“That was your condition when I returned,” Smith snapped. He crossed to me with a tumbler in his hand.
“I had been in that condition for some time before your return. A man admitted himself to the lobby with a key.”
“Describe him.”
“A small man with straight black hair, who wore what seemed to be powerful spectacles. He carried a bag which he handled with great care. He proceeded to make some adjustment to the mouthpiece of the telephone, and then with a glance in my direction—I was lying on the floor as you found me—he went out again as quietly as he had come.”
“Clearly,” said Smith, staring into the lobby, “your unexpected appearance presented a problem. They did not know you were coming. It had been arranged for Fey to be lured away by this unknown mimic who can evidently imitate Gallaho’s voice; but you, the unexpected intruder, had to be dealt with in a different manner. I am wondering about two things now, Kerrigan. Do you feel fit to investigate?”
“Perfectly”
“First: how long you would have remained in that state in which I found you, failing the unforeseen explosion which shocked you into consciousness; and second: what the small man with the black hair did to the telephone.”
“For heaven’s sake be careful!”
He crossed to the lobby and very gently raised the instrument. I stood beside him. Apart from a splitting headache I felt perfectly normal. He tipped up the mouthpiece and stared curiously into it.
“You are sure it was the mouthpiece that he adjusted?”
“Quite sure.”
And now he turned it round to the light which was streaming through the doorway of the sitting room.
We both saw something.
A bead, quite colorless and no larger than a small pea, adhered to the instrument just below the point where a speaker’s lips would come . . .
“Good God!” Nayland Smith whispered. “Kerrigan! You understand!”
I nodded. I could not find my voice—for the appalling truth had come to me.
“Anyone speaking loudly would burst this bubble and inhale its contents! God knows what it contains—but we know at last how General Quinto and Osaki died!”
“The Green Death!”
“Undoubtedly. It was a subtle brain, Kerrigan, which foresaw that finding you unconscious, I should immediately call a doctor, that my voice would be agitated. The usual routine, as you must see now, was for someone to call the victim and complain that his voice was not audible, thus causing him to speak close to the receiver and to speak loudly.”
Very gently he replaced the instrument.
At this moment the door was partly opened and Fey came in. He glanced from face to face.
“Glad, sir! Frightened! Something funny going on!”
“Very funny. Fey. I suppose when you got to the Yard you found that the summons did not come from there?”
“Yes sir.”
The phone bell rang. Fey stepped forward.
“Stop! On no account are you to touch the telephone. Fey, until further orders.”
“Very good, sir.”
Tremors Under Europe
“Doctor Fu Manchu evidently is losing his sense of humor,” said Nayland Smith with a smile.
It was noon of the following day, and he stood in my room. He was seated at the desk and was reading my notes. Now he laid them down and began to fill his pipe.
“What do you mean. Smith?”
“I mean that two things—your unexpected appearance, and that explosion on the powder barge—together saved my life. By the way, here is an addition to your notes.”
“What is it?”
“The home office analyst’s report. You know the difficulty we had to remove the mouthpiece of the telephone without breaking the bubble. However, it was done, and you will see what Doctor O’Donnell says.”
I took up the report from the home office consultant. It was not his official report but one he had sent privately to Nayland Smith.
“The construction of the small globe or bubble,” I read, “is peculiarly delicate. Examination of the fragments suggests that it is composed of some kind of glass and is probably blown by an instrument which at the same time fills the interior with gas. The effect of breaking the bubble, however, is to leave no trace whatever, apart from a fragment of powder which normally would be indiscernible. It was attached to the mouthpiece by a minute speck of gum, and I should imagine the operation required great dexterity. As to its contents:
“My full report may be consulted, but briefly I may say that the composition of the gas which this bubble contained is unknown to me. It belongs to none of the groups with which I am familiar. It is the most concentrated poison in gaseous form which I have ever encountered. In addition to the other experiments (see report) I smelled this gas—but for a moment. The result was extraordinary. It induced a violent increase of blood pressure, followed by a drumming in my ears which created such an illusion of being external that for a time I was persuaded someone was beating a drum in the neighborhood . . .”
As I laid the letter on the table:
“Have you considered,” Nayland Smith asked, “what revolutionary contributions Doctor Fu Manchu could make to science, particularly to medicine, if he worked for heaven and not for hell?”
“Yes, it’s a damnable thought.”
“The greatest genius living—perhaps as great as has ever been born—toiling for the destruction of humanity!”
“Yet, at the moment, he seems to be working for its preservation.”
“But only seems, Kerrigan. Its preservation for his own purposes—yes! I strongly suspect, however, that his recent attempt upon me was dictated by an uncanny knowledge of my movements.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am being shadowed day and night. There have been other episodes which I have not even bothered to mention.”
“You alarm me!”
“Fortunately for myself, the doctor has his hands full in other directions. If he once concentrated upon me I believe I should give up hope. You see, he knows that I am watching his next move, and with devilish cunning, so far, he has headed me off.”
“His next move . . .” I stared questioningly.
“Yes. In his war against dictators. At the moment it is concentrated upon one of them—and the greatest.”
“You don’t mean—”
“I mean Rudolf Adion! In view of the way in which he is guarded and of the many attempts by enemies to reach him which have failed, it seems perhaps absurd that I should be anxious because one more man has entered the lists.”
“But that man is Doctor Fu Manchu!”
“Not a doubt about it, Kerrigan. Yet, officially, my hands are tied.”
“Why?”
“Adion has refused to see me, and I cannot very well force myself upon him.”
“Have you definite evidence that Adion has been threatened?”
Nayland Smith lighted his pipe and nodded shortly.
“I am in the difficult position of having to keep an eye on a number of notable people—many of them, quite frankly, not friends of Great Britain. With a view to doing my best to protect them, the legitimate functions of the secret service up to a certain extent have been switched into this channel, and I had information three days ago that Adion had received the first notice from the Si-Fan!”
“Good heavens! What did you do?”