Therefore, I shall take steps to limit the time of your absence. You will have seventy-two hours in which to return. It is a painless operation: I shall operate personally. You may decline this commission if you wish. It is now six o’clock. I give you one hour. Report to me here at seven.”
Faced by this ghastly prospect, every hissing syllable of Fu Manchu’s ultimatum repeating itself over and over again in my brain, I wandered along the busy quays of that subterranean dockyard. No one paid the slightest attention to my presence. I walked straight ahead—aimlessly—hopelessly—thinking. For me it was the end: I should never see Ardatha again; for that Nayland Smith should compromise with Dr. Fu Manchu was a thing unthinkable. Yet, whatever became of me, heaven be thanked. Smith was free! The fight went on!
And now, as I wandered along past the groups of workers, some of whom glanced at me—but none with any evidence of curiosity—an explanation presented itself. In my shabby drill suit, my skin reduced by the hot sun to a dusky brown, I was indistinguishable from many of the labourers: they mistook me for one of the “below-ground” staff!
This theory to explain their indifference to the presence of a stranger was strengthened a moment later. At the head of some steps against which a boat was tied up, a man dressed almost as I was dressed sat splicing a length of rope. There was no one within twenty yards of the spot, and for this reason I particularly noticed him. His bowed shoulders were turned to me as he bent over his task. I had almost passed him when he spoke: “Don’t stop—don’t look back. Walk straight ahead.”
The speaker was Nayland Smith!
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHRISTOPHER’S PATH
“Smith!” I gasped, “this is a miracle!”
“No. Sound organization and top marks go to Barton. This way, and mind you don’t stumble.”
A coil of rope slung over his shoulder. Smith had slouched along in my wake until, leaving dockside activity behind, I had found myself on the farther shore, pursuing a path overhung by frowning rocks. Then, suddenly, he had caught me up and thrust me into a narrow cavity.
One backward glance I threw across the waters of the inky lake, glittering in synthetic sunshine. I could see gangs at work on the quays. One of the Sharks was submerging: it disappeared with the speed of a moorhen. Ring after ring of gleaming black water spread out from the spot where it bad been.
Then, as I stumbled along behind Smith in impenetrable darkness, he turned, grasped my hand and pulled me up and round a bend into a small cave. Several electric lamps were set on the rocky floor, casting their light upon a group of armed and uniformed men. It was a party of United States Marines!
They had their carbines at the ready.
“Made a capture, sir?” growled the petty officer who was evidently in charge.
“Yes!” snapped Smith, “the one I went for: Mr. Kerrigan.”
A sort of gruff murmur greeted his announcement.
“And now,” Smith continued rapidly, “we have to work fast. Stand easy, you fellows. Come over here, Kerrigan—thank God you are here! And tell me all you can in the fewest possible words.”
Madly excited as I was, frantically keyed up by this unforeseen solution of a problem which had threatened my faith, my principles, my soul, I strove hard to comply. I told him of the infra-azure lamp; described The Snapping Fingers: I named some of those brilliant men who laboured here to bring the world under the domination of Dr. Fu Manchu.
“He has agents everywhere. Smith!” I cried.
“I know that.”
“Six of his submarines could destroy a battle fleet. His planes, armed with Ericksen projectors, can manoeuvre like hawks. Whatever happens to Europe and the rest of the world, it is certain that at the present moment he holds the fate of the United States Navy in his hands.”
“At this stage of history, that means the rest of the world/9 said Smith gravely. He turned. “Stand by here, sergeant,” he directed. “Post your men one in touch with another along the passage. When a search party comes—and it can’t fail to be long, now—all fall back to the ladder, haul it up and leave no sign.”
“All clear, sir.”
In single file we walked up a narrow passage in which there were many bends, and at each of the bends a man dropped out, until at the point where passage seemed to end in a great jagged, natural chamber in the rock, I saw a rope ladder hanging from a ledge high above.
“This was Christophers road to the great cavern,” said Smith. “Just above this point, as we explored, it seemed that we had come to the end. You see, there have been earth tremors during the past century, and in places the way is blocked.” He raised his head. “All ready above there?” he hailed. “All ready, sir,” came a distant reply.
“We brought climbing tackle, and fortunately the kind of men who know how to use it. Hang on to the ladder there. Up you go, Kerrigan.”
There were two more Marines on duty at the head of the ladder. As one helped me to scramble up: “Welcome, Mr. Kerrigan!” he said; “I guess you are lucky to be alive!”
“I think so, too!”
I was in a much wider passage, which, however, was obviously natural; and when Smith had joined me and had given directions to the men, we began to climb up a steep ascent, he carrying an electric lamp,
“Smith,” I said, “at all costs we must rescue Ardatha!”
“Leave Ardatha to me,” he replied shortly. “Her safety is assured. We have a long way to go, Kerrigan, and so we must step out.”
We stepped out, along that mounting, winding rock corridor, the floor of which was icy smooth in places where in some earth agony of long ago streams of lava had flowed down, or, perhaps, steam had spurted up from the great cavern below which had been the crater. The air was foul as that inside a pyramid; colonies of bats clung to the roof in places and sometimes came sweeping down to the light.
Smith, rapped out a staccato, abbreviated account as we climbed: “In distraction caused by your striking at Voice ¯ cursed you at the time but seems to have come out for the best—I dived down into shadow. Invisible Fu Manchu had not had time to indicate me to smeller-out with big sword. Blow had staggered him, and, for reasons understood now, he became partially visible for a moment. Effect on those poor devils—glimpse of ghostly green figure—something I can’t describe. One long wail went up and all fell flat on their faces.”
At a bend in the passage we passed another armed Marine, who saluted.
“All clear. Stand by,” said Smith.
“But what did you do?”
“About you could do nothing. Two masked thugs picked you up as you fell; carried you into the temple. Sticking to shadow of stockade, got back to the gate. Two masks on duty there, but I flashed the master amulet in the moonlight. Never questioned me: just saluted. I made along the path through trees to the rest-house and big clearing, at which it had been arranged for three planes to alight. Got through unchallenged. Saw a sight I shall never forget. Minor ceremony being performed, with drums, feathered witch doctor, and number of Voodoo priestesses, dancing until they fell in convulsions. Everyone dancing; drums beating; scores of panting bodies on the ground; shrieks, half-animal cries . . .
“The rest-house was deserted. I stood there watching the orgy. Often glanced at my watch; wondered if you were dead or alive, counting the minutes, seconds. Then, on the dot of appointed time, came drone of the engines. The scene changed magically. As the fighters circled overhead and then glided down to that perfect landing-ground, every soul scattered to cover! Most of those who had seemed to be insensible staggered to their feet—joined in the rout; others dragged away. Drums ceased, the witch doctor alone continued frenzied dancing. He did not seem to come to his senses until the first plane grounded right beside him.”