The Island of Fu Manchu

I confess that you hold my heartstrings. In the wooden base upon which the head of lea is mounted, you will find a small phial containing a heavy liquid resembling Chartreuse. Press the red indicator twice, when you have found it.”

Without hesitation (I wondered if anyone had ever disobeyed Dr. Fu Manchu) I removed the shrivelled head, the base of which I found to be fixed in two grooves so that it could be pulled out from the box. I inverted it and saw that there was a sliding lid. Inside the cavity lay a phial and a tiny tortoiseshell snuff-box packed in cotton wool.

I reclosed this strange casket, replaced the head and followed instructions.

“You have in your hand,” the imperious voice responded, “that which means the life not merely of an animal.One minim, no more, is to be added to one gill of fresh goat’s milk. This must be given to the marmoset at once. Afterwards, the milk once daily, with the liqueur only on every third day. An added fragment of the powder in the snuff-box will induce him to eat any suitable food. Press the red indicator once if you understand; otherwise, twice.”

When I had signified that I understood: “See that Peko lives,” the distant voice went on. €<! am prepared to exchange Ardatha for Peko—when I have recovered Ardatha. There is a schism in our ancient ranks; a usurper seeks to be President, one who believes that the Nazi blunderers who have recently approached me can be used to our advantage. Here, in acting for yourself you act also for me. There is a creature called Lou Cabot who has joined my enemies. So far, he has escaped me. He is hiding in Colon. Ardatha is with him. You have Sir Denis and the Zone Police; I have my own methods. Seek for this reptile. If you should chance to kill him it would save me trouble.”

Again the voice ceased. I was in a state of intense nervous tension, but at last: “Find Cabot,” the voice added, now faintly and from far away. “Delay may be dangerous . . . Take care of Peko . . . I will restore . . .”

The voice ceased entirely.

CHAPTER XXI

CONCERNING LOU CABOT

“It will be interesting to learn,” said Nayland Smith, “whether the Zone Police,Dr. Fu Manchu or a jealous woman first discovers the whereabouts of this man Lou Cabot. However well hidden he may be, I may add that I do not envy Lou Cabot.”

The hour grew late, and with every moment that passed my impatience grew hotter. Somewhere, perhaps within call of the balcony outside our windows, Ardatha was imprisoned at the mercy of the sallow-faced, sleek- eyed scoundrel who had tracked me in Panama I Smith relighted his pipe, shooting a quick glance in my direction.

“I do not necessarily believe the woman Flammario,” he added, puffing vigorously.

“What could her object be?”

“Assuming it to be revenge—and your description depicts a woman whom it would be unwise to offend—it does not necessarily follow that her construction of the situation is the correct one. What I find hard to believe is this: that a member of the Si-Fan, presumably a senior official and therefore one well acquainted with their methods and efficiency, should, for a mere infatuation, invite the terrible penalties which must follow.”

“I see your point,” I replied miserably; “But if there is any truth at all in Flammario’s story what other explanation can there be?”

“One which occurred to me immediately,” snapped Smith. You had it from Fu Manchu himself. In one respect the Doctor stands unique amongst all the villains I have known; he never lies. Civil war has broken out in the ancient order of the Si-Fan: the man Cabot has joined the rebels. This, Flammario told you. I assume that Cabot is acting under the orders of the opposition leader.”

“You mean that his interest in Ardatha is not personal, as Flammario thinks?”

“I mean just that. She, as a woman, would naturally think otherwise. Ardatha is in some way useful to the rebel members, and so they are endeavouring to smuggle her away. This is not the first time, Kerrigan, that strife has broken out in the Council of Seven. The last rebel who endeavoured to assume control of that vast organization—”

He ceased speaking and began to pace up and down restlessly.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“A train of thought, Kerrigan—possibly an inspiration.”

He was still promenading, plunged in a brown study, when the door opened and Barton came in.

“Fu Manchu is undeniably a wizard physician,” Sir Lionel declared. “Treatment prescribed seems to have taken years off that beastly little marmoset. It is now as full of fight as a bulldog.”

“I am glad,” I said, and spoke with sincerity. “I was afraid we were going to lose the thing.”

“Any more messages from the Talking Head?” he inquired in his loud, facetious way.

“No.” Smith suddenly emerged from some maze of speculation in which he had been lost. “We have tried pressing the red control, and as you see the door of the box is open.”

“I am prepared to believe that it is a receiving-set and not some kind of hypnotic machine,” growled Barton, “when I have actually heard it for myself. It isn’t connected up in any way: it’s just an empty box—except, of course, for the shrivelled head.”

“No doubt I should be as sceptical as you,” Smith admitted, “if I had not had previous experience of this amazing apparatus. The head, of course, has nothing to do with the matter. Fu Manchu lacks a true sense of humour; but he has a strong sense of the baroque. Some time when you are in London and have an hour to spare, I must take you along to Scotland Yard Museum. One of these receivers is there. European experts have overhauled the mechanism and have unanimously declared it to be without equipment for receiving and transmitting sound waves—yet it did, as Kerrigan can testify. My dear Barton, Dr. F*u Manchu is many generations ahead of others in nearly all the sciences. I have never been able to make you understand that he has at his disposal many first class brains other than his own.”

“The facts of that zombie business are not too clear to me, either,” I confessed.

“If, as I suspect,” said Smith rapidly, “Haiti or its neighbourhood prove to be the Doctor’s new headquarters, it is possible, Kerrigan, that you may learn more of this matter in the near future.”

His gaze became abstracted again.

“What were you thinking about. Smith,” I asked eagerly, “with regard to the internal troubles of the Si- Fan?”

“I was thinking,” he replied, and spoke with unwonted slowness, “of the woman feared by the whole of the Negro population of Haiti, the woman known as Queen Mamaloi.”

“There has been a thorough check-up on this man Cabot,” said Beecher of the Zone Police. Captain Jacob Beecher was tall, had a square frame and a square face. He looked efficiently dangerous. “We have a considerable dossier Cabot already. In fact, at one time there was a movement to throw him out of the area.”

“What for?” asked Smith.

‘‘Well, in that gin cellar of his he’s sitting pretty to pick up information, and it was thought—but it couldn’t be proved—that he was Fifth Column man for one of the dictator teams. Personally, I still think he is. He has a lot of money and substantial interests around Panama; but although The Passion Fruit Tree is a dividend-maker, I don’t believe all his money comes from there.”

“Where does this bird roost?” asked Barton.

“We”, sir, he has Ritzy quarters right on the premises, and I guess the villa where Flammario lives (she’s his partner) is Lou’s property, anyway.”

“But,” I asked, “where is he now? Have you any information on that point?”

“No, sir. We know he went to- New York beginning of last week, and there’s some evidence that he came back two or three days ago. But he hasn’t been seen in The Passion Fruit or in any of his usual haunts. One thing is fairly certain: his girl friend has soured on him.”

“You are sure of this?” snapped Smith.

“Certain. Some of my boys who keep an eye on the place—it’s right enough in its way, but at times they’ve sailed pretty close to the rocks—report that there’s another dame in the case. Plammario is out for murder.” He