The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer
The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu – the master of fiendish deaths, now a member of the Sacred Order of the White Peacock, has returned. Nayland Smith and Dr. Petrie must somehow thwart his evil plans to take over the world.
Dr. Fu-Manchu, the master of fiendish deaths, and now a member of the Sacred Order of the White Peacock, has returned. Nayland Smith and Dr. Petrie must somehow thwart his evil plans to take over the world.
The Fu-Manchu stories began as a serial in British papers. The first story, “The Zayat Kiss,” was published in The Story Teller in October, 1912. It was at this time that Ward began using the pseudonym Sax Rohmer. In 1913, the serial stories were collected and published as a book entitled “The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu” in the United Kingdom. Also in 1913, the Fu-Manchu stories began to be serialized in the United States. “The Zayat Kiss” was published in the February 15, 1913 issue of Collier’s. Later in 1913, Rohmer slightly rewrote the stories to remove the serialization and turn them into chapters for “The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu“, which was published in the U.S.
After the success of The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, Rohmer followed with The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu in 1916 and The Hand of Dr. Fu-Manchu in 1917.
The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu (1916)
Chapter I. A Midnight Summons
Chapter II. Eltham Vanishes
Chapter III. The Wire Jacket
Chapter IV. The Cry Of A Nighthawk
Chapter V. The Net
Chapter VI. Under The Elms
Chapter VII. Enter Mr. Abel Slattin
Chapter VIII. Dr. Fu-Manchu Strikes
Chapter IX. The Climber
Chapter X. The Climber Returns
Chapter XI. The White Peacock
Chapter XII. Dark Eyes Looked Into Mine
Chapter XIII. The Sacred Order
Chapter XIV. The Coughing Horror
Chapter XV. Bewitchment
Chapter XVI. The Questing Hands
Chapter XVII. One Day In Rangoon
Chapter XVIII. The Silver Buddha
Chapter XIX. Dr. Fu-Manchu’s Laboratory
Chapter XX. The Cross Bar
Chapter XXI. Cragmire Tower
Chapter XXII. The Mulatto
Chapter XXIII. A Cry On The Moor
Chapter XXIV. Story Of The Gables
Chapter XXV. The Bells
Chapter XXVI. The Fiery Hand
Chapter XXVII. The Night Of The Raid
Chapter XXVIII. The Samurai’s Sword
Chapter XXIX. The Six Gates
Chapter XXX. The Call Of The East
Chapter XXXI. “My Shadow Lies Upon You”
Chapter XXXII. The Tragedy
Chapter XXXIII. The Mummy
Afterward – The Filmography of Fu-Manchu
Ward was born in Birmingham, England to a working class family. He got his start in writing as a poet, songwriter, and comedy sketch writer for music hall performers. In 1903, his story “The Mysterious Mummy” was published in Pearson’s Magazine. Gradually Ward turned from writing for the music hall performers to writing short stories and serials for magazines.
The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu has 25 illustrations.
Excerpt: The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu
A Midnight Summons
“WHEN did you last hear from Nayland Smith?” asked my visitor.
I paused, my hand on the syphon, reflecting for a moment.
“Two months ago,” I said; “he’s a poor correspondent and rather soured, I fancy.”
“What—a woman or something?”
“Some affair of that sort. He’s such a reticent beggar, I really know very little about it.”
I placed a whisky and soda before the Rev. J. D. Eltham, also sliding the tobacco jar nearer to his hand. The refined and sensitive face of the clergy-man offered no indication of the truculent character of the man. His scanty fair hair, already gray over the temples, was silken and soft-looking; in appearance he was indeed a typical English churchman; but in China he had been known as “the fighting missionary,” and had fully deserved the title. In fact, this peaceful-looking gentleman had directly brought about the Boxer Risings!
“You know,” he said, in his clerical voice, but meanwhile stuffing tobacco into an old pipe with fierce energy, “I have often wondered, Petrie—I have never left off wondering—”
“That accursed Chinaman! Since the cellar place beneath the site of the burnt-out cottage in Dulwich Village—I have wondered more than ever.”
He lighted his pipe and walked to the hearth to throw the match in the grate.
“You see,” he continued, peering across at me in his oddly nervous way, “one never knows, does one? If I thought that Dr. Fu-Manchu lived; if I seriously suspected that that stupendous intellect, that wonderful genius, Petrie, er—” he hesitated characteristically—”survived, I should feel it my duty—”
“Well?” I said, leaning my elbows on the table and smiling slightly.
“If that Satanic genius were not indeed destroyed, then the peace of the world, may be threatened anew at any moment!”
He was becoming excited, shooting out his jaw in the truculent manner I knew, and snapping his fingers to emphasize his words; a man composed of the oddest complexities that ever dwelt beneath a clerical frock.
“He may have got back to China, Doctor!” he cried, and his eyes had the fighting glint in them. “Could you rest in peace if you thought that he lived? Should you not fear for your life every time that a night-call took you out alone? Why, man alive, it is only two years since he was here among us, since we were searching every shadow for those awful green eyes! What became of his band of assassins—his stranglers, his dacoits, his damnable poisons and insects and what-not—the army of creatures—”
He paused, taking a drink.
“You—” he hesitated diffidently—”searched in Egypt with Nayland Smith, did you not?”
“Contradict me if I am wrong,” he continued; “but my impression is that you were searching for the girl—the girl—Kâramanèh, I think she was called?”
“Yes,” I replied shortly; “but we could find no trace—no trace.”
“More than I knew,” I replied, “until I realized that I had—lost her.”
“I never met Kâramanèh, but from your account, and from others, she was quite unusually—”
“She was very beautiful,” I said, and stood up, for I was anxious to terminate that phase of the conversation.
Eltham regarded me sympathetically; he knew something of my search with Nayland Smith for the dark-eyed, Eastern girl who had brought romance into my drab life; he knew that I treasured my memories of her as I loathed and abhorred those of the fiendish, brilliant Chinese doctor who had been her master.
Eltham began to pace up and down the rug, his pipe bubbling furiously; and something in the way he carried his head reminded me momentarily of Nayland Smith. Certainly, between this pink-faced clergyman, with his deceptively mild appearance, and the gaunt, bronzed, and steely-eyed Burmese commissioner, there was externally little in common; but it was some little nervous trick in his carriage that conjured up through the smoky haze one distant summer evening when Smith had paced that very room as Eltham paced it now, when before my startled eyes he had rung up the curtain upon the savage drama in which, though I little suspected it then, Fate had cast me for a leading role.
I wondered if Eltham’s thoughts ran parallel with mine. My own were centered upon the unforgettable figure of the murderous Chinaman. These words, exactly as Smith had used them, seemed once again to sound in my ears: “Imagine a person tall, lean, and feline, high shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long magnetic eyes of the true cat green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources of science, past and present, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the ‘Yellow Peril’ incarnate in one man.”
Excerpt From: Sax Rohmer. “The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu.”
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