SHRINE OF SEVEN LAMPS
Never can I forget that nightmare apartment, that efreet's hall. It
was identical in shape with the room of the adjoining house through
which I had come, but its walls were draped in somber black and a
dead black carpet covered the entire floor. A golden curtain--similar
to that which concealed me--broke the somber expanse of the end wall
to my right, and the door directly opposite my hiding-place was closed.
Across the gold curtain, wrought in glittering black, were seven
characters, apparently Chinese; before it, supported upon seven ebony
pedestals, burned seven golden lamps; whilst, dotted about the black
carpet, were seven gold-lacquered stools, each having a black cushion
set before it. There was no sign of the marmoset; the incredible room
of black and gold was quite empty, with a sort of stark emptiness that
seemed to oppress my soul.
Close upon the booming of the gong followed a sound of many footsteps
and a buzz of subdued conversation. Keeping well back in the welcome
shadow I watched, with bated breath, the opening of the door
immediately opposite.
The outer sides of its leaves proved to be of gold, and one glimpse of
the room beyond awoke a latent memory and gave it positive form. I had
been in this house before; it was in that room with the golden door
that I had had my memorable interview with the mandarin Ki-Ming! My
excitement grew more and more intense.
Singly, and in small groups, a number of Orientals came in. All wore
European, or semi-European garments, but I was enabled to identify two
for Chinamen, two for Hindus and three for Burmans. Other Asiatics
there were, also, whose exact place among the Eastern races I could
not determine; there was at least one Egyptian and there were several
Eurasians; no women were present.
Standing grouped just within the open door, the gathering of Orientals
kept up a ceaseless buzz of subdued conversation; then, abruptly,
stark silence fell, and through a lane of bowed heads, Ki-Ming, the
famous Chinese diplomat, entered, smiling blandly, and took his seat
upon one of the seven golden stools. He wore the picturesque yellow
robe, trimmed with marten fur, which I had seen once before, and he
placed his pearl-encircled cap, surmounted by the coral ball denoting
his rank, upon the black cushion beside him.
Almost immediately afterward entered a second and even more striking
figure. It was that of a Lama monk! He was received with the same
marks of deference which had been accorded the mandarin; and he
seated himself upon another of the golden stools.
Silence, a moment of hushed expectancy, and ... yellow-robed, immobile,
his wonderful, evil face emaciated by illness, but his long, magnetic
eyes blazing greenly, as though not a soul but an elemental spirit
dwelt within that gaunt, high-shouldered body, Dr. Fu-Manchu entered,
slowly, leaning upon a heavy stick!
The realities seemed to be slipping from me; I could not believe that
I looked upon a material world. This had been a night of wonders,
having no place in the life of a sane, modern man, but belonging to
the days of the jinn and the Arabian necromancers.
Fu-Manchu was greeted by a universal raising of hands, but in complete
silence. He also wore a cap surmounted by a coral ball, and this he
placed upon one of the black cushions set before a golden stool. Then,
resting heavily upon his stick, he began to speak--in French!
As on listens to a dream-voice, I listened to that, alternately
gutteral and sibilant, of the terrible Chinese doctor. He was
defending himself! With what he was charged by his sinister brethren
I knew not nor could I gather from his words, but that he was
rendering account of his stewardship became unmistakable. Scarce
crediting my senses, I heard him unfold to his listeners details of
crimes successfully perpetrated, and with the results of some of these
I was but too familiar; other there were in the ghastly catalogue
which had been accomplished secretly. Then my blood froze with horror.
My own name was mentioned--and that of Nayland Smith! We two stood in
the way of the coming of one whom he called the Lady of the Si-Fan,
in the way of Asiatic supremacy.
A fantastic legend once mentioned to me by Smith, of some woman
cherished in a secret fastness of Hindustan who was destined one day
to rule the world, now appeared, to my benumbed senses, to be the
unquestioned creed of the murderous, cosmopolitan group known as the
Si-Fan! At every mention of her name all heads were bowed in reverence.
Dr. Fu-Manchu spoke without the slightest trace of excitement; he
assured his auditors of his fidelity to their cause and proposed to
prove to them that he enjoyed the complete confidence of the Lady of
the Si-Fan.
And with every moment that passed the giant intellect of the speaker
became more and more apparent. Years ago Nayland Smith had asssured me
that Dr. Fu-Manchu was a linguist who spoke with almost equal facility
in any of th civilized languages and in most of the barbaric; now the
truth of this was demonstrated. For, following some passage which
might be susceptible of misconstruction, Fu-Manchu would turn slightly,
and elucidate his remarks, addressing a Chinaman in Chinese, a Hindu
in Hindustanee, or an Egyptian in Arabic.
His auditors were swayed by the magnetic personality of the speaker,
as reeds by a breeze; and now I became aware of a curious
circumstance. Either because they and I viewed the character of this
great and evil man from a widely dissimilar aspect, or because, my
presence being unknown to him, I remained outside the radius of his
power, it seemed to me that these members of the evidently vast
organization known as the Si-Fan were dupes, to a man, of the Chinese
orator! It seemed to me that he used them as an instrument, playing
upon their obvious fanaticism, string by string, as a player upon an
Eastern harp, and all the time weaving harmonies to suit some giant,
incredible scheme of his own--a scheme over and beyond any of which
they had dreamed, in the fruition whereof they had no part--of the
true nature and composition of which they had no comprehension.
"Not since the day of the first Yuan Emperor," said Fu-Manchu
sibilantly, "has Our Lady of the Si-Fan--to look upon upon whom,
unveiled, is death--crossed the sacred borders. To-day I am a man
supremely happy and honored above my deserts. You shall all partake
with me of that happiness, that honor...."
Again the gong sounded seven times, and a sort of magnetic thrill
seemed to pass throughout the room. There followed a faint, musical
sound, like the tinkle of a silver bell.
All heads were lowered, but all eyes upturned to the golden curtain.
Literally holding my breath, in those moments of intense expectancy,
I watched the draperies parted from the center and pulled aside by
unseen agency.
A black covered dais was revealed, bearing an ebony chair. And seated
in the chair, enveloped from head to feet in a shimmering white veil,
was a woman. A sound like a great sigh arose from the gathering. The
woman rose slowly to her feet, and raised her arms, which were
exquisitely formed, and of the uniform hue of old ivory, so that the
veil fell back to her shoulders, revealing the green snake bangle
which she wore. She extended her long, slim hands as if in benediction;
the silver bell sounded ... and the curtain dropped again, entirely
obscuring the dais!
Frankly, I thought myself mad; for this "lady of the Si-Fan" was none
other than my mysterious traveling companion! This was some solemn farce
with which Fu-Manchu sought to impress his fanatical dupes. And he had
succeeded; they were inspired, their eyes blazed. Here were men capable
of any crime in the name of the Si-Fan!
Every face within my ken I had studied individually, and now slowly
and cautiously I changed my position, so that a group of three members
standing immediately to the right of the door came into view. One of
them--a tall, spare, and closely bearded man whom I took for some kind
of Hindu--had removed his gaze from the dais and was glancing
furtively all about him. Once he looked in my direction, and my heart
leapt high, then seemed to stop its pulsing.
An overpowering consciousness of my danger came to me; a dim
envisioning of what appalling fate would be mine in the event of
discovery. As those piercing eyes were turned away again, I drew back,
step my step.
Dropping upon my knees, I began to feel for the gap in the
conservatory wall. The desire to depart from the house of the Si-Fan
was become urgent. Once safely away, I could take the necessary steps
to ensure the apprehension of the entire group. What a triumph would
be mine!
I found the opening without much difficulty and crept through into the
empty house. The vague light which penetrated the linen blinds served
to show me the length of the empty, tiled apartment. I had actually
reached the French window giving access to the drawing-room, when--the
skirl of a police whistle split the stillness ... and the sound came
from the house which I had just quitted!
To write that I was amazed were to achieve the banal. Rigid with
wonderment I stood, and clutched at the open window. So I was standing,
a man of stone, when the voice, the high-pitched, imperious,
unmistakable voice of _Nayland Smith,_ followed sharply upon the skirl
of the whistle:--
"Watch those French windows, Weymouth! I can hold the door!"
Like a lightning flash it came to me that the tall Hindu had been none
other than Smith disguised. From the square outside came a sudden
turmoil, a sound of racing feet, of smashing glass, of doors burst
forcibly open. Palpably, the place was surrounded; this was an
organized raid.
Irresolute, I stood there in the semi-gloom--inactive from amaze of it
all--whilst sounds of a tremendous struggle proceeded from the square
gap in the partition.
"Lights!" rose a cry, in Smith's voice again--"they have cut the
wires!"
At that I came to my senses. Plunging my hand into my pocket, I
snatched out the electric lamp ... and stepped back quickly into the
utter gloom of the room behind me.
Some one was crawling through the aperture into the conservatory!
As I watched I saw him, in the dim light, stoop to replace the movable
panel. Then, tapping upon the tiled floor as he walked, the fugitive
approached me. He was but three paces from the French window when I
pressed the button of my lamp and directed its ray fully upon his face.
"Hands up!" I said breathlessly. "I have you covered, Dr. Fu-Manchu!"