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Page 14
"God in heaven!" screamed Smith frenziedly--"they have the wire-jacket
on him! Shoot down that damned Chinaman, Petrie! Shoot! Shoot!"
Lithely as a cat the man with the knife leaped around--but I raised
the Browning, and deliberately--with a cool deliberation that came to
me suddenly--shot him through the head. I saw his oblique eyes turn up
to the whites; I saw the mark squarely between his brows; and with no
word nor cry he sank to his knees and toppled forward with one yellow
hand beneath him and one outstretched, Clutching--clutching--
convulsively. His pigtail came unfastened and began to uncoil, slowly,
like a snake.
I handed the pistol to Smith; I was perfectly cool, now; and I leaped
forward, took up the bloody knife from the floor and cut Eltham's
lashings. He sank into my arms.
"Praise God," he murmured, weakly. "He is more merciful to me than
perhaps I deserve. Unscrew . . . the jacket, Petrie . . . I think
. . . I was very near to . . .. weakening. Praise the good God,
Who . . . gave me . . . fortitude . . ."
I got the screw of the accursed thing loosened, but the act of
removing the jacket was too agonizing for Eltham--man of iron though
he was. I laid him swooning on the floor.
"Where is Fu-Manchu?"
Nayland Smith, from just within the door, threw out the query in a
tone of stark amaze. I stood up--I could do nothing more for the poor
victim at the moment--and looked about me. The room was innocent of
furniture, save for heaps of rubbish on the floor, and a tin oil-lamp
hung, on the wall. The dead Chinaman lay close beside Smith. There was
no second door, the one window was barred, and from this room we had
heard the voice, the unmistakable, unforgettable voice, of Dr.
Fu-Manchu.
But Dr. Fu-Manchu was not there!
Neither of us could accept the fact for a moment; we stood there,
looking from the dead man to the tortured man who only swooned, in a
state of helpless incredulity.
Then the explanation flashed upon us both, simultaneously, and with a
cry of baffled rage Smith leaped along the passage to the second door.
It was wide open. I stood at his elbow when he swept its emptiness
with the ray of his pocket-lamp.
There was a speaking-tube fixed between the two rooms!
Smith literally ground his teeth.
"Yet, Petrie," he said, "we have learnt something. Fu-Manchu had
evidently promised Eltham his life if he would divulge the name of his
correspondent. He meant to keep his word; it is a sidelight on his
character."
"How so?"
"Eltham has never seen Dr. Fu-Manchu, but Eltham knows certain parts
of China better than you know the Strand. Probably, if he saw
Fu-Manchu, he would recognize him for who he really is, and this, it
seems, the Doctor is anxious to avoid."
We ran back to where we had left Karamaneh.
The room was empty!
"Defeated, Petrie!" said Smith, bitterly. "The Yellow Devil is loosed
on London again!"
He leaned from the window and the skirl of a police whistle split the
stillness of the night.
CHAPTER IV
THE CRY OF A NIGHTHAWK
Such were the episodes that marked the coming of Dr. Fu-Manchu to
London, that awakened fears long dormant and reopened old wounds--nay,
poured poison into them. I strove desperately, by close attention to
my professional duties, to banish the very memory of Karamaneh from my
mind; desperately, but how vainly! Peace was for me no more, joy was
gone from the world, and only mockery remained as my portion.
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