Free Emperor Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer

suddenly turned aside and disappeared among banks of golden grain.
    Wondering if he was going insane, if grief had led to illusion, he ran on until he came to the spot, as well as he could judge, where the disappearance had taken place. He stood panting and staring into a golden sea, billowing softly in a slight breeze.
    He could find no track, see no broken stalks. Nothing stirred, except those gentle waves which passed over the sunny yellow sea.
    “Yueh Hua!” he shouted hoarsely. “Yueh Hua! This is Chi Foh!”
    And then the second illusion took place. Like a dark little Venus arising from golden foam, Yueh Hua stood up, not two yards from the road.
    She stretched out her arms.
    “Chi Foh! Chi Foh! I didn’t know it was you… I thought they… I was going to look for you…”
    Trampling ripe grain under his feet, Tony ran to her. Tears were streaming down her face. Her eyes shone like blue jewels.
    “Moon Flower! My Moon Flower!”
    He swept her close. Her heart beat against him like a hammer as he began to kiss her. He kissed her until she lay breathless in his arms.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    D r. Fu-Manchu pressed a switch, and a spot of blue light disappeared from a small switchboard on the lacquered desk. He looked at General Huan, seated on a couch facing him across the room.
    “Skobolov has reached Niu-fo-tu,” he said softly. “So Mahmud reports. It is also suspected that the man Wu Chi Foh was seen here today. But this rumor is unconfirmed. It is possible, for we have no evidence to the contrary, that Wu Chi Foh had a rendezvous there with Skobolov; that, after all, Wu Chi Foh is a Communist agent.”
    Huan Tsung-Chao shook his head slightly. “This I doubt, Master, but I admit it may be so. Since Skobolov is closely covered, should they meet, Mahmud will take suitable steps.”
    The conversation was interrupted.
    Uttering a shrill whistling sound, a tiny marmoset who had been hiding on a high ledge sprang like a miniature acrobat from there to Fu-Manchu’s shoulder and began chattering angrily in his ear. The saturnine mask of that wonderful but evil face softened, melted into something almost human.
    “Ah, Peko, my little friend. You are angry with me? Yet I have small sweet bananas flown all the way from Madeira for you. Is it a banana you want?”
    Peko went on spitting and cursing in monkey language.
    “Some nuts?”
    Peko’s language was dreadful.
    “You are teasing him,” General Huan smiled. “He is asking for his ration of my 1850 vintage rosé wine which ever since he tasted it, he has never forgotten.”
    Peko sprang from Fu-Manchu’s shoulder onto the rug-covered floor, from there onto the shoulder of Huan. The old soldier raised his gnarled hand to caress Peko, a strange creature which he knew to be of incalculable age.
    Dr. Fu-Manchu stood up, crossed to a cabinet, and took out a stoppered jar of old porcelain. With the steady hand of a pharmacist, he poured a few drops into a saucer and restopped the jar. Peko rejoined him with a whistle not of anger, but of joy, grasped the saucer, and drank deeply.
    Then the uncanny little animal sprang onto the desk and began to toss manuscripts about in a joyous mood. Dr. Fu-Manchu picked him up, gently, and put him on his shoulder.
    “You are a toper, Peko. And I’m not sure that is good for you. I am going to put you in your cage.”
    Peko escaped and leapt at one bound onto the high ledge.
    “Such is the discipline,” murmured Dr. Fu-Manchu, “of one of my oldest servants. It was Peko to whom I first administered my elixir, the elixir to which he and I owe our presence among men today. Did you know this, my friend?”
    “I did.”
    Fu-Manchu studied Huan Tsung-Chao under lowered eyelids.
    “Yet you have never asked me for this boon.”
    “I have never desired it, Master. Should you at any time observe some failure in my capacity to serve you, please tell me so. I belong to a long-lived family. My father married his sixth wife at the age of