Sir Denis. Dr. Cameron-Gordon is useful to me, and I believe I could use the qualities of Mr. McKay also.”
“You never will!” Tony assured him.
“Let me explain myself,” the cold, emotionless voice continued.
“There are more ways than the way of drugs, of physical pain, to enforce obedience. One of these means I hold in my hands. There is no place for heroics. Dismiss any plans you may have made. I assure you that you have no alternative other than acceptance of my terms—whatever they may be . . .”
Chapter XIX
Tony opened his eyes; looked around. He closed his eyes again. This was part of the dream. In the part which had passed earlier he had wandered in a strange paradise. There were trees laden with blossoms he had never seen before and the ground upon which he trod was carpeted with flowers. The air was filled with their intoxicating perfume.
Seated under one of the dream trees, from which in a gentle breeze fragrant petals dropped from time to time, a gracefully beautiful girl had joined him, seated herself beside him. She carried a flask of wine and two crystal glasses. She smiled, and her dark eyes challenged him, provocatively. She filled the glasses.
“You will drink with me?” she whispered, handing him one of them. “I belong to you, and so let us drink together.”
Tony hesitated. She wore a gauzy robe through the mist of which every line of her shapely body was visible. She threw her arms around his neck. Her ripe lips were very near.
Some swift revulsion swept over him. He dashed his glass to the ground—and sudden darkness fell . . .
When the dark cloud passed, he found himself in another part of the garden. A sweet voice, a woman’s voice, spoke from the shadows of a flowering bush near to which he lay.
“Why are you so sad?” the voice asked. “You are young and the world is before you. There is nothing to prevent a soldier trained in diplomacy from rising to the greatest heights. Your President is a soldier-diplomat. May I talk to you?”
“Yes,” he remembered saying.
He was joined by a fair woman, neither so young nor so beautiful as the dark siren who had offered him wine, but all the same very attractive. She seated herself beside him on the mossy bank where he lay. She had strange violet eyes, alight with intelligence.
“Together,” she said softly, “we could go far.”
Tony looked into the violet eyes, and as he looked they seemed to turn green, the fair features to become yellow—and he found himself staring into the face of Dr. Fu Manchu!
So the dream had ended, and now, he thought, it was continuing.
He opened his eyes again.
The wonderful garden had gone. But he lay, not among flowers, but on a cushioned divan. Looking around, he still saw what he had seen before: a small room luxuriously furnished in the Oriental manner. The only light came from a shaded lantern hung from the ceiling. But there were rich rugs on the floor, lacquer-ware gleamed from the shadows. There was a faint odor of sandalwood.
He sat up, conscious of a swimmy feeling but with no trace of headache to explain what he supposed to have been delirium. He tried to stand up. He couldn’t do so. Looking down, angrily, at his ankles, he saw that they were secured by a tiny cord of something that resembled catgut. He put his heels together and tried to snap it.
The effort was useless. The fastenings pierced his skin, and he knew that any further attempts would only cut the tendons.
And, in that moment of acute pain, real memory came, bridging the mirage which had clouded his mind. He remembered that last scene in the insect vivarium lined with cases of loathsome creatures, remembered the mocking words of Fu Manchu.
Then had come that perfumed cloud, oblivion . . .
A heavy curtain was silently drawn aside—and Dr. Fu Manchu came in.
He wore a yellow robe, and his nearly hairless head was bare. A sort of Satanic majesty seemed to radiate from the tall figure. Silent, he stood watching Tony. Then, at last, he spoke.
“Your impersonation of Chi Foh, the fisherman, was excellent. Almost you deceived me. I must congratulate you.”
Tony said nothing.
“The gas which overcame you is a preparation perfected by me some years ago. If any of it had penetrated the cases, it would not have affected the creatures confined there.”
It was hard to sit and listen to that cold voice. Dr. Fu Manchu spoke English with careful perfection and his manner was that of a professor addressing a class of students.
“What a pity!” Tony commented.
“I note that you are imitating the brand of repartee favored by Sir Denis Nayland Smith. It is usually prompted by bravado in moments of danger. I am completely acquainted with the psychological features of Sir Denis’s character. I endeavored to learn something of your own, particularly of one aspect, during the time that you remained under the influence of the drug. Its composition renders the subject peculiarly impressionable to what is sometimes termed hypnotic suggestion.”
Tony began, now, to listen intently.
“I projected on to your brain images of two desirable women, who are members of my organization. There was no trace of sexual reaction. You rejected their overtures. In fact, you dispelled the second image, for I saw recognition of myself dawning in your eyes. But I had learned what I wanted to know. You are completely enslaved by one woman. And I think I know her name.”
* * *
Tony found himself alone again. Dr. Fu Manchu had stepped silently to the draped opening, raised the curtain and silently disappeared.
He could detect no sound of any kind. Where was he? What place was this? And where were Nayland Smith and Cameron-Gordon? He stood up; and learned that by taking short, mincing steps he could walk; for there was about a foot of fine, unbreakable cord between his ankles.
First, he crossed to the curtain from behind which Fu Manchu had entered and retired. He raised the heavy brocade. He saw a blank wall. That it masked a door was perfectly obvious; but to find how to open it was another matter.
He hobbled right around the room, examining the wall foot by foot.
The room had no window, and no door!
For one horrifying moment panic touched him with its icy finger.
Except that it was exotically furnished, this place was no better than an
He returned to the settee and tried to recover composure, to get himself in hand.
That he might be left in this luxurious cell to starve to death was a nightmare he could safely dismiss. Dr. Fu Manchu had other plans for him; for he had spoken of terms, which “whatever they may be”, he must accept.
He wanted to shout out curses on Fu Manchu, that cold-blooded villain who used human emotions as ingredients in a scientific formula. But he smothered the useless words, clutched his head and groaned.
How long a time had elapsed since that moment when, surrounded by obscene insects, they had heard the sardonic voice of Dr. Fu Manchu? He could have been unconscious for hours, days, weeks! The devilish genius who had them all in his power possessed medical knowledge which, as Cameron-Gordon had said, properly belonged to the future of science.
Tony groped in his Chinese garments. He was desperately thirsty, but a smoke might steady his nerves. His automatic was gone, but a packet of cigarettes and a lighter remained. He lighted a cigarette.
As he blew smoke from his lips he noted that it hung motionless in the stagnant air. There was little or no ventilation.
But sitting there, watching the smoke, trying to conquer useless anger and to think constructively, he became aware of two curious facts. The first: smoke clouds began to swirl; second, the air grew suddenly cold.
A premonition swept into his mind. He dropped the cigarette in a jade bowl which lay on a table near the
