The Hand of Fu Manchu Read Online Free Page B

since in the midnight stillness I could detect the muffled sounds
of sirens from the river and the reports of fog signals from the
railways, I concluded that the night was not yet wholly clear of the
choking mist. In accordance with a pre-arranged scheme we had decided
to guard "the key of India" (whatever it might be) turn and turn about
through the night. In a word—we feared to sleep unguarded. Now my
watch informed me that four o'clock approached, at which hour I was
to arouse Smith and retire to sleep to my own bedroom.
    Nothing had disturbed my vigil—that is, nothing definite. True once,
about half an hour earlier, I had thought I heard the dragging and
tapping sound from somewhere up above me; but since the corridor
overhead was unfinished and none of the rooms opening upon it yet
habitable, I concluded that I had been mistaken. The stairway at the
end of our corridor, which communicated with that above, was still
blocked with bags of cement and slabs of marble, in fact.
    Faintly to my ears came the booming of London's clocks, beating out
the hour of four. But still I sat beside the mysterious coffer,
indisposed to awaken my friend any sooner than was necessary,
particularly since I felt in no way sleepy myself.
    I was to learn a lesson that night: the lesson of strict adherence to
a compact. I had arranged to awaken Nayland Smith at four; and because
I dallied, determined to finish my pipe ere entering his bedroom,
almost it happened that Fate placed it beyond my power ever to awaken
him again.
    At ten minutes past four, amid a stillness so intense that the
creaking of my slippers seemed a loud disturbance, I crossed the room
and pushed open the door of Smith's bedroom. It was in darkness, but
as I entered I depressed the switch immediately inside the door,
lighting the lamp which swung form the center of the ceiling.
    Glancing towards the bed, I immediately perceived that there was
something different in its aspect, but at first I found this
difference difficult to define. I stood for a moment in doubt. Then
I realized the nature of the change which had taken place.
    A lamp hung above the bed, attached to a movable fitting, which
enabled it to be raised or lowered at the pleasure of the occupant.
When Smith had retired he was in no reading mood, and he had not even
lighted the reading-lamp, but had left it pushed high up against the
ceiling.
    It was the position of this lamp which had changed. For now it swung
so low over the pillow that the silken fringe of the shade almost
touched my friend's face as he lay soundly asleep with one
lean brown hand outstretched upon the coverlet.
    I stood in the doorway staring, mystified, at this phenomenon; I might
have stood there without intervening, until intervention had been too
late, were it not that, glancing upward toward the wooden block from
which ordinarily the pendant hung, I perceived that no block was
visible, but only a round, black cavity from which the white flex
supporting the lamp swung out.
    Then, uttering a horse cry which rose unbidden to my lips, I sprang
wildly across the room ... for now I had seen something else!
    Attached to one of the four silken tassels which ornamented the
lamp-shade, so as almost to rest upon the cheek of the sleeping man,
was a little corymb of bloom ... the
Flower of Silence!
    Grasping the shade with my left hand I seized the flex with my right,
and as Smith sprang upright in bed, eyes wildly glaring, I wrenched
with all my might. Upward my gaze was set; and I glimpsed a yellow
hand, with long, pointed finger nails. There came a loud resounding
snap; an electric spark spat venomously from the circular opening
above the bed; and, with the cord and lamp still fast in my grip, I
went rolling across the carpet—as the other lamp became instantly
extinguished.
    Dimly I perceived Smith, arrayed in pyjamas, jumping out upon the
opposite side of the bed.
    "Petrie, Petrie!" he cried, "where are you? what has happened?"
    A laugh, little