The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu

force. I knew what it portended and fought it down--grimly, sternly.

My garments weighed upon me like a suit of mail; with my chest aching

dully, my veins throbbing to bursting, I forced tired muscles to work,

and, every stroke an agony, approached the beam. Nearer I swam

. . . nearer. Its shadow fell black upon the water, which now had all

the seeming of a pool of blood. Confused sounds--a remote uproar--came

to my ears. I was nearly spent . . . I was in the shadow of the beam! If

I could throw up one arm. . .

A shrill scream sounded far above me!

"Petrie! Petrie!" (That voice must be Smith's!) "Don't touch the

beam! For God's sake DON'T TOUCH THE BEAM! Keep afloat another few

seconds and I can get to you!"

Another few seconds! Was that possible?

I managed to turn, to raise my throbbing head; and I saw the strangest

sight which that night yet had offered.

Nayland Smith stood upon the lowest iron rung . . . supported by the

hideous, crook-backed Chinaman, who stood upon the rung above!

"I can't reach him!"

It was as Smith hissed the words despairingly that I looked up--and saw

the Chinaman snatch at his coiled pigtail and pull it off! With it

came the wig to which it was attached; and the ghastly yellow mask,

deprived of its fastenings, fell from position! "Here! Here! Be

quick! Oh! be quick! You can lower this to him! Be quick! Be

quick!"

A cloud of hair came falling about the slim shoulders as the speaker

bent to pass this strange lifeline to Smith; and I think it was my

wonder at knowing her for the girl whom that day I had surprised in

Cadby's rooms which saved my life.

For I not only kept afloat, but kept my gaze upturned to that

beautiful, flushed face, and my eyes fixed upon hers--which were wild

with fear . . . for me!

Smith, by some contortion, got the false queue into my grasp, and I,

with the strength of desperation, by that means seized hold upon the

lowest rung. With my friend's arm round me I realized that exhaustion

was even nearer than I had supposed. My last distinct memory is of the

bursting of the floor above and the big burning joist hissing into the

pool beneath us. Its fiery passage, striated with light, disclosed two

sword blades, riveted, edges up along the top of the beam which I had

striven to reach.

"The severed fingers--" I said; and swooned.

How Smith got me through the trap I do not know--nor how we made our

way through the smoke and flames of the narrow passage it opened upon.

My next recollection is of sitting up, with my friend's arm supporting

me and Inspector Ryman holding a glass to my lips.

A bright glare dazzled my eyes. A crowd surged about us, and a clangor

and shouting drew momentarily nearer.

"It's the engines coming," explained Smith, seeing my bewilderment.

"Shen-Yan's is in flames. It was your shot, as you fell through the

trap, broke the oil-lamp."

"Is everybody out?"

"So far as we know."

"Fu-Manchu?"

Smith shrugged his shoulders.

"No one has seen him. There was some door at the back--"

"Do you think he may--"

"No," he said tensely. "Not until I see him lying dead before me shall

I believe it."

Then memory resumed its sway. I struggled to my feet.

"Smith, where is she?" I cried. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," he answered.

"She's given us the slip, Doctor," said Inspector Weymouth, as a

fire-engine came swinging round the corner of the narrow lane. "So has

Mr. Singapore Charlie--and, I'm afraid, somebody else. We've got six

or eight all-sorts, some awake and some asleep, but I suppose we shall

have to let 'em go again. Mr. Smith tells me that the girl was

disguised as a Chinaman. I expect that's why she managed to slip away."

I recalled how I had been dragged from the pit by the false queue, how

the strange discovery which had brought death to poor Cadby had brought

life to me, and I seemed to remember, too, that Smith had dropped it as

he threw his arm about me on the ladder. Her mask the girl might have

retained, but her wig, I felt certain, had been dropped into the water.

It was later that night, when the brigade still were playing upon the

blackened shell of what had been Shen-Yan's opium-shop, and Smith and I

were speeding away in a cab from the scene of God knows how many

crimes, that I had an idea.

"Smith," I said, "did you bring the pigtail with you that was found on

Cadby?"

"Yes. I had hoped to meet the owner."

"Have you got it now?"

"No. I met the owner."

I thrust my hands deep into the pockets of the big pea-jacket lent to

me by Inspector Ryman, leaning back in my corner.

"We shall never really excel at this business," continued Nayland

Smith. "We are far too sentimental. I knew what it meant to us,

Petrie, what it meant to the world, but I hadn't the heart. I owed her

your life--I had to square the account."

CHAPTER VII

NIGHT fell on Redmoat. I glanced from the window at the nocturne in

silver and green which lay beneath me. To the west of the shrubbery,

with its broken canopy of elms and beyond the copper beech which marked

the center of its mazes, a gap offered a glimpse of the Waverney where

it swept into a broad. Faint bird-calls floated over the water.

These, with the whisper of leaves, alone claimed the ear.

Ideal rural peace, and the music of an English summer evening; but to

my eyes, every shadow holding fantastic terrors; to my ears, every

sound a signal of dread. For the deathful hand of Fu-Manchu was

stretched over Redmoat, at any hour to loose strange, Oriental horrors

upon its inmates.

"Well," said Nayland Smith, joining me at the window, "we had dared to

hope him dead, but we know now that he lives!"

The Rev. J. D. Eltham coughed nervously, and I turned, leaning my elbow

upon the table, and studied the play of expression upon the refined,

sensitive face of the clergyman.

"You think I acted rightly in sending for you, Mr. Smith?"

Nayland Smith smoked furiously.

"Mr. Eltham," he replied, "you see in me a man groping in the dark. I

am to-day no nearer to the conclusion of my mission than upon the day

when I left Mandalay. You offer me a clew; I am here. Your affair, I

believe, stands thus: A series of attempted burglaries, or something of

the kind, has alarmed your household. Yesterday, returning from London

with your daughter, you were both drugged in some way and, occupying a

compartment to yourselves, you both slept. Your daughter awoke, and

saw someone else in the carriage--a yellow-faced man who held a case of

instruments in his hands."

"Yes; I was, of course, unable to enter into particulars over the

telephone. The man was standing by one of the windows. Directly he

observed that my daughter was awake, he stepped towards her."

"What did he do with the case in his hands?"

"She did not notice--or did not mention having noticed. In fact, as

was natural, she was so frightened that she recalls nothing more,

beyond the fact that she strove to arouse me, without succeeding, felt

hands grasp her shoulders--and swooned."

"But someone used the emergency cord, and stopped the train."

"Greba has no recollection of having done so."

"Hm! Of course, no yellow-faced man was on the train. When did you

awake?"

"I was aroused by the guard, but only when he had repeatedly shaken me."

"Upon reaching Great Yarmouth you immediately called up Scotland Yard?

You acted very wisely, sir. How long were you in China?"

Mr. Eltham's start of surprise was almost comical.

"It is perhaps not strange that you should be aware of my residence in

China, Mr. Smith," he said; "but my not having mentioned it may seem

so. The fact is"--his sensitive face flushed in palpable

embarrassment--"I left China under what I may term an episcopal cloud.

I have lived in retirement ever since. Unwittingly--I solemnly declare

to you, Mr. Smith, unwittingly--I stirred up certain deep-seated

prejudices in my endeavors to do my duty--my duty. I think you asked

me how long I was in China? I was there from 1896 until 1900--four

years."

"I recall the circumstances, Mr. Eltham," said Smith, with an odd note

in his voice. "I have been endeavoring to think where I had come

across the name, and a moment ago I remembered. I am happy to have met

you, sir."

The clergyman blushed again like a girl, and slightly inclined his

head, with its scanty fair hair.

"Has Redmoat, as its name implies, a moat round it? I was unable to

see in the dusk."

"It remains. Redmoat--a corruption of Round Moat--was formerly a

priory, disestablished by the eighth Henry in 1536." His pedantic

manner was quaint at times. "But the moat is no longer flooded. In

fact, we grow cabbages in part of it. If you refer to the strategic

strength of the place"--he smiled, but his manner was embarrassed

again--"it is considerable. I have barbed wire fencing, and--other

arrangements. You see, it is a lonely spot," he added apologetically.

"And now, if you will excuse me, we will resume these gruesome

inquiries after the more pleasant affairs of dinner."

He left us.

"Who is our host?" I asked, as the door closed.

Smith smiled.

"You are wondering what caused the 'episcopal cloud?'" he suggested.

"Well, the deep-seated prejudices which our reverend friend stirred up

culminated in the Boxer Risings."

"Good heavens, Smith!" I said; for I could not reconcile the diffident

personality of the clergyman with the memories which those words

awakened.

"He evidently should be on our danger list," my friend continued

quickly; "but he has so completely effaced himself of recent years that

I think it probable that someone else has only just recalled his

existence to mind. The Rev. J. D. Eltham, my dear Petrie, though he

may be a poor hand at saving souls, at any rate, has saved a score of

Christian women from death--and worse."

"J. D. Eltham--" I began.

"Is 'Parson Dan'!" rapped Smith, "the 'Fighting Missionary,' the man

who with a garrison of a dozen cripples and a German doctor held the

hospital at Nan-Yang against two hundred Boxers. That's who the Rev.

J. D. Eltham is! But what is he up to, now, I have yet to find out.

He is keeping something back--something which has made him an object of

interest to Young China!"

During dinner the matters responsible for our presence there did not

hold priority in the conversation. In fact, this, for the most part,

consisted in light talk of books and theaters.

Greba Eltham, the clergyman's daughter, was a charming young hostess,

and she, with Vernon Denby, Mr. Eltham's nephew, completed the party.

No doubt the girl's presence, in part, at any rate, led us to refrain

from the subject uppermost in our minds.

These little pools of calm dotted along the torrential course of the

circumstances which were bearing my friend and me onward to unknown

issues form pleasant, sunny spots in my dark recollections.

So I shall always remember, with pleasure, that dinner-party at

Redmoat, in the old-world dining-room; it was so very peaceful, so

almost grotesquely calm. For I, within my very bones, felt it to be

the calm before the storm. When, later, we men passed to the library,

we seemed to leave that atmosphere behind us.

"Redmoat," said the Rev. J. D. Eltham, "has latterly become the theater

of strange doings."

He stood on the hearth-rug. A shaded lamp upon the big table and

candles in ancient sconces upon the mantelpiece afforded dim

illumination. Mr. Eltham's nephew, Vernon Denby, lolled smoking on the

window-seat, and I sat near to him. Nayland Smith paced restlessly up

and down the room.

"Some months ago, almost a year," continued the clergyman, "a

burglarious attempt was made upon the house. There was an arrest, and

the man confessed that he had been tempted by my collection." He waved

his hand vaguely towards the several cabinets about the shadowed room.

"It was shortly afterwards that I allowed my hobby for--playing at

forts to run away with me." He smiled an apology. "I virtually

fortified Redmoat--against trespassers of any kind, I mean. You have

seen that the house stands upon a kind of large mound. This is

artificial, being the buried ruins of a Roman outwork; a portion of the

ancient castrum." Again he waved indicatively, this time toward the

window.

"When it was a priory it was completely isolated and defended by its

environing moat. Today it is completely surrounded by barbed-wire

fencing. Below this fence, on the east, is a narrow stream, a

tributary of the Waverney; on the north and west, the high road, but

nearly twenty feet below, the banks being perpendicular. On the south

is the remaining part of the moat--now my kitchen garden; but from

there up to the level of the house is nearly twenty feet again, and the

barbed wire must also be counted with.

"The entrance, as you know, is by the way of a kind of cutting. There

is a gate at the foot of the steps (they are some of the original steps

of the priory, Dr. Petrie), and another gate at the head."

He paused, and smiled around upon us boyishly.

"My secret defenses remain to be mentioned," he resumed; and, opening a

cupboard, he pointed to a row of batteries, with a number of electric

bells upon the wall behind. "The more vulnerable spots are connected

at night with these bells," he said triumphantly. "Any attempt to

scale the barbed wire or to force either gate would set two or more of

these ringing. A stray cow raised one false alarm," he added, "and a

careless rook threw us into a perfect panic on another occasion."

He was so boyish--so nervously brisk and acutely sensitive--that it was

difficult to see in him the hero of the Nan-Yang hospital. I could

only suppose that he had treated the Boxers' raid in the same spirit

wherein he met would-be trespassers within the precincts of Redmoat.

It had been an escapade, of which he was afterwards ashamed, as,

faintly, he was ashamed of his "fortifications." "But," rapped Smith,

"it was not the visit of the burglar which prompted these elaborate

precautions."

Mr. Eltham coughed nervously.

"I am aware," he said, "that having invoked official aid, I must be

perfectly frank with you, Mr. Smith. It was the burglar who was

responsible for my continuing the wire fence all round the grounds, but

the electrical contrivance followed, later, as a result of several

disturbed nights. My servants grew uneasy about someone who came, they

said, after dusk. No one could describe this nocturnal visitor, but

certainly we found traces. I must admit that.

"Then--I received what I may term a warning. My position is a peculiar

one--a peculiar one. My daughter, too, saw this prowling person, over

by the Roman castrum, and described him as a yellow man. It was the

incident in the train following closely upon this other, which led me

to speak to the police, little as I desired to--er--court publicity."

Nayland Smith walked to a window, and looked out across the sloping

lawn to where the shadows of the shrubbery lay. A dog was howling

dismally somewhere.

"Your defenses are not impregnable, after all, then?" he jerked. "On

our way up this evening Mr. Denby was telling us about the death of his

collie a few nights ago."

The clergyman's face clouded.

"That, certainly, was alarming," he confessed.

"I had been in London for a few days, and during my absence Vernon came

down, bringing the dog with him. On the night of his arrival it ran,

barking, into the shrubbery yonder, and did not come out. He went to

look for it with a lantern, and found it lying among the bushes, quite

dead. The poor creature had been dreadfully beaten about the head."

"The gates were locked," Denby interrupted, "and no one could have got

out of the grounds without a ladder and someone to assist him. But

there was no sign of a living thing about. Edwards and I searched

every corner."

"How long has that other dog taken to howling?" inquired Smith.

"Only since Rex's death," said Denby quickly.

"It is my mastiff," explained the clergyman, "and he is confined in the

yard. He is never allowed on this side of the house."

Nayland Smith wandered aimlessly about the library.

"I am sorry to have to press you, Mr. Eltham," he said, "but what was

the nature of the warning to which you referred, and from whom did it

come?"

Mr. Eltham hesitated for a long time.

"I have been so unfortunate," he said at last, "in my previous efforts,

that I feel assured of your hostile criticism when I tell you that I am

contemplating an immediate return to Ho-Nan!"

Smith jumped round upon him as though moved by a spring.

"Then you are going back to Nan-Yang?" he cried. "Now I understand!

Why have you not told me before? That is the key for which I have

vainly been seeking. Your troubles date from the time of your decision

to return?"

"Yes, I must admit it," confessed the clergyman diffidently.

"And your warning came from China?"

"It did."

"From a Chinaman?"

"From the Mandarin, Yen-Sun-Yat."

"Yen-Sun-Yat! My good sir! He warned you to abandon your visit? And

you reject his advice? Listen to me." Smith was intensely excited

now, his eyes bright, his lean figure curiously strung up, alert. "The

Mandarin Yen-Sun-Yat is one of the seven!"

"I do not follow you, Mr. Smith."

"No, sir. China to-day is not the China of '98. It is a huge secret

machine, and Ho-Nan one of its most important wheels! But if, as I

understand, this official is a friend of yours, believe me, he has

saved your life! You would be a dead man now if it were not for your

friend in China! My dear sir, you must accept his counsel."

Then, for the first time since I had made his acquaintance, "Parson

Dan" showed through the surface of the Rev. J. D. Eltham.

"No, sir!" replied the clergyman--and the change in his voice was

startling. "I am called to Nan-Yang. Only One may deter my going."

The admixture of deep spiritual reverence with intense truculence in

his voice was dissimilar from anything I ever had heard.

"Then only One can protect you," cried Smith, "for, by Heaven, no MAN

will be able to do so! Your presence in Ho-Nan can do no possible good

at present. It must do harm. Your experience in 1900 should be fresh

in your memory."

"Hard words, Mr. Smith."

"The class of missionary work which you favor, sir, is injurious to

international peace. At the present moment, Ho-Nan is a barrel of

gunpowder; you would be the lighted match. I do not willingly stand

between any man and what he chooses to consider his duty, but I insist

that you abandon your visit to the interior of China!"

"You insist, Mr. Smith?"

"As your guest, I regret the necessity for reminding you that I hold

authority to enforce it."

Denby fidgeted uneasily. The tone of the conversation was growing

harsh and the atmosphere of the library portentous with brewing storms.

There was a short, silent interval.

"This is what I had feared and expected," said the clergyman. "This

was my reason for not seeking official protection."

"The phantom Yellow Peril," said Nayland Smith, "to-day materializes

under the very eyes of the Western world."

"The 'Yellow Peril'!"

"You scoff, sir, and so do others. We take the proffered right hand of

friendship nor inquire if the hidden left holds a knife! The peace of

the world is at stake, Mr. Eltham. Unknowingly, you tamper with

tremendous issues."

Mr. Eltham drew a deep breath, thrusting both hands in his pockets.

"You are painfully frank, Mr. Smith," he said; "but I like you for it.

I will reconsider my position and talk this matter over again with you

to-morrow."

Thus, then, the storm blew over. Yet I had never experienced such an

overwhelming sense of imminent peril--of a sinister presence--as

oppressed me at that moment. The very atmosphere of Redmoat was

impregnated with Eastern devilry; it loaded the air like some evil

perfume. And then, through the silence, cut a throbbing scream--the

scream of a woman in direst fear.

"My God, it's Greba!" whispered Mr. Eltham.