The Hand of Fu-Manchu | Page 4

whether above or below I could not be sure, came a
faint, dragging sound, accompanied by a tap--tap--tap....

CHAPTER III
"SAKYA MUNI"
The faint disturbance faded into silence again. Across the dead man's body I met Smith's
gaze. Faint wreaths of fog floated in from the outer room. Beeton clutched the foot of the
bed, and the structure shook in sympathy with his wild trembling. That was the only
sound now; there was absolutely nothing physical so far as my memory serves to
signalize the coming of the brown man.
Yet, stealthy as his approach had been, something must have warned us. For suddenly,
with one accord, we three turned upon the bed, and stared out into the room from which
the fog wreaths floated in.
Beeton stood nearest to the door, but, although he turned, he did not go out, but with a
smothered cry crouched back against the bed. Smith it was who moved first, then I
followed, and close upon his heels burst into the disordered sitting-room. The outer door
had been closed but not bolted, and what with the tinted light, diffused through the silken
Japanese shade, and the presence of fog in the room, I was almost tempted to believe
myself the victim of a delusion. What I saw or thought I saw was this:--
A tall screen stood immediately inside the door, and around its end, like some
materialization of the choking mist, glided a lithe, yellow figure, a slim, crouching figure,
wearing a sort of loose robe. An impression I had of jet-black hair, protruding from
beneath a little cap, of finely chiseled features and great, luminous eyes, then, with no
sound to tell of a door opened or shut, the apparition was gone.
"You saw him, Petrie!--you saw him!" cried Smith.

In three bounds he was across the room, had tossed the screen aside and thrown open the
door. Out he sprang into the yellow haze of the corridor, tripped, and, uttering a cry of
pain, fell sprawling upon the marble floor. Hot with apprehension I joined him, but he
looked up with a wry smile and began furiously rubbing his left shin.
"A queer trick, Petrie," he said, rising to his feet; "but nevertheless effective."
He pointed to the object which had occasioned his fall. It was a small metal chest,
evidently of very considerable weight, and it stood immediately outside the door of
Number 14a.
"That was what he came for, sir! That was what he came for! You were too quick for
him!"
Beeton stood behind us, his horror-bright eyes fixed upon the box.
"Eh?" rapped Smith, turning upon him.
"That's what Sir Gregory brought to England," the man ran on almost hysterically; "that's
what he's been guarding this past two weeks, night and day, crouching over it with a
loaded pistol. That's what cost him his life, sir. He's had no peace, day or night, since he
got it...."
We were inside the room again now, Smith bearing the coffer in his arms, and still the
man ran on:
"He's never slept for more than an hour at a time, that I know of, for weeks past. Since
the day we came here he hasn't spoken to another living soul, and he's lain there on the
floor at night with his head on that brass box, and sat watching over it all day."
"'Beeton!' he'd cry out, perhaps in the middle of the night--'Beeton-- do you hear that
damned woman!' But although I'd begun to think I could hear something, I believe it was
the constant strain working on my nerves and nothing else at all.
"Then he was always listening out for some one he called 'the man with the limp.' Five
and six times a night he'd have me up to listen with him. 'There he goes, Beeton!' he'd
whisper, crouching with his ear pressed flat to the door. 'Do you hear him dragging
himself along?'
"God knows how I've stood it as I have; for I've known no peace since we left China.
Once we got here I thought it would be better, but it's been worse.
"Gentlemen have come (from the India Office, I believe), but he would not see them.
Said he would see no one but Mr. Nayland Smith. He had never lain in his bed until
to-night, but what with taking no proper food nor sleep, and some secret trouble that was
killing him by inches, he collapsed altogether a while ago, and I carried him in and laid
him on the bed as I told you. Now he's dead--now he's dead."

Beeton leant up against the mantelpiece and buried his face in his hands, whilst his
shoulders shook convulsively. He had evidently been greatly attached to his master, and I
found