The Mask of Fu Manchu

THE GREAT PYRAMID

We set out at eleven-thirty in Petrie’s car.

I suppose, of all the dark hours I have known, this was as black as any. I rested upon Sir Denis Nayland Smith as upon a rock....If he should fail me—all was lost.

That his singular plan was a good one I had accepted as a fact; failing this acceptance, I should have been in despair. Perhaps it was the aftermath of drugs to the influence of which I had been subjected; but I was in an oddly muted frame of mind. Frenzy had given place to a sort of Moslem-like resignation; a fatalistic, deadening recognition of the fact that if Rima, who was really all that mattered to me in the world, should have come to harm, life was ended.

At the village, where few lights were burning when we passed, a British policeman was on duty. Nayland Smith checked Petrie, and leaning out of the car:

“Anything passed?” he asked rapidly.

“Nothing much, sir. Two or three hotel parties. I’ve noticed a lot of funny-looking Bedouins about here to-night, but I suppose that’s nothing to do with the matter.”

“Making for Gizeh?”

“No, sir. They all went that way—into the village.”

“Go ahead, Petrie.”

As we swung around onto that long, straight tree-lined avenue which leads to the Plateau of Gizeh, I counted three cars which passed us, bound towards Cairo. There was nothing ahead, and nobody seemed to be following. As the hotel came into view:

“We have time in hand,” said Petrie, “shall I drive right ahead?”

“Pull up,” Nayland Smith directed sharply.

An Egyptian, who might have been a dragoman, had sprung from the shadow of the wall bordering the gardens of Mena House, where during the day a line of cars and camels may be seen. Nayland Smith craned out.

“Who is it?” he asked impatiently.

“Enderby, Sir Denis. You met me at headquarters to-day.” “Right! What have you to report?”

“Not a thing! I have four smart gyppies watching with me, and we have checked everybody. There’s absolutely nothing to report.”

“Leave the car here, Petrie,” said Nayland Smith, “we have time to walk. It may be better.”

Petrie backed the car in against the wall, and we all got out. The “Arab” whose name was Enderby, and whom I took to be a secret service agent, conversed aside with Sir Denis for some time. Then, saluting in the native manner, he withdrew and disappeared into the shadows again.

“Queer business,” said Nayland Smith, pulling the lobe of his ear. “A gathering of the heads of the many orders of dervishes is taking place in the Village to-night. As a rule they don’t mix...And why at Gizeh?”

“Don’t like the sound of it myself,” the chief growled; but:

“D’you mind grabbing the case, Greville?” said Nayland Smith tersely.

With ill-concealed reluctance, Sir Lionel passed his leather suitcase into my possession; and we started up the sandy slope. I had abandoned speculation—almost abandoned hope;

having, in fact, achieved acceptance of the worst. Diamond stars gleamed in an ebony sky. The Great Pyramid, most wonderful, perhaps, of the structures of man, blotted out a triangle of the heavens. Our feet crunched on the sandy way. We were sombrely silent.

At one point, as we turned the bend at the top of the road, I remember that I wondered, momentarily, what the others were thinking about; and particularly if Sir Denis’s confidence remained unimpaired. My own, alas, had long since deserted me....

And dervishes were assembling at Gizeh. That certainly was odd. Why, as Nayland Smith had asked, at Gizeh?

Just as we were topping the slope a man appeared, apparently from nowhere, and so suddenly that I was startled out of my confused reverie. Petrie, who was beside me, grabbed my arm; and then:

“You’re early. Sir Denis,” said a voice. I knew it at once: it was that of Hewlett, Acting Super intendent of Police.

“Not so loud,” snapped Nayland Smith. “What’s the news?”

“None, I regret to say, sir.”

“You mean no one has entered The Pyramid?”

“Not a soul—if I can rely on my men!”

My heart sank—went down to zero. The scheme, the fantastic scheme, had failed. He was dealing with a super-mind, and Fu Manchu was laughing at him. It was unthinkable that the Chinese doctor should have exposed any of his agents to a danger so obvious.

“How many men have you here?”

“Sixty. The place is entirely surrounded.”

“What does this mean, Smith?” Petrie asked urgently. He turned to Hewlett, whom he evidently knew well, and: “How long have you been covering the Pyramid?” he added.

“Since the guides knocked off,” was the reply. “If anybody’s smuggled through in the interval, he must have been invisible.”

“It’s a booby trap,” said the chief shortly. “You’ve ruled me out, Smith, and perhaps it doesn’t matter. But, by heaven——”

“Disappear, Hewlett,” Nayland Smith directed tersely; and as Hewlett obediently merged into the shadows: “I don’t know what this means, Petrie,” he went on, “any more than you do. From the evidence, and I count it pretty sound, nobody has gone into the place to-night since sunset. But three of us have signed an agreement with an enemy I would strangle with my own hands if I had the opportunity, but with an enemy who has one redeeming virtue: he always keeps his word. We must keep ours.”

“He’s spotted the cordon,” Sir Lionel growled, “and he’s called his men off.”

“We have stuck strictly to the terms of the understanding. He must have anticipated that we should do our utmost to arrest his agents immediately the ten-minute truce ended.”

“Then he finds he can’t cope with the situation. He’s backed out—”

“My God!” I groaned, “where’s Rima? She can’t possibly be here!”

“Wait and see!” snapped Nayland Smith.

His words were spoken so savagely that I recognized the tension under which he was labouring and regretted my emotional outburst.

Tm sorry. Sir Denis,” I said. “It’s vital to me, and——” “It’s equally vital to me! I’m not risking Rima’s life for any pet theory, Greville. I’m doing my damnest to make sure she’s returned safely.”

His words made me rather ashamed of myself. “I know,” I replied. “I’m terribly worked up.” “Barton,” came a tense order, “get in touch with Hewlett, and stand by, here. You too, Petrie.”

“I hate you for this,” said the chief violently. “Hate on! You are too damned impetuous for the job before us....»

Together, he and I set out.

I glanced back once, and Sir Lionel and Dr. Petrie presented a spectacle which might have been funny had my sense of humour been properly alert. Dimly visible, for the night was velvety dark, they stood looking after us like schoolboys left outside a circus....

And presently I found myself alone with Nayland Smith at the foot of that vast, mysterious building which has defied the researches of Egyptologists and exercised the imaginations of millions who have never seen it. Personally, I had lived down that sense of mystery which claims any man of average intelligence when first he confronts this architectural miracle.

Sir Lionel had carried out an inquiry here in 1930, just prior to our excavations on the site of Nineveh. I knew the Great Pyramid inside out, remembering the job more vividly because Rima had been absent in England during the time, the chief having given her leave of absence which he refused to grant to me.

We had reached the steps which led to the opening; and:

“You’re in charge now,” said Nayland Smith. “Lead, and I’ll follow. Give me the case.”