Fu Manchu’s expression remained impassive. But his long fingers became intertwined again. He said nothing.
“From the correspondence in the briefcase, when translated, we learned that the man was Andre Skobolov. We also learned that he had something in his possession which was of vital interest to the Kremlin. This could only be a bound manuscript, written in Chinese.”
And at last Fu Manchu spoke. “Which was also translated?”
“It could not be deciphered. May I suggest that this manuscript is the reason for your interest in Andre Skobolov?”
There was a brief silence. Cameron-Gordon had raised his bowed head and was watching Nayland Smith.
“If it were so,” Fu Manchu said smoothly, “in what way could this be an objection to my plans?”
“At the moment, it could be none. In the event of my disappearance it might prove a source of annoyance. The manuscript is in safe keeping, but should I fail to reclaim it in the next few days, it will be dispatched to the British Foreign Office to be decoded . . .”
Chapter XXI
In his memories of his mission to Szechuan, memories both bitter and sweet. Tony found the electric silence which followed Nayland Smith’s words one of the most poignant. That clash of mental swords, recognition of the fact that the fate of all of them rested upon the combat, had penetrated even Cameron-Gordon’s lethargy of despair. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead as he watched Dr. Fu Manchu.
To Tony it appeared that they held all the cards—but only if Fu Manchu’s word was worth a dime. No man—even Nayland Smith—could stand up to Chinese tortures. He was almost afraid to think about the copy of the cipher manuscript which was in the keeping of Lao Tse-Mung, for he believed that Fu Manchu could read men’s minds. And he knew that Sir Denis, although a master of evasion, would never tell an outright lie. He knew that the original was safe with the lama at Niu-fo-Tu.
It was a masterly bluff. Clearly enough Nayland Smith had been right when he said, “The most powerful weapon against Fu Manchu which I ever held in my hands.”
For Dr. Fu Manchu, eyes closed, sat deep in meditation for several agonizing minutes considering the matter.
What was the manuscript for which Andre Skobolov had given his life?
Tony, in his agitation, found himself grasping Nayland Smith’s arm—when Dr. Fu Manchu spoke:
“Where is this cipher document” came in guttural tones.
“T have your word. Dr. Fu Manchu, that I am not to be asked to reveal the names of others concerned,” Nayland Smith answered coldly.
Fu Manchu leaned forward, his green eyes staring venomously at Sir Denis.
“You have rejected my offer. You force me to accept yours.”
His voice was lowered to the sibilant hiss. “Very well. My word is my bond. What are your conditions?”
“That we are all four free to leave, and will not be intercepted; that Jean Cameron-Gordon be released from the control you have laid upon her and returned to her father’s care; that I be given an official travel permit to recover the document you want; that no attempt is made to trace my journey or destination.”
Dr. Fu Manchu closed his eyes again. “These conditions I accept.”
“Then I can start at once?”
“Directly your travel permit is ready. Sir Denis. Two must remain until the manuscript is in my hands. Whom do you wish to go with you.”
Nayland Smith hesitated only a moment, then: “Captain McKay,” he said. “But before we leave. Miss Cameron-Gordon must join her father.”
“She shall do so. As my guests they shall be safe and comfortable until your return.”
“I accept your terms. But you must allow me an hour to confer with my friends before I leave—in a room which is not wired.”
“To this also I agree . . .”
“For mercy’s sake, mix me a drink, McKay! Dr. Fu Manchu and I have struck a strange bargain. You may talk freely. We have his word for it there’ll be no eavesdropping—and as I told you recently, I never knew him to lie. He’s the blackest villain unhung, but his word is sacred.”
“Okay,” Tony said, and crossed to the buffet.
Cameron-Gordon growled something under his breath.
Although they were unaware of the fact, they had been conducted to the luxurious suite formerly occupied by Andre Skobolov.
“How I miss my pipe!” Nayland Smith muttered. “I see there are cigarettes. Toss a packet over. Here’s the situation—Fu Manchu has his own plans for ruling China. He doesn’t want those plans disturbed by a sudden, crazy use of germ weapons. As you know, McKay, I found the name of von Wehmer in the Russian correspondence.”
He lighted a cigarette, took a sip from the glass which Tony handed to him.
“This was news for which Military Intelligence would have paid a foreign agent anything he asked. You see, von Wehrner was employed by the Nazis on similar research during the war. M.I. located the germ plant in occupied France. There was a Commando raid—German plant completely destroyed. Somehow or another they dragged von Wehmer out of the blazing building and brought him back with them. He was interned; And I had several long interviews with him. I found him to be a brilliantly clever man; and when he got to know me better he confided that although he had devoted his skill day and night to the secret researches, he abhorred the idea of germ warfare.”
“He would have no choice,” Cameron-Gordon declared. “I know the method!”
“Later on,” Sir Denis added, “he confessed that he had repeatedly delayed results. And I think it’s a logical deduction that he’s doing the same again. Hence his recall!”
“But the situation is different,” Cameron-Gordon objected. “Maybe he was never a Nazi. But now he’s clearly a Communist.”
“No more a Communist than you are!” Nayland Smith snapped. “I have great respect for von Wehrner. At the end of the war I secured his release and he went back to Germany. I heard from him from time to time; then his letters ceased. I had an inquiry started, and after a month or more got a report of the facts. Von Wehmer had been kidnapped one night and rushed over to East Berlin! Never a word since.”
“You mean he’s a prisoner of the Communists, just as I am?”
“The situation is almost identical—but I haven’t been idle. In addition to making the plans which led to our present position, I got in touch with von Wehmer. I foresaw the possibility of things going wrong—heaven knows they did!—and realized that my cordial relations with von Wehmer might be useful.”
“But how the devil did you get in touch with him?” Cameron-Gordon demanded.
“Through our talented friend the lama. He has a contact in the Russian camp, by whom one of the phantom radios was smuggled in to von Wehmer.”
“And what is von Wehmer prepared to do?”
“This: If I can guarantee his escape from the Soviets, he will guarantee to destroy the plant!”
“But Fu Manchu intends to destroy it!”
“And to make a slave of von Wehmer! I mean to move first . . .”
Dr. Fu Manchu remained in his place behind the lacquer desk. Old General Huan faced him from his cushioned seat.
“The ancient gods of China are with us, Tsung-Chao.” General Huan seemed to be pondering.
“You agree with me?” Fu Manchu said softly.
“That the Si-Fan Register should be returned to us by the hand of Nayland Smith certainly savors of a miracle. Master. It is a sword of Damocles removed. In possession of the men at the Kremlin, or the British Foreign Office, it would spell disaster.”