President Fu-Manchu Read Online Free PDF Page B

Captain Hepburn,” said the little lady, with a frightened smile. She held out a small, plump, but delicate hand. “I am Elsie Frayne, Sarah Lakin’s friend and companion.”
    “I am afraid,” Hepburn replied, “we come too late. This is Federal Officer Smith. We have met with every kind of obstacle on our way.”
    “Miss Frayne,” rapped Smith in his staccato fashion, “I must put a call through immediately. Where is the telephone?”
    Miss Frayne, suddenly quite at ease with these strange invaders out of the night, smiled wanly.
    “I regret to say, Mr. Smith, that our telephone was cut off some hours ago.”
    “Ah!” murmured Smith, and began tugging at the lobe of his left ear, a habit which Hepburn had come to recognize as evidence of intense concentration. “That explains a lot.” He stared about him, his disturbing glance finally focusing upon the face of the thin man.
    “Who are you?” he snapped abruptly.
    “I’m Deputy Sheriff Black,” was the prompt but gloomy answer. “I have had orders to protect Weaver’s Farm.”
    “I know it. They were my orders—and a pretty mess you’ve made of it.”
    The local officer bristled indignantly. He resented the irritable peremptory manners of this “G” man; in fact Deputy Sheriff Black had never been in favor of Federal interference with county matters.
    “A man can only do his duty, Mr. Smith,” he answered angrily, “and I have done mine. Dr. Prescott slipped out some time after dusk this evening. Nobody saw him go. Nobody knows why he went or where he went. I may add that although I may be responsible, there are federal men on this job as well, and not one of them knows any more than I know.”
    “Where is Miss Lakin?”
    “Out with a search party down at the lake.”
    “Sarah has such courage,” murmured Miss Frayne. “I wouldn’t go outside the house tonight for anything in the world.”
    Mark Hepburn turned to her.
    “Is there any indication,” he asked, “that Dr. Prescott went that way?”
    “Mr. Walsh, a federal agent who arrived here two hours ago, discovered tracks leading in the direction of the lake.”
    “John Walsh is our man,” said Hepburn, turning to Smith. “Do you want to make any inquiries here, or shall we head for the lake?”
    Nayland Smith was staring abstractedly at Miss Frayne, and now:
    “At what time, exactly,” he asked, “was your telephone disconnected?”
    “At five minutes after three,” Deputy Sheriff Black’s somber tones interpolated. “There are men at work now trying to trace the break.”
    “Who last saw Dr. Prescott?”
    “Sarah,” Miss Frayne replied—“that is, so far as we know.”
    “Where was he and what was he doing?”
    “He was in the library writing letters.”
    “Were these letters posted?”
    “No, Mr. Smith, they are still on the desk.”
    “Was it dark at this time?”
    “Yes. Dr. Prescott—he is Miss Lakin’s cousin, you know—had lighted the reading lamp, so Sarah told me.”
    “It was alight when I arrived,” growled Deputy Sheriff Black.
    “When did you arrive?” Smith asked.
    “Twenty minutes after it was suspected Dr. Prescott had left the house.”
    “Where were you prior to that time?”
    “Out in the road. I had been taking reports from the men on duty.”
    “Has anyone touched those letters since they were written?”
    “No one, Mr. Smith,” the gentle voice of Miss Frayne replied.
    Nayland Smith turned to Deputy Sheriff Black.
    “See that no one enters the library,” he snapped, “until I return. I want to look over the room in which Dr. Prescott slept.”
    Deputy Sheriff Black nodded tersely and crossed the vestibule.
    But even as Nayland Smith turned towards the stair, a deep feminine voice came out of the night beyond the entrance doors, which had not been closed. The remorseless wind was threatening to rise again, howling wanly through the woods like a phantom wolf pack. Flakes of fine snow fluttered in.
    “He has been kidnapped, Mr.