The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu

S >> Sax Rohmer >> The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

My state of mind when I awakened on the following day was
indescribable; I found it difficult to doubt that Nayland Smith would
meet me on the way to the bathroom as usual, with the cracked briar
fuming between his teeth. I felt myself almost compelled to pass
around to his stateroom in order to convince myself that he was not
really there. The catastrophe was still unreal to me, and the world a
dream-world. Indeed I retain scarcely any recollections of the traffic
of that day, or of the days that followed it until we reached Port
Said.

Two things only made any striking appeal to my dulled intelligence at
that time. These were: the aloof attitude of Dr. Stacey, who seemed
carefully to avoid me; and a curious circumstance which the second
officer mentioned in conversation one evening as we strolled up and
down the main deck together.

"Either I was fast asleep at my post, Dr. Petrie," he said, "or last
night, in the middle watch, some one or something came over the side
of the ship just aft the bridge, slipped across the deck, and
disappeared."

I stared at him wonderingly.

"Do you mean something that came up out of the sea?" I said.

"Nothing could very well have come up out of the sea," he replied,
smiling slightly, "so that it must have come up from the deck below."

"Was it a man?"

"It looked like a man, and a fairly tall one, but he came and was gone
like a flash, and I saw no more of him up to the time I was relieved.
To tell you the truth, I did not report it because I thought I must
have been dozing; it's a dead slow watch, and the navigation on this
part of the run is child's play."

I was on the point of telling him what I had seen myself, two evenings
before, but for some reason I refrained from doing so, although I
think had I confided in him he would have abandoned the idea that what
he had seen was phantasmal; for the pair of us could not very well
have been dreaming. Some malignant presence haunted the ship; I could
not doubt this; yet I remained passive, sunk in a lethargy of sorrow.

We were scheduled to reach Port Said at about eight o'clock in the
evening, but by reason of the delay occasioned so tragically, I
learned that in all probability we should not arrive earlier than
midnight, whilst passengers would not go ashore until the following
morning. Karamaneh who had been staring ahead all day, seeking a first
glimpse of her native land, was determined to remain up until the hour
of our arrival, but after dinner a notice was posted up that we should
not be in before two A.M. Even those passengers who were the most
enthusiastic thereupon determined to postpone, for a few hours, their
first glimpse of the land of the Pharaohs and even to forego the
sight--one of the strangest and most interesting in the world--of Port
Said by night.

For my own part, I confess that all the interest and hope with which I
had looked forward to our arrival, had left me, and often I detected
tears in the eyes of Karamaneh whereby I knew that the coldness in my
heart had manifested itself even to her. I had sustained the greatest
blow of my life, and not even the presence of so lovely a companion
could entirely recompense me for the loss of my dearest friend.

The lights on the Egyptian shore were faintly visible when the last
group of stragglers on deck broke up. I had long since prevailed upon
Karamaneh to retire, and now, utterly sick at heart, I sought my own
stateroom, mechanically undressed, and turned in.

It may, or may not be singular that I had neglected all precautions
since the night of the tragedy; I was not even conscious of a desire
to visit retribution upon our hidden enemy; in some strange fashion I
took it for granted that there would be no further attempts upon
Karamaneh, Aziz, or myself. I had not troubled to confirm Smith's
surmise respecting the closing of the portholes; but I know now for a
fact that, whereas they had been closed from the time of our leaving
the Straits of Messina, to-night, in sight of the Egyptian coast, the
regulation was relaxed again. I cannot say if this is usual, but that
it occurred on this ship is a fact to which I can testify--a fact to
which my attention was to be drawn dramatically.

The night was steamingly hot, and because I welcomed the circumstance
that my own port was widely opened, I reflected that those on the
lower decks might be open also. A faint sense of danger stirred within
me; indeed, I sat upright and was about to spring out of my berth when
that occurred which induced me to change my mind.

All passengers had long since retired, and a midnight silence
descended upon the ship, for we were not yet close enough to port for
any unusual activities to have commenced.

Clearly outlined in the open porthole there suddenly arose that same
grotesque silhouette which I had seen once before.

Prompted by I know not what, I lay still and simulated heavy
breathing; for it was evident to me that I must be partly visible to
the watcher, so bright was the night. For ten--twenty--thirty seconds
he studied me in absolute silence, that gaunt thing so like a mummy;
and, with my eyes partly closed, I watched him, breathing heavily all
the time. Then, making no more noise than a cat, he moved away across
the deck, and I could judge of his height by the fact that his small,
swathed head remained visible almost to the time that he passed to the
end of the white boat which swung opposite my stateroom.

In a moment I slipped quietly to the floor, crossed, and peered out of
the porthole; so that at last I had a clear view of the sinister
mummy-man. He was crouching under the bow of the boat, and attaching
to the white rails, below, a contrivance of a kind with which I was
not entirely unfamiliar. This was a thin ladder of silken rope, having
bamboo rungs, with two metal hooks for attaching it to any suitable
object.

The one thus engaged was, as Karamaneh had declared, almost
superhumanly thin. His loins were swathed in a sort of linen garment,
and his head so bound about, turban fashion, that only his gleaming
eyes remained visible. The bare limbs and body were of a dusky yellow
color, and, at sight of him, I experienced a sudden nausea.

My pistol was in my cabin-trunk, and to have found it in the dark,
without making a good deal of noise, would have been impossible.
Doubting how I should act, I stood watching the man with the swathed
head whilst he threw the end of the ladder over the side, crept past
the bow of the boat, and swung his gaunt body over the rail,
exhibiting the agility of an ape. One quick glance fore and aft he
gave, then began to swarm down the ladder: in which instant I knew his
mission.

With a choking cry, which forced itself unwilled from my lips, I tore
at the door, threw it open, and sprang across the deck. Plans, I had
none, and since I carried no instrument wherewith to sever the ladder,
the murderer might indeed have carried out his design for all that I
could have done to prevent him, were it not that another took a hand
in the game. . . .

At the moment that the mummy-man--his head now on a level with the
deck--perceived me, he stopped dead. Coincident with his stopping, the
crack of a pistol shot sounded--from immediately beyond the boat.

Uttering a sort of sobbing sound, the creature fell--then clutched,
with straining yellow fingers, at the rails, and, seemingly by dint of
a great effort, swarmed along aft some twenty feet, with incredible
swiftness and agility, and clambered onto the deck.

A second shot cracked sharply; and a voice (God! was I mad!) cried:
"Hold him, Petrie!"

Rigid with fearful astonishment I stood, as out from the boat above me
leaped a figure attired solely in shirt and trousers. The newcomer
leaped away in the wake of the mummy-man--who had vanished around the
corner by the smoke-room. Over his shoulder he cried back at me:

"The bishop's stateroom! See that no one enters!"

I clutched at my head--which seemed to be fiery hot; I realized in my
own person the sensation of one who knows himself mad.

For the man who pursued the mummy was Nayland Smith!

* * * * *

I stood in the bishop's state-room, Nayland Smith, his gaunt face wet
with perspiration, beside me, handling certain odd looking objects
which littered the place, and lay about amid the discarded garments of
the absent cleric.

"Pneumatic pads!" he snapped. "The man was a walking air-cushion!" He
gingerly fingered two strange rubber appliances. "For distending the
cheeks," he muttered, dropping them disgustedly on the floor. "His
hands and wrists betrayed him, Petrie. He wore his cuff unusually long
but he could not entirely hide his bony wrists. To have watched him,
whilst remaining myself unseen, was next to impossible; hence my
device of tossing a dummy overboard, calculated to float for less than
ten minutes! It actually floated nearly fifteen, as a matter of fact,
and I had some horrible moments!"

"Smith!" I said--"how could you submit me . . ."

He clapped his hands on my shoulders.

"My dear old chap--there was no other way, believe me. From that boat
I could see right into his stateroom, but, once in, I dare not leave
it--except late at night, stealthily! The second spotted me one night
and I thought the game was up, but evidently he didn't report it."

"But you might have confided . . ."

"Impossible! I'll admit I nearly fell to the temptation that first
night; for I could see into your room as well as into his!" He slapped
me boisterously on the back, but his gray eyes were suspiciously
moist. "Dear old Petrie! Thank God for our friends! But you'd be the
first to admit, old man, that you're a dead rotten actor! Your
portrayal of grief for the loss of a valued chum would not have
convinced a soul on board!

"Therefore I made use of Stacey, whose callous attitude was less
remarkable. Gad, Petrie! I nearly bagged our man the first night! The
elaborate plan--Marconi message to get you out of the way, and so
forth--had miscarried, and he knew the porthole trick would be useless
once we got into the open sea. He took a big chance. He discarded his
clerical guise and peeped into your room--you remember?--but you were
awake, and I made no move when he slipped back to his own cabin; I
wanted to take him red-handed."

"Have you any idea . . ."

"Who he is? No more than where he is! Probably some creature of Dr.
Fu-Manchu specially chosen for the purpose; obviously a man of
culture, and probably of thug ancestry. I hit him--in the shoulder;
but even then he ran like a hare. We've searched the ship, without
result. He may have gone overboard and chanced the swim to
shore . . ."

We stepped out onto the deck. Around us was that unforgettable
scene--Port Said by night. The ship was barely moving through the
glassy water, now. Smith took my arm and we walked forward. Above us
was the mighty peace of Egypt's sky ablaze with splendor; around and
about us moved the unique turmoil of the clearing-house of the Near
East.

"I would give much to know the real identity of the bishop of
Damascus," muttered Smith.

He stopped abruptly, snapping his teeth together and grasping my arm
as in a vise. Hard upon his words had followed the rattling clangor as
the great anchor was let go; but horribly intermingled with the
metallic roar there came to us such a fearful, inarticulate shrieking
as to chill one's heart.

The anchor plunged into the water of the harbor; the shrieking ceased.
Smith turned to me, and his face was tragic in the light of the arc
lamp swung hard by.

"We shall never know," he whispered. "God forgive him--he must be in
bloody tatters now. Petrie, the poor fool was hiding in the chainlocker!"

A little hand stole into mine. I turned quickly. Karamaneh stood
beside me. I placed my arm about her shoulders, drawing her close;
and I blush to relate that all else was forgotten.

For a moment, heedless of the fearful turmoil forward, Nayland Smith
stood looking at us. Then he turned, with his rare smile, and walked aft.

"Perhaps you're right, Petrie!" he said.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17