CHAPTER XXX

LATER was forthcoming evidence to show that poor Weymouth had lived a

wild life, in hiding among the thick bushes of the tract of land which

lay between the village and the suburb on the neighboring hill.

Literally, he had returned to primitive savagery and some of his food

had been that of the lower animals, though he had not scrupled to

steal, as we learned when his lair was discovered.

He had hidden himself cunningly; but witnesses appeared who had seen

him, in the dusk, and fled from him. They never learned that the

object of their fear was Inspector John Weymouth. How, having escaped

death in the Thames, he had crossed London unobserved, we never knew;

but his trick of knocking upon his own door at half-past two each

morning (a sort of dawning of sanity mysteriously linked with old

custom) will be a familiar class of symptom to all students of

alienation.

I revert to the night when Smith solved the mystery of the knocking.

In a car which he had in waiting at the end of the village we sped

through the deserted streets to New Inn Court. I, who had followed

Nayland Smith through the failures and successes of his mission, knew

that to-night he had surpassed himself; had justified the confidence

placed in him by the highest authorities.

We were admitted to an untidy room--that of a student, a traveler and a

crank--by a plain-clothes officer. Amid picturesque and disordered

fragments of a hundred ages, in a great carven chair placed before a

towering statue of the Buddha, sat a hand-cuffed man. His white hair

and beard were patriarchal; his pose had great dignity. But his

expression was entirely masked by the smoked glasses which he wore.

Two other detectives were guarding the prisoner.

"We arrested Professor Jenner Monde as he came in, sir," reported the

man who had opened the door. "He has made no statement. I hope there

isn't a mistake."

"I hope not," rapped Smith.

He strode across the room. He was consumed by a fever of excitement.

Almost savagely, he tore away the beard, tore off the snowy wig--dashed

the smoked glasses upon the floor.

A great, high brow was revealed, and green, malignant eyes, which fixed

themselves upon him with an expression I never can forget.

IT WAS DR. FU-MANCHU!

One intense moment of silence ensued--of silence which seemed to throb.

Then:

"What have you done with Professor Monde?" demanded Smith.

Dr. Fu-Manchu showed his even, yellow teeth in the singularly evil

smile which I knew so well. A manacled prisoner he sat as unruffled as

a judge upon the bench. In truth and in justice I am compelled to say

that Fu-Manchu was absolutely fearless.

"He has been detained in China," he replied, in smooth, sibilant

tones--"by affairs of great urgency. His well-known personality and

ungregarious habits have served me well, here!"

Smith, I could see, was undetermined how to act; he stood tugging at

his ear and glancing from the impassive Chinaman to the wondering

detectives.

"What are we to do, sir?" one of them asked.

"Leave Dr. Petrie and myself alone with the prisoner, until I call you."

The three withdrew. I divined now what was coming.

"Can you restore Weymouth's sanity?" rapped Smith abruptly. "I cannot

save you from the hangman, nor"--his fists clenched convulsively--"would

I if I could; but--"

Fu-Manchu fixed his brilliant eyes upon him.

"Say no more, Mr. Smith," he interrupted; "you misunderstand me. I do

not quarrel with that, but what I have done from conviction and what I

have done of necessity are separated--are seas apart. The brave

Inspector Weymouth I wounded with a poisoned needle, in self-defense;

but I regret his condition as greatly as you do. I respect such a man.

There is an antidote to the poison of the needle."

"Name it," said Smith.

Fu-Manchu smiled again.

"Useless," he replied. "I alone can prepare it. My secrets shall die

with me. I will make a sane man of Inspector Weymouth, but no one else

shall be in the house but he and I."

"It will be surrounded by police," interrupted Smith grimly.

"As you please," said Fu-Manchu. "Make your arrangements. In that

ebony case upon the table are the instruments for the cure. Arrange

for me to visit him where and when you will--"

"I distrust you utterly. It is some trick," jerked Smith.

Dr. Fu-Manchu rose slowly and drew himself up to his great height. His

manacled hands could not rob him of the uncanny dignity which was his.

He raised them above his head with a tragic gesture and fixed his

piercing gaze upon Nayland Smith.

"The God of Cathay hear me," he said, with a deep, guttural note in his

voice--"I swear--"

The most awful visitor who ever threatened the peace of England, the

end of the visit of Fu-Manchu was characteristic--terrible--inexplicable.

Strange to relate, I did not doubt that this weird being had conceived

some kind of admiration or respect for the man to whom he had wrought

so terrible an injury. He was capable of such sentiments, for he

entertained some similar one in regard to myself.

A cottage farther down the village street than Weymouth's was vacant,

and in the early dawn of that morning became the scene of outre

happenings. Poor Weymouth, still in a comatose condition, we removed

there (Smith having secured the key from the astonished agent). I

suppose so strange a specialist never visited a patient

before--certainly not under such conditions.

For into the cottage, which had been entirely surrounded by a ring of

police, Dr. Fu-Manchu was admitted from the closed car in which, his

work of healing complete, he was to be borne to prison--to death!

Law and justice were suspended by my royally empowered friend that the

enemy of the white race might heal one of those who had hunted him down!

No curious audience was present, for sunrise was not yet come; no

concourse of excited students followed the hand of the Master; but

within that surrounded cottage was performed one of those miracles of

science which in other circumstances had made the fame of Dr. Fu-Manchu

to live forever.

Inspector Weymouth, dazed, disheveled, clutching his head as a man who

has passed through the Valley of the Shadow--but sane--sane!--walked

out into the porch!

He looked towards us--his eyes wild, but not with the fearsome wildness

of insanity.

"Mr. Smith!" he cried--and staggered down the path--"Dr. Petrie!

What--"

There came a deafening explosion. From EVERY visible window of the

deserted cottage flames burst forth!

"QUICK!" Smith's voice rose almost to a scream--"into the house!"

He raced up the path, past Inspector Weymouth, who stood swaying there

like a drunken man. I was close upon his heels. Behind me came the

police.

The door was impassable! Already, it vomited a deathly heat, borne

upon stifling fumes like those of the mouth of the Pit. We burst a

window. The room within was a furnace!

"My God!" cried someone. "This is supernatural!"

"Listen!" cried another. "Listen!"

The crowd which a fire can conjure up at any hour of day or night, out

of the void of nowhere, was gathering already. But upon all descended

a pall of silence.

From the heat of the holocaust a voice proclaimed itself--a voice

raised, not in anguish but in TRIUMPH! It chanted barbarically--and

was still.

The abnormal flames rose higher--leaping forth from every window.

"The alarm!" said Smith hoarsely. "Call up the brigade!"

I come to the close of my chronicle, and feel that I betray a

trust--the trust of my reader. For having limned in the colors at my

command the fiendish Chinese doctor, I am unable to conclude my task as

I should desire, unable, with any consciousness of finality, to write

Finis to the end of my narrative.

It seems to me sometimes that my pen is but temporarily idle--that I

have but dealt with a single phase of a movement having a hundred

phases. One sequel I hope for, and against all the promptings of logic

and Western bias. If my hope shall be realized I cannot, at this time,

pretend to state.

The future, 'mid its many secrets, holds this precious one from me.

I ask you then, to absolve me from the charge of ill completing my

work; for any curiosity with which this narrative may leave the reader

burdened is shared by the writer.

With intent, I have rushed you from the chambers of Professor Jenner

Monde to that closing episode at the deserted cottage; I have made the

pace hot in order to impart to these last pages of my account something

of the breathless scurry which characterized those happenings.

My canvas may seem sketchy: it is my impression of the reality. No

hard details remain in my mind of the dealings of that night.

Fu-Manchu arrested--Fu-Manchu, manacled, entering the cottage on his

mission of healing; Weymouth, miraculously rendered sane, coming forth;

the place in flames.

And then?

To a shell the cottage burned, with an incredible rapidity which

pointed to some hidden agency; to a shell about ashes which held NO

TRACE OF HUMAN BONES!

It has been asked of me: Was there no possibility of Fu-Manchu's

having eluded us in the ensuing confusion? Was there no loophole of

escape?

I reply, that so far as I was able to judge, a rat could scarce have

quitted the building undetected. Yet that Fu-Manchu had, in some

incomprehensible manner and by some mysterious agency, produced those

abnormal flames, I cannot doubt. Did he voluntarily ignite his own

funeral pyre?

As I write, there lies before me a soiled and creased sheet of vellum.

It bears some lines traced in a cramped, peculiar, and all but

illegible hand. This fragment was found by Inspector Weymouth (to this

day a man mentally sound) in a pocket of his ragged garments.

When it was written I leave you to judge. How it came to be where

Weymouth found it calls for no explanation:

"To Mr. Commissioner NAYLAND SMITH and Dr. PETRIE--

"Greeting! I am recalled home by One who may not be denied. In much

that I came to do I have failed. Much that I have done I would undo;

some little I have undone. Out of fire I came--the smoldering fire of

a thing one day to be a consuming flame; in fire I go. Seek not my

ashes. I am the lord of the fires! Farewell.

"FU-MANCHU."

Who has been with me in my several meetings with the man who penned

that message I leave to adjudge if it be the letter of a madman bent

upon self-destruction by strange means, or the gibe of a

preternaturally clever scientist and the most elusive being ever born

of the land of mystery--China.

For the present, I can aid you no more in the forming of your verdict.

A day may come--though I pray it do not--when I shall be able to throw

new light upon much that is dark in this matter. That day, so far as I

can judge, could only dawn in the event of the Chinaman's survival;

therefore I pray that the veil be never lifted.

But, as I have said, there is another sequel to this story which I can

contemplate with a different countenance. How, then, shall I conclude

this very unsatisfactory account?

Shall I tell you, finally, of my parting with lovely, dark-eyed

Karamaneh, on board the liner which was to bear her to Egypt?

No, let me, instead, conclude with the words of Nayland Smith:

"_I_ sail for Burma in a fortnight, Petrie. I have leave to break my

journey at the Ditch. How would a run up the Nile fit your programme?

Bit early for the season, but you might find something to amuse you!"