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Updated: June 7, 2025
I weighed all the circumstances in the balance, and made the last vital choice of the night; I turned and ran toward the British Museum as though the worst of Fu-Manchu's creatures, and not my allies the police, were at my heels! No one else was in sight, but, as I whirled into the Square, the red lamp of a slowly retreating taxi became visible some hundred yards to the left.
So it seemed to me; though, in the ensuing instant I remembered, too late, a previous experience of the floors of Fu-Manchu's private apartments; I knew what had indeed befallen us. A trap had been released beneath our feet. I recall falling but have no recollection of the end of my fall of the shock marking the drop.
My fear left me, and a mighty anxiety took its place. This creature which now crouched chattering at me from beneath the big table was Fu-Manchu's marmoset, and in the intervals of its chattering and grimacing, it nibbled, speculatively, at the keys upon the ring which it clutched in its tiny hands.
In fact," he turned to Smith, who, grim-faced and haggard, looked thoroughly ill in that gray light "I believe Fu-Manchu's lair is somewhere near the former opium-den of Shen-Yan 'Singapore Charlie." Smith nodded. "We will turn our attention in that direction," he replied, "at a very early date." Inspector Weymouth looked down at the body of Abel Slattin. "How was it done?" he asked softly.
Once I stumbled. "My God!" came from Smith weakly. But I recovered myself. Bare feet pattered close upon our heels, and panting breaths told how even Fu-Manchu's bloodhounds were hard put to it by the killing pace we had made. "Smith," I whispered, "look in front. Someone!" As through a red mist I had seen a dark shape detach itself from the shadows of the cottage, and merge into them again.
I weighed all the circumstances in the balance, and made the last vital choice of the night; I turned and ran toward the British Museum as though the worst of Fu-Manchu's creatures, and not my allies the police, were at my heels! No one else was in sight, but, as I whirled into the Square, the red lamp of a slowly retreating taxi became visible some hundred yards to the left.
I have since thought that here was a case of true telepathy. For, as Smith spoke of Fu-Manchu's spy-hole, the idea leapt instantly to my mind that this was it this strange platform upon which we stood! I drew back from the rail, turned, stared at Smith. I read in his face that our suspicions were identical. Then "Look! Look!" whispered Weymouth.
A theory was forming in my brain, which I was burningly anxious to put to the test. I remembered how, two years before, I had met Karamaneh near to this same spot; and I had heard Inspector Weymouth assert positively that Fu-Manchu's headquarters were no longer in the East End, as of yore.
"Smith," I said, "those bird tracks on the window-sill they furnish the key to a mystery which is puzzling me." "They do," said Smith, glancing impatiently at his watch. "Consult your memories of Dr. Fu-Manchu's habits especially your memories of his pets."
Fu-Manchu, the great and evil man who dreamed of Europe and America under Chinese rule, not of Nayland Smith, who alone stood between the Chinaman and the realization of his monstrous schemes, not even of Kâramanèh, the slave girl, whose glorious beauty was a weapon of might in Fu-Manchu's hand, but of what impression I must have made upon a patient had I encountered one then.
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