“I know what it was!” Nayland Smith rapped grimly. “And it means we have to move—fast! Dark enough now. Crawl after me, Doctor.”
And as they crept across the open ground to the cover beyond, Tony knew, too, what it was . . . Fu Manchu had chosen that night to raid the research station. He understood, at last, the muffled disturbance which filled the night. The place had been taken over by Cold Men—necropolites!
And they had not long reached cover when there was evidence that they were outside as well as inside. A shriek, instantly stifled, came from the direction of the sentry on the south.
“Back the way we came!” Nayland Smith spoke between clenched teeth. “And God be with us!”
Then began the detour around the plant by which they had come. Von Wehrner had recovered from the horror of an encounter with a Cold Man and they made good going. Once Tony heard von Wehrner mutter, “There was no hemorrhage!” And he knew that he was still thinking about the necropolite.
But at last they reached the point where the road from the Russian camp ended before the gate of the enclosure.
“The gate’s open!” Nayland Smith muttered. “They must have overpowered the sergeant, and he must have had the key.”
Tony found it hard to credit what he saw. Just before a trailing cloud obscured the moon again, a company of grey phantoms became detached from the shadows like floating vapor or evil spirits materializing, and swept into the open gateway . . .
Chapter XXIV
“What’s this?”
Nayland Smith’s voice was grim. They had reached the foot of the path which came out at one end of the village street. The Russian camp lay behind them silent and evidently undisturbed. On a path of scrub near the river bank a truck was parked!
“It wasn’t here before,’ Tony muttered.
“There’s probably someone in the cab,” Sir Denis muttered. “We shall have to find a way behind the houses. The truck must be waiting for the Cold Men.”
There proved to be such a path, and they followed it to a point where a bend made it safe to return to the crooked street. They had just done so and were headed for the spot where they hoped Tung awaited them when something happened which brought them to a sudden halt.
A piercing scream came from the other end of the village:
“Mahmud ! . . . Master! . . . Help ! help!”
The cry was checked in a significant way.
“It was the Japanese—Matsukata!” Tony spoke in a hushed voice. “What the devil does it mean?”
“It means,” Nayland Smith explained savagely, “that hell’s let loose. Matsukata has lost control of the Cold Men. No time to talk. Listen!”
They heard the grating roar of a heavy engine starting.
“It is the big truck,” von Wehmer said hoarsely.
“Back into cover!” Sir Denis rapped. “There’s just time
They ran back to the opening between two small houses from which they had just come out, as the heavy vehicle appeared along the street. Tony tried to see the man in the cab, but failed to identify him. And as the truck passed, from its interior came a sort of muffled chant: “Looma! Looma . . .”
Shocked into silence, they saw the vehicle, with its load of living-dead demons, speeding up the winding road!
All three were listening in tense suspense. But when the sound of the motor died away in the distance their tension relaxed.
“They have passed Tung.” Sir Denis sighed with relief. “Come on! This place isn’t healthy . . .”
* * *
Tung was waiting in the plantation of alders, and Tony felt so relieved that he wanted to cheer.
“A big truck,” the man reported, “passed here soon after you left. It has just passed again. Soon after the first time, a small car also went by. It has not returned.”
Tung drove the Buick on to the road, and in a minimum of time they were on their way. Their driver did his best on the gradient, for Tony had urged him to hurry. Nayland Smith consulted his watch.
“We made a record coming down, von Wehrner. Just twenty-seven minutes since we picked you up!”
“I was delayed joining you. I set the clock for thirty minutes. But those creatures who entered the plant may have . . .”
His words were drowned in a shattering explosion which shook the solid earth . . . All four wheels momentarily left the surface, then dropped back with a sickening thud. Storm clouds, still moving overhead, became ruddy as though a setting sun burned under them. And fiery fragments began to fall in the road and on the roof of the car.
“First-class show, von Wehmer.” Nayland Smith grinned. “One big good deed to your credit!”
“Two things are worrying me,” Tony broke in, staring back at the raging inferno which had been the Soviet research center “Why did Matsukata yell for Mahmud and The Master? Was Mahmud the driver of the car Tung saw? In that case. Dr. Fu Manchu was at the plant when we left! The other thing—who’s driving the truck and where are they going?”
Sir Denis began to fill his pipe before replying. “That Fu Manchu may have followed on I think probable. These unhappy creatures he has created are very near to jungle beasts. And the jungle becomes strangely disturbed during an electric storm.”
“You think,” von Wehrner suggested, “that these living-dead have gone berserk and overcome their controllers?”
“I do. I think that Dr. Fu Manchu, tonight, has overreached himself. Hitherto, I judge, he has used these ghastly zombies for solo performances, such as the affair at Lao Tse-Mung’s house, when it has been possible for Matsukata to maintain control. But a party of necropolites poses a different problem—particularly in a thunderstorm.”
“Then you do believe,” Tony asked eagerly, “that Fu Manchu was there tonight in person?”
“I have said that I think it probable. What is certain is that a party of Cold Men—we don’t know how many—has taken charge of the truck and taken Matsukata along with them. I’m worried.”
“Where are they going?” Tony asked, blankly.
“That’s just what worries me . . .”
The drive back was all too long for Tony. Already he was living in the future, and paid little attention to a conversation, in low tones, between Sir Denis and von Wehmer. They had carried out their part of the bargain, for they had the cipher manuscript, and if Dr. Fu Manchu was the man of his word which Nayland Smith believed him to be—they were free!
They could all return to Hong Kong for his wedding to Moon Flower . . .
His pleasant musing had lasted a long time. Von Wehrner had become silent. Nayland Smith’s pipe was smoked out. The storm clouds had quite disappeared, and in bright moonlight he saw that they had nearly reached the main gate of General Huan’s house.
“I was afraid of this!” Sir Denis rapped. “Look!”
The long, grey truck stood before the gate . . .
* * *
“God’s mercy!” Nayland Smith whispered. “Truly, hell’s loose tonight!”
The truck driver lay slumped in his cab. He was dead.
“What’s happened?” Tony cried out. “We must get into the house!”
“I fear the gate is locked.” Von Wehrner spoke on a note of despair.
“Wait!”
Nayland Smith was opening the rear door of the truck.
Matsukata lay prone on the floor inside!
“Get him out!” Sir Denis called. “Lend a hand, McKay” And together they got the limp body out. “Dr. von Wehrner, this is your job. Tell me—is he alive?”
The German biologist who was also a physician bent over the Japanese, examined him briefly, and nodded.