KARAMANEH’S DAUGHTER
in the course of the next few minutes I had my first sight of Ste Claire de la Roche.
A paved path circled the house. There were ladders against several windows; ways had been forced into the outer rooms, and the villa proper was in possession of the police. But I knew that the real establishment was far below, and that it was much more extensive than that more or less open to inspection.
Crashing and booming echoed hollowly from within.
The front of the villa, by which I mean that part which faced towards the distant road, was squat and unimpressive. An entrance had been forced from this point also, and there were a number of police hurrying about.
A little cobbled street, flanked by a house with an arched entrance, presented itself. Beside the house, in a cavern-like opening, a steep flight of steps disappeared into blackness. The top of a ladder projected above the parapet on my right, and, looking over, I saw that part of the glass roof of one of the forcing houses visible at this point had been smashed and a ladder lowered through the gap.
Dim voices reached me from far below. I wondered if any of the raiding party had been found in that section.
But Nayland Smith was hurrying on down the slope. And now we came to a long, sanded drive. There was a wall on the left, beyond which I thought lay a kitchen garden and a sheer drop on the right.
• Sweeping around in a northerly direction, the drive led to gates of ornate iron scrollwork, which were closed, and I saw that two police officers were on duty there.
The gates were opened in response to a brief order, and we hurried out into a narrow, sloping lane. I remembered this lane. It wandered down to the main road; for I had penetrated to it in my earliest attempt to explore Ste Claire de la Roche, and had been confronted with a “No thoroughfare” sign.
“There’s a police car at the comer,” said Nayland Smith;
“we must take that.”
No cars had been found in the stone garage attached to the villa, and I wondered what had become of that which had once belonged to Petrie, and which must have been hidden on the night of my encounter with the dacoit on the Comiche road.
A sergeant of police was standing by the car. He reported that a motorcyclist patrol had just passed. All cars using both roads had been challenged and searched throughout the night in accordance with Sir Denis’s instructions. But no one had been detained.
Nayland Smith stood there twitching at the lobe of his ear;
and my heart sank, for I thought that he was about to admit defeat.
“He may have gone by sea down to Italy,” he said; “it is a possibility which must not be overlooked. Or, by heavens!—”
He suddenly dashed his fist into the palm of his left hand.
“What, Sir Denis?”
“He may have had a yacht standing by! He got away from England in that manner on one occasion.”
“It is also just possible,” I began...
“I know,” Sir Denis groaned. “My theory lacks solid foundation—he may have joined the submarine?”
“Exactly.”
“His delay might be due merely to his sense of the dramatic—which is strong. Get in, Sterling.”
He turned to the sergeant in charge of the car.
“Officer of the Prefet,” he rapped and jumped in behind me.
To endeavour to reconstruct the ideas which passed through my mind during that early morning drive would be futile, since they consisted of a taunting panorama of living-dead men; the flowerlike face of Fleurette appearing again and again before that ghostly curtain, and set in an expression of adoration which formed my most evil memory. I could not banish the image of Petrie, could not accept the fact that he had joined the phantom army of Dr. Fu Manchu.
Nayland Smith sat grimly silent, until at last:
“Sir Denis,” I said, “this is not time to talk of my personal affairs, but—something which happened in Petrie’s room has been puzzling me.”
“What is that?” he snapped.
“Fleurette kept watch at the door—she had led me there— while I slipped in to see him. Just before I left, he caught a glimpse of her, and——”
“Yes?” said Sir Denis, with a sudden keen interest in his eyes. “What did he do?”
“He sat up in bed as though he had seen an apparition. He asked in a most extraordinary voice who it was that had looked into the room. I had to leave—it was impossible to stay. But there is no doubt whatever that he recognized her!— although, as she told me afterwards, she had never seen Petrie in her life.”
I paused, meeting his eager regard; and then:
“You also thought you recognized her, Sir Denis,” I went on, “and evidently you were not wrong. I can’t believe I shall ever see her again, but, if you know, tell me: Who is she?”
He drew a deep breath.
“You told me, I think that you had never met Karamaneh— Petrie’s wife?”
“Never.”
“She was formerly a member of the household of Dr. Fu Manchu.”
“It seems impossible!”
“It does, but it’s a fact, nevertheless. I seem to remember telling you that she was the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”
“You did.”
“On one side she’s of pure Arab blood, of the other I am uncertain.”
“Arab?”
“Surely. She was selected for certain qualities, of which her extraordinary beauty was not the least, by Dr. Fu Manchu. Petrie upset his plans in that direction. Now, it is necessary for you to realise, Sterling, that Petrie, also, is a man of very good family—of sane, clean, balanced stock.”
“I am aware of this, Sir Denis; my father knows him well.”
Sir Denis nodded and went on:
“Dr. Fu Manchu has always held Petrie in high esteem. Very few people are aware of what I am going to tell you—possibly even your father doesn’t know. But a year after Petrie’s marriage to Karamaneh, a child was born.”
“I had no idea of this.”
“It was so deep a grief to them, Sterling, that they never spoke of it.”
“A grief?”
“The child, a girl, was born in Cairo. She died when she was three weeks old.”
“You never would. They agreed never to mention it. It was their way of forgetting. There were curious features about the case to which, in their sorrow they were blind at the time. But when, nearly a year later, the full facts came into my possession, a truly horrible idea presented itself to my mind.”
“What do you mean, Sir Denis?”
“Naturally, I whispered no word of it to Petrie. It would have been the most callous cruelty to do so. But privately, I made a number of enquiries; and while I obtained no evidence upon which it was possible to act, nevertheless, what I learned confirmed my suspicion....
“Dr. Fu Manchu is patient, as only a great scientist can be.”
He paused, watching me, a question in his eyes. But as I did not speak:
“When I entered that room, which I described to you as the Palace of the Sleeping Beauty, I received one of the great shocks of my life. Do you know what I thought as I looked at Fleurette asleep?”
“I am trying to anticipate what you are going to tell me.”
“I thought that it was Karamaneh—
“You mean——”
