The Devil Doctor Part 42

He began to listen again for the elusive message. I turned to Platts.

"Where is it being sent from?" I asked.

Platts shook his head.

"That's the mystery," he declared. "Look!"--he pointed to the table; "according to the Marconi chart, there's a Messageries boat due west between us and Ma.r.s.eilles, and the homeward-bound P. & O. which we pa.s.sed this morning must be getting on that way also, by now. The _Isis_ is somewhere ahead, but I've spoken all these, and the message comes from none of them."

"Then it may come from Messina."

"It doesn't come from Messina," replied the man at the table, beginning to write rapidly.

Platts stepped forward and bent over the message which the other was writing.

"Here it is!" he cried excitedly; "we're getting it."

Stepping in turn to the table, I leant over between the two and read these words as the operator wrote them down: _Dr. Petrie_--_my shadow_....

I drew a quick breath and gripped Platt's shoulder harshly. His a.s.sistant began fingering the instrument with irritation.

"Lost it again!" he muttered.

"This message...." I began.

But again the pencil was travelling over the paper:--_lies upon you all_ ... _end of message_.

The operator stood up and unclasped the receivers from his ears.

There, high above the sleeping s.h.i.+p's company, with the blue carpet of the Mediterranean stretched indefinitely about us, we three stood looking at one another. By virtue of a miracle of modern science, some one, divided from me by mile upon mile of boundless ocean, had spoken--and had been heard.

"Is there no means of learning," I said, "from whence this message emanated?"

Platts shook his head, perplexedly.

"They gave no code word," he said. "G.o.d knows who they were. It's a strange business and a strange message. Have you any sort of idea, Dr.

Petrie, respecting the ident.i.ty of the sender?"

I stared him hard in the face; an idea had mechanically entered my mind, but one of which I did not choose to speak, since it was opposed to human possibility.

But had I not seen with my own eyes the b.l.o.o.d.y streak across his forehead as the shot fired by Karamaneh entered his high skull, had I not known, so certainly as it is given to men to know, that the giant intellect was no more, the mighty will impotent, I should have replied:

"The message is from Dr. Fu Manchu!"

My reflections were rudely terminated and my sinister thoughts given new stimulus, by a loud though m.u.f.fled cry which reached me from somewhere in the s.h.i.+p below. Both my companions started as violently as I, whereby I knew that the mystery of the wireless message had not been without its effect upon their minds also. But whereas they paused in doubt, I leapt from the room and almost threw myself down the ladder.

It was Karamaneh who had uttered that cry of fear and horror!

Although I could perceive no connection betwixt the strange message and the cry in the night, intuitively I linked them, intuitively I knew that my fears had been well grounded; that the shadow of Fu Manchu still lay upon us.

Karamaneh occupied a large stateroom aft on the main deck; so that I had to descend from the upper deck on which my own room was situated to the promenade deck, again to the main deck, and thence proceed nearly the whole length of the alleyway.

Karamaneh and her brother, Aziz, who occupied a neighbouring room, met me, near the library. Karamaneh's eyes were wide with fear; her peerless colouring had fled, and she was white to the lips. Aziz, who wore a dressing-gown thrown hastily over his night attire, had his arm protectively about the girl's shoulders.

"The mummy!" she whispered tremulously, "the mummy!"

There came a sound of opening doors, and several pa.s.sengers, whom Karamaneh's cries had alarmed, appeared in various stages of undress.

A stewardess came running from the far end of the alleyway, and I found time to wonder at my own speed; for, starting from the distant Marconi deck, yet I had been the first to arrive upon the scene.

Stacey, the s.h.i.+p's doctor, was quartered at no great distance from the spot, and he now joined the group. Antic.i.p.ating the question which trembled upon the lips of several of those about me--

"Come to Dr. Stacey's room," I said, taking Karamaneh's arm; "we will give you something to enable you to sleep." I turned to the group. "My patient has had severe nerve trouble," I explained, "and has developed somnambulistic tendencies."

I declined the stewardess's offer of a.s.sistance, with a slight shake of the head, and shortly the four of us entered the doctor's cabin, on the deck above. Stacey carefully closed the door. He was an old fellow-student of mine, and already he knew much of the history of the beautiful Eastern girl and her brother Aziz.

"I fear there's mischief afoot, Petrie," he said. "Thanks to your presence of mind, the s.h.i.+p's gossips need know nothing of it."

I glanced at Karamaneh, who, since the moment of my arrival, had never once removed her gaze from me; she remained in that state of pa.s.sive fear in which I had found her, the lovely face pallid; and she stared at me fixedly in a childish, expressionless way which made me dread that the shock to which she had been subjected, whatever its nature, had caused a relapse into that strange condition of forgetfulness from which a previous shock had aroused her. I could see that Stacey shared my view, for--

"Something has frightened you," he said gently, seating himself on the arm of Karamaneh's chair and patting her hand as if to rea.s.sure her.

"Tell us all about it."

For the first time since our meeting that night, the girl turned her eyes from me and glanced up at Stacey, a sudden warm blush stealing over her face and throat and as quickly departing, to leave her even more pale than before. She grasped Stacey's hand in both her own--and looked again at me.

"Send for Mr. Nayland Smith without delay!" she said, and her sweet voice was slightly tremulous. "He must be put on his guard!"

I started up.

"Why?" I said. "For G.o.d's sake tell us what has happened!"

Aziz, who evidently was as anxious as myself for information, and who now knelt at his sister's feet looking up at her with that strange love, which was almost adoration, in his eyes, glanced back at me and nodded his head rapidly.

"Something "--Karamaneh paused, shuddering violently--"some dreadful thing, like a mummy escaped from its tomb, came into my room to-night through the port-hole...."

"Through the port-hole?" echoed Dr. Stacey amazedly.

"Yes, yes, through the port-hole! A creature tall and very, very thin.

He wore wrappings--yellow wrappings, swathed about his head, so that only his eyes, his evil gleaming eyes, were visible.... From waist to knees he was covered, also, but his body, his feet, and his legs were bare...."

"Was he--?" I began.

"He was a brown man, yes." Karamaneh, divining my question, nodded, and the s.h.i.+mmering cloud of her wonderful hair, hastily confined, burst free and rippled about her shoulders. "A gaunt, fleshless brown man, who bent, and writhed bony fingers--so!"

"A thug!" I cried.

"He--it--the mummy thing--would have strangled me if I had slept, for he crouched over the berth--seeking--seeking...."

I clenched my teeth convulsively.

"But I was sitting up--"