workers of all races in the Order of the Si-Fan, of which I am president.”
This statement Dr Fu-Manchu made without once glancing up from the folio volume in which he was writing marginal notes. Gregory sat still, watching and waiting.
“For instance,” the strange voice continued, “this room is soundproof. It was formerly a studio. The Chinese silk conceals top lights. The seven lacquer panels are in fact seven doors. I use the place as a
pied-à-terre
when my affairs detain me in London. I am much sought after, Dr Allen—particularly by officials of Scotland Yard. And, this apartment has useful features. Will you take tea with me?”
“No, thank you.”
“As you please. Your unusual researches into the means of increasing vigorous life prove of great value to my own. I am no longer young, my dear doctor, but your unexpected visit here inspired me to hope that in addition to securing your services, I may induce a mutual friend to call upon us.”
Dr Fu-Manchu laid his pen down, and for the first time looked up. Gregory found himself subjected to the fixed regard of the strangest human eyes he had ever seen. They were long, narrow, only slightly oblique, and were brilliantly green. Their gaze threatened to take command of his will and he averted his glance.
“When you followed a member of my staff, Dr Allen, whom you know as Mignon, I was informed of this—at the time that you left the Tate Gallery—and took suitable steps. A judo expert awaited your arrival and dealt with you by a simple nerve pressure with which, as a physician, you may be familiar. I am aware that Mignon made a secret appointment to meet you. She awaits her punishment. What it shall be rests with you.”
Gregory experienced an unpleasant fluttering in the stomach. He sensed what was coming, and wondered how he should face up to the ordeal. He said nothing.
“There is a telephone on the small table beside you,” Fu-Manchu told him, softly. “Be good enough to call Sir Denis Nayland Smith. Tell him that you have met with an accident on Chelsea Embankment and are lying in the house of a neighbouring doctor who was passing at the time. This apartment is rented by a certain Dr Steiner. His plate is outside. His surgery adjoins this room. One of the seven doors leads to it. The address is Ruskin Mews. Request Sir Denis to bring his car here for you at once.”
Gregory stood up. “I refuse.”
Lacquer doors to the left and right of him opened silently, as if motivated by his sudden movement. Two short, thickset Asiatics came in. They carried knives. Holding them poised in their hands for a throw, they watched him—waited.
“I deplore this barbarous behaviour, Dr Allen. At my headquarters I have more subtle measures available.”
“To hell with your measures! You can kill me, but you can’t make me obey your orders.”
Fu-Manchu sighed. One long yellow finger moved onto his desk; and a third door, almost facing Gregory, opened. Mignon came in. Another member of the gang, who presumably acted as a bodyguard, grasped her by the wrist. In his other hand the man carried a whip.
Beret and scarlet cape were gone. Mignon wore a black skirt and a white blouse. Her auburn hair framed her pale face. One glance of entreaty she flashed at him, then lowered her head.
“You daren’t do it!” Gregory blazed in a white fury. “You may consider yourself to be in China, but if you attempt this outrage, you’ll find you’re still in England. We’ll rouse the neighbourhood.”
The point of a knife touched his throat. One of the pair guarding him had moved closer. Fu-Manchu shook his head.
“You forget, Dr Allen, that this room is soundproof. Be so wise as to call Sir Denis. I am advised that he is at home at present and Whitehall Court, where he resides, is no great distance away. But he may be going out to dine. We are wasting time. I think you’ll find the number is written by the ‘phone.”
Gregory cast a last glance round the room,
This statement Dr Fu-Manchu made without once glancing up from the folio volume in which he was writing marginal notes. Gregory sat still, watching and waiting.
“For instance,” the strange voice continued, “this room is soundproof. It was formerly a studio. The Chinese silk conceals top lights. The seven lacquer panels are in fact seven doors. I use the place as a
pied-à-terre
when my affairs detain me in London. I am much sought after, Dr Allen—particularly by officials of Scotland Yard. And, this apartment has useful features. Will you take tea with me?”
“No, thank you.”
“As you please. Your unusual researches into the means of increasing vigorous life prove of great value to my own. I am no longer young, my dear doctor, but your unexpected visit here inspired me to hope that in addition to securing your services, I may induce a mutual friend to call upon us.”
Dr Fu-Manchu laid his pen down, and for the first time looked up. Gregory found himself subjected to the fixed regard of the strangest human eyes he had ever seen. They were long, narrow, only slightly oblique, and were brilliantly green. Their gaze threatened to take command of his will and he averted his glance.
“When you followed a member of my staff, Dr Allen, whom you know as Mignon, I was informed of this—at the time that you left the Tate Gallery—and took suitable steps. A judo expert awaited your arrival and dealt with you by a simple nerve pressure with which, as a physician, you may be familiar. I am aware that Mignon made a secret appointment to meet you. She awaits her punishment. What it shall be rests with you.”
Gregory experienced an unpleasant fluttering in the stomach. He sensed what was coming, and wondered how he should face up to the ordeal. He said nothing.
“There is a telephone on the small table beside you,” Fu-Manchu told him, softly. “Be good enough to call Sir Denis Nayland Smith. Tell him that you have met with an accident on Chelsea Embankment and are lying in the house of a neighbouring doctor who was passing at the time. This apartment is rented by a certain Dr Steiner. His plate is outside. His surgery adjoins this room. One of the seven doors leads to it. The address is Ruskin Mews. Request Sir Denis to bring his car here for you at once.”
Gregory stood up. “I refuse.”
Lacquer doors to the left and right of him opened silently, as if motivated by his sudden movement. Two short, thickset Asiatics came in. They carried knives. Holding them poised in their hands for a throw, they watched him—waited.
“I deplore this barbarous behaviour, Dr Allen. At my headquarters I have more subtle measures available.”
“To hell with your measures! You can kill me, but you can’t make me obey your orders.”
Fu-Manchu sighed. One long yellow finger moved onto his desk; and a third door, almost facing Gregory, opened. Mignon came in. Another member of the gang, who presumably acted as a bodyguard, grasped her by the wrist. In his other hand the man carried a whip.
Beret and scarlet cape were gone. Mignon wore a black skirt and a white blouse. Her auburn hair framed her pale face. One glance of entreaty she flashed at him, then lowered her head.
“You daren’t do it!” Gregory blazed in a white fury. “You may consider yourself to be in China, but if you attempt this outrage, you’ll find you’re still in England. We’ll rouse the neighbourhood.”
The point of a knife touched his throat. One of the pair guarding him had moved closer. Fu-Manchu shook his head.
“You forget, Dr Allen, that this room is soundproof. Be so wise as to call Sir Denis. I am advised that he is at home at present and Whitehall Court, where he resides, is no great distance away. But he may be going out to dine. We are wasting time. I think you’ll find the number is written by the ‘phone.”
Gregory cast a last glance round the room,
Similar Books
