Re-enter Fu-Manchu (21 page)

Raymond Harkness watched Sir Denis with steady eyes. “Then you believe Fu Manchu is still in New York?”

“I know it.”

“Where?”

“In the penthouse.”

“What!” Harkness sprang up. “Then he’s holding Dr. Hessian! He’s in our hands! What are we waiting for?”

“Go easy!” Nayland Smith smiled his grim smile. “And don’t worry about Dr. Hessian.
I’m
looking after him!”

Harkness sat down again. “You know, now that I hear you and see you, I wonder I ever fell for your double. But at the time I was completely sold.”

“So was everybody else. Who but Dr. Fu Manchu could have pulled off such a thing?”

There was a rap on the room door, and a smart-looking police sergeant came in. Harkness looked up.

“Ah! It’s Sergeant Ruppert. I knew you were detailed, for duty here tonight. I want you to stand at the foot of the stairs to the floor above. Stand on the other side of the door. No need to alarm the people on this floor. Anyone wanting to go up is to be directed to this apartment. Make sure they come here, but don’t lose sight of the staircase exit. Anyone coming down is to be sent back—
anyone.
All clear?”

“All ready, sir. But what about the elevators?”

“They’ve been stopped from this floor upward.” Harkness glanced at Nayland Smith. “Anything else?”

“One thing,” Sir Denis said. “Jump to it, Sergeant! Every minute counts!” Sergeant Ruppert nodded and ran out. “Any news from Number One, Harkness?”

Raymond Harkness shook his head. “No. Can’t figure it out. She expected to have something to report on the latest move. It could be useful. But not a word. And we can’t locate her. I hope—”

“So do I.” There was a deep sincerity in Nayland Smith’s voice. “She takes risks few men would take—and Fu Manchu is merciless… How many have you on duty tonight, Harkness?” Nayland Smith asked. “Without Merrick and myself.”

“Eleven. Four FBIs and nine police. Four in uniform, including the Sergeant, and five plain-clothesmen. If I can count Number One, twelve.”

“Assemble them all here. There are seven apartments upstairs, including mine. I want them all searched. You have keys from the management?”

“Here.”

“I’ll take the key of the stair door to the penthouse and the key of the inside door.”

Harkness passed over three keys. “There are two doors to the penthouse,” he explained. “The second I believe opens into the kitchen.”

“And now, can you lend Merrick a gun?”

“Sure.” Harkness pulled a drawer open and took out a regulation police revolver. “It isn’t easy to carry, Mr. Merrick, but it’s practical.”

“Thanks.”

Brian put the heavy weapon in a coat pocket. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but the more exciting it turned out to be, the better he would like it. He needed an antidote to his mood of angry self-contempt.

“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 right into it.”

They met no one in the long corridor as they headed toward the elevators. The door to the stairs, with a red light above it, was a few paces beyond, it was that hour which comes in every big hotel when nearly all the guests are either out for the evening or retired to their rooms.

Suddenly Nayland Smith said something that brought Brian to a stop as though he had hit a wall.

“I pray no harm has come to Lola Erskine,” he said.

Brian 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. 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! So 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—and it’s almost certain
you
gave her the clue. Second, I owe her my life. She learned all about the trap set for me here, briefed me, and was instrumental in getting my double’s instructions mixed up.”

Brian clenched his first. “If Dr. Fu Manchu has found this out, Sir Denis, he must know—”

“That Lola Erskine has double-crossed him? Yes. That’s why I’m frightened.”

They had been standing still in the long passage, talking in hushed voices. Now Nayland Smith snapped, “Come on! We must act.”

He set off at a run. As they passed the elevators, 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.

“Hello! 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 stairs, 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 stairway 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.”

Nayland Smith darted back down the stairs.

* * *

“When it happened” was fully twenty minutes earlier.

Apartment 2612 was across the passage and not far from Nayland Smith’s suite. A smartly dressed woman, her beauty hallmarked with the stamp of sophistication that some men, particularly young ones, find irresistible, had just come in. She had not long returned from Idlewild where Fu Manchu had ordered her to go to report the instant of Sir Denis’ arrival. She had means of learning such things, for beauty is a key that opens many doors.

Wearily she tossed an expensive hat onto 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 there 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 wide. They were of the color of the ring that Dr. Fu Manchu had ordered her to wear—amethyst—and, with her auburn hair, gave her an exotic beauty. Her delicate color 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 that he expected to find very dull, had just ventured to light a cigarette when he heard light foosteps descending.

He dropped the 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.

She smiled and tried to pass him.

Sergeant Ruppert intruded his bulk. “Sorry, lady. No one allowed down this way.”

The smile gave place to a frown. “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 be glad to wait!” Sergeant Ruppert grinned.

A ghost of a 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, but—”

“I can give you a nice cool drink while I phone.”

Sergeant Ruppert knew nothing about Saint Anthony, but he was going through similar fires. Years of discipline won. Dizzy but unconquered, he told her, “I can’t leave my post, miss.”

“
Ah, parbleu!
” she sighed. (“French!” the Sergeant decided.) “So I am imprisoned, yes?”

“It’s not as bad as that, lady. I’ll tell you what you do. I don’t think it’s meant for a young lady like you to be inconvenienced. So go back to your apartment and call the manager, like you said. Ask him to speak to the officer in charge, and—”

She turned away impulsively. “It is preposterous! All this trouble! Ah!
Mon Dieu
!” She stumbled, turned back, clutched Sergeant Ruppert. “I twist my ankle!”

Her slender hands—he noted a great violet ring on one white finger—slipped around his neck. Her touch made him tremble. And this moment of emotion was the last thing he remembered. She had turned the bezel.

He experienced a sensation as though he had been clubbed on the back of his head, and knew no more.

She had carried out her last task—for she couldn’t afford to fail. In a fractional moment she reversed the bezels—a miniature receiver, tuned to pick up the lethal note from the transmitter in the penthouse. But as the big, good-looking policeman pitched forward and fell on his face, tears dimmed her eyes. She raised the jeweled wrist watch. Her hands trembled when she adjusted the cunning radio mechanism.

“It is done!” she whispered.

“Good. Do not return to your apartment. Whatever you leave behind there shall be recovered or replaced. Walk down one more floor, then use the elevator. You have money with you?”

“As you ordered, Doctor.”

“Avoid observation going out. Use a side entrance. Take a taxi to East Eighty-eighth Street and Park Avenue. A man will be standing outside the drugstore on the corner. He will wear a red rose in his buttonhole. Say ‘Si-Fan’ and he will make all arrangements. Your life is your own.”

B
rian’s vigil at the stairhead proved something of a tax on his nerves.

If the strange and oddly sinister figure who had dominated the meeting in the penthouse was none other than Dr. Fu Manchu, then his uneasy feeling in the presence of the man he had accepted as Otto Hessian called for no further explanation. During the journey from Egypt he had had a strong inclination to avoid him, and, as he now recalled clearly, the bogus Nayland Smith had encouraged him to do so, saying. “He has the brains of a genius but the manners of a gorilla.”

And now the fabulous Dr. Fu Manchu was near, on the defensive, at bay. Already he had spirited away a physically powerful police officer, armed and keenly alert to danger.

In the long, lighted corridor there was unbroken silence. Guests occupying the several apartments were probably away for the evening, he assumed—unless (a disturbing thought) there were other apartments as well as that adjoining their own which harbored servants of the Chinese doctor. He saw again, mentally, the two Asiatic assassins dragging away the body of the unfortunate double.

Perhaps they had strangled Sergeant Ruppert!

He changed his position slightly, so that he had his back to a wall, and tried to blot out a ghastly memory of the dead man’s face, and to call up the image of Lola.

What had happened to her? He seemed to have lived through another life since that hour in her room. In fact, during this one day he had experienced the summit and the nadir of human emotions: love, when he held Lola in his arms; horror, and a great fear, when he saw Nayland Smith lying dead on the floor. And fear had come again—fear that he was insane—when another Nayland Smith had appeared. The belief, the conviction, that Lola was nothing more than a decoy of Dr. Fu Manchu’s had brought a sorrow such as he had never known. And now when he knew the truth, she had gone.