Fah Lo Suee, to whom she referred as “the Princess,” she distrusted, but evidently feared. Fah Lo Suee, it seemed, had partisans of her own among the many leaders of this mysterious movement which Fleurette called the Si-Fan. Regarding the political side of the organisation, she clearly knew next to nothing. That a great war was pending in which Dr. Fu Manchu expected to overthrow all opposition, she was aware:
the character of this war she did not seem even to suspect.
Without recourse to the Ericksen telephone. Dr. Fu Manchu was able to call her, she told me—and she was compelled to go to him.
He sometimes made her look into a disk in which strange images appeared....
There were times—of which to-night was an instance— when his influence dropped from her—unaccountably; when she questioned the meaning of her life—and followed her own impulses. Those times, beyond doubt, although I did not tell her so, corresponded to the doctor’s bouts of opium-smoking.
“Why did you tell me to think of you as Derceto?”
Fleurette laughed, but not happily.
“Because you found me on the shore—and to love me meant destruction....”
During the greater part of the telling of her strange story, she had lain in my arms—and there had been silent intervals. But at last I seemed to hear the crisp voice of Sir Denis demanding that I should put duty first....
chapter thirty-fifth
THE SECTION DOORS
“He is here,” said Fleurette. “Leave the door open, I will call if anyone comes.”
At that moment, as I crossed the threshold into a small white bedroom, even Fleurette was forgotten. Petrie, pale as I had never seen him, his hair blanched as by the brushes of ten years, lay there, watching me!
There was a dull flush on his forehead where the Purple Shadow had been.
“Petrie, old man!” I whispered—”Petrie!...Thank God!”
Had I not met other dead men in the house of Dr. Fu Manchu, this must have been a moment of stupefaction....
He nodded weakly and smiled—the same patient smile which I knew, even extending his hand, which I grasped between both my own.
“This,” I said, “is a miracle.”
“I agree.” His voice was very low. “I must have the constitution of a rattlesnake. Sterling. For I have not only survived the new plague—but an injection of the preparation known as ‘Fu Manchu katalepsis’ or briefly—’F. katalepsis.’“
“You know all this?”
“Yes; I even knew that you were here. But this is no time—”
He stopped, breathlessly, and I realised how weak he was.
“Don’t tire yourself,” I urged, grasping his shoulder. “Sir Denis is waiting for the news.”
“Nayland Smith!” His eyes lighted up. “He is here?”
“Yes—standing by, outside.”
Petrie clenched his teeth; closed his eyes. I recognized all this news had meant to him; then:
There is only one thing you must wait for,” he said. “Give me that scribbling block from the table. Sterling, and a pencil.”
I did as he directed—I could see that it would be useless to object.
“Lift me up,” he went on. “It’s going to be a struggle to write, but it has to be done—in case—of—accidents”
“What Petrie? Why is all this necessary?”
He shook his head and began very slowly to write. Bending over him, I saw that he was writing a prescription.
The truth dawned upon me!
“‘654’?”
He nodded, and went on writing. For a moment he paused, and:
“This must be circulated throughout the world,” he whispered weakly—”without delay.”
He glanced over what he had written, and nodded his wish to be laid back upon the pillows. This accomplished, I tore the sheet off the block, folded it, and slipped it into a pocket of my overall.
“Now, bolt!” he whispered. “Bolt for your life while there’s a chance. Everything depends upon your success.”
I had turned to go—when, unaided, he sat upright in bed, his eyes fixed upon the open door.
“Alan!” I heard softly
I turned in time to see Fleurette’s head hurriedly withdrawn. Someone was coming!
“Sterling! Sterling!” Petrie clutched my shoulder: his eyes were suddenly wild. “Who was that at the door?”
“A friend...you need not be afraid...Fleurette.”
“Fleurette? My God! Am I growing delirious?”
I assisted him back onto his pillows. His manner was alarmingly strange.
“Who is she?”
“She is a victim of Dr. Fu Manchu—but we are going to get her away.”
“Great heaven!” He closed his eyes. “Can it be true? Is it possible?...Don’t wait, Sterling—go...go!”
Indeed I knew that I had no alternative; and squeezing his hand hard I ran out of the room.
Fleurette was standing just beyond the door, which she closed instantly upon my appearance.
“Someone is coming!” she said, in a low voice. “I think it is Companion Yamamata. Quick!—this way!”
She led me along a short passage to the head of a descending stair.
“Don’t make a noise,” she warned.
We crept to the bottom, my arm about her waist.
“Who is Dr. Petrie?” she whispered. “He stared at me as though he knew me; yet I have never seen him in my life before.”
“He is one of my oldest friends,” I replied, “and unfortunately I hadn’t time to ask him. But I saw how he looked at you. Yes! he thinks he knows you.”
And now I wondered what knowledge was common to Dr. Petrie and Sir Denis but not shared by me....
Both had recognized Fleurette!
We turned a comer, and I saw that we stood directly under a little green lamp.
“There is your way,” said Fleurette—”straight ahead. It is the only door onto the terrace.”
At which moment I realised that we were standing directly outside her room!
“Darling, at last!” I exclaimed, and felt my heart leap. “Come on! Hurry! There isn’t a moment to waste!”
She slipped by me and opened the door of her room. I stared at her in blank amazement—and her expression baffled me. She took my hand, pulled me gently forward...and then closed the door.
“Someone might see or hear us in the corridor,” she said. “We are safe here. Please say good-bye to me.”
“What!”
She watched me, and in the dim light of that room which Nayland Smith had described as the Palace of the Sleeping Beauty her eyes looked like violets wet with dew.
“What did you think I meant to do?” she asked softly. “I have never cared for anyone before. I suppose I am to blame because I cared for you? But although you have not told me— I know what you think of Dr. Fu Manchu...of all of us. You belong to the poor ignorant world. You are not really one of us. You are a spy.”
I tried to take her in my arms, but she eluded me.
“Fleurette! This is madness!”
“The world is mad—Alan.” That moment of hesitation before my name was a rainbow. “But you belong to it, and you must go back. I should hate to believe that you could think me capable of deserting those who have never denied me any thing as long as I can remember. No, dear, I sink or swim with my friends! I am betraying them, now, by letting you go. But the moment you have reached safety—I shall warn them.”
“Fleurette!”
“If I could love you without wronging them, I would—but I can’t.” She rested her hands on my shoulders. “Please say good-bye to me. You must hurry—you must hurry!”
Then she was in my arms, and as her lips met mine I knew that the greatest decision of my life was being asked of me.