The Hand of Fu-Manchu | Page 7

bang. If her object in intercepting me had
been to cover the slow retreat of some one she had succeeded.
Recognizing that I had cut a truly sorry figure in the encounter, I retraced my steps.

By what route I ultimately regained the main staircase I have no idea; for my mind was
busy with that taunting memory of the two dark eyes looking out from the folds of the
green embroidered shawl. Where, and when, had I met their glance before?
To that problem I sought an answer in vain.
The message despatched to New Scotland Yard, I found M. Samarkan, long famous as a
mâitre d' hôtel in Cairo, and now host of London's newest and most palatial khan. Portly,
and wearing a gray imperial, M. Samarkan had the manners of a courtier, and the smile of
a true Greek.
I told him what was necessary, and no more, desiring him to go to suite 14a without delay
and also without arousing unnecessary attention. I dropped no hint of foul play, but M.
Samarkan expressed profound (and professional) regret that so distinguished, though
unprofitable, a patron should have selected the New Louvre, thus early in its history, as
the terminus of his career.
"By the way," I said, "have you Oriental guests with you, at the moment?"
"No, monsieur," he assured me.
"Not a certain Oriental lady?" I persisted.
M. Samarkan slowly shook his head.
"Possibly monsieur has seen one of the ayahs? There are several Anglo-Indian families
resident in the New Louvre at present."
An ayah? It was just possible, of course. Yet ...

CHAPTER IV
THE FLOWER OF SILENCE
"We are dealing now," said Nayland Smith, pacing restlessly up and down our
sitting-room, "not, as of old, with Dr. Fu-Manchu, but with an entirely unknown
quantity--the Si-Fan."
"For Heaven's sake!" I cried, "what is the Si-Fan?"
"The greatest mystery of the mysterious East, Petrie. Think. You know, as I know, that a
malignant being, Dr. Fu-Manchu, was for some time in England, engaged in 'paving the
way' (I believe those words were my own) for nothing less than a giant Yellow Empire.
That dream is what millions of Europeans and Americans term 'the Yellow Peril! Very
good. Such an empire needs must have----"

"An emperor!"
Nayland Smith stopped his restless pacing immediately in front of me.
"Why not an empress, Petrie!" he rapped.
His words were something of a verbal thunderbolt; I found myself at loss for any suitable
reply.
"You will perhaps remind me," he continued rapidly, "of the lowly place held by women
in the East. I can cite notable exceptions, ancient and modern. In fact, a moment's
consideration by a hypothetical body of Eastern dynast-makers not of an emperor but of
an empress. Finally, there is a persistent tradition throughout the Far East that such a
woman will one day rule over the known peoples. I was assured some years ago, by a
very learned pundit, that a princess of incalculably ancient lineage, residing in some
secret monastery in Tartary or Tibet, was to be the future empress of the world. I believe
this tradition, or the extensive group who seek to keep it alive and potent, to be what is
called the Si-Fan!"
I was past greater amazement; but--
"This lady can be no longer young, then?" I asked.
"On the contrary, Petrie, she remains always young and beautiful by means of a
continuous series of reincarnations; also she thus conserves the collated wisdom of many
ages. In short, she is the archetype of Lamaism. The real secret of Lama celibacy is the
existence of this immaculate ruler, of whom the Grand Lama is merely a high priest. She
has, as attendants, maidens of good family, selected for their personal charms, and
rendered dumb in order that they may never report what they see and hear."
"Smith!" I cried, "this is utterly incredible!"
"Her body slaves are not only mute, but blind; for it is death to look upon her beauty
unveiled."
I stood up impatiently.
"You are amusing yourself," I said.
Nayland Smith clapped his hands upon my shoulders, in his own impulsive fashion, and
looked earnestly into my eyes.
"Forgive me, old man," he said, "if I have related all these fantastic particulars as though
I gave them credence. Much of this is legendary, I know, some of it mere superstition,
but--I am serious now, Petrie-- part of it is true."
I stared at the square-cut, sun-tanned face; and no trace of a smile lurked about that grim
mouth. "Such a woman may actually exist, Petrie, only in legend; but, nevertheless, she

forms the head center of that giant conspiracy in which the activities of Dr. Fu-Manchu
were merely a part. Hale blundered on to this stupendous business; and from what I