Exulting in the knowledge that by reason of my association with the great Chinese physician, I was above the trivialities of common humanity, god-like, superior, all-embracing, I set out for Shepheard’s—intent only upon bringing Rima within the fold of this all-powerful genius.
When we pulled up opposite the hotel, and the driver had run across with my note, I knew a fever of impatience—I could scarcely contain myself. But at last I saw her come out, my letter in her hand, saw her run down the steps.
Then, we were together, and my heart was singing with gladness....I was taking her to Dr. Fu Manchu!
She could not understand; I knew that she could never understand until she had stood face to face with that great and wonderful man, as I had done.
And at first I tried to pacify her, holding her very close. She fought with me, and even endeavoured to attract the attention of a British policeman. But at last she lay passive in my arms, watching me. And I grew very uneasy.
I was assailed by odd doubts. We were far out on the road to Gizeh when suddenly the car pulled up. I saw Dr. Fu Manchu standing beside me.
“You have done well,” he said; “you may rest now....”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIXTH
FAH LO SUEE
“Shan, dear, I know you are very sleepy, but it’s getting cold and late too.”
I stirred lazily, opening my eyes. I was pillowed on a warm shoulder, a bare arm encircling my neck. That silvery voice had awakened me. Along jade earring touched my cheek coldly, and caressing fingers stroked my hair.
Yes! I was with Fah Lo Suee, somewhere on the banks of the Nile. And I was content—utterly.^-apturously content.
“Love dreams are bitter-sweet, Shan, because we know we are dreaming....”
I could see a long reach of the river, silver under the moon,
“I think someone has been watching, Shan; I am going to drive you back to Shepheard’s now.”
And as she drove, I watched the delicate profile of the driver. She was very beautiful, I thought. How wonderful to have won the love of such a woman. She linked her arms about me and crushed her lips against mine, her long, narrow eyes closed.
In the complete surrender of that embrace I experienced a mad triumph, in which Rima, Nayland Smith, the chief, all, were forgotten.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENTH
IVORY
HANDS
I closed my eyes again, pressing my face against that satin pillow. I felt I could have stayed there forever.
“You know, Shan,” Fah Lo Suee’s voice went on—that silvery voice in which I seemed to hear the note of a bell—”you have often hated me and you will hate me again.”
“I could never hate you,” I said drowsily.
“I have tricked you many times; for, although I love you, Shan, you are really not very clever.”
“Cleverer men than I would give all for your kisses,” I whispered.
“That is true,” she replied, without vanity; for with much of his powerful brain she had also inherited from the Chinese doctor a philosophy by virtue of which she judged herself equally with others. “But I find hatred hard to accept.”
I kept my eyes obstinately closed. Some vague idea was stirring in my brain that when I opened them that act would herald the end of this delicious interlude.
She was so slender—so exquisite—her personality enveloped me like a perfume.
“I have given you back the memory of forgotten hours, Shan. There is no disloyalty in what I have done. Your memories can only tell you again what you know already: that my father is the greatest genius the world has ever known. The old house at Gizeh is deserted again, even if you could find it. Your other memories are of me.”
I clutched her tightly.
“Why should you leave me?”
She clung to me for a moment, and I could hear her heart beating; then:
“Because the false is valueless to me, and the true I can never have.”
The words were so strangely spoken, in so strange a voice, that at last I opened my eyes again...and, astounded, broke free from Fah Lo Suee’s clinging arms and stared about me.
I was in the Museum Room in Bruton Street!
A silk dressing gown I had over my pyjamas; a pair of Arab slippers were on my feet. Fah Lo Suee, in a pale green frock which did full justice to her perfect back and shoulders, was lying among the cushions beside me, her fur coat on the floor near by.
She was watching me under half-lowered lashes—doubting me, it would seem. There was more of appeal than command in those emerald green, long, wonderful eyes. Staring about the room, I saw everything was as I had left it; and:
“Well?” Fah Lo Suee murmured, continuing to watch me.
I turned and looked down at her where she lay.
And, as her glance met mine, I was claimedrsubmerged, swept away by such a wave of desire for this woman as I had never known for anyone in the whole of my life. I dropped to the floor, clasping her knees.
“You cannot—you must not—you dare not go!”
Her lips rippled in a smile—those perfect lips which I realised I adored; and then very wistfully:
“If only that were true!” she murmured.
“But it is!” I knelt upon the settee, grasping her fiercely, and looking into those eyes which beckoned to me —beckoned to me....“Why do you say that? How can you doubt it?”
But she continued to smile.
And then, as I stooped to kiss her, she thrust her hands, slender, exquisite ivory hands against me, and pushed me back. I would have resisted—
And although the word was spoken as an appeal, yet it was a command; and a command which I obeyed. Yes, she was right. There was some reason—some reason, which escaped me—why we must part. I clutched my head feverishly, thinking—thinking. What could that reason by?
“I am going, dear. You mustn’t come down to the door—I know my way.”
But I sprang up. She had stooped and was taking up her cloak. Mechanically, I slipped it about her shoulders. She leaned back as I did so and submitted to my frenzied kisses. At last, releasing herself, and pulling the cloak
