"Who is he?"
"You'll be surprised. Sir Mostyn Bierce, English baronet, ex-Member of Parliament."
"Jumping JupiterI"
"He was suspected of Fascist sympathies at one time. He's a celebrated racing motorist. And he's married to an American wife with a home not fifty miles from Fort Knox. Anyway, he's in the bag."
"You're dead sure he was picked up far enough off to escape observation by the gang?"
"He was covered until he had reached his Cadillac, which he had parked half a mile away. When he stepped in, two of the boys stepped in behind him."
The next catch was Colonel Otto von Seidler, German gunnery expert, and a former military attache in Washington.
Then came Dr Griswal, atomic scientist; quickly followed by Captain Cooper, ex-pilot United States Air Force. Cooper for a time had been in charge of the air defences of Fort Knox. Lastly, they picked up the Emir Abdulla al-Abbas, prominent left-wing politician from Trans-Jordania; well-known in diplomatic society and an international polo player.
"There's nothing against any of them," Harkness remarked, "except that they all carry green masks."
"There'll be plenty against 'em by the time I'm through!" Burke predicted darkly. "Where's Smith? Where's this woman? If they aren't out in five minutes, we're going in."
Another buzz sounded.
"This may be news of them!" Harkness took up the phone, listened, and then: "Hold the line for the Deputy Commissioner," he said, and turned to Burke.
"They've just finished working over Colonel Seidler. Among a lot of papers in his wallet they found a shorthand message which he swears he didn't know was there. It says a bomber attack is planned on Fort Knox, and that all the gold has to be protected in some way I'm not clear about… the message is signed Nayland Smith."
"By God! they've got him!" Burke snatched the phone. "Commissioner Burke here. I'm coming right over." He hung up. "This is where we divide forces. Break Kwang's place wide open. Explore every rathole. Use dynamite if necessary."
When Deputy Number Two — last to leave — had performed the SiFan salute with that delicate but muscular brown hand, had bowed and retired, there followed a few moments of almost unendurable silence. Nayland Smith, staring fixedly at a draped wall half-right of where he sat, tried to avoid those jade-green eyes. But always, he knew that they were watching him.
What was this incalculable woman going to do? What was a "high-initiate"? How could he hope, alone with her, to keep up such a part? The effort was not called for.
As the footsteps of the outgoing man died into silence, she raised her arms and removed the mask.
"Surely," she said, her voice very soft, "it is time we tried to understand one another. Sir Denis."
Nayland Smith clenched his hands, stood up, took off his mask and threw it on the ebony table. Perhaps he should have forseen that this woman he had known by her childish name of Fah Lo Suee, later as Madame Ingomar, now as Mrs van Roorden, could not be deceived.
He met the gaze of green eyes with the challenge of grey. A panorama of past encounters swept before him. He saw her as she had looked under the skies of Egypt; in an ancient palace on the Grand Canal of Venice; in the more prosaic setting of a London house; he saw her triumphant, he saw her humiliated. When he spoke, his voice sounded harsh in his own ears.
"What do you propose to do?"
She walked, in her indolent fashion, around the table until she was beside him. Then, resting against it, her fingers on its edge, she faced him again, and smiled.
"I suppose," she said, "as you are here, that all the members whom I dismissed will now be in the hands of the police? I am not infallible, you know. Your French, which is not good, and which you speak slowly, disguised your voice. I grasped the opportunity you offered. Shall I tell you how you betrayed yourself?"
"If it woulrf amuse you.'* "By your hands — when you found yourself alone with me. I could never forget that nervous movement of your hands."
She bent towards him, her lips taunting.
Nayland Smith, conscious of a heightened pulse, for Fah Lo Suee was beautifully dangerous, continued to watch her grimly. The perfume of her near presence must have conquered a lesser man.
"As you forget so little, no doubt you remember that you are the daughter of Dr Fu Manchu, his second self, and that, be tween you and me, Fah Lo Suee, there can never be compromise."
She bent closer. Raising one hand, she rested it on his shoulder. Her wonderful eyes were claiming, absorbing him.
"I have suggested no compromise. You say I am my father's second self." She laughed softly; the laughter of bells. "I am his second self only in this: I know what I want… And I want to be free, forever, of the SiFan'"
Her hand glided across his shoulder, her arm brushing his cheek. Her lips were very near.
"You are a fascinating woman, Fah Lo Suee, but I locked the door on women and the ways of women one day before you were born — at least, as I have no idea when or where you were born, probably before your birth."
But the white arm coiled around his neck, half parted lips drew even closer.
"You think so, DeniSy-you think so. To yourself, you are an old man, because there is silver in your hair. To me you are the dream-man of my life — because I could never make you love me. You are strong, inflexible. So am I. In the service of the Si-Fan, failure is not permitted. Excuses are not listened to. I have failed — and I dare not go back."
Her lips now were trembling on his own. He seemed to be losing his soul in the deep green pools of her eyes… "There is a third exit from this place, of which I have of course been told. None of your police will be watching it. Had I recognized you in time, I could have saved all those men." Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her lithe body was pressed to him. "For you there is no exit — unless I choose to guide you to it."
Calling upon the last atom of a weakening resolution. Nay-land Smith unloosed those seductive arms, and, his hands grasping her shoulders, held Fah Lo Suee away from him, looking into her face.
His glance was met by a mocking smile. She knew, had sensed, her power, knew that this iron-willed man was not entirely immune — that she might conquer yet.
"I don't know your object — but you are planning some trap."
"No." Shfe shook her head; she triumphed in the nervous tension of his hands on her bare shoulders. "I am planning to save you from one. It would take a rescue party hours, perhaps days to reach this room. And it can be flooded to the roof in four minutes."
"But suppose I held you here, my prisoner?"
"You must know there is assistance within reach, if I care to call upon it."
"Then — quickly," he rasped, "Say what you mean, and I will give you my answer."
"I mean that I want to come with you! Oh, God! Take me away with you, away from all this — anywhere, anywhere! All I know of the Si-Fan I will tell you. I will bring a flame of passion into your cold, lonely life that will alter the face of the world. Take me with you!"
"The offer," came a quivering sibilant voice, "is an attractive one. I should advise you to accept it. Sir Denis."
Nayland Smith turned in a flash. Fah Lo Suee's face blanched to the whiteness of her shoulders.
The tent-like room appeared to be empty behind him, undisturbed — until one of the green draperies was swept aside, revealing a doorway.
Dr Pu Manchu stood in it watching them.
He wore a long black, fur-lined coat, as if newly arrived from a cold journey. His massive head was uncovered, save for its scanty, neutral-coloured hair. And his features were contorted with a fury almost maniacal.
Hampered by the gown, Nayland Smith's attempt to draw his automatic was fumbled.
"Glance beyond me!"
It was a sibilant command. Smith obeyed it. From shadows of a stairway at the foot of which Fu Manchu was standing, two blue-grey barrels glittered.