They turned left into a tangle of scrub and made a detour around the camp, in which, as in the village, no light was visible. Above the camp. Tony led the way back to the rough road which connected the camp with the research plant. They stayed on the road during darkness, but ducked into cover whenever the moon broke through; and presently:
“We must be near the gate now,” Tony decided. “Better stick in the rough and work left.”
In this way, in sudden moonlight, they had their first view of the wired enclosure and of the hut beside the gate. There was a light in the window of the hut. Beyond, they could see the group of buildings.
“I went no farther than this,” Tony reported. “To get round to the other side we shall have to explore, keeping well out of sight.”
“Good enough,” Nayland Smith agreed. “Let’s hope there’s cover all the way.”
There proved to be up to the time that they sighted the first sentry. He was squatting on the ground, smoking. Just beyond came a patch of coarse grass which offered no cover at all. They had to creep farther away from the fence before they found bushes. Kept on their circular course only by rare bursts of moonlight, they passed the third sentry, who was asleep, and Nayland Smith looked at his watch.
“We’re there! And it’s just twelve o’clock. We have to wait for the sentries to change over.” He lay flat down.
“I welcome the rest!”
And, as they lay there, came the sound of a distant whistle from the direction of the gate. Soon they heard footsteps, voices. Then, one of the guards (presumably the one who had been asleep) tramped past and disappeared.
“I wonder if the sergeant ever does a round of inspection,” Nayland Smith murmured. “Better wait and make sure. “
They waited for some time, but heard and saw nothing. During a longish spell of moonlight Tony had a clear view of the upper part of a hut nestling amid bamboos. It stood less than fifty yards from the wire fence.
“I suppose that’s where von Wehmer lives. Sir Denis?”
“According to my notes, it is. He described it as roughly midway between two of the points where guards are posted. I’ll try to get him, now. When we know he’s starting, we must crawl over to the fence and lie in that tangle of long grass and weeds which borders the wire.” He paused. “Come nearer to shield me from the guard to the south of us. I must have light to see the dial.”
Tony did so, and Nayland Smith shone a momentary light from a flashlamp on to the dial of his wrist-radio, then switched it off. Tony crouched close beside him, listening intently.
And presently came the faint voice of Dr. von Wehmer. “I’m waiting in the power house. Sir Denis. If you’re ready, I’ll make the connection, run back to my bungalow and get what I want, then steal through the bamboos to join you.”
“Wait until clouds cover the moon,” Nayland Smith warned.
“Trust me to be careful!”
“Phew!” Nayland Smith breathed. “So far, all according to plan.”
Tony experienced a sensation not unlike that he had known when awaiting the signal for a raid into the enemy lines; exultation and tingling apprehension. Storm clouds were sweeping the sky. “Shall we move over. Sir Denis?”
“Yes—crawl. And lie flat if the moon breaks through.”
Their dingy-hued Chinese clothes were admirable camouflage, and they crept across into the tangle of undergrowth fringing the fence without difficulty.
They had no more than reached this cover when from the direction of the distant gate came the sound of a choking scream. It broke off suddenly, as if the one who screamed had been swiftly silenced.
“What the devil’s that!” Nayland Smith growled.
Whatever it was it had alerted the sentries to their right and left. Two shouts came simultaneously. Then one of the voices shouted alone—and silence fell.
“I wish I knew Russian,” Tony muttered.
“So do I,” Nayland Smith rapped back. “But it doesn’t matter.
The men aren’t moving. We daren’t use a light out here. So I can’t call von Wehmer. We can only wait and hope for the best.”
They lay there, waiting—and listening.
To Tony, strung up to a high pitch, it seemed that every passing minute was ten. And presently, to enhance the stress, he seemed to become conscious of a vague, muffled tumult somewhere inside the wired enclosure.
“You hear it?” Nayland Smith whispered. “God knows what’s going on—but it’s something we don’t want!”
Through a break in the clouds moon rays peeped out for a few fleeting seconds. Tony stared anxiously into the bamboo plantation masking von Wehrner’s bungalow; but saw nothing. The muted, indescribable disturbance continued.
Darkness again.
“Sir Denis!” It was a husky whisper.
“Von Wehmer!”
“Move a few yards to your left. I’m throwing a weighted line across. Be quick!”
Tony’s heart leapt with excitement as they scuffled at speed toward where, now, a shadowy figure showed on the other side of the fence. When they reached the spot:
“Here’s the line,” von Wehrner’s voice told them. “Catch it and pull!”
Some heavy object was thrown over the fence. It fell almost into Tony’s hands. He grabbed it—a bronze paperweight—and pulled on the line to which it was tied. He had the end of a rope ladder in his hands when it stuck!
“Stop pulling,” von Wehmer said hoarsely. He seemed to be in a state of panic. “You’ll break the ladder. Hold it fast. I’m coming over.”
“Hurry!” Nayland Smith rapped softly. “I think the moon’s breaking through!”
He and Tony hung on to the end of the ladder as von Wehmer mounted on the other side. Astride the top of the fence, he tossed a briefcase into the tangled grass near Tony, turned and groped for a rung of the ladder. Faint moonlight through the tail of a racing cloud began to dilute the darkness.
“Stand clear!”
And as they released their hold, von Wehrner dropped beside them.
“Flat down!” Nayland Smith whispered. “We must chance the ladder.”
They were none too soon, for the moon burst fully out from a patch of starry sky, and it seemed to Tony that the landscape was drenched in silvery light, that the ladder hanging from the fence must certainly be seen.
The next few minutes were amongst the most nerve-racking of the night. Von Wehrner was gasping. He began to speak in a low, breathless voice.
“I had made the connection in the power house . . . hurried back to the bungalow. I went in, using a flashlamp. On my desk I had left the ladder—carefully rolled, in a black canvas bag, and my briefcase . . . I heard padding footsteps behind me.”
He stopped, listening. They were all listening. That indefinable disturbance continued, but no sound came from the sentries. The moon was becoming veiled again. Nayland Smith passed his flask to von Wehrner, who accepted it gratefully. And when it was returned:
“I had a dreadful sense of chill—physical. Something
“It sprang upon me. It was supernaturally cold. The mouth was open in a hideous grin. I was held in a grip of ice . . . I plunged the lancet into the grinning mouth and upward through the soft palate. . . The creature relaxed and fell at my feet. For heaven’s sake, what was it?”
“I know what it was!” Nayland Smith rapped grimly. “And it means we have to move—fast! Dark enough now. Crawl after me, Doctor.”
And as they crept across the open ground to the cover beyond, Tony knew, too, what it was . . . Fu Manchu had chosen that night to raid the research station. He understood, at last, the muffled disturbance which filled the
