The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu
his return from Burma, how there are haunts in the very heart of the
metropolis whose existence is unsuspected by all but the few; places
unknown even to the ubiquitous copy-hunting pressman.
Into a quiet thoroughfare not two minutes' walk from the pulsing life
of Leicester Square, Smith led the way. Before a door sandwiched in
between two dingy shop-fronts he paused and turned to me.
"Whatever you see or hear," he cautioned, "express no surprise."
A cab had dropped us at the corner. We both wore dark suits and fez
caps with black silk tassels. My complexion had been artificially
reduced to a shade resembling the deep tan of my friend's. He rang the
bell beside the door.
Almost immediately it was opened by a negro woman--gross, hideously
ugly.
Smith uttered something in voluble Arabic. As a linguist his
attainments were a constant source of surprise. The jargons of the
East, Far and Near, he spoke as his mother tongue. The woman
immediately displayed the utmost servility, ushering us into an
ill-lighted passage, with every evidence of profound respect.
Following this passage, and passing an inner door, from beyond whence
proceeded bursts of discordant music, we entered a little room bare of
furniture, with coarse matting for mural decorations, and a patternless
red carpet on the floor. In a niche burned a common metal lamp.
The negress left us, and close upon her departure entered a very aged
man with a long patriarchal beard, who greeted my friend with dignified
courtesy. Following a brief conversation, the aged Arab--for such he
appeared to be--drew aside a strip of matting, revealing a dark recess.
Placing his finger upon his lips, he silently invited us to enter.
We did so, and the mat was dropped behind us. The sounds of crude
music were now much plainer, and as Smith slipped a little shutter
aside I gave a start of surprise.
Beyond lay a fairly large apartment, having divans or low seats around
three of its walls. These divans were occupied by a motley company of
Turks, Egyptians, Greeks, and others; and I noted two Chinese. Most of
them smoked cigarettes, and some were drinking. A girl was performing
a sinuous dance upon the square carpet occupying the center of the
floor, accompanied by a young negro woman upon a guitar and by several
members of the assembly who clapped their hands to the music or hummed
a low, monotonous melody.
Shortly after our entrance into the passage the dance terminated, and
the dancer fled through a curtained door at the farther end of the
room. A buzz of conversation arose.
"It is a sort of combined Wekaleh and place of entertainment for a
certain class of Oriental residents in, or visiting, London," Smith
whispered. "The old gentleman who has just left us is the proprietor
or host. I have been here before on several occasions, but have always
drawn blank."
He was peering out eagerly into the strange clubroom.
"Whom do you expect to find here?" I asked.
"It is a recognized meeting-place," said Smith in my ear. "It is
almost a certainty that some of the Fu-Manchu group use it at times."
Curiously I surveyed all these faces which were visible from the
spy-hole. My eyes rested particularly upon the two Chinamen.
"Do you recognize anyone?" I whispered.
"S-sh!"
Smith was craning his neck so as to command a sight of the doorway. He
obstructed my view, and only by his tense attitude and some subtle wave
of excitement which he communicated to me did I know that a new arrival
was entering. The hum of conversation died away, and in the ensuing
silence I heard the rustle of draperies. The newcomer was a woman,
then. Fearful of making any noise I yet managed to get my eyes to the
level of the shutter.
A woman in an elegant, flame-colored opera cloak was crossing the floor
and coming in the direction of the spot where we were concealed. She
wore a soft silk scarf about her head, a fold partly draped across her
face. A momentary view I had of her--and wildly incongruous she looked
in that place--and she had disappeared from sight, having approached
someone invisible who sat upon the divan immediately beneath our point
of vantage.
From the way in which the company gazed towards her, I divined that she
was no habitue of the place, but that her presence there was as greatly
surprising to those in the room as it was to me.
Whom could she be, this elegant lady who visited such a haunt--who, it
would seem, was so anxious to disguise her identity, but who was
dressed for a society function rather than for a midnight expedition of
so unusual a character?
I began a whispered question, but Smith tugged at my arm to silence me.
His excitement was intense. Had his keener powers enabled him to
recognize the unknown?
A faint but most peculiar perfume stole to my nostrils, a perfume which
seemed to contain the very soul of Eastern mystery. Only one woman
known to me used that perfume--Karamaneh.
Then it was she!
At last my friend's vigilance had been rewarded. Eagerly I bent
forward. Smith literally quivered in anticipation of a discovery.
Again the strange perfume was wafted to our hiding-place; and, glancing
neither to right nor left, I saw Karamaneh--for that it was she I no
longer doubted--recross the room and disappear.
"The man she spoke to," hissed Smith. "We must see him! We must have
him!"
He pulled the mat aside and stepped out into the anteroom. It was
empty. Down the passage he led, and we were almost come to the door of
the big room when it was thrown open and a man came rapidly out, opened
the street door before Smith could reach him, and was gone, slamming it
fast.
I can swear that we were not four seconds behind him, but when we
gained the street it was empty. Our quarry had disappeared as if by
magic. A big car was just turning the corner towards Leicester Square.
"That is the girl," rapped Smith; "but where in Heaven's name is the
man to whom she brought the message? I would give a hundred pounds to
know what business is afoot. To think that we have had such an
opportunity and have thrown it away!"
Angry and nonplused he stood at the corner, looking in the direction of
the crowded thoroughfare into which the car had been driven, tugging at
the lobe of his ear, as was his habit in such moments of perplexity,
and sharply clicking his teeth together. I, too, was very thoughtful.
Clews were few enough in those days of our war with that giant
antagonist. The mere thought that our trifling error of judgment
tonight in tarrying a moment too long might mean the victory of
Fu-Manchu, might mean the turning of the balance which a wise
providence had adjusted between the white and yellow races, was
appalling.
To Smith and me, who knew something of the secret influences at work to
overthrow the Indian Empire, to place, it might be, the whole of Europe
and America beneath an Eastern rule, it seemed that a great yellow hand
was stretched out over London. Doctor Fu-Manchu was a menace to the
civilized world. Yet his very existence remained unsuspected by the
millions whose fate he sought to command.
"Into what dark scheme have we had a glimpse?" said Smith. "What State
secret is to be filched? What faithful servant of the British Raj to
be spirited away? Upon whom now has Fu-Manchu set his death seal?"
"Karamaneh on this occasion may not have been acting as an emissary of
the Doctor's."
"I feel assured that she was, Petrie. Of the many whom this yellow
cloud may at any moment envelop, to which one did her message refer?
The man's instructions were urgent. Witness his hasty departure.
Curse it!" He dashed his right clenched fist into the palm of his left
hand. "I never had a glimpse of his face, first to last. To think of
the hours I have spent in that place, in anticipation of just such a
meeting--only to bungle the opportunity when it arose!" Scarce heeding
what course we followed, we had come now to Piccadilly Circus, and had
walked out into the heart of the night's traffic. I just dragged Smith
aside in time to save him from the off-front wheel of a big Mercedes.
Then the traffic was blocked, and we found ourselves dangerously penned
in amidst the press of vehicles.
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.
"He has been heavily drugged," said the Doctor, sniffing at West's
lips, "but I cannot say what drug has been used. It isn't chloroform
or anything of that nature. He can safely be left to sleep it off, I