President Fu-Manchu (25 page)

From experience he knew that all attempts to interrogate the Chinese prisoner must fail. He took it for granted that the captive was a servant of Fu-Manchu: that such an admission could ever be forced from his lips was wildly improbable. The other Chinaman had escaped; by now, had probably given the alarm…

Corrigan’s words offered the only consolation. He recognized that it would be impracticable to sustain the siege of an area of Chinatown long enough to make it effective. He had been right, but he had failed. There was only one glimmer of hope. And suddenly he felt glad that the other Chinaman had escaped.

If, and he had little doubt upon the point, notable conspirators were present tonight, the raid on the secret water-gate might result in a desperate bid for freedom above!

But he was very silent as he brought up the rear of the party with Corrigan, groping back along the noisome tunnel. At points, vague booming noises echoed from above, the sound made by the heavy traffic. Always there was the echoing whisper of water. At a point where a lower inspection gallery crossed beneath that which they were following, he paused.

“Where do you estimate we stand, Corrigan?” he snapped.

“I should say about under Bayard and East Broadway. It’s a guess—but I don’t think I’m far out.”

“Detail men to watch this junction.”

* * *

“Stand on the foot of the ladder, Finney,” Hepburn directed.

The detective inspector gingerly took his place.

“Now, you,” indicating another man, “stand underneath and hold the rungs; and you,” to a third, “hang on to the side so that it doesn’t topple over. All set?”

The ladder, a short one, had been discovered in the warehouse yard and brought up on to the roof. Now, held by the three men, it perilously overhung a yawning gap, a gulley at the bottom of which, seen through a curtain of mist, were lights moving and stationary. Human voices distorted by the fog, muted sounds of movement were audible; but the characteristic hooting of taxicabs was missing, for this was one of the barricaded streets: the entrance to Wu King’s Bar lay immediately beneath.

“All ready, Captain.”

Mark Hepburn cautiously began to climb the ladder. He moved in the shadow of the top story of Wu King’s apartment house. It was a dizzy proceeding: at the cold, starry sky which seemed to beckon to him from the right of the building he could not trust himself to look, nor downward into the misty chasm of the street. Rung by rung he mounted—his objective that lighted window still some six feet above. Upward he climbed.

And, presently, standing two rungs from the top, he could rest his hands upon the ledge and look into the room to which this window belonged.

He saw a sight so strange that at first he could not fathom its significance.

An oddly appointed sitting-room was visible, its character and the character of the lamps striking a definite Oriental note. Brightly colored rugs were strewn upon the floor, and he saw that there, were divans against two of the walls. The predominant color scheme of illumination seemed to be purple, so that he found great difficulty in making out what was taking place at the farther end.

A window there was widely opened, and two Chinamen seemed to be engaged in hauling upon a line. This in itself was singular, but the third and only other figure in the room struck an ultimate note of the bizarre. It was that of a man wearing a black cowled robe. The cowl entirely covered his face, but was provided with two eye-holes, so that save for the color of his dress he resembled one of the Misericordia Brethren!

He was standing quite still just behind the Chinamen, who, as Mark Hepburn watched, hauled in at the open window an equipment resembling a bosun’s chair. Even now the significance of what was going on had not fully penetrated to his mind. The cowled man, clutching his robe about, his legs and assisted by one of the Chinamen took his place in the chair. Again they began hauling.

The black figure disappeared through the window…

Now the truth burst upon him. Nayland Smith’s raid of the water-gate had succeeded… This was an emergency exit from the surrounded block!

How many had gone before? How many were yet to come? It was clear enough. A ropeway had been thrown across the street to some tall building on the opposite side, and above the very heads of the patrolling police the wanted men were being wound across to safety!

He moved his foot, urgent to descend. It was not too late to locate that other building…

Then he paused.

As the two Chinamen bore upon the line, from a curtained opening left of the room another figure entered.

It was that of a tall man wearing a yellow robe; a man whose majestic features conveyed a sense of such power that Hepburn’s movement was arrested. Tightly clutching the ledge, he watched—watched that high-shouldered, imposing figure standing motionless in the curtained entrance. Perhaps his regard became so intense as to communicate a sense of his presence to the majestic newcomer.

Slowly the massive head was turned. Hepburn, through the glass of the window, met the regard of a pair of vivid green eyes which seemed to be looking directly into his own… Never in his life had he seen such eyes. If, under the circumstances, he was actually visible from inside the room he could not be sure; but of one fact, one astounding fact, he was certain:

This was Dr. Fu-Manchu!

M
ark Hepburn, keyed up by the immensity of the moment, ventured to the very top of the swaying ladder. He clutched a hook on one side of the window, placed there for the convenience of window-cleaners, and crashed his right heel through a pane of glass.

Stooping, he thrust his automatic through the opening, and:

“Hands up, Fu-Manchu!” he shouted, his voice rising from syllable to syllable upon notes of excitement.

The sea mist continued its insidious invasion of the streets of Chinatown. One by one it blotted out the lights below. A voice spoke from the leads at the foot of the ladder:

“Go easy, Captain; we can’t catch you if you fall!”

Hepburn scarcely heeded the cry: his entire interest was focused upon the uncanny being who stood in the curtained opening. The two men straining on the rope were wonderfully trained servants; for at the glass crash and harsh words of command they had not started, had not turned, but had continued to perform mechanically the duty allotted to them!

Slowly, the perturbing regard of those green eyes never wavering, the tall Chinaman raised his hands. If he could not see the speaker, he could see the barrel of the automatic. From below:

“Bear left!” came urgently. “We can’t hold the ladder.”

During one irrevocable moment Hepburn tore his attention away. In that moment, the room became plunged in darkness!

Clutching at the hook he fired in the direction of the curtained doorway… and the flash showed it to be empty. Further shots would be wasted. He craned downward.

“Pass the word there’s a ropeway across the street. This damnable fog has helped them. Have the house opposite covered and searched.”

Now came shouted orders, sounds of running, muffled cries from the police below…

“Arrest everyone in Wu King’s. Search the place from roof to cellar.”

He fired again in the direction of the distant window, aiming over the heads of the Chinamen. Craning forward, he heard scurrying footsteps; then came silence. Perilously, but aided by a high exaltation which had come to him in the moment when he knew that he actually stood in the presence of the all but fabulous Dr. Fu-Manchu, he found his foothold on the ladder and descended to the roof. Finney, one arm thrown out, hauled him back from the parapet upon which the ladder was poised, and:

“What’s up there, Captain?” he demanded hoarsely. “I feel a fool glued down here to the ladder.”

“A getaway across the street. Get busy. We must hurry.”

But already, delegating to a competent junior the matter of Wu King’s and of those inside it, Lieutenant Johnson had entered the building indicated.

It consisted of a dry-goods store which had been closed half an hour before, and of apartments above. (Investigations were to prove that the landlord was none other than Wu King). Employing those methods peculiar to the police responsible for the good conduct of Chinatown, entrance was forced to every apartment and every room right to the top. Here a hitch occurred.

On the top story was a lodge of the Hip Sing Tong. No key was forthcoming, and the door defied united attack.

As a precautionary measure every man, woman and child found in the building had been arrested. Laden police wagons were taking them to the Tombs when Hepburn came racing up to the landing. The work of the demolition of the door of the Tong temple had commenced. It was proving a tough job when a cry came:

“Make way there!”

A grim-faced policeman appeared from below, holding an elderly Chinaman by the scruff of the neck.

“He’s got the key,” he explained laconically.

A moment later the door was thrown open. Light was searched for and found, and the garishly decorated place revealed.

It was permeated by a curious odor of stale incense wafted in their direction by a draft from a window overhanging the street. Tackle lay upon the floor; a pulley had been rigged to one of the beams which crossed the ceiling. It was to this spot that escape had been made from, the top story of Wu King’s building.

The Tong temple was empty from wall to wall…

I
n his tower study Dr. Fu-Manchu spoke softly. Two points of light glowed upon the switchboard on the table.

“It was well done, my friend, but the rest is merely a question of time; Base 3 must be vacated. It is regrettable that the representative from Egypt should have been arrested, but steps have been taken to ensure his release. Of Wu Chang’s silence we are certain; other representatives are safe. You are short of helpers, therefore many splendid specimens must be sacrificed. But make good your own escape, leaving nothing behind that might act as a clue for the enemy.”

“I hear, Master,” the voice of old Sam Pak replied as though he stood in the room. “I shall see to these matters.”

“Instinct is greater than wit,” the guttural voice of Dr. Fu-Manchu continued. “By instinct Enemy Number One has smelled us out. I hear you hiss, my friend. We shall see. I have a plan.”

“Do you desire, Marquis, that the way be made easy?”

“Such is my wish. Give them this hollow triumph: it will blind their eyes. Base 3 is of no further service: move in this matter, my friend.”

Long fingers manipulated switches. The two lights became extinguished, but another appeared upon the board.

“Report,” Dr. Fu-Manchu directed, “of Number covering Base 3.”

“Report to hand,” the Teutonic tones of the Memory Man replied, “timed 11.36. Wu King’s Bar was raided at 11.05 and everyone on the premises, including Wu King and members of his family, arrested by police. Emergency exit is also in their hands; many other arrests—some forty invalid. The barricades have been raised, and everything is normal except that the area is being heavily patrolled. Government agent in charge of operations tonight identified as Captain Mark Hepburn, U.S.M.C. Captain Hepburn has left the area—covered. Report ends. From Number 37.”

There was a moment of silence; the long fingers resting upon the lacquered table were so still that they might have been wrought of smoked ivory.

“Report,” the voice directed, “of Number responsible for protection of representatives.”

“Report of Protection Bureau to hand,” the Memory Man replied, “timed 11.50. All are safely returned to their hotels or places of residence, with the exception of Egyptian representative. He was arrested at Entrance 4 together with one Wu Chang who was in his company. This arrest was the subject of an earlier report.”

“Latest report of Number covering Exit 4.”

“To hand, time 11.38. The raiding party believed to be in charge of Police Captain Corrigan has withdrawn, leaving men estimated at seven to nine covering the point. Report ends. This from Number 49.”