The Island of Fu Manchu

With that thought came complete consciousness . . . . Ardatha!

Had she betrayed me? Had she tricked me again, and left me to the mercies of Fu Manchu’s thugs? I remembered that she had stolen my Colt, and then returned it. Was this evidence of her innocence, or merely of a moments remorse prompted by knowledge of those who covered me, who at that instant she had seen behind me?

A door hidden in the wall near the large bench slid soundlessly open. I became aware of a sensation in my skull which resembled that experienced on quickly climbing to a high altitude. A man entered with slow, curiously feline steps, and closed the door behind him. He wore a long coat of what appeared to be varnished green silk. Turning, he stared in my direction.

It wasDr. Fu Manchu.

He was more emaciated than I remembered him to have been, and as he seated himself at the bench I noted the weariness of his movements. To one who had not met Dr. Fu Manchu it would be impossible, I suppose, to convey any idea of the peculiar force which he seemed to project.

With the exception of Nayland Smith I had never known one who could stand up to it. And now, alone with him in that long, narrow, sinister room, silent save for the hiss of the burner, I recognized the fact that this power emanated entirely from his eyes.

His imposing figure—tall, angular, high-shouldered—lent him a sort of grotesque majesty; and as he sat there before me, a vitalized skeleton clothed in wrinkled silk, his shrunken skin exposing all the contours of that wonderful skull, no whit of this force was missing. I had sprung up at the moment of his entrance, and now I stood there battling with a fear not unmixed with loathing which he inspired; and I knew that his power resided in a tremendous intellect, for it shone out like a beacon from those strange green eyes, feverishly brilliant in cavernous shadows.

He spoke.

The effort of speech was terrifying. It came to me suddenly as a conviction that Dr. Fu Manchu was very near his end. It was as though a magician had conjured back a soul into a body dead for generations.

“I trust that you are conscious of no nausea or other unpleasant after-effects. My fellows are adepts with their knives and strangling cords, but clumsy when employing more subtle methods.”

One clawlike hand, the nails long and pointed, resting on the plate-glass which covered the bench, he watched me for a few moments, and I felt, as of old, as if he read every record printed upon my brain.

I plunged my hand into my pocket: it was a gesture of resignation—but my fingers touched the automatic . . . . I had not been disarmed!

“You seriously inconvenienced my plans, Mr. Kerrigan, when you shot Companion Oster. Dr. Oster was a licentiate of Heidelberg and held also a minor London degree. His qualifications, therefore, were limited. Nevertheless, he was useful. Your own powers of observation being not entirely undeveloped, no doubt you noted that his skin displayed unusual pigmentary characteristics?”

That intolerable gaze brooked no denial. I replied: “He was yellow as a lemon.”

I was clutching the Colt and saying to myself, “You did not hesitate in the case of the lesser scoundrel; why hesitate now?”

“Exactly. This was due to the nature of the experiments which he had carried out under my direction.Be good enough to glance into the cabinet on your right—but avoid crossing the red line which you may have seen painted on the floor.”

I had not seen the red line; but I saw it now: an inch-wide band extending from wall to wall first beyond the cabinet which contained the anatomical specimens, and dividing the long, narrow room into equal parts. I moved forward; it suited me to do so: it brought Dr. Fu Manchu into a range at which I could not possibly miss him.

“The hands of the Negro,” he went on, his voice low and sibilant, “are of particular interest. Do you agree with me?”

Conquering nausea which threatened to return I looked at those gruesome fragments. One of the hands was clenched, convulsively, and I wondered how the black man had died; the other was rigidly open. But, a certain characteristic they shared in common: on close inspection it became apparent that they were not true black nor even brown, but rather of that deep purplish green which is present in some cultivated tulips. I became fascinated.

“Note the white forearm. It is that of a Lascar. The bright yellow hand, labelledG, was contributed by a blond Bavarian youth . . . . ”

I suppose it was a belated recognition of the meaning of his words, a sudden, hot understanding of the fact that human beings, black, white, and brown had been sacrificed to some unimaginable scientific experiment, which prompted my action; but, turning to Dr. Fu Manchu, I snatched the Colt from my pocket, took deliberate aim, and fired, not at his head but at his heart. To make doubly sure of ridding the world of a monster, I fired twice!

In a life which, for one of my years, had been notable for action, I think that those dragging seconds which followed the two shots epitomized all the wonder, all the terror and all the acceptance of laws beyond human understanding which any man has known.

Dr. Fu Manchu smiled!

He revealed a row of small, even, yellow teeth. It was as though a mummy of one who had lived when the world was young jeered at me. He spoke, but his words sounded as words spoken at the end of a long tunnel.

“They were live cartridges: they had not been exchanged for blanks. I wished you to attempt to add me to your bag, but I observed that you aimed at my breast. The brain, Mr. Kerrigan, and not the heart, is the seat of power. The Ancient Egyptians knew . . . . ”

But I had turned away. I tossed the Colt on to the settee and dropped down beside it. I had witnessed a miracle, and I was shaken to my soul. Only the manner of my death remained in doubt.

That odd, indefinable vibration which I had noted at the moment of his entrance suddenly ceased, as Dr. Fu Manchu’s voice again broke through the blanket of stupor which had settled upon my brain.

“A consciousness of cerebral pressure is relieved, no doubt? You experience a sense of restful silence. The explanation is a simple one. If you will be good enough to leave your automatic where it lies and accept this chair, we can approach the real purpose of our present interview.”

I stood up and faced him. His eyes were filmy, contemplative; they lacked that emerald lustre which I could never face unmoved.One clawlike hand was stretched across the bench, indicating a metal chair.

With some of the feelings of a whipped cur, I rose and moved forward. At the red line I paused.

“You may cross safely.”

I crossed and dropped down in the chair facing Dr. Fu Manchu. Save for the hissing sound of the burner, the room was silent. Dr. Fu Manchu rested his chin upon one skeleton hand: his proximity imparted a sense of chill, as though I had sat with a corpse.

“You observe, Mr. Kerrigan, that I am employing those primitive methods here which gave Paracelsus such excellent results, and by means of which van Helmont performed his transmutations. But before we proceed to the subject of my present experiments—a subject of some personal interest to yourself” (at those words my heart grew cold)—”it is only fair to explain why your bullets failed to reach me.”

I clenched my teeth.

“When you were very young.Dr. Sven Ericksen died, and the newspapers of the world were filled with stories of the Ericksen Ray which that distinguished physicist had never perfected. Although legally dead, he has since completed his inquiries, with some slight assistance from myself.”

This statement evoked ghastly memories; but I remained silent.

“The so-called ‘ray’ is, in fact, a sound wave, or chord. Ericksen discovered that a certain combination of incalculably high notes, inaudible to the human ear, could reduce nearly any substance to its original particles. It Was a problem of pure physics: that of disturbing harmonic equilibrium. A belt or curtain of these sound waves can be thrown across this room by merely depressing a switch. Continued exposure to such vibrations, however, is highly injurious. Therefore I have disconnected the apparatus.”

I looked up quickly, and as quickly down again.Dr. Fu Manchu was watching me; and even when veiled contemplatively I could not sustain the regard of those magnetic eyes.

Tour bullets are still present; not in the form of lead and nickel but in that of their component elements: they are disintegrated. The importance of this discovery it would be difficult to exaggerate. I am acquainted with only one substance capable of penetrating a zone protected by Ericksen Chords . . . . ”