It was a desperate moment, for it seemed that we could not fail to be discovered. Nayland Smith began to look about him, feverishly1, for a hiding-place, a quest in which I seconded with equal anxiety. And Fate was kind to us—doubly kind as after events revealed. A wooden gate broke the expanse of wall hard by upon the right, and, as the result of some recent accident, a ragged3 gap had been torn in the panels close to the top.
The chain of the padlock hung loosely; and in a second Smith was up, with his foot in this as in a stirrup. He threw his arm over the top and drew himself upright. A second later he was astride the broken gate.
“Up you come, Petrie!” he said, and reached down his hand to aid me.
I got my foot into the loop of chain, grasped at a projection4 in the gatepost and found myself up.
“There is a crossbar on this side to stand on,” said Smith.
He climbed over and vanished in the darkness. I was still astride the broken gate when the car turned the corner, slowly, for there was scanty5 room; but I was standing6 upon the bar on the inside and had my head below the gap ere the driver could possibly have seen me.
“Stay where you are until he passes,” hissed7 my companion, below. “There is a row of kegs under you.”
The sound of the motor passing outside grew loud—louder—then began to die away. I felt about with my left foot; discerned the top of a keg, and dropped, panting, beside Smith.
“Phew!” I said—“that was a close thing! Smith—how do we know—”
“That we have followed the right car?” he interrupted. “Ask yourself the question: what would any ordinary man be doing motoring in a place like this at two o’clock in the morning?”
“You are right, Smith,” I agreed. “Shall we get out again?”
“Not yet. I have an idea. Look yonder.”
He grasped my arm, turning me in the desired direction.
Beyond a great expanse of unbroken darkness a ray of moonlight slanted8 into the place wherein we stood, spilling its cold radiance upon rows of kegs.
“That’s another door,” continued my friend—I now began dimly to perceive him beside me. “If my calculations are not entirely9 wrong, it opens on a wharf10 gate—”
“I’m right!” snapped Smith. “That turning leads down to the gate. Come on, Petrie!”
He directed the light of the electric torch upon a narrow path through the ranks of casks, and led the way to the further door. A good two feet of moonlight showed along the top. I heard Smith straining; then—
“These kegs are all loaded with grease!” he said, “and I want to reconnoiter over that door.”
We grasped the empty crate, and between us, set it up on a solid pedestal of casks. Then Smith mounted to this observation platform and I scrambled15 up beside him, and looked down upon the lane outside.
It terminated as Smith had foreseen at a wharf gate some six feet to the right of our post. Piled up in the lane beneath us, against the warehouse16 door, was a stack of empty casks. Beyond, over the way, was a kind of ramshackle building that had possibly been a dwelling-house at some time. Bills were stuck in the ground-floor window indicating that the three floors were to let as offices; so much was discernible in that reflected moonlight.
I could hear the tide, lapping upon the wharf, could feel the chill from the river and hear the vague noises which, night nor day, never cease upon the great commercial waterway.
“Down!” whispered Smith. “Make no noise! I suspected it. They heard the car following!”
I obeyed, clutching at him for support; for I was suddenly dizzy, and my heart was leaping wildly—furiously.
“You saw her?” he whispered.
Saw her! yes, I had seen her! And my poor dream-world was toppling about me, its cities, ashes and its fairness, dust.
Peering from the window, her great eyes wondrous17 in the moonlight and her red lips parted, hair gleaming like burnished18 foam19 and her anxious gaze set upon the corner of the lane—was Karamaneh... Karamaneh whom once we had rescued from the house of this fiendish Chinese doctor; Karamaneh who had been our ally; in fruitless quest of whom,—when, too late, I realized how empty my life was become—I had wasted what little of the world’s goods I possessed;—Karamaneh!
“Poor old Petrie,” murmured Smith—“I knew, but I hadn’t the heart—He has her again—God knows by what chains he holds her. But she’s only a woman, old boy, and women are very much alike—very much alike from Charing20 Cross to Pagoda21 Road.”
He rested his hand on my shoulder for a moment; I am ashamed to confess that I was trembling; then, clenching22 my teeth with that mechanical physical effort which often accompanies a mental one, I swallowed the bitter draught23 of Nayland Smith’s philosophy. He was raising himself, to peer, cautiously, over the top of the door. I did likewise.
The window from which the girl had looked was nearly on a level with our eyes, and as I raised my head above the woodwork, I quite distinctly saw her go out of the room. The door, as she opened it, admitted a dull light, against which her figure showed silhouetted24 for a moment. Then the door was reclosed.
“We must risk the other windows,” rapped Smith.
Before I had grasped the nature of his plan he was over and had dropped almost noiselessly upon the casks outside. Again I followed his lead.
“You are not going to attempt anything, singlehanded—against him?” I asked.
“Petrie—Eltham is in that house. He has been brought here to be put to the question, in the medieval, and Chinese, sense! Is there time to summon assistance?”
I shuddered25. This had been in my mind, certainly, but so expressed it was definitely horrible—revolting, yet stimulating26.
“You have the pistol,” added Smith—“follow closely, and quietly.”
He walked across the tops of the casks and leaped down, pointing to that nearest to the closed door of the house. I helped him place it under the open window. A second we set beside it, and, not without some noise, got a third on top.
Smith mounted.
His jaw27 muscles were very prominent and his eyes shone like steel; but he was as cool as though he were about to enter a theater and not the den2 of the most stupendous genius who ever worked for evil. I would forgive any man who, knowing Dr. Fu-Manchu, feared him; I feared him myself—feared him as one fears a scorpion28; but when Nayland Smith hauled himself up on the wooden ledge29 above the door and swung thence into the darkened room, I followed and was in close upon his heels. But I admired him, for he had every ampere30 of his self-possession in hand; my own case was different.
“Is your hand steady? We may have to shoot.”
I thought of Karamaneh, of lovely dark-eyed Karamaneh whom this wonderful, evil product of secret China had stolen from me—for so I now adjudged it.
“Rely upon me!” I said grimly. “I...”
The words ceased—frozen on my tongue.
There are things that one seeks to forget, but it is my lot often to remember the sound which at that moment literally32 struck me rigid33 with horror. Yet it was only a groan34; but, merciful God! I pray that it may never be my lot to listen to such a groan again.
Smith drew a sibilant breath.
“It’s Eltham!” he whispered hoarsely—“they’re torturing—”
“No, no!” screamed a woman’s voice—a voice that thrilled me anew, but with another emotion—
“Not that, not—”
I distinctly heard the sound of a blow. Followed a sort of vague scuffling. A door somewhere at the back of the house opened—and shut again. Some one was coming along the passage toward us!
Nearer came the footsteps and nearer. I could hear suppressed sobs36. The door opened, admitting again the faint light—and Karamaneh came in. The place was quite unfurnished, offering no possibility of hiding; but to hide was unnecessary.
Her slim figure had not crossed the threshold ere Smith had his arm about the girl’s waist and one hand clapped to her mouth. A stifled37 gasp38 she uttered, and he lifted her into the room.
I stepped forward and closed the door. A faint perfume stole to my nostrils—a vague, elusive39 breath of the East, reminiscent of strange days that, now, seemed to belong to a remote past. Karamaneh! that faint, indefinable perfume was part of her dainty personality; it may appear absurd—impossible—but many and many a time I had dreamt of it.
“In my breast pocket,” rapped Smith; “the light.”
I bent40 over the girl as he held her. She was quite still, but I could have wished that I had had more certain mastery of myself. I took the torch from Smith’s pocket, and, mechanically, directed it upon the captive.
She was dressed very plainly, wearing a simple blue skirt, and white blouse. It was easy to divine that it was she whom Eltham had mistaken for a French maid. A brooch set with a ruby41 was pinned at the point where the blouse opened—gleaming fierily42 and harshly against the soft skin. Her face was pale and her eyes wide with fear.
“There is some cord in my right-hand pocket,” said Smith; “I came provided. Tie her wrists.”
I obeyed him, silently. The girl offered no resistance, but I think I never essayed a less congenial task than that of binding43 her white wrists. The jeweled fingers lay quite listlessly in my own.
“Make a good job of it!” rapped Smith, significantly.
A flush rose to my cheeks, for I knew well enough what he meant.
“She is fastened,” I said, and I turned the ray of the torch upon her again.
Smith removed his hand from her mouth but did not relax his grip of her. She looked up at me with eyes in which I could have sworn there was no recognition. But a flush momentarily swept over her face, and left it pale again.
“We shall have to—gag her—”
“Smith, I can’t do it!”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears and she looked up at my companion pitifully.
“Please don’t be cruel to me,” she whispered, with that soft accent which always played havoc44 with my composure. “Every one—every one-is cruel to me. I will promise—indeed I will swear, to be quiet. Oh, believe me, if you can save him I will do nothing to hinder you.” Her beautiful head drooped45. “Have some pity for me as well.”
“Karamaneh” I said. “We would have believed you once. We cannot, now.”
She started violently.
“You know my name!” Her voice was barely audible. “Yet I have never seen you in my life—”
“See if the door locks,” interrupted Smith harshly.
Dazed by the apparent sincerity46 in the voice of our lovely captive—vacant from wonder of it all—I opened the door, felt for, and found, a key.
We left Karamaneh crouching47 against the wall; her great eyes were turned towards me fascinatedly. Smith locked the door with much care. We began a tip-toed progress along the dimly lighted passage.
From beneath a door on the left, and near the end, a brighter light shone. Beyond that again was another door. A voice was speaking in the lighted room; yet I could have sworn that Karamaneh had come, not from there but from the room beyond—from the far end of the passage.
But the voice!—who, having once heard it, could ever mistake that singular voice, alternately guttural and sibilant!
Dr. Fu-Manchu was speaking!
“I have asked you,” came with ever-increasing clearness (Smith had begun to turn the knob), “to reveal to me the name of your correspondent in Nan-Yang. I have suggested that he may be the Mandarin48 Yen-Sun-Yat, but you have declined to confirm me. Yet I know” (Smith had the door open a good three inches and was peering in) “that some official, some high official, is a traitor49. Am I to resort again to the question to learn his name?”
Ice seemed to enter my veins50 at the unseen inquisitor’s intonation51 of the words “the question.” This was the Twentieth Century, yet there, in that damnable room...
Smith threw the door open.
Through a sort of haze52, born mostly of horror, but not entirely, I saw Eltham, stripped to the waist and tied, with his arms upstretched, to a rafter in the ancient ceiling. A Chinaman who wore a slop-shop blue suit and who held an open knife in his hand, stood beside him. Eltham was ghastly white. The appearance of his chest puzzled me momentarily, then I realized that a sort of tourniquet53 of wire-netting was screwed so tightly about him that the flesh swelled54 out in knobs through the mesh55. There was blood—
“God in heaven!” screamed Smith frenziedly—“they have the wire-jacket on him! Shoot down that damned Chinaman, Petrie! Shoot! Shoot!”
Lithely56 as a cat the man with the knife leaped around—but I raised the Browning, and deliberately—with a cool deliberation that came to me suddenly—shot him through the head. I saw his oblique57 eyes turn up to the whites; I saw the mark squarely between his brows; and with no word nor cry he sank to his knees and toppled forward with one yellow hand beneath him and one outstretched, clutching—clutching—convulsively. His pigtail came unfastened and began to uncoil, slowly, like a snake.
I handed the pistol to Smith; I was perfectly cool, now; and I leaped forward, took up the bloody58 knife from the floor and cut Eltham’s lashings. He sank into my arms.
“Praise God,” he murmured, weakly. “He is more merciful to me than perhaps I deserve. Unscrew... the jacket, Petrie... I think ... I was very near to.... weakening. Praise the good God, Who... gave me... fortitude59...”
I got the screw of the accursed thing loosened, but the act of removing the jacket was too agonizing60 for Eltham—man of iron though he was. I laid him swooning on the floor.
“Where is Fu-Manchu?”
Nayland Smith, from just within the door, threw out the query61 in a tone of stark62 amaze. I stood up—I could do nothing more for the poor victim at the moment—and looked about me. The room was innocent of furniture, save for heaps of rubbish on the floor, and a tin oil-lamp hung, on the wall. The dead Chinaman lay close beside Smith. There was no second door, the one window was barred, and from this room we had heard the voice, the unmistakable, unforgettable voice, of Dr. Fu-Manchu.
But Dr. Fu-Manchu was not there!
Neither of us could accept the fact for a moment; we stood there, looking from the dead man to the tortured man who only swooned, in a state of helpless incredulity.
Then the explanation flashed upon us both, simultaneously63, and with a cry of baffled rage Smith leaped along the passage to the second door. It was wide open. I stood at his elbow when he swept its emptiness with the ray of his pocket-lamp.
Smith literally ground his teeth.
“Yet, Petrie,” he said, “we have learnt something. Fu-Manchu had evidently promised Eltham his life if he would divulge65 the name of his correspondent. He meant to keep his word; it is a sidelight on his character.”
“How so?”
“Eltham has never seen Dr. Fu-Manchu, but Eltham knows certain parts of China better than you know the Strand66. Probably, if he saw Fu-Manchu, he would recognize him for who he really is, and this, it seems, the Doctor is anxious to avoid.”
We ran back to where we had left Karamaneh.
The room was empty!
“Defeated, Petrie!” said Smith, bitterly. “The Yellow Devil is loosed on London again!”
He leaned from the window and the skirl of a police whistle split the stillness of the night.
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1
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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4
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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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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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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8
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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13
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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14
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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15
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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16
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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17
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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18
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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19
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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20
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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21
pagoda
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| n.宝塔（尤指印度和远东的多层宝塔），（印度教或佛教的）塔式庙宇 | |
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22
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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23
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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24
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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25
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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26
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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scorpion
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| n.蝎子，心黑的人，蝎子鞭 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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ampere
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| n.(电)安培 | |
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31
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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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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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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40
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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41
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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42
fierily
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| 如火地，炽热地，猛烈地 | |
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43
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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44
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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45
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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47
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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48
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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49
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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50
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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51
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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52
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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53
tourniquet
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| n.止血器，绞压器，驱血带 | |
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54
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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55
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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56
lithely
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| adv.柔软地，易变地 | |
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oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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58
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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59
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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60
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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61
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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62
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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63
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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64
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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65
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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66
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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