I turned to the second page which bore the same hieroglyphic and a message in that heavy, definite handwriting. This was the message:
Second notice
The Council of Seven of the Si-Fan would draw your attention to the fact that you have not resigned your commission. Failing your doing so, a third and final notice will be sent to you.
PRESIDENT OF THE SEVEN
I turned to the last page; it was headed Third Notice and read as follows:
You have twenty-four hours.
PRESIDENT OF THE SEVEN
“You see, Kerrigan,” said Nayland Smith, “it was this third notice”—which must have reached him by district messenger at Sir Malcolm’s house—”which produced that state of panic to which Bascombe referred. The Council of Seven have determined to avert war. Their aim must enlist the sympathy of any sane man. But there are fourteen other men now living, perhaps misguided, whose lives are in danger. I have made a list of some of those whose removal in my opinion would bring at least temporary peace to the world. But it’s my job at the moment to protect them!”
“Have you any idea of the identity of this Council of Seven?”
“The members are changed from time to time,7
“But the president?”
“The president is Doctor Fu Manchu! I would give much to know where Doctor Fu Manchu is tonight—”
And almost before the last syllable was spoken a voice replied:
“No doubt you would like a word with me. Sir Denis . . .”
For once in all the years that I knew him. Smith’s iron self-possession broke down. It was then he came to his feet as though a pistol shot and not a human voice had sounded. A touch of pallor showed under the prominent cheekbones. Fists clenched, a man amazed beyond reason, he stared around.
I, too, was staring—at the television screen.
It had become illuminated. It was occupied by an immobile face—a wonderful face—a face that might have served as model for that of the fallen angel. Long, narrow eyes seemed to be watching me. They held my gaze hypnotically.
A murmur, wholly unlike Smith’s normal tones, reached my ears . . . it seemed to come from a great distance.
“Good God! Fu Manchu!”
Chapter V
Yueh Hua broke a long silence.
“Were you educated in Hong Kong, Chi Foh?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I knew you had more education than most fishermen. You are so kind to me.”
“Aren’t most fishermen kind?”
“Not just like you are.”
Yes, he was hamming the part. He had shown her his small stock of un-Chinese provisions and told her that his father, the storekeeper, who knew he had acquired a taste for foreign delicacies, had packed a case for him when he left Hong Kong. She had laughed happily; clapped her hands. But he wondered if she had believed him. Except for the lime juice and the fresh fruit she seemed to prefer the national monotonous rice. But she went for the cigarettes. All the same, Yueh Hua’s keen feminine instincts might have detected some chink in the facade. He decided to shift the focus of interest.
“Yueh Hua, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” She lay very still. “Why are you so afraid of the tall man who wears a long cloak, the man they call ‘Most High’? Has he ever done you any harm?”
Yueh Hua was so long replying that he turned and looked at her.
“Shall I tell you, Chi Foh?” she asked softly
“Of course. I want to know.”
And as she stared up again at the broken roof of the mat shed, he knew in his bones that she had been trying to make up her mind how far she could trust him and that she had failed to reach a decision. He was sure that whatever she told him now wouldn’t be the truth.
“Very well,” She seemed to be thinking hard. “When I came away from the house where I thought I should find my sister, it was dark. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I had no money. I was afraid to speak to anyone. And there were soldiers in the streets. I was hiding from two of them in the shadow of a big gateway, when the gate was opened.”
She stared fixedly up at the tattered palm roof.
“A tall man came out. He wore a uniform—an officer. Four men came out behind him. One was a black man, very big. He carried a lantern. The light shone on the officer’s face, and on his eyes, which were like pieces of green jade. You saw him in the boat. His eyes are like that.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.”
“I knew he could see me where I was trying to hide. I turned to run. But I was too late. He called me back. You have heard his voice. No one would ever think of disobeying him. He was very gentle when he asked me some questions; but I was shaking so much I could hardly stand. He told me to wait inside the courtyard until he returned.”
“And did you wait, Yueh Hua?”
“No. When the porter had locked the gate and gone inside the house, I sat down on a bench and tried to think what to do. There was an old plum tree growing on one of the walls. It had very strong branches. I climbed up. Then I let myself drop on the other side. I tried twice to steal out of the town. But there were soldiers at both gates. Then I thought I would go down to the river and take a boat or try to swim across. Right at the end of the canal I found your sampan.”
Tony considered this story with some care. It had at least one merit. It could be true. Yet he felt almost certain it wasn’t.
“So you see,” Yueh Hua said, “why I am afraid of him.”
“Yes, of course.” He tried to speak casually. “I suppose he is the Communist governor of the province?”
Yueh Hua shook her head. “No. I think he is something more than that. They treat him like the emperors used to be treated.”
“Do you think he wanted you for himself?”
Yueh Hua shuddered visibly.
“I don’t know, Chi Foh. But I should die if he even touched me.”
Tony then began to realize, as they waited for sundown, that Yueh Hua knew the country well. This was another mark in her favor, for he knew less than nothing at all. His route back was not of his own choosing. On his earlier trip, before he had been captured, he had lost his way a score of times, following promising creeks and canals the loneliness of which had attracted him, only to find himself nearer to the place from which he was coming away. Maps were unobtainable. Inquiries he had found to be both dangerous and useless.
But his big mistake had been in trying to slip past Chia-Ting on a moonlight night. How Nayland Smith had found out that he was in jail there, he had no idea.
“What sort of place is Lung Chang, Yueh Hua?” he asked.
“A small town, Chi Foh.”
“Your aunt lives there, you told me?”
“Yes.”
“She is married, I suppose?”
“She is a widow. I shall be safe with her.”
“Have you other friends there?”
“I expect they have all gone, those I knew. Everything is changed.”
After careful consideration, he said, “Lung Chang has gone over to the Communists, I suppose, Yueh Hua?”
“Yes.” She passed him a tin cup. “They all had to.”
“You mean, they didn’t want to?”
“No. Lung Chang for ever so long has been the property of the great Lao clan. The people all belonged to the estate. They were content. Now, they are unhappy.”