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CHAPTER XXX
LATER was forthcoming evidence to show that poor Weymouth had lived
a wild life, in hiding among the thick bushes of the tract of land
which lay between the village and the suburb on the neighboring hill.
Literally, he had returned to primitive savagery and some of his food
had been that of the lower animals, though he had not scrupled to steal,
as we learned when his lair was discovered.
He had hidden himself cunningly; but witnesses appeared who had seen him,
in the dusk, and fled from him. They never learned that the object
of their fear was Inspector John Weymouth. How, having escaped death
in the Thames, he had crossed London unobserved, we never knew;
but his trick of knocking upon his own door at half-past two each morning
(a sort of dawning of sanity mysteriously linked with old custom)
will be a familiar class of symptom to all students of alienation.
I revert to the night when Smith solved the mystery of the knocking.
In a car which he had in waiting at the end of the village we sped
through the deserted streets to New Inn Court. I, who had followed
Nayland Smith through the failures and successes of his mission,
knew that to-night he had surpassed himself; had justified the confidence
placed in him by the highest authorities.
We were admitted to an untidy room--that of a student,
a traveler and a crank--by a plain-clothes officer.
Amid picturesque and disordered fragments of a hundred ages,
in a great carven chair placed before a towering statue
of the Buddha, sat a hand-cuffed man. His white hair
and beard were patriarchal; his pose had great dignity.
But his expression was entirely masked by the smoked glasses
which he wore.
Two other detectives were guarding the prisoner.
"We arrested Professor Jenner Monde as he came in, sir,"
reported the man who had opened the door. "He has made no statement.
I hope there isn't a mistake."
"I hope not," rapped Smith.
He strode across the room. He was consumed by a fever of excitement.
Almost savagely, he tore away the beard, tore off the snowy wig dashed
the smoked glasses upon the floor.
A great, high brow was revealed, and green, malignant eyes, which fixed
themselves upon him with an expression I never can forget.
IT WAS DR. FU-MANCHU!
One intense moment of silence ensued--of silence which seemed
to throb. Then:
"What have you done with Professor Monde?" demanded Smith.
Dr. Fu-Manchu showed his even, yellow teeth in the singularly evil
smile which I knew so well. A manacled prisoner he sat as unruffled
as a judge upon the bench. In truth and in justice I am compelled
to say that Fu-Manchu was absolutely fearless.
"He has been detained in China," he replied, in smooth,
sibilant tones--"by affairs of great urgency. His well-known
personality and ungregarious habits have served me well, here!"
Smith, I could see, was undetermined how to act; he stood tugging at his ear
and glancing from the impassive Chinaman to the wondering detectives.
"What are we to do, sir?" one of them asked.
"Leave Dr. Petrie and myself alone with the prisoner, until I call you."
The three withdrew. I divined now what was coming.
"Can you restore Weymouth's sanity?" rapped Smith abruptly.
"I cannot save you from the hangman, nor"--his fists clenched
convulsively--"would I if I could; but--"
Fu-Manchu fixed his brilliant eyes upon him.
"Say no more, Mr. Smith," he interrupted; "you misunderstand me.
I do not quarrel with that, but what I have done from conviction
and what I have done of necessity are separated--are seas apart.
The brave Inspector Weymouth I wounded with a poisoned needle,
in self-defense; but I regret his condition as greatly as you do.
I respect such a man. There is an antidote to the poison
of the needle."
"Name it," said Smith.
Fu-Manchu smiled again.
"Useless," he replied. "I alone can prepare it. My secrets
shall die with me. I will make a sane man of Inspector Weymouth,
but no one else shall be in the house but he and I."
"It will be surrounded by police," interrupted Smith grimly.
"As you please," said Fu-Manchu. "Make your arrangements.
In that ebony case upon the table are the instruments for the cure.
Arrange for me to visit him where and when you will--"
"I distrust you utterly. It is some trick," jerked Smith.
Dr. Fu-Manchu rose slowly and drew himself up to his great height.
His manacled hands could not rob him of the uncanny dignity which was his.
He raised them above his head with a tragic gesture and fixed his piercing
gaze upon Nayland Smith.
"The God of Cathay bear me," he said, with a deep, guttural note
in his voice--"I swear--"
The most awful visitor who ever threatened the peace of England, the end
of the visit of Fu-Manchu was characteristic--terrible--inexplicable.
Strange to relate, I did not doubt that this weird
being had conceived some kind of admiration or respect
for the man to whom he had wrought so terrible an injury.
He was capable of such sentiments, for he entertained some
similar one in regard to myself.
A cottage farther down the village street than Weymouth's was vacant, and in
the early dawn of that morning became the scene of outre happenings.
Poor Weymouth, still in a comatose condition, we removed there (Smith having
secured the key from the astonished agent). I suppose so strange a specialist
never visited a patient before--certainly not under such conditions.
For into the cottage, which had been entirely surrounded by a ring
of police, Dr. Fu-Manchu was admitted from the closed car in which,
his work of healing complete, he was to be borne to prison--to death!
Law and justice were suspended by my royally empowered friend that the enemy
of the white race might heal one of those who had hunted him down!
No curious audience was present, for sunrise was not yet come;
no concourse of excited students followed the hand of the Master;
but within that surrounded cottage was performed one of those
miracles of science which in other circumstances had made the fame
of Dr. Fu-Manchu to live forever.
Inspector Weymouth, dazed, disheveled, clutching his head
as a man who has passed through the Valley of the Shadow--
but sane--sane!--walked out into the porch!
He looked towards us--his eyes wild, but not with the fearsome
wildness of insanity.
"Mr. Smith!" he cried--and staggered down the path--"Dr. Petrie! What--"
There came a deafening explosion. From EVERY visible window
of the deserted cottage flames burst forth!
"QUICK!" Smith's voice rose almost to a scream--"into the house!"
He raced up the path, past Inspector Weymouth, who stood
swaying there like a drunken man. I was close upon his heels.
Behind me came the police.
The door was impassable! Already, it vomited a deathly heat,
borne upon stifling fumes like those of the mouth of the Pit.
We burst a window. The room within was a furnace!
"My God!" cried someone. "This is supernatural!"
"Listen!" cried another. "Listen!"
The crowd which a fire can conjure up at any hour of day
or night, out of the void of nowhere, was gathering already.
But upon all descended a pall of silence.
From the heat of the holocaust a voice proclaimed itself--a voice raised,
not in anguish but in TRIUMPH! It chanted barbarically--and was still.
The abnormal flames rose higher--leaping forth from every window.
"The alarm!" said Smith hoarsely. "Call up the brigade!"
I come to the close of my chronicle, and feel that I betray a trust--
the trust of my reader. For having limned in the colors at my
command the fiendish Chinese doctor, I am unable to conclude my task
as I should desire, unable, with any consciousness of finality,
to write Finis to the end of my narrative.
It seems to me sometimes that my pen is but temporarily idle--that I
have but dealt with a single phase of a movement having a hundred phases.
One sequel I hope for, and against all the promptings of logic and
Western bias. If my hope shall be realized I cannot, at this time,
pretend to state.
The future, 'mid its many secrets, holds this precious one from me.
I ask you then, to absolve me from the charge of ill completing my work;
for any curiosity with which this narrative may leave the reader burdened
is shared by the writer.
With intent, I have rushed you from the chambers of Professor
Jenner Monde to that closing episode at the deserted cottage;
I have made the pace hot in order to impart to these last
pages of my account something of the breathless scurry which
characterized those happenings.
My canvas may seem sketchy: it is my impression of the reality.
No hard details remain in my mind of the dealings of that night.
Fu-Manchu arrested--Fu-Manchu, manacled, entering the cottage on his
mission of healing; Weymouth, miraculously rendered sane, coming forth;
the place in flames.
And then?
To a shell the cottage burned, with an incredible rapidity
which pointed to some hidden agency; to a shell about ashes
which held NO TRACE OF HUMAN BONES!
It has been asked of me: Was there no possibility of
Fu-Manchu's having eluded us in the ensuing confusion?
Was there no loophole of escape?
I reply, that so far as I was able to judge, a rat could scarce
have quitted the building undetected. Yet that Fu-Manchu had,
in some incomprehensible manner and by some mysterious agency,
produced those abnormal flames, I cannot doubt.
Did he voluntarily ignite his own funeral pyre?
As I write, there lies before me a soiled and creased sheet of vellum.
It bears some lines traced in a cramped, peculiar, and all but
illegible hand. This fragment was found by Inspector Weymouth
(to this day a man mentally sound) in a pocket of his ragged garments.
When it was written I leave you to judge. How it came to be where Weymouth
found it calls for no explanation:
"To Mr. Commissioner NAYLAND SMITH and Dr. PETRIE--
"Greeting! I am recalled home by One who may not be denied.
In much that I came to do I have failed. Much that I
have done I would undo; some little I have undone.
Out of fire I came--the smoldering fire of a thing one day
to be a consuming flame; in fire I go. Seek not my ashes.
I am the lord of the fires! Farewell.
"FU-MANCHU."
Who has been with me in my several meetings with the man
who penned that message I leave to adjudge if it be the letter
of a madman bent upon self-destruction by strange means,
or the gibe of a preternaturally clever scientist and the most
elusive being ever born of the land of mystery--China.
For the present, I can aid you no more in the forming of your verdict.
A day may come though I pray it do not--when I shall be able to throw
new light upon much that is dark in this matter. That day, so far as I
can judge, could only dawn in the event of the Chinaman's survival;
therefore I pray that the veil be never lifted.
But, as I have said, there is another sequel to this story
which I can contemplate with a different countenance.
How, then, shall I conclude this very unsatisfactory account?
Shall I tell you, finally, of my parting with lovely, dark-eyed Karamaneh,
on board the liner which was to bear her to Egypt?
No, let me, instead, conclude with the words of Nayland Smith:
"_I_ sail for Burma in a fortnight, Petrie. I have leave to break my
journey at the Ditch. How would a run up the Nile fit your programme?
Bit early for the season, but you might find something to amuse you!
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