He had assumed the appearance of a drugged opium-smoker so well as to dupe me—a medical man; so well as to dupe Karamaneh—whose experience of the noxious habit probably was greater than my own.
And, with the gallows dangling before him, he had waited—played the part of a lure—whilst a body of police actually surrounded the place!
I have since thought that the room probably was one which he actually used for opium debauches, and the device of the trap was intended to protect him during the comatose period.
Now, holding a lantern above his head, the deviser of the trap whereinto we, mouselike, had blindly entered, came through the cellars, following the brown man who carried Weymouth.
The faint rays of the lantern (it apparently contained a candle) revealed a veritable forest of the gigantic fungi—poisonously colored—hideously swollen—climbing from the floor up the slimy walls—climbing like horrid parasites to such part of the arched roof as was visible to me.
Fu-Manchu picked his way through the fungi ranks as daintily as though the distorted, tumid things had been viper-headed.
The resounding blows which I had noted before, and which had never ceased, culminated in a splintering crash.
Dr. Fu-Manchu and his servant, who carried the apparently insensible detective, passed in under the arch, Fu-Manchu glancing back once along the passages.
The lantern he extinguished, or concealed; and whilst I waited, my mind dully surveying memories of all the threats which this uncanny being had uttered, a distant clamor came to my ears.
Then, abruptly, it ceased.
Dr. Fu-Manchu had closed a heavy door; and to my surprise I perceived that the greater part of it was of glass.
The will-o'-the-wisp glow which played around the fungi rendered the vista of the cellars faintly luminous, and visible to me from where I lay. Fu-Manchu spoke softly.
His voice, its guttural note alternating with a sibilance on certain words, betrayed no traces of agitation.
The man's unbroken calm had in it something inhuman.
For he had just perpetrated an act of daring unparalleled in my experience, and, in the clamor now shut out by the glass door I tardily recognized the entrance of the police into some barricaded part of the house—the coming of those who would save us—who would hold the Chinese doctor for the hangman!
"I have decided," he said deliberately, "that you are more worthy of my attention than I had formerly supposed.
A man who can solve the secret of the Golden Elixir (I had not solved it; I had merely stolen some) should be a valuable acquisition to my Council.
The extent of the plans of Mr. Commissioner Nayland Smith and of the English Scotland Yard it is incumbent upon me to learn.
Therefore, gentlemen, you live—for the present!"
"And you'll swing," came Weymouth's hoarse voice, "in the near future!
You and all your yellow gang!"
"I trust not," was the placid reply.
"Most of my people are safe: some are shipped as lascars upon the liners; others have departed by different means.
Ah!"
That last word was the only one indicative of excitement which had yet escaped him.
A disk of light danced among the brilliant poison hues of the passages—but no sound reached us; by which I knew that the glass door must fit almost hermetically.
It was much cooler here than in the place through which we had passed, and the nausea began to leave me, my brain to grow more clear.
Had I known what was to follow I should have cursed the lucidity of mind which now came to me; I should have prayed for oblivion—to be spared the sight of that which ensued.
"It's Logan!" cried Inspector Weymouth; and I could tell that he was struggling to free himself of his bonds.
From his voice it was evident that he, too, was recovering from the effects of the narcotic which had been administered to us all.
"Logan!" he cried.
"Logan!
This way—HELP!"
But the cry beat back upon us in that enclosed space and seemed to carry no farther than the invisible walls of our prison.
"The door fits well," came Fu-Manchu's mocking voice.
"It is fortunate for us all that it is so.
This is my observation window, Dr. Petrie, and you are about to enjoy an unique opportunity of studying fungology.
I have already drawn your attention to the anaesthetic properties of the lycoperdon, or common puff-ball.
You may have recognized the fumes?
The chamber into which you rashly precipitated yourselves was charged with them.
By a process of my own I have greatly enhanced the value of the puff-ball in this respect.
Your friend, Mr. Weymouth, proved the most obstinate subject; but he succumbed in fifteen seconds."
"Logan!
Help! HELP!
This way, man!"
Something very like fear sounded in Weymouth's voice now.
Indeed, the situation was so uncanny that it almost seemed unreal.
A group of men had entered the farthermost cellars, led by one who bore an electric pocket-lamp.
The hard, white ray danced from bloated gray fungi to others of nightmare shape, of dazzling, venomous brilliance.
The mocking, lecture-room voice continued: