THE clammy touch of the mist revived me. The culmination of the scene
in the poison cellars, together with the effects of the fumes which I
had inhaled again, had deprived me of consciousness. Now I knew that I
was afloat on the river. I still was bound: furthermore, a cloth was
wrapped tightly about my mouth, and I was secured to a ring in the deck.
By moving my aching head to the left I could look down into the oily
water; by moving it to the right I could catch a glimpse of the
empurpled face of Inspector Weymouth, who, similarly bound and gagged,
lay beside me, but only of the feet and legs of Nayland Smith. For I
could not turn my head sufficiently far to see more.
We were aboard an electric launch. I heard the hated guttural voice of
Fu-Manchu, subdued now to its habitual calm, and my heart leaped to
hear the voice that answered him. It was that of Karamaneh. His
triumph was complete. Clearly his plans for departure were complete;
his slaughter of the police in the underground passages had been a
final reckless demonstration of which the Chinaman's subtle cunning
would have been incapable had he not known his escape from the country
to be assured.
What fate was in store for us? How would he avenge himself upon the
girl who had betrayed him to his enemies? What portion awaited those
enemies? He seemed to have formed the singular determination to
smuggle me into China--but what did he purpose in the case of Weymouth,
and in the case of Nayland Smith?
All but silently we were feeling our way through the mist. Astern died
the clangor of dock and wharf into a remote discord. Ahead hung the
foggy curtain veiling the traffic of the great waterway; but through it
broke the calling of sirens, the tinkling of bells.
The gentle movement of the screw ceased altogether. The launch lay
heaving slightly upon the swells.
A distant throbbing grew louder--and something advanced upon us through
the haze.
A bell rang and muffled by the fog a voice proclaimed itself--a voice
which I knew. I felt Weymouth writhing impotently beside me; heard him
mumbling incoherently; and I knew that he, too, had recognized the
voice.
It was that of Inspector Ryman of the river police and their launch was
within biscuit-throw of that upon which we lay!
"'Hoy! 'Hoy!"
I trembled. A feverish excitement claimed me. They were hailing us.
We carried no lights; but now--and ignoring the pain which shot from my
spine to my skull I craned my neck to the left--the port light of the
police launch glowed angrily through the mist.
I was unable to utter any save mumbling sounds, and my companions were
equally helpless. It was a desperate position. Had the police seen us
or had they hailed at random? The light drew nearer.
"Launch, 'hoy!"
They had seen us! Fu-Manchu's guttural voice spoke shortly--and our
screw began to revolve again; we leaped ahead into the bank of
darkness. Faint grew the light of the police launch--and was gone.
But I heard Ryman's voice shouting.
"Full speed!" came faintly through the darkness. "Port! Port!"
Then the murk closed down, and with our friends far astern of us we
were racing deeper into the fog banks--speeding seaward; though of this
I was unable to judge at the time.
On we raced, and on, sweeping over growing swells. Once, a black,
towering shape dropped down upon us. Far above, lights blazed, bells
rang, vague cries pierced the fog. The launch pitched and rolled
perilously, but weathered the wash of the liner which so nearly had
concluded this episode. It was such a journey as I had taken once
before, early in our pursuit of the genius of the Yellow Peril; but
this was infinitely more terrible; for now we were utterly in
Fu-Manchu's power.
A voice mumbled in my ear. I turned my bound-up face; and Inspector
Weymouth raised his hands in the dimness and partly slipped the bandage
from his mouth.
"I've been working at the cords since we left those filthy cellars," he
whispered. "My wrists are all cut, but when I've got out a knife and
freed my ankles--"
Smith had kicked him with his bound feet. The detective slipped the
bandage back to position and placed his hands behind him again. Dr.
Fu-Manchu, wearing a heavy overcoat but no hat, came aft. He was
dragging Karamaneh by the wrists. He seated himself on the cushions
near to us, pulling the girl down beside him. Now, I could see her
face--and the expression in her beautiful eyes made me writhe.
Fu-Manchu was watching us, his discolored teeth faintly visible in the
dim light, to which my eyes were becoming accustomed.
"Dr. Petrie," he said, "you shall be my honored guest at my home in
China. You shall assist me to revolutionize chemistry. Mr. Smith, I
fear you know more of my plans than I had deemed it possible for you to
have learned, and I am anxious to know if you have a confidant. Where
your memory fails you, and my files and wire jackets prove ineffectual,
Inspector Weymouth's recollections may prove more accurate."
He turned to the cowering girl--who shrank away from him in pitiful,
abject terror.
"In my hands, Doctor," he continued, "I hold a needle charged with a
rare culture. It is the link between the bacilli and the fungi. You
have seemed to display an undue interest in the peach and pearl which
render my Karamaneh so delightful, in the supple grace of her movements
and the sparkle of her eyes. You can never devote your whole mind to
those studies which I have planned for you whilst such distractions
exist. A touch of this keen point, and the laughing Karamaneh becomes
the shrieking hag--the maniacal, mowing--"
Then, with an ox-like rush, Weymouth was upon him!
Karamaneh, wrought upon past endurance, with a sobbing cry, sank to the
deck--and lay still. I managed to writhe into a half-sitting posture,
and Smith rolled aside as the detective and the Chinaman crashed down
together.
Weymouth had one big hand at the Doctor's yellow throat; with his left
he grasped the Chinaman's right. It held the needle.
Now, I could look along the length of the little craft, and, so far as
it was possible to make out in the fog, only one other was aboard--the
half-clad brown man who navigated her--and who had carried us through
the cellars. The murk had grown denser and now shut us in like a box.
The throb of the motor--the hissing breath of the two who fought--with
so much at issue--these sounds and the wash of the water alone broke
the eerie stillness.
By slow degrees, and with a reptilian agility horrible to watch,
Fu-Manchu was neutralizing the advantage gained by Weymouth. His
clawish fingers were fast in the big man's throat; the right hand with
its deadly needle was forcing down the left of his opponent. He had
been underneath, but now he was gaining the upper place. His powers of
physical endurance must have been truly marvelous. His breath was
whistling through his nostrils significantly, but Weymouth was palpably
tiring.
The latter suddenly changed his tactics. By a supreme effort, to which
he was spurred, I think, by the growing proximity of the needle, he
raised Fu-Manchu--by the throat and arm--and pitched him sideways.
The Chinaman's grip did not relax, and the two wrestlers dropped, a
writhing mass, upon the port cushions. The launch heeled over, and my
cry of horror was crushed back into my throat by the bandage. For, as
Fu-Manchu sought to extricate himself, he overbalanced--fell back--and,
bearing Weymouth with him--slid into the river!
The mist swallowed them up.
There are moments of which no man can recall his mental impressions,
moments so acutely horrible that, mercifully, our memory retains
nothing of the emotions they occasioned. This was one of them. A
chaos ruled in my mind. I had a vague belief that the Burman, forward,
glanced back. Then the course of the launch was changed. How long
intervened between the tragic end of that Gargantuan struggle and the
time when a black wall leaped suddenly up before us I cannot pretend to
state.
With a sickening jerk we ran aground. A loud explosion ensued, and I
clearly remember seeing the brown man leap out into the fog--which was
the last I saw of him.
Water began to wash aboard.
Fully alive to our imminent peril, I fought with the cords that bound
me; but I lacked poor Weymouth's strength of wrist, and I began to
accept as a horrible and imminent possibility, a death from drowning,
within six feet of the bank.
Beside me, Nayland Smith was straining and twisting. I think his
object was to touch Karamaneh, in the hope of arousing her. Where he
failed in his project, the inflowing water succeeded. A silent prayer
of thankfulness came from my very soul when I saw her stir--when I saw
her raise her hands to her head--and saw the big, horror-bright eyes
gleam through the mist veil.