The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu (19 page)

"It is Aziz, my brother," said Karamaneh.

We passed down a stairway on to the floor of the apartment.
Karamaneh knelt and bent over the boy, stroking his hair and
whispering to him lovingly. I, too, bent over him; and I shall
never forget the anxiety in the girl's eyes as she watched me
eagerly whilst I made a brief examination.

Brief, indeed, for even ere I had touched him I knew that the
comely shell held no spark of life. But Karamaneh fondled the cold
hands, and spoke softly in that Arabic tongue which long before I
had divined must be her native language.

Then, as I remained silent, she turned and looked at me, read
the truth in my eyes, and rose from her knees, stood rigidly
upright, and clutched me tremblingly.

"He is not dead-he is NOT dead!" she whispered, and shook me as
a child might, seeking to arouse me to a proper understanding. "Oh,
tell me he is not-"

"I cannot," I replied gently, "for indeed he is."

"No!" she said, wild-eyed, and raising her hands to her face as
though half distraught. "You do not understand-yet you are a
doctor. You do not understand-"

She stopped, moaning to herself and looking from the handsome
face of the boy to me. It was pitiful; it was uncanny. But sorrow
for the girl predominated in my mind.

Then from somewhere I heard a sound which I had heard before in
houses occupied by Dr. Fu-Manchu-that of a muffled gong.

"Quick!" Karamaneh had me by the arm. "Up! He has returned!"

She fled up the stairs to the balcony, I close at her heels. The
shadows veiled us, the thick carpet deadened the sound of our
tread, or certainly we must have been detected by the man who
entered the room we had just quitted.

It was Dr. Fu-Manchu!

Yellow-robed, immobile, the inhuman green eyes glittering
catlike even, it seemed, before the light struck them, he threaded
his way through the archipelago of cushions and bent over the couch
of Aziz.

Karamaneh dragged me down on to my knees.

"Watch!" she whispered. "Watch!"

Dr. Fu-Manchu felt for the pulse of the boy whom a moment since
I had pronounced dead, and, stepping to the tall glass case, took
out a long-necked flask of chased gold, and from it, into a
graduated glass, he poured some drops of an amber liquid wholly
unfamiliar to me. I watched him with all my eyes, and noted how
high the liquid rose in the measure. He charged a needle-syringe,
and, bending again over Aziz, made an injection.

Then all the wonders I had heard of this man became possible,
and with an awe which any other physician who had examined Aziz
must have felt, I admitted him a miracle-worker. For as I watched,
all but breathless, the dead came to life! The glow of health crept
upon the olive cheek-the boy moved-he raised his hands above his
head-he sat up, supported by the Chinese doctor!

Fu-Manchu touched some hidden bell. A hideous yellow man with a
scarred face entered, carrying a tray upon which were a bowl
containing some steaming fluid, apparently soup, what looked like
oaten cakes, and a flask of red wine.

As the boy, exhibiting no more unusual symptoms than if he had
just awakened from a normal sleep, commenced his repast, Karamaneh
drew me gently along the passage into the room which we had first
entered. My heart leaped wildly as the marmoset bounded past us to
drop hand over hand to the lower apartment in search of its
master.

"You see," said Karamaneh, her voice quivering, "he is not dead!
But without Fu-Manchu he is dead to me. How can I leave him when he
holds the life of Aziz in his hand?"

"You must get me that flask, or some of its contents," I
directed. "But tell me, how does he produce the appearance of
death?"

"I cannot tell you," she replied. "I do not know. It is
something in the wine. In another hour Aziz will be again as you
saw him. But see." And, opening a little ebony box, she produced a
phial half filled with the amber liquid.

"Good!" I said, and slipped it into my pocket. "When will be the
best time to seize Fu-Manchu and to restore your brother?"

"I will let you know," she whispered, and, opening the door,
pushed me hurriedly from the room. "He is going away to-night to
the north; but you must not come to-night. Quick! Quick! Along the
passage. He may call me at any moment."

So, with the phial in my pocket containing a potent preparation
unknown to Western science, and with a last long look into the eyes
of Karamaneh, I passed out into the narrow alley, out from the
fragrant perfumes of that mystery house into the place of
Thames-side stenches.

"We must arrange for the house to be raided without delay," said
Smith. "This time we are sure of our ally-"

"But we must keep our promise to her," I interrupted.

"You can look after that, Petrie," my friend said. "I will
devote the whole of my attention to Dr. Fu-Manchu!" he added
grimly.

Up and down the room he paced, gripping the blackened briar
between his teeth, so that the muscles stood out squarely upon his
lean jaws. The bronze which spoke of the Burmese sun enhanced the
brightness of his gray eyes.

"What have I all along maintained?" he jerked, looking back at
me across his shoulder-"that, although Karamaneh was one of the
strongest weapons in the Doctor's armory, she was one which some
day would be turned against him. That day has dawned."

"We must await word from her."

"Quite so."

He knocked out his pipe on the grate. Then:

"Have you any idea of the nature of the fluid in the phial?"

"Not the slightest. And I have none to spare for analytical
purposes."

Nayland Smith began stuffing mixture into the hot pipe-bowl, and
dropping an almost equal quantity on the floor.

"I cannot rest, Petrie," he said. "I am itching to get to work.
Yet, a false move, and-" He lighted his pipe, and stood staring
from the window.

"I shall, of course, take a needle-syringe with me," I
explained.

Smith made no reply.

"If I but knew the composition of the drug which produced the
semblance of death," I continued, "my fame would long survive my
ashes."

My friend did not turn. But:

"She said it was something he put in the wine?" he jerked.

"In the wine, yes."

Silence fell. My thoughts reverted to Karamaneh, whom Dr.
Fu-Manchu held in bonds stronger than any slave-chains. For, with
Aziz, her brother, suspended between life and death, what could she
do save obey the mandates of the cunning Chinaman? What perverted
genius was his! If that treasury of obscure wisdom which he,
perhaps alone of living men, had rifled, could but be thrown open
to the sick and suffering, the name of Dr. Fu-Manchu would rank
with the golden ones in the history of healing.

Nayland Smith suddenly turned, and the expression upon his face
amazed me.

"Look up the next train to L-!" he rapped.

"To L-? What-?"

"There's the Bradshaw. We haven't a minute to waste."

In his voice was the imperative note I knew so well; in his eyes
was the light which told of an urgent need for action-a portentous
truth suddenly grasped.

"One in half-an-hour-the last."

"We must catch it."

No further word of explanation he vouchsafed, but darted off to
dress; for he had spent the afternoon pacing the room in his
dressing-gown and smoking without intermission.

Out and to the corner we hurried, and leaped into the first taxi
upon the rank. Smith enjoined the man to hasten, and we were
off-all in that whirl of feverish activity which characterized my
friend's movements in times of important action.

He sat glancing impatiently from the window and twitching at the
lobe of his ear.

"I know you will forgive me, old man," he said, "but there is a
little problem which I am trying to work out in my mind. Did you
bring the things I mentioned?"

"Yes."

Conversation lapsed, until, just as the cab turned into the
station, Smith said: "Should you consider Lord Southery to have
been the first constructive engineer of his time, Petrie?"

"Undoubtedly," I replied.

"Greater than Von Homber, of Berlin?"

"Possibly not. But Von Homber has been dead for three
years."

"Three years, is it?"

"Roughly."

"Ah!"

We reached the station in time to secure a non-corridor
compartment to ourselves, and to allow Smith leisure carefully to
inspect the occupants of all the others, from the engine to the
guard's van. He was muffled up to the eyes, and he warned me to
keep out of sight in the corner of the compartment. In fact, his
behavior had me bursting with curiosity. The train having
started:

"Don't imagine, Petrie," said Smith "that I am trying to lead
you blindfolded in order later to dazzle you with my perspicacity.
I am simply afraid that this may be a wild-goose chase. The idea
upon which I am acting does not seem to have struck you. I wish it
had. The fact would argue in favor of its being sound."

"At present I am hopelessly mystified."

"Well, then, I will not bias you towards my view. But just study
the situation, and see if you can arrive at the reason for this
sudden journey. I shall be distinctly encouraged if you
succeed."

But I did not succeed, and since Smith obviously was unwilling
to enlighten me, I pressed him no more. The train stopped at Rugby,
where he was engaged with the stationmaster in making some
mysterious arrangements. At L-, however, their object became plain,
for a high-power car was awaiting us, and into this we hurried and
ere the greater number of passengers had reached the platform were
being driven off at headlong speed along the moon-bathed roads.

Twenty minutes' rapid traveling, and a white mansion leaped into
the line of sight, standing out vividly against its woody
backing.

"Stradwick Hall," said Smith. "The home of Lord Southery. We are
first-but Dr. Fu-Manchu was on the train."

Then the truth dawned upon the gloom of my perplexity.

"Your extraordinary proposal fills me with horror, Mr.
Smith!"

The sleek little man in the dress suit, who looked like a head
waiter (but was the trusted legal adviser of the house of Southery)
puffed at his cigar indignantly. Nayland Smith, whose restless
pacing had led him to the far end of the library, turned, a remote
but virile figure, and looked back to where I stood by the open
hearth with the solicitor.

"I am in your hands, Mr. Henderson," he said, and advanced upon
the latter, his gray eyes ablaze. "Save for the heir, who is abroad
on foreign service, you say there is no kin of Lord Southery to
consider. The word rests with you. If I am wrong, and you agree to
my proposal, there is none whose susceptibilities will suffer-"

"My own, sir!"

"If I am right, and you prevent me from acting, you become a
murderer, Mr. Henderson."

The lawyer started, staring nervously up at Smith, who now
towered over him menacingly.

"Lord Southery was a lonely man," continued my friend. "If I
could have placed my proposition before one of his blood, I do not
doubt what my answer had been. Why do you hesitate? Why do you
experience this feeling of horror?"

Mr. Henderson stared down into the fire. His constitutionally
ruddy face was pale.

"It is entirely irregular, Mr. Smith. We have not the necessary
powers-"

Smith snapped his teeth together impatiently, snatching his
watch from his pocket and glancing at it.

"I am vested with the necessary powers. I will give you a
written order, sir."

"The proceeding savors of paganism. Such a course might be
admissible in China, in Burma-"

"Do you weigh a life against such quibbles? Do you suppose that,
granting MY irresponsibility, Dr. Petrie would countenance such a
thing if he doubted the necessity?"

Mr. Henderson looked at me with pathetic hesitance.

"There are guests in the house-mourners who attended the
ceremony to-day. They-"

"Will never know, if we are in error," interrupted Smith. "Good
God! why do you delay?"

"You wish it to be kept secret?"

"You and I, Mr. Henderson, and Dr. Petrie will go now. We
require no other witnesses. We are answerable only to our
consciences."

The lawyer passed his hand across his damp brow.

"I have never in my life been called upon to come to so
momentous a decision in so short a time," he confessed. But, aided
by Smith's indomitable will, he made his decision. As its result,
we three, looking and feeling like conspirators, hurried across the
park beneath a moon whose placidity was a rebuke to the turbulent
passions which reared their strangle-growth in the garden of
England. Not a breath of wind stirred amid the leaves. The calm of
perfect night soothed everything to slumber. Yet, if Smith were
right (and I did not doubt him), the green eyes of Dr. Fu-Manchu
had looked upon the scene; and I found myself marveling that its
beauty had not wilted up. Even now the dread Chinaman must be near
to us.

As Mr. Henderson unlocked the ancient iron gates he turned to
Nayland Smith. His face twitched oddly.

"Witness that I do this unwillingly," he said-"most
unwillingly."

"Mine be the responsibility," was the reply.

Smith's voice quivered, responsive to the nervous vitality pent
up within that lean frame. He stood motionless, listening-and I
knew for whom he listened. He peered about him to right and
left-and I knew whom he expected but dreaded to see.

Above us now the trees looked down with a solemnity different
from the aspect of the monarchs of the park, and the nearer we came
to our journey's end the more somber and lowering bent the verdant
arch-or so it seemed.

By that path, patched now with pools of moonlight, Lord Southery
had passed upon his bier, with the sun to light his going; by that
path several generations of Stradwicks had gone to their last
resting-place.

To the doors of the vault the moon rays found free access. No
branch, no leaf, intervened. Mr. Henderson's face looked ghastly.
The keys which he carried rattled in his hand.

"Light the lantern," he said unsteadily.

Nayland Smith, who again had been peering suspiciously about
into the shadows, struck a match and lighted the lantern which he
carried. He turned to the solicitor.

"Be calm, Mr. Henderson," he said sternly. "It is your plain
duty to your client."

"God be my witness that I doubt it," replied Henderson, and
opened the door.

We descended the steps. The air beneath was damp and chill. It
touched us as with clammy fingers; and the sensation was not wholly
physical.

Before the narrow mansion which now sufficed Lord Southery, the
great engineer whom kings had honored, Henderson reeled and
clutched at me for support. Smith and I had looked to him for no
aid in our uncanny task, and rightly.

With averted eyes he stood over by the steps of the tomb, whilst
my friend and myself set to work. In the pursuit of my profession I
had undertaken labors as unpleasant, but never amid an environment
such as this. It seemed that generations of Stradwicks listened to
each turn of every screw.

At last it was done, and the pallid face of Lord Southery
questioned the intruding light. Nayland Smith's hand was as steady
as a rigid bar when he raised the lantern. Later, I knew, there
would be a sudden releasing of the tension of will-a reaction
physical and mental-but not until his work was finished.

That my own hand was steady I ascribed to one thing
solely-professional zeal. For, under conditions which, in the event
of failure and exposure, must have led to an unpleasant inquiry by
the British Medical Association, I was about to attempt an
experiment never before essayed by a physician of the white
races.

Though I failed, though I succeeded, that it ever came before
the B.M.A., or any other council, was improbable; in the former
event, all but impossible. But the knowledge that I was about to
practice charlatanry, or what any one of my fellow-practitioners
must have designated as such, was with me. Yet so profound had my
belief become in the extraordinary being whose existence was a
danger to the world that I reveled in my immunity from official
censure. I was glad that it had fallen to my lot to take at least
one step-though blindly-into the FUTURE of medical science.

So far as my skill bore me, Lord Southery was dead.
Unhesitatingly, I would have given a death certificate, save for
two considerations. The first, although his latest scheme ran
contrary from the interests of Dr. Fu-Manchu, his genius, diverted
into other channels, would serve the yellow group better than his
death. The second, I had seen the boy Aziz raised from a state as
like death as this.

From the phial of amber-hued liquid which I had with me, I
charged the needle syringe. I made the injection, and waited.

"If he is really dead!" whispered Smith. "It seems incredible
that he can have survived for three days without food. Yet I have
known a fakir to go for a week."

Mr. Henderson groaned.

Watch in hand, I stood observing the gray face.

A second passed; another; a third. In the fourth the miracle
began. Over the seemingly cold clay crept the hue of pulsing life.
It came in waves-in waves which corresponded with the throbbing of
the awakened heart; which swept fuller and stronger; which filled
and quickened the chilled body.

As we rapidly freed the living man from the trappings of the
dead one, Southery, uttering a stifled scream, sat up, looked about
him with half-glazed eyes, and fell back. "My God!" cried
Smith.

"It is all right," I said, and had time to note how my voice had
assumed a professional tone. "A little brandy from my flask is all
that is necessary now."

"You have two patients, Doctor," rapped my friend.

Mr. Henderson had fallen in a swoon to the floor of the
vault.

"Quiet," whispered Smith; "HE is here."

He extinguished the light.

I supported Lord Southery. "What has happened?" he kept moaning.
"Where am I? Oh, God! what has happened?"

I strove to reassure him in a whisper, and placed my traveling
coat about him. The door at the top of the mausoleum steps we had
reclosed but not relocked. Now, as I upheld the man whom literally
we had rescued from the grave, I heard the door reopen. To aid
Henderson I could make no move. Smith was breathing hard beside me.
I dared not think what was about to happen, nor what its effects
might be upon Lord Southery in his exhausted condition.

Through the Memphian dark of the tomb cut a spear of light,
touching the last stone of the stairway.

A guttural voice spoke some words rapidly, and I knew that Dr.
Fu-Manchu stood at the head of the stairs. Although I could not see
my friend, I became aware that Nayland Smith had his revolver in
his hand, and I reached into my pocket for mine.

At last the cunning Chinaman was about to fall into a trap. It
would require all his genius, I thought, to save him to-night.
Unless his suspicions were aroused by the unlocked door, his
capture was imminent.

Someone was descending the steps.

In my right hand I held my revolver, and with my left arm about
Lord Southery, I waited through ten such seconds of suspense as I
have rarely known.

The spear of light plunged into the well of darkness again.

Lord Southery, Smith and myself were hidden by the angle of the
wall; but full upon the purplish face of Mr. Henderson the beam
shone. In some way it penetrated to the murk in his mind; and he
awakened from his swoon with a hoarse cry, struggled to his feet,
and stood looking up the stair in a sort of frozen horror.

Smith was past him at a bound. Something flashed towards him as
the light was extinguished. I saw him duck, and heard the knife
ring upon the floor.

I managed to move sufficiently to see at the top, as I fired up
the stairs, the yellow face of Dr. Fu-Manchu, to see the gleaming,
chatoyant eyes, greenly terrible, as they sought to pierce the
gloom. A flying figure was racing up, three steps at a time (that
of a brown man scantily clad). He stumbled and fell, by which I
knew that he was hit; but went on again, Smith hard on his
heels.

"Mr. Henderson!" I cried, "relight the lantern and take charge
of Lord Southery. Here is my flask on the floor. I rely upon
you."

Smith's revolver spoke again as I went bounding up the stair.
Black against the square of moonlight I saw him stagger, I saw him
fall. As he fell, for the third time, I heard the crack of his
revolver.

Instantly I was at his side. Somewhere along the black aisle
beneath the trees receding footsteps pattered.

"Are you hurt, Smith?" I cried anxiously.

He got upon his feet.

"He has a dacoit with him," he replied, and showed me the long
curved knife which he held in his hand, a full inch of the blade
bloodstained. "A near thing for me, Petrie."

I heard the whir of a restarted motor.

"We have lost him," said Smith.

"But we have saved Lord Southery," I said. "Fu-Manchu will
credit us with a skill as great as his own."

"We must get to the car," Smith muttered, "and try to overtake
them. Ugh! my left arm is useless."

"It would be mere waste of time to attempt to overtake them," I
argued, "for we have no idea in which direction they will
proceed."

"I have a very good idea," snapped Smith. "Stradwick Hall is
less than ten miles from the coast. There is only one practicable
means of conveying an unconscious man secretly from here to
London."

"You think he meant to take him from here to London?"

"Prior to shipping him to China; I think so. His clearing-house
is probably on the Thames."

"A boat?"

"A yacht, presumably, is lying off the coast in readiness.
Fu-Manchu may even have designed to ship him direct to China."

Lord Southery, a bizarre figure, my traveling coat wrapped about
him, and supported by his solicitor, who was almost as pale as
himself, emerged from the vault into the moonlight.

"This is a triumph for you, Smith," I said.

The throb of Fu-Manchu's car died into faintness and was lost in
the night's silence.

"Only half a triumph," he replied. "But we still have another
chance-the raid on his house. When will the word come from
Karamaneh?"

Southery spoke in a weak voice.

"Gentlemen," he said, "it seems I am raised from the dead."

It was the weirdest moment of the night wherein we heard that
newly buried man speak from the mold of his tomb.

"Yes," replied Smith slowly, "and spared from the fate of Heaven
alone knows how many men of genius. The yellow society lacks a
Southery, but that Dr. Fu-Manchu was in Germany three years ago I
have reason to believe; so that, even without visiting the grave of
your great Teutonic rival, who suddenly died at about that time, I
venture to predict that they have a Von Homber. And the futurist
group in China knows how to MAKE men work!"