The Shadow of Fu-Manchu Read Online Free Page A

emerald-green. The uncovered hands had pointed fingernails. This gaunt, upright, Chinese ascetic was taller by inches than Professor Hoffmeyer.
    And his face might have inspired a painter seeking a model for the Fallen Angel.
    This not because it was so evil but because of a majestic and remorseless power which it possessed—a power which resided in the eyes. They were not the eyes of a normal man, moved by the desires, the impulses shared in some part by us all. They were the eyes of one who has shaken off those inhibitions common to humanity, who is undisturbed by either love or hate, untouched by fear, unmoved by compassion.
    Few such men occur in the long history of civilization, and none who has not helped to change it.
    The impassive figure crossed, with a silent, catlike step, to the long table, and became seated there.
    One of the curious objects on the table sprang to life, as if touched by sudden moonlight. It was a crystal globe resting on a metal base. Dimly at first, the outlines of a face materialized in the crystal, and then grew clear. They became the features of an old Chinese, white-moustached, wrinkled, benign.
    “You called me, Doctor?”
    The voice, though distant, was clear. A crinkled smile played over the parchment face in the crystal.
    “You have all the reports?”
    The second voice was harsh, at points sibilant, but charged with imperious authority. It bore no resemblance to that of Professor Hoffmeyer.
    “The last is timed six-fifteen. Shall I give you a summary?”
    “Proceed, Huan Tsung. I am listening.”
    And Huan Tsung, speaking in his quiet room above a shop in Pell Street, a room in which messages were received mysteriously, by day and by night, from all over Manhattan, closed his wise old eyes and opened the pages of an infallible memory.
    This man whose ancestors had been cultured noblemen when most of ours were living in caves, spoke calmly across a system of communication as yet unheard of by Western science…
    “Excellency will wish to know that our Burmese agent was recognized by Nayland Smith in the grillroom and followed by two F.B.I. operatives. I gave instructions that he be transferred elsewhere. He reports that he has arrived safely. His notes of the conversation at the next table are before me. They contain nothing new. Shall I relate them?”
    “No. I shall interview the woman personally. Proceed.”
    “Nayland Smith visited the deputy commissioner and has been alone with him more than two hours. Nature of conversation unknown. The Greek covering his movements was intercepted and questioned, but had nothing to disclose. He is clumsy, and I have had him removed.”
    “You did well, Huan Tsung. Such bunglers breed danger.”
    “Mai Cha, delivering Chinese vase sent by club secretary for repair, attired herself in the black garment she carries and gained a gallery above the library where Michael Frobisher talked with a medical friend. She reports that Frobisher has had sight of our agent at Falling Waters. Therefore I have transferred this agent. Mai Cha retired, successfully, with price of repairs.”
    “Commend Mai Cha.”
    “I have done so, Excellency. She is on headquarters duty tonight. Excellency can commend her himself.”
    “The most recent movements of Frobisher, Nayland Smith, and Dr. Craig.”
    “Frobisher awaits his wife at the Ritz-Carlton. Nayland Smith is covered, but no later report has reached me. Dr. Craig is in his office.”
    “Frobisher has made no other contacts?”
    “None, Excellency. The stream flows calmly. It is the hour for repose, when the wise man reflects.”
    “Wait and watch, Huan Tsung. I must think swiftly.”
    “Always I watch—and it is unavoidable that I wait until I am called away.”
    Moonlight in the crystal faded out, and with it the wrinkled features of the Mandarin Huan Tsung.
    Complete silence claimed the dimly lighted room. The wearer of the yellow robe remained motionless for a long time. Then, he stood up and