it was completed. . . .
Although painfully aware of her danger, he hadn’t the heart to deter Moya when, her face a mask of sorrow, she crossed to the boy’s bed. He beckoned to Dr. Burnett, and outside in the sitting-room:
“I fear the larynx is affected,” he said; “I am not equipped for a proper examination in this light. But what is your opinion?”
“My opinion is, Dr. Purcell, that the woman Goff, although she is a trained nurse, has a sentimental attachment to the patient and is unduly alarming Mrs. Adair. The action of the antitoxin, admittedly, has been delayed, but if normal measures are strictly carried out I can see no cause for alarm.” Mark Hepburn ran his fingers through his untidy hair. “I wish I could share your optimism,” he said. “Do you know Dr. Detmold’s number? I should like to speak to him.”
IV
“The human equation—forever incalculable,” muttered Nayland Smith.
He hung up the telephone and crossing, stared out of the window.
The night had a million eyes: New York’s lights were twinkling. . . Admittedly the situation was difficult; he put himself mentally in Hepburn’s place and Hepburn had asked only to be allowed to remain until the famous consultant arrived.
Nayland Smith stared at the decapitated trunk of the Stratton Building. There were lighted rooms on the lower floors, but the upper were in darkness. The great explosion at the summit had wrought such havoc that even now it was possible the entire building would be condemned. That explosion had been the personal handiwork of Dr. Fu Manchu!
Their escape from the catastrophe prepared for them fell nearly within the province of miracles. Yet to this very hour Dr. Fu Manchu remained at large, his wonderful brain weaving schemes beyond the imagination of normal men. . . .
Could anything, short of the destruction of that apparently indestructible life, prevent the triumph of Paul Salvaletti? The Americans began frankly to assume the dimensions of a Fascist! movement, with the dazzling personality of Salvaletti at its head. On Wednesday next, at eight o’clock (if he lived), Abbot Donegal would tell the country the truth. What would the reaction be?
Dr. Fu Manchu was buying the United States with gold!
Once, in Nayland Smith’s presence, he had said:
“Gold! I could drown mankind in gold!”
That secret, to the discovery of which so many alchemists had devoted their lives, was held by the Chinese Doctor. Smith had known for a long time that gigantic operations in gold were being carried on. Indeed, although few had even suspected, it was these secret operations which had created the financial chaos from which every nation of the world suffered to this day.
To-night the end seemed to him inevitable. There, alone, staring out at the lights of New York, Nayland Smith fought a great fight.
Could he hope to check this superman who fought with weapons not available to others; who had the experience of unimaginable years ; who wielded forces which no other man had ever controlled? There was one certain way, and one only:
that which Dr. Fu Manchu himself doubtless would have chosen.
The death of Paul Salvaletti would bring this mighty structure crashing to the earth. . . .
But, even though the fate of the country, perhaps of the Western world, hung in the scales, assassination was not a weapon which Nayland Smith could employ.
There was perhaps another way: the destruction of Dr. Fu Manchu. That subtle control removed, the gigantic but fragile machine would be lost; a rudderless ship in a hurricane.
A bell rang. Fey came in and crossed to the telephone.
“Lieutenant Johnson, sir.”
Nayland Smith took up the receiver.
“Hullo, Johnson.”
“Touch and go again!” came Johnson’s voice on a note of excitement. “Dr. Fu Manchu was recognized by one of our patrols, but his car developed tremendous speed, and our men couldn’t follow. They called through to the next point. The car was intercepted. It was empty—except for the driver! We’ve got the driver.”
“Anything more?”
“Yes: a report that two men were seen to change cars in Greenwich. Descriptions tally. Second car sighted just over the line. But description now passed on to all patrols. Speaking from Times Building.”
“Standby I’ll join you.”
Nayland Smith hung up.
“Fey!” he shouted.
Fey reappeared silently.
“Captain Hepburn is at the second address under the name ofAdair in the notebook on the telephone table. We have no number for this address. If I want him you will send a messenger.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I shall keep in touch. I am going out now.”
“As you are, sir?”
