The Wrath of Fu Manchu and Other Stories (7 page)

And it was numbered
One
.

Nayland Smith reviewed the mumbo-jumbo practised by other secret societies of which he had knowledge, the Fascist and the Nazi ceremonies, hunting for some parallel. In fact, this silence was getting his nerves on edge.

Almost with relief, although it startled him, he heard a deep gong note.

One!

The five masked men stood up, and Nayland Smith did the same. Light footsteps became audible beyond the green draperies. The curtain was swept aside and a masked woman entered the room.

Her entrance was a signal for the first human sound to disturb that ghostly company. A wordless murmur swept around the ebony table.

Ignoring it, the woman gave the Si-Fan salute, walking slowly to the vacant chair. The salute was returned. But a new silence had fallen. It was an uneasy silence.

She carried the green cloak on her arm, and now draped it over the back of her chair. Light from the hanging lamp gleamed on white shoulders as she took her seat. The men, imitated by Nayland Smith, slowly sat down. But many glances were exchanged across the table. Her face concealed by the grotesque mask, Fu-Manchu’s daughter looked like an incarnation of the goddess Ishtar.

Coolly, without hesitation, she began to speak in that bell-like voice which Nayland Smith remembered—had good reason never to forget.

She greeted the deputies briefly, in French, English, German and Arabic. Unmistakably the French greeting was addressed to him. His deduction, from certain evidence, that Selwyn Orson had posed as a Frenchman had apparently been correct. Greetings over, she continued in English.

“You were expecting the President, my father. This I know, for he has appointed me to act for him in his unavoidable absence. As I am a stranger to all present tonight, he gave me his sealed authority to represent him.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It was stolen from my cabin on the ship by a dangerously clever agent who evidently knows far too much about the Si-Fan for our safety.”

Number Five, who sat next to Nayland Smith, speaking English with a German accent, said that it was well known they had a clever agent somewhere amongst them; for top secrets had already leaked out.

There was a loud murmur of agreement. Unfriendly eyes became focussed on the woman; but:

“A great decision has to be made tonight,” she went on coolly. “You are aware that we have brought pressure to bear upon Washington in an effort to induce the United States Government to give support to our president’s plan to drive Communism out of the East.”

No one spoke. Six pairs of eyes watched her.

“It was decided to implement words by action. Washington was notified that unless our friendly intentions were recognised and our proposals considered, a small demonstration of the powers at our disposal would be made: the gold in one of the vaults at Fort Knox would be destroyed.”

“This,” (it was the guttural voice again) “is knowledge common to ourselves and also to the United States authorities. I have a question to put…”

There were assenting murmurs.

“Later, if you please.” Through the openings in her mask Smith could see those blazing jade-green eyes.
“I
have more to say.”

The musical, imperious voice reduced the meeting to silence.

“What is not common knowledge—a fact known only to a few of us and to a few United States officials—is that the threat was carried out. No one knows, but I am authorised to tell you, how it was done.”

Nayland Smith almost literally held his breath. A mystery which had defied scientists and expert investigators, himself among them, was about to be unveiled. Furthermore, he was fascinated, wholly enthralled, by the magnetic personality of this woman, her power to dominate desperate men who doubted her identity, who knew that life or liberty might be the forfeit of accepting an imposter.

“My father,” she continued quietly, “has always known that the old alchemists were wrong only in one vital particular. Whilst it is impracticable to transmute base metal to gold, it is practicable to transmute gold to base metal. For many years he carried out experiments with a Rünsen beam. The Rünsen beam, as you may be aware, is a kind of super X-ray.”

And now—it seemed, against their better judgement—the five men were listening intently as Nayland Smith listened.

“It has the property of penetrating nearly everything even steel or concrete. It is invisible. But gold resists the beam, which cannot penetrate it. Dr Fu-Manchu succeeded in amplifying the Rünsen process, producing a Rünsen Beam II. Gold still resisted it, but, to speak unscientifically, died in the attempt.”

“Explain further, if you please.”

The request came from Number Two. Nayland Smith had already noted his slim, Arab hands.

“But certainly. The effect is to disturb what my father described as the ‘atomic poise’ of gold, and to break it down (I quote him again) ‘to its primeval elements’.”

“But how,” (the guttural once more) “was this beam operated Upon Fort Knox?”

White shoulders dimpled in a shrug.

“It was not operated upon Fort Knox. A consignment of gold, worth twenty-four million dollars and meant to be stored there, was dealt with on the high seas. A plane circled low over the ship and a Rünsen Beam II was directed upon the bullion-room in which the gold was packed. The sealed cases were never opened until Washington was advised by the president of our council to examine their contents.”

Excitement became vibrant, but no word was uttered until a third voice, speaking cultured English (Nayland Smith identified Number Three), asked:

“Assuming, Madame, without prejudice, that what you tell us is true, how are we to proceed if Washington remains obstinate, to any further demonstration of what you termed ‘the powers at our disposal’?”

Without hesitation, the bell voice replied:

“Quite simply.”

* * *

Nayland Smith clenched his teeth, glancing swiftly right and left. A pad and pencil were placed before each delegate, and one of them (number Seven) had already made several notes. Smith’s Germanic neighbour seemed to have brought notes with him. A large wallet lay at his elbow and he was fingering a card on which appeared a mass of neat writing.

But, as the silvery voice paused, and jade-green eyes searched each mask in turn, no one spoke.

“Quite simply. We have a plane with a maximum ceiling of 45,000 feet.”

A sound of sharply drawn breaths alone interrupted.

“At a height of 40,000 feet it is already beyond interception by any type of fighter possessed by the United States Air Force, and ground defences are useless. Dr Fu-Manchu has completed a radio-controlled torpedo equipped with a proximity fuse. Its explosion releases energy almost identical with that of Rünsen Beam II.”

Nayland Smith scribbled rapidly, in shorthand, which he hoped neither of his immediate neighbours understood: “Bomber attack planned on Fort Knox from 40,000 feet. Fighter patrol at highest ceiling might intercept or at least give warning…”

“Some of the energy would be dispersed, but a considerable quantity of gold could be transmuted to that metal new to metallurgists which my father has named
voluminum.”

“Madame.” The light voice was that of Number Seven. “Is there any substance which is non-conductive of this energy?”

“Only one,” came a prompt reply.
“Voluminum
. A thin coat of
voluminum
would suffice.”

Nayland Smith wrote rapidly: “All gold at Fort Knox must, immediately, be protected by a thin coating of the unknown metal found in those cases which were recently opened. Urgent. Nayland Smith.”

There came slight, nervous movement around the table; glances were exchanged. But that compelling voice continued:

“From such a height, accurate observation is impossible. As it is vital that the first attack shall succeed (for when it takes place, the remaining gold will certainly be removed elsewhere), the purpose of this meeting is to select from among ourselves reliable ground observers. They must be near enough to Fort Knox to be able to report correctly, by radio, to the attacking plane which will carry four torpedoes. You have all been chosen for your special knowledge and experience. Several amongst you are intimately acquainted with the district. Great ingenuity will be called for. Great danger must be incurred. But ground observers are indispensable. A second pilot must also be appointed. I await your suggestions.”

Number Four, who had not spoken yet, anticipated everybody. He had fat, white hands and curiously oily tones. “My first suggestion is this: that before we commit ourselves any further, we take steps to make sure that the extraordinary absence of our honoured president and the appearance here of a charming lady none of us knows does not mean that we have all walked into a trap!”

The German beside Nayland Smith banged the table and sprang to his feet.

“This is just what I have been wanting to say! All she has told us may be fabrication! Where, I demand, is Dr Fu-Manchu? Who, I demand, is this lady?”

Nayland Smith quietly tore off his shorthand note, folded it neatly on his knees—and by an apparent accident knocked the speaker’s wallet off the table.

“Pardon, M’sieu.”

He’ stooped, slipped his note in amongst a number of papers, and restored the wallet to its place. He was adopting the tactics of the late Selwyn Orson. His own life hung in the balance here, but when the men left Kwang T’see’s premises it was near-certain they would be picked up by the cordon of FBI agents and police surrounding the block.

“I agree,” came the English voice, “that we are entitled to ask for a few more particulars.”

Mrs van Roorden stood up, slowly, languidly, and faced the German.

“So! You have the audacity to challenge your president’s daughter! You are so great a fool that you think
I
am the spy in our ranks!” Her glance moved from mask to mask. “Is there no sane man amongst you? Are you so ready to invite the anger of Dr Fu-Manchu?”

Nayland Smith’s brain was working at top speed. This situation did not suit him. The meeting must adjourn amicably. Any change of plan might ruin everything.

He inhaled a deep breath, wondered if he had chosen the right tack, and spoke stiffly in French.

“Madame—fellow deputies. It chances that this lady is wrong in supposing that none of us knows her by sight.
I
know Dr Fu-Manchu’s daughter. You will agree that she cannot unmask before us all. And so I suggest that she and I retire for a few moments so that I may verify my belief that this is indeed the daughter of our honoured president. If it is so, I have means to enable her to convince you.”

There was a momentary silence, broken by the German.

“To this I can see no objection. I ask for a show of hands.”

All hands were raised.

Nayland Smith bowed to Mrs van Roorden, crossed and held the green drapes aside. They went into the paved passage. A babel of words burst behind them.

They had walked right to the foot of the stairs before the woman halted. There, she turned, impatiently removed the green mask and faced Nayland Smith, a contemptuous smile upon her lips.

“Well, monsieur? You claim to know me. Are you satisfied?”

He was accepted. She spoke in French. He was amazed, as always, vaguely disturbed, by her beauty. Aspasia, Leontium, Faustine must have been such women. He had no idea of her age, had never known what mother bore her, but she was dangerously alluring. Her jade-green eyes had some of the hypnotic quality of her father’s, allied to an appeal seductively feminine.

“I have known all along,” he replied, continuing in French, which he spoke accurately but awkwardly. “In fact, to provide against misadventure, Madame, I carry a second sealed authority from the president.”

He handed her the parchment found in the jade baton.

She glanced at it, then fixed the penetrating gaze of those wonderful eyes upon him.

“You are therefore a high initiate, monsieur. I had not been informed of this. What are the wishes of my honoured father?”

“That you adjourn the meeting, Madame.”

He was answered by a smile, at once voluptuous and mocking. She replaced her mask.

“Let us go back.”

Excited voices died away as Nayland Smith held the green curtain aside and Fu-Manchu’s daughter walked slowly to her chair. The five masked men stood up until Nayland Smith had resumed his place, and then:

“Be seated, if you please,” the bell voice ordered.

All resumed their seats—except the last speaker. She stood for a moment, a graceful, indolent figure, and then tossed the sealed document across the table to the German.

“My father, who foresees most things, took the precaution of sending a second authority, bearing his seal, by the hand of Deputy Six. When you have satisfied yourself, be good enough to pass it around.”

Number Five no more than glanced at the parchment. He stood up, bowed, and gave the Si-Fan salute. Mrs van Roorden resumed her seat, resting one ivory arm across the carved ebony back of her chair as if deliberately to display the beauty of its curves.

The letter passed from hand to hand. One deputy after another rose and gave the Si-Fan salute. When the parchment was returned to the slender hand which had thrown it on the table, Mrs van Roorden stood up again.

“I am adjourning the meeting.” Another murmur, in which fear might be detected, swept around the board. “You will await instructions as to time and place of the next. I am instructed to tell you that you leave by another route, to which you will be guided, one by one, and in the order of your arrival. Masks to be worn until you reach the door.”

The six men stood up and saluted. Number Three bowed and went out.

Nayland Smith silently repeated those words, “the order of your arrival.”

He would be left alone with Fu-Manchu’s daughter.

* * *

Deputy Commissioner Burke was getting restive; so much so that he had allowed his cigar to go out. He had just begun to growl something when the ‘phone in the control car buzzed. Harkness took it up. Listening, he whistled softly, asked several questions and hung up.