The Hand of Fu Manchu (7 page)

Outraged emotion overcame me utterly, and with my arms thrown across
the box, I slipped into unconsciousness.

Many poignant recollections are mine, more of them bitter than sweet;
but no one of them all can compare with the memory of that moment of
my awakening.

Weymouth was supporting me, and my throat still tingled from the
effects of the brandy which he had forced between my teeth from his
flask. My heart was beating irregularly; my mind yet partly inert.
With something compound of horror and hope I lay staring at one who
was anxiously bending over the Inspector's shoulder, watching me.

It was Nayland Smith.

A whole hour of silence seemed to pass, ere speech became possible;
then—

"Smith!" I whispered, "are you ..."

Smith grasped my outstretched, questing hand, grasped it firmly,
warmly; and I saw his gray eyes to be dim in the light of the several
lanterns around us.

"Am I alive?" he said. "Dear old Petrie! Thanks to you, I am not only
alive, but free!"

My head was buzzing like a hive of bees, but I managed, aided by
Weymouth, to struggle to my feet. Muffled sounds of shouting and
scuffling reached me. Two men in the uniform of the Thames Police were
carrying a limp body in at the low doorway communicating with the
infernal Joy-Shop.

"It's Fletcher," said Weymouth, noting the anxiety expressed in my
face. "His missing lady friend has given him a nasty wound, but he'll
pull round all right."

"Thank God for that," I replied, clutched my aching head. "I don't
know what weapon she employed in my case, but it narrowly missed
achieving her purpose."

My eyes, throughout, were turned upon Smith, for his presence there,
still seemed to me miraculous.

"Smith," I said, "for Heaven's sake enlighten me! I never doubted
that you were ..."

"In the wooden chest!" concluded Smith grimly, "Look!"

He pointed to something that lay behind me. I turned, and saw the box
which had occasioned me such anguish. The top had been wrenched off
and the contents exposed to view. It was filled with a variety of gold
ornaments, cups, vases, silks, and barbaric brocaded raiment; it might
well have contained the loot of a cathedral. Inspector Weymouth
laughed gruffly at my surprise.

"What is it?" I asked, in a voice of amazement.

"It's the treasure of the Si-Fan, I presume," rapped Smith. "Where it
has come from and where it was going to, it must be my immediate
business to ascertain."

"Then you ..."

"I was lying, bound and gagged, upon one of the upper shelves in the
opium-den! I heard you and Fletcher arrive. I saw you pass through
later with that she-devil who drove the cab to-day ..."

"Then the cab ..."

"The windows were fastened, unopenable, and some anaesthetic was
injected into the interior through a tube—that speaking-tube. I know
nothing further, except that our plans must have leaked out in some
mysterious fashion. Petrie, my suspicions point to high quarters. The
Si-Fan score thus far, for unless the search now in progress brings
it to light, we must conclude that they have the brass coffer."

He was interrupted by a sudden loud crying of his name.

"Mr. Nayland Smith!" came from somewhere within the Joy-Shop. "This
way, sir!"

Off he went, in his quick, impetuous manner, whilst I stood there,
none too steadily, wondering what discovery this outcry portended.
I had not long to wait. Out by the low doorway come Smith, a grimly
triumphant smile upon his face, carrying the missing brass coffer!

He set it down upon the planking before me.

"John Ki," he said, "who was also on the missing list, had dragged
the thing out of the cellar where it was hidden, and in another minute
must have slipped away with it. Detective Deacon saw the light shining
through a crack in the floor. I shall never forget the look John gave
us when we came upon him, as, lamp in hand, he bent over the precious
chest."

"Shall you open it now?"

"No." He glanced at me oddly. "I shall have it valued in the morning
by Messrs. Meyerstein."

He was keeping something back; I was sure of it.

"Smith," I said suddenly, "the man with the limp! I heard him in the
place where you were confined! Did you ..."

Nayland Smith clicked his teeth together sharply, looking straightly
and grimly into my eyes.

"I
saw
him!" he replied slowly; "and unless the effects of the
anaesthetic had not wholly worn off ..."

"Well!" I cried.

"The man with the limp is
Dr. Fu-Manchu!
"

"This box," said Mr. Meyerstein, bending attentively over the carven
brass coffer upon the table, "is certainly of considerable value, and
possibly almost unique."

Nayland Smith glanced across at me with a slight smile. Mr. Meyerstein
ran one fat finger tenderly across the heavily embossed figures, which,
like barnacles, encrusted the sides and lid of the weird curio which
we had summoned him to appraise.

"What do you think, Lewison?" he added, glancing over his shoulder at
the clerk who accompanied him.

Lewison, whose flaxen hair and light blue eyes almost served to mask
his Semitic origin, shrugged his shoulders in a fashion incongruous
in one of his complexion, though characteristic in one of his name.

"It is as you say, Mr. Meyerstein, an example of early Tûlun-Nûr
work," he said. "It may be sixteenth century or even earlier. The
Kûren treasure-chest in the Hague Collection has points of
similarity, but the workmanship of this specimen is infinitely finer."

"In a word, gentlemen," snapped Nayland Smith, rising from the
arm-chair in which he had been sitting, and beginning restlessly to
pace the room, "in a word, you would be prepared to make me a
substantial offer for this box?"

Mr. Meyerstein, his shrewd eyes twinkling behind the pebbles of his
pince-nez, straightened himself slowly, turned in the ponderous manner
of a fat man, and readjusted the pince-nez upon his nose. He cleared
his throat.

"I have not yet seen the interior of the box, Mr. Smith," he said.

Smith paused in his perambulation of the carpet and stared hard at
the celebrated art dealer.

"Unfortunately," he replied, "the key is missing."

"Ah!" cried the assistant, Lewison, excitedly, "you are mistaken, sir!
Coffers of this description and workmanship are nearly always
complicated conjuring tricks; they rarely open by any such rational
means as lock and key. For instance, the Kûren treasure-chest to
which I referred, opens by an intricate process involving the pressing
of certain knobs in the design, and the turning of others."

"It was ultimately opened," said Mr. Meyerstein, with a faint note of
professional envy in his voice, "by one of Christie's experts."

"Does my memory mislead me," I interrupted, "or was it not regarding
the possession of the chest to which you refer, that the celebrated
case of 'Hague versus Jacobs' arose?"

"You are quite right, Dr. Petrie," said Meyerstein, turning to me.
"The original owner, a member of the Younghusband Expedition, had been
unable to open the chest. When opened at Christie's it proved to
contain jewels and other valuables. It was a curious case, wasn't it,
Lewison?" turning to his clerk.

"Very," agreed the other absently; then—"Have you endeavored to open
this box, Mr. Smith?"

Nayland Smith shook his head grimly.

"From its weight," said Meyerstein, "I am inclined to think that the
contents might prove of interest. With your permission I will
endeavor to open it."

Nayland Smith, tugging reflectively at the lobe of his left ear, stood
looking at the expert. Then—

"I do not care to attempt it at present," he said.

Meyerstein and his clerk stared at the speaker in surprise.

"But you would be mad," cried the former, "if you accepted an offer for
the box, whilst ignorant of the nature of its contents."

"But I have invited no offer," said Smith. "I do not propose to sell."

Meyerstein adjusted his pince-nez again.

"I am a business man," he said, "and I will make a business proposal:
A hundred guineas for the box, cash down, and our commission to be ten
per cent on the proceeds of the contents. You must remember," raising
a fat forefinger to check Smith, who was about to interrupt him, "that
it may be necessary to force the box in order to open it, thereby
decreasing its market value and making it a bad bargain at a hundred
guineas."

Nayland Smith met my gaze across the room; again a slight smile
crossed the lean, tanned face.

"I can only reply, Mr. Meyerstein," he said, "in this way: if I desire
to place the box on the market, you shall have first refusal, and the
same applies to the contents, if any. For the moment if you will send
me a note of your fee, I shall be obliged." He raised his hand with a
conclusive gesture. "I am not prepared to discuss the question of sale
any further at present, Mr. Meyerstein."

At that the dealer bowed, took up his hat from the table, and prepared
to depart. Lewison opened the door and stood aside.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Meyerstein.

As Lewison was about to follow him—

"Since you do not intend to open the box," he said, turning, his hand
upon the door knob, "have you any idea of its contents?"

"None," replied Smith; "but with my present inadequate knowledge of
its history, I do not care to open it."

Lewison smiled skeptically.

"Probably you know best," he said, bowed to us both, and retired.

When the door was closed—

"You see, Petrie," said Smith, beginning to stuff tobacco into his
briar, "if we are ever short of funds, here's something"—pointing to
the Tûlun-Nûr box upon the table—"which would retrieve our fallen
fortunes."

He uttered one of his rare, boyish laughs, and began to pace the
carpet again, his gaze always set upon our strange treasure. What did
it contain?

The manner in which it had come into our possession suggested that it
might contain something of the utmost value to the Yellow group. For
we knew the house of John Ki to be, if not the head-quarters, certainly
a meeting-place of the mysterious organization the Si-Fan; we knew
that Dr. Fu-Manchu used the place—Dr. Fu-Manchu, the uncanny being
whose existence seemingly proved him immune from natural laws, a
deathless incarnation of evil.

My gaze set upon the box, I wondered anew what strange, dark secrets
it held; I wondered how many murders and crimes greater than murder
blackened its history.

"Smith," I said suddenly, "now that the mystery of the absence of a
key-hole is explained, I am sorely tempted to essay the task of
opening the coffer. I think it might help us to a solution of the
whole mystery."

"And I think otherwise!" interrupted my friend grimly. "In a word,
Petrie, I look upon this box as a sort of hostage by means of which—
who knows—we might one day buy our lives from the enemy.
I have a sort of fancy, call it superstition if you will, that
nothing—not even our miraculous good luck—could save us if once
we ravished its secret."

I stared at him amazedly; this was a new phase in his character.

"I am conscious of something almost like a spiritual unrest," he
continued. "Formerly you were endowed with a capacity for divining
the presence of Fu-Manchu or his agents. Some such second-sight would
appear to have visited me now, and it directs me forcibly to avoid
opening the box."

His steps as he paced the floor grew more and more rapid. He
relighted his pipe, which had gone out as usual, and tossed the
match-end into the hearth.

"To-morrow," he said, "I shall lodge the coffer in a place of greater
security. Come along, Petrie, Weymouth is expecting us at Scotland Yard."

"But, Smith," I began, as my friend hurried me along the corridor, "you
are not going to leave the box unguarded?"

Nayland Smith tugged at my arm, and, glancing at him, I saw him
frowningly shake his head. Utterly mystified, I nevertheless
understood that for some reason he desired me to preserve silence for
the present. Accordingly I said no more until the lift brought us down
into the lobby and we had passed out from the New Louvre Hotel,
crossed the busy thoroughfare and entered the buffet of an
establishment not far distant. My friend having ordered cocktails—

"And now perhaps you will explain to me the reason for your mysterious
behavior?" said I.

Smith, placing my glass before me, glanced about him to right and left,
and having satisfied himself that his words could not be overheard—

"Petrie," he whispered, "I believe we are spied upon at the New Louvre."

"What!"

"There are spies of the Si-Fan—of Fu-Manchu—amongst the hotel
servants! We have good reason to believe that Dr. Fu-Manchu at one
time was actually in the building, and we have been compelled to draw
attention to the state of the electric fitting in our apartments, which
enables any one in the corridor above to spy upon us."

"Then why do you stay?"

"For a very good reason, Petrie, and the same that prompts me to
retain the Tûlun-Nûr box in my own possession rather than to deposit
it in the strong-room of my bank."

"I begin to understand."

"I trust you do, Petrie; it is fairly obvious. Probably the plan is a
perilous one, but I hope, by laying myself open to attack, to
apprehend the enemy—perhaps to make an important capture."

Setting down my glass, I stared in silence at Smith.

"I will anticipate your remark," he said, smiling dryly. "I am aware
that I am not entitled to expose
you
to these dangers. It is
my
duty and I must perform it as best I can; you, as a volunteer, are
perfectly entitled to withdraw."