The Devil Doctor | Page 2

others, she was quite
unusually--"
"She was very beautiful," I said, and stood up, for I was anxious to terminate that phase
of the conversation.
Eltham regarded me sympathetically; he knew something of my search with Nayland
Smith for the dark-eyed Eastern girl who had brought romance into my drab life; he knew
that I treasured my memories of her as I loathed and abhorred those of the fiendish,
brilliant Chinese doctor who had been her master.
Eltham began to pace up and down the rug, his pipe bubbling furiously; and something in
the way he carried his head reminded me momentarily of Nayland Smith. Certainly,
between this pink-faced clergyman, with his deceptively mild appearance, and the gaunt,
bronzed and steely-eyed Burmese commissioner, there was externally little in common;
but it was some little nervous trick in his carriage that conjured up through the
smoke-haze one distant summer evening when Smith had paced that very room as Eltham
paced it now, when before my startled eyes he had rung up the curtain upon the savage
drama in which, though I little suspected it then, Fate had cast me for a leading rôle.
I wondered if Eltham's thoughts ran parallel with mine. My own were centred upon the
unforgettable figure of the murderous Chinaman. These words, exactly as Smith had used
them, seemed once again to sound in my ears: "Imagine a person, tall, lean and feline,
high-shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull
and long magnetic eyes of the true cat green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an
entire Eastern race accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources of science,
past and present, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the 'Yellow Peril'
incarnate in one man."
This visit of Eltham's no doubt was responsible for my mood; for this singular clergyman
had played his part in the drama of two years ago.
"I should like to see Smith again," he said suddenly; "it seems a pity that a man like that
should be buried in Burma. Burma makes a mess of the best of men, doctor. You said he
was not married?"
"No," I replied shortly, "and is never likely to be, now."
"Ah, you hinted at something of the kind."
"I know very little of it. Nayland Smith is not the kind of man to talk much."
"Quite so--quite so! And, you know, doctor, neither am I; but"--he was growing painfully
embarrassed--"it may be your due--I--er--I have a correspondent, in the interior of
China--"

"Well?" I said, watching him in sudden eagerness.
"Well, I would not desire to raise--vain hopes--nor to occasion, shall I say, empty fears;
but--er ... no, doctor!" He flushed like a girl. "It was wrong of me to open this
conversation. Perhaps, when I know more--will you forget my words, for the time?"
The 'phone bell rang.
"Hullo!" cried Eltham--"hard luck, doctor!"--but I could see that he welcomed the
interruption. "Why!" he added, "it is one o'clock!"
I went to the telephone.
"Is that Dr. Petrie?" inquired a woman's voice.
"Yes; who is speaking?"
"Mrs. Hewett has been taken more seriously ill. Could you come at once?"
"Certainly," I replied, for Mrs. Hewett was not only a profitable patient but an estimable
lady. "I shall be with you in a quarter of an hour."
I hung up the receiver.
"Something urgent?" asked Eltham, emptying his pipe.
"Sounds like it. You had better turn in."
"I should much prefer to walk over with you, if it would not be intruding. Our
conversation has ill prepared me for sleep."
"Right!" I said, for I welcomed his company; and three minutes later we were striding
across the deserted common.
A sort of mist floated amongst the trees, seeming in the moonlight like a veil draped from
trunk to trunk, as in silence we passed the Mound Pond, and struck out for the north side
of the common.
I suppose the presence of Eltham and the irritating recollection of his half-confidence
were the responsible factors, but my mind persistently dwelt upon the subject of
Fu-Manchu and the atrocities which he had committed during his sojourn in England. So
actively was my imagination at work that I felt again the menace which so long had hung
over me; I felt as though that murderous yellow cloud still cast its shadow upon England.
And I found myself longing for the company of Nayland Smith. I cannot state what was
the nature of Eltham's reflections, but I can guess; for he was as silent as I.
It was with a conscious effort that I shook myself out of this morbidly reflective mood,
on finding that we had crossed the common and were come to the abode of my