The Hand of Fu Manchu (19 page)

"Why?" I asked in surprise.

"I hardly know; but for some occult reason I feel afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Exactly; afraid. There is some deep mystery here that I cannot fathom.
In the first place, if they had really meant you to remain ignorant of
the place at which the episodes described by you occurred, they would
scarcely have dropped you at the end of Portland Place."

"You mean ...?"

"I mean that I don't believe you were taken to the Chinese Legation at
all. Undoubtedly you saw the mandarin Ki-Ming; I recognize him from
your description."

"You have met him, then?"

"No; but I know those who have. He is undoubtedly a very dangerous man,
and it is just possible—"

He hesitated, glancing at me strangely.

"It is just possible," he continued musingly, "that his presence
marks the beginning of the end. Fu-Manchu's health may be permanently
impaired, and Ki-Ming may have superceded him."

"But, if what you suspect, Smith, be only partly true, with what
object was I seized and carried to that singular interview? What was
the meaning of the whole solemn farce?"

"Its meaning remains to be discovered," he answered; "but that the
mandarin is amicably disposed I refuse to believe. You may dismiss the
idea. In dealing with Ki-Ming we are to all intents and purposes
dealing with Fu-Manchu. To me, this man's presence means one thing: we
are about to be subjected to attempts along slightly different lines."

I was completely puzzled by Smith's tone.

"You evidently know more of this man, Ki-Ming, than you have yet
explained to me," I said.

Nayland Smith pulled out the blackened briar and began rapidly to
load it.

"He is a graduate," he replied, "of the Lama College, or monastery, of
Rache-Churân.

"This does not enlighten me."

Having got his pipe going well—

"What do you know of animal magnetism?" snapped Smith.

The question seemed so wildly irrelevant that I stared at him in
silence for some moments. Then—

"Certain powers sometimes grouped under that head are recognized in
every hospital to-day," I answered shortly.

"Quite so. And the monastery of Rache-Churân is entirely devoted to
the study of the subject."

"Do you mean that that gentle old man—"

"Petrie, a certain M. Sokoloff, a Russian gentleman whose acquaintance
I made in Mandalay, related to me an episode that took place at the
house of the mandarin Ki-Ming in Canton. It actually occurrd in the
presence of M. Sokoloff, and therefore is worthy of your close attention.

"He had had certain transactions with Ki-Ming, and at their conclusion
received an invitation to dine with the mandarin. The entertainment
took place in a sort of loggia or open pavilion, immediately in front
of which was an ornamental lake, with numerous waterlilies growing
upon its surface. One of the servants, I think his name was Li,
dropped a silver bowl containing orange-flower water for pouring upon
the hands, and some of the contents lightly sprinkled M. Sokoloff's
garments.

"Ki-Ming spoke no word of rebuke, Petrie; he merely
looked
at Li,
with those deceptive, gazelle-like eyes. Li, according to my
acquaintance account, began to make palpable and increasingly anxious
attempts to look anywhere rather than into the mild eyes of his
implacable master. M. Sokoloff, who, up to that moment, had
entertained similar views to your own respecting his host, regarded
this unmoving stare of Ki-Ming's as a sort of kindly, because silent,
reprimand. The behavior of the unhappy Li very speedily served to
disabuse his mind of that delusion.

"Petrie—the man grew livid, his whole body began to twitch and shake
as though an ague had attacked him; and his eyes protruded hideously
from their sockets! M. Sokoloff assured me that he
felt
himself
turning pale—when Ki-Ming, very slowly, raised his right hand and
pointed to the pond.

"Li began to pant as though engaged in a life and death struggle with
a physically superior antagonist. He clutched at the posts of the
loggia with frenzied hands and a bloody froth came to his lips. He
began to move backward, step by step, step by step, all the time
striving, with might and main, to
prevent
himself from doing so!
His eyes were set rigidly upon Ki-Ming, like the eyes of a rabbit
fascinated by a python. Ki-Ming continued to point.

"Right to the brink of the lake the man retreated, and there, for one
dreadful moment, he paused and uttered a sort of groaning sob. Then,
clenching his fists frenziedly, he stepped back into the water and
immediately sank among the lilies. Ki-Ming continued to gaze fixedly—
at the spot where bubbles were rising; and presently up came the livid
face of the drowning man, still having those glazed eyes turned,
immovably, upon the mandarin. For nearly five seconds that hideous,
distorted face gazed from amid the mass of blooms, then it sank
again ... and rose no more."

"What!" I cried, "do you mean to tell me—"

"Ki-Ming struck a gong. Another servant appeared with a fresh bowl of
water; and the mandarin calmly resumed his dinner!"

I drew a deep breath and raised my hand to my head.

"It is almost unbelievable," I said. "But what completely passes my
comprehension is his allowing me to depart unscathed, having once held
me in his power. Why the long harangue and the pose of friendship?

"That point is not so difficult."

"What!"

"That does not surprise me in the least. You may recollect that Dr.
Fu-Manchu entertains for you an undoubted affection, distinctly Chinese
in its character, but nevertheless an affection! There is no intention
of assassinating
you
, Petrie;
I
am the selected victim."

I started up.

"Smith! what do you mean? What danger, other than that which has
threatened us for over two years, threatens us to-night?"

"Now you come to the point which
does
puzzle me. I believe I stated
awhile ago that I was afraid. You have placed your finger upon the
cause of my fear.
What
threatens us to-night?"

He spoke the words in such a fashion that they seemed physically to
chill me. The shadows of the room grew menacing; the very silence
became horrible. I longed with a terrible longing for company, for the
strength that is in numbers; I would have had the place full to
overflowing—for it seemed that we two, condemned by the mysterious
organization called the Si-Fan, were at that moment surrounded by the
entire arsenal of horrors at the command of Dr. Fu-Manchu. I broke
that morbid silence. My voice had assumed an unnatural tone.

"Why do you dread this man, Ki-Ming, so much?"

"Because he must be aware that I know he is in London."

"Well?"

"Dr. Fu-Manchu has no official status. Long ago, his Legation denied
all knowledge of his existence. But the mandarin Ki-Ming is known to
every diplomat in Europe, Asia and American almost. Only
I
, and now
yourself, know that he is a high official of the Si-Fan; Ki-Ming is
aware that I know. Why, therefore, does he risk his neck in London?"

"He relies upon his national cunning."

"Petrie, he is aware that I hold evidence to hang him, either here or
in China! He relies upon one thing; upon striking first and striking
surely. Why is he so confident? I do not know. Therefore I am afraid."

Again a cold shudder ran icily through me. A piece of coal dropped
lower into the dying fire—and my heart leapt wildly. Then, in a flash,
I remembered something.

"Smith!" I cried, "the letter! We have not looked at the letter."

Nayland Smith laid his pipe upon the mantelpiece and smiled grimly.
From his pocket he took out square piece of paper, and thrust it close
under my eyes.

"I remembered it as I passed your borrowed garment—which bear no
maker's name—on my way to the bedroom for matches," he said.

The paper was covered with Chinese characters!

"What does it mean?" I demanded breathlessly.

Smith uttered a short, mirthless laugh.

"It states that an attempt of a particularly dangerous nature is to be
made upon my life to-night, and it recommends me to guard the door,
and advises that you watch the window overlooking the court, and keep
your pistol ready for instant employment." He stared at me oddly. "How
should you act in the circumstances, Petrie?"

"I should strongly distrust such advice. Yet—what else can we
do?
"

"There are several alternatives, but I prefer to follow the advice of
Ki-Ming."

The clock of St. Paul's chimed the half-hour: half-past two.

From my post in the chair by the window I could see two sides of the
court below; that immediately opposite, with the entrance to some
chambers situated there, and that on the right, with the cloisteresque
arches beyond which lay a maze of old-world passages and stairs
whereby one who knew the tortuous navigation might come ultimately
to the Embankment.

It was this side of the court which lay in deepest shadow. By altering
my position quite slightly I could command a view of the arched
entrance on the left with its pale lamp in an iron bracket above, and
of the high blank wall whose otherwise unbroken expanse it interrupted.
All was very still; only on occasions the passing of a vehicle along
Fleet Street would break the silence.

The nature of the danger that threatened I was wholly unable to
surmise. Since, my pistol on the table beside me, I sat on guard at
the window, and Smith, also armed, watched the outer door, it was not
apparent by what agency the shadowy enemy could hope to come at us.

Something strange I had detected in Nayland Smith's manner, however,
which had induced me to believe that he suspected, if he did not know,
what form of menace hung over us in the darkness. One thing in
particular was puzzling me extremely: if Smith doubted the good faith
of the sender of the message, why had he acted upon it?

Thus my mind worked—in endless and profitless cycles—whilst my eyes
were ever searching the shadows below me.

And, as I watched, wondering vaguely why Smith at his post was so
silent, presently I became aware of the presence of a slim figure
over by the arches on the right. This discovery did not come suddenly,
nor did it surprise me; I merely observed without being conscious of
any great interest in the matter, that some one was standing in the
court below, looking up at me where I sat.

I cannot hope to explain my state of mind at that moment, to render
understandable by contrast with the cold fear which had visited me so
recently, the utter apathy of my mental attitude. To this day I cannot
recapture the mood—and for a very good reason, though one that was
not apparent to me at the time.

It was the Eurasian girl Zarmi, who was standing there, looking up at
the window! Silently I watched her. Why was I silent?—why did I not
warn Smith of the presence of one of Dr. Fu-Manchu's servants? I
cannot explain, although later, the strangeness of my behavior may
become in some measure understandable.

Zarmi raised her hand, beckoning to me, then stepped back, revealing
the presence of a companion, hitherto masked by the dense shadows that
lay under the arches. This second watcher moved slowly forward, and I
perceived him to be none other than the mandarin Ki-Ming.

This I noted with interest, but with a sort of
impersonal
interest,
as I might have watched the entrance of a character upon the stage of
a theater. Despite the feeble light, I could see his benign
countenance very clearly; but, far from being excited, a dreamy
contentment possessed me; I actually found myself hoping that Smith
would not intrude upon my reverie!

What a fascinating pageant it had been—the Fu-Manchu drama—from the
moment that I had first set eyes upon the Yellow doctor. Again I seemed
to be enacting my part in that scene, two years ago and more, when I
had burst into the bare room above Shen-Yan's opium den and had stood
face to face with Dr. Fu-Manchu. He wore a plain yellow robe, its hue
almost identical with that of his gaunt, hairless face; his elbows
rested upon the dirty table and his pointed chin upon his long,
bony hands.

Into those uncanny eyes I stared, those eyes, long, narrow, and
slightly oblique, their brilliant, catlike greenness sometimes horribly
filmed, like the eyes of some grotesque bird....

Thus it began; and from this point I was carried on, step by step
through every episode, great and small. It was such a retrospect as
passes through the mind of one drowning.

With a vividness that was terrible yet exquisite, I saw Kâramaneh, my
lost love; I saw her first wrapped in a hooded opera-cloak, with her
flower-like face and glorious dark eyes raised to me; I saw her in the
gauzy Eastern raiment of a slave-girl, and I saw her in the dress of
a gipsy.

Through moments sweet and bitter I lived again, through hours of
suspense and days of ceaseless watching; through the long months of
that first summer when my unhappy love came to me, and on, on,
interminably on. For years I lived again beneath that ghastly Yellow
cloud. I searched throughout the land of Egypt for Kâramaneh and knew
once more the sorrow of losing her. Time ceased to exist for me.

Then, at the end of these strenuous years, I came at last to my
meeting with Ki-Ming in the room with the golden door. At this point
my visionary adventures took a new turn. I sat again upon the
red-covered couch and listened, half stupefied, to the placid speech
of the mandarin. Again I came under the spell of his singular
personality, and again, closing my eyes, I consented to be led from
the room.

But, having crossed the threshold, a sudden awful doubt passed through
my mind, arrow-like. The hand that held my arm was bony and clawish;
I could detect the presence of incredibly long finger nails—nails
long as those of some buried vampire of the black ages!