“This side, Chi Foh.”
“We have a chance—even if they have found the boat. They won’t be watching your aunt’s house. And we have to get there—fast . . .”
Chapter X
It became a forced march. Twice they took cover; once, while a bullock cart heavily loaded went lumbering by, and again when they were nearly overtaken by an old jeep in which four soldiers were traveling toward Lung Chang.
Tony was less concerned with traffic going the same way as themselves than with any approaching, or with enemy outposts watching the road. For this reason he had wanted to take the lead but had changed his mind when he realized that this would mean leaving Yueh Hua behind. Also, he had learned that she had the instincts of a trained scout.
But dawn was not far when, footsore in his straw sandals, they reached a point in a long, high wall which had bordered the road for over half a mile. Dimly, he saw Yueh Hua stand still and beckon to him. He hurried forward.
She stood before a heavy, ornamental gate through the bars of which he could see a large, rambling building partly masked in ornamental gardens—a typical Chinese mansion—on a slope beyond. The high wall evidently surrounded the property.
“My uncle was Lao Tse-Mung’s gardener,” Yueh Hua explained. “He and his wife always lived here, and my aunt is allowed to stay.”
“Is that Lao Tse-Mung’s house over there?”
“Yes, Chi Foh. Please wait a little while outside, where they can’t see you, until I explain”—she hesitated for a second—”who you are.”
Yueh Hua had led him to the very door of the man he had to see!
He saw her reach inside the gate. An interval, footsteps, then a woman’s cry—a cry of almost hysterical gladness:
“My baby! My Yueh Hua!”
The gate was unlocked. The voice died away into unintelligible babbling as they went in.
This gave him something else to think about.
Evidently Yueh Hua had told him her real name. But, unless her aunt had brought her up from childhood, the old woman’s emotion was difficult to explain. And why had Yueh Hua asked him to wait, and gone in first herself?
In any case, he didn’t have to wait long. She came running back for him.
“I haven’t told her, Chi Foh, about—us. But she knows how wonderful you have been to me.”
This clearly was true. Tears were streaming down her aunt’s face when Yueh Hua brought him into the little house, evidently a gate-lodge. She seemed to want to kneel at his feet. He wondered what the exact relationship could be between Yueh Hua and Mat Cha, for this was her aunt’s name. Two people less similar in type it would have been hard to find than this broad-faced old peasant woman and Yueh Hua. But Mai Cha became Tony’s friend on sight, for it was plain that she adored Yueh Hua.
She left them together while she went to prepare a meal. But Yueh Hua, who seemed to have become suddenly and unaccountably shy, went out to help her.
He walked quietly under the flowered porch and looked across to the big house in its setting of arches, bridges and formal gardens. He could be there in five minutes. A winding path, easy to follow in starlight, led up to the house.
Yueh Hua had reached sanctuary, but Tony’s business was with Lao Tse-Mung. Exposure of his real identity to Yueh Hua he couldn’t hope to avoid once he had reported to the friend of Nayland Smith. This he must face.
But, the major problem remained: where was Dr. Fu Manchu?
Had this man, who seemed to wield supreme power in the province, out-maneuvered Sir Denis? He could not expect the late gardener’s widow to know anything of what had happened tonight in the big house.
He must watch his step.
There were several little bridges to cross and many steps to climb before he reached a terrace which ran the whole length of the house. Flowering vines draped a pergola. Some night-scented variety gave out a strong perfume. He wondered where the main entrance was located, and if he should try to find it.
He increased his caution; stood still for a moment, listening.
A murmur of conversation reached him. There were people in some nearby room.
Step by step, he crept closer, hugging shadowy patches where the vines grew thickly. Three paces more and he would be able to look in.
But he didn’t take the three paces. He stopped dead. An icy trickle seemed to run down his spine.
He had heard a voice, pitched in a clear, imperious tone.
“We have no time to waste.”
It was the voice of Dr. Fu
He had walked into a trap!
Tony put out a big effort, checked a mad panorama racing across his brain. Nayland Smith would gain something after all. He fingered the automatic which he had kept handy in a waist belt and moved stealthily forward. Whatever his own end might be, he could at least remove the world menace of Dr. Fu Manchu.
He could see into the room now.
It was furnished in true Chinese fashion, but with great luxury. Almost directly facing him, on a divan backed by embroidered draperies, he saw a white-bearded figure wearing a black robe and with a beaded black cap on his head. A snuff bowl lay before him.
Facing the old mandarin so that his back was toward the terrace, someone sat in a dragon-legged armchair. His close-cropped hair showed the shape of a massive skull.
Dr. Fu Manchu . . .
The mandarin’s eyes were half-closed, but suddenly he opened them. He looked fixedly toward the terrace— and straight at Tony!
Holding a pinch of snuff between finger and thumb and still looking directly at him, he waved his hand gracefully in a sweeping side gesture as he raised the snuff to his nostrils.
But Tony had translated the gesture.
It meant that he had moved too near. He could be seen from the room.
Quickly he stepped to the right. His life hung on a very thin thread. But a wave of confidence surged through him.
This was Lao Tse-Mung who sat watching him, who had known him instantly for what he was, who had warned him of his danger. A highly acute and unusual character.
Tony could still see him clearly, through a screen of leaves, but, himself, was invisible from the room.
The mandarin spoke in light, easy tones.
“This is the first time you have honored my poor roof, Excellency, in many moons. To what do I owe so great a privilege? ,,
“I am rarely in Lung Chang,” was the sibilant reply. “I see that it might have been wise to come more often.”
“My poor hospitality is always at my friends’ disposal.”
“Doubtless.” Fu Manchu’s voice sank to a venomous whisper. “Your hospitality to members of the present regime is less certain.”
Lao Tse-Mung smiled slightly, settling himself among his cushions. “I retired long since from the world of politics. Excellency. I give all my time to the cultivation of my vines.”
“Some of them grow thorns, I believe?”
“Many of them.”
“Myself, Lao Tse-Mung, I also cultivate vines. I seek to restore to the garden of China its old glory. And so I fertilize the human vines which are fruitful and tear out those which are parasites, destructive. Let us come to the point.”
Lao Tse-Mung’s far-seeing eyes sought among the shadows for Tony.
