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Page 79
Somehow we extricated ourselves, jeered at by taxi-drivers,
who naturally took us for two simple Oriental visitors,
and just before that impassable barrier the arm of a London
policeman was lowered and the stream moved on a faint breath
of perfume became perceptible to me.
The cabs and cars about us were actually beginning to move again,
and there was nothing for it but a hasty retreat to the curb.
I could not pause to glance behind, but instinctively I knew
that someone--someone who used that rare, fragrant essence--
was leaning from the window of the car.
"ANDAMAN--SECOND!" floated a soft whisper.
We gained the pavement as the pent-up traffic roared upon its way.
Smith had not noticed the perfume worn by the unseen
occupant of the car, had not detected the whispered words.
But I had no reason to doubt my senses, and I knew beyond
question that Fu-Manchu's lovely slave, Karamaneh, had been
within a yard of us, had recognized us, and had uttered
those words for our guidance.
On regaining my rooms, we devoted a whole hour to considering
what "ANDAMAN--SECOND" could possibly mean.
"Hang it all!" cried Smith, "it might mean anything--
the result of a race, for instance."
He burst into one of his rare laughs, and began to stuff broadcut mixture
into his briar. I could see that he had no intention of turning in.
"I can think of no one--no one of note--in London at present
upon whom it is likely that Fu-Manchu would make an attempt,"
he said, "except ourselves."
We began methodically to go through the long list of names
which we had compiled and to review our elaborate notes.
When, at last, I turned in, the night had given place to a new day.
But sleep evaded me, and "ANDAMAN--SECOND" danced like a
mocking phantom through my brain.
Then I heard the telephone bell. I heard Smith speaking.
A minute afterwards he was in my room, his face very grim.
"I knew as well as if I'd seen it with my own eyes that some
black business was afoot last night," he said. "And it was.
Within pistol-shot of us! Someone has got at Frank Norris West.
Inspector Weymouth has just been on the 'phone."
"Norris West!" I cried, "the American aviator--and inventor--"
"Of the West aero-torpedo--yes. He's been offering it to the English
War Office, and they have delayed too long."
I got out of bed.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the potentialities have attracted the attention
of Dr. Fu-Manchu!"
Those words operated electrically. I do not know how long I was in dressing,
how long a time elapsed ere the cab for which Smith had 'phoned arrived,
how many precious minutes were lost upon the journey; but, in a nervous whirl,
these things slipped into the past, like the telegraph poles seen from
the window of an express, and, still in that tense state, we came upon
the scene of this newest outrage.
Mr. Norris West, whose lean, stoic face had latterly figured so often
in the daily press, lay upon the floor in the little entrance hall
of his chambers, flat upon his back, with the telephone receiver
in his hand.
The outer door had been forced by the police. They had
had to remove a piece of the paneling to get at the bolt.
A medical man was leaning over the recumbent figure in the striped
pajama suit, and Detective-Inspector Weymouth stood watching
him as Smith and I entered.
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