Emperor Fu-Manchu Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise

  Also by Sax Rohmer

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  About the Author

  Appreciating Dr. Fu-Manchu

  Also Available from Titan Books

  “Insidious fun from out of the past. Evil as always, Fu-Manchu reviles as well as thrills us.”—Joe Lansdale, recipient of the Horror Writers Association Lifetime Achievement Award

  “Without Fu-Manchu we wouldn’t have Dr. No, Doctor Doom or Dr. Evil. Sax Rohmer created the first truly great evil mastermind. Devious, inventive, complex, and fascinating. These novels inspired a century of great thrillers!”—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Assassin’s Code and Patient Zero

  “The true king of the pulp mystery is Sax Rohmer—and the shining ruby in his crown is without a doubt his Fu-Manchu stories.”—James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author of The Devil Colony

  “Fu-Manchu remains the definitive diabolical mastermind of the 20th Century. Though the arch-villain is ‘the Yellow Peril incarnate,’ Rohmer shows an interest in other cultures and allows his protagonist a complex set of motivations and a code of honor which often make him seem a better man than his Western antagonists. At their best, these books are very superior pulp fiction… at their worst, they’re still gruesomely readable.”—Kim Newman, award-winning author of Anno Dracula

  “Sax Rohmer is one of the great thriller writers of all time! Rohmer created in Fu-Manchu the model for the super-villains of James Bond, and his hero Nayland Smith and Dr. Petrie are worthy stand-ins for Holmes and Watson… though Fu-Manchu makes Professor Moriarty seem an under-achiever.”—Max Allan Collins, New York Times bestselling author of The Road to Perdition

  “I grew up reading Sax Rohmer’s Fu-Manchu novels, in cheap paperback editions with appropriately lurid covers. They completely entranced me with their vision of a world constantly simmering with intrigue and wildly overheated ambitions. Even without all the exotic detail supplied by Rohmer’s imagination, I knew full well that world wasn’t the same as the one I lived in… For that alone, I’m grateful for all the hours I spent chasing around with Nayland Smith and his stalwart associates, though really my heart was always on their intimidating opponent’s side.”—K. W. Jeter, acclaimed author of Infernal Devices

  “A sterling example of the classic adventure story, full of excitement and intrigue. Fu-Manchu is up there with Sherlock Holmes, Tarzan, and Zorro—or more precisely with Professor Moriarty, Captain Nemo, Darth Vader, and Lex Luthor—in the imaginations of generations of readers and moviegoers.”—Charles Ardai, award-winning novelist and founder of Hard Case Crime

  “I love Fu-Manchu, the way you can only love the really GREAT villains. Though I read these books years ago he is still with me, living somewhere deep down in my guts, between Professor Moriarty and Dracula, plotting some wonderfully hideous revenge against an unsuspecting mankind.”—Mike Mignola, creator of Hellboy

  “Fu-Manchu is one of the great villains in pop culture history, insidious and brilliant. Discover him if you dare!”—Christopher Golden, New York Times bestselling co-author of Baltimore: The Plague Ships

  “Exquisitely detailed… At times, it’s like reading a stage play… [Sax Rohmer] is a colorful storyteller. It was quite easy to be reading away and suddenly realize that I’d been reading for an hour or more without even noticing. It’s like being taken back to the cold and fog of London streets.”—Entertainment Affairs

  “Acknowledged classics of pulp fiction… the bottom line is Fu-Manchu, despite all the huffing and puffing about sinister Oriental wiles and so on, always comes off as the coolest, baddest dude on the block. Today’s supergenius villains owe a huge debt to Sax Rohmer and his fiendish creation.”—Comic Book Resources

  “Undeniably entertaining and fun to read… It’s pure pulp entertainment—awesome, and hilarious and wrong. Read it.”—Shadowlocked

  “The perfect read to get your adrenalin going and root for the good guys to conquer a menace that is almost supremely evil. This is a wild ride read and I recommend it highly.”—Vic’s Media Room

  THE COMPLETE FU-MANCHU SERIES

  BY SAX ROHMER

  Available now from Titan Books:

  THE MYSTERY OF DR. FU-MANCHU

  THE RETURN OF DR. FU-MANCHU

  THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU

  THE DAUGHTER OF FU-MANCHU

  THE MASK OF FU-MANCHU

  THE BRIDE OF FU-MANCHU

  THE TRAIL OF FU-MANCHU

  PRESIDENT OF FU-MANCHU

  THE DRUMS OF FU-MANCHU

  THE ISLAND OF FU-MANCHU

  THE SHADOW OF FU-MANCHU

  RE-ENTER: FU-MANCHU

  Coming soon from Titan Books:

  THE WRATH OF FU-MANCHU

  EMPEROR FU-MANCHU

  Print edition ISBN: 9780857686152

  E-book edition ISBN: 9780857686817

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

  First published as a novel in the UK by Herbert Jenkins, 1959

  First published as a novel in the US by Fawcett Gold Medal, 1959

  First Titan Books edition: September 2015

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The Authors League of America and the Society of Authors assert the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Copyright © 2015 The Authors League of America and the Society of Authors

  Visit our website: www.titanbooks.com

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  Frontispiece illustration from the Emperor Fu-Manchu first edition paperback cover, Herbert Jenkins, 1959.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Cover illustration from the British first edition hardcover of Emperor Fu Manchu, published in 1959 by Herbert Jenkins.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Once you pass the second Bamboo Curtain, McKay, u
nless my theories are all haywire, you’ll be up against the greatest scientific criminal genius who has ever threatened the world.”

  Tony McKay met the fixed regard of cold gray eyes which seemed to be sizing him up from the soles of his shoes to the crown of his head. The terse words and rapid, clipped sentences of the remarkable man he had come to meet penetrated his brain with a bulletlike force. He knocked ash from his cigarette. The sounds and cries of a busy Chinese street reached him through an open window.

  “I didn’t expect to be going to a cocktail party, Sir Denis.”

  Sir Denis Nayland Smith smiled, and the lean, tanned face, the keen eyes, momentarily became those of a boy.

  “I think you’re the fellow I’m looking for. You served with distinction in the United States Army, and come to me highly recommended. May I ask if you have some personal animus against the Communist regime in China?”

  “You may. I have. They brought about my father’s death and ruined our business.”

  Nayland Smith relighted his briar pipe. “An excellent incentive. But it’s my duty to warn you about the kind of job you’re taking on. Right from the moment you leave this office you’re on your own. You’re an undercover agent—a man alone. Neither London nor Washington knows you. But we shall be in constant touch. You’ll be helping to save the world from slavery.”

  Tony nodded; stabbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “No man could be better equipped for what you have to do. You were born here, and you speak the language fluently. With your facial features you can pass for Chinese. There’s no Iron Curtain here. But there are two Bamboo Curtains. The first has plenty of holes in it; the second so far has proved impenetrable. Oddly enough, it isn’t in the Peiping area, but up near the Tibetan frontier. We have to know the identity of the big man it conceals. He’s the real power behind the strange scheme.”

  “But he must come out sometimes,” Tony protested.

  “He does. He moves about like a shadow. All we can learn about him is that he’s known and feared as ‘the Master.’ His base seems to be somewhere in the province of Szechuan—and this province is behind the second Bamboo Curtain.”

  “Is that where you want me to go, Sir Denis?”

  “It is. You could get there through Burma—”

  “I could get a long way from right here, with a British passport, as a representative of, say, Vickers. Then I could disappear and become a Chinese coolie from Hong Kong—that’s safe for me—looking for a lost relative or girl friend, or somebody.”

  “Make your own choice, McKay. I have a shrewd idea about the identity of the Master.”

  “You think you know who he is?”

  “I think he is the president of the most dangerous secret society in the world, the Si-Fan—Dr. Fu-Manchu.”

  “Dr. Fu-Manchu.”

  “I believe he’s up to his old game, running with the hare and hunting with the hounds—”

  There was a sound resembling the note of a tiny bell. Nayland Smith checked his words and adjusted what looked like an Air Force wrist watch. Raising his hand, he began to speak into it. Tony realized that it must be some kind of walkie-talkie. The conversation was unintelligible, but when it ended, Nayland Smith glanced at him in an odd way.

  “One of my contacts in Szechuan,” he explained drily. “Reports the appearance of another Cold Man in Chia-Ting. They’re creating a panic.”

  “A Cold Man? I don’t understand.”

  “Nor do I. But it’ll be one of your jobs to find out. They are almost certainly monstrosities created by Dr. Fu-Manchu. I know his methods. They seem to be Burmese or Tibetans. Orders are issued that anyone meeting a Cold Man must instantly report to the police; that on no account must the creature be touched.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t say. But they have been touched—and although they’re walking about, their bodies are said to be icily cold.”

  “Good God! Zombies—living dead men!”

  “And they always appear in or near Chia-Ting. You should head for there. You’ll have one of these.” Nayland Smith tapped the instrument he wore on his wrist. “I may as well confess it’s a device we pinched from Dr. Fu-Manchu. Found on a prisoner. It looks like a wrist watch. One of our research men broke down the formula and now a number of our agents are provided with them. You can call me here at any time, and I can call you. Whatever happens, don’t lose it. Notify me regularly where you are—if anything goes wrong, get rid of it, fast.”

  “I’m all set to start.”

  “There’s some number one top secret being hidden in Szechuan. Military Intelligence thinks it’s a Soviet project. I believe it’s a Fu-Manchu project. He may be playing the Soviets at their own game. Dr. Fu-Manchu has no more use for Communism than I have for Asiatic flu. But so far all attempts to solve the puzzle have come apart. Local agents are only of limited use, but you may find them helpful and they’ll be looking out for you. You’ll have the sign and countersigns. Dine with me tonight and I’ll give you a thorough briefing.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  There was a rat watching him. In the failing light he couldn’t see its body, but he could see its eyes. Waiting hungrily, no doubt, for any scrap of rice he might leave in the bowl. Well, the rat would be in luck. The rice was moldy.

  Tony McKay drank a little more tepid water and then lay back on his lice-ridden mattress, his head against the wall, looking up at a small square window. Iron bars crisscrossed the opening and now, as dusk fell, hardly any light came in. He could have dealt with the iron bars, in time, but the window was just out of reach—two inches out of reach.

  It was another example of Chinese ingenuity, like the platter of ripe peaches his jailer had left in the dungeon one morning. By walking to the end of the chain clamped to his right ankle and lying flat, he could stretch his arm across the grimy floor—to within two inches of the fruit!

  But none of their cunning tricks would pay off. Physically he was getting below par, but his will remained as strong as on the day he left Hong Kong, unless…

  He dismissed the thought.

  A dark shape crossed the pattern of the bars, became lost in the shadow of a stone ledge which ran from the window around the angle to the grilled door. Two more wicked little eyes appeared beside the pair in the corner of the cell. The rat’s mate had joined up.

  He didn’t mind them. In their repulsive way, they formed a sort of link with the free world outside.

  He fell into a sort of dozing reverie. These reveries had saved his sanity, given him the strength to carry on.

  It was hard to grasp the fact that only two weeks ago he had been in Hong Kong. Throughout the first week he had kept in close touch with Nayland Smith, and this awful sense of loneliness which weighed him down now had not swept over him. Once he had overcome his stage fright over assuming the role of Chi Foh, a Hong Kong fisherman, he had begun to enjoy his mission…

  There were faint movements in the corridor, but they ceased, and Tony returned again to the recent past which now seemed so distant…

  Anyway, he had penetrated the second Bamboo Curtain—was still behind it. Of the mystery brain which Sir Denis Nayland Smith believed to be that of the fabulous Dr. Fu-Manchu, he had learned less than nothing. But in one part of his mission he had succeeded. The discovery had been made because of the thoroughness with which he had taken over the assumed identity of a Hong Kong fisherman seeking a missing fiancée. He had selected a remote riverside village not far above Chia-Ting on the Ya Ho River as the place to which his mythical girl friend had been taken by her family.

  Quite openly he canvassed the inhabitants, so that if questioned later he could call witnesses to support his story. And it was from a kindly old woman that he got the clue which led him to his goal.

  She suggested that the missing girl might be employed in “the Russian camp.” It appeared that a granddaughter of hers had worked there for a time.

  “Where is this camp?” he asked.

  It was on the
outskirts of the village.

  “What are Russians doing there?” he wanted to know.

  They were employed to guard the leprosy research centre. Even stray dogs who came too close to the enclosure were shot to avoid spreading infection. The research centre was a mile outside the village.

  “When did your granddaughter leave, and why?” he inquired.

  To get married, the old woman told him. She left only a month ago. The wages were good and the work light. She and her husband now lived in the village.

  Tony interviewed the girl, describing “Nan Cho,” his missing fiancée, but was assured that she was not employed at the Russian camp. He gathered that there were not more than forty men there in charge of a junior officer and two sergeants.

  How vividly he remembered his reconnaissance in the gray dawn next morning.

  The camp was a mere group of huts, with a cookhouse and an orderly room displaying the hammer and sickle flag. He estimated that even by Russian standards it couldn’t accommodate more than forty men. From his cover he studied it awhile, and when the sleeping camp came to life decided that it was the most slovenly outfit he had ever come across. The entire lack of discipline convinced him that the officer in charge must be a throw-out, sent to this dismal post because he was useless elsewhere.

  There was a new and badly made road leading from the camp up into the hills which overlooked the river. He was still watching when a squad of seven men appeared high up the road, not in any kind of order but just trudging along as they pleased. The conclusion was obvious. The guard on the research centre had been relieved.

  He made a wide detour. There was plenty of cover on both sides of the road, oaks and scrub, and not a patch of cultivation that he could see. It was a toilsome journey, for he was afraid to take to the winding road even when far out of sight of the camp below. This was fortunate, for suddenly, beyond another bend of the serpentine road, he came in sight of the research station.

  It was unlike anything he had anticipated.

  A ten-foot wire fence surrounded an area of some twelve acres. Roughly in the centre of the area, which had been mowed clear of vegetation and looked like a huge sheet of brown paper, he saw a group of buildings roofed with corrugated iron.