In short, how the devil are we going to get into that house?'
There was a pause and then: 'Personally,' said Dr. Petrie, 'I think it would be deliberate suicide to attempt to do so. We have not notified the officials of el-Kharga of our presence or our business; and as it would appear that the most dangerous criminal group in the world is assembling here to-night, what could we hope to do, and what would our chances be? '
'Sanity, Petrie, sanity!' Nayland Smith admitted. But the man's impatience, his over- brimming vitality, sounded in his quivering voice. 'I've bungled this business--but how could I know?... I was guessing, largely.'
He stood up and began to pace about in the shadow, carefully avoiding exposing himself to the light of the moon; then: 'Yes,' he murmured. 'We must establish contact with el-Kharga. Damnable!--because it means splitting the party.... Hello!'
A group of three appeared, moving like silhouettes against the high, mud-brick wall-- for the moon was behind us. Nayland Smith dropped prone again and focused the glasses....
'The Burmans,' he reported. 'Dacoity has arrived.'
In tense silence we watched this second party receive admittance as the first had done. And now I recognized the word. It was Si Fan!... Again the great iron-studded door was closed.
'We don't know how many may be there already,' said Petrie. 'Possibly those people we saw in the cafe-- '
'Silence!' Smith snapped.
As he spoke, a tall man dressed in Euro- pean clothes but wearing no hat appeared around the corner of the wall and approached the door. He had a lithe, swinging carriage.
'This one comes alone,' Nayland Smith murmured. He studied him through the glasses. 'Unplaceable. But strangely like a Turk....'
The tall man was admitted--and the iron- studded door closed once more.
Nayland Smith stood up again and began beating his fist into the palm of his left hand, walking up and down in a state of tremendous excitement.
'We must do something!' he said in a low voice--'we must do something! Hell is going to be let loose on the world.
To-night, we could nip this poisonous thing in the bud, if only...' he paused. Then: 'Weymouth,' he rapped, 'you have official prestige. Go back to el-Kharga--make yourself known to the mudir and force him to raise a sufficient body of men to surround this house! You can't go alone, therefore Dr. Petrie will go with you.... '
'But. Smith!... '
'My dear fellow'--Nayland Smith's voice altered entirely-- 'there's no room for senti- ment! We're not individuals to-night, but representatives of sanity opposed to a dreadful madness. Greville here has a peculiarly intimate knowledge of Arab life. He speaks the language better than any of us. This you will both admit. I must keep him by me, because my job may prove to be the harder. Off you go, Weymouth! I'm in charge. Get down the dip behind us and circle round the way we came. Don't lose a moment!'
There was some further argument between these old friends, but finally the dominating personality of Nayland Smith prevailed; and Weymouth and Dr. Petrie set out. As they disappeared into the hollow behind us:
'Heaven grant I haven't bungled this thing!' said Nayland Smith and gripped my arm fiercely. 'But I've stage- managed it like an amateur. Only sheer luck can save us now!'
He turned aside and focused his glasses on the distant angle of the wall. A minute passed --two--three--four. Then came a sudden outcry, muffled, but unmistakable.
'My God!' Smith's voice was tragic. 'They've run into another party! Come on, Greville!'
Breaking cover we hared across in the moonlight. Regardless of any watcher who might be concealed behind that iron-studded door in the long wall, we raced headlong to the comer. I was hard and fit; but, amazing to relate, I had all I could do to keep pace with Nayland Smith. He seemed to be a man who held not sluggish human blood but electricity in his veins.
Around the comer we plunged... and almost fell headlong over a vague tangle of struggling figures!
'Petrie!' Nayland Smith cried. 'Are you there? '
'Yes, by the grace of God!' came pantingly....
'Weymouth? '
'All clear!'
Dense shadow masked the combatants; and, risking everything, I dragged out my torch and switched on the light.
Dr. Petrie, rather dishevelled and lacking his tarbush, was just standing up. A forbid- ding figure, muffled in a shapeless camel-hair garment, lay near. Weymouth was resting his bulk upon a second.
'Light out!' snapped Nayland Smith.
I obeyed. Weymouth's voice came through the darkness.
'Do you remember, Sir Denis, that other meeting in London? There was only one Lama monk there. There are two here!'
His words explained a mystery which had baffled me. These were Tibetan monks! 'They must have heard us approaching,' Petrie went on. 'They were hiding in the shadows. And as we climbed up onto the path, they attacked us. I may add that they were men of their hands. Personally I'm no means undamaged, but by sheer luck I managed to knock my man out. '
'I think I've strangled mine!' said Weymouth grimly. 'He was gouging my eye,' he added.
'Petrie!' said Nayland Smith. 'We're going to win! This is the hand of Providence!'
For one tense moment none of us grasped his meaning; then:
'By heavens, no. It's too damned dangerous,' Weymouth exclaimed. 'For God's sake don't risk it! '
'I'm going to risk it!' Smith snapped. 'There's too much at stake to hesitate. If they were in our place, there'd be two swift executions. We can't stoop to that. Gags we can improvise. But how the devil are we going to tie them up?'
At which moment the man on whose body Weymouth was kneeling uttered a loud cry. The cry ceased with significant suddenness; and:
'Two of us wear turbans,' said Weymouth: 'that's twelve feet of stout linen. What more do we want?'
