The Devil Doctor Part 45

Fu-Manchu specially chosen for the purpose; obviously a man of culture, and probably of thug ancestry. I hit him--in the shoulder; but even then he ran like a hare. We've searched the s.h.i.+p, without result. He may have gone overboard and chanced the swim to sh.o.r.e...."

We stepped out on to the deck. Around us was that unforgettable scene--Port Said by night. The s.h.i.+p was barely moving through the gla.s.sy water, now. Smith took my arm and we walked forward. Above us was the mighty peace of Egypt's sky ablaze with splendour; around and about us moved the unique turmoil of the clearing-house of the Near East.

"I would give much to know the real ident.i.ty of the Bishop of Damascus," muttered Smith.

He stopped abruptly, snapping his teeth together and grasping my arm as in a vice. Hard upon his words had followed the rattling clangour as the great anchor was let go; but horribly intermingled with the metallic roar there came to us such a fearful inarticulate shrieking as to chill one's heart.

The anchor plunged into the water of the harbour; the shrieking ceased. Smith turned to me, and his face was tragic in the light of the arc lamp swung hard by.

"We shall never know," he whispered. "G.o.d forgive him--he must be in b.l.o.o.d.y tatters now. Petrie, the poor fool was hiding in the _chain-locker!_"

A little hand stole into mine. I turned quickly. Karamaneh stood beside me. I placed my arm about her shoulders, drawing her close; and I blush to relate that all else was forgotten.

For a moment, heedless of the fearful turmoil forward, Nayland Smith stood looking at us. Then he turned, with his rare smile, and walked aft.

"Perhaps you're right, Petrie!" he said.