President Fu Manchu

many splendid specimens must be sacrificed. But make good your own escape, leaving nothing behind that might act as a clue for the enemy,”

“I hear, Master,” the voice of old Sam Pak replied as though he stood in the room. “I shall see to these matters.”

“Instinct is greater than wit” the guttural voice of Dr. Fu Manchu continued. “By instinct Enemy Number One has smelled us out. I hear you hiss, my friend. We shall see. I have a plan.”

“Do you desire, Marquis, that the way be made easy?”

“Such is my wish. Give them this hollow triumph: it will blind their eyes. Base 3 is of no further service: move in this matter, my friend.”

Long fingers manipulated switches. Two lights became extinguished, but another appeared upon the board.

“Report,” Dr. Fu Manchu directed, “of Number covering Base 3.”

“Report to hand,” the Teutonic tones of the Memory Man replied, “timed 11.36. Wu King’s Bar was raided at 11.05 and everyone on the premises, including Wu King and members of his family, arrested by police. Emergency exit is also in their hands; many other arrests—some forty in all. The barricades have been raised, and everything is normal except that the area is being heavily patrolled. Government agent in charge of operations to-night identified as Captain Mark Hepburn, U.S.M.C. Captain Hepburn has left the area—covered. Report ends. From Number 37.”

There was a moment of silence; the long fingers resting upon the lacquered table were so still that they might have been wrought of smoked ivory.

“Report,” the voice directed, “of Number responsible for protection of representatives.”

“Report of Protection Bureau to hand,” the Memory Man replied, “timed 11.50. All are safely returned to their hotels or places of residence, with the exception of Egyptian representative. He was arrested at Entrance 4 together with one Wu Chang who was in his company. This arrest was the subject of an earlier report.”

“Latest report of Number covering Exit 4.”

“To hand, time 11.38. The raiding party believed to be in charge of Police Captain Corrigan has withdrawn, leaving men estimated at seven to nine covering the point. Report ends. This from Number 49.”

“Prepare coast-to-coast reports. I shall require you to relay them in the order received, in one hour.”

Amber light prevailed again in the domed room where the man of miraculous memory worked upon his endless task of fashioning that majestic Chinese head. And at the moment that the light reappeared, the long bony fingers of Dr. Fu Manchu reached out to the silver box. Raising the lid, he extracted the delicate equipment for opium smoking which this receptacle contained.

“What’s the idea, Hepburn?” rapped Nayland Smith. The New York Times propped up against a coffee-pot, he was sitting at a frugal breakfast as Hepburn came into the sitting-room. Save for a suggestion of shadows beneath his keen eyes, there was little in that bronzed face to show the state of sustained nervous tension in which Nayland Smith had been during the past forty-eight hours. Automatically filling his pipe, he stared at Hepburn.

The moustache and beard had vanished. Mark Hepburn was again his clean-shaven self. He smiled in his almost apologetic way.

“Wasn’t it your friend Kipling who said that women and elephants never forget?” he asked. “I guess he might have included Dr. Fu Manchu. Anyway, I was shot at twice last night!”

Nayland Smith nodded.

“You’re right,” he said rapidly; “I had forgotten momentarily that he saw you at the window. Yes, the bearded newspaperman must disappear.”

Fey entered from the kitchenette bearing silver-covered dishes upon a tray; an appetizing odour accompanied him. Fey’s behaviour was that of a well-trained servant in a peaceful English home.

“I am making fresh coffee, sir,” he said to Hepburn. “It will be ready in a moment.”

He uncovered the dishes and withdrew.

“I am rapidly coming to the conclusion,” said Nayland Smith while Hepburn explored under the covers, “that we have outstayed our welcome under the covers, “that we have outstayed our welcome here. It’s only a question of time for one or both of us to be caught either going out or coming in.”

Hepburn did not reply. Nayland Smith struck a match, lighted his pipe and continued:

“So far we have been immoderately lucky, although both of us have had narrow squeaks. But we know that this place is covered night and day. It would be wise, I think, if we made other arrangements.”

“I am disposed to agree with you,” said Mark Hepburn slowly.

“The papers”—Nayland Smith indicated a score of loose sheets upon the carpet beside him—”are reticent about our abortive raid. A washout, Hepburn! Impossible to hold either of the prisoners. We have no evidence against them.”

“I know it.”

Fey entered with coffee and then withdrew to his tiny sanctum.

“It is merely a question of time,” Smith went on, unconsciously echoing the words of Dr. Fu Manchu, “for us to find this Chinese rabbit warren. I attended the line-up this morning but it’s a waste of breath to interrogate a Chinaman. This fact undoubtedly accounts for the survival of torture in their own country. Wu King, as I anticipated, fell back on the story of Tong warfare. Centre Street is beginning to regard me as a tiresome fanatic. Yet”—he brought his palm sharply down upon the table—”I was right about the Chinatown base. It’s there, but by the time we find it it will be deserted. An impasse, Hepbum, and our next move in doubt.”

He pointed to the newspaper propped up against the coffeepot.