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Updated: June 7, 2025
"There is much in this extraordinary case that puzzles me. I can think of nothing to account for the marks." "Have you thought of Fu-Manchu's marmoset?" asked Smith. "The monkey!" I cried. "They were the footprints of a small ape," my friend continued.
Tall glass cases there were, shelves and niches: where once, from the gallery above, I had seen the tubes and retorts, the jars of unfamiliar organisms, the books of unfamiliar lore, the impedimenta of the occult student and man of science the visible evidences of Fu-Manchu's presence. Shelves cases niches were bare. The silken cushions; the inlaid tables; all were gone.
The two windows were so screened as to have lost, from the interior point of view, all resemblance to European windows, and the whole structure of the room had been altered in conformity, bearing out my idea that the place had been prepared for Fu-Manchu's reception some time before his actual return. I doubt if, East or West, a duplicate of that singular apartment could be found.
The launch pitched and rolled perilously, but weathered the wash of the liner which so nearly had concluded this episode. It was such a journey as I had taken once before, early in our pursuit of the genius of the Yellow Peril; but this was infinitely more terrible; for now we were utterly in Fu-Manchu's power. A voice mumbled in my ear.
Lord Southery, a bizarre figure, my traveling coat wrapped about him, and supported by his solicitor, who was almost as pale as himself, emerged from the vault into the moonlight. "This is a triumph for you, Smith," I said. The throb of Fu-Manchu's car died into faintness and was lost in the night's silence. "Only half a triumph," he replied.
The light wavered in my suddenly nerveless hand, gleaming momentarily upon bare ankles and golden anklets, upon little red leather shoes. I spoke no word, and Smith was as silent as I; both of us, I think, were speechless rather from amazement than in obedience to the evident wishes of Fu-Manchu's slave-girl.
The tiny, gleaming eyes looked up at me, and, chattering wickedly, the creature bounded past and was lost from view. It was Dr. Fu-Manchu's marmoset. Smith dragged me back into the room which we had just left. As he partly reclosed the door, I heard the clapping of hands. In a condition of most dreadful suspense, we waited; until a new, ominous sound proclaimed itself.
This was such a vigil as I had endured once before, when, with Nayland Smith and another, I had waited for the coming of one of Fu-Manchu's death agents. Of all the sounds which, one by one, now began to detach themselves from the silence, there was a particular sound, homely enough at another time, which spoke to me more dreadfully than the rest.
I was peering down at Fu-Manchu's servant, the hideous yellow man who lay dead in a bower of elm leaves. "He has some kind of leather bag beside him," I began "Exactly!" rapped Smith. "In that he carried his dangerous instrument of death; from that he released it!" "Released what?" "What your fascinating friend came to recapture this morning." "Don't taunt me, Smith!" I said bitterly.
I caught my breath. This was the reason why he had kept me so long in ignorance of the story. He knew of my hopeless, uncrushable sentiments towards the gloriously beautiful but utterly hypocritical and evil Eastern girl who was perhaps the most dangerous of all Dr. Fu-Manchu's servants; for the power of her loveliness was magical, as I knew to my cost. "What did you do?"
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