Читать книгу Daughter of Fu Manchu - Arthur Henry Ward - Страница 11

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Dr. Fu Manchu! When that story was told, the story which Weymouth unfolded in the hut in the wâdi, whilst I can’t answer for Forester, personally I was amazed beyond belief.

Rima’s sweet face, where she sat half in shadow, was a fascinating study. She had ridden up from Kûrna with Ali Mahmoud. In the tent, when I had found her in my arms, she had worn riding kit; but now she had changed into a simple frock and had even made some attempt to straighten the tangle of her windblown hair. The night ride had whipped a wild colour into her tanned cheeks; her grave Irish eyes seemed even brighter than usual as she listened spellbound.

Some of the things Weymouth spoke of aroused echoes in my memory. I had been too young at the time to associate these events one with another. But I remembered having heard of them. I was considering the advantages of a legal calling when the war disturbed my promising career. The doings of this great and evil man, some of whose history I learned that morning, had reached me merely as rumours in the midst of altogether more personal business.

But now I grasped the fact that if these two clever and experienced men were correct in their theories, a veritable plague was about to be loosed upon the world.

Dr. Fu Manchu!

“Sir Lionel and I,” said Dr. Petrie, “and Nayland Smith were last of those on the side of the angels to see him alive. It’s possible he survived, but I am not prepared to believe it. What I am prepared to believe is that someone else may be carrying on his work. What was a Dacoit—probably a Burman—a professional robber and murderer, doing in the courtyard of my house in Cairo last night? We know now, Greville, he was following you. But the cry points to an accomplice. He was not alone! The old net, Weymouth”—he turned to the latter—“closing round us again! Then—this camp is watched.”

“I have said it before,” Weymouth declared, “but I’ll say it again; if only Nayland Smith could join us!”

“You refer of course, to Sir Denis Nayland Smith,” said Forester, “one of the assistant commissioners at Scotland Yard? I know people who know him. Used to be a police official in Burma?”

“He did,” Petrie replied. “He also saved the British Empire, by the way. But if we have many unknown enemies, we have at least one unknown friend.”

“Who is that?” I asked.

“The well-informed stranger,” Petrie replied, “who wired me in Cairo—and who wired Weymouth. Whoever he may be, he takes no chances. Dr. Fu Manchu was master of a method for inducing artificial catalepsy. It was one of the most dangerous weapons in his armoury. I alone, as I believe, possess a drop of the antidote. The man who sent that telegram knew this!”

“So much for unknown friends,” said Weymouth. “As to unknown enemies, either you have a Dacoit amongst your workmen or there was a stranger in camp last night.”

“You’ve found a clue!” Rima cried.

“I have, Miss Barton. There’s only one fact of which I have to make sure. If I am wrong in that, maybe all my theory falls down.”

“What’s the fact?” Forester asked, with an eagerness which told how deeply he was impressed.

“It’s this,” said Weymouth. He fixed a penetrating gaze upon me. “Was Sir Lionel completely undressed when you found him?”

“No,” I replied promptly. “It was arranged that we all turned out at four to work on the job.”

“Then he was fully dressed?”

“Not fully.”

“Did he carry the key of this hut?”

“He carried all the keys on a chain.”

“Was this chain on him when you found him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you detach it?”

“No. We laid him here as we found him.”

“Partially dressed?”

“Yes.”

Weymouth slowly crossed to the mummy case at one end of the hut. The lid was detached and leaned against the wall beside the case.

“Both you, Greville,” he went on, turning, “and Forester were present when Sir Lionel’s body was brought in here?”

“Ali and I carried him.” Forester returned shortly. “Greville supervised.”

“Did Ali leave when you left?”

“He did.”

“Good,” Weymouth went on quietly. “But I am prepared to swear that not one of you looked into the recess behind this sarcophagus lid.”

I stared blankly at Forester. He shook his head.

“We never even thought of it,” he confessed.

“Naturally enough,” said Weymouth. “Look what I found there.”

A lamp stood on the long table; and now, taking a piece of paper from his pocket, and opening the paper under the lamp, the superintendent exposed a reddish, fibrous mass. Rima sprang forward and with Forester and myself bent eagerly over it. Petrie watched.

“It looks to me like a wad of tobacco,” said Forester, “chewed by someone whose gums were bleeding!”

Petrie bent between us and placed a lens upon the table.

“I have examined it,” he said. “Give me your opinion, Mr. Forester. As a physician you may recognize it.”

Forester looked, and we all watched him in silence. I remember that I heard Ali Mahmoud coughing out in the wâdi and realized that he was keeping as close to human companionship that night as his sentry duties permitted.

Shrugging, Forester passed the glass to me. I peered in turn, but almost immediately laid the glass down.

Petrie looked at Forester; but:

“Out of my depth!” the latter declared. “It’s vegetable; but if it’s something tropical I plead ignorance.”

“It is something tropical,” said Petrie. “It’s betel nut.”

Weymouth intruded quietly, and:

“Someone who chewed betel nut,” he explained, “was hiding behind that sarcophagus lid when you brought Sir Lionel’s body into this hut. Now, I’m prepared to hear that before that the door was unlocked?”

“You’re right,” I admitted; “it was. We locked it after his body had been placed here.”

“As I thought.”

Weymouth paused; then:

“Someone who chewed betel nut,” he went on, “must have been listening outside Sir Lionel’s tent when you decided to move his body to this hut. He anticipated you, concealed himself, and, at some suitable time later, with the key which Sir Lionel carried on his chain, he unlocked the door and removed the body!”

“I entirely agree,” said Forester, staring very hard. “And I compliment you heartily. But—betel nut?”

“Perfectly simple,” Petrie replied. “Many Dacoits chew betel nut.”

At which moment, unexpectedly:

“Perhaps,” came Rima’s quiet voice, “I can show you the man!”

“What!” I exclaimed.

“I think I may have his photograph ... and the photograph of someone else!”