And now she was so near to him that easily he could have grasped her. Watching his grim face into which a new expression had come, I wondered what he contemplated.
“It was a long time ago,” he replied quietly.
“But how could it be so long ago? If I remember you how can I have forgotten our meeting?”
“Perhaps you have forgotten your name?”
“That is stupid! My name is Korean!.”
“No, no.” He smiled and shook his head. “Your real name I never knew, but the name given to you in childhood, the name by which I did know you, was Fah lo Suee.”
She drew down her brows in an effort of recollection.
“Fah lo Suee,” she murmured. “But this is a silly name. It means a perfume, a sweet scent. It is childish!”
“You were a child when it was given to you.”
“Ah!” She smiled—and her smile was so alluring that I knew how this woman must have played upon the emotions of those she had lured into the net of Dr Fu Manchu. “You have known me a long time? I thought so, but I cannot remember your name.”
For Korean! I had no existence. She had forgotten my presence. I meant no more to her than one of the dreadful furnishings of the place.
“My name has always been Nayland Smith. How long it will remain so I don’t know.”
“What does a name matter when one belongs to the Si-Fan?”
“I don’t want to forget as you have forgotten—Korean!.”
“What have I forgotten?”
“You have forgotten Nayland Smith. Even now you do not recognize my name.”
Again she frowned in that puzzled way and took a step nearer to the speaker.
“Perhaps you mean something which I do not understand.
Why are you afraid to forget? Has your life been so happy?”
“Perhaps,” said Smith, “I don’t want to forget you as you have forgotten me.”
He extended his hands; she was standing directly before him. And as I watched, unable to believe what I saw, he unfastened the gold necklace, held it for a moment, and then dropped it into his pocket!
“Why do you do that?” She was very close to him now. “Do you think it will help you to remember?”
“Perhaps. May I keep it?”
“It is nothing—I give it to you.” Her voice, every line of her swaying body, was an invitation. “It is the Takbir, the Moslem prayer. It means there is no god but God.”
“That is why I thank you for it, Koreani.”
A long time she waited, watching him—watching him. But he did not stir. She moved slowly away.
“I must go. No one must find me here. But I had to come!” Still she hesitated. “I am glad I came.”
“I am glad you came.”
She turned, flashed a glance at me, and stepped to the open door. There she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
“Soon we shall meet again.”
She went out, closed the door and extinguished the light. I heard a jingle of keys, then the sound of her footsteps as she went along the passage.
“For God’s sake. Smith,” I said in a low voice,”what has come over you?”
He raised a warning finger.
* * *
As I watched uncomprehendingly, Nayland Smith held up the gold necklace. It was primitive bazaar work, tiny coins hanging from gold chains, each stamped with an Arab letter. I saw that it was secured by means of a ring and a clumsy gold hook. Quickly but coolly he removed the string from the handle of the pitcher and tied it to the ring.
Now I grasped the purpose of that strange episode which in its enactment had staggered me. Once more he dropped onto the stone floor and crept forward until he could throw the hook of the necklace into the angle of the pincers. Twice he failed to anchor the hook;
the third time he succeeded.
Gently he drew the heavy iron implement towards him—until he could grasp it in his
“Kerrigan, if I never worked fast in my life before I must work fast now!”
His eyes shone feverishly. He rattled out the words in a series of staccato syllables. In a trice he was onto the chair and straining through the iron bars, the heavy instrument designed to tear human tendons held firmly in his hand. By the tenseness of his attitude, his quick, short breathing, I knew how difficult he found his task.
“Can you reach it, Smith?”
That mournful howling arose, followed by a faint metallic rattling . . . The rattling ceased.
“Yes, I have touched them! But getting the key out is the difficulty-More rattling followed. I clenched my hands, held my breath.
Smith now extended his left arm through the bars. Stooping down, he began slowly to withdraw his right. I was afraid to speak, until with more confidence he pulled the iron pincers back into the cell—and I saw that they gripped a bunch of keys!
He stepped down, dropped keys and forceps on the floor, and closing his eyes, sat still for a moment . . .
“Splendid!” I said. “One mistake would have been fatal.”
“I know!” He looked up. “It was a hell of a strain, Kerrigan. But what helped me was—she had forgotten to lock the door. The key slipped out quite easily!”
That short interval over, he was coolly efficient again.
Picking up the bunch, he examined each key closely, presently selected one and tried it on the lock of the band encircling his left ankle.
“Wrong!”
He tried another. I heard a dull grating sound.
“Right!”
In a moment his legs were free.
“Quick, Kerrigan! Come right forward. I will slide them across the floor to you. The one I have separated fits my leg iron; it probably fits yours.”
In a moment I had the bunch in my hand. Fifteen seconds later I, too, was free.
“Now the keys! Be quick!”
I tossed them back. He caught them, stood upon the chair, looked out through the iron grating . . . and threw them onto the floor of the passage!
“Smith! Smith!” I whispered.
He jumped down and turned to face me.
“What?”
“We were free! Why have you thrown the keys back?”
Silently he pointed to the door.
I stared. There was no keyhole!
“Even if we had the key it would be useless to us. There is no means of opening this door from the inside! We must wait. Tuck your feet and the manacles well under your chair. I shall do the same. Soon the yellow jailer will be here. If he crosses first to you I will spring on his back. If he comes to me you attack him.”
“He may cry out.”
Smith smiled grimly. He picked up the iron forceps.
“Will you have them, or shall I? It’s a fifty-fifty chance.”
“Keep them, Smith; you will get an opportunity in any event.”
And scarcely had we disposed ourselves in a manner to suggest that the leg irons were still in place, when I heard quick footsteps approaching along the passage.
“Good! he’s here. Remember the routine, Kerrigan.”
There was a pause outside the door and I heard muttering. Then came a jangle as the man stooped to pick
