"Note the snowy growth upon the roof, Doctor.
Do not be deceived by its size.
It is a giant variety of my own culture and is of the order empusa.
You, in England, are familiar with the death of the common house-fly—which is found attached to the window-pane by a coating of white mold.
I have developed the spores of this mold and have produced a giant species.
Observe the interesting effect of the strong light upon my orange and blue amanita fungus!"
Hard beside me I heard Nayland Smith groan, Weymouth had become suddenly silent.
For my own part, I could have shrieked in pure horror. FOR I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING.
I realized in one agonized instant the significance of the dim lantern, of the careful progress through the subterranean fungi grove, of the care with which Fu-Manchu and his servant had avoided touching any of the growths.
I knew, now, that Dr. Fu-Manchu was the greatest fungologist the world had ever known; was a poisoner to whom the Borgias were as children—and I knew that the detectives blindly were walking into a valley of death.
Then it began—the unnatural scene—the saturnalia of murder.
Like so many bombs the brilliantly colored caps of the huge toadstool-like things alluded to by the Chinaman exploded, as the white ray sought them out in the darkness which alone preserved their existence.
A brownish cloud—I could not determine whether liquid or powdery—arose in the cellar.
I tried to close my eyes—or to turn them away from the reeling forms of the men who were trapped in that poison-hole.
It was useless: I must look.
The bearer of the lamp had dropped it, but the dim, eerily illuminated gloom endured scarce a second.
A bright light sprang up—doubtless at the touch of the fiendish being who now resumed speech:
"Observe the symptoms of delirium, Doctor!"
Out there, beyond the glass door, the unhappy victims were laughing—tearing their garments from their bodies—leaping—waving their arms—were become MANIACS!
"We will now release the ripe spores of giant entpusa," continued the wicked voice. "The air of the second cellar being super-charged with oxygen, they immediately germinate.
Ah! it is a triumph!
That process is the scientific triumph of my life!"
Like powdered snow the white spores fell from the roof, frosting the writhing shapes of the already poisoned men.
Before my horrified gaze, THE FUNGUS GREW; it spread from the head to the feet of those it touched; it enveloped them as in glittering shrouds.…
"They die like flies!" screamed Fu-Manchu, with a sudden febrile excitement; and I felt assured of something I had long suspected: that that magnificent, perverted brain was the brain of a homicidal maniac—though Smith would never accept the theory.
"It is my fly-trap!" shrieked the Chinaman.
"And I am the god of destruction!"
CHAPTER XXVI
THE clammy touch of the mist revived me.
The culmination of the scene in the poison cellars, together with the effects of the fumes which I had inhaled again, had deprived me of consciousness. Now I knew that I was afloat on the river. I still was bound: furthermore, a cloth was wrapped tightly about my mouth, and I was secured to a ring in the deck.
By moving my aching head to the left I could look down into the oily water; by moving it to the right I could catch a glimpse of the empurpled face of Inspector Weymouth, who, similarly bound and gagged, lay beside me, but only of the feet and legs of Nayland Smith. For I could not turn my head sufficiently far to see more.
We were aboard an electric launch.
I heard the hated guttural voice of Fu-Manchu, subdued now to its habitual calm, and my heart leaped to hear the voice that answered him.
It was that of Karamaneh.
His triumph was complete.
Clearly his plans for departure were complete; his slaughter of the police in the underground passages had been a final reckless demonstration of which the Chinaman's subtle cunning would have been incapable had he not known his escape from the country to be assured.
What fate was in store for us?
How would he avenge himself upon the girl who had betrayed him to his enemies?
What portion awaited those enemies?
He seemed to have formed the singular determination to smuggle me into China—but what did he purpose in the case of Weymouth, and in the case of Nayland Smith?
All but silently we were feeling our way through the mist.
Astern died the clangor of dock and wharf into a remote discord.
Ahead hung the foggy curtain veiling the traffic of the great waterway; but through it broke the calling of sirens, the tinkling of bells.
The gentle movement of the screw ceased altogether.
The launch lay heaving slightly upon the swells.
A distant throbbing grew louder—and something advanced upon us through the haze.
A bell rang and muffled by the fog a voice proclaimed itself—a voice which I knew.
I felt Weymouth writhing impotently beside me; heard him mumbling incoherently; and I knew that he, too, had recognized the voice.
It was that of Inspector Ryman of the river police and their launch was within biscuit-throw of that upon which we lay!
"'Hoy!