The Island of Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer

had no choice. But she has the proud spirit of her race—and so he bound her to him by this damnable living death from which there is no escape!”
    He was pacing the carpet at an ever-increasing speed, his pipe bubbling furiously; and something which emanated from that vital personality gave me new courage. I was not alone in my fight to save Ardatha from the devil doctor.
    “Smith,” said Sir Lionel, leaning back against the buffet—for even his tough constitution had suffered in the night’s work and he was comparatively subdued—”this infernal thing means that if I saw Fu-Manchu before me, now, I couldn’t shoot him!”
    “It does,” Smith replied. “He was prepared to hold Kerrigan as a hostage. He overlooked the fact that whilst Kerrigan lived, Ardatha served the same purpose.”
    Barton plunged his hands in his trouser pockets and became lost in reflection. His deep-set blue eyes danced queerly.
    “We both know the Chinese,” he murmured. ‘‘I don’t think I should give up hope, Kerrigan. There may be a way.”
    “I’m sure there is—there must be!” I broke in. “Dr. Fu-Manchu is subject, after all, to human laws. He is supernormal, but not immortal. We all have our weaknesses. Mine, perhaps, is my love for Ardatha. He must have his. Smith, we must find Koreâni!”
    “I found her two months ago.”
    “What!”
    “She was then in Cuba. Where she is now I cannot say. But if you suppose that Fu-Manchu would turn a hair’s breadth from his path to save his daughter, you are backing the wrong horse. Assuming that we could capture her, well—as an exchange for Ardatha (freed from the living death; for I have known others who have suffered it but who live today) she would be a worthless hostage. He would sacrifice Koreâni without a moment’s hesitation!”
    I was silent.
    “Buck up, Kerrigan,” said Sir Lionel. “I said there might be a way, and I stick to it.”
    Smith stared at him curiously, and then:
    “As for you,” he remarked, “as usual you are an infernal nuisance.”
    “Don’t mention it!”
    “I must. Your inquiries in Haiti last year, followed by your studies in Norfolk and, finally, your conversations with the War Office, attracted the attention of Dr. Fu-Manchu.”
    “Very likely.”
    “It was these conversations, reported to me whilst I was in the West Indies, that brought me back, post haste—”
    “Fu-Manchu got here first,” Barton interrupted. “There were two attempts to burgle my house. Queer-looking people were watching Abbots Hold. Finally, I received a notice signed ‘President of the Seven’, informing me that I had twenty-four hours in which to hand over certain documents.”
    “You have this notice?” Smith asked eagerly.
    “I
had:
it was in the stolen bag.”
    Smith snapped his fingers irritably.
    “And when you received it what did you do?”
    “Bolted. I was followed all the way to London. That was why I phoned Kerrigan and came here. I didn’t want to be alone.”
    “You were right,” said Smith. “But you came to your senses too late. I am prepared to hear that the fact of Fu-Manchu’s interest in your affairs did not dawn upon you until you got this notice?”
    “Suspected it before that. These reports from the Caribbean suggested that something very queer was afoot there. It occurred to me that bigger things than a mere treasure hunt were involved, so I offered my services to the War Office—”
    “And behaved so badly that you were practically thrown out! Let me explain what happened. Your earlier correspondence with the War Office, although obscure, was considered to be of sufficient importance to be transmitted in code to me. I was then in Kingston, Jamaica. I dashed home. I went first to Norfolk, learned you had left for London, and followed. That was yesterday morning. I was dashing about Town trying to pick you up. I practically followed you into the War Office, and what you had said there convinced me that at all costs I must