Re-enter Dr Fu Manchu

a pang of apprehension, almost a physical chill, when he recognized the fact that he was fastened into this mystery house. He turned and called to the driver: “Wait for me!”

“Will you come this way, please.”

Brian followed on into the house, which was evidently very old. From a tiled apartment in which a small fountain tinkled he was led upstairs to a lofty room lighted partly by an opening in the painted ceiling and partly by sunshine filtering through the lattices of two recessed windows. The floor was tiled, but several rugs were strewn about on it. His guide pointed to a divan.

“Please wait a few moments, Mr. Merrick. I will inform the Seyyid that you are here.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

Brian began to examine the room more carefully. Glancing behind him, he saw a window fitted with bars. He crossed to it; looked out. Then he knew.

He was in the room in which he had seen Nayland Smith!

It was easy, now, to recognize the two mushrabiyeh windows. But something else he saw puzzled him. High up in a wall was an opening like a small window covered with a grille of ornamental wrought iron. He couldn’t imagine what purpose it served, but it had an ominous look. There seemed to be only one door to the room, and this door, for he tried it, had been quietly locked by the man in the red tarbush when he went out!

That sensation of physical chill stole over Brian again.

Perhaps Sir Denis was a prisoner in this strange, silent house, and he, Brian, had been cunningly lured into the same trap!

He was still staring up at the iron grille, his brain feverishly active and bubbling with wild theories, when the door opened very quietly and a man came in. Brian turned to face him.

He saw a venerable and arresting figure: a tall man, with heavy brows overhanging piercing dark eyes, a pure white beard and the bearing of one used to respect. He wore native dress and a closely-wound green turban.

“I am Mohammed Ibn el-Ashraf. You wished to see me?” The words were spoken in perfect English.

“I certainly did!”

“Please be seated, and tell me how I may serve you.”

Brian returned to the divan, and the Sherif (evidently known here as “The Seyyid”) seated himself cross- legged on a large ottoman facing him. His unwavering regard Brian found very disconcerting.

“My name is Merrick——”

“So I am told, Mr Merrick.”

“I’m a friend of Sir Denis Nayland Smith, and I’m here to ask you to be good enough to let me see him.”

The gaze of the dark eyes never left his face. “Did Sir Denis notify you that he was here, Mr. Merrick?”

“No. I saw him, right in this room!”

“A singular accident. Where were you at the time?”

“On the roof of a house right opposite.”

“Indeed? It was fortunate that you, and no one else, observed him. But the ways of the All Knowing are inscrutable.” He touched his brow, his lips and his breast in a gesture which reminded Brian of a Roman Catholic making the sign-of-the-cross. “Sir Denis is in great danger, Mr. Merrick; and his health is impaired. He sought sanctuary in my house, for he knows me well.”

Brian felt like someone drowning who finds himself dragged to the surface. Here was a clear explanation at last of the mystery which had baffled him. For it was impossible to doubt the assurance of this dignified old man.

“I am sorry to hear this. Can I see him?”

“Not this morning, I regret to tell you. I am, as I presume you know, a physician. Sir Denis has placed himself under my care and the course of treatment I have prescribed will not be completed until this evening. If I think it wise, I will allow him to call upon you tonight. No doubt he knows where you are lodged?”

“He does. I may count on that, sir?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Merrick. He is sleeping at the moment. I am treating him for nervous exhaustion. Directly he awakes, I shall inform him of your call. ...”

* * *

As the courtyard gate closed with a slight metallic clang upon the visitor’s departure, Dr. Fu Manchu opened the door of a closet and came out. The back of it accommodated the grille which, from below, on the other side, had so badly intrigued Brian. The doctor walked down a short flight of stairs and into a room part laboratory and part study. A tall cabinet with a rounded top swung inward at his touch and where it had been an arched opening appeared.

He stepped through, with his silent, curiously catlike step, and glanced around the lofty apartment in which Brian had interviewed the Sherif Mohammed. That dignified descendant of the Prophet was waiting for him and bowed as he came in. Fu Manchu, his crossed hands hidden in the sleeves of his robe, watched him.

“It was well done, Mohammed.” He spoke softly, in English;

“and even better that we were prepared for such an emergency. Brian Merrick is an almost irreplaceable unit in my plan, but had you stumbled or faltered, I fear we should, nevertheless, have been forced to dispense with him. His life hung in the balance.”

The Sherif Mohammed hesitated, and then, “His transparent honesty is a great asset to us,” he declared. “He would be hard to replace. If he had insisted upon seeing Nayland Smith I should have lost my control of him. the promise I made was the only alternative.”

“And it shall be carried out. Matsukata is not ready; but the risk must be taken.”

The Sherif bowed. “The urgency is great, Excellency. Inquiries reached me only an hour ago from Moscow concerning the lack of a report from Gorodin. If we lose Soviet confidence it might mean the abandonment of our plan.”

Dr. Fu Manchu laughed. It was strange, chilling laughter.

“Soviet confidence!” He spoke softly, almost hissing the sibilants. “We have had one instance of their confidence! How little they suspect, Mohammed, that we and not they, hold the East in our hands! How many times have I offered them my co-operation? How many times have they wisely declined it? But at last they have accepted . . . their ruin!”

The Sherif inclined his head. “Doubtless Excellency will deal with the inquiry himself?”

“It may be left to me. But tonight Sir Denis Nayland Smith must pay a brief visit to Mr. Brian Merrick. Cancel my instructions to Zobeida. ...”

Brian was smoking on the terrace of the hotel after lunch when he was joined by Mr. Ahmad.

“My dear sir!” Ahmad sat down beside him. “How you startled me with your story of having seen Sir Denis in an English car! You must be psychic!”

“How do you mean?”

“Because, although I cannot learn if he uses such a car, it is beyond dispute that he was in Cairo at that time! I have traced him to the house of the Seyyid Mohammed Ibn el-Ashraf, an old friend of Sir Denis. He is living there, inconnu, from motives of safety.”

“I know,” Brian answered shortly. “You might have told me so earlier if I had been able to find you. Listen. Where is your office located? And why can I never get any reply when I call your number?”

Mr. Ahmad spread his palms apologetically. “You have been looking for me?”

“Certainly. I could find nobody in the place who knew you!”

“I am so sorry. I have no office there. It is an accommodation address which I use when business brings me to Cairo. The number you have is that of a friend who lives in a small flat on top of the building.”

“And who’s never home!”

Ahmad laughed. “You have perhaps been unlucky, Mr. Merrick. Entirely my fault. Please excuse me. You have already talked to Sir Denis?”

“No. But I shall expect to meet him this evening.”

“So I came to tell you. But it seems you anticipated me. You will, of course, make a point of not leaving the hotel until you have seen him?”

“Of course.”