Re-enter Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer Read Free Book Online

never see her before.” He displayed perfect white teeth. “She is a beautiful young lady.”
    Brian sipped his whisky, lighted another cigarette. He was trying to figure out why her wonderful eyes seemed to awaken a memory.
    She returned much sooner than he had expected. She wore now a green dress that sheathed her lithe figure to the hips like a second skin.
    They dined on the terrace, overlooking the Nile. The girl said her name was Zoe Montero, that her family lived in Spanish Morocco. She was on a visit to an aunt and uncle who had a business in Luxor, but who had arranged to meet her in Cairo. She had just received a message saying that her aunt had been taken ill and so they were detained.
    “I shall know tomorrow if they can come or if they want me to go up to Luxor,” she told Brian.
    They danced in the moonlight, and the dark beauty of his graceful partner stirred Brian’s pulses dangerously. He had decided that she was partly of Arab blood. Zoe’s voice, her quaint accent, her natural gaiety fascinated him. Sometimes when he looked into her eyes, that dormant memory awoke. He tried to grab it—and it was gone.
    But he enjoyed the evening. There was no word from Lola.
    It was quite early next morning when Mr. Ahmad called and found Brian having a smoke on the terrace.
    “I have good news,” he announced. “Sir Denis expects to reach Cairo late this afternoon.”
    Mr. Ahmad turned at that moment to bow to a passing acquaintance, or he could hardly have failed to note Brian’s change of expression. All his suspicions had been justified. He had become enmeshed in a cunning plot, a most mysterious plot. If Lola had any part in it he couldn’t be sure. But Peter Wellingham was one of the conspirators, and Mr. Ahmad was another. He was no diplomat and he spoke impetuously:
    “But I saw Sir Denis right here in Cairo yesterday!”
    The effect of those few words upon Mr. Ahmad was miraculous. He changed color alarmingly, clutched at the edge of the table, and stared like a man who has been struck a body blow.
    “You saw him… in Cairo.”
    Words failed Mr. Ahmad, and Brian could have kicked himself; he knew he had been a fool. He had had the game in his hands and had thrown his chance away. If, as he now had fresh reason to believe, Wellingham and Ahmad were conspiring against Nayland Smith, were no more than spies of the enemy (whoever the enemy might be), he could perhaps have exposed their game by the use of a little tact.
    Brian wondered if the situation could yet be saved. He could try.
    “Yes.” He spoke easily. “When I was coming back here last night with a friend, our taxi passed a smart English sports car. I think it was a Jaguar. There were two men in it, and one of them was Sir Denis.”
    Mr. Ahmad moistened his lips with his tongue. “Where was this?”
    “I asked the driver, that, as a matter of fact, and he told me we had just passed the British Consulate.”
    “The British Consulate,” Mr. Ahmad echoed mechanically, his expression ghastly. “You alarm me, Mr. Merrick. I must make immediate inquiries. Sir Denis’ mission is a vital and dangerous one. He has powerful enemies. It is possible that he has returned secretly for some reason of his own.”
    He left soon afterward, a man badly confused, and Brian settled down to try to puzzle out the truth. Mr. Ahmad had behaved like a crook unmasked, but on the other hand, it was possible that there might be a different explanation.
    If Ahmad was on the level, he had done the wrong thing.
    * * *
    Dr. Fu Manchu was writing at a large desk of Arab manufacture, most cunningly inlaid with ivory, mother-of-pearl, and semiprecious stones. It was loaded with books, racks of test tubes, manuscripts, and certain queer objects not easy to define. Peko, the tiny marmoset, a companion of Fu Manchu’s travels, crouched on the Doctor’s shoulder, beady eyes moving restlessly.
    There was a faint buzzing. A voice spoke.
    “Abdul Ahmad is here.”
    “I will