Emperor Fu-Manchu (16 page)

“But you won’t be on board?” Tony asked.

“I shall be on my way to Niu-fo-tu. I shall take over the part of the Burmese monk retiring to his monastery with a young disciple. Our host has provided me with suitable papers. Hang onto those you have. You, also, must travel as a Buddhist priest. You know your own story, your name, and the name of your monastery. The travel permit for the disciple I must have.”

“All clear.”

“We’ll set out together, in the old Ford, until I say ‘Beat it.’ Then you’ll leave and be on your own.”

“Agreed,” Tony said.

“Leave the details to me. Yours may be the harder part, McKay, but you’re used to the hard way. Jeanie insists on joining us, so let it go at that. We start at nine sharp.”

On a long cane settee outside the library, where flowering vines laced the terrace, and the gardens under a crescent moon looked like fairyland, Tony and Moon Flower continued the conference.

“Yueh Hua,” he whispered, “why must you come with us? God knows I always want you near me, but we’re up against enemies who stop at nothing. Dr. Fu-Manchu uses strange methods. These Cold Men! Couldn’t you stay right here, where you’re safe, until a better time comes to join me?”

He could feel her heart beating against his own when she answered.

“No, Chi Foh. I know Sir Denis has some plan to release my father, and I may be part of it. I can’t be wrong because otherwise I’m sure he would have told me to stay.”

Tony held her close. “When Sir Denis needs you he will send for you.”

“He needs me now, or he wouldn’t take me. Don’t worry about me, Chi Foh. It is
you
I’m worrying about. If we have to separate, and someone recognizes you as an escaped prisoner—”

“The odds are against it. I know enough about the game, now, to take care of myself. I have credentials, too, and I’ll get by.”

The rest of the conference had no bearing on the problem.

There was a fairly good road, as Chinese roads go, to Niu-fo-tu, as Tony remembered. And when they set out, Nayland Smith driving, Moon Flower beside him, and Tony in the back, moonlight was adequate to prevent a driver from coming to grief on the many obstacles met with.

Nayland Smith was an expert driver, but his speed on this unpredictable surface was scarcely relaxing. There was no great distance to go, and he took bends with a confidence that showed he meant to get there in the shortest possible time.

“I’m afraid, Jeanie,” Tony heard him say, “my many journeys in Scotland Yard days with the Flying Squad have taught me bad manners.”

His remarkable driving got them to within sight of the dim lights which indicated the market town of Niu-fo-tu, a place of unhappy memory.

Suddenly these dim lights were reinforced by a red light.

“Beat it, McKay!” Nayland Smith ordered and checked down. “Make a detour. You know something of the lay of the land. Head for the lama’s back door. If picked up, do your stuff. Admit that’s where you’re going. You’re fellow Buddhists.”

Tony jumped out. He had a glimpse of Moon Flower looking back; then he made his way to the roadside, tried to recall what he knew of the immediate neighborhood, and groped a way through a bamboo jungle to a spot where he could sit down.

He had a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in the pocket of his ungainly robe. He took them out, lighted a cigarette, and sat down to consider his next move.

Which side was the river? If he could mentally locate the spot where the sampan had been tied up, he could work out his route to the path which would lead him to the back door of the lama’s house.

From his cover, he watched the Ford pass out of sight.

He was alone again. He must act alone.

A few minutes’ reflection convinced him that the Lu Ho River lay on his left. He must follow the road as closely as possible to the outskirts of the town. Then he must bear north-westerly, if he could find a path, and this would bring him to the open country behind the lama’s house.

Without further delay, he returned to the road and started walking.

What was Nayland Smith’s plan? That he had one seemed evident, since he was re-entering the danger zone. Tony’s heart sank when he reflected that he had rescued Moon Flower from the clutches of Fu-Manchu and that now she was venturing again into his reach. But he loved her loyalty, her fighting spirit which made her ready to defy even such an enemy as Dr. Fu-Manchu.

He strode along confidently until he had a distant view of the gate of the town, but not the gate by which he had entered on a previous occasion. He pulled up, made a swift mental calculation, and got his bearings.

As he stepped aside from the high road into a tangle of bushes, a heavy wagon of market produce lumbered along, and from his cover he saw, again, the red light spring up ahead.

Evidently, there was a guard at the gate. What was the reason for these unusual precautions? And how had Nayland Smith been received?

Anxiety surged up in him like a hot spring.

He peered out. The big cart was being detained. He saw a number of men around it. He moved on. Still keeping parallel with the road, he tried to find some sort of path leading in the direction he wanted to go.

And soon he found one.

It was a footpath from the high road, bearing north-westerly, just such a path as he had hoped to find. He sighed with relief; began to trudge along.

But fifty yards from the road, he stopped. His heart seemed to stop, too.

The Ford stood beside the narrow footpath.

He sprang forward. The car was empty. It had been deserted.

His brain began to behave like a windmill, and he broke into a run. What did it mean? What had happened? This was the car Nayland Smith had been driving. Where was Nayland Smith—and where was Moon Flower?

The path led into a patch of dense shadow, deserted by moonlight. He ran on.

A steely grasp on his ankle! He was thrown, pinned down.

Tony twisted, threw off his unseen enemy, nearly got onto his knees, when a strangle-hold ended the struggle.

“The light—quick!” came a snappy command.

A light flashed dazzlingly onto Tony’s face.

“Chi Foh!” Moon Flower’s voice.

“Damn it, McKay. I’m awfully sorry.”

He had been captured by Nayland Smith.

* * *

“I thought we had been spotted,” Sir Denis explained. “Hearing someone apparently in pursuit, I naturally acted promptly.”

“You certainly did,” Tony admitted. “I’m getting quite used to being strangled.”

“You see, McKay, in sight of the town gate, I saw a loaded cart being examined; several lanterns were brought out. I recognized one of the searchers—the big Nubian. That settled it. I looked for an opening where I could turn in, scrapped the old Ford, and went ahead on foot.”

“I understand. I did the same thing; and I think, but I’m not sure, that we have picked the right path. If so, we haven’t far to walk. But what’s going on in Niu-fo-tu? Is Fu-Manchu expecting us?”

They were walking ahead cautiously, speaking in low tones.

“That’s what bothers me,” Nayland Smith confessed. “I don’t understand it.”

Moon Flower had said little for some time, but now she broke her silence. “As we have the mysterious manuscript, surely Fu-Manchu would expect us to get away and not to come back here.”

“I agree,” Sir Denis said. “There may be some other reason for these strange precautions.”

They came out from the shadow of trees. The path led sharply right, and they saw the scattered houses of Niu-fo-tu, silvered by moonlight. The house of the lama, Dr. Li Wu Chang, was easy to identify, and Tony recognized the door by which he had escaped.

“Is the lama expecting us?” he asked Nayland Smith.

“Yes. He has been advised. Hurry. We can be seen from several points now.”

In less than two minutes they were at the door. It was a teak door with a grille. It was locked.

Nayland Smith fumbled about urgently and presently found what he was looking for. A faint bell-note sounded inside the house.

“I think someone is coming along this way,” Moon Flower whispered. “Perhaps we have been seen.”

The grille opened. There was a face outlined behind the bars.

“Nayland Smith,” Sir Denis said.

The door was opened. They hurried in, and the old woman who had opened the door closed and barred it.

At that moment the lama came out of his study, hands extended.

“You are welcome. I was growing anxious. My sister, who looks after me, will take charge of Miss Cameron-Gordon, and presently we will all share a frugal supper.”

Later in the lama’s study, with its churchlike smell, and refreshed by a bottle of excellent wine, their host told them an astonishing thing.

“I received a message from Lao Tse-Mung who called to learn if you had arrived. It seems that a Cold Man entered his house to steal a valuable document but that the attempt was frustrated and the creature killed?”

“Correct,” Nayland Smith agreed. “He was also buried.”

“So I understand, Sir Denis. Lao Tse-Mung informs me that his chief mechanic, a very faithful and intelligent servant, reported to him shortly after you had departed that he had heard voices and strange sounds from the cypress grove in which the burial had taken place. He asked for permission to investigate. It was granted.”

“Wong’s a good man,” Nayland Smith said, his gray eyes brightening. “I don’t know another among all of them that would go near that grave at night. What did he find?”

“He found the grave reopened, and empty.”

A blue light went out in the small cabinet which faced Dr. Fu-Manchu. He glanced across at General Huan who sat watching him.

“Mahmud reports that the consignment from Lung Chang has passed through Niu-fo-tu. On the outskirts of the town it will be transferred to the motor wagon and should be here very shortly.”

General Huan took a pinch of snuff. “In my ignorance, Master, it seems to me that to employ your great powers upon a matter which cannot advance our cause…”

Fu-Manchu raised his hand, stood up slowly. His eyes became fixed in an almost maniacal stare, his fingers seemed to quiver.

“Cannot advance our cause?” The words were hissed. “How do you suppose, Tsung-Chao, that I have been able to accomplish even so little? Is it because I am a master politician? No. Because I am a great soldier? No. Why do I stand before you, alive? Because I was chosen by the gods to outlive my normal span of years?
No!
”

His voice rose to a guttural cry. He clenched his hands.

“I regret my clumsy words, Master. I would have said…”

“You would have spoken folly. It is because I have explored more secrets of nature than any man living today. The fools who send rockets into space—what cause do these toys advance? I constructed a machine thirty years ago which defies the law of gravity. What of those who devise missiles with destructive warheads to reach distant targets? I could erase human life from the face of the earth without employing such a clumsy device.” Fu-Manchu dropped back into his chair, breathing heavily.

“Forgive me. I had no wish to disturb you.”

“I am not disturbed, Tsung-Chao. I am disappointed to find that our long association has not shown you that it is my supremacy as a scientist which alone can carry our projects to success. And what is my greatest achievement to this present hour? The creation of the Cold Men. You may not know, therefore I tell you that the Cold Men are
dead men
.”

Huan Tsung-Chao stirred uneasily, looked aside.

“You are startled. Matsukata alone knew the secret, which now you share. Every one of the Cold Men has died, or has been put to death, and from the cold ashes I have recreated the flame of life. None, save Singu, has ever been buried as dead. For a man once dead cannot die a second time.”

General Huan’s masklike features relaxed into an expression which almost resembled one of fear.

“I am appalled, Master. Forgive my ignorance, but Matsukata reported that Singu died of a broken neck.”

Dr. Fu-Manchu laughed harshly. “He reported that Singu had suffered a dislocation of the anterior ligament as the result of a fall on his head. There were other injuries to the skull which may indicate the cause of this fall. The ligament I can repair; the other injury also.”

“But…”

“But if I cannot restore Singu to life, long years of research will have led me to a hollow fallacy. I believed the Cold Men to be indestructible except by total disintegration.”

There was a faint sound, and Fu-Manchu turned a switch. The voice of the Japanese physician, Matsukata, was heard faintly.

“I have the body in the clinic, Master.”

“Do nothing until I join you.”

Dr. Fu-Manchu stood up. “Would you care to witness one of the most important experiments I have ever carried out, Tsung-Chao?”

“Thank you, no,” the old soldier replied. “I fear no living man; but dead men who walk again turn my old blood to water.”

T
ony stared out of a window into one of the busiest streets of Chia-Ting. This was part of the city he had never previously visited. His knowledge of Chia-Ting was confined to the waterfront and the jail. Accompanied by the old lama, whose credentials were above suspicion, they had made the journey of approximately thirty miles without incident, as members of his family bound for Chungtu.