The Hand of Fu Manchu by Sax Rohmer Page B

squarely in the eyes.
    "Unless she has learnt something, or—is flying away from some one!"
    My mind set in a whirl of hopes and fears, longings and dreads.
    "What do you mean, Smith?" I asked. "This is the place of danger, as
we know to our cost; she was safe in Egypt."
    Nayland Smith commenced one of his restless perambulations, glancing
at me from time to time and frequently tugging at the lobe of his ear.
    "
Was
she safe in Egypt?" he rapped. "We are dealing, remember, with
the Si-Fan, which, if I am not mistaken, is a sort of Eleusinian
Mystery holding some kind of dominion over the eastern mind, and
boasting initiates throughout the Orient. It is almost certain that
there is an Egyptian branch, or group—call it what you will—of the
damnable organization."
    "But Dr. Fu-Manchu—"
    "Dr. Fu-Manchu—for he lives, Petrie! my own eyes bear witness to the
fact—Dr. Fu-Manchu is a sort of delegate from the headquarters. His
prodigious genius will readily enable him to keep in touch with every
branch of the movement, East and West."
    He paused to knock out his pipe into an ashtray and to watch me for
some moments in silence.
    "He may have instructed his Cairo agents," he added significantly.
    "God grant she get to England in safety," I whispered. "Smith! can we
make no move to round up the devils who defy us, here in the very
heart of civilized England? Listen. You will not have forgotten the
wild-cat Eurasian Zarmi?"
    Smith nodded. "I recall the lady perfectly!" he snapped.
    "Unless my imagination has been playing me tricks, I have seen her
twice within the last few days—once in the neighborhood of this hotel
and once in a cab in Piccadilly."
    "You mentioned the matter at the time," said Smith shortly; "but
although I made inquiries, as you remember, nothing came of them."
    "Nevertheless, I don't think I was mistaken. I feel in my very bones
that the Yellow hand of Fu-Manchu is about to stretch out again. If
only we could apprehend Zarmi."
    Nayland Smith lighted his pipe with care.
    "If only we could, Petrie!" he said; "but, damn it!"—he dashed his
left fist into the palm of his right hand—"we are doomed to remain
inactive. We can only await the arrival of Kâramaneh and see if she
has anything to tell us. I must admit that there are certain theories
of my own which I haven't yet had an opportunity of testing. Perhaps
in the near future such an opportunity may arise."
    How soon that opportunity was to arise neither of us suspected then;
but Fate is a merry trickster, and even as we spoke of these matters
events were brewing which were to lead us along strange paths.
    With such glad anticipations as my pen cannot describe, their gladness
not unmixed with fear, I retired to rest that night, scarcely
expecting to sleep, so eager was I for the morrow. The musical voice
of Kâramaneh seemed to ring in my ears; I seemed to feel the touch
of her soft hands and to detect, as I drifted into the borderland
betwixt reality and slumber, that faint, exquisite perfume which from
the first moment of my meeting with the beautiful Eastern girl, had
become to me inseparable from her personality.
    It seemed that sleep had but just claimed me when I was awakened by
some one roughly shaking my shoulder. I sprang upright, my mind alert
to sudden danger. The room looked yellow and dismal, illuminated as it
was by a cold light of dawn which crept through the window and with
which competed the luminance of the electric lamps.
    Nayland Smith stood at my bedside, partially dressed!
    "Wake up, Petrie!" he cried; "you instincts serve you better than my
reasoning. Hell's afoot, old man! Even as you predicted it, perhaps in
that same hour, the yellow fiends were at work!"
    "What, Smith, what!" I said, leaping out of bed; "you don't mean—"
    "Not that, old man," he replied, clapping his hand upon my shoulder;
"there is no further news of
her
, but Weymouth is waiting outside.
Sir Baldwin Frazer has disappeared!"
    I rubbed my eyes hard and sought