The Island of Fu Manchu

to make some pencil marks on the parchment. I said, you will remember, that I was unable find you there. I did not say that I failed to find your tracks.”

Barton did not speak, nor did I, and: “It was knowing what you had discovered,” Smith continued, “which spurred my wild dash to find you. The bother in the Caribbean is explained. There is a plot to bottle up the American Navy. Fu Manchu has played a big card.”

“You are sure it is Fu Manchu?”

“Yes, Barton. He has a secret base in or near Haiti, and he has a new kind of submarine. No one but you— until tonight—knew of this other entrance to the cave. It is shown in that chart which was stolen from you by agents of Fu Manchu.”

“Suppose it is!” cried Barton; “what I should like you to tell me, if you can, is how, if Fu Manchu is using this place as a base, he gets in and out. You don’t suppose he swims? Granting that small submarines can pass through under water, small submarines can’t carry all the gear needed for a young dockyard!”

“That point is one to which I have given some attention,” said Smith. “It suggests that *the one and only entrance from the land’ referred to by da Cunha is not the entrance shown in the chart—“

“You mean there are two?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Then why should these Si-Fan devils go to such lengths to get hold of my chart?”

“Surely that is obvious. They feared an attack from this unknown point. They knew that the Intelligence services of two countries were making intensive inquiries; for whilst that “great and lofty cave’ remains undiscovered it is a menace to us and to the Unites States.”

“It’s to the United States,” said Barton, “that I am offering my services. My own country, as usual, has turned me down.”

“Nevertheless,” rapped Smith, “it is to your own country that you are offering your services. Listen. You retired from the Army with the rank of Major, I believe. Very well, you’re Lieutenant-Colonel.”

“What!” shouted Barton.

“I’ve bought you from the War Office. You’re mine, body and soul. You’re Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Lionel Barton, and you lead the expedition because I shall be in comparatively unfamiliar territory. But remember, you act under my orders.”

“I prefer to act independently.”

“You’ve been gazetted Lieutenant-Colonel and you’re under the orders of the War Office. There’s a Clipper leaves for the United States on Monday from Lisbon. I have peculiar powers. Be good enough to regard me as your commanding officer. Here are your papers.”

CHAPTER XI

THE HOSTAGE

I drew the blinds and stared down at Bayswater Road, dismal in the light of a wet, grey dawn. Sleep was out of the question. Two men stood talking over by the Park gate—the gate at which Ardatha had reappeared in my life. Although I heard no one enter the room behind me, a hand was placed on my shoulder. I started, turned, and looked into the lean, sunbaked face of Nay-land Smith.

“It’s rough on you, Kerrigan,” he said quietly. “Really you need rest. I know what you were thinking. But don’t despair. Gallaho has set a watch on every known point of departure.”

“Do you expect any result?”

He watched me for a moment, compassionately, and then: “No,” he replied, “she is probably already on her way to America.”

I stifled a groan.

“What I cannot understand,” I said, “is how these Journeys are managed. Fu Manchu seems to travel with a considerable company and to travel fast. He was prepared to include Barton and myself in the party. How is it done. Smith?”

“I don’t know! I have puzzled over that very thing more times than enough. He returned from the West Indies ahead of me; yet no liner carried him and no known plane. Granting, it is true, that he commands tremendous financial resources, in war time no private yacht and certainly no private plane could go far unchallenged. I don’t know. It is just another of those mysteries which surround Dr. Fu Manchu.”

“hose two men are watching the house. Smith—“

“It’s their job: Scotland Yard! We shall have a bodyguard up to the moment that we leave Croydon by air for Lisbon. This scheme to isolate the United States Navy is a major move in some dark game. It has a flaw, and Barton has found it!”

“But they have the chart—“

“Apart from the fact that he has copied the chart, Barton has an encyclopaedic memory—hence Fu Manchu’s anxiety to make sure of him.”

London was not awake: it came to me that Nayland Smith and I alone were alive to a peril greater than any which had ever threatened the world. In the silence, for not even the milkmen were abroad yet, I could hear Barton breathing regularly in the spare room—that hardened old campaigner could have slept on Judgement Day.

My phone bell rang.

“What’s this?” muttered Smith.

I opened the communicating door and went into the writing-room. I took up the receiver.

“Hullo,” I said, “Who wants me?”

“Are you Paddington 54321?”

“Yes.”

“Call from Zennor . . . . You’re through, miss.”

My heart began to beat wildly as I glanced towards the open door where Nayland Smith, haggard in grey light, stood watching.

“Is that you?” asked a nervous voice.

I suppose my eyes told Smith; he withdrew and quietly closed the door.

“Ardatha! My dear, my dear! This is too wonderful! Where are you?”

“I am in Cornwall. I have risked ever so much to speak to you before we go; and we are going in an hour —“

“But Ardatha!”

“Please listen. Time is so short for me. Hassan told me what happened. I knew your name and found your number in the book. It was my only chance to know if you were alive. I thank the good God that you are, because, you see, I am so alone and unhappy, and you—I like to believe that I have forgotten, now, because otherwise I should be ashamed to think about you so much!”

“Ardatha!”

“We shall be in New York on Thursday. I know that Nayland Smith is following us. If I am still there when you arrive I will try to speak to you again. There is one thing that might save me—you understand?—a queer, a silly little thing, but—“

“Yes, yes, Ardatha! What is it? Tell me!”

“I risked capture by the police to try to catch Peko—Dr. Fu Manchu’s marmoset. That was when . . . we met. This strange pet, he is very old, is more dear to his master than any living thing. Try to find out . . . . ”

Silence: I was disconnected!

Frantically I called the exchange; but all the consolation I received from the night operator was: “Zennor’s rung off, sir.”

“Smith!” I shouted and burst into the dining-room.

Nayland Smith was standing staring out of the window. He turned and faced me.

“Yes,” he said coolly; “it was Ardatha. Where is she and what had she to say?”

Rapidly, perhaps feverishly, I told him; and then: “The marmoset!” I cried. “Barton caught it! What did he do with it?”

“Do with it!” came Sir Lionel’s great voice, and appeared at the other end of the room, his mane of hair dishevelled. “What did it do with me” After the blasted thing—it’s all of a thousand years old, and I know livestock ~ had bitten me twice last night, I locked it in the wardrobe. This morning—“