The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu
so terrible an injury. He was capable of such sentiments, for he
entertained some similar one in regard to myself.
A cottage farther down the village street than Weymouth's was vacant,
and in the early dawn of that morning became the scene of outre
happenings. Poor Weymouth, still in a comatose condition, we removed
there (Smith having secured the key from the astonished agent). I
suppose so strange a specialist never visited a patient
before--certainly not under such conditions.
For into the cottage, which had been entirely surrounded by a ring of
police, Dr. Fu-Manchu was admitted from the closed car in which, his
work of healing complete, he was to be borne to prison--to death!
Law and justice were suspended by my royally empowered friend that the
enemy of the white race might heal one of those who had hunted him down!
No curious audience was present, for sunrise was not yet come; no
concourse of excited students followed the hand of the Master; but
within that surrounded cottage was performed one of those miracles of
science which in other circumstances had made the fame of Dr. Fu-Manchu
to live forever.
Inspector Weymouth, dazed, disheveled, clutching his head as a man who
has passed through the Valley of the Shadow--but sane--sane!--walked
out into the porch!
He looked towards us--his eyes wild, but not with the fearsome wildness
of insanity.
"Mr. Smith!" he cried--and staggered down the path--"Dr. Petrie!
What--"
There came a deafening explosion. From EVERY visible window of the
deserted cottage flames burst forth!
"QUICK!" Smith's voice rose almost to a scream--"into the house!"
He raced up the path, past Inspector Weymouth, who stood swaying there
like a drunken man. I was close upon his heels. Behind me came the
police.
The door was impassable! Already, it vomited a deathly heat, borne
upon stifling fumes like those of the mouth of the Pit. We burst a
window. The room within was a furnace!
"My God!" cried someone. "This is supernatural!"
"Listen!" cried another. "Listen!"
The crowd which a fire can conjure up at any hour of day or night, out
of the void of nowhere, was gathering already. But upon all descended
a pall of silence.
From the heat of the holocaust a voice proclaimed itself--a voice
raised, not in anguish but in TRIUMPH! It chanted barbarically--and
was still.
The abnormal flames rose higher--leaping forth from every window.
"The alarm!" said Smith hoarsely. "Call up the brigade!"
I come to the close of my chronicle, and feel that I betray a
trust--the trust of my reader. For having limned in the colors at my
command the fiendish Chinese doctor, I am unable to conclude my task as
I should desire, unable, with any consciousness of finality, to write
Finis to the end of my narrative.
It seems to me sometimes that my pen is but temporarily idle--that I
have but dealt with a single phase of a movement having a hundred
phases. One sequel I hope for, and against all the promptings of logic
and Western bias. If my hope shall be realized I cannot, at this time,
pretend to state.
The future, 'mid its many secrets, holds this precious one from me.
I ask you then, to absolve me from the charge of ill completing my
work; for any curiosity with which this narrative may leave the reader
burdened is shared by the writer.
With intent, I have rushed you from the chambers of Professor Jenner
Monde to that closing episode at the deserted cottage; I have made the
pace hot in order to impart to these last pages of my account something
of the breathless scurry which characterized those happenings.
My canvas may seem sketchy: it is my impression of the reality. No
hard details remain in my mind of the dealings of that night.
Fu-Manchu arrested--Fu-Manchu, manacled, entering the cottage on his
mission of healing; Weymouth, miraculously rendered sane, coming forth;
the place in flames.
And then?
To a shell the cottage burned, with an incredible rapidity which
pointed to some hidden agency; to a shell about ashes which held NO
TRACE OF HUMAN BONES!
It has been asked of me: Was there no possibility of Fu-Manchu's
having eluded us in the ensuing confusion? Was there no loophole of
escape?
I reply, that so far as I was able to judge, a rat could scarce have
quitted the building undetected. Yet that Fu-Manchu had, in some
incomprehensible manner and by some mysterious agency, produced those
abnormal flames, I cannot doubt. Did he voluntarily ignite his own
funeral pyre?
As I write, there lies before me a soiled and creased sheet of vellum.
It bears some lines traced in a cramped, peculiar, and all but
illegible hand. This fragment was found by Inspector Weymouth (to this
day a man mentally sound) in a pocket of his ragged garments.
When it was written I leave you to judge. How it came to be where
Weymouth found it calls for no explanation:
"To Mr. Commissioner NAYLAND SMITH and Dr. PETRIE--
"Greeting! I am recalled home by One who may not be denied. In much
that I came to do I have failed. Much that I have done I would undo;
some little I have undone. Out of fire I came--the smoldering fire of
a thing one day to be a consuming flame; in fire I go. Seek not my
ashes. I am the lord of the fires! Farewell.
"FU-MANCHU."
Who has been with me in my several meetings with the man who penned
that message I leave to adjudge if it be the letter of a madman bent
upon self-destruction by strange means, or the gibe of a
preternaturally clever scientist and the most elusive being ever born
of the land of mystery--China.
For the present, I can aid you no more in the forming of your verdict.
A day may come--though I pray it do not--when I shall be able to throw
new light upon much that is dark in this matter. That day, so far as I
can judge, could only dawn in the event of the Chinaman's survival;
therefore I pray that the veil be never lifted.
But, as I have said, there is another sequel to this story which I can
contemplate with a different countenance. How, then, shall I conclude
this very unsatisfactory account?
Shall I tell you, finally, of my parting with lovely, dark-eyed
Karamaneh, on board the liner which was to bear her to Egypt?
No, let me, instead, conclude with the words of Nayland Smith:
"_I_ sail for Burma in a fortnight, Petrie. I have leave to break my
journey at the Ditch. How would a run up the Nile fit your programme?
Bit early for the season, but you might find something to amuse you!"