Fu Manchu took a pinch of snuff from his silver box. “Its recovery sets me free to move against the Soviet research plant—a plague-spot in Szechuan.”
General Huan fanned himself, for the night was warm.
“It is this project which alarms me,” he stated placidly.
Fu Manchu’s voice changed, became harsh. “I recall, when I communicated with you from England, that you advised against it, pointing out that it would result in a flock of Soviet investigators descending upon Szechuan and possibly finding evidence of your part in the disaster.”
“I recall the correspondence very well. As a former officer of the old regime, I am not above suspicion. And having escaped one grave danger, it seems to me to be tempting Fate to plunge into another.”
Fu Manchu hissed contemptuously. “Always we live on the edge of a volcano. We are accustomed to such conditions. Very well. Here is an opportunity to achieve one of my minor objectives without exposing you or myself to charges of complicity.”
General Huan folded his fan. “Your plan, as I recall it. Master, involved the employment of a number of Cold Men?”
“It did.”
“As it is well known that these ghastly creatures come from the clinic which you established and which I constructed, surely this fact would expose us both to a charge of complicity?”
Fu Manchu smiled his icy smile. “By whom will such a charge be made? At night the circumference of the plant is patrolled by a squad of Russian guards. They are easily disposed of. Members of the staff live in the neighboring village. There is a Russian camp about a mile distant. The guard on the plant is relieved at regular intervals. The wire fence enclosing it is electrified.”
“I have made it my business. Master, to acquaint myself with the Russian arrangements. I did so on receipt of your letter from London. It is true that only six men and a sergeant guard the place. The sergeant holds the key of the gate. There are telephone connections between a box at the gate and the Russian headquarters inside the camp. Reinforcements could be on hand very quickly.”
“We should, first, cut this connection—then, overpower the sergeant.”
General Huan bowed slightly. “Professionally, I should have planned the defense otherwise, although I admit that an attempt to seize the research station is not a likely contingency. It is believed, throughout the area, to be devoted to the study of leprosy.”
Fu Manchu laughed. It was harsh, mocking laughter. “The affair will be over long before an alarm reaches the Russian camp. “
“And who will direct these Cold Men?”
“Matsukata. Or I may go, myself.”
“Master! You would be running your head into a noose!”
“Why? The supply truck from the clinic will be standing by. The necropolites have rioted and escaped. This will be our story if our presence is detected. I am there to recapture them. I had anticipated a possible occasion when a number of these might be used, and so had instructed Matsukata to turn one at large from time to time in order to create popular terror of the creatures . . .”
“You believe that the operation can be carried through without sound of it reaching the Russian camp?”
“Certainly, if no one blunders. Long ladders will be taken, such as those we have used before, in case we fail to find the key of the gate. Dr. von Wehmer, who lives in the enclosure, will be seized first. He will have keys of the buildings, or know where to find them . . .”
* * *
And in their own luxurious quarters, Nayland Smith was outlining his own plans. “You see, the loss of our mystery radio sets ties me badly. I’m glad we left them behind of course. If found on us, I don’t doubt that Fu Manchu would have put the system controlling them out of order.”
“Tell me something,” Tony interrupted: “How long have we been here?”
Nayland Smith smiled grimly. “I know how you feel. That filthy, sweet-smelling gas in the insect room! It might have happened a week ago. But it’s my guess that it happened at approximately ten o’clock on Wednesday night. That would make the time, now, at about three a.m. on Thursday morning. Events have moved quickly, McKay”
“And now tell me just one thing,” Cameron-Gordon broke in:
“Where is Jeanie?”
But before Nayland Smith could reply, the door opened—and Moon Flower came in!
She wore the dress of a working girl with which Tony was familiar. Her father sprang up at a bound and had her in his arms.
“Jeanie, my Jeanie! I didn’t think I should ever see you again!”
When at last, wet-eyed, she turned, “Chi Foh!” she whispered—”Sir Denis! I know what a fool I have been. I spoiled all your plans. Try to forgive me.”
Nayland Smith grasped both her hands. “Jeanie, my dear, your devotion to your father and your courage outran discretion: But you have nothing to be ashamed about. Just sit down and tell us all that happened.”
It was a simple story. She had followed them, as Sir Denis had suspected, had climbed the bamboo ladder and had tried to keep in sight when they crossed the garden. When she had a glimpse of her father opening the laboratory door, she hid in a clump of bushes to wait for them all to come out again,
A long time seemed to pass, and still the door remained closed. At which point:
“God forgive me, Jeanie! It was my fault,” Cameron-Gordon moaned.
“Forget it!” Nayland Smith snapped. “I was equally to blame.”
“Suddenly,” Moon Flower went on, “I heard footsteps. I crouched down in the shrubbery. And I saw Dr. Fu Manchu walking towards the laboratory! I nearly screamed, but not quite. There was that huge African following behind him. And this horrible man—although honestly I don’t think I made a sound—like a bloodhound, seemed to scent me. He sprang to the spot where I was hiding and swept me up into his arms, one big, black hand over my mouth—,,
“If ever I have half a chance!” Tony whispered.
“Shut up!” Nayland Smith snapped.
“Then,” Moon Flower said, “those awful green eyes of The Master were looking at me. I tried not to see them, but they compelled me to keep my own eyes open.” She stopped, sighed, and clutched her father’s arm. “I don’t remember a thing that happened after that until I woke up in a room somewhere quite near this one. A kind old Chinese woman was telling me that I was all right and that my friends were waiting for me. She brought me to the door.”
“Give Jeanie a drink, McKay,” Nayland Smith said crisply. “She needs one. Here’s our problem. Deprived of radio, I can get nothing through to the lama and nothing to Lao Tse-Mung. I don’t know when von Wehrner is leaving. It’s essential that he should have all his plans laid before I can help. This means that I have to get back to Chia-Ting.”
“When do we start?” Tony asked.
“Directly transport and our travel permits are available. But Jeanie doesn’t know what it’s all about. I’m leaving it to you, McKay, to explain to her . . .
Chapter XXII
It was not long after dawn when, Nayland Smith driving, the Buick—which Tony had seen before—entered the outskirts of Chia-Ting.
“Everybody will be asleep,” he said. “How do we get in?”
For the hundredth time he glanced back. He couldn’t believe that they weren’t followed.
“We shall have to wake poor Mrs. Wu. I think that’s her name. You do the talking, McKay. Your Chinese is better than mine. And don’t waste your energy looking for a tail. Fu Manchu has at least one virtue. He keeps his word.”
Nayland Smith parked near the house of the hospitable physician who had given them shelter. The normally busy street was deserted. They walked to the door; relentlessly pressed the bell. At last they heard movements, and the doctor’s old housekeeper opened the door.