know a broken window at the back where we could climb in. Then we
could get through to the front and watch from there."
"Good!" cried the Inspector. "See you are not spotted, though; and if
you hear the whistle, don't mind doing a bit of damage, but be inside
Shen-Yan's like lightning. Otherwise, wait for orders."
Inspector Ryman came in, glancing at the clock.
"Launch is waiting," he said.
"Right," replied Smith thoughtfully. "I am half afraid, though, that
the recent alarms may have scared our quarry--your man, Mason, and then
Cadby. Against which we have that, so far as he is likely to know,
there has been no clew pointing to this opium den. Remember, he thinks
Cadby's notes are destroyed."
"The whole business is an utter mystery to me," confessed Ryman. "I'm
told that there's some dangerous Chinese devil hiding somewhere in
London, and that you expect to find him at Shen-Yan's. Supposing he
uses that place, which is possible, how do you know he's there
to-night?"
"I don't," said Smith; "but it is the first clew we have had pointing
to one of his haunts, and time means precious lives where Dr. Fu-Manchu
is concerned."
"Who is he, sir, exactly, this Dr. Fu-Manchu?"
"I have only the vaguest idea, Inspector; but he is no ordinary
criminal. He is the greatest genius which the powers of evil have put
on earth for centuries. He has the backing of a political group whose
wealth is enormous, and his mission in Europe is to PAVE THE WAY! Do
you follow me? He is the advance-agent of a movement so epoch-making
that not one Britisher, and not one American, in fifty thousand has
ever dreamed of it."
Ryman stared, but made no reply, and we went out, passing down to the
breakwater and boarding the waiting launch. With her crew of three,
the party numbered seven that swung out into the Pool, and, clearing
the pier, drew in again and hugged the murky shore.
The night had been clear enough hitherto, but now came scudding
rainbanks to curtain the crescent moon, and anon to unveil her again
and show the muddy swirls about us. The view was not extensive from
the launch. Sometimes a deepening of the near shadows would tell of a
moored barge, or lights high above our heads mark the deck of a large
vessel. In the floods of moonlight gaunt shapes towered above; in the
ensuing darkness only the oily glitter of the tide occupied the
foreground of the night-piece.
The Surrey shore was a broken wall of blackness, patched with lights
about which moved hazy suggestions of human activity. The bank we were
following offered a prospect even more gloomy--a dense, dark mass, amid
which, sometimes, mysterious half-tones told of a dock gate, or sudden
high lights leapt flaring to the eye.
Then, out of the mystery ahead, a green light grew and crept down upon
us. A giant shape loomed up, and frowned crushingly upon the little
craft. A blaze of light, the jangle of a bell, and it was past. We
were dancing in the wash of one of the Scotch steamers, and the murk
had fallen again.
Discords of remote activity rose above the more intimate throbbing of
our screw, and we seemed a pigmy company floating past the workshops of
Brobdingnagian toilers. The chill of the near water communicated
itself to me, and I felt the protection of my shabby garments
inadequate against it.
Far over on the Surrey shore a blue light--vaporous,
mysterious--flicked translucent tongues against the night's curtain.
It was a weird, elusive flame, leaping, wavering, magically changing
from blue to a yellowed violet, rising, falling.
"Only a gasworks," came Smith's voice, and I knew that he, too, had
been watching those elfin fires. "But it always reminds me of a
Mexican teocalli, and the altar of sacrifice."
The simile was apt, but gruesome. I thought of Dr. Fu-Manchu and the
severed fingers, and could not repress a shudder.
"On your left, past the wooden pier! Not where the lamp is--beyond
that; next to the dark, square building--Shen-Yan's."
It was Inspector Ryman speaking.
"Drop us somewhere handy, then," replied Smith, "and lie close in, with
your ears wide open. We may have to run for it, so don't go far away."
From the tone of his voice I knew that the night mystery of the Thames
had claimed at least one other victim.
"Dead slow," came Ryman's order. "We'll put in to the Stone Stairs."
CHAPTER VI
A SEEMINGLY drunken voice was droning from a neighboring alleyway as
Smith lurched in hulking fashion to the door of a little shop above
which, crudely painted, were the words:
"SHEN-YAN, Barber."
I shuffled along behind him, and had time to note the box of studs,
German shaving tackle and rolls of twist which lay untidily in the
window ere Smith kicked the door open, clattered down three wooden
steps, and pulled himself up with a jerk, seizing my arm for support.
We stood in a bare and very dirty room, which could only claim kinship
with a civilized shaving-saloon by virtue of the grimy towel thrown
across the back of the solitary chair. A Yiddish theatrical bill of
some kind, illustrated, adorned one of the walls, and another bill, in
what may have been Chinese, completed the decorations. From behind a
curtain heavily brocaded with filth a little Chinaman appeared, dressed
in a loose smock, black trousers and thick-soled slippers, and,
advancing, shook his head vigorously.
"No shavee--no shavee," he chattered, simian fashion, squinting from
one to the other of us with his twinkling eyes. "Too late! Shuttee
shop!"