The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu (23 page)

"Therefore I made use of Stacey, whose callous attitude was less
remarkable. Gad, Petrie! I nearly bagged our man the first night!
The elaborate plan—Marconi message to get you out of the way, and
so forth—had miscarried, and he knew the porthole trick would be
useless once we got into the open sea. He took a big chance. He
discarded his clerical guise and peeped into your room—you
remember?—but you were awake, and I made no move when he slipped
back to his own cabin; I wanted to take him red-handed."

"Have you any idea… "

"Who he is? No more than where he is! Probably some creature of
Dr. Fu-Manchu specially chosen for the purpose; obviously a man of
culture, and probably of thug ancestry. I hit him—in the shoulder;
but even then he ran like a hare. We've searched the ship, without
result. He may have gone overboard and chanced the swim to shore…
"

We stepped out onto the deck. Around us was that unforgettable
scene—Port Said by night. The ship was barely moving through the
glassy water, now. Smith took my arm and we walked forward. Above
us was the mighty peace of Egypt's sky ablaze with splendor; around
and about us moved the unique turmoil of the clearing-house of the
Near East.

"I would give much to know the real identity of the bishop of
Damascus," muttered Smith.

He stopped abruptly, snapping his teeth together and grasping my
arm as in a vise. Hard upon his words had followed the rattling
clangor as the great anchor was let go; but horribly intermingled
with the metallic roar there came to us such a fearful,
inarticulate shrieking as to chill one's heart.

The anchor plunged into the water of the harbor; the shrieking
ceased. Smith turned to me, and his face was tragic in the light of
the arc lamp swung hard by.

"We shall never know," he whispered. "God forgive him—he must be
in bloody tatters now. Petrie, the poor fool was hiding in the
chainlocker!"

A little hand stole into mine. I turned quickly. Karamaneh stood
beside me. I placed my arm about her shoulders, drawing her close;
and I blush to relate that all else was forgotten.

For a moment, heedless of the fearful turmoil forward, Nayland
Smith stood looking at us. Then he turned, with his rare smile, and
walked aft.

"Perhaps you're right, Petrie!" he said.