This gave him something else to think about.
Evidently Yueh Hua had told him her real name. But, unless her aunt had brought her up from childhood, the old woman’s emotion was difficult to explain. And why had Yueh Hua asked him to wait, and gone in first herself?
In any case, he didn’t have to wait long. She came running back for him.
“I haven’t told her, Chi Foh, about—us. But she knows how wonderful you have been to me.”
This clearly was true. Tears were streaming down her aunt’s face when Yueh Hua brought him into the little house, evidently a gate-lodge. She seemed to want to kneel at his feet. He wondered what the exact relationship could be between Yueh Hua and Mat Cha, for this was her aunt’s name. Two people less similar in type it would have been hard to find than this broad-faced old peasant woman and Yueh Hua. But Mai Cha became Tony’s friend on sight, for it was plain that she adored Yueh Hua.
She left them together while she went to prepare a meal. But Yueh Hua, who seemed to have become suddenly and unaccountably shy, went out to help her.
He walked quietly under the flowered porch and looked across to the big house in its setting of arches, bridges and formal gardens. He could be there in five minutes. A winding path, easy to follow in starlight, led up to the house.
Yueh Hua had reached sanctuary, but Tony’s business was with Lao Tse-Mung. Exposure of his real identity to Yueh Hua he couldn’t hope to avoid once he had reported to the friend of Nayland Smith. This he must face.
But, the major problem remained: where was Dr. Fu Manchu?
Had this man, who seemed to wield supreme power in the province, out-maneuvered Sir Denis? He could not expect the late gardener’s widow to know anything of what had happened tonight in the big house.
He must watch his step.
There were several little bridges to cross and many steps to climb before he reached a terrace which ran the whole length of the house. Flowering vines draped a pergola. Some night-scented variety gave out a strong perfume. He wondered where the main entrance was located, and if he should try to find it.
He increased his caution; stood still for a moment, listening.
A murmur of conversation reached him. There were people in some nearby room.
Step by step, he crept closer, hugging shadowy patches where the vines grew thickly. Three paces more and he would be able to look in.
But he didn’t take the three paces. He stopped dead. An icy trickle seemed to run down his spine.
He had heard a voice, pitched in a clear, imperious tone.
“We have no time to waste.”
It was the voice of Dr. Fu Manchu!
He had walked into a trap!
Tony put out a big effort, checked a mad panorama racing across his brain. Nayland Smith would gain something after all. He fingered the automatic which he had kept handy in a waist belt and moved stealthily forward. Whatever his own end might be, he could at least remove the world menace of Dr. Fu Manchu.
He could see into the room now.
It was furnished in true Chinese fashion, but with great luxury. Almost directly facing him, on a divan backed by embroidered draperies, he saw a white-bearded figure wearing a black robe and with a beaded black cap on his head. A snuff bowl lay before him.
Facing the old mandarin so that his back was toward the terrace, someone sat in a dragon-legged armchair. His close-cropped hair showed the shape of a massive skull.
Dr. Fu Manchu . . .
The mandarin’s eyes were half-closed, but suddenly he opened them. He looked fixedly toward the terrace—and straight at Tony!
Holding a pinch of snuff between finger and thumb and still looking directly at him, he waved his hand gracefully in a sweeping side gesture as he raised the snuff to his nostrils.
But Tony had translated the gesture.
It meant that he had moved too near. He could be seen from the room.
Quickly he stepped to the right. His life hung on a very thin thread. But a wave of confidence surged through him.
This was Lao Tse-Mung who sat watching him, who had known him instantly for what he was, who had warned him of his danger. A highly acute and unusual character.
Tony could still see him clearly, through a screen of leaves, but, himself, was invisible from the room.
The mandarin spoke in light, easy tones.
“This is the first time you have honored my poor roof, Excellency, in many moons. To what do I owe so great a privilege? ,,
“I am rarely in Lung Chang,” was the sibilant reply. “I see that it might have been wise to come more often.”
“My poor hospitality is always at my friends’ disposal.”
“Doubtless.” Fu Manchu’s voice sank to a venomous whisper. “Your hospitality to members of the present regime is less certain.”
Lao Tse-Mung smiled slightly, settling himself among his cushions. “I retired long since from the world of politics. Excellency. I give all my time to the cultivation of my vines.”
“Some of them grow thorns, I believe?”
“Many of them.”
“Myself, Lao Tse-Mung, I also cultivate vines. I seek to restore to the garden of China its old glory. And so I fertilize the human vines which are fruitful and tear out those which are parasites, destructive. Let us come to the point.”
Lao Tse-Mung’s far-seeing eyes sought among the shadows for Tony.
Tony understood. He was to listen closely.
“My undivided attention is at your disposal. Excellency.”
“A man calling himself Wu Chi Foh, who is a dangerous spy, escaped from the jail at Chia-Ting and was later reported to be near Lung Chang. He may carry vital information dangerous to the Peiping regime.” Fu Manchu’s voice became a hiss. “I suggest that you may have news of Wu Chi Foh.”
Lao Tse-Mung’s expression remained bland, unmoved.
“I can only assure Excellency that I have no news concerning this Wu Chi Foh. Are you suggesting that I am acquainted with this man?”
Dr. Fu Manchu’s voice rose on a note of anger. “Your record calls for investigation. As a former high official, you have been allowed privileges. I merely suggest that you have abused them.”
“My attention remains undivided. Excellency. I beg you to make your meaning clearer.”
Tony knew that his fate, and perhaps the fate of Lao Tse-Mung, hung in the balance. He knew, too, that he could never have fenced with such an adversary as Fu Manchu, under the X-ray scrutiny of those green eyes, with the imperturbable serenity of the old Mandarin.
“Subversive elements frequent your house.”
“The news distresses me.” Lao Tse-Mung took up a hammer which hung beside a small gong. “Permit me to assemble my household for your inspection.”
“Wait.” The word was spoken imperatively. “There are matters I have to discuss with you, personally. For example, you maintain a private airfield on your estate.”
Lao Tse-Mung smiled. His smile was directed toward Tony, whom his keen eyes had detected through the cover of leaves.
“I am sufficiently old-fashioned to prefer the ways of life of my ancestors, but sufficiently up-to-date to appreciate the convenience of modern transport.” Lao Tse-Mung calmly took another pinch of snuff, smiling his sly smile. “I may add that in addition to chairs and rickshaws, I have also several automobiles. We are a long way from the railhead. Excellency, and some of my guests come from distant provinces.”
“I wish to inspect this airfield. Also, the garage.”
“It will be an honor and a great joy to conduct you. Let us first visit the airstrip, which is some little distance from the house. Then, as you wish, we can visit the garage. Your own car is there at present. And, as the garage is near the entrance gate, and I know Excellency’s time is valuable”—the shrewd old eyes were staring straight into Tony’s through the darkness—”there should be no unnecessary delay.”