All that was reposeful5 in nature seemed to have become an irony6 and a mockery to us—who knew how an evil demigod had his sacrificial altars amid our sweetest groves7. 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 haze8. The peace of beautiful Thames-side was about us.
This was one of the few tangible9 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 tract10 of country cut by the Thames, with Windsor for its center. Within that circle was the house from which miraculously11 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 drawn13 blank, but the place for which Smith and I were making now came clearly into view: an old mansion14 situated15 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 noted16 a gypsy caravan17. An old woman was seated on the steps, her wrinkled face bent18, 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 abode19 of our mysterious enemy—the place where he worked amid his weird20 company, where he bred his deadly scorpions21 and his bacilli, reared his poisonous fungi22, 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 potent23 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, frankly24, I thought that he was become bereft25 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 titanic26 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 brink27 ran the gypsy who was no gypsy, but one of that far more sinister28 brotherhood29, the dacoits. I was close upon his heels. But I was not prepared for him to leap in among the rushes at the margin30 of the stream; and seeing him do this I pulled up quickly. Straight into the water he plunged31; and I saw that he held some object in his hand. He waded32 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 serenely33 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 reassuringly34. 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 entangled35 in the weeds and was drowned. With a final glance to right and left and some feeling of awe36 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. Instinctively37 I ducked. From whence that saving instinct arose I cannot surmise38, 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, concealed39 amongst the reeds, nor hidden upon the bank.
There, in the bright sunshine, a consciousness of the eerie40 possessed41 me. It was with an uncomfortable feeling that my phantom42 foe43 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 standing44 with one arm closely clasped about the apparently45 exhausted46 woman, and her dark eyes were fixed47 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.
"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 specimen49 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 crestfallen50, "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 wig51 from her head, and beneath was a cloud of disordered hair that shimmered52 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 lashes53, 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 shrill54 note of a police whistle, and I noted a column of black vapor55 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 supreme56. 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 picturesque57 she looked in her ragged58 Romany garb59. 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 bestow60 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 passionate61 Eastern soul, yet I strove not to think of them. Accomplice62 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?"
"Suppose—What then?" she asked.
"Suppose I handed you over to the police?" suggested Smith. But he spoke64 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 abruptly65. "You may have Eastern blood in your veins66, but you are no kin12 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 eloquently67 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 quandary68, 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?"
"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 intonation71, 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 rustle72 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 arduous73 decision.
"Listen." She was speaking rapidly, nervously74. "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 hesitation75. "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 utterly76 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, dictated77 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 anticipation78, 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."
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1
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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turmoils
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| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
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reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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fungi
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| n.真菌，霉菌 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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31
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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48
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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49
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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50
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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51
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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52
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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54
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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55
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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56
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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57
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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58
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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59
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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60
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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61
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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62
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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63
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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64
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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65
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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66
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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67
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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68
quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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69
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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70
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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71
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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72
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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73
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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74
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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75
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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76
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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77
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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78
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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