inquisitively. Fu Manchu crossed nearly to the centre of the cell—he had a queer, catlike gait. There, standing midway between us, he looked long and searchingly, first at Nayland Smith and then at me. I tried to sustain the gaze of his half-closed eyes. I was mortified when I found that I could not do it.
“So you have decided to join me. Sir Denis?” He spoke softly and raising one hand caressed the marmoset. “At last the Si-Fan is to enjoy the benefit of your great ability.”
Nayland Smith said nothing. He watched and listened.
“Later I shall make arrangements for your transport to my temporary headquarters. I shall employ you to save civilization from the madmen who seek to ruin it.”
The meaning of these strange words was not entirely clear to me, but I noted, and drew my own conclusions, that Dr Fu Manchu seemed to have forgotten my presence.
“Tonight, a man who threatens the peace of the world will make a far-reaching decision. To me his life or death are matters of no importance, but I am determined that there shall be peace; the assumption of the West that older races can benefit by your ridiculous culture must be corrected. Your culture!”
His voice sank contemptuously on a guttural note.
“What has it done? What have your aeroplanes—those toys of a childish people—accomplished? Beyond bringing every man’s home into the firing line—nothing! Napoleon had no bombers, no high explosives, nor any other of your modern boons. He conquered a great part of Europe without them. Poor infants, who transfer your prayers from angels to aeroplanes!”
He ceased for a moment and the silence was uncanny. From my point of view in the low wooden chair, Dr Fu Manchu appeared abnormally tall. He possessed a physical repose which was terrifying, because in some way it made more manifest the volcanic activity of his brain. He was like a pylon supporting a blinding light.
The silence was broken by shrill chattering from the marmoset. With a tiny hand it patted the cheek of its master.
Dr Fu Manchu glanced aside at the wizened little creature.
“You have met my marmoset before. Sir Denis, and I think I have mentioned that he is of great age. I shall not tell you his age since you might be tempted to doubt my word, which I could not tolerate.” There was mockery in his voice. “My earliest experiments in arresting senility were carried out on my faithful Peko. As you see, they were successful.”
He removed the marmoset from his shoulder and couched it in a yellow fold covering his left arm. Nayland Smith’s face remained completely expressionless. I counted the paces between the chair in which I sat and the spot upon which Dr Fu Manchu stood.
He was just beyond my reach.
“You have genius. Sir Denis, but it is marred by a streak of that bulldog breed of which the British are so proud. In striving to bolster up the ridiculous pretensions of those who misdirect the West, you have inevitably found yourself opposed to me. Consider what it is that you would preserve, what contentment it has brought in its train. Look around at the happy homes of Europe and America, the laborers singing in your vineyards, the peace and prosperity which your ‘progress’ has showered on mankind.”
His voice rose. I detected a note of repressed but feverish excitement.
“But no matter. There will be ample time in future to direct your philosophy into more suitable channels. I will gratify your natural curiosity regarding my presence in the world, which continues even after my unpleasant experience at Niagara Falls . . .”
Nayland Smith’s hands closed tightly.
“You recovered the body of that brilliant maniac. Professor Morgenstahl, I understand, and also the wreckage of the motorboat. One of my most devoted servants was driving the boat. He was not killed as you supposed and his body lost. He was temporarily stunned in the struggle with Morgenstahl—whom I overcame, however. He recovered in time to deal with the emergency. He succeeded in running the boat against a rock near the head of a rapid. In this he was aided by a Very light contributed by an airman flying over us. This fellow of mine—a sea Dyak—is a magnificent surf swimmer. Carrying a line he swam from point to point and finally reached the Canadian shore.”
Dr Fu Manchu stroked the marmoset reflectively.
“Unaided by this line and the strength of my servant, I doubt if I could have crossed to the bank. The crossing seriously exhausted me—and the boat became dislodged no more than a few seconds after I had taken the plunge . . , ,
Nayland Smith neither spoke nor moved. His hands remained clenched, his face expressionless.
“You have observed,” Fu Manchu continued, “that my daughter is again acting in my interests. She is unaware, however, of her former identity: Fah lo Suee is dead. I have reincarnated her as Korean!, an Oriental dancer whose popularity is useful. This is her punishment . . .”
The marmoset uttered a whistling sound. It was uncannily derisive.
“Later you will experience this form of amnesia, yourself. The ordeal by fire to which I once submitted Korean! in your presence was salutary but the furnace contained no fuel. It was one which I had prepared for
Mentally I seemed to remain numb. Some of the Chinese doctor’s statements I failed to follow. Others were all too horribly clear. At times there came a note almost of exultation, severely repressed but perceptible, into the speaker’s voice. He had the majesty which belongs to great genius, or, and there was a new horror in the afterthought, to insanity. He was perhaps a brilliant madman!
“I am satisfied to observe,” he continued, “that my new aesthetic, a preparation of
Slowly he extended a gaunt hand in the direction of the torture room:
“Medieval devices designed to stimulate reluctant memories.”
He stepped aside and took up a pair of long-handled tongs.
“Forceps used to tear sinews.”
He spoke softly, then dropped those instruments of agony. The clang of their fall made my soul sick.
“Primitive and clumsy. China has done better. No doubt you recall the Seven Gates? However, these forms of questions are no longer necessary. I can learn all that I wish to know by the mere exercise of that neglected implement, the human will. I recently discovered in this way that Ardatha—hitherto a staunch ally—is not to be trusted where Mr. Kerrigan is concerned.”
I ceased to breathe as he spoke those words . . .
“Accordingly I have taken steps to ensure her noninterference . . . You are silent, Sir Denis?”
“Why should I speak?”‘ Smith’s voice was flatly unemotional. “I allowed myself to fall into a trap which a schoolboy would have distrusted. I have nothing to say.”
“You refer to the lotus floor no doubt? Yes, ingenious in its way. That room with others giving access to the cellars and dungeons had been walled up for several generations. I recently had them reopened, but confess I did not foresee it would be for the accommodation of so distinguished a guest. In a dungeon adjoining this I came across two skeletons those of a man and a woman. Irregularities in certain of the small bones suggested that they had not died happily—”
He turned as if to go.
“I look forward to further conversation in the future, Sir Denis, but now I must leave you. A matter of the gravest urgency demands my attention.”
As he moved towards the door the marmoset sprang from his arm to his shoulder, and turning its tiny head, gibed at us . . . The light went out . . . I heard the key turned in the lock—I heard those padding, catlike steps receding in the stone-paved passage . . .
I was drenched in perspiration.
The Tongs
The silence which followed Dr Fu Manchu’s departure was broken by that awful moaning as of some lost soul who had died horribly in one of the dungeons. It rose and fell, rose and fell . . . and faded away.
“Kerrigan!” Smith snapped, and I admired the vigour of his manner. “Was the wind rising out there?”
