19. Dr. Fu-Manchu's Laboratory
I cannot conceive that any ordinary mortal ever attained to anything like an intimacy with
Dr. Fu-Manchu; I cannot believe that any man could ever grow used to his presence,
could ever cease to fear him. I suppose I had set eyes upon Fu-Manchu some five or six
times prior to this occasion, and now he was dressed in the manner which I always
associated with him, probably because it was thus I first saw him. He wore a plain yellow
robe, and, with his pointed chin resting upon his bosom, he looked down at me, revealing
a great expanse of the marvelous brow with its sparse, neutral-colored hair.
Never in my experience have I known such force to dwell in the glance of any human eye
as dwelt in that of this uncanny being. His singular affliction (if affliction it were), the
film or slight membrane which sometimes obscured the oblique eyes, was particularly
evident at the moment that I crossed the threshold, but now, as I looked up at Dr. Fu-
Manchu, it lifted--revealing the eyes in all their emerald greenness.
The idea of physical attack upon this incredible being seemed childish --inadequate. But,
following that first instant of stupefaction, I forced myself to advance upon him.
A dull, crushing blow descended on the top of my skull, and I became oblivious of all
things.
My return to consciousness was accompanied by tremendous pains in my head, whereby,
from previous experience, I knew that a sandbag had been used against me by some one
in the shop, presumably by the immobile shopman. This awakening was accompanied by
none of those hazy doubts respecting previous events and present surroundings which are
the usual symptoms of revival from sudden unconsciousness; even before I opened my
eyes, before I had more than a partial command of my senses, I knew that, with my wrists
handcuffed behind me, I lay in a room which was also occupied by Dr. Fu-Manchu. This
absolute certainty of the Chinaman's presence was evidenced, not by my senses, but only
by an inner consciousness, and the same that always awoke into life at the approach not
only of Fu-Manchu in person but of certain of his uncanny servants.
A faint perfume hung in the air about me; I do not mean that of any essence or of any
incense, but rather the smell which is suffused by Oriental furniture, by Oriental
draperies; the indefinable but unmistakable perfume of the East.
Thus, London has a distinct smell of its own, and so has Paris, whilst the difference
between Marseilles and Suez, for instance, is even more marked.
Now, the atmosphere surrounding me was Eastern, but not of the East that I knew; rather
it was Far Eastern. Perhaps I do not make myself very clear, but to me there was a
mysterious significance in that perfumed atmosphere. I opened my eyes.
