The Mask of Fu Manchu

several furtive asides which I construed as definitely hostile.

I recognized the black turbans of the Rifaiyeh and the red of the Ahmadiyeh. Senussi I saw among them too—and the white headdresses of many Kadiriyeh....

These were the dervishes who had gathered at Gizeh Ullage!

Wildly impatient as I was to join the party at the Pyramid, it was impossible for me to leave for some time. Petrie was with Rima, whom he had placed under the care of a resident nurse. She kept waking up and calling piteously for me. Twice I had been brought to her room to pacify her. Her frame of mind was most mysterious. She seemed to be obsessed with the idea that some harm had befallen me.

The second time, after she had gone to sleep contentedly, clasping my hand, I had managed to slip away without awakening her. And now, as I roamed restlessly about the lobby. Dr. Petrie suddenly appeared.

“She’s right enough now, Greville,” he reported, “and Mrs. Adams is with her. A most reliable woman.”

“Dare we start?” I asked.

“Certainly! my car’s outside. But we shall be too late for——”

I knew what he would have said; equally, I knew why he hesitated. The physical facts of the situation were beyond dispute; but the more I had considered the matter, the more clearly I had appreciated the fact that a man of Dr. Fu Manchu’s intellect would never voluntarily have walked into such a mouse trap.

No one knew how he had entered the Pyramid nor how Rima had been taken there. Furthermore, he had introduced that singular lamp into the place, the table and the Arab chair. Now, in addition, he had the relics of the Prophet.

As we walked down the sanded drive to the road, observed with great curiosity by several residents who obviously suspected that our business was a strange one, we came face to face with that ominous gathering of Arabs near the gate. I saw at a glance that reinforcements had joined them. The black turbans of the Rifaiyeh predominated now. “This looks unwholesome, Greville,” said Petrie in an undertone. “What are all these fellows doing here at this time of night?”

“They are the dervishes! Evidently they assembled at Gizeh Village and then marched here. I have been prowling about for some time, waiting for reports about Rima, and I watched them gathering.”

We were among them now. Although they made way for us, I liked their attitude less and less.

“Tribesmen of some sort,” said Petrie close to my ear. “Except in ones and twos, these birds are rarely seen.”

As we reached his car, which stood a little to the left of the entrance, I looked back uneasily. The dervishes seemed to be watching us.

“What the devil’s afoot?” Petrie asked, grasping the wheel. “I should think they meant mischief, if they were armed.”

He started slowly up the slope; and as we passed that silent company I looked into many flashing eyes close beside the window. But no one attempted to obstruct us.

“A very queer business,” Petrie muttered. “Smith should know at once. It can hardly be a coincidence.”

We met several stragglers of the same type on that short winding road which leads up to the plateau, presumably going to join those already assembled outside Mena House. But the doctor’s mind, as well as my own, now focused upon the major problem; and as we turned the final bend and the great black mass of the Pyramid loomed above us:

“You know, Greville,” said Petrie, “a load has been lifted from my mind. Honestly, I don’t think the possession of the relics of Mokanna will do much to help the movement. Rima’s safety would be cheap at the price of every relic in the Cairo Museum.”

“I feel much the same about it,” I admitted. “Although, of course, those things are unique.”

“Unique be damned!” said Petrie. “Hello! who’s this?”

It was a police officer standing with upraised arm.

“You can’t pass this way, sir,” he shouted, and came forward as Petrie pulled up.

We both got out, but the night, as I have said, was very dark. And as we did so, the policeman directed the ray of the lamp upon us.

“Oh!” he added. “It’s Dr. Greville and Mr. Petrie, isn’t it?”

Petrielaughed.

“The other way about, officer,” he replied.

“You’ll have to walk from here. Those are my orders, sir.”

“It makes no difference. We couldn’t have driven much further, anyway. Is there any news?”

“Not that I’ve heard, sir. I understand that they’re still searching inside——”

“What!” I exclaimed. “There’s nothing to search—only two rooms. That is, unless they’re searching Davidson’s shaft.”

“Come on, Greville,” said Petrie curtly. “Let’s go and see for ourselves. You may be of use here. You ought to know every nook and cranny of the place.”

“I do, but so does the chief—and he’s on the spot.”

We were challenged again as we reached the foot of the Pyramid, by a sergeant whom I took to be in charge of the cordon.

“O.K., sir,” he said when he saw me.

“What’s happened? Who’s inside?”

“The acting superintendent, sir, Sir Denis Nayland Smith, and Sir Lionel Barton. Three men with them.”

“And no one has come out?”

“Not a soul, sir.”

Petrie turned to me in the darkness.

“Shall we go up?” he said.

We found four men on duty when we had climbed up to the entrance. They passed us immediately, and I was about to lead the way in when a muffled voice reached me from the interior.

“I tell you it’s a trick. Smith! He’s slipped out in some way.

»

The chief.

I stepped back again and felt, for I could not see their faces, an atmosphere of tension among the four police officers on duty.

“There’s treachery. Somebody’s been bought over.”

That loud, irascible voice was drawing nearer; and:

“It’s all but incredible, Greville,” said Petrie, in a low voice;

“but evidently Fu Manchu has managed to get out as mysteriously as he got in!”

“I hope there’s no question about us, sir,” came sharply; and one of the four men, whom on close inspection I recognized for a sergeant, stepped forward. Tm responsible to the acting superintendent, so I don’t care what the other gentleman says. But you can take my word for it that nobody has come out of this place to-night, since you came out with the lady and Sir Denis.”

“We don’t doubt it. Sergeant,” Petrie replied. “Sir Denis won’t doubt it, either. You mustn’t pay too much attention to Sir Lionel Barton. He’s naturally very disturbed.”

“That may be, sir—” the man began; when:

“Who’s on duty, here?” bellowed the chief, suddenly appearing out of the opening.

“One moment, Sir Lionel,” a quiet voice interrupted; and I saw Hewlett grasp his arm. “/ am responsible for the men on duty. Sergeant!”

“Sir?”

“Have you anything to report?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“It’s some damned trick!” growled the chief.

Nayland Smith came out last, saw me in the darkness, and:

“Is everything all right, Greville?” he asked eagerly.

“We managed to get her to sleep,” Petrie replied. “Every thing is all right. But this business passes my comprehension, Smith.”