Power he would be honoured today as one of the world’s greatest intellects. Fortunately (in this case) like many men of genius, he’s more than slightly mad.”
“But what are you going to do?” Brian demanded. “The F.B.I, know, now, that Dr. Hessian isn’t the real man——”
“They don’t!” Nayland Smith rapped. “I haven’t told them. They accepted my double and Hessian as authentic. They began to worry about Nayland Smith the Second. Thought I had been brain-washed or something; but, all through, never doubted Hessian. They know now that my understudy wasn’t Nayland Smith; but they believe that Hessian is Hessian and that the purpose of the plot is to steal his invention.”
“Then why keep them in the dark?”
“Because, as he believes that I am his own man (I hope), Fu Manchu still plans to meet the President tonight and to hand over his system to the United States! The late Nayland Smith the Second was an actor called William Hailsham, an active member of the Communist Party. My orders are to tell the committee that the impostor attempted to kill me and that in self-defence I strangled him!”
“But are you really going to do it?”
Nayland Smith twitched the lobe of his ear. “I don’t know. I’m thinking hard. . . .”
* * *
This remarkable conversation was still going on in Brian’s room in Suite 420B when a tall, spare figure wearing a long black coat and a wide-brimmed black hat rapped in a peculiar manner on the door of Suite 420C.
The door was opened immediately by the slender man who wore a blue turban.
He salaamed deeply. “Master!”
Dr. Fu Manchu walked in with his majestic yet curiously feline step, and in the main room, which, although richly furnished, was smaller than that in the adjoining suite, faced the second occupier—whose apelike ugliness had so appalled Brian when he had seen him through a hole in the screen.
He, too, saluted the doctor as one doing reverence to a pagan god.
“Everything found in his possession,” Fu Manchu demanded, speaking Hindustani. “Quickly. Show me.”
The thickset man ran to an open suit-case, took out a parcel and spread all it contained on a table. “Here is everything, Master.”
Fu Manchu examined the exhibits found on the person of the dead man, one by one. A silver disk stamped with a number and a curious design seemed to excite him strangely. His eyes, when he raised them, gleamed with a light of madness.
He turned, pointed to an outsize wardrobe trunk standing against the wall. On it was painted “Prince Ranji Bhutan!.”
“Unlock it!” he commanded.
His voice, which ranged at times from the guttural to a sort of menacing hiss, was no more than audible.
The younger man, his handsome but sinister features registering intense alarm, produced a bunch of keys and, not without difficulty, unlocked the big trunk.
Upright inside, and secured with leather straps, the double of Nayland Smith stood, his head drooping so that the swollen features were in shadow. Dr. Hu Manchu stepped forward and tilted the head upward—no easy matter, for the neck muscles were already stiff.
From a pocket of his black coat he took out a lens and, peering closely, examined the nose of the victim.
He replaced the lens, turned, and struck the long-armed thug a flat-handed blow across his face. The younger killer fell to his knees, clasping his hands.
“Master!”
“Fools!” Fu Manchu’s features were contorted; his expression was that of a dangerous maniac. “You have killed the wrong man!” . . . By a stupendous effort of will, he recovered his usual calm. “Relock the trunk. Remain here until further orders reach you.”
With his silent, catlike walk, Dr. Fu Manchu turned away, opened the door, and went out. He passed the suite occupied by Nayland Smith, and went up to the penthouse. In the dark room which adjoined that equipped for the demonstration he seated himself at the radio switchboard and made an adjustment.
A point of blue light appeared. A woman spoke. “Yes, Doctor?”
“Tonight’s plans changed. Report to me—immediately. . . .”
At about this time, Brian, chain-smoking in his agitation, was watching Nayland Smith pacing the floor of the room like an English Guardsman on sentry duty. At last, Sir Denis broke his long silence.
“I have chosen my course, Merrick. Heaven grant it’s the right one. Bearing in mind what I mean to do tonight—
“Sure! Just what I was thinking! The meeting tonight——”
“I can’t believe that a man so astute as Dr. Fu Manchu ever intended it to take place. He has changed his plans. He may be laying another trap—he may be preparing to make a getaway! This could only mean that the cunning devil recognized me!”
“Then why didn’t he bump you off when he had you up there in the penthouse?”
“Think again, Merrick,” Sir Denis rapped. “Consider
“What are we going to do?”
Nayland Smith knocked ash from the hot bowl of his pipe.
“I can’t stop the others. That doesn’t matter. But I shall signal the plane bringing your father and the President, and their course will be changed. We don’t know what new devilry may be brewing, and I daren’t risk it. Our best defence is attack.”
He headed for the door.
“What’s my job?” Brian wanted to know.
“We’ll slip down and talk to Ray Harkness. He’s in charge of the F.B.I, engaged on this job. We have worked together before. This double business has shaken him badly. Before I went up tonight we arranged a password—in case the wrong man had survived!”
Chapter
17
Brian saw a smallish, dapper man who might have been an accountant or a bank manager, but couldn’t possibly be a detective, except that it happened he was.
He jumped up as they came in.
“Bamboo!” Nayland Smith greeted (presumably the arranged password). “Virtue triumphed for once in a while, Harkness!”
Raymond Harkness sat down again. “Thank God I see you alive! It was a crazy, and, in my opinion, an unnecessary risk.”
Nayland Smith rested his head on Harkness’s shoulder.
“Your staff work was excellent. Merrick, here, threatened to disturb the plan at a critical moment. But our luck held, and I held on to Merrick. By the way, you haven’t met.”
“No.” Harkness shook hands with Brian, smiling. “But we have wasted a lot of time covering you, Mr. Merrick! For heaven’s sake what happened? Where’s . . . the other one? We knew all the details of the trap, but not what it was planned to do when you walked into it.”
“An expert job of strangling! He never uttered a sound.”
“Good God! They have murdered their own man?” Sir Denis nodded. “What have they done with his body?”
“Still in the room next to ours, I suppose. But if we’re to get the whole gang in the bag I want quick action.
