The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu. Sax Rohmer
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was that?" I cried.
"Get in--quickly!" Smith rapped back. "It was attempt number one!
More than that I cannot say. Don't let the man hear. He has noticed
nothing. Pull up the window on your side, Petrie, and look out behind.
Good! We've started."
The cab moved off with a metallic jerk, and I turned and looked back
through the little window in the rear.
"Someone has got into another cab. It is following ours, I think."
Nayland Smith lay back and laughed unmirthfully.
"Petrie," he said, "if I escape alive from this business I shall know
that I bear a charmed life."
I made no reply, as he pulled out the dilapidated pouch and filled his
pipe.
"You have asked me to explain matters," he continued, "and I will do so
to the best of my ability. You no doubt wonder why a servant of the
British Government, lately stationed in Burma, suddenly appears in
London, in the character of a detective. I am here, Petrie--and I bear
credentials from the very highest sources--because, quite by accident,
I came upon a clew. Following it up, in the ordinary course of
routine, I obtained evidence of the existence and malignant activity of
a certain man. At the present stage of the case I should not be
justified in terming him the emissary of an Eastern Power, but I may
say that representations are shortly to be made to that Power's
ambassador in London."
He paused and glanced back towards the pursuing cab.
"There is little to fear until we arrive home," he said calmly.
"Afterwards there is much. To continue: This man, whether a fanatic
or a duly appointed agent, is, unquestionably, the most malign and
formidable personality existing in the known world today. He is a
linguist who speaks with almost equal facility in any of the civilized
languages, and in most of the barbaric. He is an adept in all the arts
and sciences which a great university could teach him. He also is an
adept in certain obscure arts and sciences which no university of
to-day can teach. He has the brains of any three men of genius.
Petrie, he is a mental giant."
"You amaze me!" I said.
"As to his mission among men. Why did M. Jules Furneaux fall dead in a
Paris opera house? Because of heart failure? No! Because his last
speech had shown that he held the key to the secret of Tongking. What
became of the Grand Duke Stanislaus? Elopement? Suicide? Nothing of
the kind. He alone was fully alive to Russia's growing peril. He
alone knew the truth about Mongolia. Why was Sir Crichton Davey
murdered? Because, had the work he was engaged upon ever seen the
light it would have shown him to be the only living Englishman who
understood the importance of the Tibetan frontiers. I say to you
solemnly, Petrie, that these are but a few. Is there a man who would
arouse the West to a sense of the awakening of the East, who would
teach the deaf to hear, the blind to see, that the millions only await
their leader? He will die. And this is only one phase of the devilish
campaign. The others I can merely surmise."
"But, Smith, this is almost incredible! What perverted genius controls
this awful secret movement?"
"Imagine a person, tall, lean and feline, high-shouldered, with a brow
like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long,
magnetic eyes of the true cat-green. Invest him with all the cruel
cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect,
with all the resources of science past and present, with all the
resources, if you will, of a wealthy government--which, however,
already has denied all knowledge of his existence. Imagine that awful
being, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the yellow peril
incarnate in one man."
CHAPTER III
I SANK into an arm-chair in my rooms and gulped down a strong peg of
brandy.
"We have been followed here," I said. "Why did you make no attempt to
throw the pursuers off the track, to have them intercepted?"
Smith laughed.
"Useless, in the first place. Wherever we went, HE would find us. And
of what use to arrest his creatures? We could prove nothing against
them. Further, it is evident that an attempt is to be made upon my
life to-night--and by the same means that proved so successful in the
case of poor Sir Crichton."
His square jaw grew truculently prominent, and he leapt stormily to his
feet, shaking his clenched fists towards the window.
"The villain!" he cried. "The fiendishly clever villain! I suspected
that Sir Crichton was next, and I was right. But I came too late,
Petrie! That hits me hard, old man. To think that I knew and yet
failed to save him!"
He resumed his seat, smoking hard.
"Fu-Manchu has made the blunder common to all men of unusual genius,"
he said. "He has underrated his adversary. He has not given me credit
for perceiving the meaning of the scented messages. He has thrown away
one powerful weapon--to get such a message into my hands--and he thinks
that once safe within doors, I shall sleep, unsuspecting, and die as
Sir Crichton died. But without the indiscretion of your charming
friend, I should have known what to expect when I receive her
'information'--which by the way, consists of a blank sheet of paper."
"Smith," I broke in, "who is she?"
"She is either Fu-Manchu's daughter, his wife, or his slave. I am
inclined to believe the last, for she has no will but his will,
except"--with a quizzical glance--"in a certain instance."
"How can you jest with some awful thing--Heaven knows what--hanging
over