E-text prepared by Lisa Miller
Being a New Phase in the Activities of Fu-Manchu, the Devil Doctor
by
"Who's there?" I called sharply.
I turned and looked across the room. The window had been widely openedwhen I entered, and a faint fog haze hung in the apartment, seeming toveil the light of the shaded lamp. I watched the closed door intently,expecting every moment to see the knob turn. But nothing happened.
"Who's there?" I cried again, and, crossing the room, I threw open thedoor.
The long corridor without, lighted only by one inhospitable lamp at aremote end, showed choked and yellowed with this same fog socharacteristic of London in November. But nothing moved to right norleft of me. The New Louvre Hotel was in some respects yet incomplete,and the long passage in which I stood, despite its marble facings, hadno air of comfort or good cheer; palatial it was, but inhospitable.
I returned to the room, reclosing the door behind me, then for somefive minutes or more I stood listening for a repetition of thatmysterious sound, as of something that both dragged and tapped, whichalready had arrested my attention. My vigilance went unrewarded. Ihad closed the window to exclude the yellow mist, but subconsciously Iwas aware of its encircling presence, walling me in, and now I foundmyself in such a silence as I had known in deserts but could scarcehave deemed possible in fog-bound London, in the heart of the world'smetropolis, with the traffic of the Strand below me upon one side andthe restless life of the river upon the other.
It was easy to conclude that I had been mistaken, that my nervoussystem was somewhat overwrought as a result of my hurried return fromCairo—from Cairo where I had left behind me many a fondly cherishedhope. I addressed myself again to the task of unpacking mysteamer-trunk and was so engaged when again a sound in the corridoroutside brought me upright with a jerk.
A quick footstep approached the door, and there came a muffled rappingupon the panel.
This time I asked no question, but leapt across the room and threw thedoor open. Nayland Smith stood before me, muffled up in a heavytraveling coat, and with his hat pulled down over his brows.
"At last!" I cried, as my friend stepped in and quickly reclosed thedoor.
Smith threw his hat upon the settee, stripped off the great-coat, andpulling out his pipe began to load it in feverish haste.
"Well," I said, standing amid the litter cast out from the trunk, andwatching him eagerly, "what's afoot?"
Nayland Smith lighted his pipe, carelessly dropping the match-end uponthe floor at his feet.
"God knows what is afoot this time, Petrie!" he replied. "You and Ihave lived no commonplace lives; Dr. Fu-Manchu has seen to that; butif I am to believe what the Chief has told me to-day, even strangerthings are ahead of us!"
I stared at him wonder-stricken.
"That is almost incredible," I said; "terror can have no darkermeaning than that which Dr. Fu-Manchu gave to it. Fu-Manchu is dead,so what have we to fear?"
"We have to fear," replied Smith, throwing himself into a corner ofthe settee, "the Si-Fan!"
I continued to stare, uncomprehendingly.
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