Read Online The Bride of Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sax Rohmer
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drawn.
Thus far, stupidly, I had taken it for granted that the door was locked. But failing to get a response from the man inside, I now tried the handle and found, to my great surprise, that the door was unlocked.
I opened it. The laboratory was pitch black and reeked of the smell of mimosa.
“Hullo, there!” I cried. “Are you asleep?”
There was no reply, but I detected a sound of heavy breathing as I groped for the switch. When I found it, the lamps came up very brightly, dipped, and then settled down.
“My God!” I groaned. The man from Cannes lay face downward on the couch!
I ran across and tried to move him. He was a big, heavy fellow, and one limply down-stretched arm, the fingers touching the floor, told me that this was no natural repose. Indeed, the state of the place had prepared me for this.
It was not merely in disorder—it had been stripped. Petrie’s specimen slides and all the documents which were kept in the laboratory had been removed!
The smell of mimosa was everywhere; it was getting me by the throat.
I rolled the man over on his back. My first impression, that he had been drinking heavily, was immediately dispelled. He was insensible but breathing stertorously. I shouted and shook him, but without avail. My Colt automatic, which I had lent him, lay upon the floor some distance away.
“Good heavens!” I whispered, and stood there, listening.
Except for the hum of the engine in its shed near by, and the thick breathing of the man on the couch, I could hear nothing. I stared at the chauffeur’s flushed features.
Was it... the Purple Shadow?
My medical knowledge was not great enough to tell me. The man might have been stunned by a blow or be suffering from the effects of an anaesthetic. Certainly, I could find no evidence of injury.
It was only reasonable to suppose that whatever the marauders had come to look for, they had found. I decided to raise the metal shutters and open a window. That stifling perfume, for which I was wholly at a loss to account, threatened to overpower me. I wondered if the searchers had upset a jar of some queer preparation of Petrie’s.
How little I appreciated at that moment the monumental horror which lay behind these opening episodes in a drama destined to divert the whole course of my life!
I came out of the laboratory. Some kind of human contact, sympathy, assistance was what I most desired. Leaving the lights on and the door and window open, I began to make my way up the steep path bordering the kitchen-garden, towards the villa. I had slipped my own automatic into my pocket and so was now doubly armed.
In my own defence I think I may say that blackwater fever leaves one very low, and, as Petrie had warned me, I had been rather overdoing it for a convalescent. This is my apologia for the fact that as I climbed up that narrow path to the Villa Jasmin, I was conscious of the darkest apprehension. I became convinced, suddenly but quite definitely, that I was being watched.
I had just stepped on to the verandah and was fumbling with the door key when I heard a sound which confirmed my intuition.
From somewhere behind me, near the laboratory which I had just left, came the call, soft but unmistakable, on three minor notes, of a Dacoit!
I flung the door open and turned up the light in the small, square lobby. Then I reclosed the door. What to do was the problem. I thought of the man lying down there helpless—at the mercy of unguessed dangers. But he was too heavy to carry, and at all costs I must get to the phone—which was here in the villa.
I threw open the sitting-room door and entered the room in which, that evening, I had quested through works in several languages for a clue to the strange plant discovered by Petrie. I switched on the lamps.
What I saw brought me up sharply with a muttered exclamation.
The room had been turned upside down!
Two cabinets and the drawers of a writing table had been emptied of their contents. The floor was
Thus far, stupidly, I had taken it for granted that the door was locked. But failing to get a response from the man inside, I now tried the handle and found, to my great surprise, that the door was unlocked.
I opened it. The laboratory was pitch black and reeked of the smell of mimosa.
“Hullo, there!” I cried. “Are you asleep?”
There was no reply, but I detected a sound of heavy breathing as I groped for the switch. When I found it, the lamps came up very brightly, dipped, and then settled down.
“My God!” I groaned. The man from Cannes lay face downward on the couch!
I ran across and tried to move him. He was a big, heavy fellow, and one limply down-stretched arm, the fingers touching the floor, told me that this was no natural repose. Indeed, the state of the place had prepared me for this.
It was not merely in disorder—it had been stripped. Petrie’s specimen slides and all the documents which were kept in the laboratory had been removed!
The smell of mimosa was everywhere; it was getting me by the throat.
I rolled the man over on his back. My first impression, that he had been drinking heavily, was immediately dispelled. He was insensible but breathing stertorously. I shouted and shook him, but without avail. My Colt automatic, which I had lent him, lay upon the floor some distance away.
“Good heavens!” I whispered, and stood there, listening.
Except for the hum of the engine in its shed near by, and the thick breathing of the man on the couch, I could hear nothing. I stared at the chauffeur’s flushed features.
Was it... the Purple Shadow?
My medical knowledge was not great enough to tell me. The man might have been stunned by a blow or be suffering from the effects of an anaesthetic. Certainly, I could find no evidence of injury.
It was only reasonable to suppose that whatever the marauders had come to look for, they had found. I decided to raise the metal shutters and open a window. That stifling perfume, for which I was wholly at a loss to account, threatened to overpower me. I wondered if the searchers had upset a jar of some queer preparation of Petrie’s.
How little I appreciated at that moment the monumental horror which lay behind these opening episodes in a drama destined to divert the whole course of my life!
I came out of the laboratory. Some kind of human contact, sympathy, assistance was what I most desired. Leaving the lights on and the door and window open, I began to make my way up the steep path bordering the kitchen-garden, towards the villa. I had slipped my own automatic into my pocket and so was now doubly armed.
In my own defence I think I may say that blackwater fever leaves one very low, and, as Petrie had warned me, I had been rather overdoing it for a convalescent. This is my apologia for the fact that as I climbed up that narrow path to the Villa Jasmin, I was conscious of the darkest apprehension. I became convinced, suddenly but quite definitely, that I was being watched.
I had just stepped on to the verandah and was fumbling with the door key when I heard a sound which confirmed my intuition.
From somewhere behind me, near the laboratory which I had just left, came the call, soft but unmistakable, on three minor notes, of a Dacoit!
I flung the door open and turned up the light in the small, square lobby. Then I reclosed the door. What to do was the problem. I thought of the man lying down there helpless—at the mercy of unguessed dangers. But he was too heavy to carry, and at all costs I must get to the phone—which was here in the villa.
I threw open the sitting-room door and entered the room in which, that evening, I had quested through works in several languages for a clue to the strange plant discovered by Petrie. I switched on the lamps.
What I saw brought me up sharply with a muttered exclamation.
The room had been turned upside down!
Two cabinets and the drawers of a writing table had been emptied of their contents. The floor was
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