“Was Scotland Yard wrong?” Nayland Smith asked, coolly.
Fu Manchu half stood; then dropped back in his chair. “Sometimes your persistent and insufferable misunderstanding rouses my anger. This is bad—for both. You are perfectly well aware that the Si-Fan is international. Ridding China of Communism is one of its objectives—yes. But ridding the world of this Russian pestilence is its main purpose. In this purpose do we, or do we not, stand on common ground?”
Tony almost held his breath. He sensed a storm brewing between these two strong personalities, and—he was thinking solely of Moon Flower—if it broke. God help all of them!
“As I am still employed by the British government,” he heard Nayland Smith answer calmly, “your question is one difficult for me to answer.”
“The British government!” Fu Manchu hissed the words. “Why do they soil their hands by contact with the offal who pose as lords of China? Can you conceivably believe, knowing the history of my people, that these unclean creatures can retain their hold upon China, my China? Do you believe that the proud Poles, the hot-blooded Hungarians, the stiff-necked Germans, will bend the knee to the childish nonsense of Marx and Lenin? You asked me what I proposed to do with you. Here is my answer: Work with me, for we labor in a common cause, not against me.”
There was an interruption; a faint bell note. Dr. Fu Manchu stooped to a cabinet beside him. A muffled voice spoke. The voice ceased. Fu Manchu pressed a switch and lay back in his chair; impassive again.
“Well, Sir Denis?” he prompted softly.
“Unofficially—” Nayland Smith spoke slowly, as if weighing every word—”there might be certain advantages. I should be glad to see China rid of the Communist yoke—”
“For which reason,perhaps—and unofficially—you had Andre Skobolov intercepted in Niu-fo-Tu?”
Tony suppressed a gulp. Fu Manchu knew, as Nayland Smith suspected, that he had been seen in Niu-fo-Tu!
“Andre Skobolov?” Nayland Smith murmured. “The name is familiar. A Kremlin agent? But I never met him, nor even saw him.”
Fu Manchu bent forward. The hypnotic eyes were turned upon Tony.
“But you met him. Captain McKay, in Niu-fo-Tu!”
Tony thought hard, and quickly; tried to act on Nayland Smith’s lead. “I was in Niu-fo-Tu for less than half an hour—on the run from jail. I certainly never saw the man you speak of there, and shouldn’t have known him if I had.”
“Then, for what other purpose were you in Szechuan?”
“For my purpose, Dr. Fu Manchu!” Nayland Smith rapped out fiercely. “His mission was to confirm my belief that the man known as The Master was yourself!”
The overpowering gaze of green eyes was transferred to Sir Denis. “Then your trusted agent, Sir Denis, who seems to have acquired what he would call ‘a girl friend’ on his way, safely reached the house of Lao Tse-Mung to report to you?”
“Lao Tse-Mung is an old and honored acquaintance who has offered me hospitality on any occasion when my affairs brought me to this part of China.”
“You mean he is an agent of British Intelligence?”
“I mean that he is a patriot, and a gentleman.”
There was a brief silence.
“I, also, am a patriot, Sir Denis. What is more, I hope to save not only the Chinese but the peoples of every nation from obliteration. This will be their fate if the insane plans of the Soviet should ever be put into execution. Their latest instrument of destruction is so secret, and so dangerous, that research on it is being conducted in this remote area of China.”
“We are aware of this.”
“Indeed?” Fu Manchu’s tones slightly changed. “We are on common ground again. You regard it with deep concern?”
“We do. If—accidentally—this research plant could be destroyed, its loss would be welcome. Germ warfare is too horrible to be permitted, and Dr. von Wehmer, their chief scientist, is the greatest living expert on the subject.”
Fu Manchu’s masklike features melted in a smile. But it was a chilling smile.
“You see, Sir Denis, we must work together. I was informed a few minutes ago that Dr. von Wehmer had been recalled to Moscow.”
Nayland Smith started, then shook his head. “Collaboration, I fear, is impossible. So I ask you again—what do you propose to do with us?”
Fu Manchu lay back in the chair, so that his strange powerful features became half-masked in shadow. The long hands rested on the desk and a large emerald seal which he wore gleamed and seemed to shoot out sparks of green fire as pointed nails tapped the surface of the desk. He spoke in a low, sibilant voice.
“I anticipated your reply. Yet I never despair of convincing you one day that your government, and others, must accept me—as they have accepted the puppet regime at Peking. But my power in China hangs upon a silken thread. The Kremlin distrusts me. In spite of my acknowledged eminence in science, I have never been invited to inspect the Soviet research station. And I have not sought an invitation—for I intend to destroy it!”
“In that,” snapped Nayland Smith, “you have my sympathy. But you have not answered my question.”
The long fingers resting on the desk became intertwined in a serpentine fashion; and Tony experienced a sort of spiritual chill.
“I shall answer it, Sir Denis,” the sibilant whisper went on, almost dreamily. “Your death could avail me nothing, and might one day be laid at my door with disastrous consequences; for you are no longer a mere Burmese police officer but an esteemed official of the British Secret Service.”
“Therefore?” Nayland Smith prompted.
“Therefore, I shall see to it that you disappear for a time. Dr. Cameron-Gordon will resume his work in my laboratory here, or perhaps in another, elsewhere. His charming daughter I shall keep usefully employed. Concerning Captain McKay, I am undecided.”
Tony had been struggling hard to bottle his rising anger, but as Fu Manchu’s voice ceased the cork came out.
“Then I’ll decide for you!” he shouted, and sprang to his feet.
Nayland Smith grabbed him and threw him back in his chair. “For the last time,” he snapped, “shut up!”
“I am obliged to you, Sir Denis,” Fu Manchu murmured. “I recall that you were one of the first Englishmen to master judo. With advancing years, and increasing perils, it is a desirable accomplishment.”
“There is one objection to your plans. Dr. Fu Manchu,” Nayland Smith said grimly.
“From your point of view, no doubt?”
“No. From yours.”
“And what is this objection?”
Fu Manchu bent forward, fixing his strange gaze on Sir Denis’s face.
“I will explain it only if you give me your word—which I respect—that should you decline to accept what I propose, no coercion of any kind be used upon any of us to force compliance and that I am not asked to identify others concerned. We should remain, as we are now, your prisoners.”
Fu Manchu watched him in silence for some time, his fingers pressed together; then:
“I give you my word. Sir Denis,” he said quietly.
Tony, fists clenched tightly, glanced at Nayland Smith. What was he going to say? What plan had flashed through that resourceful brain? And what was the word of this archcriminal worth?
“Good,” Sir Denis said calmly. “I accept it. You suggested recently that I had attempted to intercept the man Skobolov. On the contrary, I was unaware that he was in China, nor did I know what I should have had to gain by such an attempt. But your evident interest in his movements suggest that it was something of great importance.”
Dr. Fu Manchu did not stir; his face remained expressionless. Tony almost held his breath. He knew, now, what Nayland Smith was going to propose.
“By mere chance,” Sir Denis went on, speaking calmly and unusually slowly, “a man unknown appealed to McKay to help him. He was very ill and apparently in danger. McKay took him on board his boat, and during that night the man died. His body was consigned to the canal. His sole baggage—a large briefcase—McKay brought with him to the meeting place I had appointed.”