The Drums of Fu Manchu

across the apartment in the direction of the shattered window.

“Kerrigan!”

He sprang forward as I scrambled to my feet.

“I can’t explain yet,” I muttered (the back of my head began to ache madly) “except that you must not touch that telephone.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders, stared into my eyes.

“Thank God you’re all right, Kerrigan! I can’t tell you what I feared—but will tell you later. Somewhere down the river there has been a catastrophe.”

“It has saved us from a catastrophe far greater.”

Smith turned, threw a window open (I saw now that he had been deeply moved) and craned out. Away downstream black smoke was rising over a sullen red glow.

Police whistles shrieked and I heard the distant clangor of a fire engine . . . Later we learned—and the tragedy was front-page news in the morning—of that disastrous explosion on a munition barge in which twelve lives were lost. At the moment, I remember, we were less concerned with the cause of the explosion than with its effect.

Smith turned from the window and stared at me fixedly.

“How did you get in, Kerrigan? Where is Fey?”

“Fey let me in, then he was called up by Inspector Gallaho from Scotland Yard to meet you there.”

“I have not been there—and I have reason to know that Gallaho is not in London. However, go on.”

“Fey evidently had no doubt that Gallaho was the speaker. He gave me a drink, told me that you would return directly he, Fey, reached Scotland Yard, and went out.”

“What happened then?”

“Then the incredible happened.”

“You are sure that you feel perfectly restored?”

“Certain.”

Smith pushed me down into an armchair and crossed to the buffet.

“Go on,” he said quietly.

“The television screen lighted up. Doctor Fu Manchu appeared.”

“What!”

He turned, his hand on a syphon and his expression very grim.

“Yes! You wondered for what purpose he had caused the thing to be installed here, Smith. I can give you an example of one use he made of it! Perhaps I am particularly susceptible to the influence of this man. I think you believe I am, for you observed on a former occasion that I was behaving strangely as I watched those awful eyes. Well this time I succumbed altogether. I had a series of extraordinary visions, almost certainly emanations from the brain of Doctor Fu Manchu. And then I became fully conscious but quite incapable of movement!”

“That was your condition when I returned,” Smith snapped. He crossed to me with a tumbler in his hand.

“I had been in that condition for some time before your return. A man admitted himself to the lobby with a key.”

“Describe him.”

“A small man with straight black hair, who wore what seemed to be powerful spectacles. He carried a bag which he handled with great care. He proceeded to make some adjustment to the mouthpiece of the telephone, and then with a glance in my direction—I was lying on the floor as you found me—he went out again as quietly as he had come.”

“Clearly,” said Smith, staring into the lobby, “your unexpected appearance presented a problem. They did not know you were coming. It had been arranged for Fey to be lured away by this unknown mimic who can evidently imitate Gallaho’s voice; but you, the unexpected intruder, had to be dealt with in a different manner. I am wondering about two things now, Kerrigan. Do you feel fit to investigate?”

“Perfectly”

“First: how long you would have remained in that state in which I found you, failing the unforeseen explosion which shocked you into consciousness; and second: what the small man with the black hair did to the telephone.”

“For heaven’s sake be careful!”

He crossed to the lobby and very gently raised the instrument. I stood beside him. Apart from a splitting headache I felt perfectly normal. He tipped up the mouthpiece and stared curiously into it.

“You are sure it was the mouthpiece that he adjusted?”

“Quite sure.”

And now he turned it round to the light which was streaming through the doorway of the sitting room.

We both saw something.

A bead, quite colorless and no larger than a small pea, adhered to the instrument just below the point where a speaker’s lips would come . . .

“Good God!” Nayland Smith whispered. “Kerrigan! You understand!”

I nodded. I could not find my voice—for the appalling truth had come to me.

“Anyone speaking loudly would burst this bubble and inhale its contents! God knows what it contains—but we know at last how General Quinto and Osaki died!”

“The Green Death!”

“Undoubtedly. It was a subtle brain, Kerrigan, which foresaw that finding you unconscious, I should immediately call a doctor, that my voice would be agitated. The usual routine, as you must see now, was for someone to call the victim and complain that his voice was not audible, thus causing him to speak close to the receiver and to speak loudly.”

Very gently he replaced the instrument.

At this moment the door was partly opened and Fey came in. He glanced from face to face.

“Glad, sir! Frightened! Something funny going on!”

“Very funny. Fey. I suppose when you got to the Yard you found that the summons did not come from there?”

“Yes sir.”

The phone bell rang. Fey stepped forward.

“Stop! On no account are you to touch the telephone. Fey, until further orders.”

“Very good, sir.”

Tremors Under Europe

“Doctor Fu Manchu evidently is losing his sense of humor,” said Nayland Smith with a smile.

It was noon of the following day, and he stood in my room. He was seated at the desk and was reading my notes. Now he laid them down and began to fill his pipe.

“What do you mean. Smith?”

“I mean that two things—your unexpected appearance, and that explosion on the powder barge—together saved my life. By the way, here is an addition to your notes.”

“What is it?”

“The home office analyst’s report. You know the difficulty we had to remove the mouthpiece of the telephone without breaking the bubble. However, it was done, and you will see what Doctor O’Donnell says.”

I took up the report from the home office consultant. It was not his official report but one he had sent privately to Nayland Smith.

“The construction of the small globe or bubble,” I read, “is peculiarly delicate. Examination of the fragments suggests that it is composed of some kind of glass and is probably blown by an instrument which at the same time fills the interior with gas. The effect of breaking the bubble, however, is to leave no trace whatever, apart from a fragment of powder which normally would be indiscernible. It was attached to the mouthpiece by a minute speck of gum, and I should imagine the operation required great dexterity. As to its contents:

“My full report may be consulted, but briefly I may say that the composition of the gas which this bubble