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The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu


him at Suez. He got here a boat ahead of me. Eltham has been
corresponding with some mandarin up-country. Knew that. Came
straight to you. Only got in this evening. He—Fu-Manchu—has
been sent here to get Eltham. My God! and he has him! He will
question him! The interior of China—a seething pot, Petrie! They
had to stop the leakage of information. He is here for that."
The car pulled up with a jerk that pitched me out of my seat, and
the chauffeur leaped to the road and ran ahead. Smith was out in a
trice, as the man, who had run up to a constable, came racing back.
"Jump in, sir—jump in!" he cried, his eyes bright with the lust of
the chase; "they are making for Battersea!"
And we were off again.
Through the empty streets we roared on. A place of gasometers
and desolate waste lots slipped behind and we were in a narrow
way where gates of yards and a few lowly houses faced upon a
prospect of high blank wall.
"Thames on our right," said Smith, peering ahead. "His rathole
is by the river as usual. Hi!"—he grabbed up the speaking-tube—
"Stop! Stop!"
The limousine swung in to the narrow sidewalk, and pulled up
close by a yard gate. I, too, had seen our quarry—a long, low
bodied car, showing no inside lights. It had turned the next corner,
where a street lamp shone greenly, not a hundred yards ahead.
Smith leaped out, and I followed him.
"That must be a cul de sac," he said, and turned to the eager-
eyed chauffeur. "Run back to that last turning," he ordered, "and
wait there, out of sight. Bring the car up when you hear a police-
whistle."
The man looked disappointed, but did not question the order. As
he began to back away, Smith grasped me by the arm and drew me
forward.
"We must get to that corner," he said, "and see where the car
stands, without showing ourselves."
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