“Let the whole party stand by, Harkness,” Sir Denis went on in his quick-fire way, “until I give the word. Merrick and I are going to do a spot of reconnaissance. If a trap is being laid we don’t want to walk into it.”
They met no one in the long corridor as they headed towards the elevators. The door to the stair, with a red light above it, was in a side passage a few paces beyond. It was that hour which comes in every big hotel when nearly all the guests are out for the evening.
Suddenly, Nayland Smith said something which brought Brian to a stop as though he had hit a wall.
“I pray no harm has come to Lola Erskine,” he rapped.
Brian made a gasping sound; stood stock still. Sir Denis paused, looked back, and then stared, amazed, at the suddenly pale face he saw behind him.
“Merrick! What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
Brian tried hard to recover poise. It wasn’t easy.
“I’m sorry—behaving like a fool. But you did say Lola Erskine?”
“I did. What about it?”
“Is she the woman you called Number One, who was expected to report to Mr. Harkness?”
“She is.” Nayland Smith stared hard. “She’s the star operative I mentioned to you, who had worked her way into the Reds’ confidence, and from there (an even more astonishing undercover feat) into the Secret Order of the Si-Fan. Have you met her?”
“Yes.” Brian spoke hoarsely, but had himself in hand again. “In London.”
“In London? Then it was she who sent the information that you had been employed by Red agents. Wonderful girl! She was the first person to suspect my double. You see, Merrick she was working close to Dr. Fu Manchu! Just think of that! A mere girl—and a very pretty one; she met me at Idlewild— getting away with such a thing!”
“I am thinking, Sir Denis, and I’m frightened stiff. Because, you see, I’m very fond of Lola.”
Nayland Smith smiled—the smile Brian remembered.
“Ho, ho! That’s how the wind blows! I’m frightened, too. First, I owe my freedom to her. She was responsible for the search of the house in Cairo. Second, I owe her my life. She learned all about the trap set for me here, briefing me (I knew all the routine), and was instrumental in getting my double’s instructions mixed up.”
Brian clenched his fists. “If Dr. Fu Manchu knows the truth. Sir Denis, he must know——”
“That Lola Erskine has double-crossed him? .. . That’s why I’m frightened.”
They had been standing still in the long passage, talking in hushed voices; and now:
“Come on!” Nayland Smith rapped. “We must act.”
He set off at a run. As they passed the elevators and turned into the passage where a red light shone above the stair door, Brian found himself wondering if a girl like Lola could possibly give a damn for such a despicable, distrustful creature as himself. . . .
Nayland Smith pulled the heavy door open.
“Hullo! What’s this?”
There was no one there!
“Where’s Sergeant Ruppert?” Brian cried out.
Sir Denis raised his hand. “Ssh! We don’t know who may be listening. But I don’t like it. Come on—and be ready for anything.”
He started up the stair, walking softly, one hand in a pocket of his tweed jacket. At the top he peered out cautiously along the corridor. It was empty from end to end. He banged his fist into the palm of his left hand.
“I should have known better than to rely on one man in dealing with Fu Manchu!”
“What do you figure happened? He didn’t call out. We’d have heard him!”
“When it happened is what worries me. How long has this stair been open? Stand by, Merrick. Have your gun handy. If anyone comes near you, cover him and make him stand still, hands up, until I return.”
And Nayland Smith darted back down the stairs. . .
“When it had happened” was fully twenty minutes earlier. Apartment 421 was across the passage and not far from Nayland Smith’s suite. A smartly-dressed woman, her beauty hall-marked with the stamp of sophistication which some men (particularly young ones) find irresistible, had just come in. She had not long returned from Idlewild where Dr. Fu Manchu had ordered her to go to report the instant of Sir Denis’s arrival. She had means of learning such things, for beauty is a key which opens many doors.
Wearily she tossed an expensive hat on to the bed and sat down in front of her mirror. She opened a cream leather jewel case, unstrapped a conspicuous, diamond-studded wrist-watch and was about to put it away when a voice spoke— apparently coming from the watch.
“Where are you now?”
She started, stooped forward, and answered, “Back in my room, Doctor.”
“No one obstructed you?”
“No one.”
“You have done well. You were only just in time. But there is more to do. Put the amethyst ring on your finger. It is live. Be careful not to turn the bezel until needed. Remember the volume is low. Direct contact is necessary. Wear the diamond watch also. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“Your freedom is in your hands tonight.”
The woman’s eyes opened widely. They were of the colour of the ring which Dr. Fu Manchu had ordered her to wear— amethyst—and, with her auburn hair, gave her an exotic beauty. Her delicate colour paled as she spoke:
“You mean—my complete freedom?”
“Your absolute freedom. The task I am giving you shall be your last. So you cannot afford to fail. These are your orders.. . .”
As an immediate result of those orders, Sergeant Mike Ruppert, taking up his station at the foot of the stairs, a post which he expected to find very dull, had just ventured to start a cigarette when he heard light footsteps descending.
He dropped he cigarette and put his foot on it, turned—and saw a vision.
A disturbingly attractive woman was coming down. From her slender foot, her arched instep, to the flaming crown of her wonderful hair, Sergeant Ruppert found no flaw in her beauty. He began to rack his memory, convinced that she must be a film star. For he suffered from a fixed idea that Hollywood had a corner in such feminine perfection.
She smiled alluringly, and made to pass him.
Sergeant Ruppert intruded his bulk. “Sorry, lady. No one allowed down this way.”
“What do you mean, Sergeant?” She had an enchanting accent. “I live here. You can’t keep a guest a prisoner!”
The sergeant wasn’t enjoying his job. “Department orders, miss. There’s—er—some inquiry going on. It’ll be all clear soon.”
“Soon! But my friend is waiting.”
“He’ll wait!” Sergeant Ruppert grinned.
A ghost of the smile stole back to the lovely face.
“He is a she, my sergeant! But please let me go. It is bad enough that the elevators are out of order, that I have to walk up and down. But this!”
“That’s right.” The sergeant was sympathetic. “But it’s not my fault, miss. All I can do is obey orders,”
“It is so stupid!” she pouted. “Never again do I stay at the Babylon-Lido! I shall go up and call the manager. Come with me. You shall hear that I am to be allowed to go out.”
“Sorry, miss. I’d like nothing better——”
“I can give you a nice cool drink while I phone.”
Sergeant Ruppert had never heard of St. Anthony, but he was going through similar fires. Years of discipline won. Dizzy but unconquered:
“I can’t leave my post, miss,” he told her.
“Ah, parbleu!” she sighed. (“French,” the sergeant decided!) “So I am imprisoned—yes?”