Chapter 31 - The Trap is Laid

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MY LAST recollection as I stooped and went out must always remain vivid in my mind.

Those golden records of the Masked Prophet, one of the unique finds in the history of archæology, lay glittering upon the narrow table under the light of that strange globular lamp. Dr. Fu Manchu, his long pointed chin resting upon his crossed hands, his elbows upon the table, watched us unfalteringly.

One grave anxiety was set at rest. In reply to a pointed question of Nayland Smith’s, he had assured us that Ramin had not been subjected to “damnable drugs or Lama tricks” (Sir Denis’s own words). And, fearing and loathing Dr. Fu Manchu as I did, yet, incredible though it may seem, I never thought of doubting his word. A hundred and one questions I was dying to ask Ramin, but first and foremost I wanted to find the sky above my head again.

The Great Corridor was empty from end to end. And, I leading and Nayland Smith bringing up the rear, we stumbled down to that point where it communicates with the narrower passage. Here I turned, and looked back as far as the light of my lamp could reach.

Nothing was visible. I could only think that Dr. Fu Manchu remained alone in the King’s Chamber. . . .

I glanced at Ramin. He was clenching his teeth bravely, and even summoned up a pallid smile. But I could see that he was close to the edge of his resources.

“Hurry!” snapped Nayland Smith. “Remember—ten minutes!”

But even when, passing the lowest point, we began to mount towards open air, somehow, I could not credit the idea that Dr. Fu Manchu had carried out this business unaided. I paused again.

“It was here that we heard,” I began——

As though my words had been a cue, from somewhere utterly impossible in those circumstances to define, came the dim note of a gong!

Ramin clutched me convulsively. In that age-old corridor, in the heart of the strangest building erected by the hands of man, it was as uncanny a sound as imagination could have conjured up.

“Don’t be afraid, Ramin,” came Nayland Smith’s voice. “It’s only a signal that we are on the way up!”

“Oh!” he gasped, “but I can’t bear much more. Please get me out, Shan!—get me out . . .”

I led on as swiftly as possible. Had Ramin collapsed, it would have been no easy task to carry him along that cramped passage. But the purpose of those signals, apart from the mystery of the hiding place of whoever gave them, was a problem we were destined never satisfactorily to solve.

As we had arranged, five men with Dr. Petrie were immediately outside the entrance.

“Thank God, Petrie,” said Nayland Smith hoarsely. “We’ve got him! Here he is! Take care of him, old man.”

Whereupon, at sight of the Doctor, Ramin’s wonderful fortitude deserted him. He threw himself into the Doctor's arms with a muffled scream and began to sob hysterically.

“Ramin,” I exclaimed, Ramin!.”

Petrie, supporting him with one arm, waved to me to go on, at the same time nodding reassuringly.

“Come on, Greville,” said Nayland Smith. “She’s in safe hands, and better without you at the moment.”

We had arranged—I confess I had never dared to hope that our arrangements would be carried out—to take him to Mena House. Down on the sands at the foot of the slope Sir Lionel and Hewlett were stationed. And, as I jumped from the last step:

“Have you got him, Greville? Is he safe?” the chief asked hoarsely.

“Yes, he’s with Petrie. He’s broken down, poor lad—and I don’t wonder,” Nayland Smith replied. “But he’s come to no harm, Barton. Keep out of the way—leave him to Petrie.”

“Where has he been? How did it happen?”

“It’s impossible to ask until the nerve storm has worn itself out. Anything to report, Hewlett?”

“I’m staggered, Sir Denis! But thank God you have Mr. Barton! There’s one thing. A few minutes after you went in, as we were closing up on the Pyramid, we heard a most awful wailing sound. . . .”

“A bull-roarer, Smith!” the chief shouted. “But God knows where the nigger was hidden: we never had a glimpse of him.”

Nayland Smith glanced aside at me.

“Possibly the opposite number of the gong signal,” he whispered. “But what came first?—and how did one signaler hear the other?”

I saw Hewlett glancing at the dial of an illuminated wrist watch.

“Three minutes to go, Sir Denis,” he announced. “How many are inside?”

“One only,” Nayland Smith replied, in a curiously dull voice.

“Only one!” the chief cried incredulously.

“One, but the biggest one of all.”

“What! You don’t mean . . .”

“Exactly what I do mean, Barton. We left Dr. Fu Manchu alone in the King’s Chamber.”

“Good God! Then for all his cunning——”

“He’s trapped!” Hewlett concluded. “How he got in, and how he got Mr. Barton in, is entirely beyond me. But that he can never get out, is certain.”

He spoke truly; for other than that Grand Hall or Great Corridor along which we had recently come, there is no entrance to the King’s Chamber—and the two exits from the Pyramid were guarded.