you set out... .”
Dr. Fu Manchu leaned back in his chair, his ascetic face lined with anxiety. For more than an hour he had been assembling his forces for some secret purpose which might mean world chaos. He stood up wearily and crossed the small room without a window which he seemed to use as a remote control base. Even now it was only dimly lighted by a lamp on a buffet where there were no homely decanters but only an array of chemical equipment and a large medicine chest containing many bottles and phials.
He took a measuring glass and prepared a draught composed of one part of a greenish liquid, two of amber and one of red. This he emptied carefully into a larger glass and filled it with distilled water. The contents bubbled slightly, became cloudy and then still. Dr. Fu Manchu began to drink, when a faint ring sounded. He turned. A speck of blue light had sprung up in the radio cabinet.
Returning to his chair, he moved a switch and spoke:
“What have you to report?”
A woman’s voice answered. “Earlier information of the disaster in Cairo is confirmed, Doctor. The person responsible for it I have been unable to trace, for all have left.”
“The absence of any publicity, of any official reaction, is disturbing.”
“But understandable. The President is expected tonight.”
“I am aware of this, and have spread my net; for the hour of danger is earlier. I am staking everything upon my knowledge of the
“You judge wisely, Doctor. I have information from a reliable source that ‘the obvious’ was proposed, but rejected. What you have foreseen will happen.”
“If I could be as sure of one other thing I would trust to Routine 5 and cancel all other orders.”
“What is this one other thing, Doctor?” The woman’s voice remained soft but revealed tension.
Dr. Fu Manchu clenched his hands; his features became convulsed, and then calm again.
“His being alone at the crucial moment.”
“If I undertake to arrange this one thing, Doctor, will you give me
“You never yet failed me, once. And no one ever failed me twice. It is a gambler’s choice—but I have always been a gambler. . . .”
* * *
Brian had great difficulty getting to sleep that night. The astounding experiment in the penthouse had left him in a state of high excitement. He would seriously have doubted the evidence of his senses if the wonders he had seen hadn’t been confirmed by other competent witnesses.
Then, at some remote hour, just as he was dozing off at last, the phone in the living-room buzzed and he heard Nayland Smith’s voice. The conversation was a brief one and a moment later Sir Denis burst in.
“Your father, Merrick! We’re to expect the President at ten o’clock tonight!”
This made sleep a hundred per cent more difficult. He simply could not stop thinking. For some reason which his mental powers were incapable of grasping he had been dragged into the heart of a top secret which might very well involve the survival of civilization.
Why? He kept asking himself—
But he could find no answer.
Nature conquered at last, and he forgot his problems. It was after nine o’clock when he woke, and he went into the living-room to see if Nayland Smith was there. He found a note on the desk—which, enclosed in the painted screen, sometimes reminded him of a pulpit—pencilled in block letters (presumably because Sir Denis’s handwriting was illegible).
It said: “Don’t go out until I come back. D.N.S.”
Brian took up the phone and asked to be put through to Lola’s apartment.
She answered at once.
“Listen, Lola honey—did you call me last night? I had to go out.”
“No, Brian. I couldn’t make it.”
“How are you fixed today? I’m uncertain about lunch, but——”
“I’m quite certain about it, Brian. I don’t get any! There’s only one possible spot, maybe an hour, about four o’clock. Will you be free, if I am?”
“I’ll see that I’m free! I’ll wait in the Paris Bar. We can’t miss each other there.”
When presently he hung up, Brian had become uneasily aware of the fact that Lola was preoccupied, tensed up in a new way. He wondered if Madame Michel had been overtaxing her and he wondered, not for the first time, if Lola was changing, slipping away from him . . .
When Nayland Smith came in, around noon, he showed such signs of agitation that Brian felt alarmed. The state of nerves in which Sir Denis had been on his first, clandestine, visit was mild compared to his present condition.
“Sir Denis! Something has upset you. Whatever has happened?”
Nayland Smith turned aside irritably, crossed to the buffet and mixed himself a stiff drink. He dropped down in a chair, took a long draught, and then raised haggard eyes.
“The worst that
“Here!. You mean in New York?”
“Right here in Manhattan.” He emptied his glass. “In just a few hours the President will leave Washington. I shall find myself up against the master mind—and Fu Manchu will stick at nothing——”
He stood up and refilled his glass.
This was so unlike the abstemious, cool-brained Nayland Smith Brian had known that he was gripped by a swift and dismal foreboding. Sir Denis was
The idea chilled him. It was unthinkable—like something blasphemous. But many incidents passed in lightning parade across his mind, incidents which, individually, had shaken his faith at the time, but which collectively threatened to shatter it.
Suffering had broken this man of iron. It was a tragedy.
“You don’t suggest, Sir Denis, that the President may be in personal danger?”
“Now that Fu Manchu is here we are all in personal danger. Look, Merrick—I’m going up to see Dr. Hessian. It’s vital he should know. Go out and get some lunch. When you come back—and don’t hurry—I may be asleep. I had no sleep last night, so don’t disturb me. . . .”
* * *
Lingering over his lunch, feeling miserable and about as useful as a stray dog, Brian tried to muster his wandering ideas, to form some sort of positive picture.
Fu Manchu was in New York. And Nayland Smith had gone to pieces.
These two facts he must accept, for they stood for cause and effect. For the first he had been prepared; for the second he had not. As aide to Sir Denis (hitherto unemployed), the duty clearly fell upon him of taking over if his chief failed!
The responsibility thrilled, and at the same time chilled. He lacked almost every essential facility. Sir Denis hadn’t troubled to put him in touch with the F.B.I, operatives associated with them. He didn’t know one by sight. He had no more than a nodding acquaintance with Dr. Hessian; and, for all that scientist’s undoubted genius, found his personality strangely repellent.
Brian seriously considered calling his father, laying all the circumstances before that man of wide experience, and abiding by his advice. But the difficulty of doing so on a long-distance call, and an implied betrayal of the trust imposed upon him by Sir Denis, ruled this plan out.
The decision—what to do—rested squarely on himself. It was close on three o’clock when he went up to the suite. He found a “Do Not Disturb” card outside, but opened quietly and went in. A similar card hung on Nayland Smith’s bedroom door. There was a note, in block letters, on the desk. It said:
Do what you like until seven o’clock. But stay out of the Babylon-Lido until that hour. Don’t enter on any account. Then wait in the Paris Bar until I page you. Please regard this as an unavoidable order. D.N.S.
