“So I imagine,” I interjected.
“In short, there’s no doubt whatever that his main source of revenue is the affairs of the Si-Fan. He’s one of their spies, and an agent of Dr. Fu Manchu, as his brother was before him.”
Simply eaten up with impatience and anxiety, I could scarcely contain myself during this conversation. And, as Sir Denis paused again:
“This doesn’t help me in the least to understand,” I said, “why you let the brute slip!”
“Same here,” growled the chief. “Personally, I should have thrown him out of the window.”
Sir Denis lay back in his chair, giving an order to a waiter who had just come up; and, as the man went away:
“Your primitive tactics, Barton,” he remarked coldly, “would probably result in the total disappearance of Rima. If that’s what you are after—take charge.”
“But——” the chief began.
“There’s no Taut’!” snapped Nayland Smith impatiently. “We have absolutely no clue to Rima’s whereabouts. Greville, here, has been doped—his brain on that point is useless. The man you wanted to throw out of the window probably knows no more than we know. But he’s a link—a link which you would have snapped!”
He paused so suddenly, staring obliquely across the street at a high window, that automatically I turned and looked in the same direction. And as I looked, I saw what he had seen.
From the window of a native house—for Shepheard’s borders closely upon the Oriental city—a woman was leaning out, apparently watching us where we sat on the stoep. She withdrew from the window immediately, but as she did so I turned and met a piercing glance from Sir Denis.
“Was I right, Greville?”
I nodded.
“I think so.”
Even without his confirmation I should have been certain that Fah Lo Suee had been watching us from across the street!
I jumped up.
“Let’s search the house!” I cried. “I know you have powers, Sir Denis!”
My excitement had attracted attention, and I suddenly realised with embarrassment that a number of people were looking at me.
“Sit down, Greville,” was the quiet reply. “Your tactics are as bad as Barton’s.”
I dropped back in my chair and met his steady gaze—not, I believe, with too great an amiability.
“What the devil’s all this about?” growled the chief. “I can’t see anything.”
“Outside your particular province,” Nayland Smith returned, “you rarely do see anything. Petrie, with his stolid mentality, is worth both of you put together when it comes to grasping facts. If I hadn’t been here last night, Barton, all Cairo would know now that Rima was missing.”
“Why shouldn’t all Cairo know?”
“Because it would result in her being smuggled away. If you can’t see that, you can see nothing.”
Nevertheless, I could not refrain from glancing up at that high window at which, I was assured, Fu Manchu’s daughter had been stationed—watching us. And Nayland Smith suddenly detected this.
“For heaven’s sake!” he snapped irritably, “pretend you didn’t see her.” He pulled out pouch and pipe and threw them down on the table. “I must smoke!”
As he began to load the cracked old briar:
“What I want to know——” Sir Lionel began.
“What you want to know,” Sir Denis took him up, “is why I selected so strange a meeting place. If you’ll be good enough not to interrupt me, I’ll explain. Ah! here’s Petrie.”
I saw the doctor, who had just come up the steps, looking about in search of us, and standing up I waved my hand. He nodded, and threading his way among the tables, joined us.
“Sit down, Petrie,” said Nayland Smith; “here’s a chair. You will notice that, anticipating your arrival, I thoughtfully ordered a drink for you.”
“Tell me. Smith,” Petrie began eagerly, “have you come to terms? For God’s sake, say that you have.”
“I have, old man,” Nayland Smith replied, laying his hand upon the speaker’s arm, and squeezing it reassuringly. “But neither Barton nor Greville seems to appreciate my purpose.”
“Fah Lo Suee——” I began, glancing towards that window across the street.
“Greville!” snapped Sir Denis, “there will be plenty of time later; at the moment I wish to explain the position to Petrie.”
His manner was overbearing to the point of rudeness. I felt like a recruit in the hands of a company sergeant major. But I suffered it and took out my cigarette case.
“I have arranged,” he continued, “with Mr. Aden—who is, as you suspected, Petrie, a brother of the lamented Samarkan——”
“I knew it!” Petrie cried.
“You were right,” Nayland Smith admitted, “and I am indebted to you for the clue. But, as I was saying, I have arranged that the relics of the Masked Prophet—which God knows have caused sufficient misery already—shall be handed over to those who demanded them, and Rima returned to us to-night at twelve o’clock in the King’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid.”
Probably no more perfect registration of astonishment could have been achieved by any Hollywood star than that now displayed by Dr. Petrie. He stared from face to face in positive bewilderment, and:
“You think what I think, Petrie,” the chief shouted; “that it’s stark raving lunacy!”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to think,” Petrie confessed. “It sounds fantastic to a degree. Really, Smith, in the circumstances...”
Sir Denis, having failed to light up with the first match, turned irritably to the speaker.
“Have you ever had occasion to observe, Petrie,” he inquired acidly, “that my average behaviour tends to the absurd?”
“Not at all.”
“Very well.” He struck a second match. “I will quote, from memory, the terms of the agreement to which Barton and I have set our hands, witnessed by Greville, here.”
The second match failed also. Laying his pipe upon the table:
“The phrasing doesn’t matter,” he went on, “but the hub of the thing is this:
“Dr. Fu Manchu’s agent was authorised to propose that at a meeting place to be mutually agreed on, but one not less than half a mile from any inhabited dwelling, no more than two persons should present themselves with the relics of the Prophet. Of the other part it was agreed that no more than two persons should be with Rima. Rima having been accepted on our side, and the relics on the other, all should be permitted to depart unmolested.”
“Well?” said the chief, leaning across the table; “it was playing into our hands!”
“Listen,” Nayland Smith’s even voice continued: “Knowing with whom I was dealing, I made a further condition. It was this: that after the interchange of valuables (pardon me, Greville, but I don’t quite know how otherwise to express myself) there should be a ten minutes’ truce. Note the time— ten minutes.”
“I still remain in the dark,” I confessed. “So do I,” said Petrie.
“Wait!” the chief growled, watching Nayland Smith intently. “I begin to see—I think I begin to see.”
“Good for you, Barton,” was the reply. “I naturally anticipated an ambush. If Fu Manchu can secure what he wants and at the same time dispose of two people in the world who know much of himself and his methods, this would be a master stroke. I looked for loopholes in the agreement. While the doctor would not hesitate to murder any of us, he is incapable of dishonouring his bond. I played for safety.”
“Hopeless!” I exclaimed. “It appears to me that to-night we are walking with our eyes open right into a trap.”
“Wait!” With a third match the speaker got his pipe going. “By the courtesy of Mr. Aden it was left to me to suggest this meeting place. And I selected the King’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid. It was a momentary inspiration, and I may have been wrong. But consider its advantages.”