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with. Given luck, and surprise to help him, he thought he could deal with them.
    Silence for a few seconds, and then, “Shall I go, myself, Highness?” Soong volunteered.
    Tony was planning his tactics. If Soong came ashore, he would shoot the big Negro first, then, before the colonel could grasp what had happened, he would try for Soong.
    “Proceed upstream,” the imperious voice commanded. “We passed no other possible hiding place on our way down. Therefore, we cannot have left the sampan behind.”
    * * *
    Late that evening, Dr. Fu-Manchu sat at the lacquered desk, reading. Old General Huan, from his favorite seat on cushions, watched him.
    “I notice that André Skobolov is expected here tomorrow. You have instructions from Peiping to entertain him. Why was the presence of this dangerous Soviet agent in China not reported to me?” Fu-Manchu glanced up from the notes which lay before him on the desk. “It would seem that our intelligence service is sleeping.”
    General Huan Tsung-Chao shook his head slightly. “This man Skobolov travels almost as secretly as you do, Master.”
    Dr. Fu-Manchu’s eyes glittered wickedly from under half-lowered lids. “I have perhaps been misled in my belief that the elusive escaped prisoner was a British agent acting under Nayland Smith. His remarkable disappearance is more easily explained if he is a secret agent of the Soviet. They have facilities here which are denied to Nayland Smith.”
    “If that were so, why should he have been imprisoned?”
    “Wake up, Tsung-Chao. The identity of such an agent would not be known to the blundering Colonel Soong, nor to the prison governor. It pains me to think that I may have saved the life of a Soviet spy.”
    Old General Huan smiled a wry, wrinkled smile. “There is unfortunate news, Master, which may confirm your suspicions. But I am assured that Wu Chi Foh had no documents in his possession nor on his boat.”
    Fu-Manchu’s eyes opened fully. They blazed. His expression remained immobile as a mask. But when he spoke his tone was very subdued, oddly sibilant.
    “Unfortunate news? Documents? What have you to tell me?”
    Outwardly calm, as always, Huan Tsung-Chao replied, “My house in Chungtu was entered last night and important papers stolen from my office. Among these documents—for no other valuables are missing—was the Si-Fan Register…”
    Slowly, Dr. Fu-Manchu stood up. His hands were clenched. Yet, when he spoke again, his voice remained unemotional.
    “The register is in the Si-Fan cipher, which has never been broken.”
    “
No
cipher is unbreakable, Master.”
    “Spare me your platitudes. But whether the register has been stolen by British or Soviet agents, it cannot be deciphered except by an expert, either in London or in Moscow. Was your safe forced?”
    “The register was not in my safe. I kept it in what I believed to be a secret hiding place. Not even my steward, who sends me this bad news, knew of it.”
    “You mean,” Fu-Manchu suggested softly, “that some supernatural agency has been at work?”
    Huan Tsung-Chao maintained his phenomenal calm. “I mean that some spy armed with powerful binoculars has watched me through my study window, from a tree in my garden possibly, and has seen me open the receptacle. Entrance was made through this window by someone who silently climbed the vine outside.”
    Dr. Fu-Manchu slipped his hands into the loose sleeves of his robe and stared into space, standing perfectly still. There was a long, silent interval; then he spoke again.
    “Why is Skobolov coming
here?
”
    “Officially, as an attaché of the Soviet Embassy, to promote relations between Communist China and Soviet Russia. He wishes to meet prominent figures in the Chinese movement.”
    “But why
here
at your summer villa rather than at the official residence in Chungtu?”
    “I frequently entertain here. It is more pleasant, except in winter.”
    “He is aware that I am here?”
    Tsung-Chao smiled his