From the diary of Doctor Watson
It has been some time since I was able to put pen to paper in this most terrifying of cases, but as I sit here at my desk, I know that the Demon who has taunted us for the last few weeks will shortly be behind bars.
Leaving Holmes in the care of the oddly named Dr Ormond Sacker and his team of virgin-like nurses, I determined to hunt down Fu Manchu and bring him to justice. My first port of call was to accompany Lestrade to the house at No 1A, Hangman’s Lane. Needless to say, neither of us were surprised to find that not only the house, but in fact the entire lane, was no longer in existence. The room where I had been held captive was nothing more than a pile of rubble.
“I fear our bird has flown,” muttered Lestrade.
I nodded. “But we do have one clue…” I opened my bag and pulled out the carefully wrapped copy of ‘The Mask of Fu Manchu’. Opening the package just enough to examine the wording on the back of the book, I pointed at the name of the printer.
Lestrade’s face began to change, and after a moment I realised he was smiling. “Ah ha!” Said he. “The Fat Bum Press.”
I coughed. “I believe it’s pronounced ‘Phantom Press’, Inspector.”
“Ah, yes of course.” His newly acquired smile was replaced by the more familiar smirk. “In any case, I know where the place is – to the Docks!
And so it was a mere thirty short minutes later that we approached a forlorn-looking warehouse by the River, and proceeded to circle the building to ascertain how we might gain entry.
As we rounded the corner, any doubt that we had arrived at Fu Manchu’s hideout, was blown away like a puff of smoke up a particularly unsoiled chimney. There in front of us stood fourteen individuals of Chinese origin performing a strange, ritualistic dance.
A moment later, all movement ceased as the eyes of the mob turned towards us.
To be continued.