"Oh, but I do!" Pat burst out. "He's horrible. I don't think he's quite human—"
Nayland Smith checked her words with upraised hand and boyish smile which' belied his greying hair. "I have often thought the same. Pat. You see, Dr Fu Manchu claims to have solved the puzzle of anti-gravity, though we still don't know whether that is true. I knew he would Want to see Garfield's model. And so I flew home at the earliest possible moment. But I was too late."
"What do you mean. Sir Denis, you were too late?"
"He means," Bruce told her gently, "that while he and I were at the reception, this flat was burgled. I discovered it on my return from the Mayflower and called you at once. There was no reply. Ten minutes' enquiry convinced me that you had disappeared from the moment you left the hotel with some unidentified man."
"I have identified him," Nayland Smith rapped. "Dr Fu Manchu. Pat, the scale model of Garfield's interplanetary vehicle has been stolen. Only he and you knew where it was hidden. And you alone may be able to give us a clue leading to Fu Manchu's London base."
Pat had got no further than her misty recollections of leav ing the hotel when Nayland Smith broke in: "You hadn't been gone an hour before your description was known to most of the Metropolitan police."
Pat looked up at Bruce and went ahead with her story. Her awakening in the silent room, the smell of incense, the complete inertia of brain and body, seemed to convey some message to Nayland Smith, for she saw him nod significantly to Bruce.
"As I thought, Garfield," he said. "And now Pat, please be very detailed about your return from this place — if you can. Do you remember anything at all?"
Pat described the midnight drive, the narrow streets, the Asiatic faces, the wide, deserted thoroughfare, the steamer whistles… ' "The picture is clear. You agree. Inspector?"
"Entirely, Sir Denis. When your signal from Hong Kong reached us last week saying that Dr Fu Manchu had left for London, I got busy. Every known or suspected hideaway of Dr Fu Manchu was combed quietly. The only report that seemed at all warm came from K Division, Limehouse, as I have already told you. I have drawn a ring around a small area down there. I think the place where Miss Merton found herself tonight is inside that ring."
"Then let's not waste a moment," Nayland Smith said, getting to his feet. "We may be too late. Inspector, but we'll have a go at capturing Fu Manchu. He has an inordinately high opinion of his hypnotic powers and may think himself quite safe. But my guess is that Pat came out of her trance sooner than he intended."
As they drove toward Limehouse in a police car, Nayland Smith explained the rest of the story to Pat. "Dr Fu Manchu had learned that you had a key to this flat, that you knew where the model was. hidden. The door in the panelling which only you and Bruce know how to open is closed. But the model has gone. To be sure the plans are locked up in the War Qf-fice, but to a man of Fu Manchu's genius, the model would be enough. He brought you here from the Mayflower under hypnosis. You opened the panel and were taken to some hideaway where he could examine the model at leisure."
"I'll never forgive myself," Pat said sadly.
"Nonsense," Bruce said quickly. "There was nothing you could do about it… "
Their police car raced on through the dark, still streets. Pat remembered the route, began to recognise certain landmarks. A man standing on the corner of a narrow street flashed a light three times as the car approached. "We're inside the cordon," Inspector Haredale reported.
And suddenly, "I remember that alleyway!" Pat exclaimed.
"Pull in on the right here," Haredale directed the driver. "This is where the hard work begins."
The car swung into a dead-end alley and, as they all got out, a man half hidden in its shadows saluted the inspector.
"Any movement, Elkin?"
"Not a thing, sir. If there was anybody in there, he's in there now."
A riverside warehouse, boarded up and marked for demolition, was suspected to be secretly used by Dr Fu Manchu as a temporary base. One of K Division's detectives had found a way into it from a neighbouring building.
"We're in for some climbing. Pat," Nayland Smith warned grimly. "We need you or I wouldn't drag you along. Lead the way. Inspector."
The way was through a building which had an exit on the blind alley. Pat found herself climbing a narrow stair, guided by the beam of a flashlight held by Inspector Haredale. The climb continued until they came to the seventh and final landing. Pat saw an iron ladder leading to a trap in the roof.
"I'll go first, miss," the local detective told her. "It's a darkish night, but I don't want to show a light."
He went up, opened the trap, and stretched his hand down. Pat mounted, Bruce following, Nayland Smith and Haredale bringing up the rear. They stood in a narrow gutter, a sloping slate roof on one side and a sheer drop to the street on the other. An iron ladder to the top of a higher building adjoining led to a flat roof. A few yards away, in fleeting moonlight, Pat saw an oblong skylight.
"I must ask for silence now, sir," Inspector Haredale said. **EIkin, our guide, has managed to open a section of this skylight."
Elkin hauled a rope-ladder from its hiding place, raised part of the skylight, hooked the ladder to the frame and climbed down. From below he flashed a light. "I'm holding the ladder fast," he whispered. "Would you come next, Mr Garfield, and hang on to Miss Merton?"
The ladder was successfully negotiated, and the members of the party found themselves in a stuffy loft impregnated with stifling exotic odours. The warehouse had belonged to a firm of spice importers.
Stairs led down to a series of galleries surrounding a lofty, echoing place where even their cautious footsteps sounded like the tramp of a platoon.
"No use going tiptoe," snapped Nayland Smith. "If there's anyone here, he knows we're here, too. The room you were in was on the ground floor. Pat. So let's get a move on. A little more light. Sergeant."
They descended from gallery to gallery until they reached the bottom. Then they stood still, listening. There was no sound. The place had the odour of a perfume bazaar.
"It was your mention of incense, miss," Inspector Haredale told Pat, "that convinced me you had been here. Now, Elkin, what's the lay of the land?"
"There's an inner office, and a main office beyond which opens right on to the street."
"Stand by for anything," Nayland Smith directed. "If we're lucky, Fu Manchu will be in there. If the door is locked, we'll break it down."
The door was not locked. As it swung open, they saw a lighted room.
"Stay with Pat for a moment, Garfield," Nayland Smith said tersely. "I want to make sure what's ahead."
He stepped in, followed by Haredale and Elkin. There was no one in the room. But as Pat strained forward to peer in, she saw a long couch illuminated by a tall pedestal lamp which shed a peculiar green light. "This is the room I was in!" she cried out.
She and Bruce joined Nayland Smith and, "Good God!" Bruce spoke almost in a whisper. "Can it be true?"
On a table beside the couch a curious object lay gleaming in the rays of the lamp. It was composed of some silver-like metal moulded in the form of two saucers, one inverted above the other and upheld by four squat columns apparently of vulcanite.
"My model!" Bruce shouted, and sprang forward.
"One moment, sir!" Inspector Haredale grasped his arm. "It may be booby-trapped. Elkin, make sure there's no wiring under the table."
As the detective dropped to his knees and began searching, Nayland Smith stepped to the door of the main office. It was locked.
"No wires, sir," Elkin reported. "All clear."