UPON the following day we were afoot again, and shortly at handgrips
with the enemy. In retrospect, that restless time offers a chaotic
prospect, with no peaceful spot amid its turmoils.
All that was reposeful in nature seemed to have become an irony and a
mockery to us--who knew how an evil demigod had his sacrificial altars
amid our sweetest groves. This idea ruled strongly in my mind upon
that soft autumnal day.
"The net is closing in," said Nayland Smith.
"Let us hope upon a big catch," I replied, with a laugh.
Beyond where the Thames tided slumberously seaward showed the roofs of
Royal Windsor, the castle towers showing through the autumn haze. The
peace of beautiful Thames-side was about us.
This was one of the few tangible clews upon which thus far we had
chanced; but at last it seemed indeed that we were narrowing the
resources of that enemy of the white race who was writing his name over
England in characters of blood. To capture Dr. Fu-Manchu we did not
hope; but at least there was every promise of destroying one of the
enemy's strongholds.
We had circled upon the map a tract of country cut by the Thames, with
Windsor for its center. Within that circle was the house from which
miraculously we had escaped--a house used by the most highly organized
group in the history of criminology. So much we knew. Even if we
found the house, and this was likely enough, to find it vacated by
Fu-Manchu and his mysterious servants we were prepared. But it would
be a base destroyed.
We were working upon a methodical plan, and although our cooperators
were invisible, these numbered no fewer than twelve--all of them
experienced men. Thus far we had drawn blank, but the place for which
Smith and I were making now came clearly into view: an old mansion
situated in extensive walled grounds. Leaving the river behind us, we
turned sharply to the right along a lane flanked by a high wall. On an
open patch of ground, as we passed, I noted a gypsy caravan. An old
woman was seated on the steps, her wrinkled face bent, her chin resting
in the palm of her hand.
I scarcely glanced at her, but pressed on, nor did I notice that my
friend no longer was beside me. I was all anxiety to come to some
point from whence I might obtain a view of the house; all anxiety to
know if this was the abode of our mysterious enemy--the place where he
worked amid his weird company, where he bred his deadly scorpions and
his bacilli, reared his poisonous fungi, from whence he dispatched his
murder ministers. Above all, perhaps, I wondered if this would prove
to be the hiding-place of the beautiful slave girl who was such a
potent factor in the Doctor's plans, but a two-edged sword which yet we
hoped to turn upon Fu-Manchu. Even in the hands of a master, a woman's
beauty is a dangerous weapon.
A cry rang out behind me. I turned quickly. And a singular sight met
my gaze.
Nayland Smith was engaged in a furious struggle with the old gypsy
woman! His long arms clasped about her, he was roughly dragging her
out into the roadway, she fighting like a wild thing--silently,
fiercely.
Smith often surprised me, but at that sight, frankly, I thought that he
was become bereft of reason. I ran back; and I had almost reached the
scene of this incredible contest, and Smith now was evidently hard put
to it to hold his own when a man, swarthy, with big rings in his ears,
leaped from the caravan.
One quick glance he threw in our direction, and made off towards the
river.
Smith twisted round upon me, never releasing his hold of the woman.
"After him, Petrie!" he cried. "After him. Don't let him escape.
It's a dacoit!"
My brain in a confused whirl; my mind yet disposed to a belief that my
friend had lost his senses, the word "dacoit" was sufficient.
I started down the road after the fleetly running man. Never once did
he glance behind him, so that he evidently had occasion to fear
pursuit. The dusty road rang beneath my flying footsteps. That sense
of fantasy, which claimed me often enough in those days of our struggle
with the titanic genius whose victory meant the victory of the yellow
races over the white, now had me fast in its grip again. I was an
actor in one of those dream-scenes of the grim Fu-Manchu drama.
Out over the grass and down to the river's brink ran the gypsy who was
no gypsy, but one of that far more sinister brotherhood, the dacoits.
I was close upon his heels. But I was not prepared for him to leap in
among the rushes at the margin of the stream; and seeing him do this I
pulled up quickly. Straight into the water he plunged; and I saw that
he held some object in his hand. He waded out; he dived; and as I
gained the bank and looked to right and left he had vanished
completely. Only ever-widening rings showed where he had been. I had
him.
For directly he rose to the surface he would be visible from either
bank, and with the police whistle which I carried I could, if
necessary, summon one of the men in hiding across the stream. I
waited. A wild-fowl floated serenely past, untroubled by this strange
invasion of his precincts. A full minute I waited. From the lane
behind me came Smith's voice:
"Don't let him escape, Petrie!"
Never lifting my eyes from the water, I waved my hand reassuringly.
But still the dacoit did not rise. I searched the surface in all
directions as far as my eyes could reach; but no swimmer showed above
it. Then it was that I concluded he had dived too deeply, become
entangled in the weeds and was drowned. With a final glance to right
and left and some feeling of awe at this sudden tragedy--this grim
going out of a life at glorious noonday--I turned away. Smith had the
woman securely; but I had not taken five steps towards him when a faint
splash behind warned me. Instinctively I ducked. From whence that
saving instinct arose I cannot surmise, but to it I owed my life. For
as I rapidly lowered my head, something hummed past me, something that
flew out over the grass bank, and fell with a jangle upon the dusty
roadside. A knife!
I turned and bounded back to the river's brink. I heard a faint cry
behind me, which could only have come from the gypsy woman. Nothing
disturbed the calm surface of the water. The reach was lonely of
rowers. Out by the farther bank a girl was poling a punt along, and
her white-clad figure was the only living thing that moved upon the
river within the range of the most expert knife-thrower.
To say that I was nonplused is to say less than the truth; I was
amazed. That it was the dacoit who had shown me this murderous
attention I could not doubt. But where in Heaven's name WAS he? He
could not humanly have remained below water for so long; yet he
certainly was not above, was not upon the surface, concealed amongst
the reeds, nor hidden upon the bank.
There, in the bright sunshine, a consciousness of the eerie possessed
me. It was with an uncomfortable feeling that my phantom foe might be
aiming a second knife at my back that I turned away and hastened
towards Smith. My fearful expectations were not realized, and I picked
up the little weapon which had so narrowly missed me, and with it in my
hand rejoined my friend.
He was standing with one arm closely clasped about the apparently
exhausted woman, and her dark eyes were fixed upon him with an
extraordinary expression.
"What does it mean, Smith?" I began.
But he interrupted me.
"Where is the dacoit?" he demanded rapidly.
"Since he seemingly possesses the attributes of a fish," I replied, "I
cannot pretend to say."
The gypsy woman lifted her eyes to mine and laughed. Her laughter was
musical, not that of such an old hag as Smith held captive; it was
familiar, too.
I started and looked closely into the wizened face.
"He's tricked you," said Smith, an angry note in his voice. "What is
that you have in your hand?"
I showed him the knife, and told him how it had come into my possession.
"I know," he rapped. "I saw it. He was in the water not three yards
from where you stood. You must have seen him. Was there nothing
visible?"
"Nothing."
The woman laughed again, and again I wondered.
"A wild-fowl," I added; "nothing else."
"A wild-fowl," snapped Smith. "If you will consult your recollections
of the habits of wild-fowl you will see that this particular specimen
was a RARA AVIS. It's an old trick, Petrie, but a good one, for it is
used in decoying. A dacoit's head was concealed in that wild-fowl!
It's useless. He has certainly made good his escape by now."
"Smith," I said, somewhat crestfallen, "why are you detaining this
gypsy woman?"
"Gypsy woman!" he laughed, hugging her tightly as she made an impatient
movement. "Use your eyes, old man."
He jerked the frowsy wig from her head, and beneath was a cloud of
disordered hair that shimmered in the sunlight.
"A wet sponge will do the rest," he said.
Into my eyes, widely opened in wonder, looked the dark eyes of the
captive; and beneath the disguise I picked out the charming features of
the slave girl. There were tears on the whitened lashes, and she was
submissive now.
"This time," said my friend hardly, "we have fairly captured her--and
we will hold her."
From somewhere up-stream came a faint call.
"The dacoit!"
Nayland Smith's lean body straightened; he stood alert, strung up.
Another call answered, and a third responded. Then followed the flatly
shrill note of a police whistle, and I noted a column of black vapor
rising beyond the wall, mounting straight to heaven as the smoke of a
welcome offering.
The surrounded mansion was in flames!
"Curse it!" rapped Smith. "So this time we were right. But, of
course, he has had ample opportunity to remove his effects. I knew
that. The man's daring is incredible. He has given himself till the
very last moment--and we blundered upon two of the outposts."
"I lost one."
"No matter. We have the other. I expect no further arrests, and the
house will have been so well fired by the Doctor's servants that
nothing can save it. I fear its ashes will afford us no clew, Petrie;
but we have secured a lever which should serve to disturb Fu-Manchu's
world."
He glanced at the queer figure which hung submissively in his arms.
She looked up proudly.
"You need not hold me so tight," she said, in her soft voice. "I will
come with you."
That I moved amid singular happenings, you, who have borne with me thus
far, have learned, and that I witnessed many curious scenes; but of the
many such scenes in that race-drama wherein Nayland Smith and Dr.
Fu-Manchu played the leading parts, I remember none more bizarre than
the one at my rooms that afternoon.
Without delay, and without taking the Scotland Yard men into our
confidence, we had hurried our prisoner back to London, for my friend's
authority was supreme. A strange trio we were, and one which excited
no little comment; but the journey came to an end at last. Now we were
in my unpretentious sitting-room--the room wherein Smith first had
unfolded to me the story of Dr. Fu-Manchu and of the great secret
society which sought to upset the balance of the world--to place Europe
and America beneath the scepter of Cathay.
I sat with my elbows upon the writing-table, my chin in my hands; Smith
restlessly paced the floor, relighting his blackened briar a dozen
times in as many minutes. In the big arm-chair the pseudogypsy was
curled up. A brief toilet had converted the wizened old woman's face
into that of a fascinatingly pretty girl. Wildly picturesque she
looked in her ragged Romany garb. She held a cigarette in her fingers
and watched us through lowered lashes.
Seemingly, with true Oriental fatalism, she was quite reconciled to her
fate, and ever and anon she would bestow upon me a glance from her
beautiful eyes which few men, I say with confidence, could have
sustained unmoved. Though I could not be blind to the emotions of that
passionate Eastern soul, yet I strove not to think of them. Accomplice
of an arch-murderer she might be; but she was dangerously lovely.
"That man who was with you," said Smith, suddenly turning upon her,
"was in Burma up till quite recently. He murdered a fisherman thirty
miles above Prome only a month before I left. The D.S.P. had placed a
thousand rupees on his head. Am I right?"
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
"Suppose--What then?" she asked.
"Suppose I handed you over to the police?" suggested Smith. But he
spoke without conviction, for in the recent past we both had owed our
lives to this girl.
"As you please," she replied. "The police would learn nothing."
"You do not belong to the Far East," my friend said abruptly. "You may
have Eastern blood in your veins, but you are no kin of Fu-Manchu."
"That is true," she admitted, and knocked the ash from her cigarette.
"Will you tell me where to find Fu-Manchu?"
She shrugged her shoulders again, glancing eloquently in my direction.
Smith walked to the door.
"I must make out my report, Petrie," he said. "Look after the
prisoner."
And as the door closed softly behind him I knew what was expected of
me; but, honestly, I shirked my responsibility. What attitude should I
adopt? How should I go about my delicate task? In a quandary, I stood
watching the girl whom singular circumstances saw captive in my rooms.
"You do not think we would harm you?" I began awkwardly. "No harm
shall come to you. Why will you not trust us?"
She raised her brilliant eyes.
"Of what avail has your protection been to some of those others," she
said; "those others whom HE has sought for?"
Alas! it had been of none, and I knew it well. I thought I grasped
the drift of her words.
"You mean that if you speak, Fu-Manchu will find a way of killing you?"
"Of killing ME!" she flashed scornfully. "Do I seem one to fear for
myself?"
"Then what do you fear?" I asked, in surprise.
She looked at me oddly.
"When I was seized and sold for a slave," she answered slowly, "my
sister was taken, too, and my brother--a child." She spoke the word
with a tender intonation, and her slight accent rendered it the more
soft. "My sister died in the desert. My brother lived. Better, far
better, that he had died, too."
Her words impressed me intensely.
"Of what are you speaking?" I questioned. "You speak of slave-raids,
of the desert. Where did these things take place? Of what country are
you?"
"Does it matter?" she questioned in turn. "Of what country am I? A
slave has no country, no name."
"No name!" I cried.
"You may call me Karamaneh," she said. "As Karamaneh I was sold to Dr.
Fu-Manchu, and my brother also he purchased. We were cheap at the
price he paid." She laughed shortly, wildly.
"But he has spent a lot of money to educate me. My brother is all that
is left to me in the world to love, and he is in the power of Dr.
Fu-Manchu. You understand? It is upon him the blow will fall. You ask
me to fight against Fu-Manchu. You talk of protection. Did your
protection save Sir Crichton Davey?"
I shook my head sadly.
"You understand now why I cannot disobey my master's orders--why, if I
would, I dare not betray him."
I walked to the window and looked out. How could I answer her
arguments? What could I say? I heard the rustle of her ragged skirts,
and she who called herself Karamaneh stood beside me. She laid her
hand upon my arm.
"Let me go," she pleaded. "He will kill him! He will kill him!"
Her voice shook with emotion.
"He cannot revenge himself upon your brother when you are in no way to
blame," I said angrily. "We arrested you; you are not here of your own
free will."
She drew her breath sharply, clutching at my arm, and in her eyes I
could read that she was forcing her mind to some arduous decision.
"Listen." She was speaking rapidly, nervously. "If I help you to take
Dr. Fu-Manchu--tell you where he is to be found ALONE--will you promise
me, solemnly promise me, that you will immediately go to the place
where I shall guide you and release my brother; that you will let us
both go free?"
"I will," I said, without hesitation. "You may rest assured of it."
"But there is a condition," she added.
"What is it?"
"When I have told you where to capture him you must release me."
I hesitated. Smith often had accused me of weakness where this girl
was concerned. What now was my plain duty? That she would utterly
decline to speak under any circumstances unless it suited her to do so
I felt assured. If she spoke the truth, in her proposed bargain there
was no personal element; her conduct I now viewed in a new light.
Humanity, I thought, dictated that I accept her proposal; policy also.
"I agree," I said, and looked into her eyes, which were aflame now with
emotion, an excitement perhaps of anticipation, perhaps of fear.
She laid her hands upon my shoulders.
"You will be careful?" she said pleadingly.
"For your sake," I replied, "I shall."
"Not for my sake."
"Then for your brother's."
"No." Her voice had sunk to a whisper. "For your own."