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Page 12
I shuddered. This had been in my mind, certainly, but so expressed it
was definitely horrible--revolting, yet stimulating.
"You have the pistol," added Smith--"follow closely, and quietly."
He walked across the tops of the casks and leaped down, pointing to
that nearest to the closed door of the house. I helped him place it
under the open window. A second we set beside it, and, not without
some noise, got a third on top.
Smith mounted.
His jaw muscles were very prominent and his eyes shone like steel; but
he was as cool as though he were about to enter a theater and not the
den of the most stupendous genius who ever worked for evil. I would
forgive any man who, knowing Dr. Fu-Manchu, feared him; I feared him
myself--feared him as one fears a scorpion; but when Nayland Smith
hauled himself up on the wooden ledge above the door and swung thence
into the darkened room, I followed and was in close upon his heels.
But I admired him, for he had every ampere of his self-possession in
hand; my own case was different.
He spoke close to my ear.
"Is your hand steady? We may have to shoot."
I thought of Karamaneh, of lovely dark-eyed Karamaneh whom this
wonderful, evil product of secret China had stolen from me--for so I
now adjudged it.
"Rely upon me!" I said grimly. "I . . ."
The words ceased--frozen on my tongue.
There are things that one seeks to forget, but it is my lot often to
remember the sound which at that moment literally struck me rigid with
horror. Yet it was only a groan; but, merciful God! I pray that it may
never be my lot to listen to such a groan again.
Smith drew a sibilant breath.
"It's Eltham!" he whispered hoarsely--"they're torturing--"
"No, no!" screamed a woman's voice--a voice that thrilled me anew, but
with another emotion--
"Not that, not--"
I distinctly heard the sound of a blow. Followed a sort of vague
scuffling. A door somewhere at the back of the house opened--and shut
again. Some one was coming along the passage toward us!
"Stand back!" Smith's voice was low, but perfectly steady. "Leave it
to me!"
Nearer came the footsteps and nearer. I could hear suppressed sobs.
The door opened, admitting again the faint light--and Karamaneh came
in. The place was quite unfurnished, offering no possibility of
hiding; but to hide was unnecessary.
Her slim figure had not crossed the threshold ere Smith had his arm
about the girl's waist and one hand clapped to her mouth. A stifled
gasp she uttered, and he lifted her into the room.
I stepped forward and closed the door. A faint perfume stole to my
nostrils--a vague, elusive breath of the East, reminiscent of strange
days that, now, seemed to belong to a remote past. Karamaneh! that
faint, indefinable perfume was part of her dainty personality; it may
appear absurd--impossible--but many and many a time I had dreamt of
it.
"In my breast pocket," rapped Smith; "the light."
I bent over the girl as he held her. She was quite still, but I could
have wished that I had had more certain mastery of myself. I took the
torch from Smith's pocket, and, mechanically, directed it upon the
captive.
She was dressed very plainly, wearing a simple blue skirt, and white
blouse. It was easy to divine that it was she whom Eltham had mistaken
for a French maid. A brooch set with a ruby was pinned at the point
where the blouse opened--gleaming fierily and harshly against the soft
skin. Her face was pale and her eyes wide with fear.
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