Emperor Fu Manchu
by Sax Rohmer
Chapter I
“Once you pass the Second Bamboo Curtain, McKay, unless my theories are all haywire, you’ll be up against the greatest scientific criminal genius who has ever threatened the world.”
Tony McKay met the fixed regard of cold grey eyes which seemed to be sizing him up from the soles of his shoes to the crown of his head. The terse words, rapid, clipped sentences, of the remarkable man he had come to meet penetrated his brain with a bullet-like force. They registered. He knocked ash from his cigarette. The sounds and cries of a busy Chinese street reached him through an open window.
“I didn’t expect to be going to a cocktail party. Sir Denis.”
Sir Denis Nayland Smith smiled; and the lean, tanned face, the keen eyes, momentarily became those of a boy.
“I think you’re the bird I’m looking for. You served with distinction in the United States Army, and come to me highly recommended. May I suggest that you have some personal animus against the Communist regime in China?”
“You may. I have. They brought about my father’s death and ruined our business.”
Nayland Smith re-lighted his briar pipe. “An excellent incentive. But it’s my duty to warn you of the kind of job you’re taking on. Right from the moment you leave this office you’re on your own. You’re an undercover agent—a man alone. Neither London nor Washington knows you. But we shall be in constant touch. You’ll be helping to save the world from slavery. And I know your heart’s in the game.”
Tony nodded; stubbed out his cigarette in an ash-tray.
“No man could be better equipped for what you have to do. You were born here, and you speak the language fluently. With your cast of features you can pass for Chinese. There’s no Iron Curtain here. But there are two Bamboo Curtains. The first has plenty of holes in it; the second so far has proved impenetrable.
Oddly enough, it isn’t in the Peiping area, but up near the Tibetan frontier. Have to know the identity of the big man it conceals. He’s the real power behind the Communist regime.”
“But he must come out sometimes,” Tony protested.
“He does. He moves about like a shadow. All we can learn about him is that he’s known and feared as ‘The Master’. His base seems to be somewhere in the province of Szechuan—and this province is behind the Second Bamboo Curtain!”
“Is that where you want me to go, Sir Denis?”
“It is. You could get there through Burma—”
“I could get a long way from right here, with a British passport, as a representative of, say, Vickers. Then I could disappear and become a Chinese coolie from Hong Kong—that’s safe for me—looking for a lost relative or girl friend, or somebody.”
Make your choice, McKay. I’d love to go, myself, but I can’t leave my base at the moment. I have a shrewd idea about the identity of The Master. That’s why I’m here.”
“You think you know who he is?”
“I think he is the president of the most dangerous secret society in the world, the Si-Fan—Dr. Fu Manchu.”
“Dr. Fu Manchu!”
“I believe he’s up to his old game, running with the hare and
hunting with the hounds—”
There was a sound resembling the note of a tiny bell. Nayland Smith checked his words and adjusted what looked like an Air Force wrist watch. Raising his hand, he began to speak into it. Tony realized that it must be some kind of walkie-talkie. The conversation was unintelligible, but when it ended, Nayland Smith glanced at him in an odd way.
“One of my contacts in Szechuan,” he explained drily. “Reports the appearance of another Cold Man in Chia- Ting. They’re creating a panic.”
“A Cold Man? I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I. But it’ll be one of your jobs to find out. They are almost certainly monstrosities created by Dr. Fu Manchu. I know his methods. They seem to be Burmese or Tibetans. Orders are issued that anyone meeting a Cold Man must instantly report to the police; that on no account must the creature be
“Why?”
“I can’t say. But they
“Good God!
“And they always appear in or near Chia-Ting. You should head for there.”
“It sounds attractive!” Tony grinned.
“You’ll have one of these.” Nayland Smith tapped the instrument he wore on his wrist. “I may as well confess it’s a device we pinched from Dr. Fu Manchu. Captured on a prisoner. Looks like a wrist watch. One of our research men broke down the formula and now a number of our agents are provided with them. You can call me here at any time, and I can call you. Whatever happens, don’t lose it. Notify me regularly where you are—if anything goes wrong, get rid of it fast.”
“I’m all set to start.”
“There’s some number one top secret being hidden in Szechuan. Military Intelligence thinks it’s a Soviet project. I believe it’s a Fu Manchu project. He may be playing the Soviets at their own game. Dr. Fu Manchu has no more use for Communism than I have for Asiatic ‘flu. But so far all attempts to solve the puzzle have come apart. Local agents have only limited use, but you may find them helpful and they’ll be looking out for you. You’ll have the sign and countersigns. Dine with me tonight and I’ll give you a thorough briefing . . .”
Chapter II
There was a rat watching him. In the failing light he couldn’t see the thing; but he could see its eyes. Waiting hungrily, no doubt, for any scraps of rice he might leave in the bowl. Well, the rat would be in luck. The rice was moldy.
Tony McKay drank a little more tepid water and then lay back on his ticky mattress, his head against the wall, looking up at a small, square window. Iron bars criss-crossed the opening and now, as dusk fell, hardly any light came in. He could have dealt with the iron bars, in time, but the window was just out of reach—two inches out of reach.
It was another example of Chinese ingenuity, like the platter of ripe peaches his jailer had left in the dungeon one morning. By walking to the end of the chain clamped to his right ankle and lying flat, he could stretch his arm across the grimy floor—to within two inches of the fruit!
But none of their cunning tricks would pay off. Physically, he was getting below par, but his will remained strong as on the day he left Hong Kong, unless . . .
He dismissed the thought.
A dark shape crossed the pattern of the bars, became lost in shadows of a stone ledge which ran from the window around the angle to the grilled door. Two more wicked little eyes appeared beside the pair in the comer of his cell. The rat’s mate had joined up.
He didn’t mind them. In their repulsive way, they formed a sort of link with the free world outside. And he was sorry for any creature that was hungry, except the horrible small ones which inhabited his straw mattress and filled the night with misery.
He fell into a sort of dozing reverie. These reveries had saved his sanity, given him the strength to carry on.
It was hard to grasp the fact that only two weeks ago he had been in Hong Kong. Throughout the first week
