lighted and a door was open. The coloured boy rapped upon the door, and James Ridgwell Horton came out, holding reading glasses in his hand and having a book under his arm. The storm seemed to be moving into the east, but dense cloudbanks obscured the moon and the night was vibrant with electric energy. He peered at us in a bewildered way.
“You want to see me?”
At which moment the reflection of distant lightning showed us up clearly.
“We do,” said Smith.
“Why, Mr. Kerrigan! Sir Denis Nayland Smith!” Horton exclaimed, and fell back a step. “Mr. Kerrigan!”
“May we come in?” asked Smith quietly. “Certainly. This is . . . most unexpected.” We went into a room furnished with tropical simplicity; the night was appallingly hot, and Horton had evidently been lying in a rest chair, reading. In the rack was an iced drink from which two straws protruded. I noticed with curiosity that illumination was by an ordinary standard lamp. Horton stared rather helplessly from face to face .
“Does this mean—?” he began.
“It means,” said Smith rapidly, “as the presence of Kerrigan must indicate, that the game’s up. Do exactly as I tell you, and you will come to no great harm. Try to trick me, and the worst will happen.”
Horton made an effort to recover himself.
“In the first place, sir, I cannot imagine—”
“Imagination is unnecessary. Facts speak for themselves. I am here on the behalf of the Government of the United States.”
“Oh!” murmured Horton.
“I am accompanied by a number of Federal officers. The entire premises are surrounded by armed troops. This, for your information.”
“Yes, I see,” murmured Horton; and I saw him clench his hands. “In spite of this—and I speak purely in your own interest—I fear that steps will be taken against you of a character which you may not anticipate. I strongly urge you—”
“It is my business to take risks,” snapped Smith. “You may regard yourself as under arrest, Mr. Horton. And now, be good enough to lead the way to Dr. Fu Manchu.”
A moment Horton hesitated, then stretched his hand out to a telephone.
“No, no!” said Smith, and grasped his arm. “I wish to
“I cannot answer for the consequences. I fear they will be grave—for you.”
“Be good enough to lead the way.”
I was now riding a high tide of excitement; and when, walking dejectedly between us, Horton crossed the quadrangle in the direction of that large building without windows which I remembered so well, which I should never forget, I confess that I tingled with apprehension. There was no one in sight anywhere, but glancing back again I saw that a number of armed men had entered from the drive and were spreading out right and left so as to command every building in the quadrangle. Two who carried sub-machine guns were covering our movements.
Before the door of that lobby in which I had changed into rubber shoes, Horton paused.
“If you will wait for a moment,” he said, “I will inquire if the Doctor is here.”
“No, no!” rapped Smith. “We are coming with you.”
Horton selected a key from a number on a chain and opened the door. We went into the lobby—and there were the rows of rubber shoes.
“You must change into these,” he said mechanically.
I nodded to Smith and we all went through that strange ritual.
“Open this other door,” said Smith.
The men armed with sub-machine guns were already inside.
“I have no key of this door; I can only ring for admittance.”
“Ring,” said Smith. “I have warned you.”
Horton pressed a button beside the massive metal door, and my excitement grew so tense that my teeth were clenched. For perhaps five seconds we waited. Smith turned to the G-men.
“When this door opens, see that it stays open,” he ordered. “Pull those rubber things over your shoes. I don’t know what for—but do it.”
The door opened. I became aware of that throbbing sound which I had noted before, and there, before me, wearing his white surgical Jacket, wasDr. Marriot Doughty!
“Kerrigan!” he exclaimed: “Kerrigan!”
His naturally sallow face grew deathly white. The short van-dyke beard seemed to bristle.
“My name is Nayland Smith,” said my friend. “I am here to see Dr. Fu Manchu. Stand aside if you please.”
Entering, out of darkness broken only by gleams of lightning, into that vast and strange laboratory was very startling. One came from night into day. Whereas, when I had seen it before, the place had been but dimly illuminated, now, the Ferris Globe shone as though it were molten and the effect was as that of daylight. Standing behind one of the glass-topped benches at the other end of the laboratory—a bench upon which some experiment seemed to be in progress—and still wearing a long white jacket and black skull-cap as I remembered him, was Dr. Fu Manchu!
“There’s your man!” said Smith, aside.
“Hands up!” rasped one of our bodyguard. Both raised their machine-guns. We all moved forward.
At the moment that we did so I saw one of those long slender hands touch a switch, so that to the peculiar throbbing which I have already mentioned was added a new kind of vibration. Otherwise, no perceptible change took place. Standing there, tall, square-shouldered, challengingly. Dr. Fu Manchu watched us.
“At last,” cried Smith on a note of sudden excitement; “at last I hold the winning card!”
Dr. Fu Manchu continued to watch but did not speak. ‘The entire works are surrounded,” Smith went on. “Every exit covered, high and low, except the air. And you have missed your chance there.”
The green eyes became comtemplative. In that unnatural daylight I could see every change of expression upon the evily majestic face. Fu Manchu nodded his great head thoughtfully.
“You have acted with your accustomed promptness and efficiency,” he replied; but his voice, though even, was pitched on a high strident note. “Exactly what steps you have seen fit to take it is not my purpose to inquire. But I was expecting you, and you are welcome.”
There was something chilling in those words. “I was expecting you”—something which increased the effect which the presence of this man always had upon me. If he spoke the truth—why had he remained?
“Indeed?” said Smith, and I noted a change in his tone.
Although I never took my eyes from Dr. Fu Manchu, I was aware of the fact that other men were crowding in from the lobby.
“Order those men to cross the red line on the floor behind you,” Fu Manchu said harshly.
And at the very moment that he spoke I knew the worst. I turned and cried shrilly: “Stand where you are there, for your lives! Don’t cross the line. Smith!” I clutched his arm. “Do you understand what this means?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. The fire had gone from his grey eyes. “I understand.”
“An Ericksen screen,” that guttural voice continued, and now I detected a note of mockery, “has been thrown across the room some fifteen feet in front of me, and another behind you at the point marked by the red line on the floor. You are prisoners, gentlemen, in a cell from which no human power can rescue you, unless / choose to do so.”
“We’ll see about that,” growled Finlay, who had evidently just come into the lobby. “I don’t like the looks of you and I’m taking no chances.”
Followed three sharp, ear-splitting explosions. ButDr. Fu Manchu never stirred.
“Merciful heaven!” said Finlay hoarsely. “God help us! What
“Both, my friend,” the guttural voice assured him: “as you are.”
The effect of this seemingly supernatural demonstration upon the two men beside me was amazing. Plainly I saw them blanch, and for the first time they lowered their guns, peering into each other’s eyes. Then one turned to me, and: “What is if, mister?” he asked. “What is it? You seem to know.”
