IT was with my mind in a condition of unique perplexity that I hurried
with Nayland Smith into the cab which waited and dashed off through the
streets in which the busy life of London just stirred into being. I
suppose I need not say that I could penetrate no farther into this,
Fu-Manchu's latest plot, than the drugging of Norris West with hashish?
Of his having been so drugged with Indian hemp--that is, converted
temporarily into a maniac--would have been evident to any medical man
who had heard his statement and noted the distressing after-effects
which conclusively pointed to Indian hemp poisoning. Knowing something
of the Chinese doctor's powers, I could understand that he might have
extracted from West the secret of the combination by sheer force of
will whilst the American was under the influence of the drug. But I
could not understand how Fu-Manchu had gained access to locked chambers
on the third story of a building.
"Smith," I said, "those bird tracks on the window-sill--they furnish
the key to a mystery which is puzzling me."
"They do," said Smith, glancing impatiently at his watch. "Consult
your memories of Dr. Fu-Manchu's habits--especially your memories of
his pets."
I reviewed in my mind the creatures gruesome and terrible which
surrounded the Chinaman--the scorpions, the bacteria, the noxious
things which were the weapons wherewith he visited death upon
whomsoever opposed the establishment of a potential Yellow Empire. But
no one of them could account for the imprints upon the dust of West's
window-sill.
"You puzzle me, Smith," I confessed. "There is much in this
extraordinary case that puzzles me. I can think of nothing to account
for the marks."
"Have you thought of Fu-Manchu's marmoset?" asked Smith.
"The monkey!" I cried.
"They were the footprints of a small ape," my friend continued. "For a
moment I was deceived as you were, and believed them to be the tracks
of a large bird; but I have seen the footprints of apes before now, and
a marmoset, though an American variety, I believe, is not unlike some
of the apes of Burma."
"I am still in the dark," I said.
"It is pure hypothesis," continued Smith, "but here is the theory--in
lieu of a better one it covers the facts. The marmoset--and it is
contrary from the character of Fu-Manchu to keep any creature for mere
amusement--is trained to perform certain duties.
"You observed the waterspout running up beside the window; you observed
the iron bar intended to prevent a window-cleaner from falling out?
For an ape the climb from the court below to the sill above was a
simple one. He carried a cord, probably attached to his body. He
climbed on to the sill, over the bar, and climbed down again. By means
of this cord a rope was pulled up over the bar, by means of the rope
one of those ladders of silk and bamboo. One of the Doctor's servants
ascended--probably to ascertain if the hashish had acted successfully.
That was the yellow dream-face which West saw bending over him. Then
followed the Doctor, and to his giant will the drugged brain of West
was a pliant instrument which he bent to his own ends. The court would
be deserted at that hour of the night, and, in any event, directly
after the ascent the ladder probably was pulled up, only to be lowered
again when West had revealed the secret of his own safe and Fu-Manchu
had secured the plans. The reclosing of the safe and the removing of
the hashish tabloids, leaving no clew beyond the delirious ravings of a
drug slave--for so anyone unacquainted with the East must have
construed West's story--is particularly characteristic. His own
tabloids were returned, of course. The sparing of his life alone is a
refinement of art which points to a past master."
"Karamaneh was the decoy again?" I said shortly.
"Certainly. Hers was the task to ascertain West's habits and to
substitute the tabloids. She it was who waited in the luxurious
car--infinitely less likely to attract attention at that hour in that
place than a modest taxi--and received the stolen plans. She did her
work well.
"Poor Karamaneh; she had no alternative! I said I would have given a
hundred pounds for a sight of the messenger's face--the man to whom she
handed them. I would give a thousand now!"
"ANDAMAN--SECOND," I said. "What did she mean?"
"Then it has not dawned upon you?" cried Smith excitedly, as the cab
turned into the station. "The ANDAMAN, of the Oriental Navigation
Company's line, leaves Tilbury with the next tide for China ports. Our
man is a second-class passenger. I am wiring to delay her departure,
and the special should get us to the docks inside of forty minutes."
Very vividly I can reconstruct in my mind that dash to the docks
through the early autumn morning. My friend being invested with
extraordinary powers from the highest authorities, by Inspector
Weymouth's instructions the line had been cleared all the way.
Something of the tremendous importance of Nayland Smith's mission came
home to me as we hurried on to the platform, escorted by the
station-master, and the five of us--for Weymouth had two other C.I.D.
men with him--took our seats in the special.
Off we went on top speed, roaring through stations, where a glimpse
might be had of wondering officials upon the platforms, for a special
train was a novelty on the line. All ordinary traffic arrangements
were held up until we had passed through, and we reached Tilbury in
time which I doubt not constituted a record.
There at the docks was the great liner, delayed in her passage to the
Far East by the will of my royally empowered companion. It was novel,
and infinitely exciting.
"Mr. Commissioner Nayland Smith?" said the captain interrogatively,
when we were shown into his room, and looked from one to another and
back to the telegraph form which he held in his hand.
"The same, Captain," said my friend briskly. "I shall not detain you a
moment. I am instructing the authorities at all ports east of Suez to
apprehend one of your second-class passengers, should he leave the
ship. He is in possession of plans which practically belong to the
British Government!"
"Why not arrest him now?" asked the seaman bluntly.
"Because I don't know him. All second-class passengers' baggage will
be searched as they land. I am hoping something from that, if all else
fails. But I want you privately to instruct your stewards to watch any
passenger of Oriental nationality, and to cooperate with the two
Scotland Yard men who are joining you for the voyage. I look to you to
recover these plans, Captain."
"I will do my best," the captain assured him.
Then, from amid the heterogeneous group on the dockside, we were
watching the liner depart, and Nayland Smith's expression was a very
singular one. Inspector Weymouth stood with us, a badly puzzled man.
Then occurred the extraordinary incident which to this day remains
inexplicable, for, clearly heard by all three of us, a guttural voice
said:
"Another victory for China, Mr. Nayland Smith!"
I turned as though I had been stung. Smith turned also. My eyes
passed from face to face of the group about us. None was familiar. No
one apparently had moved away.
But the voice was the voice of DOCTOR FU-MANCHU.
As I write of it, now, I can appreciate the difference between that
happening, as it appealed to us, and as it must appeal to you who
merely read of it. It is beyond my powers to convey the sense of the
uncanny which the episode created. Yet, even as I think of it, I feel
again, though in lesser degree, the chill which seemed to creep through
my veins that day.
From my brief history of the wonderful and evil man who once walked, by
the way unsuspected, in the midst of the people of England--near whom
you, personally, may at some time unwittingly, have been--I am aware
that much must be omitted. I have no space for lengthy examinations of
the many points but ill illuminated with which it is dotted. This
incident at the docks is but one such point.
Another is the singular vision which appeared to me whilst I lay in the
cellar of the house near Windsor. It has since struck me that it
possessed peculiarities akin to those of a hashish hallucination. Can
it be that we were drugged on that occasion with Indian hemp? Cannabis
indica is a treacherous narcotic, as every medical man knows full well;
but Fu-Manchu's knowledge of the drug was far in advance of our slow
science. West's experience proved so much.
I may have neglected opportunities--later, you shall judge if I did
so--opportunities to glean for the West some of the strange knowledge
of the secret East. Perhaps, at a future time, I may rectify my
errors. Perhaps that wisdom--the wisdom stored up by Fu-Manchu--is
lost forever. There is, however, at least a bare possibility of its
survival, in part; and I do not wholly despair of one day publishing a
scientific sequel to this record of our dealings with the Chinese
doctor.