However, when my drink arrived and I had lighted another cigarette, I was overcome with recklessness. Crossing to the window I threw open the shutters and looked down upon the oily glittering waters of the canal.
Venice! The picture city, painted in blood and passion. In some way it seemed fitting that Fu Manchu should descend upon Venice;
fitting, too, that Ardatha should be there. The moon had disappeared; mysterious lights danced far away upon the water, beckoning me back to the days of the doges.
From my window I looked down upon a shadowy courtyard, a corner of the platform upon which the hotel (itself an old palace) was built. It could be approached from the steps which led up to the main door, but so far as I could make out in the darkness it formed a sort of cul-de-sac. My window ledge was no more than four feet from the stone paving.
And now, in the shadows, I detected someone moving . . .
I drew back. My hand flew to a pocket in which, always, since I had met Dr Fu Manchu, an automatic rested. Then a voice spoke—a soft voice:
“Please help me up. I must talk to you.”
It was Ardatha!
Ardatha
She sat in a deep, cushioned divan, a Renaissance reproduction, watching me with a half smile.
“You look frightened,” she said. “Do I frighten you?” “No, Ardatha, it isn’t that you frighten me, although I admit your appearance was somewhat of a shock.”
She wore a simple frock and a coat having a fur-trimmed collar, which I recognized as that which I had seen in the car near Hyde Park corner. She had a scarf tied over her hair, and I thought that her eyes were mocking me.
“I am mad to have done this,” she went on,”and now I am wondering—”
I tried to conquer a thumping heart, to speak normally. “You are wondering if I am worth it,” I suggested, and forced myself to move in her direction.
Frankly, I was terrified as I never could have believed myself to be terrified of a woman. My own wild longing had awakened some sort of response in Ardatha! I had called to her and she had come! But as the lover of a girl so complex and mysterious I had little faith in Bart Kerrigan.
Tonight it was my part to claim her—or to lose her forever. Her eyes as well as her words told me that the choice was mine.
I offered her a cigarette and lighted it, then sat down beside her. My impulse was to grab her—hold her— never let her go again. But I took a firm grip upon these primitive urges, and then:
“I saw you at Victoria,” she said.
“What! How could you have seen me?”
“I have eyes and I can see with them.”
She lay back among the cushions, and turning, smiled up at me.
“I had no idea you had seen me.”
“That is why I am here tonight.” Suddenly, seriously: “You must go back! I tell you, you must go back. I came here tonight to tell you this.”
“Is that all you came for, Ardatha?”
“Yes. Do not suppose it means what you are thinking. I like you very much, but do not make the mistake of believing that I love easily”
She spoke with a quiet imperiousness of manner which checked me. My emotions pulled me in various directions. In the first place, this beautiful girl of the amethyst eyes, who, whatever she did, whatever she said, allured, maddened me, was a criminal. In the second place, unless the glance of those eyes be wildly misleading, she wanted me to make love to her. But in the third place, although she said her nocturnal visit had been prompted by friendship, what was her real motive? I clasped my knees tightly and stared aside at her.
“I am glad you are a man who thinks,” she said softly,”for between us there is much to think about.”
“There is only one thing I am thinking about—that I want you. You are never out of my mind. Day and night I am unhappy because I know you are involved in a conspiracy of horror and murder in which you, the real you, have no part. If I thought lightly of you and merely desired you, then as you say I should not have thought. I should have my arms around you now, kissing you, as I want to kiss you. But you see, Ardatha, you mean a lot more than that. Although I know so little about you, yet—”
Swiftly she grasped my arm—-and I seized her hand and held it. But the warning had been urgent, and I listened.
We both sat silent for a while. My gaze was set upon a strange ring which she wore. The clasp of her fingers gave me a thrill which passionate kisses of another woman could never have aroused.
Somewhere out there in the shadows I had detected the sound of a dull thud—of soft footsteps.
Releasing Ardatha’s hand, I would have sprung up, but:
“Don’t look out!” she whispered. “No! No! Don’t look out!”
I hesitated. She held me tightly.
“Why?”
“Because it is just possible—I may have been followed. Please, don’t look out!”
I heard the sound of a distant voice out over the canal; splashing of water . . . nothing more. I turned to Ardatha. There was no need for words.
She slipped almost imperceptibly into my arms, and raised her lips . . .
Nayland Smith’s Room
For a long time after Ardatha had gone—I don’t know how long a time—I knelt there by my open window staring out over the canal. She had trusted herself to me. How could I detain her—how could I regard her as a criminal? Indeed I wondered if ever I should be able so to regard her again.
The fear now burning in my brain was fear solely for her safety.
Always I had found it painful to imagine her in association with the remorseless murder group controlled by Dr Fu Manchu, but now that idea was agony. I dared not imagine what would happen if her visit to me should be discovered, if the double part which she played came to the knowledge of the Chinese doctor . . . and I could not forget that queer sound down by the waterside, those soft footsteps.
Ardatha suspected that she might have been followed. Perhaps her suspicions were well founded!
I stared out intently into misty darkness. I listened but could hear nothing save the lapping of water. From where had she come—to where had she gone? I knew little more about her than I had ever known, except that she was anxious to save me from some dreadful fate which obviously she believed to be pending.
One thing I had learned: Ardatha was of mixed Oriental and European blood. On her father’s side she descended from generations of Eastern rulers; petty chieftains from a Western standpoint, but potentates in their own land. Her murderous hatred of dictatorships was understandable. Practically the whole of her family had been wiped out by General Quinto’s airmen . . .
Silence!—and in the silence another idea was bom. The watcher in the night perhaps had a double purpose. Satisfied that I was fully preoccupied, he might have given some signal which meant that Nayland Smith was alone!
Most ghastly idea of all—this may have been the real purpose ofArdatha’s visit!
I tried in retrospect to analyse every expression in the amethyst eyes; and I found it hard, in fact impossible, to believe treachery to be hidden there. I thought of her parting kiss. My heart even now beat faster when I recalled it. Surely it could not have been a Judas kiss?
No sound could I detect anywhere about me. The Grand Canal was deserted, the moon partly veiled; but my thoughts had me restlessly uneasy. I must make sure that Nayland Smith was safe.
Quietly opening my door I walked along and switched up the light in the sitting room.
It presented exactly the same appearance as when I had left it. I moved on to Smith’s closed door. I listened intently but could hear nothing. However, he was a deep, silent sleeper, and I was not satisfied. Very gently I
