I looked out from the cab window across the river to where, towering above the Embankment, that place of a thousand tragedies, the light of some of London's greatest caravanserais formed a sort of minor2 constellation3. From the subdued4 blaze that showed the public supper-rooms I looked up to the hundreds of starry5 points marking the private apartments of those giant inns.
I thought how each twinkling window denoted the presence of some bird of passage, some wanderer temporarily abiding6 in our midst. There, floor piled upon floor above the chattering7 throngs8, were these less gregarious9 units, each something of a mystery to his fellow-guests, each in his separate cell; and each as remote from real human companionship as if that cell were fashioned, not in the bricks of London, but in the rocks of Hindustan!
In one of those rooms Graham Guthrie might at that moment be sleeping, all unaware11 that he would awake to the Call of Siva, to the summons of death. As we neared the Strand12, Smith stopped the cab, discharging the man outside Sotheby's auction-rooms.
"One of the doctor's watch-dogs may be in the foyer," he said thoughtfully, "and it might spoil everything if we were seen to go to Guthrie's rooms. There must be a back entrance to the kitchens, and so on?"
"There is," I replied quickly. "I have seen the vans delivering there. But have we time?"
"Yes. Lead on."
We walked up the Strand and hurried westward13. Into that narrow court, with its iron posts and descending14 steps, upon which opens a well-known wine-cellar, we turned. Then, going parallel with the Strand, but on the Embankment level, we ran round the back of the great hotel, and came to double doors which were open. An arc lamp illuminated15 the interior and a number of men were at work among the casks, crates16 and packages stacked about the place. We entered.
"Hallo!" cried a man in a white overall, "where d'you think you're going?"
Smith grasped him by the arm.
"I want to get to the public part of the hotel without being seen from the entrance hall," he said. "Will you please lead the way?"
"Here—" began the other, staring.
"Don't waste time!" snapped my friend, in that tone of authority which he knew so well how to assume. "It's a matter of life and death. Lead the way, I say!"
"Police, sir?" asked the man civilly.
"Yes," said Smith; "hurry!"
Off went our guide without further demur17. Skirting sculleries, kitchens, laundries and engine-rooms, he led us through those mysterious labyrinths18 which have no existence for the guest above, but which contain the machinery19 that renders these modern khans the Aladdin's palaces they are. On a second-floor landing we met a man in a tweed suit, to whom our cicerone presented us.
"Glad I met you, sir. Two gentlemen from the police."
"Who are you?" he asked. "You're not from Scotland Yard, at any rate!"
Smith pulled out a card and thrust it into the speaker's hand.
"If you are the hotel detective," he said, "take us without delay to Mr. Graham Guthrie."
"Excuse me, sir," he said deferentially22, "but, of course, I didn't know who I was speaking to. We all have instructions to give you every assistance."
"Is Mr. Guthrie in his room?"
"He's been in his room for some time, sir. You will want to get there without being seen? This way. We can join the lift on the third floor."
Off we went again, with our new guide. In the lift:
"Have you noticed anything suspicious about the place to-night?" asked Smith.
"I have!" was the startling reply. "That accounts for your finding me where you did. My usual post is in the lobby. But about eleven o'clock, when the theater people began to come in I had a hazy23 sort of impression that someone or something slipped past in the crowd—something that had no business in the hotel."
We got out of the lift.
"I don't quite follow you," said Smith. "If you thought you saw something entering, you must have formed a more or less definite impression regarding it."
"That's the funny part of the business," answered the man doggedly24. "I didn't! But as I stood at the top of the stairs I could have sworn that there was something crawling up behind a party—two ladies and two gentlemen."
"A dog, for instance?"
"It didn't strike me as being a dog, sir. Anyway, when the party passed me, there was nothing there. Mind you, whatever it was, it hadn't come in by the front. I have made inquiries25 everywhere, but without result." He stopped abruptly26. "No. 189—Mr. Guthrie's door, sir."
Smith knocked.
"Open the door! Don't delay; it is important."
He turned to the hotel detective.
"Stay right there where you can watch the stairs and the lift," he instructed; "and note everyone and everything that passes this door. But whatever you see or hear, do nothing without my orders."
The man moved off, and the door was opened. Smith whispered in my ear:
"Some creature of Dr. Fu-Manchu is in the hotel!"
Mr. Graham Guthrie, British resident in North Bhutan, was a big, thick-set man—gray-haired and florid, with widely opened eyes of the true fighting blue, a bristling28 mustache and prominent shaggy brows. Nayland Smith introduced himself tersely29, proffering30 his card and an open letter.
"Those are my credentials31, Mr. Guthrie," he said; "so no doubt you will realize that the business which brings me and my friend, Dr. Petrie, here at such an hour is of the first importance."
He switched off the light.
"There is no time for ceremony," he explained. "It is now twenty-five minutes past twelve. At half-past an attempt will be made upon your life!"
"Mr. Smith," said the other, who, arrayed in his pajamas32, was seated on the edge of the bed, "you alarm me very greatly. I may mention that I was advised of your presence in England this morning."
"Do you know anything respecting the person called Fu-Manchu—Dr. Fu-Manchu?"
"Only what I was told to-day—that he is the agent of an advanced political group."
"It is opposed to his interests that you should return to Bhutan. A more gullible33 agent would be preferable. Therefore, unless you implicitly34 obey my instructions, you will never leave England!"
Graham Guthrie breathed quickly. I was growing more used to the gloom, and I could dimly discern him, his face turned towards Nayland Smith, whilst with his hand he clutched the bed-rail. Such a visit as ours, I think, must have shaken the nerve of any man.
"But, Mr. Smith," he said, "surely I am safe enough here! The place is full of American visitors at present, and I have had to be content with a room right at the top; so that the only danger I apprehend35 is that of fire."
"There is another danger," replied Smith. "The fact that you are at the top of the building enhances that danger. Do you recall anything of the mysterious epidemic36 which broke out in Rangoon in 1908—the deaths due to the Call of Siva?"
"I read of it in the Indian papers," said Guthrie uneasily. "Suicides, were they not?"
"No!" snapped Smith. "Murders!"
There was a brief silence.
"From what I recall of the cases," said Guthrie, "that seems impossible. In several instances the victims threw themselves from the windows of locked rooms—and the windows were quite inaccessible37."
"Exactly," replied Smith; and in the dim light his revolver gleamed dully, as he placed it on the small table beside the bed. "Except that your door is unlocked, the conditions to-night are identical. Silence, please, I hear a clock striking."
It was Big Ben. It struck the half-hour, leaving the stillness complete. In that room, high above the activity which yet prevailed below, high above the supping crowds in the hotel, high above the starving crowds on the Embankment, a curious chill of isolation38 swept about me. Again I realized how, in the very heart of the great metropolis39, a man may be as far from aid as in the heart of a desert. I was glad that I was not alone in that room—marked with the death-mark of Fu-Manchu; and I am certain that Graham Guthrie welcomed his unexpected company.
I may have mentioned the fact before, but on this occasion it became so peculiarly evident to me that I am constrained40 to record it here—I refer to the sense of impending41 danger which invariably preceded a visit from Fu-Manchu. Even had I not known that an attempt was to be made that night, I should have realized it, as, strung to high tension, I waited in the darkness. Some invisible herald42 went ahead of the dreadful Chinaman, proclaiming his coming to every nerve in one's body. It was like a breath of astral incense43, announcing the presence of the priests of death.
A wail44, low but singularly penetrating45, falling in minor cadences46 to a new silence, came from somewhere close at hand.
"The Call of Siva," whispered Smith.
"Don't stir, for your life!"
Guthrie was breathing hard.
I knew that we were three; that the hotel detective was within hail; that there was a telephone in the room; that the traffic of the Embankment moved almost beneath us; but I knew, and am not ashamed to confess, that King Fear had icy fingers about my heart. It was awful—that tense waiting—for—what?
Three taps sounded—very distinctly upon the window.
Graham Guthrie started so as to shake the bed.
"It's supernatural!" he muttered—all that was Celtic in his blood recoiling48 from the omen10. "Nothing human can reach that window!" "S-sh!" from Smith. "Don't stir."
The tapping was repeated.
Smith softly crossed the room. My heart was beating painfully. He threw open the window. Further inaction was impossible. I joined him; and we looked out into the empty air.
"Don't come too near, Petrie!" he warned over his shoulder.
One on either side of the open window, we stood and looked down at the moving Embankment lights, at the glitter of the Thames, at the silhouetted49 buildings on the farther bank, with the Shot Tower starting above them all.
In all my dealings with Dr. Fu-Manchu I had had to face nothing so uncanny as this. What Burmese ghoul had he loosed? Was it outside, in the air? Was it actually in the room?
"Don't let me go, Petrie!" whispered Smith suddenly. "Get a tight hold on me!"
That was the last straw; for I thought that some dreadful fascination51 was impelling52 my friend to hurl53 himself out! Wildly I threw my arms about him, and Guthrie leaped forward to help.
Smith leaned from the window and looked up.
One choking cry he gave—smothered, inarticulate—and I found him slipping from my grip—being drawn54 out of the window—drawn to his death!
My friend writhed57 in our grasp, and I saw him stretch his arm upward. The crack of his revolver came, and he collapsed58 on to the floor, carrying me with him.
But as I fell I heard a scream above. Smith's revolver went hurtling through the air, and, hard upon it, went a black shape—flashing past the open window into the gulf59 of the night.
"The light! The light!" I cried.
Guthrie ran and turned on the light. Nayland Smith, his eyes starting from his head, his face swollen60, lay plucking at a silken cord which showed tight about his throat.
"It was a Thug!" screamed Guthrie. "Get the rope off! He's choking!"
My hands a-twitch, I seized the strangling-cord.
"A knife! Quick!" I cried. "I have lost mine!"
Guthrie ran to the dressing-table and passed me an open penknife. I somehow forced the blade between the rope and Smith's swollen neck, and severed61 the deadly silken thing.
Smith made a choking noise, and fell back, swooning in my arms.
When, later, we stood looking down upon the mutilated thing which had been brought in from where it fell, Smith showed me a mark on the brow—close beside the wound where his bullet had entered.
"The mark of Kali," he said. "The man was a phansigar—a religious strangler. Since Fu-Manchu has dacoits in his service I might have expected that he would have Thugs. A group of these fiends would seem to have fled into Burma; so that the mysterious epidemic in Rangoon was really an outbreak of thuggee—on slightly improved lines! I had suspected something of the kind but, naturally, I had not looked for Thugs near Rangoon. My unexpected resistance led the strangler to bungle62 the rope. You have seen how it was fastened about my throat? That was unscientific. The true method, as practiced by the group operating in Burma, was to throw the line about the victim's neck and jerk him from the window. A man leaning from an open window is very nicely poised63: it requires only a slight jerk to pitch him forward. No loop was used, but a running line, which, as the victim fell, remained in the hand of the murderer. No clew! Therefore we see at once what commended the system to Fu-Manchu."
Graham Guthrie, very pale, stood looking down at the dead strangler.
"I owe you my life, Mr. Smith," he said. "If you had come five minutes later—"
He grasped Smith's hand.
"You see," Guthrie continued, "no one thought of looking for a Thug in Burma! And no one thought of the ROOF! These fellows are as active as monkeys, and where an ordinary man would infallibly break his neck, they are entirely64 at home. I might have chosen my room especially for the business!"
"He slipped in late this evening," said Smith. "The hotel detective saw him, but these stranglers are as elusive65 as shadows, otherwise, despite their having changed the scene of their operations, not one could have survived."
"Didn't you mention a case of this kind on the Irrawaddy?" I asked.
"Yes," was the reply; "and I know of what you are thinking. The steamers of the Irrawaddy flotilla have a corrugated-iron roof over the top deck. The Thug must have been lying up there as the Colassie passed on the deck below."
"Partly religious," he explained, "and partly to wake the victims! You are perhaps going to ask me how Dr. Fu-Manchu has obtained power over such people as phansigars? I can only reply that Dr. Fu-Manchu has secret knowledge of which, so far, we know absolutely nothing; but, despite all, at last I begin to score."
"You do," I agreed; "but your victory took you near to death."
"I owe my life to you, Petrie," he said. "Once to your strength of arm, and once to—"
"Don't speak of her, Smith," I interrupted. "Dr. Fu-Manchu may have discovered the part she played! In which event—"
"God help her!"
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1
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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constellation
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| n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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8
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gregarious
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| adj.群居的，喜好群居的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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15
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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proffering
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的现在分词 ) | |
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credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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gullible
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| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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46
cadences
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| n.（声音的）抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 )；节奏；韵律；调子 | |
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47
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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48
recoiling
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| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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49
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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50
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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51
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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52
impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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53
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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54
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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55
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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56
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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57
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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59
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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60
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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61
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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62
bungle
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| v.搞糟；n.拙劣的工作 | |
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63
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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64
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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65
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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66
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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