The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu
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Sax Rohmer >> The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu
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"Maddison?" said Smith sharply, staring across at Weymouth. "What was
he? Where did he come from?"
"He was a retired tea-planter from Colombo," replied the inspector.
"Colombo?"
"There was a link with the East, certainly, if that's what you are
thinking; and it was this fact which interested me at the time, and
which led me to waste precious days and nights on the case. But there
was no mortal connection between this liverish individual and the
schemes of Dr. Fu-Manchu. I'm certain of that."
"And how did he die?" I asked, interestedly.
"He just died in his chair one evening, in the room which he used as a
library. It was his custom to sit there every night, when there were
no visitors, reading, until twelve o'clock--or later. He was a
bachelor, and his household consisted of a cook, a housemaid, and a
man who had been with him for thirty years, I believe. At the time of
Mr. Maddison's death, his household had recently been deprived of two
of its members. The cook and housemaid both resigned one morning,
giving as their reason the fact that the place was haunted."
"In what way?"
"I interviewed the precious pair at the time, and they told me absurd
and various tales about dark figures wandering along the corridors and
bending over them in bed at night, whispering; but their chief trouble
was a continuous ringing of bells about the house."
"Bells?"
"They said that it became unbearable. Night and day there were bells
ringing all over the house. At any rate, they went, and for three or
four days the Gables was occupied only by Mr. Maddison and his man,
whose name was Stevens. I interviewed the latter also, and he was an
altogether more reliable witness; a decent, steady sort of man whose
story impressed me very much at the time."
"Did he confirm the ringing?"
"He swore to it--a sort of jangle, sometimes up in the air, near the
ceilings, and sometimes under the floor, like the shaking of silver
bells."
Nayland Smith stood up abruptly and began to pace the room, leaving
great trails of blue-gray smoke behind him.
"Your story is sufficiently interesting, Inspector," he declared,
"even to divert my mind from the eternal contemplation of the
Fu-Manchu problem. This would appear to be distinctly a case of an
'astral bell' such as we sometimes hear of in India."
"It was Stevens," continued Weymouth, "who found Mr. Maddison. He
(Stevens) had been out on business connected with the household
arrangements, and at about eleven o'clock he returned, letting himself
in with a key. There was a light in the library, and getting no
response to his knocking, Stevens entered. He found his master sitting
bolt upright in a chair, clutching the arms with rigid fingers and
staring straight before him with a look of such frightful horror on
his face, that Stevens positively ran from the room and out of the
house. Mr. Maddison was stone dead. When a doctor, who lives at no
great distance away, came and examined him, he could find no trace of
violence whatever; he had apparently died of fright, to judge from the
expression on his face."
"Anything else?"
"Only this: I learnt, indirectly, that the last member of the Quaker
family to occupy the house had apparently witnessed the apparition,
which had led to his vacating the place. I got the story from the wife
of a man who had been employed as gardener there at that time. The
apparition--which he witnessed in the hallway, if I remember rightly--
took the form of a sort of luminous hand clutching a long, curved
knife."
"Oh, Heavens!" cried Smith, and laughed shortly; "that's quite in
order!"
"This gentleman told no one of the occurrence until after he had left
the house, no doubt in order that the place should not acquire an evil
reputation. Most of the original furniture remained, and Mr. Maddison
took the house furnished. I don't think there can be any doubt that
what killed him was fear at seeing a repetition--"
"Of the fiery hand?" concluded Smith.
"Quite so. Well, I examined the Gables pretty closely, and, with
another Scotland Yard man, spent a night in the empty house. We saw
nothing; but once, very faintly, we heard the ringing of bells."
Smith spun around upon him rapidly.
"You can swear to that?" he snapped.
"I can swear to it," declared Weymouth stolidly. "It seemed to be over
our heads. We were sitting in the dining-room. Then it was gone, and
we heard nothing more whatever of an unusual nature. Following the
death of Mr. Maddison, the Gables remained empty until a while ago,
when a French gentleman, name Lejay, leased it--"
"Furnished?"
"Yes; nothing was removed--"
"Who kept the place in order?"
"A married couple living in the neighborhood undertook to do so. The
man attended to the lawn and so forth, and the woman came once a week,
I believe, to clean up the house."
"And Lejay?"
"He came in only last week, having leased the house for six months.
His family were to have joined him in a day or two, and he, with the
aid of the pair I have just mentioned, and assisted by a French
servant he brought over with him, was putting the place in order. At
about twelve o'clock on Friday night this servant ran into a
neighboring house screaming 'the fiery hand!' and when at last a
constable arrived and a frightened group went up the avenue of the
Gables, they found M. Lejay, dead in the avenue, near the steps just
outside the hall door! He had the same face of horror . . ."
"What a tale for the press!" snapped Smith.
"The owner has managed to keep it quiet so far, but this time I think
it will leak into the press--yes."
There was a short silence; then:
"And you have been down to the Gables again?"
"I was there on Saturday, but there's not a scrap of evidence. The man
undoubtedly died of fright in the same way as Maddison. The place
ought to be pulled down; it's unholy."
"Unholy is the word," I said. "I never heard anything like it. This M.
Lejay had no enemies?--there could be no possible motive?"
"None whatever. He was a business man from Marseilles, and his affairs
necessitated his remaining in or near London for some considerable
time; therefore, he decided to make his headquarters here,
temporarily, and leased the Gables with that intention."
Nayland Smith was pacing the floor with increasing rapidity; he was
tugging at the lobe of his left ear and his pipe had long since gone
out.
CHAPTER XXV
THE BELLS
I started to my feet as a tall, bearded man swung open the door and
hurled himself impetuously into the room. He wore a silk hat, which
fitted him very ill, and a black frock coat which did not fit him at
all.
"It's all right, Petrie!" cried the apparition; "I've leased the
Gables!"
It was Nayland Smith! I stared at him in amazement
"The first time I have employed a disguise," continued my friend
rapidly, "since the memorable episode of the false pigtail." He threw
a small brown leather grip upon the floor. "In case you should care to
visit the house, Petrie, I have brought these things. My tenancy
commences to-night!"
Two days had elapsed, and I had entirely forgotten the strange story
of the Gables which Inspector Weymouth had related to us; evidently it
was otherwise with my friend, and utterly at a loss for an explanation
of his singular behavior, I stooped mechanically and opened the grip.
It contained an odd assortment of garments, and amongst other things
several gray wigs and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
Kneeling there with this strange litter about me, I looked up
amazedly. Nayland Smith, with the unsuitable silk hat set right upon
the back of his head, was pacing the room excitedly, his fuming pipe
protruding from the tangle of factitious beard.
"You see, Petrie," he began again, rapidly, "I did not entirely
trust the agent. I've leased the house in the name of Professor
Maxton . . ."
"But, Smith," I cried, "what possible reason can there be for
disguise?"
"There's every reason," he snapped.
"Why should you interest yourself in the Gables?"
"Does no explanation occur to you?"
"None whatever; to me the whole thing smacks of stark lunacy."
"Then you won't come?"
"I've never stuck at anything, Smith," I replied, "however
undignified, when it has seemed that my presence could be of the
slightest use."
As I rose to my feet, Smith stepped in front of me, and the steely
gray eyes shone out strangely from the altered face. He clapped his
hands upon my shoulders.
"If I assure you that your presence is necessary to my safety," he
said--"that if you fail me I must seek another companion--will you
come?"
Intuitively, I knew that he was keeping something back, and I was
conscious of some resentment, but nevertheless my reply was a foregone
conclusion, and--with the borrowed appearance of an extremely untidy
old man--I crept guiltily out of my house that evening and into the
cab which Smith had waiting.
The Gables was a roomy and rambling place lying back a considerable
distance from the road. A semicircular drive gave access to the door,
and so densely wooded was the ground, that for the most part the drive
was practically a tunnel--a verdant tunnel. A high brick wall
concealed the building from the point of view of any one on the
roadway, but either horn of the crescent drive terminated at a heavy,
wrought-iron gateway.
Smith discharged the cab at the corner of the narrow and winding road
upon which the Gables fronted. It was walled in on both sides; on the
left the wall being broken by tradesmen's entrances to the houses
fronting upon another street, and on the right following,
uninterruptedly, the grounds of the Gables. As we came to the gate:
"Nothing now," said Smith, pointing into the darkness of the road
before us, "except a couple of studios, until one comes to the Heath."
He inserted the key in the lock of the gate and swung it creakingly
open. I looked into the black arch of the avenue, thought of the
haunted residence that lay hidden somewhere beyond, of those who had
died in it--especially of the one who had died there under the trees--
and found myself out of love with the business of the night.
"Come on!" said Nayland Smith briskly, holding the gate open; "there
should be a fire in the library and refreshments, if the charwoman has
followed instructions."
I heard the great gate clang to behind us. Even had there been any
moon (and there was none) I doubted if more than a patch or two of
light could have penetrated there. The darkness was extraordinary.
Nothing broke it, and I think Smith must have found his way by the aid
of some sixth sense. At any rate, I saw nothing of the house until I
stood some five paces from the steps leading up to the porch. A light
was burning in the hallway, but dimly and inhospitably; of the facade
of the building I could perceive little.
When we entered the hall and the door was closed behind us, I began
wondering anew what purpose my friend hoped to serve by a vigil in
this haunted place. There was a light in the library, the door of
which was ajar, and on the large table were decanters, a siphon, and
some biscuits and sandwiches. A large grip stood upon the floor, also.
For some reason which was a mystery to me, Smith had decided that we
must assume false names whilst under the roof of the Gables; and:
"Now, Pearce," he said, "a whisky-and-soda before we look around?"
The proposal was welcome enough, for I felt strangely dispirited, and,
to tell the truth, in my strange disguise, not a little ridiculous.
All my nerves, no doubt, were highly strung, and my sense of hearing
unusually acute, for I went in momentary expectation of some uncanny
happening. I had not long to wait. As I raised the glass to my lips
and glanced across the table at my friend, I heard the first faint
sound heralding the coming of the bells.
It did not seem to proceed from anywhere within the library, but from
some distant room, far away overhead. A musical sound it was, but
breaking in upon the silence of that ill-omened house, its music was
the music of terror. In a faint and very sweet cascade it rippled; a
ringing as of tiny silver bells.
I set down my glass upon the table, and rising slowly from the chair
in which I had been seated, stared fixedly at my companion, who was
staring with equal fixity at me. I could see that I had not been
deluded; Nayland Smith had heard the ringing, too.
"The ghosts waste no time!" he said softly. "This is not new to me; I
spent an hour here last night and heard the same sound . . ."
I glanced hastily around the room. It was furnished as a library, and
contained a considerable collection of works, principally novels. I
was unable to judge of the outlook, for the two lofty windows were
draped with heavy purple curtains which were drawn close. A silk
shaded lamp swung from the center of the ceiling, and immediately over
the table by which I stood. There was much shadow about the room; and
now I glanced apprehensively about me, but especially toward the open
door.
In that breathless suspense of listening we stood awhile; then:
"There it is again!" whispered Smith, tensely.
The ringing of bells was repeated, and seemingly much nearer to us; in
fact it appeared to come from somewhere above, up near the ceiling of
the room in which we stood. Simultaneously, we looked up, then Smith
laughed, shortly.
"Instinctive, I suppose," he snapped; "but what do we expect to see in
the air?"
The musical sound now grew in volume; the first tiny peal seemed to be
reinforced by others and by others again, until the air around about
us was filled with the pealings of these invisible bell-ringers.
Although, as I have said, the sound was rather musical than horrible,
it was, on the other hand, so utterly unaccountable as to touch the
supreme heights of the uncanny. I could not doubt that our presence
had attracted these unseen ringers to the room in which we stood, and
I knew quite well that I was growing pale. This was the room in which
at least one unhappy occupant of the Gables had died of fear. I
recognized the fact that if this mere overture were going to affect my
nerves to such an extent, I could not hope to survive the ordeal of
the night; a great effort was called for. I emptied my glass at a
gulp, and stared across the table at Nayland Smith with a sort of
defiance. He was standing very upright and motionless, but his eyes
were turning right and left, searching every visible corner of the big
room.
"Good!" he said in a very low voice. "The terrorizing power of the
Unknown is boundless, but we must not get in the grip of panic, or we
could not hope to remain in this house ten minutes."
I nodded without speaking. Then Smith, to my amazement, suddenly began
to speak in a loud voice, a marked contrast to that, almost a whisper,
in which he had spoken formerly.
"My dear Pearce," he cried, "do you hear the ringing of bells?"
Clearly the latter words were spoken for the benefit of the unseen
intelligence controlling these manifestations; and although I regarded
such finesse as somewhat wasted, I followed my friend's lead and
replied in a voice as loud as his own:
"Distinctly, Professor!"
Silence followed my words, a silence in which both stood watchful and
listening. Then, very faintly, I seemed to detect the silvern ringing
receding away through distant rooms. Finally it became inaudible, and
in the stillness of the Gables I could distinctly hear my companion
breathing. For fully ten minutes we two remained thus, each
momentarily expecting a repetition of the ringing, or the coming of
some new and more sinister manifestation. But we heard nothing and saw
nothing.
"Hand me that grip, and don't stir until I come back!" hissed Smith in
my ear.
He turned and walked out of the library, his boots creaking very
loudly in that awe-inspiring silence.
Standing beside the table, I watched the open door for his return,
crushing down a dread that another form than his might suddenly appear
there.
I could hear him moving from room to room, and presently, as I waited
in hushed, tense watchfulness, he came in, depositing the grip upon
the table. His eyes were gleaming feverishly.
"The house is haunted, Pearce!" he cried. "But no ghost ever
frightened me! Come, I will show you your room."
CHAPTER XXVI
THE FIERY HAND
Smith walked ahead of me upstairs; he had snapped up the light in the
hallway, and now he turned and cried back loudly:
"I fear we should never get servants to stay here."
Again I detected the appeal to a hidden Audience; and there was
something very uncanny in the idea. The house now was deathly still;
the ringing had entirely subsided. In the upper corridor my companion,
who seemed to be well acquainted with the position of the switches,
again turned up all the lights, and in pursuit of the strange comedy
which he saw fit to enact, addressed me continuously in the loud and
unnatural voice which he had adopted as part of his disguise.
We looked into a number of rooms all well and comfortably furnished,
but although my imagination may have been responsible for the idea,
they all seemed to possess a chilly and repellent atmosphere. I felt
that to essay sleep in any one of them would be the merest farce, that
the place to all intents and purposes was uninhabitable, that
something incalculably evil presided over the house.
And through it all, so obtuse was I, that no glimmer of the truth
entered my mind. Outside again in the long, brightly lighted corridor,
we stood for a moment as if a mutual anticipation of some new event
pending had come to us. It was curious that sudden pulling up and
silent questioning of one another; because, although we acted thus, no
sound had reached us. A few seconds later our anticipation was
realized. From the direction of the stairs it came--a low wailing in a
woman's voice; and the sweetness of the tones added to the terror of
the sound. I clutched at Smith's arm convulsively whilst that uncanny
cry rose and fell--rose and fell--and died away.
Neither of us moved immediately. My mind was working with feverish
rapidity and seeking to run down a memory which the sound had stirred
into faint quickness. My heart was still leaping wildly when the
wailing began again, rising and falling in regular cadence. At that
instant I identified it.
During the time Smith and I had spent together in Egypt, two years
before, searching for Karamaneh, I had found myself on one occasion in
the neighborhood of a native cemetery near to Bedrasheen. Now, the
scene which I had witnessed there rose up again vividly before me, and
I seemed to see a little group of black-robed women clustered together
about a native grave; for the wailing which now was dying away again
in the Gables was the same, or almost the same, as the wailing of
those Egyptian mourners.
The house was very silent again, now. My forehead was damp with
perspiration, and I became more and more convinced that the uncanny
ordeal must prove too much for my nerves. Hitherto, I had accorded
little credence to tales of the supernatural, but face to face with
such manifestations as these, I realized that I would have faced
rather a group of armed dacoits, nay! Dr. Fu-Manchu himself, than have
remained another hour in that ill-omened house.
My companion must have read as much in my face. But he kept up the
strange, and to me, purposeless comedy, when presently he spoke.
"I feel it to be incumbent upon me to suggest," he said, "that we
spend the night at a hotel after all."
He walked rapidly downstairs and into the library and began to strap
up the grip.
"After all," he said, "there may be a natural explanation of what
we've heard; for it is noteworthy that we have actually seen nothing.
It might even be possible to get used to the ringing and the wailing
after a time. Frankly, I am loath to go back on my bargain!"
Whilst I stared at him in amazement, he stood there indeterminate as
it seemed, Then:
"Come, Pearce!" he cried loudly, "I can see that you do not share my
views; but for my own part I shall return to-morrow and devote further
attention to the phenomena."
Extinguishing the light, he walked out into the hallway, carrying the
grip in his hand. I was not far behind him. We walked toward the door
together, and:
"Turn the light out, Pearce," directed Smith; "the switch is at your
elbow. We can see our way to the door well enough, now."
In order to carry out these instructions, it became necessary for me
to remain a few paces in the rear of my companion, and I think I have
never experienced such a pang of nameless terror as pierced me at the
moment of extinguishing the light; for Smith had not yet opened the
door, and the utter darkness of the Gables was horrible beyond
expression. Surely darkness is the most potent weapon of the Unknown.
I know that at the moment my hand left the switch, I made for the door
as though the hosts of hell pursued me. I collided violently with
Smith. He was evidently facing toward me in the darkness, for at the
moment of our collision, he grasped my shoulder as in a vise.
"My God, Petrie! look behind you!" he whispered.
I was enabled to judge of the extent and reality of his fear by the
fact that the strange subterfuge of addressing me always as Pearce was
forgotten. I turned, in a flash. . . .
Never can I forget what I saw. Many strange and terrible memories are
mine, memories stranger and more terrible than those of the average
man; but this thing which now moved slowly down upon us through the
impenetrable gloom of that haunted place, was (if the term be
understood) almost absurdly horrible. It was a medieval legend come to
life in modern London; it was as though some horrible chimera of the
black and ignorant past was become create and potent in the present.
A luminous hand--a hand in the veins of which fire seemed to run so
that the texture of the skin and the shape of the bones within were
perceptible--in short a hand of glowing, fiery flesh clutching a short
knife or dagger which also glowed with the same hellish, internal
luminance, was advancing upon us where we stood--was not three paces
removed!
What I did or how I came to do it, I can never recall. In all my years
I have experienced nothing to equal the stark panic which seized upon
me then. I know that I uttered a loud and frenzied cry; I know that I
tore myself like a madman from Smith's restraining grip . . .
"Don't touch it! Keep away, for your life!" I heard . . .
But, dimly I recollect that, finding the thing approaching yet nearer,
I lashed out with my fists--madly, blindly--and struck something
palpable . . .
What was the result, I cannot say. At that point my recollections
merge into confusion. Something or some one (Smith, as I afterwards
discovered) was hauling me by main force through the darkness; I fell
a considerable distance onto gravel which lacerated my hands and
gashed my knees. Then, with the cool night air fanning my brow, I was
running, running--my breath coming in hysterical sobs. Beside me fled
another figure. . . . And my definite recollections commence again at
that point. For this companion of my flight from the Gables threw
himself roughly against me to alter my course.
"Not that way! not that way!" came pantingly.
"Not on to the Heath . . . we must keep to the roads . . ."
It was Nayland Smith. That healing realization came to me, bringing
such a gladness as no words of mine can express nor convey. Still we
ran on.
"There's a policeman's lantern," panted my companion. "They'll attempt
nothing, now!"
* * * * *
I gulped down the stiff brandy-and-soda, then glanced across to where
Nayland Smith lay extended in the long, cane chair.
"Perhaps you will explain," I said, "for what purpose you submitted me
to that ordeal. If you proposed to correct my skepticism concerning
supernatural manifestations, you have succeeded."
"Yes," said my companion, musingly, "they are devilishly clever; but
we knew that already."
I stared at him, fatuously.
"Have you ever known me to waste my time when there was important work
to do?" he continued. "Do you seriously believe that my ghost-hunting
was undertaken for amusement? Really, Petrie, although you are very
fond of assuring me that I need a holiday, I think the shoe is on the
other foot!"
From the pocket of his dressing-gown, he took out a piece of silk
fringe which had apparently been torn from a scarf, and rolling it
into a ball, tossed it across to me.
"Smell!" he snapped.
I did as he directed--and gave a great start. The silk exhaled a faint
perfume, but its effect upon me was as though some one had cried
aloud:--
"Karamaneh!"
Beyond doubt the silken fragment had belonged to the beautiful servant
of Dr. Fu-Manchu, to the dark-eyed, seductive Karamaneh. Nayland Smith
was watching me keenly.
"You recognize it--yes?"
I placed the piece of silk upon the table, slightly shrugging my
shoulders.
"It was sufficient evidence in itself," continued my friend, "but I
thought it better to seek confirmation, and the obvious way was to
pose as a new lessee of the Gables . . ."
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