The Drums of Fu-Manchu (16 page)

“
D
inner’s off, Kerrigan! We shall have to get what we can on the way.”

“What!”

“Accident has thrown the first clue of many weary days and nights in your way, Kerrigan, and you handled it very cleverly.”

“Thank you.”

“My latest information, just to hand, explains why Doctor Fu-Manchu’s attention has become directed upon Rudolf Adlon. Adlon is on his way to Venice for a secret meeting with his brother dictator, Monaghani!”

“But that’s impossible, Smith!” I exclaimed. I was still figuratively breathless from my dash to Victoria. “It’s in the evening papers than Adlon is reviewing troops tomorrow morning.”

Smith was pacing up and down in an old silk dressing gown and smoking his pipe. He paused, turned, and stared at me with raised eyebrows. His glance was challenging.

“I thought it was common knowledge, Kerrigan,” he said, quietly, “that Adlon has a double.”

“A double!”

“Certainly. I assumed you knew; almost everybody else knows. Stalin of Russia has three.”

“Three doubles?”

“Three. He knows that he is likely to be assassinated at almost any moment and in this way the odds are three to one in his favour. On such occasions as that which you have mentioned the director of his country stands rigidly at the salute for forty minutes or so while troops march by with mechanical accuracy, it is not Rudolf Adlon the First who stands in that painful position. Oh no, Kerrigan: It is Rudolf Adlon the Second! The Second will be there tomorrow, but the First, the original, the real Rudolf Adlon, is already on his way to Venice.”

“Then you think that the fact of these two women proceeding to Venice means—”

“It means that Doctor Fu-Manchu is in Venice, or shortly will be! Throughout his career he has used the weapon of feminine beauty, and many times that weapon has proved to be double-edged. However, we know what to look for.”

“Surely you will take steps to have them arrested at Folkestone?”

“Not at all.”

“Why?”

He smiled, paused.

“Do you recall Fu-Manchu’s words on striking at the heart, the brain? Very well. The heart is the Council of Seven—the brain is Doctor Fu-Manchu. It is at the brain I mean to strike, therefore we are leaving for Venice immediately.” He had pressed the bell and now the door opened and Fey came in.

“Advise Wing Commander Roxburgh that I shall want the plane to leave for Venice in an hour. He is to notify Paris and Rome and to arrange for a night landing.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Stand by with the car.”

Fey went out.

“You are sure, Kerrigan, you are sure”—Nayland Smith spoke excitedly—“that you were not recognised?”

“Sure as it is possible to be. Ardatha was reading. I am practically certain that she could not have seen me. The other woman doesn’t know me.”

Nayland Smith laughed aloud and then stared in an amused way.

“You have much to learn yet,” he said, “about Doctor Fu-Manchu.”

O
f those peculiar powers possessed by Nayland Smith, I mean the facilities with which he was accredited, I had a glimpse on this journey. And if confirmation had been needed of the gravity of the menace represented by Dr. Fu-Manchu and the Council of the Seven, I should have recognised from the way in which his lightest wishes were respected that this was a very grave menace indeed.

We had travelled by a Royal Air Force plane which had performed the journey in little more than half the time of the commercial service!

As we entered the sitting room allotted to us in the Venice hotel, we found Colonel Correnti, chief of police, waiting.

Smith, dismissing an obsequious manager with a smile and wave of the hand, turned to the police officer.

He presented me.

“You may speak with complete confidence in Mr Kerrigan’s presence. Has Rudolf Adlon arrived?”

“Yes.”

Smith dropped into an armchair. He had not yet removed hat
or Burberry, and groping in a pocket of the latter he produced that dilapidated pouch in which normally he carried about half a pound of tobacco. He began to load his pipe. “This is a great responsibility for you?”

“A dreadful responsibility!” the colonel nodded gloomily. “The greater, because Signor Monaghani is expected on Tuesday morning.”

“Also incognito?”

“Alas, yes! It is these visits of which so few are aware which make my life a misery. Our task is far heavier than that of Geneva. Venice is the favourite rendezvous of some of the greatest figures in European politics. Always they come incognito, but not always for political reason! Why should Venice be selected? Why should this dreadful onus be placed upon
me
?”

His Latin indignation was profound.

“Where is the chancellor staying?”

“At the Palazzo da Rosa, as guest of the baron. He has stayed there before. They are old friends.”

“Are there any other of Herr Adlon’s friends in Venice at present?”

“But yes! James Brownlow Wilton is here. He leases the Palazzo Brioni on the Grand Canal, at no great distance from this hotel. His yacht Silver Heels is in the lagoon.”

“Will he be entertaining Herr Adlon?”

“I believe there is to be a small private luncheon party, either at the Palazzo or on board the yacht.”

Nayland Smith crushed tobacco into the big cracked bowl of his pipe. Only once he glanced at me. But I knew what he had in mind and thrilled with anticipation, then:

“You have arranged to have agents on board, Colonel?”

“Certainly. This was my duty.”

“I appreciate that. No doubt you can arrange for Mr Kerrigan and myself to be present?”

For a moment Colonel Correnti was taken aback. He looked from face to face in astonishment.

“Of course.” He endeavoured to speak easily. “It could be arranged.”

Nayland Smith stood up and smiled.

“Let it be arranged,” he said. “I have an appointment to meet Sir George Herbert who is accompanying me to see Herr Adlon. I shall be free in an hour. If you will be good enough to return then we can make all necessary plans…”

During the next hour I was left to my own devices. That Dr. Fu-Manchu, if not there in person certainly had agents in Venice, had made me so intensely nervous that I only let Nayland Smith leave the hotel when I realised that a bodyguard in the form of two plainclothes police accompanied him.

I tried to distract myself by strolling about those unique streets.

This was comparatively new territory. I had been there but once before and only for a few hours. Night had long fallen, touching Venice with its magic. Lights glittered on the Grand Canal, shone from windows in those age-old palaces, and a quarter moon completed the picture.

Somewhere, I thought, as I peered into the faces of passers-by, Ardatha might be near to me. Smith was of opinion that they would have flown from Paris, avoiding Croydon as at Croydon they were likely to be recognised. Assuming a fast plane to have been awaiting them, they were probably in Venice now.

Automatically, it seemed, and in common with everyone else, I presently drifted towards St. Mark’s. Despite the late hour it seemed that all Venice took the air. Had my mind been not a boiling
cauldron but normally at peace I must have enjoyed the restfulness of my surroundings.

But feverishly I was thinking, “Ardatha is here! At any moment she may become involved in a world tragedy from which I shall be helpless to extricate her.”

One who, whatever his faults, however right or wrong his policy, was yet the idol of a great country, stood in peril of sudden death. Perhaps only one man could save him—Nayland Smith! And upon that man’s head, also, a price had been set by the dreadful Chinese doctor.

I found it impossible to relax. I recalled Smith’s words: “Do as you please, Kerrigan, but for heaven’s sake don’t show yourself.”

It was impossible, this walking in shadow, distrusting the moonlight, avoiding all places where people congregated, and slinking about like a criminal who feared arrest. I went back to the hotel.

The lounge appeared to be deserted, but I glanced sharply about me before crossing it, making my way to the suite reserved for Smith and myself.

I found the sitting room in darkness, but an odour of tobacco smoke brought me up sharply as I was about to cross the threshold.

“Hello!” I called, “is anyone there?”

“
I
am here,” came Smith’s voice out of the darkness.

He stood up and switched on the light, and I saw that his pipe was between his teeth. Even before he spoke his grim expression told me all there was to know.

“Have you seen him?”

He nodded.

“What was his attitude?”

“His attitude, you will be able to judge for yourself when you see
him on Silver Heels tomorrow. He has gone so far, has risen so high, that I fear he believes himself to be immortal!”

“Megalomania?”

“Hardly that perhaps, but he sets himself above counsel. He admitted reluctantly that he had received the Si-Fan notices—two at least. He merely shrugged his shoulders when I suggested that a third had come to hand.”

He was walking up and down the room now tugging at the lobe of his left ear.

“If Adlon is to be saved, he must be saved against himself. If I had the power, Kerrigan, I would kidnap him and transport him from Venice tonight!”

* * *

“I count upon you, Colonel,” said Nayland Smith as the chief of police rose to go. “My friend and I will be present on Silver Heels tomorrow. I
must
have an opportunity of inspecting Mr Brownlow Wilton’s guests and of seeing in which of them Rudolf Adlon is interested.”

When we were alone:

“Have the police obtained any clue?” I asked.

Smith shook his head irritably.

“Very rarely indeed does the doctor leave clues. And this is a major move in his game. I don’t know if Monaghani is marked down, but Adlon admits that
he
is. We have yet to see if Monaghani arrives. But for tonight, I suppose my work is done. Have you any plans?”

“No.”

“I wish I could find Ardatha for you,” he said softly, and went out. “Good night.”

As the door closed and I heard him walking along to his room I dropped down on to a settee and lighted a cigarette. How I
wished that
I
could find her! I had never supposed love to come in this fashion. Quite easily I could count the minutes—had often done so—that I had been in Ardatha’s company. Collectively they amounted to less than an hour.

Yet of all the women I had known, she was the one to whom my thoughts persistently turned.

I tried to tell myself that this was an obsession born of the mystery in which I had met her—an infatuation which would pass—but always the effort failed. No, she haunted me. I knew every expression of her piquant face, every intonation of her voice; I heard her talking to me a thousand times during the day—I dreamed of her, I suspected, throughout the night.

That Nayland Smith was tired I could not doubt; I was tired myself. Yet, although it was long past midnight, any idea of sleep I knew to be out of the question. Outside, divided from the window only by a narrow quay, the Grand Canal lapped its ancient walls. Occasionally, anomalous motorboats passed; at other times I heard the drip of an oar as some ghostly gondola crept upon its way. Once the creaking of a boat, as a belated guest returned to the hotel, reminded me—terrifyingly—of the cellars under the Monks’ Arms where I had so nearly come to an end.

I rang for a waiter and ordered a drink to be brought to my room; then, extinguishing the lights of the sitting room, I went along the corridor intending to turn in.

However, when my drink arrived and I had lighted another cigarette, I was overcome with recklessness. Crossing to the window I threw open the shutters and looked down upon the oily glittering waters of the canal.

Venice! The picture city, painted in blood and passion. In some way it seemed fitting that Fu-Manchu should descend upon Venice;
fitting, too, that Ardatha should be there. The moon had disappeared; mysterious lights danced far away upon the water, beckoning me back to the days of the doges.

From my window I looked down upon a shadowy courtyard, a corner of the platform upon which the hotel (itself an old palace) was built. It could be approached from the steps which led up to the main door, but so far as I could make out in the darkness it formed a sort of cul-de-sac. My window ledge was no more than four feet from the stone paving.

And now, in the shadows, I detected someone moving…

I drew back. My hand flew to a pocket in which, always, since I had met Dr. Fu-Manchu, an automatic rested. Then a voice spoke—a soft voice:

“Please help me up. I must talk to you.”

It was Ardatha!