Читать книгу President Fu Manchu - Arthur Henry Ward - Страница 12

Table of Contents

Mark Hepburn sat at the desk by the telephone, making notes of many incoming calls, issuing instructions in some cases. Nayland Smith, at the big table by the window, worked on material which seemed to demand frequent reference to one of two large maps pinned on the wall before him. Hepburn lighted numberless cigarettes. Nayland Smith was partially hidden behind a screen of pipe smoke.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Fey, the taciturn, might be heard moving about in the kitchenette.

The doorbell rang.

Smith turned in his chair. Hepburn stood up.

As Fey crossed the sitting room to reach the vestibule:

“Remember orders, Fey!” Smith rapped.

Fey’s Sioux-like, leathern features exhibited no expression whatever. He extended a large palm in which a small automatic rested.

“Very good, sir.”

He opened the door. Outside stood a man in Regal-Athenian uniform and another who wore a peaked cap.

“He’s all right,” said the man in uniform. “He is a Western Union messenger....”

When the door was closed again and Fey had returned to his cramped quarters, Nayland Smith read the letter which the man had delivered. He studied it carefully, a second and a third time; then handed it to Hepburn.

“Any comments?”

Mark Hepburn took the letter and read: