The Mask of Fu Manchu

In much the same way, I suppose, as the stopping of a clock will awake a sleeper, the stoppage of the propellers awakened many passengers in the Indramatra. As I pulled on a dressing gown and hurried out into the alleyway, voices and movements were audible al! about me.

Then, staring across the yawning black gap of the dining saloon, I saw Rima, dishevelled, but adorably dishevelled, endeavouring to adjust a hastily grasped bathrobe. Her glance met mine from the opposite gallery.

“Oh, Shan!” she cried. “What’s happened? I didn’t get to sleep until about half an hour ago; I thought I heard knock-ings and voices...”

“I don’t know, darling. I’m going to find out.”

No sound came from the chief’s cabin: doubtless he was fast asleep. Rima and I apparently were the only two passengers sufficiently curious about the stoppage of the engines to have left our rooms. As I joined her at the foot of the staircase the Indramatra got under way again but was putting about, as I could plainly detect.

“We’re turning back!” exclaimed Rima. “Let’s go up and see what’s happening.”

We went up, and having fought with the fastenings of the starboard door, finally got out on deck. The night was clear enough, and I could see no sign of any craft ahead.

We mounted the ladder to the boat deck. I saw the commander, a seaman of the old school, who, with his fine face and pointed grey beard, might have posed for Vandyck, going forward to the bridge, muffled in a top coat.

Holding Rima tightly as we craned over between two boats, I saw what had happened.

The seaplane floated on an oily swell about three lengths away from us. Assuming her to be in difficulties, the officer of the watch had put the ship about. And now, the Indramatra’s searchlight cast a sudden dazzling glare upon the sea; and I saw something else:

An object which looked like a big football was moving in the direction of the seaplane in the wake of a swimmer wearing a life jacket, who, striking out lustily, was apparently towing the ball behind him!

“What ever’s that?” Rima whispered.

From the bridge of the Indramatra came a roar through a megaphone; the commander doubtless: but since he spoke in Dutch, I could not follow his words. The engines were rung off again. We lay-to very near the sea-and-air craft; but no reply came from her crew.

The swimmer, towing his singular burden, grasped one of the floats. I saw that a ladder had been thrown down to assist him, and as I watched, he began to clamber up. At which moment:

“Greville!” came a hoarse voice. “What the hell’s happening?”

I turned, still holding Rima tightly—and there was the chief, wrapped in his untidy dressing gown.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I’m glad you’re here. I have news for you——”

Another challenge came from the bridge—and brought forth no response. The swimmer climbed on board the seaplane. All that I could make out of him was that he wore bathing kit and had a cap upon his head. The light touched him momentarily.

That object which resembled a football was hauled up; and, as we watched, I saw the propellers started. There was some commotion before they cleared away. Men were climbing aboard, clearly visible in the glare of the searchlight. Then the seaplane was off, skimming over the surface of the Mediterranean like a seagull; presently to take to the air, rise, bank sharply and sweep back for the coast of Egypt.

I heard, dimly, a bell, and the engines came to life again. The Indramatra was being put back on her course.

CHAPTER FORTY-SECOND

THE PURSER’S SAFE

As we regained the main deck, it became evident that something extraordinary was afoot. The purser, in uniform, but wearing a white muffler in lieu of a collar, was standing by the door of his room with the second engineer and another officer. He looked very pale, I thought, and as Sir Lionel came in Voorden fixed a rather wild gaze upon him.

Before he had time to speak, the captain also hastily dressed, appeared from an alleyway and joined the group.

“Something’s wrong!” Rima whispered.

A sort of embarrassed hush descended when we came down; then:

“Sir Lionel Barton, I believe?” said the captain, stepping forward. Tour name is well known in my country. But I have not before had the pleasure of meeting you. My name is Vanderhaye.”

“How d’you do, Captain,” growled the chief, and shook hands. “What’s the trouble?”

The captain glanced at the purser and shrugged helplessly.

“I’m afraid, sir,” said the latter, addressing Sir Lionel, “that you have suffered a heavy loss.”

“What!”

“It is,” explained Captain Vanderhaye, his steady blue eyes fixed upon the chief, “a case of minor piracy. Nothing of the kind has ever occurred to me in the forty years I have been at sea. I regret your loss. Sir Lionel, more deeply because it has happened in my ship. But here are the facts: you may judge if I or my officers are to blame.”

He stepped to the door of the purser’s room, which, as I saw now, was open, and indicated the keyhole with an outstretched finger. The chief, Rima and I, grouped around him, and as I bent forward I saw a really amazing thing.

Where the keyhole had been, as the fitting belonging to a brass flap clearly indicated, was a jagged hole, perhaps an inch and a half in diameter, going clean through the door!

It was sufficiently obvious that such a tunnel must have destroyed the lock, leaving the door at the mercy of any intruder.

“This,” said the captain, “is strange enough. How such a thing could be done silently I cannot explain. But be good enough to step inside.”

He entered the office. The chief’s face was very grim, but, knowing him, I could see that he was stifling a smile. Rima stayed very close to me.                               /

“Look!”

Captain Vanderhaye was pointing to the big safe. The pale-faced purser stood beside him, watching us almost pathetically. And, as I looked, I wondered; looking longer—my wonder grew.

In one hand the commander held a lock, with the other he pointed to a gap, roughly square and some six or seven inches across, in the steel door of the safe.

“This steel,” he said, and tapped the lock, “has been cut through like a piece of cheese. No blow lamp could have been used—it would have taken too long and would have aroused some of the people in neighbouring cabins. But see——”

He ran his forefinger along the edge of the cut-out lock. The frayed steel crumbled away like biscuit!

Placing the lock on the purser’s table, he shrugged his broad shoulders.

“It is magic!” he declared. “A safebreaker armed with some new thing of science. What can I say? He sprang overboard with his booty and was picked up by that strange seaplane.” He swung the door widely open. “Look for yourselves. Nothing has been disturbed, except....”

“Your three sealed parcels, Sir Lionel,” said the purser huskily, “which were here, in the bottom of the safe. They are gone!”