later, as I shall presently explain; but, so far as I knew at the time, in effect what occurred was this:
I found myself standing, swaying rather dizzily, and with a splitting headache, looking towards the steps of Shepheard’s with the words buzzing in my ears: “He will be crowned in Damascus.”
The sound of the crutch had died away, and I had no idea who had spoken those words! I know now, of course, that they formed part of an amazing sequence of hypnotic suggestions; that they were my cue for
Then came
I had reached the foot of the steps when the facts returned to me....That narrow alley behind the Mosque ofMuayyad! From the moment I had entered it until the present, I was conscious of nothing but darkness!
How had I reached the Sharia Kamel? I asked myself. Could I have walked? And where had I heard those words:
“He will be crowned in Damascus”?
Shepheard’s was in darkness, and it suddenly occurred to me to look at my wrist watch.
Three a.m.
Heavy-footed, I mounted the steps. The door was barred, but I pressed the bell. In the interval of waiting for the night porter to open, I cudgeled my brains for an explanation of what had happened.
I had followed Fu Manchu’s daughter (other identity I was all but certain) in a taxicab. I should remember the man. Leaving him at a comer near the Bab ez-Zuwela, I had unwisely run on into a narrow alleyway; and then?
Then....I had found myself a few steps away from the point at which I now stood at three in the morning!
The night porter unbarred the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND
THE HAND OF FU MANCHU
The night porter, who knew me well, stared like a man who sees a ghost.
“Good heavens, Mr. Greville!”
I saw that the lobby was in the hands of an army of cleaners, removing traces of the night’s festivities. A man standing over by the hall porter’s desk turned and then came forward quickly.
“Where is Sir Lionel Barton?” I had begun when:
“Are you Mr. Shan Greville?” the stranger asked. He was an alert-looking man wearing dinner kit and carrying a soft felt hat. There was something about him which was vaguely familiar.
“I am,” I replied.
The hall porter had stepped back as the newcomer arrived upon the scene, but he continued to stare at me, in a half-frightened way.
“My name is Hewlett. I’m in charge of police headquarters in the absence of Superintendent Weymouth. I was never more pleased to see a man in my life than I am to see you, Mr. Greville.”
I shook his hand mechanically, noting that he was looking at me in a a queer fashion; and then:
“Where is Sir Denis?” I asked rapidly, “and Miss Barton?” Hewlett continued to look at me, and I have since learned that I presented a wild-eyed and strange appearance.
“All your friends, Mr. Greville,” he replied, “are out with the search party, operating from Bab el-Khalk. I came back here ten minutes ago for news. I’m glad I did.” “Where are they searching?” I asked dazedly. “All around the neighbourhood of the Bab ez-Zuwela—acting on information supplied by the taxi-man who drove you there.”
“Of course,” I muttered; “he returned here and reported my absence, I suppose?”
Hewlett nodded. His expression had changed somewhat, had become very grave.
“You look completely whacked,” he said. “But, nevertheless, I’m afraid I must ask you to come along and join Sir Denis. My car is just round the comer.”
My confusion of mind was such that I thought the search (which presumably had been for me) would now be continued in the hope of discovering the hiding place of Fah Lo Suee.
“Very well,” I replied wearily. “I should like a long drink before we start, and then I shall be entirely at your service.”
“Very well, Mr. Greville.”
I gave the necessary orders to the night porter, whose manner still remained strange, and dropped upon a lounge. Hewlett sat down beside me.
“In order that we don’t waste one precious moment,” he went on, “suppose you tell me exactly what happened to-night?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, “but I fear it’s not going to help very much.”
“What? How can that be?”
“Because the most important period is a complete blank.”
Whereupon I related my movements in the garden that night: how I had seen a woman, whom I was convinced was none other than the daughter of Fu Manchu, going out by that gate of the garden which I had supposed always to be locked. How I had run through to the front of the hotel just in time to see her entering a car which waited upon the other side of the street.
“Describe this car,” said Hewlett eagerly.
I did so to the best of my ability, stressing its conspicuous yellow colour.
“I have no doubt that my driver’s account is more accurate than mine,” I continued. “He knew the names of all the streets into which we turned, with the exception of the last.”
“He led us there,” said Hewlett with a certain impatience, “but we drew a complete blank. What I want you to tell me, Mr. Greville, is into which house you went in that street.”
I smiled wryly, as the night porter appeared, bearing refreshments on a tray.
“I warned you that my evidence would be a disappointment,” I reminded him. “From that point up to the moment when I found myself standing outside Shepheard’s, here, my memory is a complete blank.”
Hewlett’s expression became almost incredulous. “But what happened?” he demanded. “The man tells us that he saw you run into a narrow turning on the left, as the yellow car—your description of which tallies with his —was driven off. He followed you a moment later and found no trace
whatever. For heaven’s sake, tell me, Mr. Greville, what happened?”
“I had fallen into a trap,” I replied wearily. “I was drenched with some kind of anaesthetic. I don’t know how it was applied. Perhaps a cloth saturated in it was thrown over my head. Unconsciousness was almost instantaneous. Beyond telling you that this drug, which was used in the murder of Dr. Van Berg in Persia, has a smell resembling that of mimosa, I can tell you nothing more—absolutely nothing!”
“Good heavens!” groaned Hewlett, “this is awful. Our last hope’s gone!”
My brain seemed to be spinning. I was conscious of most conflicting ideas; and suddenly:
“Wait a moment!” I cried. “There is one other thing. At some time—I haven’t the faintest idea when, but at some time during the night I heard the words, ‘He will be crowned in Damascus’!”
“By whom were they spoken?”
I shook my head impatiently.
“I have no recollection that they were spoken by anybody. I merely remembered them, just before I came up the steps a little while ago. When and where I heard them I haven’t the slightest idea. But I’m ready, Mr Hewlett. I’m afraid I can’t be of the least assistance, but all the same I’m at your service.”
He stood up, and I detected again that queer expression upon his face.
