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"But it always reminds me of a Mexican teocalli, and the altar of sacrifice." The simile was apt, but gruesome. I thought of Dr. Fu-Manchu and the severed fingers, and could not repress a shudder. "On your left, past the wooden pier! Not where the lamp is beyond that; next to the dark, square building Shen-Yan's." It was Inspector Ryman speaking.
I shuddered at the word "dragging"; Ryman had not used it literally, but nevertheless it had conjured up a dread possibility a possibility in accordance with the methods of Dr. Fu-Manchu.
It was always a mystery to me; never a word in the papers; and we as much in the dark as everybody else but didn't I hear that the Chinaman, Fu-Manchu, was dead?" Weymouth nodded. "Some of his friends seem to be very much alive, though" he said. "It appears that Fu-Manchu, for all his genius and there's no denying he was a genius, Ryman was only the agent of somebody altogether bigger."
All within space of an instant I saw the tide of Limehouse Reach, the Thames lapping about the green-coated timbers of a dock pier; and rising falling sometimes disclosing to the pallid light a rigid hand, sometimes a horribly bloated face I saw the body of Nayland Smith at the mercy of those oily waters. Ryman continued: "There is a launch out, too, patrolling the riverside from here to Tilbury.
"Two C.I.D. men, who were shadowing, actually saw the pair of them enter. A signal had been arranged, but it was never given; and at about half-past four the place was raided." "Surely some arrests were made?" "But there was no evidence!" cried Ryman. "Every inch of the rat-burrow was searched.
I stood for a moment in silence, endeavoring to determine my course; then, telling Ryman that I hoped to see him later, I walked out slowly into the rain and mist, and nodding to the taxi-driver to proceed to our original destination, I re-entered the cab.
My next recollection is of sitting up, with my friend's arm supporting me and Inspector Ryman holding a glass to my lips. A bright glare dazzled my eyes. A crowd surged about us, and a clangor and shouting drew momentarily nearer. "It's the engines coming," explained Smith, seeing my bewilderment. "Shen-Yan's is in flames. It was your shot, as you fell through the trap, broke the oil-lamp."
In quite mechanical fashion I entered the depôt. Inspector Ryman, our associate in one of the darkest episodes of the campaign with the Yellow Doctor two years before, received me in his office. By a negative shake of the head, he answered my unspoken question.
"Smith," I said, "did you bring the pigtail with you that was found on Cadby?" "Yes. I had hoped to meet the owner." "Have you got it now?" "No. I met the owner." I thrust my hands deep into the pockets of the big pea-jacket lent to me by Inspector Ryman, leaning back in my corner. "We shall never really excel at this business," continued Nayland Smith. "We are far too sentimental.
Inspector Ryman, our associate in one of the darkest episodes of the campaign with the Yellow Doctor two years before, received me in his office. By a negative shake of the head, he answered my unspoken question. "The ten o'clock boat is lying off the Stone Stairs, Doctor," he said, "and co-operating with some of the Scotland Yard men who are dragging that district "
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