Emperor Fu-Manchu Page 4

  “My family name is Wu. I am called Chi Foh.”

  “Mine is Kwee. You don’t belong in this part of China?”

  He looked at her searchingly. She was still smiling.

  “No. My father—” He hesitated. He had nearly said “was a merchant.”—“is a storekeeper in Hong Kong. I was brought up there.”

  “I suppose, Chi Foh, he was ruined by the war?”

  But he didn’t answer. He had heard the asthmatic coughing of Colonel Soong’s motor craft. They were coming back, close to the right bank.

  Yueh Hua grasped his hand. He saw that her lips trembled. “We must lie behind these rushes, Chi Foh. We can see from there, but they won’t see us.”

  They crept back from the bank and lay down next to each other. The old cruiser was very close now.

  Almost unconsciously, he put his left arm around Yueh Hua’s shoulders.

  From where he lay, he couldn’t see Soong in the stern. But he could see a man who stood up in the bows. It was the giant Nubian.

  Then he heard a clear, imperious voice. It sent a trickle of ice down Tony’s spine.

  “I fear, Colonel Soong, that you are wasting valuable time.”

  The motor boat had swung around slightly on the current. He saw Soong in the stern, field glasses in hand, and he saw someone else seated in the cabin behind the man at the wheel. A figure wrapped in a dark cloak.

  Yueh Hua shuddered so violently that he glanced at her anxiously. Every trace of color had left her face.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, and held her closely. “They can’t see us.”

  But she didn’t answer. Colonel Soong’s harsh voice was raised unsteadily. “I assure you, Most High, it is not so. The escaped prisoner must certainly have come this way.”

  “I regret that I cannot share your confidence.” The words were spoken in sibilant, cultured Chinese. Then in another language, which Tony thought might be Arabic, a short sentence followed.

  The Nubian spun around and stood at attention. He shook his head and answered briefly in the same guttural tongue.

  “I was inclined—” Fu-Manchu was addressing Soong—“to send Mahmud ashore again to search the hut on the creek. But he assures me no one has been there. I believe him, for he has the instincts of a hunting leopard.” The motor cruiser had drifted now to within a few yards of the bank. It was plain enough that “Mahmud” on his former visit must have followed the gully in which they lay, that if he did come ashore again he could hardly fail to stumble over them.

  Tony fingered the useful weapon in his pocket. The big Negro, if he came, might carry a gun. Soong was armed. There might be other arms on board. But there were only four men to deal with. Given luck, and surprise to help him, he thought he could deal with them.

  Silence for a few seconds, and then, “Shall I go, myself, Highness?” Soong volunteered.

  Tony was planning his tactics. If Soong came ashore, he would shoot the big Negro first, then, before the colonel could grasp what had happened, he would try for Soong.

  “Proceed upstream,” the imperious voice commanded. “We passed no other possible hiding place on our way down. Therefore, we cannot have left the sampan behind.”

  * * *

  Late that evening, Dr. Fu-Manchu sat at the lacquered desk, reading. Old General Huan, from his favorite seat on cushions, watched him.

  “I notice that André Skobolov is expected here tomorrow. You have instructions from Peiping to entertain him. Why was the presence of this dangerous Soviet agent in China not reported to me?” Fu-Manchu glanced up from the notes which lay before him on the desk. “It would seem that our intelligence service is sleeping.”

  General Huan Tsung-Chao shook his head slightly. “This man Skobolov travels almost as secretly as you do, Master.”

  Dr. Fu-Manchu’s eyes glittered wickedly from under half-lowered lids. “I have perhaps been misled in my belief that the elusive escaped prisoner was a British agent acting under Nayland Smith. His remarkable disappearance is more easily explained if he is a secret agent of the Soviet. They have facilities here which are denied to Nayland Smith.”

  “If that were so, why should he have been imprisoned?”

  “Wake up, Tsung-Chao. The identity of such an agent would not be known to the blundering Colonel Soong, nor to the prison governor. It pains me to think that I may have saved the life of a Soviet spy.”

  Old General Huan smiled a wry, wrinkled smile. “There is unfortunate news, Master, which may confirm your suspicions. But I am assured that Wu Chi Foh had no documents in his possession nor on his boat.”

  Fu-Manchu’s eyes opened fully. They blazed. His expression remained immobile as a mask. But when he spoke his tone was very subdued, oddly sibilant.

  “Unfortunate news? Documents? What have you to tell me?”

  Outwardly calm, as always, Huan Tsung-Chao replied, “My house in Chungtu was entered last night and important papers stolen from my office. Among these documents—for no other valuables are missing—was the Si-Fan Register…”

  Slowly, Dr. Fu-Manchu stood up. His hands were clenched. Yet, when he spoke again, his voice remained unemotional.

  “The register is in the Si-Fan cipher, which has never been broken.”

  “No cipher is unbreakable, Master.”

  “Spare me your platitudes. But whether the register has been stolen by British or Soviet agents, it cannot be deciphered except by an expert, either in London or in Moscow. Was your safe forced?”

  “The register was not in my safe. I kept it in what I believed to be a secret hiding place. Not even my steward, who sends me this bad news, knew of it.”

  “You mean,” Fu-Manchu suggested softly, “that some supernatural agency has been at work?”

  Huan Tsung-Chao maintained his phenomenal calm. “I mean that some spy armed with powerful binoculars has watched me through my study window, from a tree in my garden possibly, and has seen me open the receptacle. Entrance was made through this window by someone who silently climbed the vine outside.”

  Dr. Fu-Manchu slipped his hands into the loose sleeves of his robe and stared into space, standing perfectly still. There was a long, silent interval; then he spoke again.

  “Why is Skobolov coming here?”

  “Officially, as an attaché of the Soviet Embassy, to promote relations between Communist China and Soviet Russia. He wishes to meet prominent figures in the Chinese movement.”

  “But why here at your summer villa rather than at the official residence in Chungtu?”

  “I frequently entertain here. It is more pleasant, except in winter.”

  “He is aware that I am here?”

  Tsung-Chao smiled his wrinkled smile. “It is improbable since even I did not know of your arrival in China until you stood at my door.”

  Fu-Manchu remained as motionless as a statue. “He has courage. It was he, or a professional thief in his employ, who stole the register. While he is your guest he knows he is safe. We dare not make the attempt. But he will obey his orders and be here tomorrow. We cannot be sure that he has the register in his possession, but whether he has the register or is to meet the man who stole it, he is far too dangerous an enemy to be permitted to return to Moscow. For it is to the Kremlin he would report such a triumph, not to Peiping. André Skobolov must never reach Russia.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Yueh Hua broke a long silence when she looked at Tony and asked, “Were you educated in Hong Kong, Chi Foh?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I knew you had more education than most fishermen. You are so kind to me.”

  “Aren’t most fishermen kind?”

  “Not the way you are.”

  Yes, he was hamming the part. He had shown her his small stock of un-Chinese provisions and told her that his father, the storekeeper, who knew he had acquired a taste for foreign delicacies, had packed a case for him when he left Hong Kong. She had laughed happily, clapped her hands. But he wondered if she had believ
ed him. Except for the lime juice and the fresh fruit, she seemed to prefer the national monotonous rice. But she went for the cigarettes. All the same, Yueh Hua’s keen feminine instincts might have detected some chink in the façade. He decided to shift the focus of interest.

  “Yueh Hua, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” She lay very still. “Why are you so afraid of the tall man who wears a long cloak, the man they call ‘Most High’? Has he ever done you any harm?” Yueh Hua was so long in replying that he turned and looked at her.

  “Shall I tell you, Chi Foh?” she asked softly.

  “Of course. I want to know.”

  And as she stared up again at the broken roof of the mat-shed, he knew that she had been trying to make up her mind how far she could trust him, and that she had failed to reach a decision. He was sure that whatever she told him now wouldn’t be the truth.

  “Very well.” She seemed to be thinking hard. “When I came away from the house where I thought I should find my sister, it was dark. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I had no money. I was afraid to speak to anyone. And there were soldiers in the streets. I was hiding from two of them in the shadow of a big gateway, when the gate was opened.”

  She stared fixedly up at the tattered palm roof.

  “A tall man came out. He wore a uniform—an officer. Four men came out behind him. One was a black man, very big. He carried a lantern. The light shone on the officer’s face and on his eyes, which were like pieces of green jade. You saw him in the boat. His eyes are like that.”

  “Yes, I suppose they are.”

  “I knew he could see me from where I was trying to hide. I turned to run. But I was too late. He called me back. You have heard his voice. No one would ever think of disobeying him. He was very gentle when he asked me some questions, but I was shaking so much I could hardly stand. He told me to wait inside the courtyard until he returned.”

  “And did you wait, Yueh Hua?”

  “No. When the porter had locked the gate and gone inside the house I sat down on a bench and tried to think what to do. There was an old plum tree growing on one of the walls. It had very strong branches. I climbed up. Then I let myself drop on the other side. I tried twice to steal out of the town. But there were soldiers at both gates. Then I thought I would go down to the river and take a boat or try to swim across. Right at the end of the canal I found your sampan.”

  Tony considered this story with some care. It had at least one merit. It could be true. Yet he felt almost certain it wasn’t.

  “So you see,” Yueh Hua said, “why I am afraid of him.”

  “Yes, of course.” He tried to speak casually. “I suppose he is the Communist governor of the province?”

  Yueh Hua shook her head. “No. I think he is something more than that. They treat him like the emperors used to be treated.”

  “Do you think he wanted you for himself?”

  Yueh Hua shuddered visibly.

  “I don’t know, Chi Foh. But I should die if he even touched me.”

  Tony began to realize then, as they waited for sundown, that Yueh Hua knew the country well. This was another mark in her favor, for he knew less than nothing about it.

  “What sort of place is Lung Chang, Yueh Hua?” he asked.

  “A small town, Chi Foh.”

  “Your aunt lives there, you told me?”

  “Yes.”

  “She is married, I suppose?”

  “She is a widow. I shall be safe with her.”

  “Have you other friends there?”

  “I expect they have all gone, those I knew. Everything is changed.”

  After careful consideration, he said, “Lung Chang has gone over to the Communists, I suppose, Yueh Hua?”

  “Yes.” She passed him a tin cup. “They all had to.”

  “You mean, they didn’t want to?”

  “No. Lung Chang for ever so long has been the property of the great Lao clan. The people all belonged to the estate. They were content. Now, they are miserable.” Yueh Hua was watching him and smiling. It would be unwise to probe deeper, he decided.

  “I have to see a man in Niu-fo-tu. Is it a small place, Yueh Hua?”

  “Yes. But there is a market there. I think Niu-fo-tu is dangerous for us, Chi Foh.”

  And instinctively he knew she was thinking of the officer with eyes “like pieces of green jade.”

  * * *

  They set out around sundown. By morning, Yueh Hua said, they would reach a canal which connected with a creek. It was rarely used and they could tie up there until it seemed safe to go on.

  They sculled and rested in turn through the hours of the night. Sometimes, Tony would lean on the long oar and bend forward, looking in to see if Yueh Hua was asleep. At a place where the bank he followed became low, he swung in to a point made by several small creeks joining the river, which formed a little delta carpeted with wild hyacinths.

  Yueh Hua woke up as the regular sweep of the oar stopped.

  “Is anything the matter, Chi Foh?”

  “No. I’m just thirsty,” he said quickly. “Shall I make tea?”

  “Not unless you want tea. Whiskey will do for me. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you. But I should like some lime juice.” They sat and sipped their drinks, diluted with boiled water cooled in an old clay jar. This was a custom Tony followed throughout his journey. He used to do it in Burma and never had a trace of dysentery.

  If Yueh Hua wondered about it, she never said so, and he knew that his use of chopsticks was faultless. Yet he often caught her watching him in a queer way.

  He was sure of himself where passing acquaintances were concerned. But he hadn’t counted on a close intimacy with any bred-in-the-bone Chinese. Almost hourly he found himself wondering if Yueh Hua suspected that he wasn’t what he pretended to be.

  * * *

  It was a dim hour of the night, but old General Huan Tsung-Chao and Dr. Fu-Manchu still remained in conference in the room with the lacquered desk. Apparently, they had conferred there since dusk. Piles of documents littered the desk. General Huan, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles, was reading one of them. He glanced up, began to speak. Dr. Fu-Manchu, fingertips pressed together, sat with closed eyes and compressed lips.

  “We can rely upon the armed forces in the four provinces adjoining Szechuan. Some seventy-five percent have joined the Si-Fan. I have a report here from Peiping which states that agents of Free China are securing many recruits, and I have ordered those of the agents who already belong to our Order to make sure of these recruits.”

  Fu-Manchu, still keeping his eyes closed, spoke softly. “There is a rapport between the free Chinese and the Secret Service of which our old friend, Nayland Smith, is an active member. Great caution is necessary. We are not ready. And if our present standing with Peiping should be disturbed—if they lost their confidence in me—our strategy would be badly shaken.” His voice sank lower. “This loss of the register alarms me. Such evidence, in the hands of either the Allies or Russia, would destroy us.”

  “It is certain that the register could not be in the possession of the man called Wu Chi Foh and equally certain that he could not have stolen it. He was in prison at the time. I doubt if he is concerned in any way.”

  “Yet the affair, Tsung-Chao, was so cunningly contrived that some outside agency must have planned it. The escape was brilliantly managed and the complete disappearance of the man and his boat is phenomenal. Some hiding place had been prepared for him.”

  General Huan smiled wryly. “That is possible. But he may yet be found. It is now nearing the time when I must prepare to entertain André Skobolov.”

  “I have already made my preparations.” Fu-Manchu’s soft voice took on a sound that was more like a hiss. “I have some choice glossina in my laboratory, a highly successful culture. I shall take steps to ensure his mental incapacity and ultimate death. The symptoms will develop some hours after he leaves here. I selected this method as the mo
st suitable. Mahmud and a selected party will cover his movements from the moment of his departure. They will take the first possible opportunity to seize any briefcase he may carry. If he has the register, we shall recover it, and if he has notified Moscow, his death, should the body be found, cannot be laid at your door. The trypanosomes which the insects will inject are so amplified that fatal conditions develop in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

  General Huan’s wrinkled face assumed a troubled expression.

  “I agree, although with reluctance, that this man’s execution is necessary to our safety, but I do not understand how these insects to which you refer (I am a scientist only of war) are to be employed.”

  Dr. Fu-Manchu opened his eyes and smiled. It was a deathly smile. He dipped his long fingers in a silver snuffbox.

  “I, also, have studied the science of war. But my strategy is designed to prevent it by removing those few who have power to loose upon the world forces of wholesale destruction. It is simple and it is just. I have ordered that one of my Cold Men be brought here. He will arrive about dawn. These living-dead, as the ignorant masses term them, are dispensable. And handling the glossina is very dangerous. I shall smoke awhile, Tsung-Chao, and repose, for I have much work to do. Be so good as to send Chung-Wa to prepare my pipe.”

  * * *

  Dawn was stealing over the river when Yueh Hua piloted the sampan into the canal. They went up for a mile or more before coming to a place where a gnarled tree hung right over the water, forming a kind of green cover. They tied up under the tree.

  It was as Tony was eating his unpalatable breakfast that a slight movement in a field of rape in full yellow bloom drew his attention to the bank. At first he thought he was mistaken. Then he knew he wasn’t.

  A pair of bright, beady black eyes peered out intently. Tony stood up, staring under raised hands. And presently, in rapid flight along a path through the five-foot high rape he saw a tiny boy, naked except for a loincloth. “Why should he run away, Yueh Hua?”

  He saw her face flush.

  “He may have been watching us for all sorts of reasons. I suppose he thought you would beat him.”