intelligence of my companion in this strange adventure. Who but Sir Denis would have thought of bundling our scanty possessions into a small packing case, and towing it behind him on that same piece of string which had served in his test to unmask a possible sniper?
He was examining the match upon the rock path which alone had given me a clue to the fact that escape from this secret spot was possible. Then I spoke:
“Sir Denis,” I said, it’s a great privilege to have helped you in any way. You are a very remarkable man.”
He turned and smiled; his smile was thirty years his junior.
“I suppose you must be right. Sterling,” he replied, “otherwise, I shouldn’t have survived. But——”
He stopped.
And blotting out the triumph of our escape from the cavern which Dr. Fu Manchu had thought to be a Bastille came reality—memories—sorrow.
Petrie had gone to join the ranks of those living dead men.
Fleurette!
Fleurette was lost to me forever! No doubt my change of mood was reflected on my face; for:
“I know what you’re thinking, Sterling,” Sir Denis added, “but don’t despair—yet. There’s still hope.”
“What!”
“That this path leads somewhere and does not just lose itself among the rocks, I have little doubt. My own impression is that it leads to the beach of Ste Claire. But this is not the chief point of interest.”
To me, it seems to be.”
“What do you regard as the most curious features of our recent experience?”
I considered for a moment, then:
“The mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu’s motive in remaining behind,” I replied, “and the greater mystery of how and when he joined his submersible yacht—whatever a submersible yacht may be.”
Nayland Smith nodded rapidly.
“You are getting near to it,” he rapped. “I am satisfied that the opening above the water cave at the top of the rocks was the place from which he spoke to us. And I think we are unanimous on the point that there is no other means of exit but his. Therefore, I have been asking myself for the last ten minutes: why did he come by this roundabout route when he could have boarded his craft at the wharf, as no doubt the other members of his household did. It’s rather a hazardous guess, but one I like to make.”
“What is it, Sir Denis?”
“I don’t think he joined the submarine at all.”
“What!”
“Whatever the construction of that craft may be, it would offer serious obstacles to the transporting of a sick man.”
“Good heavens! You think——”
“It is just possible that Petrie has been taken another way, under the personal care of the doctor.”
“But,” I protested, “that climb up the rocks?”
“Could easily be performed by native bearers carrying a stretcher or litter, and descent to this point is easy.”
“But—” I pointed along the faintly pencilled track.
Nayland Smith shook his head.
“Not that way, Sterling,” he admitted. “A motorboat has been lying here. Look—there are still traces of oil at the margin of the water, and the beach slopes away very sharply.”
“You think Dr. Fu Manchu has been taken to some landing • place farther along the coast, where a car awaited him?”
“That is the point we have to settle. Only one of two roads could serve—the Great Corniche or the Middle. All cars using them are being challenged and searched.”
“Then, by heaven! we may have him yet!”
“Knowing him better than you do, I look upon that as almost too much to hope for, Sterling. However, suppose we begin our climb.”
We set out.
A wild eleventh-hour hope was mine, that not only Petrie but Fleurette might be with Dr. Fu Manchu, and that this delay might prove to be his undoing. I did not know how far to take his words literally—but I remembered that he had said, “Dr. Petrie is with me.” Yes, there was still a ghost of a chance that all was not lost yet.
The path was one of those which would not have appalled a hardened climber, but mountaineering had never been my enthusiasm. One thing was certain: Dr. Fu Manchu and his party had never come this way.
It wound round and round great gnarled crags, creeping higher and ever higher. I was glad to be wearing rubber-soled shoes, although I am aware that experienced mountaineers reject them.
At one point it led us fully a mile inland, climbing very near to the rim of a deep gorge and at an eerie height above the sea. It was a mere tracing, much better suited to a goat than to a human being. Never once did it touch any practicable road, but now led seaward again, until we found ourselves high up on the side of a dizzy precipice, sheer above the blue Mediterranean.
“Heavens!” muttered Nayland Smith, clutching at the rocky wall at his right hand. “This is getting rather too exciting!”
“I agree, Sir Denis.”
At a point which was no more than eighteen inches wide, I was tempted to shut my eyes, but knew that I must keep them open and go on.
“Heaven knows who uses such a path as this,” he muttered.
We rounded the bluff and saw that our way lay inland again. The slope below was less steep, and there was dense vegetation upon its side. Nayland Smith pulled up, and under one upraised hand, stared hard.
“It is difficult to recognise from this point,” he said, “but here is the bay of Ste Claire, as I suspected.”
And now that crazy path began to descend, leading us lower and lower.
It was very still there, and the early morning air possessed champagne-like properties. And suddenly Sir Denis turned to me:
“Do you hear it. Sterling?” he snapped.
Distinctly, in the silence, although it seemed to come from a long way off, I had detected the sound to which he referred—a distant shouting, and an almost incessant booming sound.
“It seems incredible,” he continued, “but they are evidently still trying to force a way into the house! Come on, let’s hurry—there’s much to do, and very little time to do it.”
We ran down the remaining few yards of the path and found ourselves upon the beach—that beach of which I had dreamed so often—but always with the dainty, sun-browned figure of Fleurette seated upon it.
Sir Denis, whose powers of physical endurance were little short of phenomenal, ran across, making for that corresponding path upon the other side which led to the seven flights of steps communicating with the terrace of the villa....
We mounted at the double.
I saw that the main door had been forced and the shutters torn from an upper window against which a ladder rested.
The booming sound, which had grown louder as we approached, was caused by the efforts of a party of men under a bewildered police officer endeavouring to force the first of the section doors at the top of the steps which led down to the radio research room.
Sir Denis made himself known to the man—who had not been a member of the original party. And we learned the astounding fact that with the exception of four, the whole of that party, including the Chief of Police, remained locked inside the house—nor had any sound or message come from them!!
A man was at work with a blow-lamp, supported by others with crowbars.
Expert reinforcements were expected at any moment;
and—a curious feature of the situation—although there was a telephone in the villa, no message had come over it from within, nor had any reply been received when the number was called....
chapter forty-third
