I all but dropped the box. I was appalled. I think that any man must have been appalled. But I set it on the table. Then, as that high sibilance continued, I clenched my fists and forced myself to listen.
“So it befell—so it befell . . .” The whispering was in English! “I was called—lea . . . Chief was I of all the Quechua of Callao. But the Jibaros came: my women were taken; my house was fired, my head struck off. We were peaceful folk. But the head-hunters swept down upon us. Thought still lived in my skull, even when it was packed with burning sand. My brain boiled, yet I knew that I was lea, chief of the Quechua of Callao . . .”
The uncanny whisper died away. I stood there rigidly, staring at the head, when again a voice spoke from the box: “Such is the brief obituary oflea, chief of the Callao Quechuas.”
And this was the voice of Dr. Fu Manchu!
“If I address Mr. Bart Kerrigan,” it continued, ‘“be good enough to press the red indicator on the right of the box, once.”
A sort of icy coolness which, in my case, sometimes takes the place of panic, came now to my aid. Bending forward I pressed the red knob which I had already discovered.
“The grotesque character of the receiving-set before you,” that high distant voice resumed, “was designed for a special purpose. It is otherwise similar to the example which Sir Denis deposited in Scotland Yard Museum rather more than a year ago, but which is no longer of any use. Listen attentively. If Sir Denis or anyone else join you, press the blue indicator on the left of the box. The safety of Ardatha depends upon your obedience.”
Almost, I ceased to breathe.
“What I have to say must be said briefly: it is for you to employ it to good purpose. Your Western world is locked in a stupid clash of arms. You have created a situation resembling those traffic blocks which once were a feature of London. The shadow of Russia, that deformed colossus, frightens the children of Europe, none more so than the deluded Germans; but since one cannot wield the sword at the same time as one guides the ploughshare, nations far distant tremble for their trade. This is where East meets West. The more equally the scales be weighted, the more certainly a decimal of a gramme added to one of them must tip it.”
The voice ceased; I feared that that which I most particularly wanted to hear was to be denied to me, but: “I hold such a decimal of a gramme in my hand,” the cold guttural voice continued. “That dangerous meddler. Sir Lionel Barton, dreamed of outwitting me. He failed. Mention to him that Haiti, and not Panama, is the home of The Snapping Fingers. He captured Peko, the marmoset who shares all my secrets, including that of longevity. You are unaware of the fact, but I have twice attempted to recover him, and twice have been unsuccessful. In holding Peko I confess that you hold my heartstrings. In the wooden base upon which the head of lea is mounted, you will find a small phial containing a heavy liquid resembling Chartreuse. Press the red indicator twice, when you have found it.”
Without hesitation (I wondered if anyone had ever disobeyed Dr. Fu Manchu) I removed the shrivelled head, the base of which I found to be fixed in two grooves so that it could be pulled out from the box. I inverted it and saw that there was a sliding lid. Inside the cavity lay a phial and a tiny tortoiseshell snuff-box packed in cotton wool.
I reclosed this strange casket, replaced the head and followed instructions.
“You have in your hand,” the imperious voice responded, “that which means the life not merely of an animal.One minim, no more, is to be added to one gill of fresh goat’s milk. This must be given to the marmoset at once. Afterwards, the milk once daily, with the liqueur only on every third day. An added fragment of the powder in the snuff-box will induce him to eat any suitable food. Press the red indicator once if you understand; otherwise, twice.”
When I had signified that I understood: “See that Peko lives,” the distant voice went on. €<! am prepared to exchange Ardatha for Peko—when I have recovered Ardatha. There is a schism in our ancient ranks; a usurper seeks to be President, one who believes that the Nazi blunderers who have recently approached me can be used to our advantage. Here, in acting for yourself you act also for me. There is a creature called Lou Cabot who has joined my enemies. So far, he has escaped me. He is hiding in Colon. Ardatha is with him. You have Sir Denis and the Zone Police; I have my own methods. Seek for this reptile. If you should chance to kill him it would save me trouble.”
Again the voice ceased. I was in a state of intense nervous tension, but at last: “Find Cabot,” the voice added, now faintly and from far away. “Delay may be dangerous . . . Take care of Peko . . . I will restore . . .”
The voice ceased entirely.
CHAPTER XXI
CONCERNING LOU CABOT
“It will be interesting to learn,” said Nayland Smith, “whether the Zone Police,Dr. Fu Manchu or a jealous woman first discovers the whereabouts of this man Lou Cabot. However well hidden he may be, I may add that I do not envy Lou Cabot.”
The hour grew late, and with every moment that passed my impatience grew hotter. Somewhere, perhaps within call of the balcony outside our windows, Ardatha was imprisoned at the mercy of the sallow-faced, sleek-eyed scoundrel who had tracked me in Panama I Smith relighted his pipe, shooting a quick glance in my direction.
“I do not necessarily believe the woman Flammario,” he added, puffing vigorously.
“What could her object be?”
“Assuming it to be revenge—and your description depicts a woman whom it would be unwise to offend—it does not necessarily follow that her construction of the situation is the correct one. What I find hard to believe is this: that a member of the Si-Fan, presumably a senior official and therefore one well acquainted with their methods and efficiency, should, for a mere infatuation, invite the terrible penalties which must follow.”
“I see your point,” I replied miserably; “But if there is any truth at all in Flammario’s story what other explanation can there be?”
“One which occurred to me immediately,” snapped Smith. You had it from Fu Manchu himself. In one respect the Doctor stands unique amongst all the villains I have known; he never lies. Civil war has broken out in the ancient order of the Si-Fan: the man Cabot has joined the rebels. This, Flammario told you. I assume that Cabot is acting under the orders of the opposition leader.”
“You mean that his interest in Ardatha is not personal, as Flammario thinks?”
“I mean just that. She, as a woman, would naturally think otherwise. Ardatha is in some way useful to the rebel members, and so they are endeavouring to smuggle her away. This is not the first time, Kerrigan, that strife has broken out in the Council of Seven. The last rebel who endeavoured to assume control of that vast organization—”
He ceased speaking and began to pace up and down restlessly.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“A train of thought, Kerrigan—possibly an inspiration.”
He was still promenading, plunged in a brown study, when the door opened and Barton came in.
“Fu Manchu is undeniably a wizard physician,” Sir Lionel declared. “Treatment prescribed seems to have taken years off that beastly little marmoset. It is now as full of fight as a bulldog.”
“I am glad,” I said, and spoke with sincerity. “I was afraid we were going to lose the thing.”
“Any more messages from the Talking Head?” he inquired in his loud, facetious way.
“No.” Smith suddenly emerged from some maze of speculation in which he had been lost. “We have tried pressing the red control, and as you see the door of the box is open.”