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diff --git a/old/1182-h/1182-h.htm b/old/1182-h/1182-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e402fe5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1182-h/1182-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17517 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dope, by Sax Rohmer</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dope, by Sax Rohmer</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Dope</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Sax Rohmer</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January, 1998 [eBook #1182]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 7, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Alan Johns and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOPE ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>Dope</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Sax Rohmer</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_PART1"><b>PART FIRST—KAZMAH THE DREAM-READER</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I. A MESSAGE FOR IRVIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II. THE APARTMENTS OF KAZMAH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III. KAZMAH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV. THE CLOSED DOOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V. THE DOOR IS OPENED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI. RED KERRY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII. FURTHER EVIDENCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII. KERRY CONSULTS THE ORACLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX. A PACKET OF CIGARETTES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X. SIR LUCIEN’S STUDY WINDOW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI. THE DRUG SYNDICATE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_PART2"><b>PART SECOND—MRS. SIN</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII. THE MAID OF THE MASQUE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII. A CHANDU PARTY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV. IN THE SHADE OF THE LONELY PALM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV. METAMORPHOSIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI. LIMEHOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII. THE BLACK SMOKE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII. THE DREAM OF SIN SIN WA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAFFIC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX. KAZMAH’S METHODS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI. THE CIGARETTES FROM BUENOS AYRES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII. THE STRANGLE-HOLD</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_PART3"><b>PART THIRD—THE MAN FROM WHITEHALL</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII. CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY RESIGNS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER XXIV. TO INTRODUCE 719</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER XXV. NIGHT-LIFE OF SOHO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER XXVI. THE MOODS OF MOLLIE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER XXVII. CROWN EVIDENCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GILDED JOSS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER XXIX. DOUBTS AND FEARS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER XXX. THE FIGHT IN THE DARK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER XXXI. THE STORY OF 719</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0032">CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE ISLE OF DOGS</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_PART4"><b>PART FOURTH—THE EYE OF SIN SIN WA</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0033">CHAPTER XXXIII. CHINESE MAGIC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0034">CHAPTER XXXIV. ABOVE AND BELOW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0035">CHAPTER XXXV. BEYOND THE VEIL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0036">CHAPTER XXXVI. SAM TÛK MOVES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0037">CHAPTER XXXVII. SETON PASHA REPORTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0038">CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SONG OF SIN SIN WA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0039">CHAPTER XXXIX. THE EMPTY WHARF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0040">CHAPTER XL. COIL OF THE PIGTAIL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0041">CHAPTER XLI. THE FINDING OF KAZMAH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0042">CHAPTER XLII. A YEAR LATER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0043">CHAPTER XLIII. THE STORY OF THE CRIME</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_PART1"></a> +PART FIRST<br/> +KAZMAH THE DREAM-READER</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I.<br/> +A MESSAGE FOR IRVIN</h2> + +<p> +Monte Irvin, alderman of the city and prospective Lord Mayor of London, paced +restlessly from end to end of the well-appointed library of his house in +Prince’s Gate. Between his teeth he gripped the stump of a burnt-out cigar. A +tiny spaniel lay beside the fire, his beady black eyes following the nervous +movements of the master of the house. +</p> + +<p> +At the age of forty-five Monte Irvin was not ill-looking, and, indeed, was +sometimes spoken of as handsome. His figure was full without being corpulent; +his well-groomed black hair and moustache and fresh if rather coarse +complexion, together with the dignity of his upright carriage, lent him +something of a military air. This he assiduously cultivated as befitting an +ex-Territorial officer, although as he had seen no active service he modestly +refrained from using any title of rank. +</p> + +<p> +Some quality in his brilliant smile, an oriental expressiveness of the dark +eyes beneath their drooping lids, hinted a Semitic strain; but it was otherwise +not marked in his appearance, which was free from vulgarity, whilst essentially +that of a successful man of affairs. +</p> + +<p> +In fact, Monte Irvin had made a success of every affair in life with the +lamentable exception of his marriage. Of late his forehead had grown lined, and +those business friends who had known him for a man of abstemious habits had +observed in the City chophouse at which he lunched almost daily that whereas +formerly he had been a noted trencherman, he now ate little but drank much. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the spaniel leapt up with that feverish, spider-like activity of the +toy species and began to bark. +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin paused in his restless patrol and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Lie down!” he said. “Be quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +The spaniel ran to the door, sniffing eagerly. A muffled sound of voices became +audible, and Irvin, following a moment of hesitation, crossed and opened the +door. The dog ran out, yapping in his irritating staccato fashion, and an +expression of hope faded from Irvin’s face as he saw a tall fair girl standing +in the hallway talking to Hinkes, the butler. She wore soiled Burberry, +high-legged tan boots, and a peaked cap of distinctly military appearance. +Irvin would have retired again, but the girl glanced up and saw him where he +stood by the library door. He summoned up a smile and advanced. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Miss Halley,” he said, striving to speak genially—for of +all of his wife’s friends he liked Margaret Halley the best. “Were you +expecting to find Rita at home?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s expression was vaguely troubled. She had the clear complexion and +bright eyes of perfect health, but to-night her eyes seemed over-bright, whilst +her face was slightly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied; “that is, I hoped she might be at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid I cannot tell you when she is likely to return. But please come +in, and I will make inquiries.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, I would rather you did not trouble and I won’t stay, thank you +nevertheless. I expect she will ring me up when she comes in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any message I can give her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well”—she hesitated for an instant—“you might tell her, if you +would, that I only returned home at eight o’clock, so that I could not come +around any earlier.” She glanced rapidly at Irvin, biting her lip. “I wish I +could have seen her,” she added in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“She wishes to see you particularly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She left a note this afternoon.” Again she glanced at him in a troubled +way. “Well, I suppose it cannot be helped,” she added and smilingly extended +her hand. “Good night, Mr. Irvin. Don’t bother to come to the door.” +</p> + +<p> +But Irvin passed Hinkes and walked out under the porch with Margaret Halley. +Humid yellow mist floated past the street lamps, and seemed to have gathered in +a moving reef around the little runabout car which was standing outside the +house, its motor chattering tremulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Phew! a beastly night!” he said. “Foggy and wet.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a brute isn’t it?” said the girl laughingly, and turned on the steps so +that the light shining out of the hallway gleamed on her white teeth and +upraised eyes. She was pulling on big, ugly, furred gloves, and Monte Irvin +mentally contrasted her fresh, athletic type of beauty with the delicate, +exotic charm of his wife. +</p> + +<p> +She opened the door of the little car, got in and drove off, waving one hugely +gloved hand to Irvin as he stood in the porch looking after her. When the red +tail-light had vanished in the mist he returned to the house and re-entered the +library. If only all his wife’s friends were like Margaret Halley, he mused, he +might have been spared the insupportable misgivings which were goading him to +madness. His mind filled with poisonous suspicions, he resumed his pacing of +the library, awaiting and dreading that which should confirm his blackest +theories. He was unaware of the fact that throughout the interview he had held +the stump of cigar between his teeth. He held it there yet, pacing, pacing up +and down the long room. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the expected summons. The telephone bell rang. Monte Irvin clenched +his hands and inhaled deeply. His color changed in a manner that would have +aroused a physician’s interest. Regaining his self-possession by a visible +effort, he crossed to a small side-table upon which the instrument rested. +Rolling the cigar stump into the left corner of his mouth, he took up the +receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone named Brisley, sir, wishes—” +</p> + +<p> +“Put him through to me here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +A short interval, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Monte Irvin. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Brisley. I have a message for Mr. Monte Irvin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Monte Irvin speaking. Anything to report, Brisley?” +</p> + +<p> +Irvin’s deep, rich voice was not entirely under control. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. The lady drove by taxicab from Prince’s Gate to Albemarle Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Went up to chambers of Sir Lucien Pyne and was admitted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty minutes later came out. Lady was with Sir Lucien. Both walked around to +old Bond Street. The Honorable Quentin Gray—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” breathed Irvin. +</p> + +<p> +“—Overtook them there. He got out of a cab. He joined them. All three up +to apartments of a professional crystal-gazer styling himself Kazmah ‘the +dream-reader.’” +</p> + +<p> +A puzzled expression began to steal over the face of Monte Irvin. At the sound +of the telephone bell he had paled somewhat. Now he began to recover his +habitual florid coloring. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he directed, for the speaker had paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Seven to ten minutes later,” resumed the nasal voice, “Mr. Gray came down. He +hailed a passing cab, but man refused to stop. Mr. Gray seemed to be very +irritable.” +</p> + +<p> +The fact that the invisible speaker was reading from a notebook he betrayed by +his monotonous intonation and abbreviated sentences, which resembled those of a +constable giving evidence in a police court. +</p> + +<p> +“He walked off rapidly in direction of Piccadilly. Colleague followed. Near the +Ritz he obtained a cab. He returned in same to old Bond Street. He ran upstairs +and was gone from four-and-a-half to five minutes. He then came down again. He +was very pale and agitated. He discharged cab and walked away. Colleague +followed. He saw Mr. Gray enter Prince’s Restaurant. In the hall Mr. Gray met a +gent unknown by sight to colleague. Following some conversation both gents went +in to dinner. They are there now. Speaking from Dover Street Tube.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes. But the lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“A native, possibly Egyptian, apparently servant of Kazmah, came out a few +minutes after Mr. Gray had gone for cab, and went away. Sir Lucien Pyne and +lady are still in Kazmah’s rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried Irvin, pulling out his watch and glancing at the disk. “But it’s +after eight o’clock!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. The place is all shut up, and other offices in block closed at six. +Door of Kazmah’s is locked. I knocked and got no reply.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it! You’re talking nonsense! There must be another exit.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. Colleague has just relieved me. Left two gents over their wine at +Prince’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin’s color began to fade slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s Pyne!” he whispered. The hand which held the receiver shook. +“Brisley—meet me at the Piccadilly end of Bond Street. I am coming now.” +</p> + +<p> +He put down the telephone, crossed to the wall and pressed a button. The cigar +stump held firmly between his teeth, he stood on the rug before the hearth, +facing the door. Presently it opened and Hinkes came in. +</p> + +<p> +“The car is ready, Hinkes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, as you ordered. Shall Pattison come round to the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“At once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew, closing the door quietly, and Monte Irvin stood staring across the +library at the full-length portrait in oils of his wife in the pierrot dress +which she had worn in the third act of <i>The Maid of the Masque</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The clock in the hall struck half-past eight. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II.<br/> +THE APARTMENTS OF KAZMAH</h2> + +<p> +It was rather less than two hours earlier on the same evening that Quentin Gray +came out of the confectioner’s shop in old Bond Street carrying a neat parcel. +Yellow dusk was closing down upon this bazaar of the New Babylon, and many of +the dealers in precious gems, vendors of rich stuffs, and makers of modes had +already deserted their shops. Smartly dressed show-girls, saleswomen, girl +clerks and others crowded the pavements, which at high noon had been thronged +with ladies of fashion. Here a tailor’s staff, there a hatter’s lingered awhile +as iron shutters and gratings were secured, and bidding one another good night, +separated and made off towards Tube and bus. The working day was ended. Society +was dressing for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Gray was about to enter the cab which awaited him, and his fresh-colored, +boyish face wore an expression of eager expectancy, which must have betrayed +the fact to an experienced beholder that he was hurrying to keep an agreeable +appointment. Then, his hand resting on the handle of the cab-door, this +expression suddenly changed to one of alert suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +A tall, dark man, accompanied by a woman muffled in grey furs and wearing a +silk scarf over her hair, had passed on foot along the opposite side of the +street. Gray had seen them through the cab windows. +</p> + +<p> +His smooth brow wrinkled and his mouth tightened to a thin straight line +beneath the fair “regulation” moustache. He fumbled under his overcoat for +loose silver, drew out a handful and paid off the taximan. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes walking in the gutter in order to avoid the throngs upon the +pavement, regardless of the fact that his glossy dress-boots were becoming +spattered with mud, Gray hurried off in pursuit of the pair. Twenty yards ahead +he overtook them, as they were on the point of passing a picture dealer’s +window, from which yellow light streamed forth into the humid dusk. They were +walking slowly, and Gray stopped in front of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, you two!” he cried. “Where are you off to? I was on my way to call for +you, Rita.” +</p> + +<p> +Flushed and boyish he stood before them, and his annoyance was increased by +their failure to conceal the fact that his appearance was embarrassing if not +unwelcome. Mrs. Monte Irvin was a petite, pretty woman, although some of the +more wonderful bronzed tints of her hair suggested the employment of henna, and +her naturally lovely complexion was delicately and artistically enhanced by +art. Nevertheless, the flower-like face peeping out from the folds of a gauzy +scarf, like a rose from a mist, whilst her soft little chin nestled into the +fur, might have explained even in the case of an older man the infatuation +which Quentin Gray was at no pains to hide. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced up at her companion, Sir Lucien Pyne, a swarthy, cynical type of +aristocrat, imperturbably. Then: “I had left a note for you, Quentin,” she said +hurriedly. She seemed to be in a dangerously high-strung condition. +</p> + +<p> +“But I have booked a table and a box,” cried Gray, with a hint of juvenile +petulance. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Gray,” said Sir Lucien coolly, “we are men of the world—and we +do not look for consistency in womenfolk. Mrs. Irvin has decided to consult a +palmist or a hypnotist or some such occult authority before dining with you +this evening. Doubtless she seeks to learn if the play to which you propose to +take her is an amusing one.” +</p> + +<p> +His smile of sardonic amusement Gray found to be almost insupportable, and +although Sir Lucien refrained from looking at Mrs. Irvin whilst he spoke, it +was evident enough that his words held some covert significance, for: +</p> + +<p> +“You know perfectly well that I have a particular reason for seeing him,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“A woman’s particular reason is a man’s feeble excuse,” murmured Sir Lucien +rudely. “At least, according to a learned Arabian philosopher.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to meet you at Prince’s,” said Mrs. Irvin hurriedly, and again +glancing at Gray. There was a pathetic hesitancy in her manner, the hesitancy +of a weak woman who adheres to a purpose only by supreme effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Might I ask,” said Gray, “the name of the pervert you are going to consult?” +</p> + +<p> +Again she hesitated and glanced rapidly at Sir Lucien, but he was staring +coolly in another direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Kazmah,” she replied in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Kazmah!” cried Gray. “The man who sells perfume and pretends to read dreams? +What an extraordinary notion. Wouldn’t tomorrow do? He will surely have shut up +shop!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been at pains to ascertain,” replied Sir Lucien, “at Mrs. Irvin’s +express desire, that the man of mystery is still in session and will receive +her.” +</p> + +<p> +Beneath the mask of nonchalance which he wore it might have been possible to +detect excitement repressed with difficulty; and had Gray been more composed +and not obsessed with the idea that Sir Lucien had deliberately intruded upon +his plans for the evening, he could not have failed to perceive that Mrs. Monte +Irvin was feverishly preoccupied with matters having no relation to dinner and +the theatre. But his private suspicions grew only the more acute. +</p> + +<p> +“Then if the dinner is not off,” he said, “may I come along and wait for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“At Kazmah’s?” asked Mrs. Irvin. “Certainly.” She turned to Sir Lucien. “Shall +you wait? It isn’t much use as I’m dining with Quentin.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I do not intrude,” replied the baronet, “I will accompany you as far as the +cave of the oracle, and then bid you good night.” +</p> + +<p> +The trio proceeded along old Bond Street. Quentin Gray regarded the story of +Kazmah as a very poor lie devised on the spur of the moment. If he had been +less infatuated, his natural sense of dignity must have dictated an offer to +release Mrs. Irvin from her engagement. But jealousy stimulates the worst +instincts and destroys the best. He was determined to attach himself as closely +as the old Man of the Sea attached himself to Es-Sindibad, in order that the +lie might be unmasked. Mrs. Irvin’s palpable embarrassment and nervousness he +ascribed to her perception of his design. +</p> + +<p> +A group of shop girls and others waiting for buses rendered it impossible for +the three to keep abreast, and Gray, falling to the rear, stepped upon the foot +of a little man who was walking close behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, sir,” said the man, suppressing an exclamation of pain—for the +fault had been Gray’s. +</p> + +<p> +Gray muttered an ungenerous acknowledgment, all anxiety to regain the side of +Mrs. Irvin; for she seemed to be speaking rapidly and excitedly to Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +He recovered his place as the two turned in at a lighted doorway. Upon the wall +was a bronze plate bearing the inscription: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +KAZMAH<br/> +Second Floor +</p> + +<p> +Gray fully expected Mrs. Irvin to suggest that he should return later. But +without a word she began to ascend the stairs. Gray followed, Sir Lucien +standing aside to give him precedence. On the second floor was a door painted +in Oriental fashion. It possessed neither bell nor knocker, but as one stepped +upon the threshold this door opened noiselessly as if dumbly inviting the +visitor to enter the square apartment discovered. This apartment was richly +furnished in the Arab manner, and lighted by a fine brass lamp swung upon +chains from the painted ceiling. The intricate perforations of the lamp were +inset with colored glass, and the result was a subdued and warm illumination. +Odd-looking oriental vessels, long-necked jars, jugs with tenuous spouts and +squat bowls possessing engraved and figured covers emerged from the shadows of +niches. A low divan with gaily colored mattresses extended from the door around +one corner of the room where it terminated beside a kind of <i>mushrabîyeh</i> +cabinet or cupboard. Beyond this cabinet was a long, low counter laden with +statuettes of Nile gods, amulets, mummy-beads and little stoppered flasks of +blue enamel ware. There were two glass cases filled with other strange-looking +antiquities. A faint perfume was perceptible. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien entering last of the party, the door closed behind him, and from the +cabinet on the right of the divan a young Egyptian stepped out. He wore the +customary white robe, red sash and red slippers, and a <i>tarbûsh</i>, the +little scarlet cap commonly called a fez, was set upon his head. He walked to a +door on the left of the counter, and slid it noiselessly open. Bowing gravely, +“The Sheikh el Kazmah awaits,” he said, speaking with the soft intonation of a +native of Upper Egypt. +</p> + +<p> +It now became evident, even to the infatuated Gray, that Mrs. Irvin was +laboring under the influence of tremendous excitement. She turned to him +quickly, and he thought that her face looked almost haggard, whilst her eyes +seemed to have changed color—become lighter, although he could not be +certain that this latter effect was not due to the peculiar illumination of the +room. But when she spoke her voice was unsteady. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you see if you can find a cab,” she said. “It is so difficult at night, +and my shoes will get frightfully muddy crossing Piccadilly. I shall not be +more than a few minutes.” She walked through the doorway, the Egyptian standing +aside as she passed. He followed her, but came out again almost immediately, +reclosed the door, and retired into the cabinet, which was evidently his +private cubicle. +</p> + +<p> +Silence claimed the apartment. Sir Lucien threw himself nonchalantly upon the +divan, and took out his cigarette-case. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you have a cigarette, Gray?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No thanks,” replied the other, in tones of smothered hostility. He was ill at +ease, and paced the apartment nervously. Pyne lighted a cigarette, and tossed +the extinguished match into a brass bowl. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Gray jerkily, “I shall go for a cab. Are you remaining?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am dining at the club,” answered Pyne, “but I can wait until you return.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you wish,” jerked Gray. “I don’t expect to be long.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked rapidly to the outer door, which opened at his approach and closed +noiselessly behind him as he made his exit. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III.<br/> +KAZMAH</h2> + +<p> +Mrs. Monte Irvin entered the inner room. The air was heavy with the perfume of +frankincense which smouldered in a brass vessel set upon a tray. This was the +audience chamber of Kazmah. In marked contrast to the overcrowded appointments, +divans and cupboards of the first room, it was sparsely furnished. The floor +was thickly carpeted, but save for an ornate inlaid table upon which stood the +tray and incense-burner, and a long, low-cushioned seat placed immediately +beneath a hanging lamp burning dimly in a globular green shade, it was devoid +of decoration. The walls were draped with green curtains, so that except for +the presence of the painted door, the four sides of the apartment appeared to +be uniform. +</p> + +<p> +Having conducted Mrs. Irvin to the seat, the Egyptian bowed and retired again +through the doorway by which they had entered. The visitor found herself alone. +</p> + +<p> +She moved nervously, staring across at the blank wall before her. With her +little satin shoe she tapped the carpet, biting her under lip and seeming to be +listening. Nothing stirred. Not even an echo of busy Bond Street penetrated to +the place. Mrs. Irvin unfastened her cloak and allowed it to fall back upon the +settee. Her bare shoulders looked waxen and unnatural in the weird light which +shone down upon them. She was breathing rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +The minutes passed by in unbroken silence. So still was the room that Mrs. +Irvin could hear the faint crackling sound made by the burning charcoal in the +brass vessel near her. Wisps of blue-grey smoke arose through the perforated +lid and she began to watch them fascinatedly, so lithe they seemed, like +wraiths of serpents creeping up the green draperies. +</p> + +<p> +So she was seated, her foot still restlessly tapping, but her gaze arrested by +the hypnotic movements of the smoke, when at last a sound from the outer world, +penetrated to the room. A church clock struck the hour of seven, its clangor +intruding upon the silence only as a muffled boom. Almost coincident with the +last stroke came the sweeter note of a silver gong from somewhere close at +hand. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Irvin started, and her eyes turned instantly in the direction of the +greenly draped wall before her. Her pupils had grown suddenly dilated, and she +clenched her hands tightly. +</p> + +<p> +The light above her head went out. +</p> + +<p> +Now that the moment was come to which she had looked forward with mingled hope +and terror, long pent-up emotion threatened to overcome her, and she trembled +wildly. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the darkness dawned a vague light and in it a shape seemed to take form. +As the light increased the effect was as though part of the wall had become +transparent so as to reveal the interior of an inner room where a figure was +seated in a massive ebony chair. The figure was that of an oriental, richly +robed and wearing a white turban. His long slim hands, of the color of old +ivory, rested upon the arms of the chair, and on the first finger of the right +hand gleamed a big talismanic ring. The face of the seated man was lowered, but +from under heavy brows his abnormally large eyes regarded her fixedly. +</p> + +<p> +So dim the light remained that it was impossible to discern the details with +anything like clearness, but that the clean-shaven face of the man with those +wonderful eyes was strikingly and intellectually handsome there could be no +doubt. +</p> + +<p> +This was Kazmah, “the dream reader,” and although Mrs. Irvin had seen him +before, his statuesque repose and the weirdness of his unfaltering gaze +thrilled her uncannily. +</p> + +<p> +Kazmah slightly raised his hand in greeting: the big ring glittered in the +subdued light. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me your dream,” came a curious mocking voice; “and I will read its +portent.” +</p> + +<p> +Such was the set formula with which Kazmah opened all interviews. He spoke with +a slight and not unmusical accent. He lowered his hand again. The gaze of those +brilliant eyes remained fixed upon the woman’s face. Moistening her lips, Mrs. +Irvin spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Dreams! What I have to say does not belong to dreams, but to reality!” She +laughed unmirthfully. “You know well enough why I am here.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Why are you here?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know! You know!” Suddenly into her voice had come the unmistakable note of +hysteria. “Your theatrical tricks do not impress me. I know what you are! A +spy—an eavesdropper who watches—watches, and listens! But you may +go too far! I am nearly desperate—do you understand?—nearly +desperate. Speak! Move! Answer me!” +</p> + +<p> +But Kazmah preserved his uncanny repose. +</p> + +<p> +“You are distracted,” he said. “I am sorry for you. But why do you come to +<i>me</i> with your stories of desperation? You have insisted upon seeing me. I +am here.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you play with me—taunt me!” +</p> + +<p> +“The remedy is in your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the last time, I tell you I will never do it! Never, never, never!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do you complain? If you cannot afford to pay for your amusements, and +you refuse to compromise in a simple manner, why do you approach <i>me?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my God!” She moaned and swayed dizzily—“have pity on me! Who are +you, what are you, that you can bring ruin on a woman because—” She +uttered a choking sound, but continued hoarsely, “Raise your head. Let me see +your face. As heaven is my witness, I am ruined—ruined!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tomorrow—” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot wait for tomorrow—” +</p> + +<p> +That quivering, hoarse cry betrayed a condition of desperate febrile +excitement. Mrs. Irvin was capable of proceeding to the wildest extremities. +Clearly the mysterious Egyptian recognized this to be the case, for slowly +raising his hand: +</p> + +<p> +“I will communicate with you,” he said, and the words were spoken almost +hurriedly. “Depart in peace—“; a formula wherewith he terminated every +seance. He lowered his hand. +</p> + +<p> +The silver gong sounded again—and the dim light began to fade. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon the unhappy woman acted; the long suppressed outburst came at last. +Stepping rapidly to the green transparent veil behind which Kazmah was seated, +she wrenched it asunder and leapt toward the figure in the black chair. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall not trick me!” she panted. “Hear me out or I go straight to the +police—now—<i>now!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She grasped the hands of Kazmah as they rested motionless, on the chair-arms. +</p> + +<p> +Complete darkness came. +</p> + +<p> +Out of it rose a husky, terrified cry—a second, louder cry; and then a +long, wailing scream... horror-laden as that of one who has touched some +slumbering reptile.... +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV.<br/> +THE CLOSED DOOR</h2> + +<p> +Rather less than five minutes later a taxicab drew up in old Bond Street, and +from it Quentin Gray leapt out impetuously and ran in at the doorway leading to +Kazmah’s stairs. So hurried was his progress that he collided violently with a +little man who, carrying himself with a pronounced stoop, was slinking +furtively out. +</p> + +<p> +The little man reeled at the impact and almost fell, but: +</p> + +<p> +“Hang it all!” cried Gray irritably. “Why the devil don’t you look where you’re +going!” +</p> + +<p> +He glared angrily into the face of the other. It was a peculiar and +rememberable face, notable because of a long, sharp, hooked nose and very +little, foxy, brown eyes; a sly face to which a small, fair moustache only +added insignificance. It was crowned by a wide-brimmed bowler hat which the man +wore pressed down upon his ears like a Jew pedlar. +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” cried Gray, “this is the second time tonight you have jostled me!” +</p> + +<p> +He thought he had recognized the man for the same who had been following +himself, Mrs. Irvin and Sir Lucien Pyne along old Bond Street. +</p> + +<p> +A smile, intended to be propitiatory, appeared upon the pale face. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, excuse me, sir—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t deny it!” said Gray angrily. “If I had the time I should give you in +charge as a suspicious loiterer.” +</p> + +<p> +Calling to the cabman to wait, he ran up the stairs to the second floor +landing. Before the painted door bearing the name of Kazmah he halted, and as +the door did not open, stamped impatiently, but with no better result. +</p> + +<p> +At that, since there was neither bell nor knocker, he raised his fist and +banged loudly. +</p> + +<p> +No one responded to the summons. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi, there!” he shouted. “Open the door! Pyne! Rita!” +</p> + +<p> +Again he banged—and yet again. Then he paused, listening, his ear pressed +to the panel. +</p> + +<p> +He could detect no sound of movement within. Fists clenched, he stood staring +at the closed door, and his fresh color slowly deserted him and left him pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn him!” he muttered savagely. “Damn him! he has fooled me!” +</p> + +<p> +Passionate and self-willed, he was shaken by a storm of murderous anger. That +Pyne had planned this trick, with Rita Irvin’s consent, he did not doubt, and +his passive dislike of the man became active hatred of the woman he dared not +think. He had for long looked upon Sir Lucien in the light of a rival, and the +irregularity of his own infatuation for another’s wife in no degree lessened +his resentment. +</p> + +<p> +Again he pressed his ear to the door, and listened intently. Perhaps they were +hiding within. Perhaps this charlatan, Kazmah, was an accomplice in the pay of +Sir Lucien. Perhaps this was a secret place of rendezvous. +</p> + +<p> +To the manifest absurdity of such a conjecture he was blind in his anger. But +that he was helpless, befooled, he recognized; and with a final muttered +imprecation he turned and slowly descended the stair. A lingering hope was +dispelled when, looking right and left along Bond Street, he failed to perceive +the missing pair. +</p> + +<p> +The cabman glanced at him interrogatively. “I shall not require you,” said +Gray, and gave the man half-a-crown. +</p> + +<p> +Busy with his poisonous conjectures, he remained all unaware of the presence of +a furtive, stooping figure which lurked behind the railings of the arcade at +this point linking old Bond Street to Albemarle Street. Nor had the stooping +stranger any wish to attract Gray’s attention. Most of the shops in the narrow +lane were already closed, although the florist’s at the corner remained open, +but of the shadow which lay along the greater part of the arcade this alert +watcher took every advantage. From the recess formed by a shop door he peered +out at Gray, where the light of a street lamp fell upon him, studying his face, +his movements, with unrelaxing vigilance. +</p> + +<p> +Gray, following some moments of indecision, strode off towards Piccadilly. The +little man came out cautiously from his hiding-place and looked after him. Out +of a dark porch, ten paces along Bond Street, appeared a burly figure to fall +into step a few yards behind Gray. The little man licked his lips +appreciatively and returned to the doorway below the premises of Kazmah. +</p> + +<p> +Reaching Piccadilly, Gray stood for a time on the corner, indifferent to the +jostling of passers-by. Finally he crossed, walked along to the Prince’s +Restaurant, and entered the lobby. He glanced at his wrist-watch. It registered +the hour of seven-twenty-five. +</p> + +<p> +He cancelled his order for a table and was standing staring moodily towards the +entrance when the doors swung open and a man entered who stepped straight up to +him, hand extended, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you, Gray,” he said. “What’s the trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray stared as if incredulous at the speaker, and it was with an +unmistakable note of welcome in his voice that he replied: +</p> + +<p> +“Seton! Seton Pasha!” +</p> + +<p> +The frown disappeared from Gray’s forehead, and he gripped the other’s hand in +hearty greeting. But: +</p> + +<p> +“Stick to plain Seton!” said the new-comer, glancing rapidly about him. +“Ottoman titles are not fashionable.” +</p> + +<p> +The speaker was a man of arresting personality. Above medium height, well but +leanly built, the face of Seton “Pasha” was burned to a deeper shade than +England’s wintry sun is capable of producing. He wore a close-trimmed beard and +moustache, and the bronze on his cheeks enhanced the brightness of his grey +eyes and rendered very noticeable a slight frosting of the dark hair above his +temples. He had the indescribable air of a “sure” man, a sound man to have +beside one in a tight place; and looking into the rather grim face, Quentin +Gray felt suddenly ashamed of himself. From Seton Pasha he knew that he could +keep nothing back. He knew that presently he should find himself telling this +quiet, brown-skinned man the whole story of his humiliation—and he knew +that Seton would not spare his feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow,” he said, “you must pardon me if I sometimes fail to respect +your wishes in this matter. When I left the East the name of Seton Pasha was on +everybody’s tongue. But are you alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am. I only arrived in London tonight and in England this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you thinking of dining here?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I saw you through the doorway as I was passing. But this will do as well +as another place. I gather that you are disengaged. Perhaps you will dine with +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid!” cried Gray. “Wait a moment. Perhaps my table hasn’t gone!” +</p> + +<p> +He ran off in his boyish, impetuous fashion, and Seton watched him, smiling +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The table proved to be available, and ere long the two were discussing an +excellent dinner. Gray lost much of his irritability and began to talk +coherently upon topics of general interest. Presently, following an interval +during which he had been covertly watching his companion: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, Seton,” he said, “you are the one man in London whose company I +could have tolerated tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“My arrival was peculiarly opportune.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your arrivals are always peculiarly opportune.” Gray stared at Seton with an +expression of puzzled admiration. “I don’t think I shall ever understand your +turning up immediately before the Senussi raid in Egypt. Do you remember? I was +with the armored cars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you vanished in the same mysterious fashion, and the C. O. was a sphinx +on the subject. I next saw you strolling out of the gate at Baghdad. How the +devil you’d got to Baghdad, considering that you didn’t come with us and that +you weren’t with the cavalry, heaven only knows!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Seton judicially, gazing through his uplifted wine-glass; “when one +comes to consider the matter without prejudice it is certainly odd. But do I +know the lady to whose non-appearance I owe the pleasure of your company +tonight?” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray stared at him blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Seton, you amaze me. Did I say that I had an appointment with a lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Gray, when I see a man standing biting his nails and glaring out into +Piccadilly from a restaurant entrance I ask myself a question. When I learn +that he has just cancelled an order for a table for two I answer it.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray laughed. “You always make me feel so infernally young, Seton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s good to feel young, but bad to feel a young fool; and that’s what I +feel—and what I am. Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +Leaning across the table so that the light of the shaded lamp fell fully upon +his flushed, eager face, Gray, not without embarrassment, told his companion of +the “dirty trick”—so he phrased it—which Sir Lucien Pyne had played +upon him. In conclusion: +</p> + +<p> +“What would you do, Seton?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Seton sat regarding him in silence with a cool, calculating stare which some +men had termed insolent, absently tapping his teeth with the gold rim of a +monocle which he carried but apparently never used for any other purpose; and +it was at about this time that a long low car passed near the door of the +restaurant, crossing the traffic stream of Piccadilly to draw up at the corner +of old Bond Street. +</p> + +<p> +From the car Monte Irvin alighted and, telling the man to wait, set out on +foot. Ten paces along Bond Street he encountered a small, stooping figure which +became detached from the shadows of a shop door. The light of a street lamp +shone down upon the sharp, hooked nose and into the cunning little brown eyes +of Brisley, of Spinker’s Detective Agency. Monte Irvin started. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Brisley!” he said, “I was looking for you. Are they still there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably, sir.” Brisley licked his lips. “My colleague, Gunn, reports no one +came out whilst I was away ’phoning.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the whole thing seems preposterous. Are there no other offices in the +block where they might be?” +</p> + +<p> +“I personally saw Mr. Gray, Sir Lucien Pyne and the lady go into Kazmah’s. At +that time—roughly, ten to seven—all the other offices had been +closed, approximately, one hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is absolutely no possibility that they might have come out unseen by +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“None, sir. I should not have troubled a client if in doubt. Here’s Gunn.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Bond Street now was darkened and deserted; the yellow mist had turned to +fine rain, and Gunn, his hands thrust in his pockets, was sheltering under the +porch of the arcade. Gunn possessed a purple complexion which attained to full +vigor of coloring in the nasal region. His moustache of dirty grey was stained +brown in the centre as if by frequent potations of stout, and his bulky figure +was artificially enlarged by the presence of two overcoats, the outer of which +was a waterproof and the inner a blue garment appreciably longer both in sleeve +and skirt than the former. The effect produced was one of great novelty. Gunn +touched the brim of his soft felt hat, which he wore turned down all round +apparently in imitation of a flower-pot. +</p> + +<p> +“All snug, sir,” he said, hoarsely and confidentially, bending forward and +breathing the words into Irvin’s ear. “Snug as a bee in a hive. You’re as good +as a bachelor again.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin mentally recoiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Lead the way to the door of this place,” he said tersely. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, this way, sir. Be careful of the step there. You may remark that the +outer door is not yet closed. I am informed upon reliable authority as the last +to go locks the door. Hence we perceive that the last has not yet gone. It is +likewise opened by the first to come of a mornin’. Here we are, sir; door on +the right.” +</p> + +<p> +The landing was in darkness, but as Gunn spoke he directed the ray of a pocket +lamp upon a bronze plate bearing the name “Kazmah.” He rested one hand upon his +hip. +</p> + +<p> +“All snug,” he repeated; “as snug as a eel in mud. The <i>decree nisi</i> is +yours, sir. As an alderman of the City of London and a Justice of the Peace you +are entitled to call a police officer—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” rapped Irvin. “You’ve been drinking: and I place no +reliance whatever in your evidence. I do not believe that my wife or any one +else but ourselves is upon these premises.” +</p> + +<p> +The watery eyes of the insulted man protruded unnaturally. “Drinkin’!” he +whispered, “drink—” +</p> + +<p> +But indignation now deprived Gunn of speech and: +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted the nasal voice of Brisley, “but I can absolutely +answer for Gunn. Reputation of the Agency at stake. Worked with us for three +years. Parties undoubtedly on the premises as reported.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drink—” whispered Gunn. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad,” said Monte Irvin, and his voice shook emotionally, “if you +will lend me your pocket lamp. I am naturally upset. Will you kindly both go +downstairs. I will call if I want you.” +</p> + +<p> +The two men obeyed, Gunn muttering hoarsely to Brisley; and Monte Irvin was +left standing on the landing, the lamp in his hand. He waited until he knew +from the sound of their footsteps that the pair had regained the street, then, +resting his arm against the closed door, and pressing his forehead to the damp +sleeve of his coat, he stood awhile, the lamp, which he held limply, shining +down upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +His lips moved, and almost inaudibly he murmured his wife’s name. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V.<br/> +THE DOOR IS OPENED</h2> + +<p> +Quentin Gray and Seton strolled out of Prince’s and both paused whilst Seton +lighted a long black cheroot. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a pity to waste that box,” said Gray. “Suppose we look in at the +Gaiety for an hour?” +</p> + +<p> +His humor was vastly improved, and he watched the passing throngs with an +expression more suited to his boyish good looks than that of anger and +mortification which had rested upon him an hour earlier. +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha tossed a match into the road. +</p> + +<p> +“My official business is finished for the day,” he replied. “I place myself +unreservedly in your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” began Gray—and paused. +</p> + +<p> +A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of a +motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where they were +standing. Gray seized Seton’s arm in a fierce grip. +</p> + +<p> +“Seton,” he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, “Look! There is Monte +Irvin!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the car?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes! But—he has two <i>police</i> with him! Seton, what can it +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream and clearly +heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray’s mercurial color deserted him, and +he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God,” he whispered, “something has happened to Rita!” +</p> + +<p> +Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic, dodging +this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin’s car. Of the fact that his +friend was close beside him he remained unaware until, on the corner of old +Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his shoulder. Gray turned angrily. But +the grip was immovable, and he found himself staring into the unemotional face +of Seton Pasha. +</p> + +<p> +“Seton, for God’s sake, don’t detain me! I must learn what’s wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pull up, Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray clenched his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me, Seton. This is no time for interference. I—” +</p> + +<p> +“You are about to become involved in some very unsavory business; and I +repeat—pull up. In a moment we shall learn all there is to be learned. +But are you determined openly to thrust yourself into the family affairs of Mr. +Monte Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +“If anything has happened to Rita I’ll kill that damned cur Pyne!” +</p> + +<p> +“You are determined to intrude upon this man in your present frame of mind at a +time of evident trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +But Gray was deaf to the promptings of prudence and good taste alike. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to see the thing through,” he said hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so. Rely upon me. But endeavor to behave more like a man of the world +and less like a dangerous lunatic, or we shall quarrel atrociously.” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray audibly gnashed his teeth, but the cool stare of the other’s eyes +was quelling, and now as their glances met and clashed, a sympathetic smile +softened the lines of Seton’s grim mouth, and: +</p> + +<p> +“I quite understand, old chap,” he said, linking his arm in Gray’s. “But can’t +you see how important it is, for everybody’s sake, that we should tackle the +thing coolly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seton”—Gray’s voice broke—“I’m sorry. I know I’m mad; but I was +with her only an hour ago, and now—” +</p> + +<p> +“And now ‘her’ husband appears on the scene accompanied by a police inspector +and a sergeant. What are your relations with Mr. Monte Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +They were walking rapidly again along Bond Street. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, Seton?” asked Gray. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean does he approve of your friendship with his wife, or is it a +clandestine affair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Clandestine?—certainly not. I was on my way to call at the house when I +met her with Pyne this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I wanted to know. Very well; since you intend to follow the thing +up, it simplifies matters somewhat. Here is the car.” +</p> + +<p> +“At Kazmah’s door! What in heaven’s name does it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“It means that we shall get a very poor reception if we intrude. Question the +chauffeur.” +</p> + +<p> +But Gray had already approached the man, who touched his cap in recognition. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble, Pattison?” he demanded breathlessly. “I saw police in the +car a moment ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I don’t rightly know, sir, what’s happened. But Mr. Irvin drove from +home to the corner of old Bond Street a quarter of an hour ago and told me to +wait, then came back again and drove round to Vine Street to fetch the police. +They’re inside now.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he spoke, with excitement ill-concealed, a police-sergeant came out of +the doorway, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Move on, there,” he said to Seton and Gray. “You mustn’t hang about this +door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Sergeant,” cried Gray, “but if the matter concerns Mrs. Monte Irvin +I can probably supply information.” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant stared at him hard, saw that both he and his friend wore evening +dress, and grew proportionately respectful. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name, sir?” he asked. “I’ll mention it to the officer in charge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quentin Gray. Inform Mr. Monte Irvin that I wish to speak to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” He turned to the chauffeur. “Hand me out the bag I gave you +at Vine Street.” Pattison leaned over the door at the front of the car, and +brought out a big leather grip. With this in hand the police-sergeant returned +into the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re in for it now,” said Seton grimly, “whatever it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray returned no answer, moving restlessly up and down before the door in a +fever of excitement and dread. Presently the Sergeant reappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Step this way, please,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Followed by Seton and Gray he led the way up to the landing before Kazmah’s +apartments. It was vaguely lighted by two police-lanterns. Four men were +standing there, and four pairs of eyes were focussed upon the stair-head. +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“That you, Gray?” Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice. “Thanks for +offering your help. God knows I need all I can get. You were with Rita tonight. +What happened? Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven knows where she is!” cried Gray. “I left her here with Pyne shortly +after seven o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, fixing his gaze upon the face of Brisley, whose shifty eyes avoided +him and who was licking his lips in the manner of a dog who has seen the whip. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Gray, “I believe you are the fellow who has been following me all +night for some reason.” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped toward the foxy little man but: +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Gray,” interrupted Irvin. “I was to blame. But he was following my +wife, not you. Tell me quickly: Why did she come here?” +</p> + +<p> +Gray raised his hand to his brow with a gesture of bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“To consult this man, Kazmah. I actually saw her enter the inner room, I went +to get a cab, and when I returned the door was locked.” +</p> + +<p> +“You knocked?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. I made no end of a row. But I could get no reply and went away.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin turned, a pathetic figure, to the Inspector who stood beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“We may as well proceed, Inspector Whiteleaf,” he said. “Mr. Gray’s evidence +throws no light on the matter at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir,” was the reply; “we have the warrant, and have given the usual +notice to whoever may be hiding inside. Burton!” +</p> + +<p> +The Sergeant stepped forward, placed the leather bag on the floor, and +stooping, opened it, revealing a number of burglarious-looking instruments. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I try to cut through the panel?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” cried Monte Irvin. “Waste no time. You have a crowbar there. Force +the door from its hinges. Hurry, man!” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t work on hinges!” Gray interrupted excitedly. “It slides to the +right by means of some arrangement concealed under the mat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pass that lantern,” directed Burton, glancing over his shoulder to Gunn. +</p> + +<p> +Setting it beside him, the Sergeant knelt and examined the threshold of the +door. +</p> + +<p> +“A metal plate,” he said. “The weight moves a lever, I suppose, which opens the +door if it isn’t locked. The lock will be on the left of the door as it opens +to the right. Let’s see what we can do.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood up, crowbar in hand, and inserted the chisel blade of the implement +between the edge of the door and the doorcase. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold steady!” said the Inspector, standing at his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +The dull metallic sound of hammer blows on steel echoed queerly around the well +of the staircase. Brisley and Gunn, standing very close together on the bottom +step of the stair to the third floor, watched the police furtively. Irvin and +Gray found a common fascination in the door itself, and Seton, cheroot in +mouth, looked from group to group with quiet interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Right!” cried the Sergeant. +</p> + +<p> +The blows ceased. +</p> + +<p> +Firmly grasping the bar, Burton brought all his weight to bear upon it. There +was a dull, cracking sound and a sort of rasping. The door moved slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s where it locks!” said the Inspector, directing the light of a lantern +upon the crevice created. “Three inches lower. But it may be bolted as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll soon get at the bolts,” replied Burton, the lust of destruction now +strong upon him. +</p> + +<p> +Wrenching the crowbar from its place he attacked the lower panel of the door, +and amid a loud splintering and crashing created a hole big enough to allow of +the passage of a hand and arm. +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector reached in, groped about, and then uttered an exclamation of +triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve unfastened the bolt,” he said. “If there isn’t another at the top you +ought to be able to force the door now, Burton.” +</p> + +<p> +The jimmy was thrust back into position, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Stand clear!” cried Burton. +</p> + +<p> +Again he threw his weight upon the bar—and again. +</p> + +<p> +“Drive it further in!” said Monte Irvin; and snatching up the heavy hammer, he +rained blows upon the steel butt. “Now try.” +</p> + +<p> +Burton exerted himself to the utmost. +</p> + +<p> +“Take hold up here, someone!” he panted. “Two of us can pull.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray leapt forward, and the pair of them bent to the task. +</p> + +<p> +There came a dull report of parting mechanism, more sounds of splintering +wood... and the door rolled open! +</p> + +<p> +A moment of tense silence, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Is anyone inside there?” cried the Inspector loudly. +</p> + +<p> +Not a sound came from the dark interior. +</p> + +<p> +“The lantern!” whispered Monte Irvin. +</p> + +<p> +He stumbled into the room, from which a heavy smell of perfume swept out upon +the landing. Quentin Gray, snatching the lantern from the floor, where it had +been replaced, was the next to enter. +</p> + +<p> +“Look for the switch, and turn the lights on!” called the Inspector, following. +</p> + +<p> +Even as he spoke, Gray had found the switch, and the apartment of Kazmah became +flooded with subdued light. +</p> + +<p> +A glance showed it to be unoccupied. +</p> + +<p> +Gray ran across to the <i>mushrabîyeh</i> cabinet and jerked the curtains +aside. There was no one in the cabinet. It contained a chair and a table. Upon +the latter was a telephone and some papers and books. “This way!” he cried, his +voice high pitched and unnatural. +</p> + +<p> +He burst through the doorway into the inner room which he had seen Mrs. Irvin +enter. The air was laden with the smell of frankincense. +</p> + +<p> +“A lantern!” he called. “I left one on the divan.” +</p> + +<p> +But Monte Irvin had caught it up and was already at his elbow. His hand was +shaking so that the light danced wildly now upon the carpet, now upon the green +walls. This room also was deserted. A black gap in the curtain showed where the +material had been roughly torn. Suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“My God, look!” muttered the Inspector, who, with the others, now stood in the +curious draped apartment. +</p> + +<p> +A thin stream of blood was trickling out from beneath the torn hangings! +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin staggered and fell back against the Inspector, clutching at him for +support. But Sergeant Burton, who carried the second lantern, crossed the room +and wrenched the green draperies bodily from their fastenings. +</p> + +<p> +They had masked a wooden partition or stout screen, having an aperture in the +centre which could be closed by means of another of the sliding doors. A space +some five feet deep was thus walled off from this second room. It contained a +massive ebony chair. Behind the chair, and dividing the second room into yet a +third section, extended another wooden partition in one end of which was an +ordinary office door; and immediately at the back of the chair appeared a +little opening or window, some three feet up from the floor. The sound of a +groan, followed by that of a dull thud, came from the outer room. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” cried Inspector Whiteleaf. “Mr. Irvin has fainted. Lend a hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am here,” replied the quiet voice of Seton Pasha. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” whispered Gray. “Seton! Seton!” +</p> + +<p> +“Touch nothing,” cried the Inspector from outside, “until I come!” +</p> + +<p> +And now the narrow apartment became filled with all the awe-stricken company, +only excepting Monte Irvin, and Brisley, who was attending to the swooning man. +</p> + +<p> +Flat upon the floor, between the door and the ebony chair, arms extended and +eyes staring upward at the ceiling, lay Sir Lucien Pyne, his white shirt front +redly dyed. In the hush which had fallen, the footsteps of Inspector Whiteleaf +sounded loudly as he opened the final door, and swept the interior of an inner +room with the rays of the lantern. +</p> + +<p> +The room was barely furnished as an office. There was another half-glazed door +opening on to a narrow corridor. This door was locked. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pyne!</i>” whispered Gray, pale now to the lips. “Do you understand, Seton? +It’s Pyne! Look! He has been stabbed!” +</p> + +<p> +Sergeant Burton knelt down and gingerly laid his hand upon the stained linen +over the breast of Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead?” asked the Inspector, speaking from the inner doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say, sir,” turning to Quentin Gray, “that this is Sir Lucien Pyne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Whiteleaf rather clumsily removed his cap. The odor of Seton’s +cheroot announced itself above the oriental perfume with which the place was +laden. +</p> + +<p> +“Burton!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“See if this telephone in the office is in order. It appears to be an extension +from the outer room.” +</p> + +<p> +While the others stood grouped about that still figure on the floor, Sergeant +Burton entered the little office. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he cried. “Yes?” A momentary interval, then: “It’s all right, sir. +What number?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said the Inspector, firmly and authoritatively, “I am about to +telephone to Vine Street for instructions. No one will leave the premises.” +</p> + +<p> +Amid an intense hush: +</p> + +<p> +“Regent 201,” called Sergeant Burton. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI.<br/> +RED KERRY</h2> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry, of the Criminal Investigation Department, stood before +the empty grate of his cheerless office in New Scotland Yard, one hand thrust +into the pocket of his blue reefer jacket and the other twirling a malacca +cane, which was heavily silver-mounted and which must have excited the envy of +every sergeant-major beholding it. Chief Inspector Kerry wore a very +narrow-brimmed bowler hat, having two ventilation holes conspicuously placed +immediately above the band. He wore this hat tilted forward and to the right. +</p> + +<p> +“Red Kerry” wholly merited his sobriquet, for the man was as red as fire. His +hair, which he wore cropped close as a pugilist’s, was brilliantly red, and so +was his short, wiry, aggressive moustache. His complexion was red, and from +beneath his straight red eyebrows he surveyed the world with a pair of +unblinking, intolerant steel-blue eyes. He never smoked in public, as his taste +inclined towards Irish twist and a short clay pipe; but he was addicted to the +use of chewing-gum, and as he chewed—and he chewed incessantly—he +revealed a perfect row of large, white, and positively savage-looking teeth. +High cheek bones and prominent maxillary muscles enhanced the truculence +indicated by his chin. +</p> + +<p> +But, next to this truculence, which was the first and most alarming trait to +intrude itself upon the observer’s attention, the outstanding characteristic of +Chief Inspector Kerry was his compact neatness. Of no more than medium height +but with shoulders like an acrobat, he had slim, straight legs and the feet of +a dancing master. His attire, from the square-pointed collar down to the neat +black brogues, was spotless. His reefer jacket fitted him faultlessly, but his +trousers were cut so unfashionably narrow that the protuberant thigh muscles +and the line of a highly developed calf could quite easily be discerned. The +hand twirling the cane was small but also muscular, freckled and covered with +light down. Red Kerry was built on the lines of a whippet, but carried the +equipment of an Irish terrier. +</p> + +<p> +The telephone bell rang. Inspector Kerry moved his square shoulders in a manner +oddly suggestive of a wrestler, laid the malacca cane on the mantleshelf, and +crossed to the table. Taking up the telephone: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he said, and his voice was high-pitched and imperious. +</p> + +<p> +He listened for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He replaced the receiver, took up a wet oilskin overall from the back of a +chair and the cane from the mantleshelf. Then rolling chewing-gum from one +corner of his mouth into the other, he snapped off the electric light and +walked from the room. +</p> + +<p> +Along the corridor he went with a lithe, silent step, moving from the hips and +swinging his shoulders. Before a door marked “Private” he paused. From his +waistcoat pocket he took a little silver convex mirror and surveyed himself +critically therein. He adjusted his neat tie, replaced the mirror, knocked at +the door and entered the room of the Assistant Commissioner. +</p> + +<p> +This important official was a man constructed on huge principles, a man of +military bearing, having tired eyes and a bewildered manner. He conveyed the +impression that the collection of documents, books, telephones, and other +paraphernalia bestrewing his table had reduced him to a state of stupor. He +looked up wearily and met the fierce gaze of the chief inspector with a glance +almost apologetic. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Chief Inspector Kerry?” he said, with vague surprise. “Yes. I told you to +come. Really, I ought to have been at home hours ago. It’s most unfortunate. I +have to do the work of three men. This <i>is</i> your department, is it not, +Chief Inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +He handed Kerry a slip of paper, at which the Chief Inspector stared fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Murder!” rapped Kerry. “Sir Lucien Pyne. Yes, sir, I am still on duty.” +</p> + +<p> +His speech, in moments of interest, must have suggested to one overhearing him +from an adjoining room, for instance, the operation of a telegraphic +instrument. He gave to every syllable the value of a rap and certain words he +terminated with an audible snap of his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner. “Yes. Divisional +Inspector—Somebody (I cannot read the name) has detained all the parties. +But you had better report at Vine Street. It appears to be a big case.” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. With your permission I will glance at Sir Lucien’s pedigree.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly—certainly,” said the Assistant Commissioner, waving one large +hand in the direction of a bookshelf. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry crossed the room, laid his oilskin and cane upon a chair, and from the +shelf where it reposed took a squat volume. The Assistant Commissioner, hand +pressed to brow, began to study a document which lay before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Here we are,” said Kerry, <i>sotto voce</i>. “Pyne, Sir Lucien St. Aubyn, +fourth baronet, son of General Sir Christian Pyne, K.C.B. H’m! Born Malta.... +Oriel College; first in classics.... H’m. Blue.... India, Burma.... Contested +Wigan.... attached British Legation. ... H’m!...” +</p> + +<p> +He returned the book to its place, took up his overall and cane, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” he said. “I will proceed to Vine Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly—certainly,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner, glancing up +absently. “Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Chief Inspector!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry turned, his hand on the door-knob. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—er—what was I going to say? Oh, yes! The social importance of +the murdered man raises the case from the—er—you follow me? Public +interest will become acute, no doubt. I have therefore selected you for your +well known discretion. I met Sir Lucien once. Very sad. Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry passed out into the corridor, closing the door quietly. The Assistant +Commissioner was a man for whom he entertained the highest respect. Despite the +bewildered air and wandering manner, he knew this big, tired-looking soldier +for an administrator of infinite capacity and inexhaustive energy. +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding to a room further along the corridor, Chief Inspector Kerry opened +the door and looked in. +</p> + +<p> +“Detective-Sergeant Coombes.” he snapped, and rolled chewing-gum from side to +side of his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Detective-Sergeant Coombes, a plump, short man having lank black hair and a +smile of sly contentment perpetually adorning his round face, rose hurriedly +from the chair upon which he had been seated. Another man who was in the room +rose also, as if galvanized by the glare of the fierce blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to Vine Street,” said Kerry succinctly; “you’re coming with me,” +turned, and went on his way. +</p> + +<p> +Two taxicabs were standing in the yard, and into the first of these Inspector +Kerry stepped, followed by Coombes, the latter breathing heavily and carrying +his hat in his hand, since he had not yet found time to put it on. +</p> + +<p> +“Vine Street,” shouted Kerry. “Brisk.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned back in the cab, chewing industriously. Coombes, having somewhat +recovered his breath, essayed speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it something big?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure,” snapped Kerry. “Do they send <i>me</i> to stop dog-fights?” +</p> + +<p> +Knowing the man and recognizing the mood, Coombes became silent, and this +silence he did not break all the way to Vine Street. At the station: +</p> + +<p> +“Wait,” said Chief Inspector Kerry, and went swinging in, carrying his overall +and having the malacca cane tucked under his arm. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later he came out again and reentered the cab. +</p> + +<p> +“Piccadilly corner of Old Bond Street,” he directed the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it burglary?” asked Detective-Sergeant Coombes with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Kerry. “It’s murder; and there seems to be stacks of evidence. +Sharpen your pencil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” murmured Coombes. +</p> + +<p> +They were almost immediately at their destination, and Chief Inspector Kerry, +dismissing the cabman, set off along Bond Street with his lithe, swinging gait, +looking all about him intently. Rain had ceased, but the air was damp and +chilly, and few pedestrians were to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +A car was standing before Kazmah’s premises, the chauffeur walking up and down +on the pavement and flapping his hands across his chest in order to restore +circulation. The Chief Inspector stopped, “Hi, my man!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The chauffeur stood still. +</p> + +<p> +“Whose car?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Monte Irvin’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry turned on his heel and stepped to the office door. It was ajar, and +Kerry, taking an electric torch from his overall pocket, flashed the light upon +the name-plate. He stood for a moment, chewing and looking up the darkened +stairs. Then, torch in hand he ascended. +</p> + +<p> +Kazmah’s door was closed, and the Chief Inspector rapped loudly. It was opened +at once by Sergeant Burton, and Kerry entered, followed by Coombes. +</p> + +<p> +The room at first sight seemed to be extremely crowded. Monte Irvin, very pale +and haggard, sat upon the divan beside Quentin Gray. Seton was standing near +the cabinet, smoking. These three had evidently been conversing at the time of +the detective’s arrival with an alert-looking, clean-shaven man whose bag, +umbrella, and silk hat stood upon one of the little inlaid tables. Just inside +the second door were Brisley and Gunn, both palpably ill at ease, and glancing +at Inspector Whiteleaf, who had been interrogating them. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry chewed silently for a moment, bestowing a fierce stare upon each face in +turn, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s in charge?” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” replied Whiteleaf. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is the lower door open?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think. Shut the door. Post your Sergeant inside. No one is to go out. +Grab anybody who comes in. Where’s the body?” +</p> + +<p> +“This way,” said Inspector Whiteleaf hurriedly; then, over his shoulder: “Go +down to the door, Burton.” +</p> + +<p> +He led Kerry towards the inner room, Coombes at his heels. Brisley and Gunn +stood aside to give them passage; Gray and Monte Irvin prepared to follow. At +the doorway Kerry turned. +</p> + +<p> +“You will all be good enough to stay where you are,” he said. He directed the +aggressive stare in Seton’s direction. “And if the gentleman smoking a cheroot +is not satisfied that he has quite destroyed any clue perceptible by the sense +of smell I should be glad to send out for some fireworks.” +</p> + +<p> +He tossed his oilskin and his cane on the divan and went into the room of +seance, savagely biting at a piece of apparently indestructible chewing-gum. +</p> + +<p> +The torn green curtain had been laid aside and the electric lights turned on in +the inside rooms. Pallid, Sir Lucien Pyne lay by the ebony chair glaring +horribly upward. +</p> + +<p> +Always with the keen eyes glancing this way and that, Inspector Kerry crossed +the little audience room and entered the enclosure contained between the two +screens. By the side of the dead man he stood, looking down silently. Then he +dropped upon one knee and peered closely into the white face. He looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“He has not been moved?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry bent yet lower, staring closely at a discolored abrasion on Sir Lucien’s +forehead. His glance wandered from thence to the carved ebony chair. Still +kneeling, he drew from his waistcoat pocket a powerful lens contained in a +washleather bag. He began to examine the back and sides of the chair. Once he +laid his finger lightly on a protruding point of the carving, and then +scrutinised his finger through the glass. He examined the dead man’s hands, his +nails, his garments. Then he crawled about, peering closely at the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +He stood up suddenly. “The doctor,” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Whiteleaf retired, but returned immediately with the clean-shaven man +to whom Monte Irvin had been talking when Kerry arrived. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, doctor,” said Kerry. “Do I know your name? Start your notes, +Coombes.” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Dr. Wilbur Weston, and I live in Albemarle Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who called you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector Whiteleaf telephoned to me about half an hour ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“You examined the dead man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“You avoided moving him?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was unnecessary to move him. He was dead, and the wound was in the left +shoulder. I pulled his coat open and unbuttoned his shirt. That was all.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say he had been dead not more than an hour when I saw him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What had caused death?” +</p> + +<p> +“The stab of some long, narrow-bladed weapon, such as a stiletto.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why a stiletto?” Kerry’s fierce eyes challenged him. “Did you ever see a wound +made by a stiletto?” +</p> + +<p> +“Several—in Italy, and one at Saffron Hill. They are characterised by +very little external bleeding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right, doctor. It had reached his heart?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The blow was delivered from behind.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“The direction of the wound is forward. I have seen an almost identical wound +in the case of an Italian woman stabbed by a jealous rival.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would fall on his back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. He would fall on his face, almost certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he lies on his back.” +</p> + +<p> +“In my opinion he had been moved.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right. I know he had. Good night, doctor. See him out, Inspector.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Weston seemed rather startled by this abrupt dismissal, but the steel-blue +eyes of Inspector Kerry were already bent again upon the dead man, and, +murmuring “good night,” the doctor took his departure, followed by Whiteleaf. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut this door,” snapped Kerry after the Inspector. “I will call when I want +you. You stay, Coombes. Got it all down?” +</p> + +<p> +Sergeant Coombes scratched his head with the end of a pencil, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, with hesitancy. “That is, except the word after ‘narrow-bladed +weapon such as a’ I’ve got what looks like ‘steelhatto.’” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry glared. +</p> + +<p> +“Try taking the cotton-wool out of your ears,” he suggested. “The word was +stiletto, s-t-i-l-e-t-t-o—stiletto.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Coombes, “thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell between the two men from Scotland Yard. Kerry stood awhile, +chewing and staring at the ghastly face of Sir Lucien. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“Go through all pockets,” he directed. +</p> + +<p> +Sergeant Coombes placed his notebook and pencil upon the seat of the chair and +set to work. Kerry entered the inside room or office. It contained a +writing-table (upon which was a telephone and a pile of old newspapers), a +cabinet, and two chairs. Upon one of the chairs lay a crush-hat, a cane, and an +overcoat. He glanced at some of the newspapers, then opened the drawers of the +writing-table. They were empty. The cabinet proved to be locked, and a door +which he saw must open upon a narrow passage running beside the suite of rooms +was locked also. There was nothing in the pockets of the overcoat, but inside +the hat he found pasted the initials L. P. He rolled chewing-gum, stared +reflectively at the little window immediately above the table, through which a +glimpse might be obtained of the ebony chair, and went out again. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” reported Coombes. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean—nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“His pockets are empty!” +</p> + +<p> +“All of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Kerry. “Make a note of it. He wears a real pearl stud and a good +signet ring; also a gold wrist watch, face broken and hands stopped at +seven-fifteen. That was the time he died. He was stabbed from behind as he +stood where I’m standing now, fell forward, struck his head on the leg of the +chair, and lay face downwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got that,” muttered Coombes. “What stopped the watch?” +</p> + +<p> +“Broken as he fell. There are tiny fragments of glass stuck in the carpet, +showing the exact position in which his body originally lay; and for God’s sake +stop smiling.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry threw open the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Who first found the body?” he demanded of the silent company. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” cried Quentin Gray, coming forward. “I and Seton Pasha.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seton Pasha!” Kerry’s teeth snapped together, so that he seemed to bite off +the words. “I don’t see a Turk present.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton smiled quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend uses a title which was conferred upon me some years ago by the +ex-Khedive,” he said. “My name is Greville Seton.” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Kerry glanced back across his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Notes,” he said. “Unlock your ears, Coombes.” He looked at Gray. “What is your +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quentin Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, and in what way are you concerned in this case?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am the son of Lord Wrexborough, and I—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, glancing helplessly at Seton. He had recognized that the first +mention of Rita Irvin’s name in the police evidence must be made by himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak up, sir,” snapped Kerry. “Sergeant Coombes is deaf.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray’s face flushed, and his eyes gleamed angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be glad, Inspector,” he said, “if you would remember that the dead +man was a personal acquaintance and that other friends are concerned in this +ghastly affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Coombes will remember it,” replied Kerry frigidly. “He’s taking notes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here—” began Gray. +</p> + +<p> +Seton laid his hand upon the angry man’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull up, Gray,” he said quietly. “Pull up, old chap.” He turned his cool +regard upon Chief Inspector Kerry, twirling the cord of his monocle about one +finger. “I may remark, Inspector Kerry—for I understand this to be your +name—that your conduct of the inquiry is not always characterised by the +best possible taste.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry rolled chewing-gum, meeting Seton’s gaze with a stare intolerant and +aggressive. He imparted that odd writhing movement to his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“For my conduct I am responsible to the Commissioner,” he replied. “And if he’s +not satisfied the Commissioner can have my written resignation at any hour in +the twenty-four that he’s short of a pipe-lighter. If it would not +inconvenience you to keep quiet for two minutes I will continue my examination +of this witness.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII.<br/> +FURTHER EVIDENCE</h2> + +<p> +The examination of Quentin Gray was three times interrupted by telephone +messages from Vine Street; and to the unsatisfactory character of these the +growing irascibility of Chief Inspector Kerry bore testimony. Then the +divisional surgeon arrived, and Burton incurred the wrath of the Chief +Inspector by deserting his post to show the doctor upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“If inspired idiocy can help the law,” shouted Kerry, “the man who did this job +is as good as dead!” He turned his fierce gaze in Gray’s direction. “Thank you, +sir. I need trouble you no further.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish me to remain?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Inspector Whiteleaf, see these two gentlemen past the Sergeant on duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“But damn it all!” cried Gray, his pent-up emotions at last demanding an +outlet, “I won’t submit to your infernal dragooning! Do you realize that while +you’re standing here, doing nothing—absolutely nothing—an unhappy +woman is—” +</p> + +<p> +“I realize,” snapped Kerry, showing his teeth in canine fashion, “that if +you’re not outside in ten seconds there’s going to be a cloud of dust on the +stairs!” +</p> + +<p> +White with passion, Gray was on the point of uttering other angry and +provocative words when Seton took his arm in a firm grip. “Gray!” he said +sharply. “You leave with me now or I leave alone.” +</p> + +<p> +The two walked from the room, followed by Whiteleaf. As they disappeared: +</p> + +<p> +“Read out all the <i>times</i> mentioned in the last witness’s evidence,” +directed Kerry, undisturbed by the rencontre. +</p> + +<p> +Sergeant Coombes smiled rather uneasily, consulting his notebook. +</p> + +<p> +“‘At about half-past six I drove to Bond Street,’” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“I said the <i>times</i>,” rapped Kerry. “I know to what they refer. Just give +me the times as mentioned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” murmured Coombes, “Yes. ‘About half-past six.’” He ran his finger down +the page. “‘A quarter to seven.’ ‘Seven o’clock.’ ‘Twenty-five minutes past +seven.’ ‘Eight o’clock.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” said Kerry. “That’s enough.” He fixed a baleful glance upon Gunn, who +from a point of the room discreetly distant from the terrible red man was +watching with watery eyes. “Who’s the smart in all the overcoats?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is James Gunn,” replied this greatly insulted man in a husky voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you? What are you? What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m employed by Spinker’s Agency, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” shouted Kerry, moving his shoulders. He approached the speaker and glared +menacingly into his purple face. “Ho, ho! So you’re one of the queer birds out +of that roost, are you? Spinker’s Agency! Ah, yes!” He fixed his gaze now upon +the pale features of Brisley. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Chief Inspector,” said Brisley, licking his lips. “Hayward’s Heath. We +have been retained by—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> have been retained!” shouted Kerry. “<i>You</i> have!” +</p> + +<p> +He twisted round upon his heel, facing Monte Irvin. Angry words trembled on his +tongue. But at sight of the broken man who sat there alone, haggard, a subtle +change of expression crept into his fierce eyes, and when he spoke again the +high-pitched voice was almost gentle. “You had employed these men, sir, to +watch—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, glancing towards Whiteleaf, who had just entered again, and then in +the direction of the inner room where the divisional surgeon was at work. +</p> + +<p> +“To watch my wife, Inspector. Thank you, but all the world will know tomorrow. +I might as well get used to it.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin’s pallor grew positively alarming. He swayed suddenly and extended +his hands in a significant groping fashion. Kerry sprang forward and supported +him. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Inspector—all right,” muttered Irvin. “Thank you. It has been +a great shock. At first I feared—” +</p> + +<p> +“You thought your wife had been attacked, I understand? Well—it’s not so +bad as that, sir. I am going to walk downstairs to the car with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there is so much you will want to know—” +</p> + +<p> +“It can keep until tomorrow. I’ve enough work in this peep-show here to have me +busy all night. Come along. Lean on my arm.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin rose unsteadily. He knew that there was cardiac trouble in his +family, but he had never realized before the meaning of his heritage. He felt +physically ill. +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector”—his voice was a mere whisper—“have you any theory to +explain—” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Irvin’s disappearance? Don’t worry, sir. Without exactly having a theory +I think I may say that in my opinion she will turn up presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless you,” murmured Irvin, as Kerry assisted him out on to the landing. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Whiteleaf held back the sliding door, the mechanism of which had been +broken so that the door now automatically remained half closed. +</p> + +<p> +“Funny, isn’t it,” said Gunn, as the two disappeared and Inspector Whiteleaf +re-entered, “that a man should be so upset about the disappearance of a woman +he was going to divorce?” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn funny!” said Whiteleaf, whose temper was badly frayed by contact with +Kerry. “I should have a good laugh if I were you.” +</p> + +<p> +He crossed the room, going in to where the surgeon was examining the victim of +this mysterious crime. Gunn stared after him dismally. +</p> + +<p> +“A person doesn’t get much sympathy from the police, Brisley,” he declared. +“That one’s almost as bad as <i>him</i>,” jerking his thumb in the direction of +the landing. +</p> + +<p> +Brisley smiled in a somewhat sickly manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Red Kerry is a holy terror,” he agreed, <i>sotto voce</i>, glancing aside to +where Coombes was checking his notes. “Look out! Here he comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” cried Kerry, swinging into the room, “what’s the game? Plotting to +defeat the ends of justice?” +</p> + +<p> +He stood with hands thrust in reefer pockets, feet wide apart, glancing +fiercely from Brisley to Gunn, and from Gunn back again to Brisley. Neither of +the representatives of Spinker’s Agency ventured any remark, and: +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you been watching Mrs. Monte Irvin?” demanded Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“Nearly a fortnight,” replied Brisley. +</p> + +<p> +“Got your evidence in writing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Up to tonight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dictate to Sergeant Coombes.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned on his heel and crossed to the divan upon which his oilskin overall +was lying. Rapidly he removed his reefer and his waistcoat, folded them, and +placed them neatly beside his overall. He retained his bowler at its jaunty +angle. +</p> + +<p> +A cud of presumably flavorless chewing-gum he deposited in a brass bowl, and +from a little packet which he had taken out of his jacket pocket he drew a +fresh piece, redolent of mint. This he put into his mouth, and returned the +packet to its resting-place. A slim, trim figure, he stood looking round him +reflectively. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he muttered, “what about it?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +KERRY CONSULTS THE ORACLE</h2> + +<p> +The clock of Brixton Town Hall was striking the hour of 1 a.m. as Chief +Inspector Kerry inserted his key in the lock of the door of his house in +Spenser Road. +</p> + +<p> +A light was burning in the hallway, and from the little dining-room on the left +the reflection of a cheerful fire danced upon the white paint of the half-open +door. Kerry deposited his hat, cane, and overall upon the rack, and moving very +quietly entered the room and turned on the light. A modestly furnished and +scrupulously neat apartment was revealed. On the sheepskin rug before the fire +a Manx cat was dozing beside a pair of carpet slippers. On the table some kind +of cold repast was laid, the viands concealed under china covers. At a large +bottle of Guinness’s Extra Stout Kerry looked with particular appreciation. +</p> + +<p> +He heaved a long sigh of contentment, and opened the bottle of stout. Having +poured out a glass of the black and foaming liquid and satisfied an evidently +urgent thirst, he explored beneath the covers, and presently was seated before +a spread of ham and tongue, tomatoes, and bread and butter. +</p> + +<p> +A door opened somewhere upstairs, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Is that yoursel’, Dan?” inquired a deep but musical female voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure it is,” replied Kerry; and no one who had heard the high official tones +of the imperious Chief Inspector would have supposed that they could be so +softened and modulated. “You should have been asleep hours ago, Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have ye to go out again?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have, bad luck; but don’t trouble to come down. I’ve all I want and more.” +</p> + +<p> +“If ’tis a new case I’ll come down.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the devil’s own case; but you’ll get your death of cold.” +</p> + +<p> +Sounds of movement in the room above followed, and presently footsteps on the +stairs. Mrs. Kerry, enveloped in a woollen dressing-gown, which obviously +belonged to the Inspector, came into the room. Upon her Kerry directed a look +from which all fierceness had been effaced, and which expressed only an undying +admiration. And, indeed, Mary Kerry was in many respects a remarkable +character. Half an inch taller than Kerry, she fully merited the compliment +designed by that trite apothegm, “a fine woman.” Large-boned but shapely, as +she came in with her long dark hair neatly plaited, it seemed to her +husband—who had remained her lover—that he saw before him the +rosy-cheeked lass whom ten years before he had met and claimed on the chilly +shores of Loch Broom. By all her neighbors Mrs. Kerry was looked upon as a +proud, reserved person, who had held herself much aloof since her husband had +become Chief Inspector; and the reputation enjoyed by Red Kerry was that of an +aggressive and uncompanionable man. Now here was a lover’s meeting, not lacking +the shy, downward glance of dark eyes as steel-blue eyes flashed frank +admiration. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry, who quarrelled with everybody except the Assistant Commissioner, had +only found one cause of quarrel with Mary. He was a devout Roman Catholic, and +for five years he had clung with the bull-dog tenacity which was his to the +belief that he could convert his wife to the faith of Rome. She remained true +to the Scottish Free Church, in whose precepts she had been reared, and at the +end of the five years Kerry gave it up and admired her all the more for her +Caledonian strength of mind. Many and heated were the debates he had held with +worthy Father O’Callaghan respecting the validity of a marriage not solemnized +by a priest, but of late years he had grown reconciled to the parting of the +ways on Sunday morning; and as the early mass was over before the Scottish +service he was regularly to be seen outside a certain Presbyterian chapel +waiting for his heretical spouse. +</p> + +<p> +He pulled her down on to his knee and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s twelve hours since I saw you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She rested her arm on the back of the saddle-back chair, and her dark head +close beside Kerry’s fiery red one. +</p> + +<p> +“I kenned ye had a new case on,” she said, “when it grew so late. How long can +ye stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“An hour. No more. There’s a lot to do before the papers come out in the +morning. By breakfast time all England, including the murderer, will know I’m +in charge of the case. I wish I could muzzle the Press.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis a murder, then? The Lord gi’e us grace. Ye’ll be wishin’ to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’m stumped!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’ve time for a rest an’ a smoke. Put ye’re slippers on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no time for that, Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +She stood up and took the slippers from the hearth. +</p> + +<p> +“Put ye’re slippers on,” she repeated firmly. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stooped without another word and began to unlace his brogues. Meanwhile +from a side-table his wife brought a silver tobacco-box and a stumpy Irish +clay. The slippers substituted for his shoes, Kerry lovingly filled the cracked +and blackened bowl with strong Irish twist, which he first teased carefully in +his palm. The bowl rested almost under his nostrils when he put the pipe in his +mouth, and how he contrived to light it without burning his moustache was not +readily apparent. He succeeded, however, and soon was puffing clouds of pungent +smoke into the air with the utmost contentment. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said his wife, seating herself upon the arm of the chair, “tell me, +Dan.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon began a procedure identical to that which had characterized the +outset of every successful case of the Chief Inspector. He rapidly outlined the +complexities of the affair in old Bond Street, and Mary Kerry surveyed the +problem with a curious and almost fey detachment of mind, which enabled her to +see light where all was darkness to the man on the spot. With the clarity of a +trained observer Kerry described the apartments of Kazmah, the exact place +where the murdered man had been found, and the construction of the rooms. He +gave the essential points from the evidence of the several witnesses, quoting +the exact times at which various episodes had taken place. Mary Kerry, looking +straightly before her with unseeing eyes, listened in silence until he ceased +speaking; then: +</p> + +<p> +“There are really but twa rooms,” she said, in a faraway voice, “but the second +o’ these is parteetioned into three parts?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A door free the landing opens upon the fairst room, a door free a passage +opens upon the second. Where does yon passage lead?” +</p> + +<p> +“From the main stair along beside Kazmah’s rooms to a small back stair. This +back stair goes from top to bottom of the building, from the end of the same +hallway as the main stair.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is na either way out but by the front door?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then if the evidence o’ the Spinker man is above suspeecion, Mrs. Irvin and +this Kazmah were still on the premises when ye arrived?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. I gathered that much at Vine Street before I went on to Bond Street. +The whole block was surrounded five minutes after my arrival, and it still is.” +</p> + +<p> +“What ither offices are in this passage?” +</p> + +<p> +“None. It’s a blank wall on the left, and one door on the right—the one +opening into the Kazmah office. There are other premises on the same floor, but +they are across the landing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What premises?” +</p> + +<p> +“A solicitor and a commission agent.” +</p> + +<p> +“The floor below?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all occupied by a modiste, Renan.” +</p> + +<p> +“The top floor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cubanis Cigarette Company, a servants’ and an electrician.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nae more?” +</p> + +<p> +“No more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where does yon back stair open on the topmaist floor?” +</p> + +<p> +“In a corridor similar to that alongside Kazmah’s. It has two windows on the +right overlooking a narrow roof and the top of the arcade, and on the left is +the Cubanis Cigarette Company. The other offices are across the landing.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Kerry stared into space awhile. +</p> + +<p> +“Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin could ha’ come down to the fairst floor, or gene up to +the thaird floor unseen by the Spinker man,” she said dreamily. +</p> + +<p> +“But they couldn’t have reached the street, my dear!” cried Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“No—they couldn’a ha’ gained the street.” +</p> + +<p> +She became silent again, her husband watching her expectantly. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“If puir Sir Lucien Pyne was killed at a quarter after seven—the time his +watch was broken—the native sairvent did no’ kill him. Frae the Spinker’s +evidence the black man went awe’ before then,” she said. “Mrs. Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“From all accounts a slip of a woman,” he replied. “It was a strong hand that +struck the blow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kazmah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Quentin Gray came back wi’ a cab and went upstairs, free the Spinker’s +evidence, at aboot a quarter after seven, and came doon five meenites later +sair pale an’ fretful.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry surrounded himself and the speaker with wreaths of stifling smoke. +</p> + +<p> +“We have only the bare word of Mr. Gray that he didn’t go in again, Mary; but I +believe him. He’s a hot-headed fool, but square.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then ’twas yon Kazmah,” announced Mrs. Kerry. “Who is Kazmah?” +</p> + +<p> +Her husband laughed shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the point at which I got stumped,” he replied. “We’ve heard of him at +the Yard, of course, and we know that under the cloak of a dealer in Eastern +perfumes he carried on a fortune-telling business. He managed to avoid +prosecution, though. It took me over an hour tonight to explore the +thought-reading mechanism; it’s a sort of Maskelyne’s Mysteries worked from the +inside room. But who Kazmah is or what’s his nationality I know no more than +the man in the moon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pairfume?” queried the far-away voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mary. The first room is a sort of miniature scent bazaar. There are funny +little imitation antique flasks of Kazmah preparations, creams, perfumes and +incense, also small square wooden boxes of a kind of Turkish delight, and a +stock of Egyptian mummy-beads, statuettes, and the like, which may be genuine +for all I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nae books or letters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a thing, except his own advertisements, a telephone directory, and so on.” +</p> + +<p> +“The inside office bureau?” +</p> + +<p> +“Empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard!” +</p> + +<p> +“The place was ransacked by the same folk that emptied the dead man’s pockets +so as tee leave nae clue,” pronounced the sibyl-like voice. “Mr. Gray said he +had choc’lates wi’ him. Where did he leave them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed the admiring Kerry. “The box was lying on +the divan in the first room where he said he had left it on going out for a +cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does nane o’ the evidence show if Mrs. Irvin had been to Kazmah’s before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She went there fairly regularly to buy perfume.” +</p> + +<p> +“No’ for the fortune-tellin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. According to Mr. Gray, to buy perfume.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had Mr. Gray been there wi’ her before?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Sir Lucien Pyne seems to have been her pretty constant companion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do ye suspect she was his lady-love?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe Mr. Gray suspects something of the kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Gray?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is not such an old friend as Sir Lucien was. But I fancy nevertheless it +was Mr. Gray that her husband doubted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do ye suspect the puir soul had cause, Dan?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Kerry promptly; “I don’t. The boy is mad about her, but I fancy +she just liked his company. He’s the heir of Lord Wrexborough, and Mrs. Irvin +used to be a stage beauty. It’s a usual state of affairs, and more often than +not means nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dinna ken sich folk,” declared Mary Kerry. “They a’most desairve all they +get. They are bound tee come tee nae guid end. Where did ye say Sir Lucien +lived?” +</p> + +<p> +“Albemarle Street; just round the corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye told me that he only kepit twa sairvents: a cook, hoosekeper, who lived +awe’, an’ a man—a foreigner?” +</p> + +<p> +“A kind of half-baked Dago, named Juan Mareno. A citizen of the United States +according to his own account.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye dinna like Juan Mareno?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a hateful swine!” flashed Kerry, with sudden venom. “I’m watching Mareno +very closely. Coombes is at work upon Sir Lucien’s papers. His life was a bit +of a mystery. He seems to have had no relations living, and I can’t find that +he even employed a solicitor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’ll be sairchin’ for yon Egyptian?” +</p> + +<p> +“The servant? Yes. We’ll have him by the morning, and then we shall know who +Kazmah is. Meanwhile, in which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Kerry was silent for so long that her husband repeated the question: +</p> + +<p> +“In which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?” +</p> + +<p> +“In nane,” she said dreamily. “Ye surrounded the buildings too late, I ken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” cried Kerry, turning his head excitedly. “But the man Brisley was at the +door all night!” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesna’ matter. They have escapit.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry scratched his close-cropped head in angry perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re always right, Mary,” he said. “But hang me if—Never mind! When we +get the servant we’ll soon get Kazmah.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” murmured his wife. “If ye hae na’ got Kazmah the now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—Mary! This isn’t helping me! It’s mystifying me deeper than ever!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no’ clear eno’, Dan. But for sure behind this mystery o’ the death o’ Sir +Lucien there’s a darker mystery still; sair dark. ’Tis the biggest case ye ever +had. Dinna look for Kazmah. Look tee find why the woman went tee him; and try +tee find the meanin’ o’ the sma’ window behind the big chair.... Yes”—she +seemed to be staring at some distant visible object—“watch the man +Mareno—” +</p> + +<p> +“But—Mrs. Irvin—” +</p> + +<p> +“Is in God’s guid keepin’—” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think she’s dead!” +</p> + +<p> +“She is wairse than dead. Her sins have found her out.” The fey light suddenly +left her eyes, and they became filled with tears. She turned impulsively to her +husband. “Oh, Dan! Ye must find her! Ye must find her! Puir weak +hairt—dinna ye ken how she is suffering!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said, putting his arms around her, “What is it? What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +She brushed the tears from her eyes and tried to smile. “’Tis something like +the second sight, Dan,” she answered simply. “And it’s escapit me again. I +a’most had the clue to it a’ oh, there’s some horrible wickedness in it, an’ +cruelty an’ shame.” +</p> + +<p> +The clock on the mantel shelf began to peal. Kerry was watching his wife’s rosy +face with a mixture of loving admiration and wonder. She looked so very bonny +and placid and capable that he was puzzled anew at the strange gift which she +seemingly inherited from her mother, who had been equally shrewd, equally +comely and similarly endowed. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless us all!” he said, kissed her heartily, and stood up. “Back to bed +you go, my dear. I must be off. There’s Mr. Irvin to see in the morning, too.” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later he was swinging through the deserted streets, his mind +wholly occupied with lover-like reflections to the exclusion of those +professional matters which properly should have been engaging his attention. As +he passed the end of a narrow court near the railway station, the gleam of his +silver mounted malacca attracted the attention of a couple of loafers who were +leaning one on either side of an iron pillar in the shadow of the unsavory +alley. Not another pedestrian was in sight, and only the remote night-sounds of +London broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +Twenty paces beyond, the footpads silently closed in upon their prey. The +taller of the pair reached him first, only to receive a back-handed blow full +in his face which sent him reeling a couple of yards. +</p> + +<p> +Round leapt the assaulted man to face his second assailant. +</p> + +<p> +“If you two smarts really want handling,” he rapped ferociously, “say the word, +and I’ll bash you flat.” +</p> + +<p> +As he turned, the light of a neighboring lamp shone down upon the savage face, +and a smothered yell came from the shorter ruffian: +</p> + +<p> +“Blimey, Bill! It’s <i>Red Kerry!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon, as men pursued by devils, the pair made off like the wind! +</p> + +<p> +Kerry glared after the retreating figures for a moment, and a grin of fierce +satisfaction revealed his gleaming teeth. He turned again and swung on his way +toward the main road. The incident had done him good. It had banished domestic +matters from his mind, and he was become again the highly trained champion of +justice, standing, an unseen buckler, between society and the criminal. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX.<br/> +A PACKET OF CIGARETTES</h2> + +<p> +Following their dismissal by Chief Inspector Kerry, Seton and Gray walked +around to the latter’s chambers in Piccadilly. They proceeded in silence, Gray +too angry for speech, and Seton busy with reflections. As the man admitted +them: +</p> + +<p> +“Has anyone ’phoned, Willis?” asked Gray. +</p> + +<p> +“No one, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +They entered a large room which combined the characteristics of a library with +those of a military gymnasium. Gray went to a side table and mixed drinks. +Placing a glass before Seton, he emptied his own at a draught. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, “I should like to ring up and see +if by any possible chance there’s news of Rita.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked out to the telephone, and Seton heard him making a call. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo! Is that you, Hinkes?” he asked.... “Yes, speaking. Is Mrs. Irvin at +home?” +</p> + +<p> +A few moments of silence followed, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks! Good-bye,” said Gray. +</p> + +<p> +He rejoined his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he reported, and made a gesture of angry resignation. “Evidently +Hinkes is still unaware of what has happened. Irvin hasn’t returned yet. Seton, +this business is driving me mad.” +</p> + +<p> +He refilled his glass, and having looked in his cigarette-case, began to +ransack a small cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it all!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t got a cigarette in the place!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t smoke them myself,” said Seton, “but I can offer you a cheroot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks. They are a trifle too strong. Hullo! here are some.” +</p> + +<p> +From the back of a shelf he produced a small, plain brown packet, and took out +of it a cigarette at which he stared oddly. Seton, smoking one of the +inevitable cheroots, watched him, tapping his teeth with the rim of his +eyeglass. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Pyne!” muttered Gray, and, looking up, met the inquiring glance. +“Pyne left these here only the other day,” he explained awkwardly. “I don’t +know where he got them, but they are something very special. I suppose I might +as well.” +</p> + +<p> +He lighted one, and, uttering a weary sigh, threw himself into a deep +leather-covered arm-chair. Almost immediately he was up again. The telephone +bell had rung. His eyes alight with hope, he ran out, leaving the door open so +that his conversation was again audible to the visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, speaking. What?” His tone changed “Oh, it’s you, Margaret. What?... +Certainly, delighted. No, there’s nobody here but old Seton Pasha. What? You’ve +heard the fellows talk about him who were out East.... Yes, that’s the chap.... +Come right along.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t propose to lionise me, I hope, Gray?” said Seton, as Gray returned +to his seat. +</p> + +<p> +The other laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot you could hear me,” he admitted. “It’s my cousin, Margaret Halley. +You’ll like her. She’s a tip-top girl, but eccentric. Goes in for pilling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pilling?” inquired Seton gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctoring. She’s an M.R.C.S., and only about twenty-four or so. Fearfully +clever kid; makes me feel an infant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flat heels, spectacles, and a judicial manner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Flat heels, yes. But not the other. She’s awfully pretty, and used to look +simply terrific in khaki. She was an M.O. in Serbia, you know, and afterwards +at some nurses’ hospital in Kent. She’s started in practice for herself now +round in Dover Street. I wonder what she wants.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell between them; for, although prompted by different reasons, both +were undesirous of discussing the tragedy; and this silence prevailed until the +ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of the girl. Willis opening the +door, she entered composedly, and Gray introduced Seton. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so glad to have met you at last, Mr. Seton,” she said laughingly. “From +Quentin’s many accounts I had formed the opinion that you were a kind of +<i>Arabian Nights</i> myth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to disappoint you,” replied Seton, finding something very refreshing +in the company of this pretty girl, who wore a creased Burberry, and stray +locks of whose abundant bright hair floated about her face in the most careless +fashion imaginable. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to her cousin, frowning in a rather puzzled way. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever have you been burning here?” she asked. “There is such a curious +smell in the room.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray laughed more heartily than he had laughed that night, glancing in Seton’s +direction. +</p> + +<p> +“So much for your taste in cigars!” he cried +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Margaret, “I’m sure it’s not Mr. Seton’s cigar. It isn’t a smell of +tobacco.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe they’re <i>made</i> of tobacco!” cried Gray, laughing louder +yet, although his merriment was forced. +</p> + +<p> +Seton smiled good-naturedly at the joke, but he had perceived at the moment of +Margaret’s entrance the fact that her gaiety also was assumed. Serious business +had dictated her visit, and he wondered the more to note how deeply this odor, +real or fancied, seemed to intrigue her. +</p> + +<p> +She sat down in the chair which Gray placed by the fireside, and her cousin +unceremoniously slid the brown packet of cigarettes across the little table in +her direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Try one of these, Margaret,” he said. “They are great, and will quite drown +the unpleasant odor of which you complain.” +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon the observant Seton saw a quick change take place in the girl’s +expression. She had the same clear coloring as her cousin, and now this +freshness deserted her cheeks, and her pretty face became quite pale. She was +staring at the brown packet. “Where did you get them?” she asked quietly. +</p> + +<p> +A smile faded from Gray’s lips. Those five words had translated him in spirit +to that green-draped room in which Sir Lucien Pyne was lying dead. He glanced +at Seton in the appealing way which sometimes made him appear so boyish. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—from Pyne,” he replied. “I must tell you, Margaret—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Lucien Pyne?” she interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not from Rita Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray started upright in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“No! But why do you mention her?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret bit her lip in sudden perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced apologetically toward Seton. He rose +immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Halley,” he said, “I perceive, indeed I had perceived all along, +that you have something of a private nature to communicate to your cousin.” +</p> + +<p> +But Gray stood up, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Seton!... Margaret!” he said, looking from one to the other. “I mean to say, +Margaret, if you’ve anything to tell me about Rita... Have you? Have you?” +</p> + +<p> +He fixed his gaze eagerly upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“I have—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton prepared to take his leave, but Gray impetuously thrust him back, +immediately turning again to his cousin. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you haven’t heard, Margaret,” he began. “I have heard what has +happened tonight—to Sir Lucien.” +</p> + +<p> +Both men stared at her silently for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Seton has been with me all the time,” said Gray. “If he will consent to stay, +with your permission, Margaret, I should like him to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, certainly,” agreed the girl. “In fact, I shall be glad of his advice.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton inclined his head, and without another word resumed his seat. Gray was +too excited to sit down again. He stood on the tiger-skin rug before the +fender, watching his cousin and smoking furiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Firstly, then,” continued Margaret, “please throw that cigarette in the fire, +Quentin.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray removed the cigarette from between his lips, and stared at it dazedly. He +looked at the girl, and the clear grey eyes were watching him with an +inscrutable expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” he said awkwardly, and tossed the cigarette in the fire. “You used +to smoke like a furnace, Margaret. Is this some new ‘cult’?” +</p> + +<p> +“I still smoke a great deal more than is good for me,” she confessed, “but I +don’t smoke opium.” +</p> + +<p> +The effect of these words upon the two men who listened was curious. Gray +turned an angry glance upon the brown packet lying on the table, and “Faugh!” +he exclaimed, and drawing a handkerchief from his sleeve began disgustedly to +wipe his lips. Seton stared hard at the speaker, tossed his cheroot into the +fire, and taking up the packet withdrew a cigarette and sniffed at it +critically. Margaret watched him. +</p> + +<p> +He tore the wrapping off, and tasted a strand of the tobacco. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” he whispered. “Gray, these things are doped!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X.<br/> +SIR LUCIEN’S STUDY WINDOW</h2> + +<p> +Old Bond Street presented a gloomy and deserted prospect to Chief Inspector +Kerry as he turned out of Piccadilly and swung along toward the premises of +Kazmah. He glanced at the names on some of the shop windows as he passed, and +wondered if the furriers, jewelers and other merchants dealing in costly wares +properly appreciated the services of the Metropolitan Police Force. He thought +of the peacefully slumbering tradesmen in their suburban homes, the safety of +their stocks wholly dependent upon the vigilance of that Unsleeping +Eye—for to an unsleeping eye he mentally compared the service of which he +was a member. +</p> + +<p> +A constable stood on duty before the door of the block. Red Kerry was known by +sight and reputation to every member of the force, and the constable saluted as +the celebrated Chief Inspector appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything to report, constable?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“The ambulance has been for the body, and another gentleman has been.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stared at the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Another gentleman? Who the devil’s the other gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, sir. He came with Inspector Whiteleaf, and was inside for nearly +an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector Whiteleaf is off duty. What time was this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twelve-thirty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry chewed reflectively ere nodding to the man and passing on. +</p> + +<p> +“Another gentleman!” he muttered, entering the hallway. “Why didn’t Inspector +Warley report this? Who the devil—” Deep in thought he walked upstairs, +finding his way by the light of the pocket torch which he carried. A second +constable was on duty at Kazmah’s door. He saluted. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything to report?” rapped Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. The body has been removed, and the gentleman with Inspector—” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn that for a tale! Describe this gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather tall, pale, dark, clean-shaven. Wore a fur-collared overcoat, collar +turned up. He was accompanied by Inspector Whiteleaf.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m. Anything else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. About an hour ago I heard a noise on the next floor—” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” snapped Kerry, and shone the light suddenly into the man’s face so that +he blinked furiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? What kind of noise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very slight. Like something moving.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like <i>something!</i> Like <i>what</i> thing? A cat or an elephant?” +</p> + +<p> +“More like, say, a box or a piece of furniture.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you did—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I went up to the top landing and listened.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at all.” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry chewed audibly. +</p> + +<p> +“All quiet?” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. But I’m certain I heard something all the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long had Inspector Whiteleaf and this dark horse in the fur coat been gone +at the time you heard the noise?” +</p> + +<p> +“About half an hour, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think the noise came from the landing or from one of the offices +above?” +</p> + +<p> +“An office I should say. It was very dim.” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry pushed upon the broken door, and walked into the rooms of +Kazmah. Flashing the ray of his torch on the wall, he found the switch and +snapped up the lights. He removed his overall and tossed it on a divan with his +cane. Then, tilting his bowler further forward, he thrust his hands into his +reefer pockets, and stood staring toward the door, beyond which lay the room of +the murder, in darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he?” he muttered. “What’s it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Taking up the torch, he walked through and turned on the lights in the inner +rooms. For a long time he stood staring at the little square window low down +behind the ebony chair, striving to imagine uses for it as his wife had urged +him to do. The globular green lamp in the second apartment was worked by three +switches situated in the inside room, and he had discovered that in this way +the visitor who came to consult Kazmah was treated to the illusion of a +gradually falling darkness. Then, the door in the first partition being opened, +whoever sat in the ebony chair would become visible by the gradual uncovering +of a light situated above the chair. On this light being covered again the +figure would apparently fade away. +</p> + +<p> +It was ingenious, and, so far, quite clear. But two things badly puzzled the +inquirer; the little window down behind the chair, and the fact that all the +arrangements for raising and lowering the lights were situated not in the +narrow chamber in which Kazmah’s chair stood, and in which Sir Lucien had been +found, but in the room behind it—the room with which the little window +communicated. +</p> + +<p> +The table upon which the telephone rested was set immediately under this +mysterious window, the window was provided with a green blind, and the +switchboard controlling the complicated lighting scheme was also within reach +of anyone seated at the table. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry rolled mint gum from side to side of his mouth, and absently tried the +handle of the door opening out from this interior room—evidently the +office of the establishment—into the corridor. He knew it to be locked. +Turning, he walked through the suite and out on to the landing, passing the +constable and going upstairs to the top floor, torch in hand. +</p> + +<p> +From the main landing he walked along the narrow corridor until he stood at the +head of the back stairs. The door nearest to him bore the name: “Cubanis +Cigarette Company.” He tried the handle. The door was locked, as he had +anticipated. Kneeling down, he peered into the keyhole, holding the electric +torch close beside his face and chewing industriously. +</p> + +<p> +Ere long he stood up, descended again, but by the back stair, and stood staring +reflectively at the door communicating with Kazmah’s inner room. Then walking +along the corridor to where the man stood on, the landing, he went in again to +the mysterious apartments, but only to get his cane and his overall and to turn +out the lights. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later he was ringing the late Sir Lucien’s door-bell. +</p> + +<p> +A constable admitted him, and he walked straight through into the study where +Coombes, looking very tired but smiling undauntedly, sat at a littered table +studying piles of documents. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything to report?” rapped Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“The man, Mareno, has gone to bed, and the expert from the Home office has +been—” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Kerry brought his cane down with a crash upon the table, whereat +Coombes started nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s it!” he shouted furiously, “an ‘expert from the Home office’! So +that’s the dark horse in the fur coat. Coombes! I’m fed up to the back teeth +with this gun from the Home office! If I’m not to have entire charge of the +case I’ll throw it up. I’ll stand for no blasted overseer checking my work! +Wait till I see the Assistant Commissioner! What the devil has the job to do +with the Home office!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t say,” murmured Coombes. “But he’s evidently a big bug from the way +Whiteleaf treated him. He instructed me to stay in the kitchen and keep an eye +on Mareno while he prowled about in here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Instructed you!” cried Kerry, his teeth gleaming and his steel-blue eyes +creating upon Coombes’ mind an impression that they were emitting sparks. +“<i>Instructed</i> you! I’ll ask you a question, Detective-Sergeant Coombes: +Who is in charge of this case?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I thought you were.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>thought</i> I was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am? Very well—you were saying—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was saying that I went into the kitchen—” +</p> + +<p> +“Before that! Something about ‘instructed.’” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Coombes smiled pathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said, bravely meeting the ferocious glare of his superior, “as +man to man. What could I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You could stop smiling!” snapped Kerry. “Hell!” He paced several times up and +down the room. “Go ahead, Coombes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s nothing much to report. I stayed in the kitchen, and the man +from the Home office was in here alone for about half an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector Whiteleaf stayed in the dining-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had he been ‘instructed’ too?” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect so. I think he just came along as a sort of guide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” muttered Kerry savagely, “a sort of guide! Any idea what the bogey man +did in here?” +</p> + +<p> +“He opened the window. I heard him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s funny. It’s exactly what I’m going to do! This smart from Whitehall +hasn’t got a corner in notions yet, Coombes.” +</p> + +<p> +The room was a large and lofty one, and had been used by a former tenant as a +studio. The toplights had been roofed over by Sir Lucien, however, but the +raised platform, approached by two steps, which had probably been used as a +model’s throne, was a permanent fixture of the apartment. It was backed now by +bookcases, except where a blue plush curtain was draped before a French window. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry drew the curtain back, and threw open the folding leaves of the window. +He found himself looking out upon the leads of Albemarle Street. No stars and +no moon showed through the grey clouds draping the wintry sky, but a dim and +ghostly half-light nevertheless rendered the ugly expanse visible from where he +stood. +</p> + +<p> +On one side loomed a huge tank, to the brink of which a rickety wooden ladder +invited the explorer to ascend. Beyond it were a series of iron gangways and +ladders forming part of the fire emergency arrangements of the neighboring +institution. Straight ahead a section of building jutted up and revealed two +small windows, which seemed to regard him like watching eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He walked out on to the roof, looking all about him. Beyond the tank opened a +frowning gully—the Arcade connecting Albemarle Street with old Bond +Street; on the other hand, the scheme of fire gangways was continued. He began +to cross the leads, going in the direction of Bond Street. Coombes watched him +from the study. When he came to the more northerly of the two windows which had +attracted his attention, he knelt down and flashed the ray of his torch through +the glass. +</p> + +<p> +A kind of small warehouse was revealed, containing stacks of packages. +Immediately inside the window was a rough wooden table, and on this table lay a +number of smaller packages, apparently containing cigarettes. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry turned his attention to the fastening of the window. A glance showed him +that it was unlocked. Resting the torch on the leads, he grasped the sash and +gently raised the window, noting that it opened almost noiselessly. Then, +taking up the torch again, he stooped and stepped in on to the table below. +</p> + +<p> +It moved slightly beneath his weight. One of the legs was shorter than its +fellows. But he reached the floor as quietly as possible, and instantly snapped +off the light of the torch. +</p> + +<p> +A heavy step sounded from outside—someone was mounting the +stairs—and a disk of light suddenly appeared upon the ground-glass panel +of the door. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stood quite still, chewing steadily. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s there?” came the voice of the constable posted on Kazmah’s landing. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anyone here?” cried the man. +</p> + +<p> +The disk of light disappeared, and the alert constable could be heard moving +along the corridor to inspect the other offices. But the ray had shone upon the +frosted glass long enough to enable Kerry to read the words painted there in +square black letters. They had appeared reversed, of course, and had read thus: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img01.jpg" width="500" height="46" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI.<br/> +THE DRUG SYNDICATE</h2> + +<p> +At six-thirty that morning Margaret Halley was aroused by her maid—the +latter but half awake—and sitting up in bed and switching on the lamp, +she looked at the card which the servant had brought to her, and read the +following: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY,<br/> +C.I.D.<br/> +New Scotland Yard, S.W.I. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear,” she said sleepily, “what an appallingly early visitor. Is the bath +ready yet, Janet?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid not,” replied the maid, a plain, elderly woman of the old-fashioned +useful servant type. “Shall I take a kettle into the bathroom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—that will have to do. Tell Inspector Kerry that I shall not be +long.” +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later Margaret entered her little consulting-room, where Kerry, +having adjusted his tie, was standing before the mirror in the overmantle, +staring at a large photograph of the charming lady doctor in military uniform. +Kerry’s fierce eyes sparkled appreciatively as his glance rested on the tall +figure arrayed in a woollen dressing-gown, the masculine style of which by no +means disguised the beauty of Margaret’s athletic figure. She had hastily +arranged her bright hair with deliberate neglect of all affectation. She +belonged to that ultra-modern school which scorns to sue masculine admiration, +but which cannot dispense with it nevertheless. She aspired to be assessed upon +an intellectual basis, an ambition which her unfortunate good looks rendered +difficult of achievement. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Inspector,” she said composedly. “I was expecting you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, miss?” Kerry stared curiously. “Then you know what I’ve come about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so. Won’t you sit down? I am afraid the room is rather cold. Is it +about—Sir Lucien Pyne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Kerry, “it concerns him certainly. I’ve been in communication +by telephone with Hinkes, Mr. Monte Irvin’s butler, and from him I learned that +you were professionally attending Mrs. Irvin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was not her regular medical adviser, but—” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret hesitated, glancing rapidly at the Inspector, and then down at the +writing-table before which she was seated. She began to tap the blotting-pad +with an ivory paper-knife. Kerry was watching her intently. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon your evidence, Miss Halley,” he said rapidly, “may depend the life of the +missing woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Margaret, “whatever can have happened to her? I rang up as late as +two o’clock this morning; after that I abandoned hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something underlying the case that I don’t understand, miss. I look to +you to put me wise.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him impulsively. +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you all I know, Inspector,” she said. “I will be perfectly frank +with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Now—you have known Mrs. Monte Irvin for some +time?” +</p> + +<p> +“For about two years.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t know her when she was on the stage?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I met her at a Red Cross concert at which she sang.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think she loved her husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know she did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was there any—prior attachment?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I know of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Quentin Gray?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret smiled, rather mirthlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“He is my cousin, Inspector, and it was I who introduced him to Rita Irvin. I +sincerely wish I had never done so. He lost his head completely.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was nothing in Mrs. Irvin’s attitude towards him to justify her +husband’s jealousy?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was always frightfully indiscreet, Inspector, but nothing more. You see, +she is greatly admired, and is used to the company of silly, adoring men. Her +husband doesn’t really understand the ways of these Bohemian folks. I knew it +would lead to trouble sooner or later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. +</p> + +<p> +“Now—Sir Lucien?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret tapped more rapidly with the paper-knife. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Lucien belonged to a set of which Rita had been a member during her stage +career. I think—he admired her; in fact, I believe he had offered her +marriage. But she did not care for him in the least—in that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then in what way did she care for him?” rapped Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—now we are coming to the point.” Momentarily she hesitated, then: +“They were both addicted—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“—to drugs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” Kerry’s eyes grew hard and fierce in a moment. “What drugs?” +</p> + +<p> +“All sorts of drugs. Shortly after I became acquainted with Rita Irvin I +learned that she was a victim of the drug habit, and I tried to cure her. I +regret to say that I failed. At that time she had acquired a taste for opium.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry said not a word, and Margaret raised her head and looked at him +pathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I can see that you have no pity for the victims of this ghastly vice, +Inspector Kerry,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t!” he snapped fiercely. “I admit I haven’t, miss. It’s bad enough in +the heathens, but for an Englishwoman to dope herself is downright unchristian +and beastly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet I have come across so many of these cases, during the war and since, that +I have begun to understand how easy, how dreadfully easy it is, for a woman +especially, to fall into the fatal habit. Bereavement or that most frightful of +all mental agonies, suspense, will too often lead the poor victim into the path +that promises forgetfulness. Rita Irvin’s case is less excusable. I think she +must have begun drug-taking because of the mental and nervous exhaustion +resulting from late hours and over-much gaiety. The demands of her profession +proved too great for her impaired nervous energy, and she sought some stimulant +which would enable her to appear bright on the stage when actually she should +have been recuperating, in sleep, that loss of vital force which can be +recuperated in no other way.” +</p> + +<p> +“But <i>opium!</i>” snapped Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid her other drug habits had impaired her will, and shaken her +self-control. She was tempted to try opium by its promise of a new and novel +excitement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Her husband, I take it, was ignorant of all this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he was. Quentin—Mr. Gray—had no idea of it either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was Sir Lucien Pyne who was in her confidence in the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret nodded slowly, still tapping the blotting-pad. +</p> + +<p> +“He used to accompany her to places where drugs could be obtained, and on +several occasions—I cannot say how many—I believe he went with her +to some den in Chinatown. It may have been due to Mr. Irvin’s discovery that +his wife could not satisfactorily account for some of these absences from home +which led him to suspect her fidelity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Kerry hardly, “I shouldn’t wonder. And now”—he thrust out a +pointing finger—“where did she get these drugs?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret met the fierce stare composedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have said that I shall be quite frank,” she replied. “In my opinion she +obtained them from Kazmah.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kazmah!” shouted Kerry. “Excuse me, miss, but I see I’ve been wearing blinkers +without knowing it! Kazmah’s was a dope-shop?” +</p> + +<p> +“That has been my belief for a long time, Inspector. I may add that I have +never been able to obtain a shred of evidence to prove it. I am so keenly +interested in seeing the people who pander to this horrible vice unmasked and +dealt with as they merit, that I have tried many times to find out if my +suspicion was correct.” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Kerry was writhing his shoulders excitedly. “Did you ever visit +Kazmah?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I asked Rita Irvin to take me, but she refused, and I could see that the +request embarrassed her. So I went alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Describe exactly what took place.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret Halley stared reflectively at the blotting-pad for a moment, and then +described a typical seance at Kazmah’s. In conclusion: +</p> + +<p> +“As I came away,” she said, “I bought a bottle of every kind of perfume on +sale, some of the incense, and also a box of sweetmeat; but they all proved to +be perfectly harmless. I analyzed them.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s eyes glistened with admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“We could do with you at the Yard, miss,” he said. “Excuse me for saying so.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret smiled rather wanly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now—this man Kazmah,” resumed the Chief Inspector. “Did you ever see him +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never. I have been trying for months and months to find out who he is.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s face became very grim. +</p> + +<p> +“About ten trained men are trying to find that out at the present moment!” he +rapped. “Do you think he wore a make-up?” +</p> + +<p> +“He may have done so,” Margaret admitted. “But his features were obviously +undisguised, and his eyes one would recognize anywhere. They were larger than +any human eyes I have ever seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“He couldn’t have been the Egyptian who looked after the shop, for instance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible! He did not remotely resemble him. Besides, the man to whom you +refer remained outside to receive other visitors. Oh, that’s out of the +question, Inspector.” +</p> + +<p> +“The light was very dim?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very dim indeed, and Kazmah never once raised his head. Indeed, except for a +dignified gesture of greeting and one of dismissal, he never moved. His +immobility was rather uncanny.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry began to pace up and down the narrow room, and: +</p> + +<p> +“He bore no resemblance to the late Sir Lucien Pyne, for instance?” he rapped. +</p> + +<p> +Margaret laughed outright and her laughter was so inoffensive and so musical +that the Chief Inspector laughed also. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s more hopeless than ever!” she said. “Poor Sir Lucien had strong, harsh +features and rather small eyes. He wore a moustache, too. But Sir Lucien, I +feel sure, was one of Kazmah’s clients.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Kerry. “And what leads you to suppose Miss Halley, that this Kazmah +dealt in drugs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, Rita Irvin was always going there to buy perfumes, and she +frequently sent her maid as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“But”—Kerry stared—“you say that the perfume was harmless.” +</p> + +<p> +“That which was sold to casual visitors was harmless, Inspector. But I strongly +suspect that regular clients were supplied with something quite different. You +see, I know no fewer than thirty unfortunate women in the West End of London +alone who are simply helpless slaves to various drugs, and I think it more than +a coincidence that upon their dressing-tables I have almost invariably found +one or more of Kazmah’s peculiar antique flasks.” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry’s jaw muscles protruded conspicuously. +</p> + +<p> +“You speak of patients?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Margaret nodded her head. +</p> + +<p> +“When a woman becomes addicted to the drug habit,” she explained, “she +sometimes shuns her regular medical adviser. I have many patients who came to +me originally simply because they dared not face their family doctor. In fact, +since I gave up Army work, my little practice has threatened to develop into +that of a drug-habit specialist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you taxed any of these people with obtaining drugs from Kazmah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not directly. It would have been undiplomatic. But I have tried to surprise +them into telling me. Unfortunately, these poor people are as cunning as any +other kind of maniac, for, of course, it becomes a form of mania. They +recognize that confession might lead to a stoppage of supplies—the +eventuality they most dread.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you examine the contents of any of these flasks found on dressing-tables?” +</p> + +<p> +“I rarely had an opportunity; but when I did they proved to contain perfume +when they contained anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” mused Kerry, and although in deference to Margaret, he had denied +himself chewing-gum, his jaws worked automatically. “I gather that Mrs. Monte +Irvin had expressed a wish to see you last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Apparently she was threatened with a shortage of cocaine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cocaine was her drug?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of them. She had tried them all, poor, silly girl! You must understand +that for a habitual drug-taker suddenly to be deprived of drugs would lead to +complete collapse, perhaps death. And during the last few days I had noticed a +peculiar nervous symptom in Rita Irvin which had interested me. Finally, the +day before yesterday, she confessed that her usual source of supply had been +closed to her. Her words were very vague, but I gathered that some form of +coercion was being employed.” +</p> + +<p> +“With what object?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no idea. But she used the words, ‘They will drive me mad,’ and seemed +to be in a dangerously nervous condition. She said that she was going to make a +final attempt to obtain a supply of the poison which had become indispensable +to her. ‘I cannot do without it!’ she said. ‘But if they refuse, will you give +me some?’” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I begged of her, as I had done on many previous occasions, to place herself in +my hands. But she evaded a direct answer, as is the way of one addicted to this +vice. ‘If I cannot get some by tomorrow,’ she said, ‘I shall go mad, or dead. +Can I rely on you?’” +</p> + +<p> +“I told her that I would prescribe cocaine for her on the distinct +understanding that from the first dose she was to place herself under my care +for a cure.” +</p> + +<p> +“She agreed?” +</p> + +<p> +“She agreed. Yesterday afternoon, while I was away at an important case, she +came here. Poor Rita!” Margaret’s soft voice trembled. “Look—she left +this note.” +</p> + +<p> +From a letter-rack she took a square sheet of paper and handed it to the Chief +Inspector. He bent his fierce eyes upon the writing—large, irregular and +shaky. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Dear Margaret,’” he read aloud. “‘Why aren’t you at home? I am wild with +pain, and feel I am going mad. Come to me <i>directly</i> you return, and bring +enough to keep me alive. I—’, Hullo! there’s no finish!” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced up from the page. Margaret Halley’s eyes were dim. +</p> + +<p> +“She despaired of my coming and went to Kazmah,” she said. “Can you doubt that +that was what she went for?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” snapped Kerry savagely, “I can’t. But do you mean to tell me, Miss +Halley, that Mrs. Irvin couldn’t get cocaine anywhere else? I know for a fact +that it’s smuggled in regularly, and there’s more than one receiver.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret looked at him strangely. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, too, Inspector,” she said quietly. “Owing to the lack of enterprise +on the part of our British drug-houses, even reputable chemists are sometimes +dependent upon illicit stock from Japan and America. But do you know that the +price of these smuggled drugs has latterly become so high as to be prohibitive +in many cases?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t. What are you driving at, miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“At this: Somebody had made a corner in contraband drugs. The most wicked +syndicate that ever was formed has got control of the lives of, it may be, +thousands of drug-slaves!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s teeth closed with a sharp snap. +</p> + +<p> +“At last,” he said, “I see where the smart from the Home office comes in.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Secretary of State has appointed a special independent commissioner to +inquire into this hellish traffic,” replied Margaret quietly. “I am glad to say +that I have helped in getting this done by the representations which I have +made to my uncle, Lord Wrexborough. But I give you my word, Inspector Kerry, +that I have withheld nothing from you any more than from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Him!” snapped Kerry, eyes fiercely ablaze. +</p> + +<p> +“From the Home Office representative—before whom I have already given +evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry took up his hat, cane and overall from the chair upon +which he had placed them and, his face a savage red mask, bowed with a fine +courtesy. He burned to learn particulars; he disdained to obtain them from a +woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Miss Halley,” he said. “I am greatly indebted to you.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked stiffly from the room and out of the flat without waiting for a +servant to open the door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_PART2"></a> +PART SECOND<br/> +MRS. SIN</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII.<br/> +THE MAID OF THE MASQUE</h2> + +<p> +The past life of Mrs. Monte Irvin, in which at this time three distinct groups +of investigators became interested—namely, those of Whitehall, Scotland +Yard, and Fleet Street—was of a character to have horrified the prudish, +but to have excited the compassion of the wise. +</p> + +<p> +Daughter of a struggling suburban solicitor, Rita Esden, at the age of +seventeen, from a delicate and rather commonplace child began to develop into a +singularly pretty girl of an elusive and fascinating type of beauty, almost +ethereal in her dainty coloring, and possessed of large and remarkably fine +eyes, together with a wealth of copper-red hair, a crown which seemed too heavy +for her slender neck to support. Her father viewed her increasing charms and +ever-growing list of admirers with the gloomy apprehension of a disappointed +man who had come to look upon each gift of the gods as a new sorrow cunningly +disguised. Her mother, on the contrary, fanned the girl’s natural vanity and +ambition with a success which rarely attended the enterprises of this foolish +old woman, and Rita proving to be endowed with a moderately good voice, a stage +career was determined upon without reference to the contrary wishes of Mr. +Esden. +</p> + +<p> +Following the usual brief “training” which is counted sufficient for an +aspirant to musical comedy honors, Rita, by the prefixing of two letters to her +name, set out to conquer the play-going world as Rita Dresden. +</p> + +<p> +Two years of hard work and disappointment served to dispel the girl’s +illusions. She learned to appreciate at its true value that masculine +admiration which, in an unusual degree, she had the power to excite. Those of +her admirers who were in a position to assist her professionally were only +prepared to use their influence upon terms which she was unprepared to accept. +Those whose intentions were strictly creditable, by some malignancy of fate, +possessed no influence whatever. She came to regard herself as a peculiarly +unlucky girl, being ignorant of the fact that Fortune, an impish hierophant, +imposes identical tests upon every candidate who aspires to the throne of a +limelight princess. +</p> + +<p> +Matters stood thus when a new suitor appeared in the person of Sir Lucien Pyne. +When his card was brought up to Rita, her heart leaped because of a mingled +emotion of triumph and fear which the sight of the baronet’s name had +occasioned. He was a director of the syndicate in whose production she was +playing—a man referred to with awe by every girl in the company as having +it in his power to make or mar a professional reputation. Not that he took any +active part in the affairs of the concern; on the contrary, he was an +aristocrat who held himself aloof from all matters smacking of commerce, but at +the same time one who invested his money shrewdly. Sir Lucien’s protegee of +today was London’s idol of tomorrow, and even before Rita had spoken to him she +had fought and won a spiritual battle between her true self and that vain, +admiration-loving Rita Dresden who favored capitulation. +</p> + +<p> +She knew that Sir Lucien’s card represented a signpost at the cross-roads where +many a girl, pretty but not exceptionally talented, had hesitated with beating +heart. It was no longer a question of remaining a member of the chorus (and +understudy for a small part) or of accepting promotion to “lead” in a new +production; it was that of accepting whatever Sir Lucien chose to +offer—or of retiring from the profession so far as this powerful +syndicate was concerned. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the reputation enjoyed at this time by Sir Lucien Pyne among those who +had every opportunity of forming an accurate opinion. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, Rita was determined not to succumb without a struggle. She did +not count herself untalented nor a girl to be lightly valued, and Sir Lucien +might prove to be less black than rumor had painted him. As presently appeared, +both in her judgment of herself and in that of Sir Lucien, she was at least +partially correct. He was very courteous, very respectful, and highly +attentive. +</p> + +<p> +Her less favored companions smiled significantly when the familiar Rolls-Royce +appeared at the stage door night after night, never doubting that Rita Dresden +was chosen to “star” in the forthcoming production, but, with rare exceptions, +frankly envying her this good fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Rita made no attempt to disillusion them, recognizing that it must fail. She +was resigned to being misjudged. If she could achieve success at that price, +success would have been purchased cheaply. +</p> + +<p> +That Sir Lucien was deeply infatuated she was not slow to discover, and with an +address perfected by experience and a determination to avoid the easy path +inherited from a father whose scrupulous honesty had ruined his professional +prospects, she set to work to win esteem as well as admiration. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien was first surprised, then piqued, and finally interested by such +unusual tactics. The second phase was the dangerous one for Rita, and during a +certain luncheon at Romanos her fate hung in the balance. Sir Lucien realized +that he was in peril of losing his head over this tantalizingly pretty girl who +gracefully kept him at a distance, fencing with an adroitness which was +baffling, and Sir Lucien Pyne had set out with no intention of doing anything +so preposterous as falling in love. Keenly intuitive, Rita scented danger and +made a bold move. Carelessly rolling a bread-crumb along the cloth: +</p> + +<p> +“I am giving up the stage when the run finishes,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” replied Sir Lucien imperturbably. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am tired of stage life. I have been invited to go and live with my uncle in +New York and have decided to accept. You see”—she bestowed upon him a +swift glance of her brilliant eyes—“men in the theatrical world are not +all like you. Real friends, I mean. It isn’t very nice, sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien deliberately lighted a cigarette. If Rita was bluffing, he mused, +she had the pluck to make good her bluff. And if she did so? He dropped the +extinguished match upon a plate. Did he care? He glanced at the girl, who was +smiling at an acquaintance on the other side of the room. Fortune’s wheel spins +upon a needle point. By an artistic performance occupying less than two +minutes, but suggesting that Rita possessed qualities which one day might spell +success, she had decided her fate. Her heart was beating like a hammer in her +breast, but she preserved an attitude of easy indifference. Without for a +moment believing in the American uncle, Sir Lucien did believe, correctly, that +Rita Dresden was about to elude him. He realized, too, that he was infinitely +more interested than he had ever been hitherto, and more interested than he had +intended to become. +</p> + +<p> +This seemingly trivial conversation was a turning point, and twelve months +later Rita Dresden was playing the title rôle in <i>The Maid of the Masque</i>. +Sir Lucien had discovered himself to be really in love with her, and he might +quite possibly have offered her marriage even if a dangerous rival had not +appeared to goad him to that desperate leap—for so he regarded it. Monte +Irvin, although considerably Rita’s senior, had much to commend him in the eyes +of the girl—and in the eyes of her mother, who still retained a curious +influence over her daughter. He was much more wealthy than Pyne, and although +the latter was a baronet, Irvin was certain to be knighted ere long, so that +Rita would secure the appendage of “Lady” in either case. Also, his reputation +promised a more reliable husband than Sir Lucien could be expected to make. +Moreover, Rita liked him, whereas she had never sincerely liked and trusted Sir +Lucien. And there was a final reason—of which Mrs. Esden knew nothing. +</p> + +<p> +On the first night that Rita had been entrusted with a part of any +consequence—and this was shortly after the conversation at +Romanos—she had discovered herself to be in a state of hopeless panic. +All her scheming and fencing would have availed her nothing if she were to +break down at the critical moment. It was an eventuality which Sir Lucien had +foreseen, and he seized the opportunity at once of securing a new hold upon the +girl and of rendering her more pliable than he had hitherto found her to be. At +this time the idea of marriage had not presented itself to Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +Some hours before the performance he detected her condition of abject fright... +and from his waistcoat pocket he took a little gold snuff-box. +</p> + +<p> +At first the girl declined to follow advice which instinctively she distrusted, +and Sir Lucien was too clever to urge it upon her. But he glanced casually at +his wrist-watch—and poor Rita shuddered. The gold box was hidden again in +the baronet’s pocket. +</p> + +<p> +To analyze the process which thereupon took place in Rita’s mind would be a +barren task, since its result was a foregone conclusion. Daring ambition rather +than any merely abstract virtue was the keynote of her character. She had +rebuffed the advances of Sir Lucien as she had rebuffed others, primarily +because her aim in life was set higher than mere success in light comedy. This +she counted but a means to a more desirable end—a wealthy marriage. To +the achievement of such an alliance the presence of an accepted lover would be +an obstacle; and true love Rita Dresden had never known. Yet, short of this +final sacrifice which some women so lightly made, there were few scruples which +she was not prepared to discard in furtherance of her designs. Her morality, +then, was diplomatic, for the vice of ambition may sometimes make for virtue. +</p> + +<p> +Rita’s vivacious beauty and perfect self-possession on the fateful night earned +her a permanent place in stageland: Rita Dresden became a “star.” She had won a +long and hard-fought battle; but in avoiding one master she had abandoned +herself to another. +</p> + +<p> +The triumph of her debut left her strangely exhausted. She dreaded the coming +of the second night almost as keenly as she had dreaded the ordeal of the +first. She struggled, poor victim, and only increased her terrors. Not until +the clock showed her that in twenty minutes she must make her first entrance +did she succumb. But Sir Lucien’s gold snuff-box lay upon her +dressing-table—and she was trembling. When at last she heard the +sustained note of the oboe in the orchestra giving the pitch to the answering +violins, she raised the jewelled lid of the box. +</p> + +<p> +So she entered upon the path which leads down to destruction, and since to +conjure with the drug which pharmacists know as methylbenzoyl ecgonine is to +raise the demon Insomnia, ere long she found herself exploring strange by-paths +in quest of sleep. +</p> + +<p> +By the time that she was entrusted with the leading part in <i>The Maid of the +Masque</i>, she herself did not recognize how tenacious was the hold which this +fatal habit had secured upon her. In the company of Sir Lucien Pyne she met +other devotees, and for a time came to regard her unnatural mode of existence +as something inseparable from the Bohemian life. To the horrible side of it she +was blind. +</p> + +<p> +It was her meeting with Monte Irvin during the run of this successful play +which first awakened a dawning comprehension; not because she ascribed his +admiration to her artificial vivacity, but because she realized the strength of +the link subsisting between herself and Sir Lucien. She liked and respected +Irvin, and as a result began to view her conduct from a new standpoint. His +life was so entirely open and free from reproach while part of her own was dark +and secret. She conceived a desire to be done with that dark and secret life. +</p> + +<p> +This was a shadow-land over which Sir Lucien Pyne presided, and which must be +kept hidden from Monte Irvin; and it was not until she thus contemplated +cutting herself adrift from it all that she perceived the Gordian knot which +bound her to the drug coterie. How far, yet how smoothly, by all but +imperceptible stages she had glided down the stream since that night when the +gold box had lain upon her dressing-table! Kazmah’s drug store in Bond Street +had few secrets for her; or so she believed. She knew that the establishment of +the strange, immobile Egyptian was a source from which drugs could always be +obtained; she knew that the dream-reading business served some double purpose; +but she did not know the identity of Kazmah. +</p> + +<p> +Two of the most insidious drugs familiar to modern pharmacy were wooing her to +slavery, and there was no strong hand to hold her back. Even the presence of +her mother might have offered some slight deterrent at this stage of Rita’s +descent, but the girl had quitted her suburban home as soon as her salary had +rendered her sufficiently independent to do so, and had established herself in +a small but elegant flat situated in the heart of theatreland. +</p> + +<p> +But if she had walked blindly into the clutches of cocaine and veronal, her +subsequent experiments with <i>chandu</i> were prompted by indefensible +curiosity, and a false vanity which urged her to do everything that was “done” +by the ultra-smart and vicious set of which she had become a member. +</p> + +<p> +Her first introduction to opium-smoking was made under the auspices of an +American comedian then appearing in London, an old devotee of the poppy, and it +took place shortly after Sir Lucien Pyne had proposed marriage to Rita. This +proposal she had not rejected outright; she had pleaded time for consideration. +Monte Irvin was away, and Rita secretly hoped that on his return he would +declare himself. Meanwhile she indulged in every new craze which became +fashionable among her associates. A <i>chandu</i> party took place at the +American’s flat in Duke Street, and Rita, who had been invited, and who had +consented to go with Sir Lucien Pyne, met there for the first time the woman +variously known as “Lola” and “Mrs. Sin.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0013"></a> +CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +A CHANDU PARTY</h2> + +<p> +From the restaurant at which she had had supper with Sir Lucien, Rita proceeded +to Duke Street. Alighting from Pyne’s car at the door, they went up to the flat +of the organizer of the opium party—Mr. Cyrus Kilfane. One other guest +was already present—a slender, fair woman, who was introduced by the +American as Mollie Gretna, but whose weakly pretty face Rita recognized as that +of a notorious society divorcée, foremost in the van of every new craze, a +past-mistress of the smartest vices. +</p> + +<p> +Kilfane had sallow, expressionless features and drooping, light-colored eyes. +His straw-hued hair, brushed back from a sloping brow, hung lankly down upon +his coat-collar. Long familiarity with China’s ruling vice and contact with +those who practiced it had brought about that mysterious physical +alteration—apparently reflecting a mental change—so often to be +seen in one who has consorted with Chinamen. Even the light eyes seemed to have +grown slightly oblique; the voice, the unimpassioned greeting, were those of a +son of Cathay. He carried himself with a stoop and had a queer, shuffling gait. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my dear daughter,” he murmured in a solemnly facetious manner, “how glad I +am to welcome you to our poppy circle.” +</p> + +<p> +He slowly turned his half-closed eyes in Pyne’s direction, and slowly turned +them back again. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you seek forgetfulness of old joys?” he asked. “This is my own case and +Pyne’s. Or do you, as Mollie does, seek new joys—youth’s eternal quest?” +</p> + +<p> +Rita laughed with a careless abandon which belonged to that part of her +character veiled from the outer world. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I agree with Miss Gretna,” she said lightly. “There is not so much +happiness in life that I want to forget the little I have had.” +</p> + +<p> +“Happiness,” murmured Kilfane. “There is no real happiness. Happiness is smoke. +Let us smoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am curious, but half afraid,” declared Rita. “I have heard that opium +sometimes has no other effect than to make one frightfully ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear!” cried Miss Gretna, with a foolish giggling laugh, “you will love +it! Such fascinating dreams! Such delightful adventures!” +</p> + +<p> +“Other drugs,” drawled Sir Lucien, “merely stimulate one’s normal mental +activities. <i>Chandu</i> is a key to another life. Cocaine, for instance +enhances our capacity for work. It is only a heretic like De Quincey who +prostitutes the magic gum to such base purposes. <i>Chandu</i> is misunderstood +in Europe; in Asia it is the companion of the aesthete’s leisure.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely,” said Rita, “one pipe of opium will not produce all these +wonders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some people never experience them at all,” interrupted Miss Gretna. “The great +idea is to get into a comfortable position, and just resign yourself—let +yourself go. Oh, it’s heavenly!” +</p> + +<p> +Cyrus Kilfane turned his dull eyes in Rita’s direction. +</p> + +<p> +“A question of temperament and adaptability,” he murmured. “De Quincey, +Pyne”—slowly turning towards the baronet—“is didactic, of course; +but his <i>Confessions</i> may be true, nevertheless. He forgets, you see, that +he possessed an unusual constitution, and the temperament of a Norwegian +herring. He forgets, too, that he was a laudanum drinker, not an opium smoker. +Now you, my daughter”—the lustreless eyes again sought Rita’s flushed +face—“are vivid—intensely vital. If you can succeed in resigning +yourself to the hypnosis induced your experiences will be delightful. Trust +your Uncle Cy.” +</p> + +<p> +Leaving Rita chatting with Miss Gretna, Kilfane took Pyne aside, offering him a +cigarette from an ornate, jewelled case. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello,” said the baronet, “can you still get these?” +</p> + +<p> +“With the utmost difficulty,” murmured Kilfane, returning the case to his +pocket. “Lola charges me five guineas a hundred for them, and only supplies +them as a favor. I shall be glad to get back home, Pyne. The right stuff is the +wrong price in London.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien laughed sardonically, lighting Kilfane’s cigarette and then his own. +</p> + +<p> +“I find it so myself,” he said. “Everything except opium is to be had at +Kazmah’s, and nothing except opium interests me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He supplies me with cocaine,” murmured the comedian. “His figure works out, as +nearly as I can estimate it, at 10s 7½d. a grain. I saw him about it yesterday +afternoon, pointing out to the brown guy that as the wholesale price is roughly +2¼d., I regarded his margin of profit as somewhat broad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“The first time I had ever seen him, Pyne. I brought an introduction from Dr. +Silver, of New York, and Kazmah supplied me without question—at a price.” +</p> + +<p> +“You always saw Rashîd?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. If there were other visitors I waited. But yesterday I made a personal +appointment with Kazmah. He pretended to think I had come to have a dream +interpreted. He is clever, Pyne. He never moved a muscle throughout the +interview. But finally he assured me that all the receivers in England had +amalgamated, and that the price he charged represented a very narrow margin of +profit. Of course he is a liar. He is making a fortune. Do you know him +personally?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Sir Lucien, “outside his Bond Street home of mystery he is +unknown. A clever man, as you say. You obtain your opium from Lola?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Kazmah sent her to me. She keeps me on ridiculously low rations, and if I +had not brought my own outfit I don’t think she would have sold me one. Of +course, her game is beating up clients for the Limehouse dive.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have visited ‘The House of a Hundred Raptures’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Many times, at week-ends. Opium, like wine, is better enjoyed in company.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she post you the opium?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; my man goes to Limehouse for it. Ah! here she is.” +</p> + +<p> +A woman came in, carrying a brown leather attaché case. She had left her hat +and coat in the hall, and wore a smart blue serge skirt and a white blouse. She +was not tall, but she possessed a remarkably beautiful figure which the cut of +her garments was not intended to disguise, and her height was appreciably +increased by a pair of suéde shoes having the most wonderful heels which Rita +ever remembered to have seen worn on or off the stage. They seemed to make her +small feet appear smaller, and lent to her slender ankles an exaggerated +frontal curve. +</p> + +<p> +Her hair was of that true, glossy black which suggests the blue sheen of +raven’s plumage, and her thickly fringed eyes were dark and southern as her +hair. She had full, voluptuous lips, and a bold self-assurance. In the swift, +calculating glance which she cast about the room there was something greedy and +evil; and when it rested upon Rita Dresden’s dainty beauty to the evil greed +was added cruelty. +</p> + +<p> +“Another little sister, dear Lola,” murmured Kilfane. “Of course, you know who +it is? This, my daughter,” turning the sleepy glance towards Rita, “is our +officiating priestess, Mrs. Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman so strangely named revealed her gleaming teeth in a swift, unpleasant +smile, then her nostrils dilated and she glanced about her suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone smokes the <i>chandu</i> cigarettes,” she said, speaking in a low tone +which, nevertheless, failed to disguise her harsh voice, and with a very marked +accent. +</p> + +<p> +“I am the offender, dear Lola,” said Kilfane, dreamily waving his cigarette +towards her. “I have managed to make the last hundred spin out. You have +brought me a new supply?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, indeed,” replied Mrs. Sin, tossing her head in a manner oddly +reminiscent of a once famous Spanish dancer. “Next Tuesday you get some more. +Ah! it is no good! You talk and talk and it cannot alter anything. Until they +come I cannot give them to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it appears to me,” murmured Kilfane, “that the supply is always growing +less.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. The best goes all to Edinburgh now. I have only three sticks of +Yezd left of all my stock.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the cigarettes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are from Buenos Ayres? Yes. But Buenos Ayres must get the opium before we get +the cigarettes, eh? Five cases come to London on Tuesday, Cy. Be of good +courage, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +She patted the sallow cheek of the American with her jewelled fingers, and +turned aside, glancing about her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” murmured Kilfane. “We are all present, Lola. I have had the room +prepared. Come, my children, let us enter the poppy portico.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened a door and stood aside, waving one thin yellow hand between the first +two fingers of which smouldered the drugged cigarette. Led by Mrs. Sin the +company filed into an apartment evidently intended for a drawing-room, but +which had been hastily transformed into an opium divan. +</p> + +<p> +Tables, chairs, and other items of furniture had been stacked against one of +the walls and the floor spread with rugs, skins, and numerous silk cushions. A +gas fire was alight, but before it had been placed an ornate Japanese screen +whereon birds of dazzling plumage hovered amid the leaves of gilded palm trees. +In the centre of the room stood a small card-table, and upon it were a large +brass tray and an ivory pedestal exquisitely carved in the form of a nude +figure having one arm upraised. The figure supported a lamp, the light of which +was subdued by a barrel-shaped shade of Chinese workmanship. +</p> + +<p> +Mollie Gretna giggled hysterically. +</p> + +<p> +“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” she cried to Rita, dropping down upon a heap +of cushions stacked in a recess beside the fireplace. “I am going to take off +my shoes. The last time, Cyrus, when I woke up my feet were quite numb.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should come down to my place,” said Mrs. Sin, setting the leather case on +the little card-table beside the lamp. “You have there your own little room and +silken sheets to lie in, and it is quiet—so quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Mollie Gretna, “I <i>must</i> come! But I daren’t go alone. Will +you come with me, dear?” turning to Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I may not like opium.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you do—and I know you will?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Rita, glancing rapidly at Pyne, “I suppose it would be a novel +experience.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me arrange it for you,” came the harsh voice of Mrs. Sin. “Lucy will drive +you both down—won’t you, my dear?” The shadowed eyes glanced aside at Sir +Lucien Pyne. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” he replied. “I am always at the ladies’ service.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita Dresden settled herself luxuriously into a nest of silk and fur in another +corner of the room, regarding the baronet coquettishly through her half-lowered +lashes. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t go unless it is my party, Lucy,” she said. “You must let me pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“A detail,” murmured Pyne, crossing and standing beside her. +</p> + +<p> +Interest now became centred upon the preparations being made by Mrs. Sin. From +the attaché case she took out a lacquered box, silken-lined like a +jewel-casket. It contained four singular-looking pipes, the parts of which she +began to fit together. The first and largest of these had a thick bamboo stem, +an amber mouthpiece, and a tiny, disproportionate bowl of brass. The second was +much smaller and was of some dark, highly-polished wood, mounted with silver +conceived in an ornate Chinese design representing a long-tailed lizard. The +mouthpiece was of jade. The third and fourth pipes were yet smaller, a +perfectly matched pair in figured ivory of exquisite workmanship, delicately +gold-mounted. +</p> + +<p> +“These for the ladies,” said Mrs. Sin, holding up the pair. +“You”—glancing at Kilfane—“have got your own pipe, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +She laid them upon the tray, and now took out of the case a little copper lamp, +a smaller lacquered box and a silver spatula, her jewelled fingers handling the +queer implements with a familiarity bred of habit. +</p> + +<p> +“What a strange woman!” whispered Rita to Pyne. “Is she an oriental?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cuban-Jewess,” he replied in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin carefully lighted the lamp, which burned with a short, bluish flame, +and, opening the lacquered box, she dipped the spatula into the thick gummy +substance which it contained and twisted the little instrument round and round +between her fingers, presently withdrawing it with a globule of <i>chandu</i>, +about the size of a bean, adhering to the end. She glanced aside at Kilfane. +</p> + +<p> +“Chinese way, eh?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She began to twirl the prepared opium above the flame of the lamp. From it a +slight, sickly smelling vapor arose. No one spoke, but all watched her closely; +and Rita was conscious of a growing, pleasurable excitement. When by +evaporation the <i>chandu</i> had become reduced to the size of a small pea, +and a vague spirituous blue flame began to dance round the end of the spatula, +Mrs. Sin pressed it adroitly into the tiny bowl of one of the ivory pipes, +having first held the bowl inverted for a moment over the lamp. She turned to +Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“The guest of the evening,” she said. “Do not be afraid. Inhale—oh, so +gentle—and blow the smoke from the nostrils. You know how to smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +“The same as a cigarette?” asked Rita excitedly, as Mrs. Sin bent over her. +</p> + +<p> +“The same, but very, very gentle.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita took the pipe and raised the mouthpiece to the lips. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0014"></a> +CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +IN THE SHADE OF THE LONELY PALM</h2> + +<p> +Persian opium of good quality contains from ten to fifteen percent morphine, +and <i>chandu</i> made from opium of Yezd would contain perhaps twenty-five per +cent of this potent drug; but because in the act of smoking distillation +occurs, nothing like this quantity of morphine reaches the smoker. To the +distilling process, also, may be due the different symptoms resulting from +smoking <i>chandu</i> and injecting morphia—or drinking tincture of +opium, as De Quincey did. +</p> + +<p> +Rita found the flavor of the preparation to be not entirely unpleasant. Having +overcome an initial aversion, caused by its marked medicinal tang, she grew +reconciled to it and finished her first smoke without experiencing any other +effect than a sensation of placid contentment. Deftly, Mrs. Sin renewed the +pipe. Silence had fallen upon the party. +</p> + +<p> +The second “pill” was no more than half consumed when a growing feeling of +nausea seized upon the novice, becoming so marked that she dropped the ivory +pipe weakly and uttered a faint moan. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly, silently, Mrs. Sin was beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Lean forward—so,” she whispered, softly, as if fearful of intruding her +voice upon these sacred rites. “In a moment you will be better. Then, if you +feel faint, lie back. It is the sleep. Do not fight against it.” +</p> + +<p> +The influence of the stronger will prevailed. Self-control and judgment are +qualities among the first to succumb to opium. Rita ceased to think longingly +of the clean, fresh air, of escape from these sickly fumes which seemed now to +fill the room with a moving vacuum. She bent forward, her chin resting upon her +breast, and gradually the deathly sickness passed. Mentally, she underwent a +change, too. From an active state of resistance the ego traversed a descending +curve ending in absolute passivity. The floor had seemingly begun to revolve +and was moving insidiously, so that the pattern of the carpet formed a series +of concentric rings. She found this imaginary phenomenon to be soothing rather +than otherwise, and resigned herself almost eagerly to the delusion. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin allowed her to fall back upon the cushions—so gently and so +slowly that the operation appeared to occupy several minutes and to resemble +that of sinking into innumerable layers of swansdown. The sinuous figure +bending over her grew taller with the passage of each minute, until the dark +eyes of Mrs. Sin were looking down at Rita from a dizzy elevation. As often +occurs in the case of a neurotic subject, delusion as to time and space had +followed the depression of the sensory cells. +</p> + +<p> +But surely, she mused, this could not be Mrs. Sin who towered so loftily above +her. Of course, how absurd to imagine that a woman could remain motionless for +so many hours. And Rita thought, now, that she had been lying for several hours +beneath the shadow of that tall, graceful, and protective shape. +</p> + +<p> +Why—it was a slender palm-tree, which stretched its fanlike foliage over +her! Far, far above her head the long, dusty green fronds projected from the +mast-like trunk. The sun, a ball of fiery brass, burned directly in the zenith, +so that the shadow of the foliage lay like a carpet about her feet. That which +she had mistaken for the ever-receding eyes of Mrs. Sin, wondering with a +delightful vagueness why they seemed constantly to change color, proved to be a +pair of brilliantly plumaged parrakeets perched upon a lofty branch of the +palm. +</p> + +<p> +This was an equatorial noon, and even if she had not found herself to be under +the influence of a delicious abstraction Rita would not have moved; for, +excepting the friendly palm, not another vestige of vegetation was visible +right away to the horizon; nothing but an ocean of sand whereon no living thing +moved. She and the parrakeets were alone in the heart of the Great Sahara. +</p> + +<p> +But stay! Many, many miles away, a speck on the dusty carpet of the desert, +something moved! Hours must elapse before that tiny figure, provided it were +approaching, could reach the solitary palm. Delightedly, Rita contemplated the +infinity of time. Even if the figure moved ever so slowly, she should be +waiting there beneath the palm to witness its arrival. Already, she had been +there for a period which she was far too indolent to strive to compute—a +week, perhaps. She turned her attention to the parrakeets. One of them was +moving, and she noted with delight that it had perceived her far below and was +endeavoring to draw the attention of its less observant companion to her +presence. For many hours she lay watching it and wondering why, since the one +bird was so singularly intelligent, its companion was equally dull. When she +lowered her eyes and looked out again across the sands, the figure had +approached so close as to be recognizable. +</p> + +<p> +It was that of Mrs. Sin. Rita appreciated the fitness of her presence, and +experienced no surprise, only a mild curiosity. This curiosity was not +concerned with Mrs. Sin herself, but with the nature of the burden which she +bore upon her head. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in a manner which Rita dreamily thought would have been +inadequate in England, or even in Cuba, but which was appropriate in the Great +Sahara. How exquisitely she carried herself, mused the dreamer; no doubt this +fine carriage was due in part to her wearing golden shoes with heels like +stilts, and in part to her having been trained to bear heavy burdens upon her +head. Rita remembered that Sir Lucien had once described to her the elegant +deportment of the Arab women, ascribing it to their custom of carrying +water-jars in that way. +</p> + +<p> +The appearance of the speck on the horizon had marked the height of her trance. +Her recognition of Mrs. Sin had signalized the decline of the <i>chandu</i> +influence. Now, the intrusion of a definite, uncontorted memory was evidence of +returning cerebral activity. +</p> + +<p> +Rita had no recollection of the sunset; indeed, she had failed to perceive any +change in the form and position of the shadow cast by the foliage. It had +spread, an ebony patch, equally about the bole of the tree, so that the sun +must have been immediately overhead. But, of course, she had lain watching the +parrakeets for several hours, and now night had fallen. The desert mounds were +touched with silver, the sky was a nest of diamonds, and the moon cast a shadow +of the palm like a bar of ebony right across the prospect to the rim of the sky +dome. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin stood before her, one half of her lithe body concealed by this strange +black shadow and the other half gleaming in the moonlight so that she resembled +a beautiful ivory statue which some iconoclast had cut in two. +</p> + +<p> +Placing her burden upon the ground, Mrs. Sin knelt down before Rita and +reverently kissed her hand, whispering: “I am your slave, my poppy queen.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke in a strange language, no doubt some African tongue, but one which +Rita understood perfectly. Then she laid one hand upon the object which she had +carried on her head, and which now proved to be a large lacquered casket +covered with Chinese figures and bound by three hoops of gold. It had a very +curious shape. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you command that the chest be opened?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Rita languidly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin threw up the lid, and from the interior of the casket which, because +of the glare of the moon light, seemed every moment to assume a new form, drew +out a bronze lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“The sacred lamp,” she whispered, and placed it on the sand. “Do you command +that it be lighted?” +</p> + +<p> +Rita inclined her head. +</p> + +<p> +The lamp became lighted; in what manner she did not observe, nor was she +curious to learn. Next from the large casket Mrs. Sin took another smaller +casket and a very long, tapering silver bodkin. The first casket had +perceptibly increased in size. It was certainly much larger than Rita had +supposed; for now out from its shadowy interior Mrs. Sin began to take +pipes—long pipes and short pipes, pipes of gold and pipes of silver, +pipes of ivory and pipes of jade. Some were carved to represent the heads of +demons, some had the bodies of serpents wreathed about them; others were +encrusted with precious gems, and filled the night with the venomous sheen of +emeralds, the blood-rays of rubies and golden glow of topaz, while the +spear-points of diamonds flashed a challenge to the stars. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you command that the pipes be lighted?” asked the harsh voice. +</p> + +<p> +Rita desired to answer, “No,” but heard herself saying, “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon, from a thousand bowls, linking that lonely palm to the remote +horizon, a thousand elfin fires arose—blue-tongued and spirituous. Grey +pencilings of smoke stole straightly upward to the sky, so that look where she +would Rita could discern nothing but these countless thin, faintly wavering, +vertical lines of vapor. +</p> + +<p> +The dimensions of the lacquered casket had increased so vastly as to conceal +the kneeling figure of Mrs. Sin, and staring at it wonderingly, Rita suddenly +perceived that it was not an ordinary casket. She knew at last why its shape +had struck her as being unusual. +</p> + +<p> +It was a Chinese coffin. +</p> + +<p> +The smell of the burning opium was stifling her. Those remorseless threads of +smoke were closing in, twining themselves about her throat. It was becoming +cold, too, and the moonlight was growing dim. The position of the moon had +changed, of course, as the night had stolen on towards morning, and now it hung +dimly before her. The smoke obscured it. +</p> + +<p> +But was this smoke obscuring the moon? Rita moved her hands for the first time +since she had found herself under the palm tree, weakly fending off those +vaporous tentacles which were seeking to entwine themselves about her throat. +Of course, it was not smoke obscuring the moon, she decided; it was a lamp, +upheld by an ivory figure—a lamp with a Chinese shade. +</p> + +<p> +A subdued roaring sound became audible; and this was occasioned by the gas +fire, burning behind the Japanese screen on which gaily plumaged birds sported +in the branches of golden palms. Rita raised her hands to her eyes. Mist +obscured her sight. Swiftly, now, reality was asserting itself and banishing +the phantasmagoria conjured up by <i>chandu</i>. +</p> + +<p> +In her dim, cushioned corner Mollie Gretna lay back against the wall, her face +pale and her weak mouth foolishly agape. Cyrus Kilfane was indistinguishable +from the pile of rugs amid which he sprawled by the table, and of Sir Lucien +Pyne nothing was to be seen but the outstretched legs and feet which projected +grotesquely from a recess. Seated, oriental fashion, upon an improvised divan +near the grand piano and propped up by a number of garish cushions, Rita beheld +Mrs. Sin. The long bamboo pipe had fallen from her listless fingers. Her face +wore an expression of mystic rapture like that characterizing the features of +some Chinese Buddhas. +</p> + +<p> +Fear, unaccountable but uncontrollable, suddenly seized upon Rita. She felt +weak and dizzy, but she struggled partly upright. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucy!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Her voice was not under control, and once more she strove to call to Pyne. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucy!” came the hoarse whisper again. +</p> + +<p> +The fire continued its muted roaring, but no other sound answered to the +appeal. A horror of the companionship in which she found herself thereupon took +possession of the girl. She must escape from these sleepers, whose spirits had +been expelled by the potent necromancer, opium, from these empty tenements +whose occupants had fled. The idea of the cool night air in the open streets +was delicious. +</p> + +<p> +She staggered to her feet, swaying drunkenly, but determined to reach the door. +She shuddered, because of a feeling of internal chill which assailed her, but +step by step crept across the room, opened the door, and tottered out into the +hallway. There was no sound in the flat. Presumably Kilfane’s man had retired, +or perhaps he, too, was a devotee. +</p> + +<p> +Rita’s fur coat hung upon the rack, and although her fingers appeared to have +lost all their strength and her arm to have become weak as that of an infant, +she succeeded in detaching the coat from the hook. Not pausing to put it on, +she opened the door and stumbled out on to the darkened landing. Whereas her +first impulse had been to awaken someone, preferably Sir Lucien, now her sole +desire was to escape undetected. +</p> + +<p> +She began to feel less dizzy, and having paused for a moment on the landing, +she succeeded in getting her coat on. Then she closed the door as quietly as +possible, and clutching the handrail began to grope her way downstairs. There +was only one flight, she remembered, and a short passage leading to the street +door. She reached the passage without mishap, and saw a faint light ahead. +</p> + +<p> +The fastenings gave her some trouble, but finally her efforts were successful, +and she found herself standing in deserted Duke Street. There was no moon, but +the sky was cloudless. She had no idea of the time, but because of the +stillness of the surrounding streets she knew that it must be very late. She +set out for her flat, walking slowly and wondering what explanation she should +offer if a constable observed her. +</p> + +<p> +Oxford Street showed deserted as far as the eye could reach, and her light +footsteps seemed to awaken a hundred echoes. Having proceeded for some distance +without meeting anyone, she observed—and experienced a childish +alarm—the head-lights of an approaching car. Instantly the idea of hiding +presented itself to her, but so rapidly did the big automobile speed along the +empty thoroughfare that Rita was just passing a street lamp as the car raced +by, and she must therefore have been clearly visible to the occupants. +</p> + +<p> +Never for a moment glancing aside, Rita pressed on as quickly as she could. +Then her vague alarm became actual terror. She heard the brakes being applied +to the car, and heard the gritty sound of the tires upon the roadway as the +vehicle’s headlong progress was suddenly checked. She had been +seen—perhaps recognized, and whoever was in the car proposed to return to +speak to her. +</p> + +<p> +If her strength had allowed she would have run, but now it threatened to desert +her altogether and she tottered weakly. A pattering of footsteps came from +behind. Someone was running back to overtake her. Recognizing escape to be +impossible, Rita turned just as the runner came up with her. +</p> + +<p> +“Rita!” he cried, rather breathlessly. “Miss Dresden!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood very still, looking at the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +It was Monte Irvin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0015"></a> +CHAPTER XV.<br/> +METAMORPHOSIS</h2> + +<p> +As Irvin seized her hands and looked at her eagerly, half-fearfully, Rita +achieved sufficient composure to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Irvin,” she said, and found that her voice was not entirely normal, +“what must you think—” +</p> + +<p> +He continued to hold her hands, and: +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are very indiscreet to be out alone at three o’clock in the +morning,” he answered gently. “I was recalled to London by urgent business, and +returned by road—fortunately, since I have met you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I explain—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t ask you to explain—Miss Dresden. I have no right and no desire +to ask. But I wish I had the right to advise you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How good you are,” she began, “and I—” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice failed her completely, and her sensitive lips began to tremble. Monte +Irvin drew her arm under his own and led her back to meet the car, which the +chauffeur had turned and which was now approaching. +</p> + +<p> +“I will drive you home,” he said, “and if I may call in the morning. I should +like to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita nodded. She could not trust herself to speak again. And having placed her +in the car, Monte Irvin sat beside her, reclaiming her hand and grasping it +reassuringly and sympathetically throughout the short drive. They parted at her +door. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” said Irvin, speaking very deliberately because of an almost +uncontrollable desire which possessed him to take Rita in his arms, to hold her +fast, to protect her from her own pathetic self and from those influences, +dimly perceived about her, but which intuitively he knew to be evil. +</p> + +<p> +“If I call at eleven will that be too early?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she whispered. “Please come early. There is a matinee tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean today,” he corrected. “Poor little girl, how tired you will be. Good +night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” she said, almost inaudibly. +</p> + +<p> +She entered, and, having closed the door, stood leaning against it for several +minutes. Bleakness and nausea threatened to overcome her anew, and she felt +that if she essayed another step she must collapse upon the floor. Her maid was +in bed, and had not been awakened by Rita’s entrance. After a time she managed +to grope her way to her bedroom, where, turning up the light, she sank down +helplessly upon the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Her mental state was peculiar, and her thoughts revolved about the journey from +Oxford Street homeward. A thousand times she mentally repeated the journey, +speaking the same words over and over again, and hearing Monte Irvin’s replies. +</p> + +<p> +In those few minutes during which they had been together her sentiments in +regard to him had undergone a change. She had always respected Irvin, but this +respect had been curiously compounded of the personal and the mercenary; his +well-ordered establishment at Prince’s Gate had loomed behind the figure of the +man forming a pleasing background to the portrait. Without being showy he was a +splendid “match” for any woman. His wife would have access to good society, and +would enjoy every luxury that wealth could procure. This was the picture +lovingly painted and constantly retouched by Rita’s mother. +</p> + +<p> +Now it had vanished. The background was gone, and only the man remained; the +strong, reserved man whose deep voice had spoken so gently, whose devotion was +so true and unselfish that he only sought to shield and protect her from +follies the nature of which he did not even seek to learn. She was stripped of +her vanity, and felt loathsome and unworthy of such a love. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she moaned, rocking to and fro. “I hate myself—I hate myself!” +</p> + +<p> +Now that the victory so long desired seemed at last about to be won, she +hesitated to grasp the prize. One solacing reflection she had. She would put +the errors of the past behind her. Many times of late she had found herself +longing to be done with the feverish life of the stage. Envied by those who had +been her companions in the old chorus days, and any one of whom would have +counted ambition crowned could she have played <i>The Maid of the Masque</i>, +Rita thought otherwise. The ducal mansions and rose-bowered Riviera hotels +through which she moved nightly had no charm for her; she sighed for reality, +and had wearied long ago of the canvas palaces and the artificial Southern +moonlight. In fact, stage life had never truly appealed to her—save as a +means to an end. +</p> + +<p> +Again and yet again her weary brain reviewed the episodes of the night since +she had left Cyrus Kilfane’s flat, so that nearly an hour had elapsed before +she felt capable of the operation of undressing. Finally, however, she +undressed, shuddering although the room was warmed by an electric radiator. The +weakness and sickness had left her, but she was quite wide awake, although her +brain demanded rest from that incessant review of the events of the evening. +</p> + +<p> +She put on a warm wrap and seated herself at the dressing-table, studying her +face critically. She saw that she was somewhat pale and that she had an +indefinable air of dishevelment. Also she detected shadows beneath her eyes, +the pupils of which were curiously contracted. Automatically, as a result of +habit, she unlocked her jewel-case and took out a tiny phial containing minute +cachets. She shook several out on to the palm of her hand, and then paused, +staring at her reflection in the mirror. +</p> + +<p> +For fully half a minute she hesitated, then: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never close my eyes all night if I don’t!” she whispered, as if in +reply to a spoken protest, “and I should be a wreck in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus, in the very apogee of her resolve to reform, did she drive one more rivet +into the manacles which held her captive to Kazmah and Company. +</p> + +<p> +Upon a little spirit-stove stood a covered vessel containing milk, which was +placed there nightly by Rita’s maid. She lighted the burner and warmed the +milk. Then, swallowing three of the cachets from the phial, she drank the milk. +Each cachet contained three decigrams of malourea, the insidious drug notorious +under its trade name of Veronal. +</p> + +<p> +She slept deeply, and was not awakened until ten o’clock. Her breakfast +consisted of a cup of strong coffee; but when Monte Irvin arrived at eleven +Rita exhibited no sign of nerve exhaustion. She looked bright and charming, and +Irvin’s heart leapt hotly in his breast at sight of her. +</p> + +<p> +Following some desultory and unnatural conversation: +</p> + +<p> +“May I speak quite frankly to you?” he said, drawing his chair nearer to the +settee upon which Rita was seated. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at him swiftly. “Of course,” she replied. “Is it—about my +late hours?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head, smiling rather sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is only one phase of your rather feverish life, little girl,” he said. “I +don’t mean that I want to lecture you or reproach you. I only want to ask you +if you are satisfied?” +</p> + +<p> +“Satisfied?” echoed Rita, twirling a tassel that hung from a cushion beside +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. You have achieved success in your profession.” He strove in vain to +banish bitterness from his voice. “You are a ‘star,’ and your photograph is to +be seen frequently in the smartest illustrated papers. You are clever and +beautiful and have hosts of admirers. But—are you satisfied?” +</p> + +<p> +She stared absently at the silk tassel, twirling it about her white fingers +more and more rapidly. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered softly. +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin hesitated for a moment ere bending forward and grasping her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you are not satisfied,” he whispered. “I always knew you had a soul +for something higher—better.” +</p> + +<p> +She avoided his ardent gaze, but he moved to the settee beside her and looked +into the bewitching face. +</p> + +<p> +“Would it be a great sacrifice to give it all up?” he whispered in a yet lower +tone. +</p> + +<p> +Rita shook her head, persistently staring at the tassel. +</p> + +<p> +“For me?” +</p> + +<p> +She gave him a swift, half-frightened glance, pressing her hands against his +breast and leaning, back. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you don’t know me—you don’t know me!” she said, the good that was in +her touched to life by the man’s sincerity. “I—don’t deserve it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rita!” he murmured. “I won’t hear you say that!” +</p> + +<p> +“You know nothing about my friends—about my life—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that I want you for my wife, so that I can protect you from those +‘friends.’” He took her in his arms, and she surrendered her lips to him. +</p> + +<p> +“My sweet little girl,” he whispered. “I cannot believe it—yet.” +</p> + +<p> +But the die was cast, and when Rita went to the theatre to dress for the +afternoon performance she was pledged to sever her connection with the stage on +the termination of her contract. She had luncheon with Monte Irvin, and had +listened almost dazedly to his plans for the future. His wealth was even +greater than her mother had estimated it to be, and Rita’s most cherished +dreams were dwarfed by the prospects which Monte Irvin opened up before her. It +almost seemed as though he knew and shared her dearest ambitions. She was to +winter beneath real Southern palms and to possess a cruising yacht, not one of +boards and canvas like that which figured in <i>The Maid of the Masque</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Real Southern palms, she mused guiltily, not those conjured up by opium. That +he was solicitous for her health the nature of his schemes revealed. They were +to visit Switzerland, and proceed thence to a villa which he owned in Italy. +Christmas they would spend in Cairo, explore the Nile to Assouan in a private +<i>dahabîyeh</i>, and return home via the Riviera in time to greet the English +spring. Rita’s delicate, swiftly changing color, her almost ethereal figure, +her intense nervous energy he ascribed to a delicate constitution. +</p> + +<p> +She wondered if she would ever dare to tell him the truth; if she ought to tell +him. +</p> + +<p> +Pyne came to her dressing-room just before the performance began. He had +telephoned at an early hour in the morning, and had learned from her maid that +Rita had come home safely and was asleep. Rita had expected him; but the +influence of Monte Irvin, from whom she had parted at the stage-door, had +prevailed until she actually heard Sir Lucien’s voice in the corridor. She had +resolutely refrained from looking at the little jewelled casket, engraved “From +Lucy to Rita,” which lay in her make-up box upon the table. But the imminence +of an ordeal which she dreaded intensely weakened her resolution. She swiftly +dipped a little nail-file into the white powder which the box contained, and +when Pyne came in she turned to him composedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so sorry if I gave you a scare last night, Lucy,” she said. “But I woke +up feeling sick, and I had to go out into the fresh air.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was certainly alarmed,” drawled Pyne, whose swarthy face looked more than +usually worn in the hard light created by the competition between the +dressing-room lamps and the grey wintry daylight which crept through the +windows. “Do you feel quite fit again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, thanks.” Rita glanced at a ring which she had not possessed three hours +before. “Oh, Lucy—I don’t know how to tell you—” +</p> + +<p> +She turned in her chair, looking up wistfully at Pyne, who was standing behind +her. His jaw hardened, and his glance sought the white hand upon which the +costly gems glittered. He coughed nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps”—his drawling manner of speech temporarily deserted him; he +spoke jerkily—“perhaps—I can guess.” +</p> + +<p> +She watched him in a pathetic way, and there was a threat of tears in her +beautiful eyes; for whatever his earlier intentions may have been, Sir Lucien +had proved a staunch friend and, according to his own peculiar code, an +honorable lover. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it—Irvin?” he asked jerkily. +</p> + +<p> +Rita nodded, and a tear glistened upon her darkened lashes. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien cleared his throat again, then coolly extended his hand, once more +master of his emotions. +</p> + +<p> +“Congratulations, Rita,” he said. “The better man wins. I hope you will be very +happy.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and walked quietly out of the dressing-room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0016"></a> +CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +LIMEHOUSE</h2> + +<p> +It was on the following Tuesday evening that Mrs. Sin came to the theatre, +accompanied by Mollie Gretna. Rita instructed that she should be shown up to +the dressing-room. The personality of this singular woman interested her +keenly. Mrs. Sin was well known in certain Bohemian quarters, but was always +spoken of as one speaks of a pet vice. Not to know Mrs. Sin was to be outside +the magic circle which embraced the exclusively smart people who practiced the +latest absurdities. +</p> + +<p> +The so-called artistic temperament is compounded of great strength and great +weakness; its virtues are whiter than those of ordinary people and its vices +blacker. For such a personality Mrs. Sin embodied the idea of secret pleasure. +Her bold good looks repelled Rita, but the knowledge in her dark eyes was +alluring. +</p> + +<p> +“I arrange for you for Saturday night,” she said. “Cy Kilfane is coming with +Mollie, and you bring—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” replied Rita hesitatingly, “I am sorry you have gone to so much trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“No trouble, my dear,” Mrs. Sin assured her. “Just a little matter of business, +and you can pay the bill when it suits you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am frightfully excited!” cried Mollie Gretna. “It is so nice of you to have +asked me to join your party. Of course Cy goes practically every week, but I +have always wanted another girl to go with. Oh, I shall be in a perfectly +delicious panic when I find myself all among funny Chinamen and things! I think +there is something so magnificently wicked-looking about a pigtail—and +the very name of Limehouse thrills me to the soul!” +</p> + +<p> +That fixity of purpose which had enabled Rita to avoid the cunning snares set +for her feet and to snatch triumph from the very cauldron of shame without +burning her fingers availed her not at all in dealing with Mrs. Sin. The image +of Monte receded before this appeal to the secret pleasure-loving woman, of +insatiable curiosity, primitive and unmoral, who dwells, according to a modern +cynic philosopher, within every daughter of Eve touched by the fire of genius. +</p> + +<p> +She accepted the arrangement for Saturday, and before her visitors had left the +dressing-room her mind was busy with plausible deceits to cover the sojourn in +Chinatown. Something of Mollie Gretna’s foolish enthusiasm had communicated +itself to Rita. +</p> + +<p> +Later in the evening Sir Lucien called, and on hearing of the scheme grew +silent. Rita glancing at his reflection in the mirror, detected a black and +angry look upon his face. She turned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Lucy,” she said, “don’t you want me to go?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled in his sardonic fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“Your wishes are mine, Rita,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +She was watching him closely. +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t seem keen,” she persisted. “Are you angry with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Angry?” +</p> + +<p> +“We are still friends, aren’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Do you doubt my friendship?” +</p> + +<p> +Rita’s maid came in to assist her in changing for the third act, and Pyne went +out of the room. But, in spite of his assurances, Rita could not forget that +fierce, almost savage expression which had appeared upon his face when she had +told him of Mrs. Sin’s visit. +</p> + +<p> +Later she taxed him on the point, but he suffered her inquiry with +imperturbable sangfroid, and she found herself no wiser respecting the cause of +his annoyance. Painful twinges of conscience came during the ensuing days, when +she found herself in her fiancé’s company, but she never once seriously +contemplated dropping the acquaintance of Mrs. Sin. +</p> + +<p> +She thought, vaguely, as she had many times thought before, of cutting adrift +from the entire clique, but there was no return of that sincere emotional +desire to reform which she had experienced on the day that Monte Irvin had +taken her hand, in blind trust, and had asked her to be his wife. Had she +analyzed, or been capable of analyzing, her intentions with regard to the +future, she would have learned that daily they inclined more and more towards +compromise. The drug habit was sapping will and weakening morale, insidiously, +imperceptibly. She was caught in a current of that “sacred river” seen in an +opium-trance by Coleridge, and which ran— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Through caverns measureless to man<br/> +Down to a sunless sea.” +</p> + +<p> +Pyne’s big car was at the stage-door on the fateful Saturday night, for Rita +had brought her dressing-case to the theatre, and having called for Kilfane and +Mollie Gretna they were to proceed direct to Limehouse. +</p> + +<p> +Rita, as she entered the car, noticed that Juan Mareno, Sir Lucien’s man, and +not the chauffeur with whom she was acquainted, sat at the wheel. As they drove +off: +</p> + +<p> +“Why is Mareno driving tonight, Lucy?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien glanced aside at her. +</p> + +<p> +“He is in my confidence,” he replied. “Fraser is not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see. You don’t want Fraser to know about the Limehouse journey?” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally I don’t. He would talk to all the men at the garage, and from South +Audley Street the tit-bit of scandal would percolate through every stratum of +society.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita was silent for a few moments, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Were you thinking about Monte?” she asked diffidently. +</p> + +<p> +Pyne laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“He would scarcely approve, would he?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Rita. “Was that why you were angry when I told you I was going?” +</p> + +<p> +“This ‘anger,’ to which you constantly revert, had no existence outside your +own imagination, Rita. But” he hesitated—“you will have to consider your +position, dear, now that you are the future Mrs. Monte.” Rita felt her cheeks +flush, and she did not reply immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you, Lucy,” she declared at last. “How odd you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I? Well, never mind. We will talk about my eccentricity later. Here is +Cyrus.” +</p> + +<p> +Kilfane was standing in the entrance to the stage door of the theatre at which +he was playing. As the car drew up he lifted two leather grips on to the step, +and Mareno, descending, took charge of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, Mollie,” said Kilfane, looking back. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gretna, very excited, ran out and got into the car beside Rita. Pyne +lowered two of the collapsible seats for Kilfane and himself, and the party set +out for Limehouse. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried the fair-haired Mollie, grasping Rita’s hand, “my heart began +palpitating with excitement the moment I woke up this morning! How calm you +are, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am only calm outside,” laughed Rita. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>joie de vivre</i> and apparently unimpaired vitality, of this woman, for +whom (if half that which rumor whispered were true) vice had no secrets, +astonished Rita. Her physical resources were unusual, no doubt, because the +demand made upon them by her mental activities was slight. +</p> + +<p> +As the car sped along the Strand, where theatre-goers might still be seen +making for tube, omnibus, and tramcar, and entered Fleet Street, where the car +and taxicab traffic was less, a mutual silence fell upon the party. Two at +least of the travellers were watching the lighted windows of the great +newspaper offices with a vague sense of foreboding, and thinking how, bound +upon a secret purpose, they were passing along the avenue of publicity. It is +well that man lacks prescience. Neither Rita nor Sir Lucien could divine that a +day was shortly to come when the hidden presses which throbbed about them that +night should be busy with the story of the murder of one and disappearance of +the other. +</p> + +<p> +Around St. Paul’s Churchyard whirled the car, its engine running strongly and +almost noiselessly. The great bell of St. Paul’s boomed out the half-hour. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Mollie Gretna, “how that made me jump! What a beautifully gloomy +sound!” +</p> + +<p> +Kilfane murmured some inaudible reply, but neither Pyne nor Rita spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Cornhill and Leadenhall Street, along which presently their route lay, offered +a prospect of lamp-lighted emptiness, but at Aldgate they found themselves amid +East End throngs which afforded a marked contrast to those crowding +theatreland; and from thence through Whitechapel and the seemingly endless +Commercial Road it was a different world into which they had penetrated. +</p> + +<p> +Rita hitherto had never seen the East End on a Saturday night, and the +spectacle afforded by these busy marts, lighted by naphtha flames, in whose +smoky glare Jews and Jewesses, Poles, Swedes, Easterns, dagoes, and halfcastes +moved feverishly, was a fascinating one. She thought how utterly alien they +were, the men and women of a world unknown to that society upon whose borders +she dwelled; she wondered how they lived, where they lived, why they lived. The +wet pavements were crowded with nondescript humanity, the night was filled with +the unmusical voices of Hebrew hucksters, and the air laden with the smoky odor +of their lamps. Tramcars and motorbuses were packed unwholesomely with these +children of shadowland drawn together from the seven seas by the magnet of +London. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at Pyne, but he was seemingly lost in abstraction, and Kilfane +appeared to be asleep. Mollie Gretna was staring eagerly out on the opposite +side of the car at a group of three dago sailors, whom Mareno had nearly run +down, but she turned at that moment and caught Rita’s glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you simply love it!” she cried. “Some of those men were really handsome, +dear. If they would only wash I am sure I could adore them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Even such charms as yours can be bought at too high a price,” drawled Sir +Lucien. “They would gladly do murder for you, but never wash.” +</p> + +<p> +Crossing Limehouse Canal, the car swung to the right into West India Dock Road. +The uproar of the commercial thoroughfare was left far behind. Dark, narrow +streets and sinister-looking alleys lay right and left of them, and into one of +the narrowest and least inviting of all Mareno turned the car. +</p> + +<p> +In the dimly-lighted doorway of a corner house the figure of a Chinaman showed +as a motionless silhouette. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” sighed Mollie Gretna rapturously, “a Chinaman! I begin to feel +deliciously sinful!” +</p> + +<p> +The car came to a standstill. +</p> + +<p> +“We get out here and walk,” said Sir Lucien. “It would not be wise to drive +further. Mareno will deliver our baggage by hand presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we shall all be murdered,” cried Mollie, “murdered in cold blood! I am +dreadfully frightened!” +</p> + +<p> +“Something of the kind is quite likely,” drawled Sir Lucien, “if you draw +attention to our presence in the neighborhood so deliberately. Walk ahead, +Kilfane, with Mollie. Rita and I will follow at a discreet distance. Leave the +door ajar.” +</p> + +<p> +Temporarily subdued by Pyne’s icy manner, Miss Gretna became silent, and went +on ahead with Cyrus Kilfane, who had preserved an almost unbroken silence +throughout the journey. Rita and Sir Lucien followed slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“What a creepy neighborhood,” whispered Rita. “Look! Someone is standing in +that doorway over there, watching us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take no notice,” he replied. “A cat could not pass along this street +unobserved by the Chinese, but they will not interfere with us provided we do +not interfere with them.” +</p> + +<p> +Kilfane had turned to the right into a narrow court, at the entrance to which +stood an iron pillar. As he and his companion passed under the lamp in a rusty +bracket which projected from the wall, they vanished into a place of shadows. +There was a ceaseless chorus of distant machinery, and above it rose the +grinding and rattling solo of a steam winch. Once a siren hooted apparently +quite near them, and looking upward at a tangled, indeterminable mass which +overhung the street at this point, Rita suddenly recognized it for a ship’s +bow-sprit. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” she said, “we are right on the bank of the river!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite,” answered Pyne. “We are skirting a dock basin. We are nearly at our +destination.” +</p> + +<p> +Passing in turn under the lamp, they entered the narrow court, and from a +doorway immediately on the left a faint light shone out upon the wet pavement. +Pyne pushed the door fully open and held it for Rita to enter. As she did so: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! hello!” croaked a harsh voice. “Number one p’lice chop, lo! Sin Sin +Wa!” +</p> + +<p> +The uncanny cracked voice proceeded to give an excellent imitation of a police +whistle, and concluded with that of the clicking of castanets. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut the door, Lucy,” came the murmurous tones of Kilfane from the gloom of +the stuffy little room, in the centre of which stood a stove wherefrom had +proceeded the dim light shining out upon the pavement. “Light up, Sin Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin Wa! Sin Sin Wa!” shrieked the voice, and again came the rattling of +imaginary castanets. “Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres—Buenos +Ayres—p’lice chop—p’lice chop, lo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” whispered Mollie Gretna, in the darkness, “I believe I am going to +scream!” +</p> + +<p> +Pyne closed the door, and a dimly discernible figure on the opposite side of +the room stooped and opened a little cupboard in which was a lighted ship’s +lantern. The lantern being lifted out and set upon a rough table near the +stove, it became possible to view the apartment and its occupants. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small, low-ceiled place, having two doors, one opening upon the street +and the other upon a narrow, uncarpeted passage. The window was boarded up. The +ceiling had once been whitewashed and a few limp, dark fragments of paper still +adhering to the walls proved that some forgotten decorator had exercised his +art upon them in the past. A piece of well-worn matting lay upon the floor, and +there were two chairs, a table, and a number of empty tea-chests in the room. +</p> + +<p> +Upon one of the tea-chests placed beside the cupboard which had contained the +lantern a Chinaman was seated. His skin was of so light a yellow color as to +approximate to dirty white, and his face was pock-marked from neck to crown. He +wore long, snake-like moustaches, which hung down below his chin. They grew +from the extreme outer edges of his upper lip, the centre of which, usually the +most hirsute, was hairless as the lip of an infant. He possessed the longest +and thickest pigtail which could possibly grow upon a human scalp, and his left +eye was permanently closed, so that a smile which adorned his extraordinary +countenance seemed to lack the sympathy of his surviving eye, which, oblique, +beady, held no mirth in its glittering depths. +</p> + +<p> +The garments of the one-eyed Chinaman, who sat complacently smiling at the +visitors, consisted of a loose blouse, blue trousers tucked into grey socks, +and a pair of those native, thick-soled slippers which suggest to a Western +critic the acme of discomfort. A raven, black as a bird of ebony, perched upon +the Chinaman’s shoulder, head a-tilt, surveying the newcomers with a beady, +glittering left eye which strangely resembled the beady, glittering right eye +of the Chinaman. For, singular, uncanny circumstance, this was a one-eyed raven +which sat upon the shoulder of his one-eyed master! +</p> + +<p> +Mollie Gretna uttered a stifled cry. “Oh!” she whispered. “I knew I was going +to scream!” +</p> + +<p> +The eye of Sin Sin Wa turned momentarily in her direction, but otherwise he did +not stir a muscle. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready for us, Sin?” asked Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“All ready. Lola hate gotchee topside loom ready,” replied the Chinaman in a +soft, crooning voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead, Kilfane,” directed Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at Rita, who was standing very near him, surveying the evil little +room and its owner with ill-concealed disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“This is merely the foyer, Rita,” he said, smiling slightly. “The state +apartments are upstairs and in the adjoining house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she murmured—and no more. +</p> + +<p> +Kilfane and Mollie Gretna were passing through the inner doorway, and Mollie +turned. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it loathsomely delightful?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres!” shrieked the raven. “Sin Sin, Sin Sin!” +</p> + +<p> +Uttering a frightened exclamation, Mollie disappeared along the passage. Sir +Lucien indicated to Rita that she was to follow; and he, passing through last +of the party, closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa never moved, and the raven, settling down upon the Chinaman’s +shoulder, closed his serviceable eye. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0017"></a> +CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +THE BLACK SMOKE</h2> + +<p> +Up an uncarpeted stair Cyrus Kilfane led the party, and into a kind of +lumber-room lighted by a tin oil lamp and filled to overflowing with +heterogeneous and unsavory rubbish. Here were garments, male and female, no +less than five dilapidated bowler hats, more tea-chests, broken lamps, tattered +fragments of cocoanut-matting, steel bed-laths and straw mattresses, ruins of +chairs—the whole diffusing an indescribably unpleasant odor. +</p> + +<p> +Opening a cupboard door, Kilfane revealed a number of pendent, ragged garments, +and two more bowler hats. Holding the garments aside, he banged upon the back +of the cupboard—three blows, a pause, and then two blows. +</p> + +<p> +Following a brief interval, during which even Mollie Gretna was held silent by +the strangeness of the proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” inquired a muffled voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Cy and the crowd,” answered Kilfane. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon ensued a grating noise, and hats and garments swung suddenly +backward, revealing a doorway in which Mrs. Sin stood framed. She wore a +Japanese kimona of embroidered green silk and a pair of green and gold brocaded +slippers which possessed higher heels than Rita remembered to have seen even +Mrs. Sin mounted upon before. Her ankles were bare, and it was impossible to +determine in what manner she was clad beneath the kimona. Undoubtedly she had a +certain dark beauty, of a bold, abandoned type. +</p> + +<p> +“Come right in,” she directed. “Mind your head, Lucy.” +</p> + +<p> +The quartette filed through into a carpeted corridor, and Mrs. Sin reclosed the +false back of the cupboard, which, viewed from the other side, proved to be a +door fitted into a recess in the corridor of the adjoining house. This recess +ceased to exist when a second and heavier door was closed upon the first. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” murmured Kilfane, “old Sin Sin has his uses, Lola. Those doors are +perfectly made.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” scoffed the woman, with a flash of her dark eyes; “he is half a ship’s +carpenter and half an ape!” +</p> + +<p> +She moved along the passage, her arm linked in that of Sir Lucien. The others +followed, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Is she truly <i>married</i> to that dreadful Chinaman?” whispered Mollie +Gretna. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I believe so,” murmured Kilfane. “She is known as Mrs. Sin Sin Wa.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Mollie’s eyes opened widely. “I almost envy her! I have read that +Chinamen tie their wives to beams in the roof and lash them with leather thongs +until they swoon. I could die for a man who lashed me with leather thongs. +Englishmen are so ridiculously gentle to women.” +</p> + +<p> +Opening a door on the left of the corridor, Mrs. Sin displayed a room screened +off into three sections. One shaded lamp high up near the ceiling served to +light all the cubicles, which were heated by small charcoal stoves. These +cubicles were identical in shape and appointment, each being draped with quaint +Chinese tapestry and containing rugs, a silken divan, an armchair, and a low, +Eastern table. +</p> + +<p> +“Choose for yourself,” said Mrs. Sin, turning to Rita and Mollie Gretna. +“Nobody else come tonight. You two in this room, eh? Next door each other for +company.” +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew, leaving the two girls together. Mollie clasped her hands +ecstatically. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear!” she said. “What do you think of it all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” confessed Rita, looking about her, “personally I feel rather nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear!” cried Mollie. “<i>I</i> am simply quivering with delicious terror!” +</p> + +<p> +Rita became silent again, looking about her, and listening. The harsh voice of +the Cuban-Jewess could be heard from a neighboring room, but otherwise a +perfect stillness reigned in the house of Sin Sin Wa. She remembered that Mrs. +Sin had said, “It is quiet—so quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of undressing and reclining on these divans in real oriental +fashion,” declared Mollie, giggling, “makes me feel that I am an odalisque +already. I have dreamed that I was an odalisque, dear—after smoking, you +know. It was heavenly. At least, I don’t know that ‘heavenly’ is quite the +right word.” +</p> + +<p> +And now that evil spirit of abandonment came to Rita—communicated to her, +possibly, by her companion. Dread, together with a certain sense of moral +reluctance, departed, and she began to enjoy the adventure at last. It was as +though something in the faintly perfumed atmosphere of the place had entered +into her blood, driving out reserve and stifling conscience. +</p> + +<p> +When Sir Lucien reappeared she ran to him excitedly, her charming face flushed +and her eyes sparkling. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lucy,” she cried, “how long will our things be? I’m keen to smoke!” +</p> + +<p> +His jaw hardened, and when he spoke it was with a drawl more marked than usual. +</p> + +<p> +“Mareno will be here almost immediately,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +The tone constituted a rebuff, and Rita’s coquetry deserted her, leaving her +mortified and piqued. She stared at Pyne, biting her lip. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t like me tonight,” she declared. “If I look ugly, it’s your fault; +you told me to wear this horrid old costume!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed in a forced, unnatural way. +</p> + +<p> +“You are quite well aware that you could never look otherwise than maddeningly +beautiful,” he said harshly. “Do you want me to recall the fact to you again +that you are shortly to be Monte Irvin’s wife—or should you prefer me to +remind you that you have declined to be mine?” +</p> + +<p> +Turning slowly, he walked away, but: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lucy!” whispered Rita. +</p> + +<p> +He paused, looking back. +</p> + +<p> +“I know now why you didn’t want me to come,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +The hard look left Sir Lucien’s face immediately and was replaced by a curious, +indefinable expression, an expression which rarely appeared there. +</p> + +<p> +“You only know half the reason,” he replied softly. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Mrs. Sin came in, followed by Mareno carrying two +dressing-cases. Mollie Gretna had run off to Kilfane, and could be heard +talking loudly in another room; but, called by Mrs. Sin, she now returned, +wide-eyed with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin cast a lightning glance at Sir Lucien, and then addressed Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“Which of these three rooms you choose?” she asked, revealing her teeth in one +of those rapid smiles which were mirthless as the eternal smile of Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Rita hurriedly, “I don’t know. Which do you want, Mollie?” +</p> + +<p> +“I love this end one!” cried Mollie. “It has cushions which simply reek of +oriental voluptuousness and cruelty. It reminds me of a delicious book I have +been reading called <i>Musk, Hashish, and Blood</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hashish!” said Mrs. Sin, and laughed harshly. “One night you shall eat the +hashish, and then—” +</p> + +<p> +She snapped her fingers, glancing from Rita to Pyne. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, really? Is that a promise?” asked Mollie eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” answered Mrs. Sin. “It is a threat!” +</p> + +<p> +Something in the tone of her voice as she uttered the last four words in mock +dramatic fashion caused Mollie and Rita to stare at one another questioningly. +That suddenly altered tone had awakened an elusive memory, but neither of them +could succeed in identifying it. +</p> + +<p> +Mareno, a lean, swarthy fellow, his foreign cast of countenance accentuated by +close-cut side-whiskers, deposited Miss Gretna’s case in the cubicle which she +had selected and, Rita pointing to that adjoining it, he disposed the second +case beside the divan and departed silently. As the sound of a closing door +reached them: +</p> + +<p> +“You notice how quiet it is?” asked Mrs. Sin. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Rita. “It is extraordinarily quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“This an empty house—‘To let,’” explained Mrs. Sin. “We watch it stay so. +Sin the landlord, see? Windows all boarded up and everything padded. No sound +outside, no sound inside. Sin call it the ‘House of a Hundred Raptures,’ after +the one he have in Buenos Ayres.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice of Cyrus Kilfane came, querulous, from a neighboring room. +</p> + +<p> +“Lola, my dear, I am almost ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho!” Mrs. Sin uttered a deep-toned laugh. “He is a glutton for <i>chandu!</i> +I am coming, Cy.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned and went out. Sir Lucien paused for a moment, permitting her to +pass, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Rita,” he said in a low voice. “Happy dreams!” +</p> + +<p> +He moved away. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucy!” called Rita softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it—is it really safe here?” +</p> + +<p> +Pyne glanced over his shoulder towards the retreating figure of Mrs. Sin, then: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be awake,” he replied. “I would rather you had not come, but since you +are here you must go through with it.” He glanced again along the narrow +passage created by the presence of the partitions, and spoke in a voice lower +yet. “You have never really trusted me, Rita. You were wise. But you can trust +me now. Good night, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked out of the room and along the carpeted corridor to a little apartment +at the back of the house, furnished comfortably but in execrably bad taste. A +cheerful fire was burning in the grate, the flue of which had been ingeniously +diverted by Sin Sin Wa so that the smoke issued from a chimney of the adjoining +premises. On the mantelshelf, which was garishly draped, were a number of +photographs of Mrs. Sin in Spanish dancing costume. +</p> + +<p> +Pyne seated himself in an armchair and lighted a cigarette. Except for the +ticking of a clock the room was silent as a padded cell. Upon a little Moorish +table beside a deep, low settee lay a complete opium-smoking outfit. +</p> + +<p> +Lolling back in the chair and crossing his legs, Sir Lucien became lost in +abstraction, and he was thus seated when, some ten minutes later, Mrs. Sin came +in. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she said, her harsh voice softened to a whisper. “I wondered. So you wait +to smoke with me?” Pyne slowly turned his head, staring at her as she stood in +the doorway, one hand resting on her hip and her shapely figure boldly outlined +by the kimono. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied. “I don’t want to smoke. Are they all provided for?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Not Cy,” she said. “Two pipes are nothing to him. He will need two +more—perhaps three. But you are not going to smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not tonight, Lola.” +</p> + +<p> +She frowned, and was about to speak, when: +</p> + +<p> +“Lola, my dear,” came a distant, querulous murmur. “Give me another pipe.” +</p> + +<p> +Sin tossed her head, turned, and went out again. Sir Lucien lighted another +cigarette. When finally the woman came back, Cyrus Kilfane had presumably +attained the opium-smoker’s paradise, for Lola closed the door and seated +herself upon the arm of Sir Lucien’s chair. She bent down, resting her dusky +cheek against his. +</p> + +<p> +“You smoke with me?” she whispered coaxingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Lola, not tonight,” he said, patting her jewel-laden hand and looking +aside into the dark eyes which were watching him intently. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin became silent for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“Something has changed in you,” she said at last. “You are +different—lately.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” drawled Sir Lucien. “Possibly you are right. Others have said the +same thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have lots of money now. Your investments have been good. You want to +become respectable, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Pyne smiled sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“Respectability is a question of appearance,” he replied. “The change to which +you refer would seem to go deeper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” murmured Mrs. Sin. “I know why you don’t smoke. You have +promised your pretty little friend that you will stay awake and see that nobody +tries to cut her sweet white throat.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien listened imperturbably. +</p> + +<p> +“She is certainly nervous,” he admitted coolly. “I may add that I am sorry I +brought her here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Mrs. Sin, her voice rising half a note. “Then why do you bring her +to the House?” +</p> + +<p> +“She made the arrangement herself, and I took the easier path. I am considering +your interests as much as my own, Lola. She is about to marry Monte Irvin, and +if his suspicions were aroused he is quite capable of digging down to the +‘Hundred Raptures.’” +</p> + +<p> +“You brought her to Kazmah’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was not at that time engaged to Irvin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I see. And now everybody says you are changed. Yes, she is a charming +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Pyne looked up into the half-veiled dark eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“She never has been and never can be any more to me, Lola,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +At those words, designed to placate, the fire which smouldered in Lola’s breast +burst into sudden flame. She leapt to her feet, confronting Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“I know! I know!” she cried harshly. “Do you think I am blind? If she had been +like any of the others, do you suppose it would have mattered to <i>me?</i> But +you <i>respect</i> her—you <i>respect</i> her!” +</p> + +<p> +Eyes blazing and hands clenched, she stood before him, a woman mad with +jealousy, not of a successful rival but of a respected one. She quivered with +passion, and Pyne, perceiving his mistake too late, only preserved his wonted +composure by dint of a great effort. He grasped Lola and drew her down on to +the arm of the chair by sheer force, for she resisted savagely. His ready wit +had been at work, and: +</p> + +<p> +“What a little spitfire you are,” he said, firmly grasping her arms, which felt +rigid to the touch. “Surely you can understand? Rita amused me, at first. Then, +when I found she was going to marry Monte Irvin I didn’t bother about her any +more. In fact, because I like and admire Irvin, I tried to keep her away from +the dope. We don’t want trouble with a man of that type, who has all sorts of +influence. Besides, Monte Irvin is a good fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +Gradually, as he spoke, the rigid arms relaxed and the lithe body ceased to +quiver. Finally, Lola sank back against his shoulder, sighing. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “You are telling me lies. But you have +always told me lies; one more does not matter, I suppose. How strong you are. +You have hurt my wrists. You will smoke with me now?” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Pyne hesitated, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said. “Go and lie down. I will roast the <i>chandu</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0018"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +THE DREAM OF SIN SIN WA</h2> + +<p> +For a habitual opium-smoker to abstain when the fumes of <i>chandu</i> actually +reach his nostrils is a feat of will-power difficult adequately to appraise. An +ordinary tobacco smoker cannot remain for long among those who are enjoying the +fragrant weed without catching the infection and beginning to smoke also. Twice +to redouble the lure of my lady Nicotine would be but loosely to estimate the +seductiveness of the Spirit of the Poppy; yet Sir Lucien Pyne smoked one pipe +with Mrs. Sin, and perceiving her to be already in a state of dreamy +abstraction, loaded a second, but in his own case with a fragment of cigarette +stump which smouldered in a tray upon the table. His was that rare type of +character whose possessor remains master of his vices. +</p> + +<p> +Following the fourth pipe—Pyne, after the second, had ceased to trouble +to repeat his feat of legerdemain, “The sleep” claimed Mrs. Sin. Her languorous +eyes closed, and her face assumed that rapt expression of Buddha-like beatitude +which Rita had observed at Kilfane’s flat. According to some scientific works +on the subject, sleep is not invariably induced in the case of Europeans by the +use of <i>chandu</i>. Loosely, this is true. But this type of European never +becomes an habitué; the habitué always sleeps. That dream-world to which opium +alone holds the key becomes the real world “for the delights of which the +smoker gladly resigns all mundane interests.” The exiled Chinaman returns again +to the sampan of his boyhood, floating joyously on the waters of some +willow-lined canal; the Malay hears once more the mystic whispering in the +mangrove swamps, or scents the fragrance of nutmeg and cinnamon in the far-off +golden Chersonese. Mrs. Sin doubtless lived anew the triumphs of earlier days +in Buenos Ayres, when she had been La Belle Lola, the greatly beloved, and +before she had met and married Sin Sin Wa. <i>Chandu</i> gives much, but claims +all, and he who would open the poppy-gates must close the door of ambition and +bid farewell to manhood. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien stood looking at the woman, and although one pipe had affected him +but slightly, his imagination momentarily ran riot and a pageant of his life +swept before him, so that his jaw grew hard and grim and he clenched his hands +convulsively. An unbroken stillness prevailed in the opium-house of Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +Recovering from his fit of abstraction, Pyne, casting a final keen glance at +the sleeper, walked out of the room. He looked along the carpeted corridor in +the direction of the cubicles, paused, and then opened the heavy door masking +the recess behind the cupboard. Next opening the false back of the cupboard, he +passed through to the lumber-room beyond, and partly closed the second door. +</p> + +<p> +He descended the stair and went along the passage; but ere he reached the door +of the room on the ground floor: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! hello! Sin Sin! Sin Sin Wa!” croaked the raven. “Number one p’lice +chop, lo!” The note of a police whistle followed, rendered with uncanny +fidelity. +</p> + +<p> +Pyne entered the room. It presented the same aspect as when he had left it. The +ship’s lantern stood upon the table, and Sin Sin Wa sat upon the tea-chest, the +great black bird perched on his shoulder. The fire in the stove had burned +lower, and its downcast glow revealed less mercilessly the dirty condition of +the floor. Otherwise no one, nothing, seemed to have been disturbed. Pyne +leaned against the doorpost, taking out and lighting a cigarette. The eye of +Sin Sin Wa glanced sideways at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sin Sin,” said Sir Lucien, dropping a match and extinguishing it under +his foot, “you see I am not smoking <i>chandu</i> tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“No smokee,” murmured the Chinaman. “Velly good stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the stuff is all right, Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Number one proper,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, and relapsed into smiling silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Number one p’lice,” croaked the raven sleepily. “Smartest—” He even +attempted the castanets imitation, but was overcome by drowsiness. +</p> + +<p> +For a while Sir Lucien stood watching the singular pair and smiling in his +ironical fashion. The motive which had prompted him to leave the neighboring +house and to seek the companionship of Sin Sin Wa was so obscure and belonged +so peculiarly to the superdelicacies of chivalry, that already he was laughing +at himself. But, nevertheless, in this house and not in its secret annex of a +Hundred Raptures he designed to spend the night. Presently: +</p> + +<p> +“Hon’lable p’lice patrol come ’long plenty soon,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” said Sir Lucien, glancing at his wristwatch. “The door is open +above.” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa raised one yellow forefinger, without moving either hand from the +knee upon which it rested, and shook it slightly to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +“Allee lightee,” he murmured. “No bhobbery. Allee peaceful fellers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will they want to come in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wantchee dlink,” replied Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see. If I go out into the passage it will be all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Allee lightee.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he softly crooned the words came a heavy squelch of rubbers upon the +wet pavement outside, followed by a rapping on the door. Sin Sin Wa glanced +aside at Sir Lucien, and the latter immediately withdrew, partly closing the +door. The Chinaman shuffled across and admitted two constables. The raven, +remaining perched upon his shoulder, shrieked, “Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres,” +and, fully awakened, rattled invisible castanets. +</p> + +<p> +The police strode into the stuffy little room without ceremony, a pair of burly +fellows, fresh-complexioned, and genial as men are wont to be who have reached +a welcome resting-place on a damp and cheerless night. They stood by the stove, +warming their hands; and one of them stooped, took up the little poker, and +stirred the embers to a brighter glow. +</p> + +<p> +“Been havin’ a pipe, Sin?” he asked, winking at his companion. “I can smell +something like opium!” +</p> + +<p> +“No smokee opium,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently. “Smokee Woodbine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho, ho!” laughed the other constable. “I <i>don’t</i> think.” +</p> + +<p> +“You likee tly one piecee pipee one time?” inquired the Chinaman. “Gotchee +fliend makee smokee.” +</p> + +<p> +The man who had poked the fire slapped his companion on the back. +</p> + +<p> +“Now’s your chance, Jim!” he cried. “You always said you’d like to have a cut +at it.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” muttered the other. “A ‘double’ o’ that fifteen over-proof Jamaica of +yours, Sin, would hit me in a tender spot tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lum?” murmured Sin Sin blandly. “No hate got.” +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his seat on the tea-chest, and the raven muttered sleepily, “Sin +Sin—Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” repeated the constable. +</p> + +<p> +He raised the skirt of his heavy top-coat, and from his trouser-pocket drew out +a leather purse. The eye of Sin Sin Wa remained fixed upon a distant corner of +the room. From the purse the constable took a shilling, ringing it loudly upon +the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Double rum, miss, please!” he said, facetiously. “There’s no treason allowed +nowadays, so my pal’s—” +</p> + +<p> +“I stood <i>yours</i> last night Jim, anyway!” cried the other, grinning. “Go +on, stump up!” +</p> + +<p> +Jim rang a second shilling on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Two</i> double rums!” he called. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa reached a long arm into the little cupboard beside him and withdrew +a bottle and a glass. Leaning forward he placed bottle and glass on the table, +and adroitly swept the coins into his yellow palm. +</p> + +<p> +“Number one p’lice chop,” croaked the raven. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right, old bird!” said Jim, pouring out a stiff peg of the spirit and +disposing of it at a draught. “We should freeze to death on this blasted +riverside beat if it wasn’t for Sin Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +He measured out a second portion for his companion, and the latter drank the +raw spirit off as though it had been ale, replaced the glass on the table, and +having adjusted his belt and lantern in that characteristic way which belongs +exclusively to members of the Metropolitan Police Force, turned and departed. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Sin,” he said, opening the door. +</p> + +<p> +“So-long,” murmured the Chinaman. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, old bird,” cried Jim, following his colleague. +</p> + +<p> +“So-long.” +</p> + +<p> +The door closed, and Sin Sin Wa, shuffling across, rebolted it. As Sir Lucien +came out from his hiding-place Sin Sin Wa returned to his seat on the +tea-chest, first putting the glass, unwashed, and the rum bottle back in the +cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +To the ordinary observer the Chinaman presents an inscrutable mystery. His +seemingly unemotional character and his racial inability to express his +thoughts intelligibly in any European tongue stamp him as a creature apart, and +one whom many are prone erroneously to classify very low in the human scale and +not far above the ape. Sir Lucien usually spoke to Sin Sin Wa in English, and +the other replied in that weird jargon known as “pidgin.” But the silly Sin Wa +who murmured gibberish and the Sin Sin Wa who could converse upon many and +curious subjects in his own language were two different beings—as Sir +Lucien was aware. Now, as the one-eyed Chinaman resumed his seat and the +one-eyed raven sank into slumber, Pyne suddenly spoke in Chinese, a tongue +which he understood as it is understood by few Englishmen; that strange, +sibilant speech which is alien from all Western conceptions of oral intercourse +as the Chinese institutions and ideals are alien from those of the rest of the +civilized world. +</p> + +<p> +“So you make a profit on your rum, Sin Sin Wa,” he said ironically, “at the +same time that you keep in the good graces of the police?” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa’s expression underwent a subtle change at the sound of his native +language. He moved his hands and became slightly animated. +</p> + +<p> +“A great people of the West, most honorable sir,” he replied in the pure +mandarin dialect, “claim credit for having said that ‘business is business.’ +Yet he who thus expressed himself was a Chinaman.” +</p> + +<p> +“You surprise me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The wise man must often find occasion for surprise most honorable sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien lighted a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“I sometimes wonder, Sin Sin Wa,” he said slowly, “what your aim in life can +be. Your father was neither a ship’s carpenter nor a shopkeeper. This I know. +Your age I do not know and cannot guess, but you are no longer young. You covet +wealth. For what purpose, Sin Sin Wa?” +</p> + +<p> +Standing behind the Chinaman, Sir Lucien’s dark face, since he made no effort +to hide his feelings, revealed the fact that he attached to this seemingly +abstract discussion a greater importance than his tone of voice might have led +one to suppose. Sin Sin Wa remained silent for some time, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Most honorable sir,” he replied, “when I have smoked the opium, before my +eyes—for in dreams I have two—a certain picture arises. It is that +of a farm in the province of Ho-Nan. Beyond the farm stretch paddy-fields as +far as one can see. Men and women and boys and girls move about the farm, happy +in their labors, and far, far away dwell the mountain gods, who send the great +Yellow River sweeping down through the valleys where the poppy is in bloom. It +is to possess that farm, most honorable sir, and those paddy-fields that I +covet wealth.” +</p> + +<p> +“And in spite of the opium which you consume, you have never lost sight of this +ideal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—your wife?” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa performed a curious shrugging movement, peculiarly racial. +</p> + +<p> +“A man may not always have the same wife,” he replied cryptically. “The +honorable wife who now attends to my requirements, laboring unselfishly in my +miserable house and scorning the love of other men as she has always +done—and as an honorable and upright woman is expected to do—may +one day be gathered to her ancestors. A man never knows. Or she may leave me. I +am not a good husband. It may be that some little maiden of Ho-Nan, mild-eyed +like the musk-deer and modest and tender, will consent to minister to my old +age. Who knows?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien blew a thick cloud of tobacco smoke into the room, and: +</p> + +<p> +“She will never love you, Sin Sin Wa,” he said, almost sadly. “She will come to +your house only to cheat you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa repeated the eloquent shrug. +</p> + +<p> +“We have a saying in Ho-Nan, most honorable sir,” he answered, “and it is this: +‘He who has tasted the poppy-cup has nothing to ask of love.’ She will cook for +me, this little one, and stroke my brow when I am weary, and light my pipe. My +eye will rest upon her with pleasure. It is all I ask.” +</p> + +<p> +There came a soft rapping on the outer door—three raps, a pause, and then +two raps. The raven opened his beady eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin Wa,” he croaked, “number one p’lice chop, lo!” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa glanced aside at Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“The traffic. A consignment of opium,” he said. “Sam Tûk calls.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien consulted his watch, and: +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to go with you, Sin Sin Wa,” he said. “Would it be safe to leave +the house—with the upper door unlocked?” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa glanced at him again. +</p> + +<p> +“All are sleeping, most honorable sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“All.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will lock the room above and the outer door. It is safe.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised a yellow hand, and the raven stepped sedately from his shoulder on to +his wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Tling-a-Ling,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, “you go to bed, my little black +friend, and one day you, too, shall see the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan.” +</p> + +<p> +Opening the useful cupboard, he stooped, and in hopped the raven. Sin Sin Wa +closed the cupboard, and stepped out into the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“I will bring you a coat and a cap and scarf,” he said. “Your magnificent +apparel would be out of place among the low pigs who wait in my other +disgusting cellar to rob me. Forgive my improper absence for one moment, most +honorable sir.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0019"></a> +CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +THE TRAFFIC</h2> + +<p> +Sir Lucien came out into the alley wearing a greasy cloth cap pulled down over +his eyes and an old overall, the collar turned up about a red woollen muffler +which enveloped the lower part of his face. The odor of the outfit was +disgusting, but this man’s double life had brought him so frequently in contact +with all forms of uncleanness, including that of the Far East, compared with +which the dirt of the West is hygienic, that he suffered it without complaint. +</p> + +<p> +A Chinese “boy” of indeterminable age, wearing a slop-shop suit and a cap, was +waiting outside the door, and when Sin Sin Wa appeared, carefully locking up, +he muttered something rapidly in his own sibilant language. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa made no reply. To his indoor attire he had added a pea-jacket and a +bowler hat; and the oddly assorted trio set off westward, following the bank of +the Thames in the direction of Limehouse Basin. The narrow, ill-lighted streets +were quite deserted, but from the river and the riverside arose that ceaseless +jangle of industry which belongs to the great port of London. On the Surrey +shore whistles shrieked, and endless moving chains sent up their monstrous +clangor into the night. Human voices sometimes rose above the din of machinery. +</p> + +<p> +In silence the three pursued their way, crossing inlets and circling around +basins dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flanked by high, eyeless +walls, and again to the left, finally to emerge nearly opposite a dilapidated +gateway giving access to a small wharf, on the rickety gates bills were posted +announcing, “This Wharf to Let.” The annexed building appeared to be a mere +shell. To the right again they turned, and once more to the left, halting +before a two-story brick house which had apparently been converted into a +barber’s shop. In one of the grimy windows were some loose packets of +cigarettes, a soapmaker’s advertisement, and a card: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SAM TÛK<br/> +BARBER +</p> + +<p> +Opening the door with a key which he carried, the boy admitted Sir Lucien and +Sin Sin Wa to the dimly-lighted interior of a room the pretensions of which to +be regarded as a shaving saloon were supported by the presence of two chairs, a +filthy towel, and a broken mug. Sin Sin Wa shuffled across to another door, +and, followed by Sir Lucien, descended a stone stair to a little cellar +apparently intended for storing coal. A tin lamp stood upon the bottom step. +</p> + +<p> +Removing the lamp from the step, Sin Sin Wa set it on the cellar floor, which +was black with coal dust, then closed and bolted the door. A heap of +nondescript litter lay piled in a corner of the cellar. This Sin Sin Wa +disturbed sufficiently to reveal a movable slab in the roughly paved floor. It +was so ingeniously concealed by coal dust that one who had sought it unaided +must have experienced great difficulty in detecting it. Furthermore, it could +only be raised in the following manner: +</p> + +<p> +A piece of strong iron wire, which lay among the other litter, was inserted in +a narrow slot, apparently a crack in the stone. About an inch of the end of the +wire being bent outward to form a right angle, when the seemingly useless piece +of scrap-iron had been thrust through the slab and turned, it formed a handle +by means of which the trap could be raised. +</p> + +<p> +Again Sin Sin Wa took up the lamp, placing it at the brink of the opening +revealed. A pair of wooden steps rested below, and Sir Lucien, who evidently +was no stranger to the establishment, descended awkwardly, since there was +barely room for a big man to pass. He found himself in the mouth of a low +passage, unpaved and shored up with rough timbers in the manner of a +mine-working. Sin Sin Wa followed with the lamp, drawing the slab down into its +place behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Stooping forward and bending his knees, Sir Lucien made his way along the +passage, the Chinaman following. It was of considerable length, and terminated +before a strong door bearing a massive lock. Sin Sin Wa reached over the +stooping figure of Sir Lucien and unfastened the lock. The two emerged in a +kind of dug-out. Part of it had evidently been in existence before the +ingenious Sin Sin Wa had exercised his skill upon it, and was of solid +brickwork and stone-paved; palpably a storage vault. But it had been altered to +suit the Chinaman’s purpose, and one end—that in which the passage came +out—was timbered. It contained a long counter and many shelves; also a +large oil-stove and a number of pots, pans, and queer-looking jars. On the +counter stood a ship’s lantern. The shelves were laden with packages and +bottles. Behind the counter sat a venerable and perfectly bald Chinaman. The +only trace of hair upon his countenance grew on the shrunken upper +lip—mere wisps of white down. His skin was shrivelled like that of a +preserved fig, and he wore big horn-rimmed spectacles. He never once exhibited +the slightest evidence of life, and his head and face, and the horn-rimmed +spectacles, might quite easily have passed for those of an unwrapped mummy. +This was Sam Tûk. +</p> + +<p> +Bending over a box upon which rested a canvas-bound package was a burly seaman +engaged in unknotting the twine with which the canvas was kept in place. As Sin +Sin Wa and Sir Lucien came in he looked up, revealing a red-bearded, ugly face, +very puffy under the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Wotcher, Sin Sin!” he said gruffly. “Who’s your long pal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Friend,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently. “You gotchee <i>pukka</i> stuff +thisee time, George?” +</p> + +<p> +“I allus brings the <i>pukka</i> stuff!” roared the seaman, ceasing to fumble +with the knots and glaring at Sin Sin Wa. “Wotcher mean—<i>pukka</i> +stuff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gotchee no use for bran,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Gotchee no use for tin-tack. +Gotchee no use for glue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bran!” roared the man, his glance and pose very menacing. “Tin-tacks and glue! +Who the flamin’ ’ell ever tried to sell <i>you</i> glue?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me only wantchee lemindee you,” said Sin Sin Wa. “No pidgin.” +</p> + +<p> +“George” glared for a moment, breathing heavily; then he stooped and resumed +his task, Sin Sin Wa and Sir Lucien watching him in silence. A sound of lapping +water was faintly audible. +</p> + +<p> +Opening the canvas wrappings, the man began to take out and place upon the +counter a number of reddish balls of “leaf” opium, varying in weight from about +eight ounces to a pound or more. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Smyrna stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +From a pocket of his pea-jacket he drew a long bodkin, and taking up one of the +largest balls he thrust the bodkin in and then withdrew it, the steel stained a +coffee color. Sin Sin Wa smelled and tasted the substance adhering to the +bodkin, weighed the ball reflectively in his yellow palm, and then set it +aside. He took up a second, whereupon: +</p> + +<p> +“’Alf a mo’, guvnor!” cried the seaman furiously. “D’you think I’m going to +wait ’ere while you prods about in all the blasted lot? It’s damn near high +tide—I shan’t get out. ’Alf time! Savvy? Shove it on the scales!” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Too muchee slick. Too muchee bhobbery,” he murmured. “Sin Sin Wa gotchee sabby +what him catchee buy or no pidgin.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the game?” inquired George menacingly. “Don’t you know a cake o’ Smyrna +when you smells it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No sabby lead chop till ploddem withee dipper,” explained the Chinaman, +imperturbably. +</p> + +<p> +“Lead!” shouted the man. “There ain’t no bloody lead in ’em!” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” murmured Sin Sin Wa smilingly. “So fashion, eh? All velly proper.” +</p> + +<p> +He calmly inserted the bodkin in the second cake; seemed to meet with some +obstruction, and laid the ball down upon the counter. From beneath his jacket +he took out a clasp-knife attached to a steel chain. Undeterred by a savage +roar from the purveyor, he cut the sticky mass in half, and digging his long +nails into one of the halves, brought out two lead shots. He directed a glance +of his beady eye upon the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Bloody liar,” he murmured sweetly. “Lobber.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s a robber?” shouted George, his face flushing darkly, and apparently not +resenting the earlier innuendo; “Who’s a robber?” +</p> + +<p> +“One sarcee Smyrna feller packee stuff so fashion,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. +“Thief-feller lobbee poor sailorman.” +</p> + +<p> +George jerked his peaked cap from his head, revealing a tangle of unkempt red +hair. He scratched his skull with savage vigor. +</p> + +<p> +“Blimey!” he said pathetically. “’Ere’s a go! I been done brown, guv’nor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lough luck,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, and resumed his examination of the cakes of +opium. +</p> + +<p> +The man watched him now in silence, only broken by exclamations of “Blimey” and +“Flaming hell” when more shot was discovered. The tests concluded: +</p> + +<p> +“Gotchee some more?” asked Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +From the canvas wrapping George took out and tossed on the counter a square +packet wrapped in grease-paper. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “Patna. Where you catchee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Off of a lascar,” growled the man. +</p> + +<p> +The cake of Indian opium was submitted to the same careful scrutiny as that +which the balls of Turkish had already undergone, but the Patna opium proved to +be unadulterated. Reaching over the counter Sin Sin Wa produced a pair of +scales, and, watched keenly by George, weighed the leaf and then the cake. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten-six Smyrna; one ’leben Patna,” muttered Sin Sin Wa. “You catchee eighty +jimmies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” roared George. “Eighty quid! Eighty quid! Flamin’ blind o’ Riley! D’you +think I’m up the pole? Eighty quid? You’re barmy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eighty-ten,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Eighty jimmies opium; ten bob lead.” +</p> + +<p> +“I give more’n that for it!” cried the seaman. “An’ I damn near hit a police +boat comin’ in, too!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien spoke a few words rapidly in Chinese. Sin Sin Wa performed his +curious oriental shrug, and taking a fat leather wallet from his hip-pocket, +counted out the sum of eighty-five pounds upon the counter. +</p> + +<p> +“You catchee eighty-five,” he murmured. “Too muchee price.” +</p> + +<p> +The man grabbed the money and pocketed it without a word of acknowledgment. He +turned and strode along the room, his heavy, iron-clamped boots ringing on the +paved floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch a grim, Sin Sin,” he cried. “I’ll never get out if I don’t jump to it.” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa took the lantern from the counter and followed. Opening a door at +the further end of the place, he set the lantern at the head of three +descending wooden steps discovered. With the opening of the door the sound of +lapping water had grown perceptibly louder. George clattered down the steps, +which led to a second but much stouter door. Sin Sin Wa followed, nearly +closing the first door, so that only a faint streak of light crept down to +them. +</p> + +<p> +The second door was opened, and the clangor of the Surrey shore suddenly +proclaimed itself. Cold, damp air touched them, and the faint light of the +lantern above cast their shadows over unctuous gliding water, which lapped the +step upon which they stood. Slimy shapes uprose dim and ghostly from its darkly +moving surface. +</p> + +<p> +A boat was swinging from a ring beside the door, and into it George tumbled. He +unhitched the lashings, and strongly thrust the boat out upon the water. Coming +to the first of the dim shapes, he grasped it and thereby propelled the skiff +to another beyond. These indistinct shapes were the piles supporting the +structure of a wharf. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, guv’nor!” he cried hoarsely +</p> + +<p> +“So-long,” muttered Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +He waited until the boat was swallowed in the deeper shadows, then reclosed the +water-gate and ascended to the room where Sir Lucien awaited. Such was the +receiving office of Sin Sin Wa. While the wharf remained untenanted it was not +likely to be discovered by the authorities, for even at low tide the river-door +was invisible from passing craft. Prospective lessees who had taken the trouble +to inquire about the rental had learned that it was so high as to be +prohibitive. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices and paid cash. This was no more than a commercial +necessity. For those who have opium, cocaine, veronal, or heroin to sell can +always find a ready market in London and elsewhere. But one sufficiently +curious and clever enough to have solved the riddle of the vacant wharf would +have discovered that the mysterious owner who showed himself so loath to accept +reasonable offers for the property could well afford to be thus independent. +Those who control “the traffic” control El Dorado—a city of gold which, +unlike the fabled Manoa, actually exists and yields its riches to the +unscrupulous adventurer. +</p> + +<p> +Smiling his mirthless, eternal smile, Sin Sin Wa placed the newly purchased +stock upon a shelf immediately behind Sam Tûk; and Sam Tûk exhibited the first +evidence of animation which had escaped him throughout the progress of the +“deal.” He slowly nodded his hairless head. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0020"></a> +CHAPTER XX.<br/> +KAZMAH’S METHODS</h2> + +<p> +Rita Dresden married Monte Irvin in the spring and bade farewell to the stage. +The goal long held in view was attained at last. But another farewell which at +one time she had contemplated eagerly no longer appeared desirable or even +possible. To cocamania had been added a tolerance for opium, and at the last +<i>chandu</i> party given by Cyrus Kilfane she had learned that she could smoke +nearly as much opium as the American habitué. +</p> + +<p> +The altered attitude of Sir Lucien surprised and annoyed her. He, who had first +introduced her to the spirit of the coca leaf and to the goddess of the poppy, +seemed suddenly to have determined to convince her of the folly of these +communions. He only succeeded in losing her confidence. She twice visited the +“House of a Hundred Raptures” with Mollie Gretna, and once with Mollie and +Kilfane, unknown to Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +Urgent affairs of some kind necessitated his leaving England a few weeks before +the date fixed for Rita’s wedding, and as Kilfane had already returned to +America, Rita recognized with a certain dismay that she would be left to her +own resources—handicapped by the presence of a watchful husband. This +subtle change in her view of Monte Irvin she was incapable of appreciating, for +Rita was no psychologist. But the effect of the drug habit was pointedly +illustrated by the fact that in a period of little more than six months, from +regarding Monte Irvin as a rock of refuge—a chance of salvation—she +had come to regard him in the light of an obstacle to her indulgence. Not that +her respect had diminished. She really loved at last, and so well that the idea +of discovery by this man whose wholesomeness was the trait of character which +most potently attracted her, was too appalling to be contemplated. The chance +of discovery would be enhanced, she recognized, by the absence of her friends +and accomplices. +</p> + +<p> +Of course she was acquainted with many other devotees. In fact, she met so many +of them that she had grown reconciled to her habits, believing them to be +common to all “smart” people—a part of the Bohemian life. The truth of +the matter was that she had become a prominent member of a coterie closely knit +and associated by a bond of mutual vice—a kind of masonry whereof Kazmah +of Bond Street was Grand Master and Mrs. Sin Grand Mistress. +</p> + +<p> +The relations existing between Kazmah and his clients were of a most peculiar +nature, too, and must have piqued the curiosity of anyone but a drug-slave. +Having seen him once, in his oracular cave, Rita had been accepted as one of +the initiated. Thereafter she had had no occasion to interview the strange, +immobile Egyptian, nor had she experienced any desire to do so. The method of +obtaining drugs was a simple one. She had merely to present herself at the +establishment in Bond Street and to purchase either a flask of perfume or a box +of sweetmeats. There were several varieties of perfume, and each corresponded +to a particular drug. The sweetmeats corresponded to morphine. Rashîd, the +attendant, knew all Kazmah’s clients, and with the box or flask he gave them a +quantity of the required drug. This scheme was precautionary. For if a visitor +should chance to be challenged on leaving the place, there was the legitimate +purchase to show in evidence of the purpose of the visit. +</p> + +<p> +No conversation was necessary, merely the selection of a scent and the exchange +of a sum of money. Rashîd retired to wrap up the purchase, and with it a second +and smaller package was slipped into the customer’s hand. That the prices +charged were excessive—nay, ridiculous—did not concern Rita, for, +in common with the rest of her kind, she was careless of expenditure. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chandu</i>, alone, Kazmah did not sell. He sold morphine, tincture of opium, +and other preparations; but those who sought the solace of the pipe were +compelled to deal with Mrs. Sin. She would arrange <i>chandu</i> parties, or +would prepare the “Hundred Raptures” in Limehouse for visitors; but, except in +the form of opiated cigarettes, she could rarely be induced to part with any of +the precious gum. Thus she cleverly kept a firm hold upon the devotees of the +poppy. +</p> + +<p> +Drug-takers form a kind of brotherhood, and outside the charmed circle they are +secretive as members of the Mafia, the Camorra, or the Catouse-Menegant. +</p> + +<p> +In this secrecy, which, indeed, is a recognized symptom of drug mania, lay +Kazmah’s security. Rita experienced no desire to peer behind the veil which, +literally and metaphorically, he had placed between himself and the world. At +first she had been vaguely curious, and had questioned Sir Lucien and others, +but nobody seemed to know the real identity of Kazmah, and nobody seemed to +care provided that he continued to supply drugs. They all led secret, veiled +lives, these slaves of the laboratory, and that Kazmah should do likewise did +not surprise them. He had excellent reasons. +</p> + +<p> +During this early stage of faint curiosity she had suggested to Sir Lucien that +for Kazmah to conduct a dream-reading business seemed to be to add to the +likelihood of police interference. +</p> + +<p> +The baronet had smiled sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“It is an additional safeguard,” he had assured her. “It corresponds to the +method of a notorious Paris assassin who was very generally regarded by the +police as a cunning pickpocket. Kazmah’s business of ‘dreamreading’ does not +actually come within the Act. He is clever enough for that. Remember, he does +not profess to tell fortunes. It also enables him to balk idle curiosity.” +</p> + +<p> +At the time of her marriage Rita was hopelessly in the toils, and had been +really panic-stricken at the prospect—once so golden—of a +protracted sojourn abroad. The war, which rendered travel impossible, she +regarded rather in the light of a heaven-sent boon. Irvin, though personally +favoring a quiet ceremony, recognized that Rita cherished a desire to quit +theatreland in a chariot of fire, and accordingly the wedding was on a scale of +magnificence which outshone that of any other celebrated during the season. +Even the lugubrious Mr. Esden, who gave his daughter away, was seen to smile +twice. Mrs. Esden moved in a rarified atmosphere of gratified ambition and +parental pride, which no doubt closely resembled that which the angels breathe. +</p> + +<p> +It was during the early days of her married life, and while Sir Lucien was +still abroad, that Rita began to experience difficulty in obtaining the drugs +which she required. She had lost touch to a certain extent with her former +associates; but she had retained her maid, Nina, and the girl regularly went to +Kazmah’s and returned with the little flasks of perfume. When an accredited +representative was sent upon such a mission, Kazmah dispatched the drugs +disguised in a scent flask; but on each successive occasion that Nina went to +him the prices increased, and finally became so exorbitant that even Rita grew +astonished and dismayed. +</p> + +<p> +She mentioned the matter to another habitué, a lady of title addicted to the +use of the hypodermic syringe, and learned that she (Rita) was being charged +nearly twice as much as her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I should bring the man to his senses, dear,” said her ladyship. “I know a +doctor who will be only too glad to supply you. When I say a doctor, he is no +longer recognized by the B.M.A., but he’s none the less clever and kind for all +that.” +</p> + +<p> +To the clever and kind medical man Rita repaired on the following day, bearing +a written introduction from her friend. The discredited physician supplied her +for a short time, charging only moderate fees. Then, suddenly, this second +source of supply was closed. The man declared that he was being watched by the +police, and that he dared not continue to supply her with cocaine and veronal. +His shifty eyes gave the lie to his words, but he was firm in his resolution, +whatever may have led him to it, and Rita was driven back to Kazmah. His +charges had become more exorbitant than ever, but her need was imperative. +Nevertheless, she endeavored to find another drug dealer, and after a time was +again successful. +</p> + +<p> +At a certain supper club she was introduced to a suave little man, quite +palpably an uninterned alien, who smilingly offered to provide her with any +drug to be found in the British Pharmacopeia, at most moderate charges. With +this little German-Jew villain she made a pact, reflecting that, provided that +his wares were of good quality, she had triumphed over Kazmah. +</p> + +<p> +The craving for <i>chandu</i> seized her sometimes and refused to be exorcised +by morphia, laudanum, or any other form of opium; but she had not dared to +spend a night at the “House of a Hundred Raptures” since her marriage. Her new +German friend volunteered to supply the necessary gum, outfit, and to provide +an apartment where she might safely indulge in smoking. She declined—at +first. But finally, on Mollie Gretna’s return from France, where she had been +acting as a nurse, Rita and Mollie accepted the suave alien’s invitation to +spend an evening in his private opium divan. +</p> + +<p> +Many thousands of careers were wrecked by the war, and to the war and the +consequent absence of her husband Rita undoubtedly owed her relapse into +opium-smoking. That she would have continued secretly to employ cocaine, +veronal, and possibly morphine was probable enough; but the constant society of +Monte Irvin must have made it extremely difficult for her to indulge the +craving for <i>chandu</i>. She began to regret the gaiety of her old life. +Loneliness and monotony plunged her into a state of suicidal depression, and +she grasped eagerly at every promise of excitement. +</p> + +<p> +It was at about this time that she met Margaret Halley, and between the two, so +contrary in disposition, a close friendship arose. The girl doctor ere long +discovered Rita’s secret, of course, and the discovery was hastened by an event +which occurred shortly after they had become acquainted. +</p> + +<p> +The suave alien gentleman disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +That was the entire story in five words—or all of the story that Rita +ever learned. His apartments were labelled “To Let,” and the night clubs knew +him no more. Rita for a time was deprived of drugs, and the nervous collapse +which resulted revealed to Margaret Halley’s trained perceptions the truth +respecting her friend. +</p> + +<p> +Kazmah’s terms proved to be more outrageous than ever, but Rita found herself +again compelled to resort to the Egyptian. She went personally to the rooms in +old Bond Street and arranged with Rashîd to see Kazmah on the following day, +Friday, for Kazmah only received visitors by appointment. As it chanced, Sir +Lucien Pyne returned to England on Thursday night and called upon Rita at +Prince’s Gate. She welcomed him as a friend in need, unfolding the pitiful +story, to the truth of which her nervous condition bore eloquent testimony. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien began to pace up and down the charming little room in which Rita had +received him. She watched him, haggard-eyed. Presently: +</p> + +<p> +“Leave Kazmah to me,” he said. “If you visit him he will merely shield himself +behind the mystical business, or assure you that he is making no profit on his +sales. Kilfane had similar trouble with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then <i>you</i> will see him?” asked Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“I will make a point of interviewing him in the morning. Meanwhile, if you will +send Nina around to Albemarle Street in about an hour I will see what can be +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lucy,” whispered Rita, “what a pal you are.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien smiled in his cold fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“I try to be,” he said enigmatically; “but I don’t always succeed.” He turned +to her. “Have you ever thought of giving up this doping?” he asked. “Have you +ever realized that with increasing tolerance the quantities must increase as +well, and that a day is sure to come when—” +</p> + +<p> +Rita repressed a nervous shudder. +</p> + +<p> +“You are trying to frighten me,” she replied. “You have tried before; I don’t +know why. But it’s no good, Lucy. You know I cannot give it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can try.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to try!” she cried irritably. “It will be time enough when Monte +is back again, and we can really ‘live.’ This wretched existence, with +everything restricted and rationed, and all one’s friends in Flanders or +Mesopotamia or somewhere, drives me mad! I tell you I should die, Lucy, if I +tried to do without it now.” +</p> + +<p> +The hollow presence of reform contemplated in a hazy future did not deceive Sir +Lucien. He suppressed a sigh, and changed the topic of conversation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0021"></a> +CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +THE CIGARETTES FROM BUENOS AYRES</h2> + +<p> +Sir Lucien’s intervention proved successful. Kazmah’s charges became more +modest, and Rita no longer found it necessary to deprive herself of hats and +dresses in order to obtain drugs. But, nevertheless, these were not the halcyon +days of old. She was now surrounded by spies. It was necessary to resort to all +kinds of subterfuge in order to cover her expenditures at the establishment in +old Bond Street. Her husband never questioned her outlay, but on the other hand +it was expedient to be armed against the possibility of his doing so, and +Rita’s debts were accumulating formidably. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was Margaret Halley to consider. Rita had never hitherto given her +confidence to anyone who was not addicted to the same practices as herself, and +she frequently experienced embarrassment beneath the grave scrutiny of +Margaret’s watchful eyes. In another this attitude of gentle disapproval would +have been irritating, but Rita loved and admired Margaret, and suffered +accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +As for Sir Lucien, she had ceased to understand him. An impalpable barrier +seemed to have arisen between them. The inner man had became inaccessible. Her +mind was not subtle enough to grasp the real explanation of this change in her +old lover. Being based upon wrong premises, her inferences were necessarily +wide of the truth, and she believed that Sir Lucien was jealous of Margaret’s +cousin, Quentin Gray. +</p> + +<p> +Gray met Rita at Margaret Halley’s flat shortly after he had returned home from +service in the East, and he immediately conceived a violent infatuation for +this pretty friend of his cousin’s. In this respect his conduct was in no way +peculiar. Few men were proof against the seductive Mrs. Monte Irvin, not +because she designedly encouraged admiration, but because she was one of those +fortunately rare characters who inspire it without conscious effort. Her appeal +to men was sweetly feminine and quite lacking in that self-assertive and +masculine “take me or leave me” attitude which characterizes some of the +beauties of today. There was nothing abstract about her delicate loveliness, +yet her charm was not wholly physical. Many women disliked her. +</p> + +<p> +At dance, theatre, and concert Quentin Gray played the doting cavalier; and +Rita, who was used to at least one such adoring attendant, accepted his homage +without demur. Monte Irvin returned to civil life, but Rita showed no +disposition to dispense with her new admirer. Both Gray and Sir Lucien had +become frequent visitors at Prince’s Gate, and Irvin, who understood his wife’s +character up to a point, made them his friends. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly after Monte Irvin’s return Sir Lucien taxed Rita again with her +increasing subjection to drugs. She was in a particularly gay humor, as the +supplies from Kazmah had been regular, and she laughingly fenced with him when +he reminded her of her declared intention to reform when her husband should +return. +</p> + +<p> +“You are really as bad as Margaret,” she declared. “There is nothing the matter +with me. You talk of ‘curing’ me as though I were ill. Physician, heal +thyself.” +</p> + +<p> +The sardonic smile momentarily showed upon Pyne’s face, and: +</p> + +<p> +“I know when and where to pull up, Rita,” he said. “A woman never knows this. +If I were deprived of opium tomorrow I could get along without it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have given up opium,” replied Rita. “It’s too much trouble, and the last +time Mollie and I went—” +</p> + +<p> +She paused, glancing quickly at Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he said grimly. “I know you have been to Sin Sin Wa’s. What happened +the last time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” continued Rita hurriedly, “Monte seemed to be vaguely suspicious. +Besides, Mrs. Sin charged me most preposterously. I really cannot afford it, +Lucy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you cannot. But what I was about to say was this: suppose <i>you</i> +were to be deprived, not of <i>chandu</i>, but of cocaine and veronal, do you +know what would happen to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” whispered Rita, “why <i>will</i> you persist in trying to frighten me! I +am not going to be deprived of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I persist, dear, because I want you to try, gradually, to depend less upon +drugs, so that if the worst should happen you would have a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita stood up and faced him, biting her lip. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucy,” she said, “do you mean that Kazmah—” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean that anything might happen, Rita. After all, we do possess a police +service in London, and one day there might be an accident. Kazmah has certain +influence, but it may be withdrawn. Rita, won’t you try?” +</p> + +<p> +She was watching him closely, and now the pupils of her beautiful eyes became +dilated. +</p> + +<p> +“You know something,” she said slowly, “which you are keeping from me.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed and turned aside. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that I am compelled to leave England again, Rita, for a time; and I +should be a happier man if I knew that you were not so utterly dependent upon +Kazmah.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lucy, are you going away again?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must. But I shall not be absent long, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita sank down upon the settee from which she had risen, and was silent for +some time; then: +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>will</i> try, Lucy,” she promised. “I will go to Margaret Halley, as she +is always asking me to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good girl,” said Pyne quietly. “It is just a question of making the effort, +Rita. You will succeed, with Margaret’s help.” +</p> + +<p> +A short time later Sir Lucien left England, but throughout the last week that +he remained in London Rita spent a great part of every day in his company. She +had latterly begun to experience an odd kind of remorse for her treatment of +the inscrutably reserved baronet. His earlier intentions she had not forgotten, +but she had long ago forgiven them, and now she often felt sorry for this man +whom she had deliberately used as a stepping-stone to fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Gray was quite unable to conceal his jealousy. He seemed to think that he had a +proprietary right to Mrs. Monte Irvin’s society, and during the week preceding +Sir Lucien’s departure Gray came perilously near to making himself ridiculous +on more than one occasion. +</p> + +<p> +One night, on leaving a theatre, Rita suggested to Pyne that they should +proceed to a supper club for an hour. “It will be like old times,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But your husband is expecting you,” protested Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ring him up and ask him to join us. He won’t, but he cannot very well +object then.” +</p> + +<p> +As a result they presently found themselves descending a broad carpeted +stairway. From the rooms below arose the strains of an American melody. Dancing +was in progress, or, rather, one of those orgiastic ceremonies which passed for +dancing during this pagan period. Just by the foot of the stairs they paused +and surveyed the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Rita, “there is Quentin—glaring insanely, silly boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see whom he is with?” asked Sir Lucien. +</p> + +<p> +“Mollie Gretna.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I mean the woman sitting down.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita stood on tiptoe, trying to obtain a view, and suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Mrs. Sin!” +</p> + +<p> +The dance at that moment concluding, they crossed the floor and joined the +party. Mrs. Sin greeted them with one of her rapid, mirthless smiles. She was +wearing a gown noticeable, but not for quantity, even in that semi-draped +assembly. Mollie Gretna giggled rapturously. But Gray’s swiftly changing color +betrayed a mood which he tried in vain to conceal by his manner. Having +exchanged a few words with the new arrivals, he evidently realized that he +could not trust himself to remain longer, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Now I must be off,” he said awkwardly. “I have an appointment—important +business. Good night, everybody.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned away and hurried from the room. Rita flushed slightly and exchanged a +glance with Sir Lucien. Mrs. Sin, who had been watching the three intently, did +not fail to perceive this glance. Mollie Gretna characteristically said a silly +thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried. “I wonder whatever is the matter with him! He looks as though +he had gone mad!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is perhaps his heart,” said Mrs. Sin harshly, and she raised her bold dark +eyes to Sir Lucien’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please don’t talk about hearts,” cried Rita, willfully misunderstanding. +“Monte has a weak heart, and it frightens me.” +</p> + +<p> +“So?” murmured Mrs. Sin. “Poor fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> think a weak heart is most romantic,” declared Mollie Gretna. +</p> + +<p> +But Gray’s behavior had cast a shadow upon the party which even Mollie’s empty +light-hearted chatter was powerless to dispel, and when, shortly after +midnight, Sir Lucien drove Rita home to Prince’s Gate, they were very silent +throughout the journey. Just before the car reached the house: +</p> + +<p> +“Where does Mrs. Sin live?” asked Rita, although it was not of Mrs. Sin that +she had been thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“In Limehouse, I believe,” replied Sir Lucien; “at The House. But I fancy she +has rooms somewhere in town also.” +</p> + +<p> +He stayed only a few minutes at Prince’s Gate, and as the car returned along +Piccadilly, Sir Lucien, glancing upward towards the windows of a tall block of +chambers facing the Green Park, observed a light in one of them. Acting upon a +sudden impulse, he raised the speaking-tube. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull up, Fraser,” he directed. +</p> + +<p> +The chauffeur stopped the car and Sir Lucien alighted, glancing at the clock +inside as he did so, and smiling at his own quixotic behavior. He entered an +imposing doorway and rang one of the bells. There was an interval of two +minutes or so, when the door opened and a man looked out. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Willis?” asked Pyne. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I beg pardon, Sir Lucien. I didn’t know you in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has Mr. Gray retired yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet. Will you please follow me, Sir Lucien. The stairway lights are off.” +</p> + +<p> +A few moments later Sir Lucien was shown into the apartment of Gray’s which +oddly combined the atmosphere of a gymnasium with that of a study. Gray, +wearing a dressing-gown and having a pipe in his mouth, was standing up to +receive his visitor, his face rather pale and the expression of his lips at +variance with that in his eyes. But: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Pyne,” he said quietly. “Anything wrong—or have you just looked +in for a smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien smiled a trifle sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted a chat, Gray,” he replied. “I’m leaving town tomorrow, or I should +not have intruded at such an unearthly hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“No intrusion,” muttered Gray; “try the armchair, no, the big one. It’s more +comfortable.” He raised his voice: “Willis, bring some fluid!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien sat down, and from the pocket of his dinner jacket took out a plain +brown packet of cigarettes and selected one. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said Gray, “have a cigar!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks,” replied Pyne. “I rarely smoke anything but these.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never seen that kind of packet before,” declared Gray. “What brand are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“No particular brand. They are imported from Buenos Ayres, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +Willis having brought in a tray of refreshments and departed again, Sir Lucien +came at once to the point. +</p> + +<p> +“I really called, Gray,” he said, “to clear up any misunderstanding there may +be in regard to Rita Irvin.” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray looked up suddenly when he heard Rita’s name, and: +</p> + +<p> +“What misunderstanding?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Regarding the nature of my friendship with her,” answered Sir Lucien coolly. +“Now, I am going to speak quite bluntly, Gray, because I like Rita and I +respect her. I also like and respect Monte Irvin; and I don’t want you, or +anybody else, to think that Rita and I are, or ever have been, anything more +than pals. I have known her long enough to have learned that she sails +straight, and has always sailed straight. Now—listen, Gray, please. You +embarrassed me tonight, old chap, and you embarrassed Rita. It was +unnecessary.” He paused, and then added slowly: “She is as sacred to me, Gray, +as she is to you—and we are both friends of Monte Irvin.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Quentin Gray’s fiery temper flickered up, as his heightened color +showed, but the coolness of the older and cleverer man prevailed. Gray laughed, +stood up, and held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right, Pyne!” he said. “But she’s damn pretty!” He uttered a loud sigh. +“If only she were not married!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien gripped the outstretched hand, but his answering smile had much +pathos in it. +</p> + +<p> +“If only she were not, Gray,” he echoed. +</p> + +<p> +He took his departure shortly afterwards, absently leaving a brown packet of +cigarettes upon the table. It was an accident. Yet there were few, when the +truth respecting Sir Lucien Pyne became known, who did not believe it to have +been a deliberate act, designed to lure Quentin Gray into the path of the +poppy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0022"></a> +CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +THE STRANGLE-HOLD</h2> + +<p> +Less than a month later Rita was in a state of desperation again. Kazmah’s +prices had soared above anything that he had hitherto extorted. Her bank +account, as usual, was greatly overdrawn, and creditors of all kinds were +beginning to press for payment. Then, crowning catastrophe, Monte Irvin, for +the first time during their married life, began to take an interest in Rita’s +reckless expenditure. By a combination of adverse circumstances, she, the wife +of one of the wealthiest aldermen of the City of London, awakened to the fact +that literally she had no money. +</p> + +<p> +She pawned as much of her jewellery as she could safely dispose of, and +temporarily silenced the more threatening tradespeople; but Kazmah declined to +give credit, and cheques had never been acceptable at the establishment in old +Bond Street. +</p> + +<p> +Rita feverishly renewed her old quest, seeking in all directions for some less +extortionate purveyor. But none was to be found. The selfishness and +secretiveness of the drug slave made it difficult for her to learn on what +terms others obtained Kazmah’s precious goods; but although his prices +undoubtedly varied, she was convinced that no one of all his clients was so +cruelly victimized as she. +</p> + +<p> +Mollie Gretna endeavored to obtain an extra supply to help Rita, but Kazmah +evidently saw through the device, and the endeavor proved a failure. +</p> + +<p> +She demanded to see Kazmah, but Rashîd, the Egyptian, blandly assured her that +“the Sheikh-el-Kazmah” was away. She cast discretion to the winds and wrote to +him, protesting that it was utterly impossible for her to raise so much ready +money as he demanded, and begging him to grant her a small supply or to accept +the letter as a promissory note to be redeemed in three months. No answer was +received, but when Rita again called at old Bond Street, Rashîd proposed one of +the few compromises which the frenzied woman found herself unwilling to accept. +</p> + +<p> +“The Sheikh-el-Kazmah say, my lady, your friend Mr. Gray never come to him. If +you bring him it will be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita found herself stricken dumb by this cool proposal. The degradation which +awaits the drug slave had never been more succinctly expounded to her. She was +to employ Gray’s foolish devotion for the commercial advantage of Kazmah. Of +course Gray might any day become one of the three wealthiest peers in the +realm. She divined the meaning of Kazmah’s hitherto incomprehensible harshness +(or believed that she did); she saw what was expected of her. “My God!” she +whispered. “I have not come to that yet.” +</p> + +<p> +Rashîd she knew to be incorruptible or powerless, and she turned away, +trembling, and left the place, whose faint perfume of frankincense had latterly +become hateful to her. +</p> + +<p> +She was at this time bordering upon a state of collapse. Insomnia, which +latterly had defied dangerously increased doses of veronal, was telling upon +nerve and brain. Now, her head aching so that she often wondered how long she +could retain sanity, she found herself deprived not only of cocaine, but also +of malourea. Margaret Halley was her last hope, and to Margaret she hastened on +the day before the tragedy which was destined to bring to light the sinister +operations of the Kazmah group. +</p> + +<p> +Although, perhaps mercifully, she was unaware of the fact, representatives of +Spinker’s Agency had been following her during the whole of the preceding +fortnight. That Rita was in desperate trouble of some kind her husband had not +failed to perceive, and her reticence had quite naturally led him to a certain +conclusion. He had sought to win her confidence by every conceivable means and +had failed. At last had come doubt—and the hateful interview with +Spinker. +</p> + +<p> +As Rita turned in at the doorway below Margaret’s flat, then, Brisley was +lighting a cigarette in the shelter of a porch nearly opposite, and Gunn was +not far away. +</p> + +<p> +Margaret immediately perceived that her friend’s condition was alarming. But +she realized that whatever the cause to which it might be due, it gave her the +opportunity for which she had been waiting. She wrote a prescription containing +one grain of cocaine, but declined firmly to issue others unless Rita +authorized her, in writing, to undertake a cure of the drug habit. +</p> + +<p> +Rita’s disjointed statements pointed to a conspiracy of some kind on the part +of those who had been supplying her with drugs, but Margaret knew from +experience that to exhibit curiosity in regard to the matter would be merely to +provoke evasions. +</p> + +<p> +A hopeless day and a pain-racked, sleepless night found Kazmah’s unhappy victim +in the mood for any measure, however desperate, which should promise even +temporary relief. Monte Irvin went out very early, and at about eleven o’clock +Rita rang up Kazmah’s, but only to be informed by Rashîd, who replied, that +Kazmah was still away. “This evening he tell me that he see your friend if he +come, my lady.” As if the Fates sought to test her endurance to the utmost, +Quentin Gray called shortly afterwards and invited her to dine with him and go +to a theatre that evening. +</p> + +<p> +For five age-long seconds Rita hesitated. If no plan offered itself by +nightfall she knew that her last scruple would be conquered. “After all,” +whispered a voice within her brain, “Quentin is a man. Even if I took him to +Kazmah’s and he was in some way induced to try opium, or even cocaine, he would +probably never become addicted to drug-taking. But I should have done my +part—” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Quentin,” she heard herself saying aloud. “Will you call for me?” +</p> + +<p> +But when he had gone Rita sat for more than half an hour, quite still, her +hands clenched and her face a tragic mask. (Gunn, of Spinker’s Agency, reported +telephonically to Monte Irvin in the City that the Hon. Quentin Gray had called +and had remained about twenty-five minutes; that he had proceeded to the +Prince’s Restaurant, and from there to Mudie’s, where he had booked a box at +the Gaiety Theatre.) +</p> + +<p> +Towards the fall of dusk the more dreadful symptoms which attend upon a sudden +cessation of the use of cocaine by a victim of cocainophagia began to assert +themselves again. Rita searched wildly in the lining of her jewel-case to +discover if even a milligram of the drug had by chance fallen there from the +little gold box. But the quest was in vain. +</p> + +<p> +As a final resort she determined to go to Margaret Halley again. +</p> + +<p> +She hurried to Dover Street, and her last hope was shattered. Margaret was out, +and Janet had no idea when she was likely to return. Rita had much ado to +prevent herself from bursting into tears. She scribbled a few lines, without +quite knowing what she was writing, sealed the paper in an envelope, and left +it on Margaret’s table. +</p> + +<p> +Of returning to Prince’s Gate and dressing for the evening she had only a hazy +impression. The hammer-beats in her head were depriving her of reasoning power, +and she felt cold, numbed, although a big fire blazed in her room. Then as she +sat before her mirror, drearily wondering if her face really looked as drawn +and haggard as the image in the glass, or if definite delusions were beginning, +Nina came in and spoke to her. Some moments elapsed before Rita could grasp the +meaning of the girl’s words. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Lucien Pyne has rung up, Madam, and wishes to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien! Sir Lucien had come back? Rita experienced a swift return of +feverish energy. Half dressed as she was, and without pausing to take a wrap, +she ran out to the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +Never had a man’s voice sounded so sweet as that of Sir Lucien when he spoke +across the wires. He was at Albemarle Street, and Rita, wasting no time in +explanations, begged him to await her there. In another ten minutes she had +completed her toilette and had sent Nina to ’phone for a cab. (One of the minor +details of his wife’s behavior which latterly had aroused Irvin’s distrust was +her frequent employment of public vehicles in preference to either of the +cars.) +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray she had quite forgotten, until, as she was about to leave: +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any message for Mr. Gray, Madam?” inquired Nina naively. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Rita. “Of course! Quick! Give me some paper and a pencil.” +</p> + +<p> +She wrote a hasty note, merely asking Gray to proceed to the restaurant, where +she promised to join him, left it in charge of the maid, and hurried off to +Albemarle Street. +</p> + +<p> +Mareno, the silent, yellow-faced servant who had driven the car on the night of +Rita’s first visit to Limehouse, admitted her. He showed her immediately into +the lofty study, where Sir Lucien awaited. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lucy—Lucy!” she cried, almost before the door had closed behind +Mareno. “I am desperate—desperate!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien placed a chair for her. His face looked very drawn and grim. But +Rita was in too highly strung a condition to observe this fact, or indeed to +observe anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” he said gently. +</p> + +<p> +And in a torrent of disconnected, barely coherent language, the tortured woman +told him of Kazmah’s attempt to force her to lure Quentin Gray into the drug +coterie. Sir Lucien stood behind her chair, and the icy reserve which +habitually rendered his face an impenetrable mask deserted him as the story of +Rita’s treatment at the hands of the Egyptian of Bond Street was unfolded in +all its sordid hideousness. Rita’s soft, musical voice, for which of old she +had been famous, shook and wavered; her pose, her twitching gestures, all told +of a nervous agony bordering on prostration or worse. Finally: +</p> + +<p> +“He dare not refuse you!” she cried. “Ring him up and insist upon him seeing me +tonight!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> will see him, Rita.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him, wild-eyed. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall not! You shall not!” she said. “I am going to speak to that man face +to face, and if he is human he must listen to me. Oh! I have realized the hold +he has upon me, Lucy! I know what it means, this disappearance of all the +others who used to sell what Kazmah sells. If I am to suffer, <i>he</i> shall +not escape! I swear it. Either he listens to me tonight or I go straight to the +police!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be calm, little girl,” whispered Sir Lucien, and he laid his hand upon her +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +But she leapt up, her pupils suddenly dilating and her delicate nostrils +twitching in a manner which unmistakably pointed to the impossibility of +thwarting her if sanity were to be retained. +</p> + +<p> +“Ring him up, Lucy,” she repeated in a low voice. “He is there. Now that I have +someone behind me I see my way at last!” +</p> + +<p> +“There may, nevertheless, be a better way,” said Sir Lucien; but he added +quickly: “Very well, dear, I will do as you wish. I have a little cocaine, +which I will give you.” +</p> + +<p> +He went out to the telephone, carefully closing the study door. +</p> + +<p> +That he had counted upon the influence of the drug to reduce Rita to a more +reasonable frame of mind was undoubtedly the fact, for presently as they +proceeded on foot towards old Bond Street he reverted to something like his old +ironical manner. But Rita’s determination was curiously fixed. Unmoved by every +kind of appeal, she proceeded to the appointment which Sir Lucien had +made—ignorant of that which Fate held in store for her—and Sir +Lucien, also humanly blind, walked on to meet his death. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_PART3"></a> +PART THIRD<br/> +THE MAN FROM WHITEHALL</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0023"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY RESIGNS</h2> + +<p> +“Come in,” said the Assistant Commissioner. The door opened and Chief Inspector +Kerry entered. His face was as fresh-looking, his attire as spruce and his eyes +were as bright, as though he had slept well, enjoyed his bath and partaken of +an excellent breakfast. Whereas he had not been to bed during the preceding +twenty-four hours, had breakfasted upon biscuits and coffee, and had spent the +night and early morning in ceaseless toil. Nevertheless he had found time to +visit a hairdressing saloon, for he prided himself upon the nicety of his +personal appearance. +</p> + +<p> +He laid his hat, cane and overall upon a chair, and from a pocket of his reefer +jacket took out a big notebook. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Chief Inspector,” replied the Assistant Commissioner. “Pray be +seated. No doubt”—he suppressed a weary sigh—“you have a long +report to make. I observe that some of the papers have the news of Sir Lucien +Pyne’s death.” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry smiled savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty pressmen are sitting downstairs,” he said “waiting for particulars. One +of them got into my room.” He opened his notebook. “He didn’t stay long.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner gazed wearily at his blotting-pad, striking +imaginary chords upon the table-edge with his large widely extended fingers. He +cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—Chief Inspector,” he said, “I fully recognize the difficulties +which—you follow me? But the Press is the Press. Neither you nor I could +hope to battle against such an institution even if we desired to do so. Where +active resistance is useless, a little tact—you quite understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, sir. Rely upon me,” replied Kerry. “But I didn’t mean to open my mouth +until I had reported to you. Now, sir, here is a précis of evidence, nearly +complete, written out clearly by Sergeant Coombes. You would probably prefer to +read it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, I will read it. But has Sergeant Coombes been on duty all night?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has, sir, and so have I. Sergeant Coombes went home an hour ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner +</p> + +<p> +He took the notebook from Kerry, and resting his head upon his hand began to +read. Kerry sat very upright in his chair, chewing slowly and watching the +profile of the reader with his unwavering steel-blue eyes. The reading was +twice punctuated by telephone messages, but the Assistant Commissioner +apparently possessed the Napoleonic faculty of doing two things at once, for +his gaze travelled uninterruptedly along the lines of the report throughout the +time that he issued telephonic instructions. +</p> + +<p> +When he had arrived at the final page of Coombes’ neat, schoolboy writing, he +did not look up for a minute or more, continuing to rest his head in the palm +of his hand. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“So far you have not succeeded in establishing the identity of the missing man, +Kazmah?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so far, sir,” replied Kerry, enunciating the words with characteristic +swift precision, each syllable distinct as the rap of a typewriter. “Inspector +Whiteleaf, of Vine Street, has questioned all constables in the Piccadilly +area, and we have seen members of the staffs of many shops and offices in the +neighborhood, but no one is familiar with the appearance of the missing man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—now, the Egyptian servant?” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Kerry moved his shoulders restlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Rashîd is his name. Many of the people in the neighborhood knew him by sight, +and at five o’clock this morning one of my assistants had the good luck to find +out, from an Arab coffee-house keeper named Abdulla, where Rashîd lived. He +paid a visit to the place—it’s off the West India Dock Road—half an +hour later. But Rashîd had gone. I regret to report that all traces of him have +been lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—considering this circumstance side by side with the facts that no +scrap of evidence has come to light in the Kazmah premises and that the late +Sir Lucien’s private books and papers cannot be found, what do you deduce, +Chief Inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +“My report indicates what I deduce, sir! An accomplice of Kazmah’s must have +been in Sir Lucien’s household! Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin can only have left the +premises by going up to the roof and across the leads to Sir Lucien’s flat in +Albemarle Street. I shall charge the man Juan Mareno.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has he to say?” murmured the Assistant Commissioner, absently turning +over the pages of the notebook. “Ah, yes. ‘Claims to be a citizen of the United +States but has produced no papers. Engaged by Sir Lucien Pyne in San Francisco. +Professes to have no evidence to offer. Admitted Mrs. Monte Irvin to Sir +Lucien’s flat on night of murder. Sir Lucien and Mrs. Irvin went out together +shortly afterwards, and Sir Lucien ordered him (Mareno) to go for the car to +garage in South Audley Street and drive to club, where Sir Lucien proposed to +dine. Mareno claims to have followed instructions. After waiting near club for +an hour, learned from hall porter that Sir Lucien had not been there that +evening. Drove car back to garage and returned to Albemarle Street shortly +after eight o’clock.’ H’m. Is this confirmed in any way?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s teeth snapped together viciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Up to a point it is, sir. The club porter remembers Mareno inquiring about Sir +Lucien, and the people at the garage testify that he took out the car and +returned it as stated.” +</p> + +<p> +“No one has come forward who actually saw him waiting outside the club?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one. But unfortunately it was a dark, misty night, and cars waiting for +club members stand in a narrow side turning. Mareno is a surly brute, and he +might have waited an hour without speaking to a soul. Unless another chauffeur +happened to notice and recognize the car nobody would be any wiser.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner sighed, glancing up for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think he waited outside the club at all?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t, sir!” rapped Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner rested his head upon his hand again. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t seem to be germane to your case, Chief Inspector, in any event. +There is no question of an alibi. Sir Lucien’s wrist-watch was broken at +seven-fifteen—evidently at the time of his death; and this man Mareno +does not claim to have left the flat until after that hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, sir,” said Kerry. “He took out the car at half-past seven. What I +want to know is where he went to!” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner glanced rapidly into the speaker’s fierce eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“From what you have gathered respecting the appearance of Kazmah, does it seem +possible that Mareno may be Kazmah?” +</p> + +<p> +“It does not, sir. Kazmah has been described to me, at first hand and at second +hand. All descriptions tally in one respect: Kazmah has remarkably large eyes. +In Miss Halley’s evidence you will note that she refers to them as ‘larger than +any human eyes I have ever seen.’ Now, Mareno has eyes like a pig!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I take it you are charging him as accessory?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, sir. Somebody got Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin away, and it can only have +been Mareno. Sir Lucien had no other resident servant; he was a man who lived +almost entirely at restaurants and clubs. Again, somebody cleaned up his +papers, and it was somebody who knew where to look for them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so—quite so,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner. “Of course, we +shall learn today something of his affairs from his banker. He must have banked +<i>somewhere</i>. But surely, Chief Inspector, there is a safe or private +bureau in his flat?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is, sir,” said Kerry grimly; “a safe. I had it opened at six o’clock +this morning. It had been hastily cleaned out; not a doubt of it. I expect Sir +Lucien carried the keys on his person. You will remember, sir, that his pockets +had been emptied?” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” mused the Assistant Commissioner. “This Cubanis Cigarette Company, Chief +Inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dummy goods!” rapped Kerry. “A blind. Just a back entrance to Kazmah’s office. +Premises were leased on behalf of an agent. This agent—a reputable man of +business—paid the rent quarterly. I’ve seen him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who was his client?” asked the Assistant Commissioner, displaying a faint +trace of interest. +</p> + +<p> +“A certain Mr. Isaacs!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who can be traced?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who can’t be traced!” +</p> + +<p> +“His checks?” +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry smiled, so that his large white teeth gleamed savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Isaacs represented himself as a dealer in Covent Garden who was leasing +the office for a lady friend, and who desired, for domestic reasons, to cover +his tracks. As ready money in large amounts changes hands in the market, Mr. +Isaacs paid ready money to the agent. Beyond doubt the real source of the ready +money was Kazmah’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“But his address?” +</p> + +<p> +“A hotel in Covent Garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where he lives?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where he is known to the booking-clerk, a girl who allowed him to have letters +addressed there. A man of smoke, sir, acting on behalf of someone in the +background.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! and these Bond Street premises have been occupied by Kazmah for the past +eight years?” +</p> + +<p> +“So I am told. I have yet to see representatives of the landlord. I may add +that Sir Lucien Pyne had lived in Albemarle Street for about the same time.” +</p> + +<p> +Wearily raising his head: +</p> + +<p> +“The point is certainly significant,” said the Assistant Commissioner. “Now we +come to the drug traffic, Chief Inspector. You have found no trace of drugs on +the premises?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a grain, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the office of the cigarette firm?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, was there no staff attached to the latter concern?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry chewed viciously. +</p> + +<p> +“No business of any kind seems to have been done there,” he replied. “An +office-boy employed by the solicitor on the same floor as Kazmah has seen a man +and also a woman, go up to the third floor on several occasions, and he seems +to think they went to the Cubanis office. But he’s not sure, and he can give no +useful description of the parties, anyway. Nobody in the building has ever seen +the door open before this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner sighed yet more wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Apart from the suspicions of Miss Margaret Halley, you have no sound basis for +supposing that Kazmah dealt in prohibited drugs?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“The evidence of Miss Halley, the letter left for her by Mrs. Irvin, and the +fact that Mrs. Irvin said, in the presence of Mr. Quentin Gray, that she had ‘a +particular reason’ for seeing Kazmah, point to it unmistakably, sir. Then, I +have seen Mrs. Irvin’s maid. (Mr. Monte Irvin is still too unwell to be +interrogated.) The girl was very frightened, but she admitted outright that she +had been in the habit of going regularly to Kazmah for certain perfumes. She +wouldn’t admit that she knew the flasks contained cocaine or veronal, but she +did admit that her mistress had been addicted to the drug habit for several +years. It began when she was on the stage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner; “she was Rita Dresden, was she +not—<i>The Maid of the Masque?</i> A very pretty and talented actress. A +pity—a great pity. So the girl, characteristically, is trying to save +herself?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is,” said Kerry grimly. “But it cuts no ice. There is another point. After +this report was made out, a message reached me from Miss Halley, as a result of +which I visited Mr. Quentin Gray early this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear,” sighed the Assistant Commissioner, “your intense zeal and +activity are admirable, Chief Inspector, but appalling. And what did you +learn?” +</p> + +<p> +From an inside pocket Chief Inspector Kerry took out a plain brown paper packet +containing several cigarettes and laid the packet on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I got these, sir,” he said grimly. “They were left at Mr. Gray’s some weeks +ago by the late Sir Lucien. They are doped.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner, his head resting upon his hand, gazed abstractedly +at the packet. “If only you could trace the source of supply,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“That brings me to my last point, sir. From Mrs. Irvin’s maid I learned that +her mistress was acquainted with a certain Mrs. Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Sin? Incredible name.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a woman reputed to be married to a Chinaman. Inspector Whiteleaf, of +Vine Street, knows her by sight as one of the night-club birds—a sort of +mysterious fungus, sir, flowering in the dark and fattening on gilded fools. +Unless I’m greatly mistaken, Mrs. Sin is the link between the doped cigarettes +and the missing Kazmah.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does anyone know where she lives?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of ’em know!” snapped Kerry. “But it’s making them speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom do you more particularly refer, Chief Inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +“To the moneyed asses and the brainless women belonging to a certain West End +set, sir,” said Kerry savagely. “They go in for every monstrosity from Buenos +Ayres, Port Said and Pekin. They get up dances that would make a wooden horse +blush. They eat <i>hashish</i> and they smoke opium. They inject morphine, and +they would have their hair dyed blue if they heard it was ‘being done.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” sighed the Assistant Commissioner, “a very delicate and complex case, +Chief Inspector. The agony of mind which Mr. Irvin must be suffering is too +horrible for one to contemplate. An admirable man, too; honorable and generous. +I can conceive no theory to account for the disappearance of Mrs. Irvin other +than that she was a party to the murder.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said Kerry guardedly. “But we have the dope clue to work on. That +the Chinese receive stuff in the East End and that it’s sold in the West End +every constable in the force is well aware. Leman Street is getting busy, and +every shady case in the Piccadilly area will be beaten up within the next +twenty-four hours, too. It’s purely departmental, sir, from now onwards, and +merely a question of time. Therefore I don’t doubt the issue.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry paused, cleared his throat, and produced a foolscap envelope which he +laid upon the table before the Assistant Commissioner. +</p> + +<p> +“With very deep regret, sir,” he said, “after a long and agreeable association +with the Criminal Investigation Department, I have to tender you this.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner took up the envelope and stared at it vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes, Chief Inspector,” he murmured. “Perhaps I fail entirely to follow +you; I am somewhat over-worked, as you know. What does this envelope contain?” +</p> + +<p> +“My resignation, sir,” replied Kerry. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0024"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +TO INTRODUCE 719</h2> + +<p> +Some moments of silence followed. Sounds of traffic from the Embankment +penetrated dimly to the room of the Assistant Commissioner; ringing of tram +bells and that vague sustained noise which is created by the whirring of +countless wheels along hard pavements. Finally: +</p> + +<p> +“You have selected a curious moment to retire, Chief Inspector,” said the +Assistant Commissioner. “Your prospects were never better. No doubt you have +considered the question of your pension?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what I’m giving up, sir,” replied Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner slowly revolved in his chair and gazed sadly at the +speaker. Chief Inspector Kerry met his glance with that fearless, unflinching +stare which lent him so formidable an appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“You might care to favor me with some explanation which I can lay before the +Chief Commissioner?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry snapped his white teeth together viciously. +</p> + +<p> +“May I take it, sir, that you accept my resignation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not. I will place it before the responsible authority. I can do no +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without disrespect, sir, I want to speak to you as man to man. As a private +citizen I could do it. As your subordinate I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner sighed, stroking his neatly brushed hair with one +large hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Equally without disrespect, Chief Inspector,” he murmured, “it is news for me +to learn that you have ever refrained from speaking your mind either in my +presence or in the presence of any man.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry smiled, unable wholly to conceal a sense of gratified vanity. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” he said, “you have my resignation before you, and I’m prepared to +abide by the consequences. What I want to say is this: I’m a man that has +worked hard all his life to earn the respect and the trust of his employers. I +am supposed to be Chief Inspector of this department, and as Chief Inspector +I’ll kow-tow to nothing on two legs once I’ve been put in charge of a case. I +work right in the sunshine. There’s no grafting about me. I draw my salary +every week, and any man that says I earn sixpence in the dark is at liberty to +walk right in here and deposit his funeral expenses. If I’m supposed to be +under a cloud—there’s my reply. But I demand a public inquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +At ever increasing speed, succinctly, viciously he rapped out the words. His +red face grew more red, and his steel-blue eyes more fierce. The Assistant +Commissioner exhibited bewilderment. As the high tones ceased: +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Chief Inspector,” he said, “you pain and surprise me. I do not profess +to be ignorant of the cause of your—annoyance. But perhaps if I acquaint +you with the facts of my own position in the matter you will be open to +reconsider your decision.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry cleared his throat loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t work in the dark, sir,” he declared truculently. “I’d rather be a +pavement artist and my own master than Chief Inspector with an unknown spy +following me about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so—quite so.” The Assistant Commissioner was wonderfully patient. +“Very well, Chief Inspector. It cannot enhance my personal dignity to admit the +fact, but I’m nearly as much in the dark as yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that, sir?” Kerry sat bolt upright, staring at the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“At a late hour last night the Secretary of State communicated in person with +the Chief Commissioner—at the latter’s town residence. He instructed him +to offer every facility to a newly appointed agent of the Home office who was +empowered to conduct an official inquiry into the drug traffic. As a result +Vine Street was advised that the Home office investigator would proceed at once +to Kazmah’s premises, and from thence wherever available clues might lead him. +For some reason which has not yet been explained to me, this investigator +chooses to preserve a strict anonymity.” +</p> + +<p> +Traces of irritation became perceptible in the weary voice. Kerry staring, in +silence, the Assistant Commissioner continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I have been advised that this nameless agent is in a position to establish his +bona fides at any time, as he bears a number of these cards. You see, Chief +Inspector, I am frank with you.” +</p> + +<p> +From a table drawer the Assistant Commissioner took a visiting-card, which he +handed to Kerry. The latter stared at it as one stares at a rare specimen. It +was the card of Lord Wrexborough, His Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State +for the Home Department, and in the cramped caligraphy of his lordship it bore +a brief note, initialled, thus: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img02.jpg" width="500" height="274" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Some moments of silence followed; then: +</p> + +<p> +“Seven-one-nine,” said Kerry in a high, strained voice. “Why seven-one-nine? +And why all this hocus-pocus? Am I to understand, sir, that not only myself but +all the Criminal Investigation Department is under a cloud?” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner stroked his hair. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to understand, Chief Inspector, that for the first time throughout my +period of office I find myself out of touch with the Chief Commissioner. It is +not departmental for me to say so, but I believe the Chief Commissioner finds +himself similarly out of touch with the Secretary of State. Apparently very +powerful influences are at work, and the line of conduct taken up by the Home +office suggests to my mind that collusion between the receivers and +distributors of drugs and the police is suspected by someone. That being so, +possibly out of a sense of fairness to all officially concerned, the committee +which I understand has been appointed to inquire into the traffic has decided +to treat us all alike, from myself down to the rawest constable. It’s highly +irritating and preposterous, of course, but I cannot disguise from you or from +myself that we are on trial, Chief Inspector!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stood up and slowly moved his square shoulders in the manner of an +athlete about to attempt a feat of weight-lifting. From the Assistant +Commissioner’s table he took the envelope which contained his resignation, and +tore it into several portions. These he deposited in a waste-paper basket. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s that!” he said. “I am very deeply indebted to you, sir. I know now what +to tell the Press.” +</p> + +<p> +The Assistant Commissioner glanced up. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word about 719,” he said, “of course, you understand this?” +</p> + +<p> +“If we don’t exist as far as 719 is concerned, sir,” said Kerry in his most +snappy tones, “719 means nothing to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so—quite so. Of course, I may be wrong in the motives which I +ascribe to this Whitehall agent, but misunderstanding is certain to arise out +of a system of such deliberate mystification, which can only be compared to +that employed by the Russian police under the Tsars.” +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later Chief Inspector Kerry came out of New Scotland Yard, and, +walking down on to the Embankment, boarded a Norwood tramcar. The weather +remained damp and gloomy, but upon the red face of Chief Inspector Kerry, as he +mounted to the upper deck of the car, rested an expression which might have +been described as one of cheery truculence. Where other passengers, coat +collars upturned, gazed gloomily from the windows at the yellow murk +overhanging the river, Kerry looked briskly about him, smiling pleasurably. +</p> + +<p> +He was homeward bound, and when he presently alighted and went swinging along +Spenser Road towards his house, he was still smiling. He regarded the case as +having developed into a competition between himself and the man appointed by +Whitehall. And it was just such a position, disconcerting to one of less +aggressive temperament, which stimulated Chief Inspector Kerry and put him in +high good humor. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Kerry, arrayed in a serviceable rain-coat, and wearing a plain felt hat, +was standing by the dining-room door as Kerry entered. She had a basket on her +arm. “I was waiting for ye, Dan,” she said simply. +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her affectionately, put his arm about her waist, and the two entered +the cosy little room. By no ordinary human means was it possible that Mary +Kerry should have known that her husband would come home at that time, but he +was so used to her prescience in this respect that he offered no comment. She +“kenned” his approach always, and at times when his life had been in +danger—and these were not of infrequent occurrence—Mary Kerry, if +sleeping, had awakened, trembling, though the scene of peril were a hundred +miles away, and if awake had blanched and known a deadly sudden fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’ll be goin’ to bed?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“For three hours, Mary. Don’t fail to rouse me if I oversleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it clear to ye yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nearly clear. The dark thing you saw behind it all, Mary, was dope! Kazmah’s +is a secret drug-syndicate. They’ve appointed a Home office agent, and he’s +working independently of us, but...” +</p> + +<p> +His teeth came together with a snap. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dan,” said his wife, “it’s a race? Drugs? A Home office agent? Dan, they +think the Force is in it?” +</p> + +<p> +“They do!” rapped Kerry. “I’m for Leman Street in three hours. If there’s +double-dealing behind it, then the mugs are in the East End, and it’s folly, +not knavery, I’m looking for. It’s a race, Mary, and the credit of the Service +is at stake! No, my dear, I’ll have a snack when I wake. You’re going +shopping?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am, Dan. I’d ha’ started, but I wanted to see ye when ye came hame. If ye’ve +only three hours go straight up the now. I’ll ha’ something hot a’ ready when +ye waken.” +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later Kerry was in bed, his short clay pipe between his teeth, and +<i>The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius</i> in his hand. Such was his customary +sleeping-draught, and it had never been known to fail. Half a pipe of Irish +twist and three pages of the sad imperial author invariably plunged Chief +Inspector Kerry into healthy slumber. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0025"></a> +CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +NIGHT-LIFE OF SOHO</h2> + +<p> +It was close upon midnight when Detective-Sergeant Coombes appeared in a +certain narrow West End thoroughfare, which was lined with taxicabs and private +cars. He wore a dark overcoat and a tweed cap, and although his chin was buried +in the genial folds of a woollen comforter, and his cap was pulled down over +his eyes, his sly smile could easily be detected even in the dim light afforded +by the car lamps. He seemed to have business of a mysterious nature among the +cabmen; for with each of them in turn he conducted a brief conversation, +passing unobtrusively from cab to cab, and making certain entries in a +notebook. Finally he disappeared. No one actually saw him go, and no one had +actually seen him arrive. At one moment, however, he was there; in the next he +was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later Chief Inspector Kerry entered the street. His dark overcoat +and white silk muffler concealed a spruce dress suit, a fact betrayed by black, +braided trousers, unusually tight-fitting, and boots which almost glittered. He +carried the silver-headed malacca cane, and had retained his narrow-brimmed +bowler at its customary jaunty angle. +</p> + +<p> +Passing the lines of waiting vehicles, he walked into the entrance of a popular +night-club which faced the narrow street. On a lounge immediately inside the +doorway a heated young man was sitting fanning his dancing partner and gazing +into her weakly pretty face in vacuous adoration. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry paused for a moment, staring at the pair. The man returned his stare, +looking him up and down in a manner meant to be contemptuous. Kerry’s fierce, +intolerant gaze became transferred to the face and then the figure of the +woman. He tilted his hat further forward and turned aside. The woman’s glance +followed him, to the marked disgust of her companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she whispered, “what a delightfully savage man! He looks positively +uncivilized. I have no doubt he drags women about by their hair. I <i>do</i> +hope he’s a member!” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie Gretna spoke loudly enough for Kerry to hear her, but unmoved by her +admiration he stepped up to the reception office. He was in high good humor. He +had spent the afternoon agreeably, interviewing certain officials charged with +policing the East End of London, and had succeeded, to quote his own language, +“in getting a gale up.” Despite the coldness of the weather, he had left two +inspectors and a speechlessly indignant superintendent bathed in perspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a member, sir?” inquired the girl behind the desk. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry smiled genially. A newsboy thrust open the swing-door, yelling: “Bond +Street murder! A fresh <i>de</i>velopment. Late speshul!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Mollie Gretna to her companion, “get me a paper. Be quick! I am so +excited!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry took up a pen, and in large bold hand-writing inscribed the following +across two pages of the visitors’ book: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Chief Inspector Kerry. Criminal Investigation Department.” +</p> + +<p> +He laid a card on the open book, and, thrusting his cane under his arm, walked +to the head of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Cloak-room on the right, sir,” said an attendant. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry paused, glancing over his shoulder and chewing audibly. Then he settled +his hat more firmly upon his red head and descended the stairs. The attendant +went to inspect the visitors’ book, but Mollie Gretna was at the desk before +him, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bill!” she cried to her annoyed cavalier, “it’s Inspector Kerry—who +is in charge of poor Lucy’s murder! Oh, Bill! this is lovely! Something is +going to happen! Do come down!” +</p> + +<p> +Followed by the obedient but reluctant “Bill,” Mollie ran downstairs, and +almost into the arms of a tall dark girl, who, carrying a purple opera cloak, +was coming up. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going yet, Dickey?” said Mollie, throwing her arm around the +other’s waist. +</p> + +<p> +“Ssh!” whispered “Dickey.” “Inspector Kerry is here! You don’t want to be +called as a witness at nasty inquests and things, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens, my dear, no! But why should I be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should any of us? But don’t you see they are looking for the people who +used to go to Kazmah’s? It’s in the paper tonight. We shall all be served with +<i>subpoenas</i>. I’m off!” +</p> + +<p> +Escaping from Mollie’s embrace, the tall girl ran up the stairs, kissing her +hand to Bill as she passed. Mollie hesitated, looking all about the crowded +room for Chief Inspector Kerry. Presently she saw him, standing nearly opposite +the stairway, his intolerant blue eyes turning right and left, so that the +fierce glance seemed to miss nothing and no one in the room. Hands thrust in +his overcoat pockets and his cane held under his arm, he inspected the place +and its occupants as a very aggressive country cousin might inspect the +monkey-house at the Zoo. To Mollie’s intense disappointment he persistently +avoided looking in her direction. +</p> + +<p> +Although a popular dance was on the point of commencing, several visitors had +suddenly determined to leave. Kerry pretended to be ignorant of the sensation +which his appearance had created, passing slowly along the room and submitting +group after group to deliberate scrutiny; but as news flies through an Eastern +bazaar the name of the celebrated detective, whose association with London’s +latest crime was mentioned by every evening paper in the kingdom, sped now on +magic wings, so that there was a muted <i>charivari</i> out of which, in every +key from bass to soprano, arose ever and anon the words “Chief Inspector +Kerry.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s perfectly ridiculous but characteristically English,” drawled one young +man, standing beside Mollie Gretna, “to send out a bally red-headed policeman +in preposterous glad-rags to look for a clever criminal. Kerry is well known to +all the crooks, and nobody could mistake him. Damn silly—damn silly!” +</p> + +<p> +As “damn silly” Kerry’s open scrutiny of the members and visitors must have +appeared to others, but it was a deliberate policy very popular with the Chief +Inspector, and termed by him “beating.” Possessed of an undisguisable +personality, Kerry had found a way of employing his natural physical +peculiarities to his professional advantage. Where other investigators worked +in the dark, secretly, Red Kerry sought the limelight—at the right time. +That every hour lost in getting on the track of the mysterious Kazmah was a +point gained by the equally mysterious man from Whitehall he felt assured, and +although the elaborate but hidden mechanism of New Scotland Yard was at work +seeking out the patrons of the Bond Street drug-shop, Kerry was indisposed to +await the result. +</p> + +<p> +He had been in the night club only about ten minutes, but during those ten +minutes fully a dozen people had more or less hurriedly departed. Because of +the arrangements already made by Sergeant Coombes, the addresses of many of +these departing visitors would be in Kerry’s possession ere the night was much +older. And why should they have fled, incontinent, if not for the reason that +they feared to become involved in the Kazmah affair? All the cabmen had been +warned, and those fugitives who had private cars would be followed. +</p> + +<p> +It was a curious scene which Kerry surveyed, a scene to have interested +philosopher and politician alike. For here were representatives of every +stratum of society, although some of those standing for the lower strata were +suitably disguised. The peerage was well represented, so was Judah; there were +women entitled to wear coronets dancing with men entitled to wear the broad +arrow, and men whose forefathers had signed Magna Charta dancing with chorus +girls from the revues and musical comedies. +</p> + +<p> +Waiting until the dance was fully in progress, Inspector Kerry walked slowly +around the room in the direction of the stair. Parties seated at tables were +treated each to an intolerant stare, alcoves were inspected, and more than one +waiter meeting the gaze of the steely eyes, felt a prickling of conscience and +recalled past peccadilloes. +</p> + +<p> +Bill had claimed Mollie Gretna for the dance, but: +</p> + +<p> +“No, Bill,” she had replied, watching Kerry as if enthralled; “I don’t want to +dance. I am watching Chief Inspector Kerry.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s evident,” complained the young man. “Perhaps you would like to spend +the rest of the night in Bow Street?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” whispered Mollie, “I should love it! I have never been arrested, but if +ever I am I hope it will be by Chief Inspector Kerry. I am positive he would +haul me away in handcuffs!” +</p> + +<p> +When Kerry came to the foot of the stairs, Mollie quite deliberately got in his +way, murmured an apology, and gave him a sidelong gaze through lowered lashes, +which was more eloquent than any thesis. He smiled with fierce geniality, +looked her up and down, and proceeded to mount the stairs, with never a +backward glance. +</p> + +<p> +His genius for criminal investigation possessed definite limitations. He could +not perhaps have been expected in tactics so completely opposed to those which +he had anticipated to recognize the presence of a valuable witness. Student of +human nature though undoubtedly he was, he had not solved the mystery of that +outstanding exception which seems to be involved in every rule. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, a fellow with a low forehead and a weakly receding chin, Kerry classified +as a dullard, a witling, unaware that if the brow were but low enough and the +chin virtually absent altogether he might stand in the presence of a second +Daniel. Physiognomy is a subtle science, and the exceptions to its rules are +often of a sensational character. In the same way Kerry looked for evasion, +and, where possible, flight, on the part of one possessing a guilty conscience. +Mollie Gretna was a phenomenal exception to a rule otherwise sound. And even +one familiar with criminal psychology might be forgiven for failing to detect +guilt in a woman anxious to make the acquaintance of a prominent member of the +Criminal Investigation Department. +</p> + +<p> +Pausing for a moment in the entrance of the club, and chewing reflectively, +Kerry swung open the door and walked out into the street. He had one more cover +to “beat,” and he set off briskly, plunging into the mazes of Soho crossing +Wardour Street into old Compton Street, and proceeding thence in the direction +of Shaftesbury Avenue. Turning to the right on entering the narrow thoroughfare +for which he was bound, he stopped and whistled softly. He stood in the +entrance to a court; and from further up the court came an answering whistle. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry came out of the court again, and proceeded some twenty paces along the +street to a restaurant. The windows showed no light, but the door remained +open, and Kerry entered without hesitation, crossed a darkened room and found +himself in a passage where a man was seated in a little apartment like that of +a stage-door keeper. He stood up, on hearing Kerry’s tread, peering out at the +newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +“The restaurant is closed, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me a better one,” rapped Kerry. “I want to go upstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your card, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry revealed his teeth in a savage smile and tossed his card on to the desk +before the concierge. He passed on, mounting the stairs at the end of the +passage. Dimly a bell rang; and on the first landing Kerry met a heavily built +foreign gentleman, who bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Chief Inspector,” he said gutturally, “what is this, please? I trust +nothing is wrong, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied Kerry. “I just want to look round.” +</p> + +<p> +“A few friends,” explained the suave alien, rubbing his hands together and +still bowing, “remain playing dominoes with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” rapped Kerry. “Well, if you think we have given them time to hide +the ‘wheel’ we’ll go in. Oh, don’t explain. I’m not worrying about sticklebacks +tonight. I’m out for salmon.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened a door on the left of the landing and entered a large room which +offered evidence of having been hastily evacuated by a considerable company. A +red and white figured cloth of a type much used in Continental cafés had been +spread upon a long table, and three foreigners, two men and an elderly woman, +were bending over a row of dominoes set upon one corner of the table. +Apparently the men were playing and the woman was watching. But there was a +dense cloud of cigar smoke in the room, and mingled with its pungency were +sweeter scents. A number of empty champagne bottles stood upon a sideboard and +an elegant silk theatre-bag lay on a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” said Kerry, glaring fiercely from the bottles to the players, who +covertly were watching him. “How you two smarts can tell a domino from a +door-knocker after cracking a dozen magnums gets me guessing.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up the scented bag and gravely handed it to the old woman. +</p> + +<p> +“You have mislaid your bag, madam,” he said. “But, fortunately, I noticed it as +I came in.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned the glance of his fierce eyes upon the man who had met him on the +landing, and who had followed him into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Third floor, von Hindenburg,” he rapped. “Don’t argue. Lead the way.” +</p> + +<p> +For one dangerous moment the man’s brow lowered and his heavy face grew blackly +menacing. He exchanged a swift look with his friends seated at the disguised +roulette table. Kerry’s jaw muscles protruded enormously. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me another answer like that,” he said in a tone of cold ferocity, “and +I’ll kick you from here to Paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +“No offense—no offense,” muttered the man, quailing before the savagery +of the formidable Chief Inspector. “You come this way, please. Some ladies call +upon me this evening, and I do not want to frighten them.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Kerry, “you wouldn’t, naturally.” He stood aside as a door at the +further end of the room was opened. “After you, my friend. I said ‘lead the +way.’” +</p> + +<p> +They mounted to the third floor of the restaurant. The room which they had just +quitted was used as an auxiliary dining and supper-room before midnight, as +Kerry knew. After midnight the centre table was unmasked, and from thence +onward to dawn, sometimes, was surrounded by roulette players. The third floor +he had never visited, but he had a shrewd idea that it was not entirely +reserved for the private use of the proprietor. +</p> + +<p> +A babel of voices died away as the two men walked into a room rather smaller +than that below and furnished with little tables, café fashion. At one end was +a grand piano and a platform before which a velvet curtain was draped. Some +twenty people, men and women, were in the place, standing looking towards the +entrance. Most of the men and all the women but one were in evening dress; but +despite this common armor of respectability, they did not all belong to +respectable society. +</p> + +<p> +Two of the women Kerry recognized as bearers of titles, and one was familiar to +him as a screen-beauty. The others were unclassifiable, but all were +fashionably dressed with the exception of a masculine-looking lady who had +apparently come straight off a golf course, and who later was proved to be a +well-known advocate of woman’s rights. The men all belonged to familiar types. +Some of them were Jews. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry, his feet widely apart and his hands thrust in his overcoat pockets, +stood staring at face after face and chewing slowly. The proprietor glanced +apologetically at his patrons and shrugged. Silence fell upon the company. +Then: +</p> + +<p> +“I am a police officer,” said Kerry sharply. “You will file out past me, and I +want a card from each of you. Those who have no cards will write name and +address here.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew a long envelope and a pencil from a pocket of his dinner jacket. Laying +the envelope and pencil on one of the little tables: +</p> + +<p> +“Quick march!” he snapped. “You, sir!” shooting out his forefinger in the +direction of a tall, fair young man, “step out!” +</p> + +<p> +Glancing helplessly about him, the young man obeyed, and approaching Kerry: +</p> + +<p> +“I say, officer,” he whispered nervously, “can’t you manage to keep my name out +of it? I mean to say, my people will kick up the deuce. Anything up to a +tenner....” +</p> + +<p> +The whisper faded away. Kerry’s expression had grown positively ferocious. +</p> + +<p> +“Put your card on the table,” he said tersely, “and get out while my hands stay +in my pockets!” +</p> + +<p> +Hurriedly the noble youth (he was the elder son of an earl) complied, and +departed. Then, one by one, the rest of the company filed past the Chief +Inspector. He challenged no one until a Jew smilingly laid a card on the table +bearing the legend: “Mr. John Jones, Lincoln’s Inn Fields.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” rapped Kerry, grasping the man’s arm. “One moment, Mr. ‘Jones’! The card +I want is in the other case. D’you take me for a mug? That ‘Jones’ trick was +tried on Noah by the blue-faced baboon!” +</p> + +<p> +His perception of character was wonderful. At some of the cards he did not even +glance; and upon the women he wasted no time at all. He took it for granted +that they would all give false names, but since each of them would be followed +it did not matter. When at last the room was emptied, he turned to the scowling +proprietor, and: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s that!” he said. “I’ve had no instructions about your establishment, my +friend, and as I’ve seen nothing improper going on I’m making no charge, at the +moment. I don’t want to know what sort of show takes place on your platform, +and I don’t want to know anything about you that I don’t know already. You’re a +Swiss subject and a dark horse.” +</p> + +<p> +He gathered up the cards from the table, glancing at them carelessly. He did +not expect to gain much from his possession of these names and addresses. It +was among the women that he counted upon finding patrons of Kazmah and Company. +But as he was about to drop the cards into his overcoat pocket, one of them, +which bore a written note, attracted his attention. +</p> + +<p> +At this card he stared like a man amazed; his face grew more and more red, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” he said—“Hell! which of ’em was it?” +</p> + +<p> +The card contained the following:— +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img02.jpg" width="500" height="274" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0026"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +THE MOODS OF MOLLIE</h2> + +<p> +Early the following morning Margaret Halley called upon Mollie Gretna. +</p> + +<p> +Mollie’s personality did not attract Margaret. The two had nothing in common, +but Margaret was well aware of the nature of the tie which had bound Rita Irvin +to this empty and decadent representative of English aristocracy. Mollie Gretna +was entitled to append the words “The Honorable” to her name, but not only did +she refrain from doing so but she even preferred to be known as +“Gretna”—the style of one of the family estates. +</p> + +<p> +This pseudonym she had adopted shortly after her divorce, when she had +attempted to take up a stage career. But although the experience had proved +disastrous, she had retained the <i>nom de guerre</i>, and during the past four +years had several times appeared at war charity garden-parties as a classical +dancer—to the great delight of the guests and greater disgust of her +family. Her maternal uncle, head of her house, said to be the most blasé member +of the British peerage and known as “the noble tortoise,” was generally +considered to have pronounced the final verdict upon his golden-haired niece +when he declared “she is almost amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie received her visitor with extravagant expressions of welcome. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Halley,” she cried, “how perfectly sweet of you to come to see +me! of course, I can guess what you have called about. Look! I have every paper +published this morning in London! Every one! Oh! poor, darling little Rita! +What <i>can</i> have become of her!” +</p> + +<p> +Tears glistened upon her carefully made-up lashes, and so deep did her grief +seem to be that one would never have suspected that she had spent the greater +part of the night playing bridge at a “mixed” club in Dover Street, and from +thence had proceeded to a military “breakfast-dance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is indeed a ghastly tragedy,” said Margaret. “It seems incredible that she +cannot be traced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely incredible!” declared Mollie, opening a large box of cigarettes. +“Will you have one, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks. By the way, they are not from Buenos Ayres, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie, cigarette in hand, stared, round-eyed, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear Miss Halley!” she cried, “what an idea! Such a funny thing to +suggest.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret smiled coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Sir Lucien used to smoke cigarettes of that kind,” she explained, “and I +thought perhaps you smoked them, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie shook her head and lighted the cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“He gave me one once, and it made me feel quite sick,” she declared. +</p> + +<p> +Margaret glanced at the speaker, and knew immediately that Mollie had +determined to deny all knowledge of the drug coterie. Because there is no +problem of psychology harder than that offered by a perverted mind, Margaret +was misled in ascribing this secrecy to a desire to avoid becoming involved in +a scandal. Therefore: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you quite realize, Miss Gretna,” she said quietly, “that every hour wasted +now in tracing Rita may mean, must mean, an hour of agony for her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t! please don’t!” cried Mollie, clasping her hands. “I cannot bear to +think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows in whose hands she is. Then there is poor Mr. Irvin. He is utterly +prostrated. One shudders to contemplate his torture as the hours and the days +go by and no news comes of Rita.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear! you are making me cry!” exclaimed Mollie. “If only I could do +something to help....” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret was studying her closely, and now for the first time she detected +sincere emotion in Mollie’s voice—and unforced tears in her eyes. Hope +was reborn. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you can,” she continued, speaking gently. “You knew all Rita’s friends +and all Sir Lucien’s. You must have met the woman called Mrs. Sin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Sin,” whispered Mollie, staring in a frightened way so that the pupils of +her eyes slowly enlarged. “What about Mrs. Sin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, they seem to think that through Mrs. Sin they will be able to +trace Kazmah; and wherever Kazmah is one would expect to find poor Rita.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie lowered her head for a moment, then glanced quickly at the speaker, and +quickly away again. +</p> + +<p> +“Please let me explain just what I mean,” continued Margaret. “It seems to be +impossible to find anybody in London who will admit having known Mrs. Sin or +Kazmah. They are all afraid of being involved in the case, of course. Now, if +you can help, don’t hesitate for that reason. A special commission has been +appointed by Lord Wrexborough to deal with the case, and their agent is working +quite independently of the police. Anything which you care to tell him will be +treated as strictly confidential; but think what it may mean to Rita.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie clasped her hands about her right knee and rocked to and fro in her +chair. +</p> + +<p> +“No one knows who Kazmah is,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But a number of people seem to know Mrs. Sin. I am sure you must have met +her?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I say that I know her, shall I be called as a witness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not. I can assure you of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie continued to rock to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +“But if I were to tell the police I should have to go to court, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” replied Margaret. “I am afraid I am dreadfully ignorant of such +matters. It might depend upon whether you spoke to a high official or to a +subordinate one; an ordinary policeman for instance. But the Home office agent +has nothing whatever to do with Scotland Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie stood up in order to reach an ash-tray, and: +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t think I have anything to say, Miss Halley,” she declared. “I +have certainly met Mrs. Sin, but I know nothing whatever about her, except that +I believe she is a Jewess.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret sighed, looking up wistfully into Mollie’s face. “Are you quite sure?” +she pleaded. “Oh, Miss Gretna, if you know anything—anything—don’t +hide it now. It may mean so much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I quite understand that,” cried Mollie. “My heart simply aches and aches +when I think of poor, sweet little Rita. But—really I don’t think I can +be of the least tiny bit of use.” +</p> + +<p> +Their glances met, and Margaret read hostility in the shallow eyes. Mollie, who +had been wavering, now for some reason had become confirmed in her original +determination to remain silent. Margaret stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“It is no good, then,” she said. “We must hope that Rita will be traced by the +police. Good-bye, Miss Gretna. I am so sorry you cannot help.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so am I!” declared Mollie. “It is perfectly sweet of you to take such an +interest, and I feel a positive <i>worm</i>. But what can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +As Margaret was stepping into her little runabout car, which awaited her at the +door, a theory presented itself to account for Mollie’s sudden hostility. It +had developed, apparently, as a result of Margaret’s reference to the Home +office inquiry. Of course! Mollie would naturally be antagonistic to a +commission appointed to suppress the drug traffic. +</p> + +<p> +Convinced that this was the correct explanation, Margaret drove away, +reflecting bitterly that she had been guilty of a strategical error which it +was now too late to rectify. +</p> + +<p> +In common with others, Kerry among them, who had come in contact with that +perverted intelligence, she misjudged Mollie’s motives. In the first place, the +latter had no wish to avoid publicity, and in the second place—although +she sometimes wondered vaguely what she should do when her stock of drugs +became exhausted—Mollie was prompted by no particular animosity toward +the Home office inquiry. She had merely perceived a suitable opportunity to +make the acquaintance of the fierce red Chief Inspector, and at the same time +to secure notoriety for herself. +</p> + +<p> +Ere Margaret’s car had progressed a hundred yards from the door, Mollie was at +the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“City 400, please,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +An interval elapsed, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the Commissioner’s office, New Scotland Yard?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +A voice replied that it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Could you put me through to Chief Inspector Kerry?” +</p> + +<p> +“What name?” inquired the voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mollie hesitated for three seconds, and then gave her family name. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, madam,” said the voice respectfully. “Please hold on, and I will +enquire if the Chief Inspector is here.” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie’s heart was beating rapidly with pleasurable excitement, and she was as +confused as a maiden at her first rendezvous. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello,” said the voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry, madam. But Chief Inspector Kerry is off duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” sighed Mollie, “what a pity. Can you tell me where I could find +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid not, madam. It is against the rules to give private addresses of +members of any department.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, very well.” She sighed again. “Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +She replaced the receiver and stood biting her finger thoughtfully. She was +making a mental inventory of her many admirers and wondering which of them +could help her. Suddenly she came to a decision on the point. Taking up the +receiver: +</p> + +<p> +“Victoria 8440, please,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Still biting one finger she waited, until: +</p> + +<p> +“Foreign office,” announced a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Please put me through to Mr. Archie Boden-Shaw,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Ere long that official’s secretary was inquiring her name, and a moment later: +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Archie?” said Mollie. “Yes! Mollie speaking. No, please listen, +Archie! You can get to know everything at the Foreign office, and I want you to +find out for me the private address of Chief Inspector Kerry, who is in charge +of the Bond Street murder case. Don’t be silly! I’ve asked Scotland Yard, but +they won’t tell me. <i>You</i> can find out.... It doesn’t matter why I want to +know.... Just ring me up and tell me. I <i>must</i> know in half an hour. Yes, +I shall be seeing you tonight. Good-bye....” +</p> + +<p> +Less than half an hour later, the obedient Archie rang up, and Mollie, all +excitement, wrote the following address in a dainty scented notebook which she +carried in her handbag. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY,<br/> +67 Spenser Road, Brixton. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0027"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +CROWN EVIDENCE</h2> + +<p> +The appearance of the violet-enamelled motor brougham upholstered in cream, and +driven by a chauffeur in a violet and cream livery, created some slight +sensation in Spenser Road, S.E. Mollie Gretna’s conspicuous car was familiar +enough to residents in the West End of London, but to lower middle-class +suburbia it came as something of a shock. More than one window curtain moved +suspiciously, suggesting a hidden but watchful presence, when the glittering +vehicle stopped before the gate of number 67; and the lady at number 68 seized +an evidently rare opportunity to come out and polish her letter-box. +</p> + +<p> +She was rewarded by an unobstructed view of the smartest woman in London (thus +spake society paragraphers) and of the most expensive set of furs in Europe, +also of a perfectly gowned slim figure. Of Mollie’s disdainful face, with its +slightly uptilted nose, she had no more than a glimpse. +</p> + +<p> +A neat maid, evidently Scotch, admitted the dazzling visitor to number 67; and +Spenser Road waited and wondered. It was something to do with the Bond Street +murder! Small girls appeared from doorways suddenly opened and darted off to +advise less-watchful neighbors. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry, who had been at work until close upon dawn in the mysterious underworld +of Soho was sleeping, but Mrs. Kerry received Mollie in a formal little +drawing-room, which, unlike the cosy, homely dining-room, possessed that frigid +atmosphere which belongs to uninhabited apartments. In a rather handsome +cabinet were a number of trophies associated with the detective’s successful +cases. The cabinet itself was a present from a Regent Street firm for whom +Kerry had recovered valuable property. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Kerry, dressed in a plain blouse and skirt, exhibited no trace of +nervousness in the presence of her aristocratic and fashionable caller. Indeed, +Mollie afterwards declared that “she was quite a ladylike person. But rather +tin tabernacley, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did ye wish to see Chief Inspector Kerry parteecularly?” asked Mary, watching +her visitor with calm, observant eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, most particularly!” cried Mollie, in a flutter of excitement. “Of course I +don’t know <i>what</i> you must think of me for calling at such a preposterous +hour, but there are some things that simply can’t wait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” murmured Mrs. Kerry. “’Twill be yon Bond Street affair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, it is, Mrs. Kerry. Doesn’t the very name of Bond Street turn your +blood cold? I am simply shivering with fear!” +</p> + +<p> +“As the wife of a Chief Inspector I am maybe more used to tragedies than +yoursel’, madam. But it surely is a sair grim business. My husband is resting +now. He was hard at work a’ the night. Nae doubt ye’ll be wishin’ tee see him +privately?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if you please. I am so sorry to disturb him. I can imagine that he must be +literally exhausted after spending a whole night among dreadful people.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Kerry stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“If ye’ll excuse me for a moment I’ll awaken him,” she said. “Our household is +sma’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course! I quite understand, Mrs. Kerry! So sorry. But so good of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Might I offer ye a glass o’ sherry an’ a biscuit?” +</p> + +<p> +“I simply couldn’t <i>dream</i> of troubling you! Please don’t suggest such a +thing. I feel covered with guilt already. Many thanks nevertheless.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Kerry withdrew, leaving Mollie alone. As soon as the door closed Mollie +stood up and began to inspect the trophies in the cabinet. She was far too +restless and excited to remain sitting down. She looked at the presentation +clock on the mantelpiece and puzzled over the signatures engraved upon a large +silver dish which commemorated the joy displayed by the Criminal Investigation +Department upon the occasion of Kerry’s promotion to the post of Chief +Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened and Kerry came in. He had arisen and completed his toilet in +several seconds less than five minutes. But his spotlessly neat attire would +have survived inspection by the most lynx-eyed martinet in the Brigade of +Guards. As he smiled at his visitor with fierce geniality, Mollie blushed like +a young girl. +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry was a much bigger man than she had believed him to be. +The impression left upon her memory by his brief appearance at the night club +had been that of a small, dapper figure. Now, as he stood in the little +drawing-room, she saw that he was not much if anything below the average height +of Englishmen, and that he possessed wonderfully broad shoulders. In fact, +Kerry was deceptive. His compact neatness and the smallness of his feet and +hands, together with those swift, lithe movements which commonly belong to men +of light physique, curiously combined to deceive the beholder, but masked +eleven stones (*note: 1 stone = 14 pounds) of bone and muscle. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good of you to offer information, miss,” he said. “I’m willing to admit +that I can do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened a bureau and took out a writing-block and a fountain pen. Then he +turned and stared hard at Mollie. She quickly lowered her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Kerry, “but didn’t I see you somewhere last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said. “I was sitting just inside the door at—” +</p> + +<p> +“Right! I remember,” interrupted Kerry. He continued to stare. “Before you say +any more, miss, I have to remind you that I am a police officer, and that you +may be called upon to swear to the truth of any information you may give me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course! I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know? Very well, then; we can get on. Who gave you my address?” +</p> + +<p> +At the question, so abruptly asked, Mollie felt herself blushing again. It was +delightful to know that she could still blush. “Oh—I... that is, I asked +Scotland Yard ” +</p> + +<p> +She bestowed a swift, half-veiled glance at her interrogator, but he offered +her no help, and: +</p> + +<p> +“They wouldn’t tell me,” she continued. “So—I had to find out. You see, I +heard you were trying to get information which I thought perhaps I could give.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you went to the trouble to find my private address rather than to the +nearest police station,” said Kerry. “Might I ask you from whom you heard that +I wanted this information?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—it’s in the papers, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly. But it occurred to me that someone... connected might have +told you as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Actually, someone did: Miss Margaret Halley.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Now we’re coming to it. She told you to come to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” cried Mollie—“she didn’t. She told me to tell her so that she +could tell the Home office.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” said Kerry, “eh?” He bent forward, staring fiercely. “Please tell me +exactly what Miss Halley wanted to know.” +</p> + +<p> +The intensity of his gaze Mollie found very perturbing, but: +</p> + +<p> +“She wanted me to tell her where Mrs. Sin lived,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry experienced a quickening of the pulse. In the failure of the C.I.D. to +trace the abode of the notorious Mrs. Sin he had suspected double-dealing. He +counted it unbelievable that a figure so conspicuous in certain circles could +evade official quest even for forty-eight hours. K Division’s explanation, too, +that there were no less than eighty Chinamen resident in and about Limehouse +whose names either began or ended with Sin, he looked upon as a paltry evasion. +That very morning he had awakened from a species of nightmare wherein 719 had +affected the arrest of Kazmah and Mrs. Sin and had rescued Mrs. Irvin from the +clutches of the former. Now—here was hope. 719 would seem to be as +hopelessly in the dark as everybody else. +</p> + +<p> +“You refused?” he rapped. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I did, Inspector,” said Mollie, with a timid, tender glance. “I +thought you were the proper person to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you know?” asked Kerry, unable to conceal his eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sighed Mollie. “Unfortunately—I know. Oh Inspector, how can I +explain it to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t trouble, miss. Just give me the address and I’ll ask no questions!” +</p> + +<p> +His keenness was thrilling, infectious. As a result of the night’s “beating” he +had a list of some twenty names whose owners might have been patrons of Kazmah +and some of whom might know Mrs. Sin. But he had learned from bitter experience +how difficult it was to induce such people to give useful evidence. There was +practically no means of forcing them to speak if they chose, from selfish +motives, to be silent. They could be forced to appear in court, but anything +elicited in public was worse than useless. Furthermore, Kerry could not afford +to wait. Mollie replied excitedly: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Inspector, I know you will think me simply an appalling person when I tell +you; but I have been to Mrs. Sin’s house—‘The House of a Hundred +Raptures’ she calls it—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes! But—the address?” +</p> + +<p> +“However can I tell you the address, Inspector? I could drive you there, but I +haven’t the very haziest idea of the name of the horrible street! One drives +along dreadful roads where there are stalls and Jews for quite an interminable +time, and then over a sort of canal, and then round to the right all among +ships and horrid Chinamen. Then, there is a doorway in a little court, and Mrs. +Sin’s husband sits inside a smelly room with a positively ferocious raven who +shrieks about legs and policemen! Oh! Can I ever forget it!” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, miss, one moment,” said Kerry, keeping an iron control upon +himself. “What is the name of Mrs. Sin’s husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let me think! I can always remember it by recalling the croak of the +raven.” She raised one hand to her brow, posing reflectively, and began to +murmur: +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin Ah... Sin Sin Jar... Sin Sin—Oh! I have it! Sin Sin <i>Wa!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rapped Kerry, and made a note on the block. “Sin Sin <i>Wa</i>, and he +has a pet raven, you say, who talks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who positively talks like some horrid old woman!” cried Mollie. “He has only +one eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“The raven?” +</p> + +<p> +“The raven, yes—and also the Chinaman.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it’s a nightmare to behold them together!” declared Mollie, clasping her +hands and bending forward. +</p> + +<p> +She was gaining courage, and now looked almost boldly into the fierce eyes of +the Chief Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“Describe the house,” he said succinctly. “Take your time and use your own +words.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Mollie launched into a description of Sin Sin Wa’s opium-house. +Kerry, his eyes fixed upon her face, listened silently. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“These little rooms are really next door?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so, Inspector. We always went through the back of a cupboard!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you give me names of others who used this place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well”—Mollie hesitated—“poor Rita, of course and Sir Lucien. Then, +Cyrus Kilfane used to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kilfane? The American actor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m. He’s back in America, Sir Lucien is dead, and Mrs. Irvin is missing. +Nobody else?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Who first took you there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cyrus Kilfane.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Sir Lucien?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. But both of them had been before.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was Kazmah’s connection with Mrs. Sin and her husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no idea, Inspector. Kazmah used to supply cocaine and veronal and +trional and heroin, but those who wanted to smoke opium he sent to Mrs. Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! he gave them her address?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! He gave her <i>their</i> address.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. She called?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Oh, Inspector”—Mollie bent farther forward—“I can see in your +eyes that you think I am fabulously wicked! Shall I be arrested?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry coughed drily and stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“Probably not, miss. But you may be required to give evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, actually?” cried Mollie, also standing up and approaching nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Shall you object?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollie looked into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Not if I can be of the slightest assistance to <i>you</i>, Inspector.” +</p> + +<p> +A theory to explain why this social butterfly had sought him out as a recipient +of her compromising confidences presented itself to Kerry’s mind. He was a +modest man, having neither time nor inclination for gallantries, and this was +the first occasion throughout his professional career upon which he had +obtained valuable evidence on the strength of his personal attractions. He +doubted the accuracy of his deduction. But, Mollie at that moment lowering her +lashes and then rapidly raising them again, Kerry was compelled to accept his +own astonishing theory. +</p> + +<p> +“And she is the daughter of a peer!” he reflected. “No wonder it has been hard +to get evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced rapidly in the direction of the door. There were several details +which were by no means clear, but he decided to act upon the information +already given and to get rid of his visitor without delay. Where some of the +most dangerous criminals in Europe and America had failed, Mollie Gretna had +succeeded in making Red Kerry nervous. +</p> + +<p> +“I am much indebted to you, miss,” he said, and opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it has been delightful to confess to you, Inspector!” declared Mollie. “I +will give you my card, and I shall expect you to come to me for any further +information you may want. If I have to be brought to court, <i>you</i> will +tell me, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rely upon me, miss,” replied Kerry shortly. +</p> + +<p> +He escorted Mollie to her brougham, observed by no less than six discreetly +hidden neighbors. And as the brougham was driven off she waved her hand to him! +Kerry felt a hot flush spreading over his red countenance, for the veiled +onlookers had not escaped his attention. As he re-entered the house: +</p> + +<p> +“Yon’s a bad woman,” said his wife, emerging from the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you may be right, Mary,” replied Kerry confusedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I kenned it when fairst I set een upon her painted face. I kenned it the now +when she lookit sideways at ye. If yon’s a grand lady, she’s a woman o’ puir +repute. The Lord gi’e us grace.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0028"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +THE GILDED JOSS</h2> + +<p> +London was fog-bound. The threat of the past week had been no empty one. +Towards the hour of each wintry sunset had come the yellow racks, hastening +dusk and driving folks more speedily homeward to their firesides. The dull +reports of fog-signals had become a part of the metropolitan bombilation, but +hitherto the choking mist had not secured a strangle-hold. +</p> + +<p> +Now, however, it had triumphed, casting its thick net over the city as if eager +to stifle the pulsing life of the new Babylon. In the neighborhood of the Docks +its density was extraordinary, and the purlieus of Limehouse became mere +mysterious gullies of smoke impossible to navigate unless one were very +familiar with their intricacies and dangers. +</p> + +<p> +Chief Inspector Kerry, wearing a cardigan under his oilskins, tapped the +pavement with the point of his malacca like a blind man. No glimmer of light +could he perceive. He could not even see his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” he snapped irritably, as his foot touched a brick wall, “where the +devil are you, constable?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here beside you, sir,” answered P.C. Bryce, of K Division, his guide. +</p> + +<p> +“Which side?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The constable grasped Kerry’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“But we’ve walked slap into a damn brick wall!” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep the wall on your left, sir, and it’s all clear ahead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Clear be damned!” said Kerry. “Are we nearly there?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a dozen paces and we shall see the lamp—if it’s been lighted.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if not we shall stroll into the river, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No danger of that. Even if the lamp’s out, we shall strike the iron pillar.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t doubt it,” said Kerry grimly. +</p> + +<p> +They proceeded at a slow pace. Dull reports and a vague clangor were audible. +These sounds were so deadened by the clammy mist that they might have proceeded +from some gnome’s workshop deep in the bowels of the earth. The blows of a +pile-driver at work on the Surrey shore suggested to Kerry’s mind the phantom +crew of Hendrick Hudson at their game of ninepins in the Katskill Mountains. +Suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Bryce?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m here, sir,” replied the voice of the constable from beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m, then there’s someone else about.” He raised his voice. “Hi, there! have +you lost your way?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stood still, listening. But no one answered to his call. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll swear there was someone just behind us, Bryce!” +</p> + +<p> +“There was, sir. I saw someone, too. A Chinese resident, probably. Here we +are!” +</p> + +<p> +A sound of banging became audible, and on advancing another two paces, Kerry +found himself beside Bryce before a low closed door. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! hello!” croaked a dim voice. “Number one p’lice chop, lo! Sin Sin Wa!” +</p> + +<p> +The flat note of a police whistle followed. +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin is at home,” declared Bryce. “That’s the raven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does he take the thing about with him, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so. But he puts it in a cupboard when he goes out, and it never +talks unless it can see a light.” +</p> + +<p> +Bolts were unfastened and the door was opened. Out through the moving curtain +of fog shone the red glow from a stove. A grotesque silhouette appeared +outlined upon the dim redness. +</p> + +<p> +“You wantchee me?” crooned Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“I do!” rapped Kerry. “I’ve called to look for opium.” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped past the Chinaman into the dimly lighted room. As he did so, the +cause of an apparent deformity which had characterized the outline of Sin Sin +Wa became apparent. From his left shoulder the raven partly arose, moving his +big wings, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Smartest leg!” it shrieked in Kerry’s ear and rattled imaginary castanets. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief Inspector started, involuntarily. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn the thing!” he muttered. “Come in, Bryce, and shut the door. What’s +this?” +</p> + +<p> +On a tea-chest set beside the glowing stove, the little door of which was open, +stood a highly polished squat wooden image, gilded and colored red and green. +It was that of a leering Chinaman, possibly designed to represent Buddha, and +its jade eyes seemed to blink knowingly in the dancing rays from the stove. +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin Wa’s Joss,” murmured the proprietor, as Bryce closed the outer door. +“Me shinee him up; makee Joss glad. Number one piecee Joss.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry turned and stared into the pock-marked smiling face. Seen in that dim +light it was not unlike the carved face of the image, save that the latter +possessed two open eyes and the Chinaman but one. The details of the room were +indiscernible, lost in yellowish shadow, but the eye of the raven and the eye +of Sin Sin Wa glittered like strange jewels. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” said Kerry. “Sorry to interrupt your devotions. Light us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Allee velly proper,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +He took up the Joss tenderly and bore it across the room. Opening a little +cupboard set low down near the floor he discovered a lighted lantern. This he +took out and set upon the dirty table. Then he placed the image on a shelf in +the cupboard and turned smilingly to his visitors. +</p> + +<p> +“Number one p’lice!” shrieked the raven. +</p> + +<p> +“Here!” snapped Kerry. “Put that damn thing to bed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Velly good,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently. +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hand to his shoulder and the raven stepped sedately from shoulder +to wrist. Sin Sin Wa stooped. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Tling-a-Ling,” he said softly. “You catchee sleepee.” +</p> + +<p> +The raven stepped down from his wrist and walked into the cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +“So fashion, lo!” said Sin Sin Wa, closing the door. +</p> + +<p> +He seated himself upon a tea-chest beside the useful cupboard, resting his +hands upon his knees and smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry, chewing steadily, had watched the proceedings in silence, but now: +</p> + +<p> +“Constable Bryce,” he said crisply, “you recognize this man as Sin Sin Wa, the +occupier of the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Bryce. +</p> + +<p> +He was not wholly at ease, and persistently avoided the Chinaman’s oblique, +beady eye. +</p> + +<p> +“In the ordinary course of your duty you frequently pass along this street?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the limit of the Limehouse beat, sir. Poplar patrols on the other side.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that at this point, or hereabout, you would sometimes meet the constable on +the next beat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” Bryce hesitated, clearing his throat, “this street isn’t properly +in his district.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say it was!” snapped Kerry, glaring fiercely at the embarrassed +constable. “I said you would sometimes meet him here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes. Right. Did you ever come in here?” +</p> + +<p> +The constable ventured a swift glance at the savage red face, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, now and then,” he confessed. “Just for a warm on a cold night, +maybe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Allee velly welcome,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry never for a moment removed his fixed gaze from the face of Bryce. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my lad,” he said, “I’m going to ask you another question. I’m not saying +a word about the warm on a cold night. We’re all human. But—did you ever +see or hear or smell anything suspicious in this house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” affirmed the constable earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Did anything ever take place that suggested to your mind that Sin Sin Wa might +be concealing something—upstairs, for instance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never a thing, sir. There’s never been a complaint about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Allee velly proper,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stared intently for some moments at Bryce; then, turning suddenly to Sin +Sin Wa: +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see your wife,” he said. “Fetch her.” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa gently patted his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“She velly bad woman,” he declared. “She no hate topside pidgin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk!” shouted Kerry. “Fetch her!” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa turned his hands palms upward. +</p> + +<p> +“Me no hate gotchee wifee,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry took one pace forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch her,” he said; “or—” He drew a pair of handcuffs from the pocket +of his oilskin. +</p> + +<p> +“Velly bad luck,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Catchee trouble for wifee no got.” +</p> + +<p> +He extended his wrists, meeting the angry glare of the Chief Inspector with a +smile of resignation. Kerry bit savagely at his chewing-gum, glancing aside at +Bryce. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever see his wife?” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. I didn’t know he had one.” +</p> + +<p> +“No habgotchee,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “velly bad woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the last time,” said Kerry, stooping and thrusting his face forward so +that his nose was only some six inches from that of Sin Sin Wa, “where’s Mrs. +Sin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Catchee lun off,” replied the Chinaman blandly. “Velly bad woman. Tlief woman. +Catchee stealee alla my dollars!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stood upright, moving his shoulders and rattling the handcuffs. +</p> + +<p> +“Comee here when Sin Sin Wa hate gone for catchee shavee, liftee alla my +dollars, and—<i>pff! chee</i>-lo!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hand and blew imaginary fluff into space. Kerry stared down at +him with an expression in which animal ferocity and helplessness were oddly +blended. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“Bryce,” he said, “stay here. I’m going to search the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry turned again to the Chinaman. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anyone upstairs?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody hate. Sin Sin Wa alla samee lonesome. Catchee shinum him joss.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry dropped the handcuffs back into the pocket of his overall and took out an +electric torch. With never another glance at Sin Sin Wa he went out into the +passage and began to mount the stairs, presently finding himself in a room +filled with all sorts of unsavory rubbish and containing a large cupboard. He +uttered an exclamation of triumph. +</p> + +<p> +Crossing the littered floor, and picking his way amid broken cane chairs, +tea-chests, discarded garments and bedlaths, he threw open the cupboard door. +Before him hung a row of ragged clothes and a number of bowler hats. Directing +the ray of the torch upon the unsavory collection, he snatched coats and hats +from the hooks upon which they depended and hurled them impatiently upon the +floor. +</p> + +<p> +When the cupboard was empty he stepped into it and began to bang upon the back. +The savagery of his expression grew more marked than usual, and as he chewed +his maxillary muscles protruded extraordinarily. +</p> + +<p> +“If ever I sounded a brick wall,” he muttered, “I’m doing it now.” +</p> + +<p> +Tap where he would—and he tapped with his knuckles and with the bone +ferrule of his cane—there was nothing in the resulting sound to suggest +that that part of the wall behind the cupboard was less solid than any other +part. +</p> + +<p> +He examined the room rapidly, then passed into another one adjoining it, which +was evidently used as a bedroom. The latter faced towards the court and did not +come in contact with the wall of the neighboring house. In both rooms the +windows were fastened, and judging from the state of the fasteners were never +opened. In that containing the cupboard outside shutters were also closed. +Despite this sealing-up of the apartments, traces of fog hung in the air. Kerry +descended the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Snapping off the light of his torch, he stood, feet wide apart, staring at Sin +Sin Wa. The latter, smiling imperturbably, yellow hands resting upon knees, sat +quite still on the tea-chest. Constable Bryce was seated on a corner of the +table, looking curiously awkward in his tweed overcoat and bowler hat, which +garments quite failed to disguise the policeman. He stood up as Kerry entered. +Then: +</p> + +<p> +“There used to be a door between this house and the next,” said Kerry +succinctly. “My information is exact and given by someone who has often used +that door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bloody liar,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” shouted Kerry. “What did you say, you yellow-faced mongrel!” +</p> + +<p> +He clenched his fists and strode towards the Chinaman. +</p> + +<p> +“Sarcee feller catchee pullee leg,” explained the unmoved Sin Sin Wa. “Velly +bad man tellee lie for makee bhoberry—getchee poor Chinaman in tlouble.” +</p> + +<p> +In the fog-bound silence Kerry could very distinctly be heard chewing. He +turned suddenly to Bryce. +</p> + +<p> +“Go back and fetch two men,” he directed. “I should never find my way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bryce stepped to the door, unable to hide the relief which he experienced, and +opened it. The fog was so dense that it looked like a yellow curtain hung in +the opening. +</p> + +<p> +“Phew!” said Bryce. “I may be some little time, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite likely. But don’t stop to pick daisies.” +</p> + +<p> +The constable went out, closing the door. Kerry laid his cane on the table, +then stooped and tossed a cud of chewing-gum into the stove. From his waistcoat +pocket he drew out a fresh piece and placed it between his teeth. Drawing a +tea-chest closer to the stove, he seated himself and stared intently into the +glowing heart of the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa extended his arm and opened the little cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +“Number one p’lice,” croaked the raven drowsily. +</p> + +<p> +“You catchee sleepee, Tling-a-Ling,” said Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +He took out the green-eyed joss, set it tenderly upon a corner of the table, +and closed the cupboard door. With a piece of chamois leather, which he +sometimes dipped into a little square tin, he began to polish the hideous +figure. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0029"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +DOUBTS AND FEARS</h2> + +<p> +Monte Irvin raised his head and stared dully at Margaret Halley. It was very +quiet in the library of the big old-fashioned house at Prince’s Gate. A faint +crackling sound which proceeded from the fire was clearly audible. Margaret’s +grey eyes were anxiously watching the man whose pose as he sat in the deep, +saddle-back chair so curiously suggested collapse. +</p> + +<p> +“Drugs,” he whispered. “Drugs.” +</p> + +<p> +Few of his City associates would have recognized the voice; all would have been +shocked to see the change which had taken place in the man. +</p> + +<p> +“You really understand why I have told you, Mr. Irvin, don’t you?” said +Margaret almost pleadingly. “Dr. Burton thought you should not be told, but +then Dr. Burton did not know you were going to ask me point blank. And <i>I</i> +thought it better that you should know the truth, bad as it is, rather +than—” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather than suspect—worse things,” whispered Irvin. “Of course, you were +right, Miss Halley. I am very, very grateful to you for telling me. I realize +what courage it must have called for. Believe me, I shall always +remember—” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off, staring across the room at his wife’s portrait. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“If only I had known,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +Irvin exhibited greater composure than Margaret had ventured to anticipate. She +was confirmed in her opinion that he should be told the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I would have told you long ago,” she said, “if I had thought that any good +could result from my doing so. Frankly, I had hoped to cure Rita of the habit, +and I believe I might have succeeded in time.” +</p> + +<p> +“There has been no mention of drugs in connection with the case,” said Monte +Irvin, speaking monotonously. “In the Press, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hitherto there has not,” she replied. “But there is a hint of it in one of +this evening’s papers, and I determined to give you the exact facts so far as +they are known to me before some garbled account came to your ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he said, “thank you. I had felt for a long time that I was getting +out of touch with Rita, that she had other confidants. Have you any idea who +they were, Miss Halley?” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his eyes, looking at her pathetically. Margaret hesitated, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she replied, “I am afraid Nina knew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Her maid?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think she must have known.” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“The police have interrogated her,” he said. “Probably she is being watched.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t think she knows anything about the drug syndicate,” declared +Margaret. “She merely acted as confidential messenger. Poor Sir Lucien Pyne, I +am sure, was addicted to drugs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think”—Irvin spoke in a very low voice—“do you think he led +her into the habit?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret bit her lip, staring down at the red carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“I would hate to slander a man who can never defend himself,” she replied +finally. “But—I have sometimes thought he did.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell. Both were contemplating a theory which neither dared to express +in words. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” continued Margaret, “it is evident that this man Kazmah was +patronized by people so highly placed that it is hopeless to look for +information from them. Again, such people have influence. I don’t suggest that +they are using it to protect Kazmah, but I have no doubt they are doing so to +protect themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin raised his eyes to her face. A weary, sad look had come into them. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that it may be to somebody’s interest to hush up the matter as much +as possible?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret nodded her head. +</p> + +<p> +“The prevalence of the drug habit in society—especially in London +society—is a secret which has remained hidden so long from the general +public,” she replied, “that one cannot help looking for bribery and corruption. +The stage is made the scapegoat whenever the voice of scandal breathes the word +‘dope,’ but we rarely hear the names of the worst offenders even whispered. I +have thought for a long time that the authorities must know the names of the +receivers and distributors of cocaine, veronal, opium, and the other drugs, +huge quantities of which find their way regularly to the West End of London. +Pharmacists sometimes experience the greatest difficulty in obtaining the drugs +which they legitimately require, and the prices have increased extraordinarily. +Cocaine, for instance, has gone up from five and sixpence an ounce to +eighty-seven shillings, and heroin from three and sixpence to over forty +shillings, while opium that was once about twenty shillings a pound is now +eight times the price.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin listened attentively. +</p> + +<p> +“In the course of my Guildhall duties,” he said slowly, “I have been brought in +contact frequently with police officers of all ranks. If influential people are +really at work protecting these villains who deal illicitly in drugs, I don’t +think, and I am not prepared to believe, that they have corrupted the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither do I believe so, Mr. Irvin!” said Margaret eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” Irvin pursued, exhibiting greater animation, “you inform me that a Home +office commissioner has been appointed. What does this mean, if not that Lord +Wrexborough distrusts the police?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, the police seemed to be unable, or unwilling, to do anything in +the matter. Of course, this may have been due to the fact that the traffic was +so skilfully handled that it defied their inquiries.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take, as an instance, Chief Inspector Kerry,” continued Irvin. “He has +exhibited the utmost delicacy and consideration in his dealings with me, but +I’ll swear that a whiter man never breathed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, really, Mr. Irvin, I don’t think for a moment that men of that class are +suspected of being concerned. Indeed, I don’t believe any active collusion is +suspected at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Wrexborough thinks that Scotland Yard hasn’t got an officer clever enough +for the dope people?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite possibly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I take it that he has put up a secret service man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe—that is, I know he has.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin was watching Margaret’s face, and despite the dull misery which +deadened his usually quick perceptions, he detected a heightened color and a +faint change of expression. He did not question her further upon the point, +but: +</p> + +<p> +“God knows I welcome all the help that offers,” he said. “Lord Wrexborough is +your uncle, Miss Halley; but do you think this secret commission business quite +fair to Scotland Yard?” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret stared for some moments at the carpet, then raised her grey eyes and +looked earnestly at the speaker. She had learned in the brief time that had +elapsed since this black sorrow had come upon him to understand what it was in +the character of Monte Irvin which had attracted Rita. It afforded an +illustration of that obscure law governing the magnetism which subsists between +diverse natures. For not all the agony of mind which he suffered could hide or +mar the cleanness and honesty of purpose which were Monte Irvin’s outstanding +qualities. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Margaret replied, “honestly, I don’t. And I feel rather guilty about it, +too, because I have been urging uncle to take such a step for quite a long +time. You see”—she glanced at Irvin wistfully—“I am brought in +contact with so many victims of the drug habit. I believe the police are +hampered; and these people who deal in drugs manage in some way to evade the +law. The Home office agent will report to a committee appointed by Lord +Wrexborough, and then, you see, if it is found necessary to do so, there will +be special legislation.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin sighed wearily, and his glance strayed in the direction of the +telephone on the side-table. He seemed to be constantly listening for something +which he expected but dreaded to hear. Whenever the toy spaniel which lay +curled up on the rug before the fire moved or looked towards the door, Irvin +started and his expression changed. +</p> + +<p> +“This suspense,” he said jerkily, “this suspense is so hard to bear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Irvin, your courage is wonderful,” replied Margaret earnestly. “But +he”—she hastily corrected herself—“everybody is convinced that Rita +is safe. Under some strange misapprehension regarding this awful tragedy she +has run away into hiding. Probably she has been induced to do so by those +interested in preventing her from giving evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin’s eyes lighted up strangely. “Is that the opinion of the Home +office agent?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector Kerry shares it,” declared Irvin. “Please God they are right.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the only possible explanation,” said Margaret. “Any hour now we may +expect news of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think,” pursued Monte Irvin, “that +anybody—anybody—suspects Rita of being concerned in the death of +Sir Lucien?” +</p> + +<p> +He fixed a gaze of pathetic inquiry upon her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not!” she cried. “How ridiculous it would be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he murmured, “it would be ridiculous.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“I am quite relieved now that I have done what I conceived to be my duty, Mr. +Irvin,” she said. “And, bad as the truth may be, it is better than doubt, after +all. You must look after yourself, you know. When Rita comes back we shall have +a big task before us to wean her from her old habits.” She met his glance +frankly. “But we shall succeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“How you cheer me,” whispered Monte Irvin emotionally. “You are the truest +friend that Rita ever had, Miss Halley. You will keep in touch with me, will +you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Next to yourself there is no one so sincerely interested as I am. I +love Rita as I should have loved a sister if I had had one. Please don’t stand +up. Dr. Burton has told you to avoid all exertion for a week or more, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin grasped her outstretched hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Any news which reaches me,” he said, “I will communicate immediately. Thank +you. In times of trouble we learn to know our real friends.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0030"></a> +CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +THE FIGHT IN THE DARK</h2> + +<p> +Towards eleven o’clock at night the fog began slightly to lift. As Kerry +crossed the bridge over Limehouse Canal he could vaguely discern the dirty +water below, and street lamps showed dimly, surrounded each by a halo of yellow +mist. Fog signals were booming on the railway, and from the great docks in the +neighborhood mechanical clashings and hammerings were audible. +</p> + +<p> +Turning to the right, Kerry walked on for some distance, and then suddenly +stepped into the entrance to a narrow cul-de-sac and stood quite still. +</p> + +<p> +A conviction had been growing upon him during the past twelve hours that +someone was persistently and cleverly dogging his footsteps. He had first +detected the presence of this mysterious follower outside the house of Sin Sin +Wa, but the density of the fog had made it impossible for him to obtain a +glimpse of the man’s face. He was convinced, too, that he had been followed +back to Leman Street, and from there to New Scotland Yard. Now, again he became +aware of this persistent presence, and hoped at last to confront the spy. +</p> + +<p> +Below footsteps, the footsteps of someone proceeding with the utmost caution, +came along the pavement. Kerry stood close to the wall of the court, one hand +in a pocket of his overall, waiting and chewing. +</p> + +<p> +Nearer came the footsteps—and nearer. A shadowy figure appeared only a +yard or so away from the watchful Chief Inspector. Thereupon he acted. +</p> + +<p> +With one surprising spring he hurled himself upon the unprepared man, grasped +him by his coat collar, and shone the light of an electric torch fully into his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” he snapped. “The smart from Spinker’s!” +</p> + +<p> +The ray of the torch lighted up the mean, pinched face of Brisley, blanched now +by fright, gleamed upon the sharp, hooked nose and into the cunning little +brown eyes. Brisley licked his lips. In Kerry’s muscular grip he bore quite a +remarkable resemblance to a rat in the jaws of a terrier. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho, ho!” continued the Chief Inspector, showing his teeth savagely. “So we let +Scotland Yard make the pie, and then we steal all the plums, do we?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook the frightened man until Brisley’s broad-brimmed bowler was shaken +off, revealing the receding brow and scanty neutral-colored hair. +</p> + +<p> +“We let Scotland Yard work night and day, and then we present our rat-faced +selves to Mr. Monte Irvin and say we have ‘found the lady’ do we?” Another +vigorous shake followed. “We track Chief Inspectors of the Criminal +Investigation Department, do we? We do, eh? We are dirty, skulking mongrels, +aren’t we? We require to be kicked from Limehouse to Paradise, don’t we?” He +suddenly released Brisley. “So we shall be!” he shouted furiously. +</p> + +<p> +Hot upon the promise came the deed. +</p> + +<p> +Brisley sent up a howl of pain as Kerry’s right brogue came into violent +contact with his person. The assault almost lifted him off his feet, and +hatless as he was he set off, running as a man runs whose life depends upon his +speed. The sound of his pattering footsteps was echoed from wall to wall of the +cul-de-sac until finally it was swallowed up in the fog. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stood listening for some moments, then, directing a furious kick upon the +bowler which lay at his feet, he snapped off the light of the torch and pursued +his way. The lesser mystery was solved, but the greater was before him. +</p> + +<p> +He had made a careful study of the geography of the neighborhood, and although +the fog was still dense enough to be confusing, he found his way without much +difficulty to the street for which he was bound. Some fifteen paces along the +narrow thoroughfare he came upon someone standing by a closed door set in a +high brick wall. The street contained no dwelling houses, and except for the +solitary figure by the door was deserted and silent. Kerry took out his torch +and shone a white ring upon the smiling countenance of Detective-Sergeant +Coombes. +</p> + +<p> +“If that smile gets any worse,” he said irritably, “they’ll have to move your +ears back. Anything to report?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin Wa went to bed an hour ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any visitors?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he been out?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Got the ladder?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“All quiet in the neighborhood?” +</p> + +<p> +“All quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good.” +</p> + +<p> +The street in which this conversation took place was one running roughly +parallel with that in which the house of Sin Sin Wa was situated. A detailed +search of the Chinaman’s premises had failed to bring to light any scrap of +evidence to show that opium had ever been smoked there. Of the door described +by Mollie Gretna, and said to communicate with the adjoining establishment, not +a trace could be found. But the fact that such a door had existed did not rest +solely upon Mollie’s testimony. From one of the “beat-ups” interviewed that +day, Kerry had succeeded in extracting confirmatory evidence. +</p> + +<p> +Inquiries conducted in the neighborhood of Poplar had brought to light the fact +that four of the houses in this particular street, including that occupied by +Sin Sin Wa and that adjoining it, belonged to a certain Mr. Jacobs, said to +reside abroad. Mr. Jacob’s rents were collected by an estate agent, and sent to +an address in San Francisco. For some reason not evident to this man of +business, Mr. Jacobs demanded a rental for the house next to Sin Sin Wa’s, +which was out of all proportion to the value of the property. Hence it had +remained vacant for a number of years. The windows were broken and boarded up, +as was the door. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry realized that the circumstance of the landlord of “The House of a Hundred +Raptures” being named Jacobs, and the lessee of the Cubanis Cigarette Company’s +premises in old Bond Street being named Isaacs, might be no more than a +coincidence. Nevertheless it was odd. He had determined to explore the place +without unduly advertising his intentions. +</p> + +<p> +Two modes of entrance presented themselves. There was a trap on the roof, but +in order to reach it access would have to be obtained to one of the other +houses in the row, which also possessed a roof-trap; or there were four windows +overlooking a little back yard, two upstairs and two down. +</p> + +<p> +By means of a short ladder which Coombes had brought for the purpose Kerry +climbed on to the wall and dropped into the yard. +</p> + +<p> +“The jemmy!” he said softly. +</p> + +<p> +Coombes, also mounting, dropped the required implement. Kerry caught it deftly, +and in a very few minutes had wrenched away the rough planking nailed over one +of the lower windows, without making very much noise. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I come down?” inquired Coombes in muffled tones from the top of the +wall. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” rapped Kerry. “Hide the ladder again. If I want help I’ll whistle. +Catch!” +</p> + +<p> +He tossed the jemmy up to Coombes, and Coombes succeeded in catching it. Then +Kerry raised the glass-less sash of the window and stepped into a little room, +which he surveyed by the light of his electric torch. It was filthy and +littered with rubbish, but showed no sign of having been occupied for a long +time. The ceiling was nearly black, and so were the walls. He went out into a +narrow passage similar to that in the house of Sin Sin Wa and leading to a +stair. +</p> + +<p> +Walking quietly, he began to ascend. Mollie Gretna’s description of the +opium-house had been most detailed and lurid, and he was prepared for some +extravagant scene. +</p> + +<p> +He found three bare, dirty rooms, having all the windows boarded up. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” he said succinctly. +</p> + +<p> +Resting his torch upon a dust-coated ledge of the room, which presumably was +situated in the front of the house, he deposited a cud of chewing-gum in the +empty grate and lovingly selected a fresh piece from the packet which he always +carried. Once more chewing he returned to the narrow passage, which he knew +must be that in which the secret doorway had opened. +</p> + +<p> +It was uncarpeted and dirty, and the walls were covered with faded filthy +paper, the original color and design of which were quite lost. There was not +the slightest evidence that a door had ever existed in any part of the wall. +Following a detailed examination Kerry returned his magnifying glass to the +washleather bag and the bag to his waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” he said, thinking aloud, “Sin Sin Wa may have only one eye, but it’s a +good eye.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his glance to the blackened ceiling of the passage, and saw that the +trap giving access to the roof was situated immediately above him. He directed +the ray of the torch upon it. In the next moment he had snapped off the light +and was creeping silently towards the door of the front room. +</p> + +<p> +The trap had moved slightly! +</p> + +<p> +Gaining the doorway, Kerry stood just inside the room and waited. He became +conscious of a kind of joyous excitement, which claimed him at such moments; an +eagerness and a lust of action. But he stood perfectly still, listening and +waiting. +</p> + +<p> +There came a faint creaking sound, and a new damp chilliness was added to the +stale atmosphere of the passage. Someone had quietly raised the trap. +</p> + +<p> +Cutting through the blackness like a scimitar shone a ray of light from above, +widening as it descended and ending in a white patch on the floor. It was moved +to and fro. Then it disappeared. Another vague creaking sound +followed—that caused by a man’s weight being imposed upon a wooden +framework. +</p> + +<p> +Finally came a thud on the bare boards of the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Complete silence ensued. Kerry waited, muscles tense and brain alert. He even +suspended the chewing operation. A dull, padding sound reached his ears. +</p> + +<p> +From the quality of the thud which had told of the intruder’s drop from the +trap to the floor, Kerry had deduced that he wore rubber-soled shoes. Now, the +sound which he could hear was that of the stranger’s furtive footsteps. He was +approaching the doorway in which Kerry was standing. +</p> + +<p> +Just behind the open door Kerry waited. And unheralded by any further sound to +tell of his approach, the intruder suddenly shone a ray of light right into the +room. He was on the threshold; only the door concealed him from Kerry, and +concealed Kerry from the new-comer. +</p> + +<p> +The disc of light cast into the dirty room grew smaller. The man with the torch +was entering. A hand which grasped a magazine pistol appeared beyond the edge +of the door, and Kerry’s period of inactivity came to an end. Leaning back he +adroitly kicked the weapon from the hand of the man who held it! +</p> + +<p> +There was a smothered cry of pain, and the pistol fell clattering on the floor. +The light went out, too. As it vanished Kerry leapt from his hiding-place. +Snapping on the light of his own pocket lamp, he ran out into the passage. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Crack!</i> came the report of a pistol. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry dropped flat on the floor. He had not counted on the intruder being armed +with <i>two</i> pistols! His pocket lamp, still alight, fell beside him, and he +lay in a curiously rigid attitude on his side, one knee drawn up and his arm +thrown across his face. +</p> + +<p> +Carefully avoiding the path of light cast by the fallen torch, the unseen +stranger approached silently. Pistol in hand, he bent, nearer and nearer, +striving to see the face of the prostrate man. Kerry lay deathly still. The +other dropped on one knee and bent closely over him.... +</p> + +<p> +Swiftly as a lash Kerry’s arm was whipped around the man’s neck, and helpless +he pitched over on to his head! Uttering a dull groan, he lay heavy and still +across Kerry’s body. +</p> + +<p> +“Flames!” muttered the Chief Inspector, extricating himself; “I didn’t mean to +break his neck.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up the electric torch, and shone it upon the face of the man on the +floor. It was a dirty, unshaven face, unevenly tanned, as though the man had +worn a beard until quite recently and had come from a hot climate. He was +attired in a manner which suggested that he might be a ship’s fireman save that +he wore canvas shoes having rubber soles. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stood watching him for some moments. Then he groped behind him with one +foot until he found the pistol, the second pistol which the man had dropped as +he pitched on his skull. Kerry picked it up, and resting the electric torch +upon the crown of his neat bowler hat—which lay upon the floor—he +stooped, pistol in hand, and searched the pockets of the prostrate man, who had +begun to breathe stertorously. In the breast pocket he found a leather wallet +of good quality; and at this he stared, a curious expression coming into his +fierce eyes. He opened it, and found Treasury notes, some official-looking +papers, and a number of cards. Upon one of these cards be directed the light, +and this is what he read: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img02.jpg" width="500" height="274" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“God’s truth!” gasped Kerry. “It’s the man from Whitehall!” +</p> + +<p> +The stertorous breathing ceased, and a very dirty hand was thrust up to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you spoke, Chief Inspector Kerry,” drawled a vaguely familiar voice. +“I was just about to kick you in the back of the neck!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry dropped the wallet and grasped the proffered hand. “719” stood up, +smiling grimly. Footsteps were clattering on the stairs. Coombes had heard the +shot. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Kerry, “if ever you need a testimonial to your efficiency at this +game, my address is Sixty-seven Spenser Road, Brixton. We’ve met before.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have, Chief Inspector,” was the reply. “We met at Kazmah’s, and later at a +certain gambling den in Soho.” +</p> + +<p> +The pseudo fireman dragged a big cigar-case from his hip-pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m known as Seton Pasha. Can I offer you a cheroot?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0031"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +THE STORY OF 719</h2> + +<p> +In a top back room of the end house in the street which also boasted the +residence of Sin Sin Wa, Seton Pasha and Chief Inspector Kerry sat one on +either side of a dirty deal table. Seton smoked and Kerry chewed. A smoky +oil-lamp burned upon the table, and two notebooks lay beside it. +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly odd,” Seton was saying, “that you failed to break my neck. But +I have made it a practice since taking up my residence here to wear a cap +heavily padded. I apprehend sandbags and pieces of loaded tubing.” +</p> + +<p> +“The tube is not made,” declared Kerry, “which can do the job. You’re harder to +kill than a Chinese-Jew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your own escape is almost equally remarkable,” added Seton. “I rarely miss at +such short range. But you had nearly broken my wrist with that kick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Kerry. “You should always bang a door wide open suddenly +before you enter into a suspected room. Anybody standing behind usually stops +it with his head.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am indebted for the hint, Chief Inspector. We all have something to learn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, we’ve laid our cards on the table, and you’ll admit we’ve both got +a lot to learn before we see daylight. I’ll be obliged if you’ll put me wise to +your game. I take it you began work on the very night of the murder?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did. By a pure accident—the finding of an opiated cigarette in Mr. +Gray’s rooms—I perceived that the business which had led to my recall +from the East was involved in the Bond Street mystery. Frankly, Chief +Inspector, I doubted at that time if it were possible for you and me to work +together. I decided to work alone. A beard which I had worn in the East, for +purposes of disguise, I shaved off; and because the skin was whiter where the +hair had grown than elsewhere, I found it necessary after shaving to powder my +face heavily. This accounts for the description given to you of a man with a +pale face. Even now the coloring is irregular, as you may notice. +</p> + +<p> +“Deciding to work anonymously, I went post haste to Lord Wrexhorough and made +certain arrangements whereby I became known to the responsible authorities as +719. The explanation of these figures is a simple one. My name is Greville +Seton. G is the seventh letter in the alphabet, and S the nineteenth; +hence—‘seven-nineteen.’ +</p> + +<p> +“The increase of the drug traffic and the failure of the police to cope with it +had led to the institution of a Home office inquiry, you see. It was suspected +that the traffic was in the hands of orientals, and in looking about for a +confidential agent to make certain inquiries my name cropped up. I was at that +time employed by the Foreign office, but Lord Wrexborough borrowed me.” Seton +smiled at his own expression. “Every facility was offered to me, as you know. +And that my investigations led me to the same conclusion as your own, my +presence as lessee of this room, in the person of John Smiles, seaman, +sufficiently demonstrates.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” said Kerry, “and I take it your investigations have also led you to the +conclusion that our hands are clean?” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha fixed his cool regard upon the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“Personally, I never doubted this, Chief Inspector,” he declared. “I believed, +and I still believe, that the people who traffic in drugs are clever enough to +keep in the good books of the local police. It is a case of clever +<i>camouflage</i>, rather than corruption.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” snapped Kerry. “I was waiting to hear you mention it. So long as we know. +I’m not a man that stands for being pointed at. I’ve got a boy at a good public +school, but if ever he said he was ashamed of his father, the day he said it +would be a day he’d never forget!” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha smiled grimly and changed the topic. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us see,” he said, “if we are any nearer to the heart of the mystery of +Kazmah. You were at the Regent Street bank today, I understand, at which the +late Sir Lucien Pyne had an account?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was,” replied Kerry. “Next to his theatrical enterprises his chief source of +income seems to have been a certain Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres. We’ve +traced Kazmah’s account, too. But no one at the bank has ever seen him. The +missing Rashîd always paid in. Checks were signed ‘Mohammed el-Kazmah,’ in +which name the account had been opened. From the amount standing to his credit +there it’s evident that the proceeds of the dope business went elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you think they went?” asked Seton quietly, watching Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” rapped Kerry, “I think the same as you. I’ve got two eyes and I can see +out of both of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think they went to the Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres!” +</p> + +<p> +“Right!” cried Seton. “I feel sure of it. We may never know how it was all +arranged or who was concerned, but I am convinced that Mr. Isaacs, lessee of +the Cubanis Cigarette Company offices, Mr. Jacobs (my landlord!), Mohammed +el-Kazmah—whoever he may be—the untraceable Mrs. Sin Sin Wa, and +another, were all shareholders of the Jose Santos company.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m with you. By ‘another’ you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Lucien! It’s horrible, but I’m afraid it’s true.” +</p> + +<p> +They became silent for a while. Kerry chewed and Seton smoked. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“The significance of the fact that Sir Lucien’s study window was no more than +forty paces across the leads from a well-oiled window of the Cubanis Company +will not have escaped you,” said Seton. “I performed the journey just ahead of +you, I believe. Then Sir Lucien had lived in Buenos Ayres; that was before he +came into the title, and at a time, I am told, when he was not overburdened +with wealth. His man, Mareno, is indisputably some kind of a South American, +and he can give no satisfactory account of his movements on the night of the +murder. +</p> + +<p> +“That we have to deal with a powerful drug syndicate there can be no doubt. The +late Sir Lucien may not have been a director, but I feel sure he was +financially interested. Kazmah’s was the distributing office, and the +importer—” +</p> + +<p> +“Was Sin Sin Wa!” cried Kerry, his eyes gleaming savagely. “He’s as clever and +cunning as all the rest of Chinatown put together. Somewhere not a hundred +miles from this spot where we are now there’s a store of stuff big enough to +dope all Europe!” +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s something else,” said Seton quietly, knocking a cone of grey ash +from his cheroot on to the dirty floor. “Kazmah is hiding there in all +probability, if he hasn’t got clear away—and Mrs. Monte Irvin is being +held a prisoner!” +</p> + +<p> +“If they haven’t—” +</p> + +<p> +“For Irvin’s sake I hope not, Chief Inspector. There are two very curious +points in the case—apart from the mystery which surrounds the man Kazmah: +the fact that Mareno, palpably an accomplice, stayed to face the music, and the +fact that Sin Sin Wa likewise has made no effort to escape. Do you see what it +means? They are covering the big man—Kazmah. Once he and Mrs. Irvin are +out of the way, we can prove nothing against Mareno and Sin Sin Wa! And the +most we could do for Mrs. Sin would be to convict her of selling opium.” +</p> + +<p> +“To do even that we should have to take a witness to court,” said Kerry +gloomily; “and all the satisfaction we’d get would be to see her charged ten +pounds!” +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell between them again. It was that kind of sympathetic silence which +is only possible where harmony exists; and, indeed, of all the things strange +and bizarre which characterized the inquiry, this sudden amity between Kerry +and Seton Pasha was not the least remarkable. It represented the fruit of a +mutual respect. +</p> + +<p> +There was something about the lean, unshaven face of Seton Pasha, and +something, too, in his bright grey eyes which, allowing for difference of +coloring, might have reminded a close observer of Kerry’s fierce countenance. +The tokens of iron determination and utter indifference to danger were +perceptible in both. And although Seton was dark and turning slightly grey, +while Kerry was as red as a man well could be, that they possessed several +common traits of character was a fact which the dissimilarity of their +complexions wholly failed to conceal. But while Seton Pasha hid the grimness of +his nature beneath a sort of humorous reserve, the dangerous side of Kerry was +displayed in his open truculence. +</p> + +<p> +Seated there in that Limehouse attic, a smoky lamp burning on the table between +them, and one gripping the stump of a cheroot between his teeth, while the +other chewed steadily, they presented a combination which none but a fool would +have lightly challenged. +</p> + +<p> +“Sin Sin Wa is cunning,” said Seton suddenly. “He is a very clever man. Watch +him as closely as you like, he will never lead you to the ‘store.’ In the +character of John Smiles I had some conversation with him this morning, and I +formed the same opinion as yourself. He is waiting for something; and he is +certain of his ground. I have a premonition, Chief Inspector, that whoever else +may fall into the net, Sin Sin Wa will slip out. We have one big chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” rapped Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“The dope syndicate can only have got control of ‘the traffic’ in one +way—by paying big prices and buying out competitors. If they cease to +carry on for even a week they lose their control. The people who bring the +stuff over from Japan, South America, India, Holland, and so forth will sell +somewhere else if they can’t sell to Kazmah and Company. Therefore we want to +watch the ships from likely ports, or, better still, get among the men who do +the smuggling. There must be resorts along the riverside used by people of that +class. We might pick up information there.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry smiled savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got half a dozen good men doing every dive from Wapping to Gravesend,” he +answered. “But if you think it worth looking into personally, say the word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear sir,”—Seton Pasha tossed the end of his cheroot into the +empty grate—“what else can we do?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry banged his fist on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right!” he snapped. “We’re stuck! But anything’s better than nothing. +We’ll start here and now; and the first joint we’ll make for is Dougal’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dougal’s?” echoed Seton Pasha. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it—Dougal’s. A danger spot on the Isle of Dogs used by the lowest +type of sea-faring men and not barred to Arabs, Chinks, and other gaily-colored +fowl. If there’s any chat going on about dope, we’ll hear it in Dougal’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha stood up, smiling grimly. “Dougal’s it shall be,” he said. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0032"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +ON THE ISLE OF DOGS</h2> + +<p> +As the police boat left Limehouse Pier, a clammy south-easterly breeze blowing +up-stream lifted the fog in clearly defined layers, an effect very singular to +behold. At one moment a great arc-lamp burning above the Lavender Pond of the +Surrey Commercial Dock shot out a yellowish light across the Thames. Then, as +suddenly as it had come, the light vanished again as a stratum of mist floated +before it. +</p> + +<p> +The creaking of the oars sounded muffled and ghostly, and none of the men in +the boat seemed to be inclined to converse. Heading across stream they made for +the unseen promontory of the Isle of Dogs. Navigation was suspended, and they +reached midstream without seeing a ship’s light. Then came the damp wind again +to lift the fog, and ahead of them they discerned one of the General Steam +Navigation Company’s boats awaiting an opportunity to make her dock at the head +of Deptford Creek. The clamor of an ironworks on the Millwall shore burst +loudly upon their ears, and away astern the lights of the Surrey Dock shone out +once more. Hugging the bank they pursued a southerly course, and from Limehouse +Reach crept down to Greenwich Reach. +</p> + +<p> +Fog closed in upon them, a curtain obscuring both light and sound. When the +breeze came again it had gathered force, and it drove the mist before it in +wreathing banks, and brought to their ears a dull lowing and to their nostrils +a farmyard odor from the cattle pens. Ghostly flames, leaping and falling, +leaping and falling, showed where a gasworks lay on the Greenwich bank ahead. +</p> + +<p> +Eastward swept the river now, and fresher blew the breeze. As they rounded the +blunt point of the “Isle” the fog banks went swirling past them astern, and the +lights on either shore showed clearly ahead. A ship’s siren began to roar +somewhere behind them. The steamer which they had passed was about to pursue +her course. +</p> + +<p> +Closer in-shore drew the boat, passing a series of wharves, and beyond these a +tract of waste, desolate bank very gloomy in the half light and apparently +boasting no habitation of man. The activities of the Greenwich bank seemed +remote, and the desolation of the Isle of Dogs very near, touching them +intimately with its peculiar gloom. +</p> + +<p> +A light sprang into view some little distance inland, notable because it shone +lonely in an expanse of utter blackness. Kerry broke the long silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Dougal’s,” he said. “Put us ashore here.” +</p> + +<p> +The police boat was pulled in under a rickety wooden structure, beneath which +the Thames water whispered eerily; and Kerry and Seton disembarked, mounting a +short flight of slimy wooden steps and crossing a roughly planked place on to a +shingly slope. Climbing this, they were on damp waste ground, pathless and +uninviting. +</p> + +<p> +“Dougal’s is being watched,” said Kerry. “I think I told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Seton. “But I have formed the opinion that the dope gang is too +clever for the ordinary type of man. Sin Sin Wa is an instance of what I mean. +Neither you nor I doubt that he is a receiver of drugs—perhaps <i>the</i> +receiver; but where is our case? The only real link connecting him with the +West-End habitué is his wife. And she has conveniently deserted him! We cannot +possibly prove that she hasn’t while he chooses to maintain that she has.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” grunted Kerry, abruptly changing the subject. “I hope I’m not recognized +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you visited the place before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some years ago. Unless there are any old hands on view tonight, I don’t think +I shall be spotted.” +</p> + +<p> +He wore a heavy and threadbare overcoat, which was several sizes too large for +him, a muffler, and a weed cap—the outfit supplied by Seton Pasha; and he +had a very vivid and unpleasant recollection of his appearance as viewed in his +little pocket-mirror before leaving Seton’s room. As they proceeded across the +muddy wilderness towards the light which marked the site of Dougal’s, they +presented a picture of a sufficiently villainous pair. +</p> + +<p> +The ground was irregular, and the path wound sinuously about mounds of rubbish; +so that often the guiding light was lost, and they stumbled blindly among +nondescript litter, which apparently represented the accumulation of centuries. +But finally they turned a corner formed by a stack of rusty scrap iron, and +found a long, low building before them. From a ground-floor window light +streamed out upon the fragments of rubbish strewing the ground, from amid which +sickly weeds uprose as if in defiance of nature’s laws. Seton paused, and: +</p> + +<p> +“What is Dougal’s exactly?” he asked; “a public house?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” rapped Kerry. “It’s a coffee-shop used by the dockers. You’ll see when we +get inside. The place never closes so far as I know, and if we made ’em close +there would be a dock strike.” +</p> + +<p> +He crossed and pushed open the swing door. As Seton entered at his heels, a +babel of coarse voices struck upon his ears and he found himself in a +superheated atmosphere suggestive of shag, stale spirits, and imperfectly +washed humanity. +</p> + +<p> +Dougal’s proved to be a kind of hut of wood and corrugated iron, not unlike an +army canteen. There were two counters, one at either end, and two large +American stoves. Oil lamps hung from the beams, and the furniture was made up +of trestle tables, rough wooden chairs, and empty barrels. Coarse, thick +curtains covered all the windows but one. The counter further from the entrance +was laden with articles of food, such as pies, tins of bully-beef, and +“saveloys,” while the other was devoted to liquid refreshment in the form of +ginger-beer and cider (or so the casks were conspicuously labelled), tea, +coffee, and cocoa. +</p> + +<p> +The place was uncomfortably crowded; the patrons congregating more especially +around the two stoves. There were men who looked like dock laborers, seamen, +and riverside loafers; lascars, Chinese, Arabs, and dagoes; and at the “solid” +counter there presided a red-armed, brawny woman, fierce of mien and ready of +tongue, while a huge Irishman, possessing a broken nose and deficient teeth, +ruled the “liquid” department with a rod of iron and a flow of language which +shocked even Kerry. This formidable ruffian, a retired warrior of the ring, was +Dougal, said to be the strongest man from Tower Hill to the River Lea. +</p> + +<p> +As they entered, several of the patrons glanced at them curiously, but no one +seemed to be particularly interested. Kerry wore his cap pulled well down over +his fierce eyes, and had the collar of his topcoat turned up. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about him, as if expecting to recognize someone; and as they made +their way to Dougal’s counter, a big fellow dressed in the manner of a dock +laborer stepped up to the Chief Inspector and clapped him on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Have one with me, Mike,” he said, winking. “The coffee’s good.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry bent towards him swiftly, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Anybody here, Jervis?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“George Martin is at the bar. I’ve had the tip that he ‘traffics.’ You’ll +remember he figured in my last report, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry nodded, and the trio elbowed their way to the counter. The pseudo-dock +hand was a detective attached to Leman Street, and one who knew the night birds +of East End London as few men outside their own circles knew them. +</p> + +<p> +“Three coffees, Pat,” he cried, leaning across the shoulder of a heavy, +red-headed fellow who lolled against the counter. “And two lumps of sugar in +each.” +</p> + +<p> +“To hell wid yer sugar!” roared Dougal, grasping three cups deftly in one hairy +hand and filling them from a steaming urn. “There’s no more sugar tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not any <i>brown</i> sugar?” asked the customer. +</p> + +<p> +“Yez can have one tayspoon of brown, and no more tonight,” cried Dougal. +</p> + +<p> +He stooped rapidly below the counter, then pushed the three cups of coffee +towards the detective. The latter tossed a shilling down, at which Dougal +glared ferociously. +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas wid sugar ye said!” he roared. +</p> + +<p> +A second shilling followed. Dougal swept both coins into a drawer and turned to +another customer, who was also clamoring for coffee. Securing their cups with +difficulty, for the red-headed man surlily refused to budge, they retired to a +comparatively quiet spot, and Seton tasted the hot beverage. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” he said. “Rum! Good rum, too!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a nice position for me,” snapped Kerry. “I <i>don’t</i> think I would +remind you that there’s a police station actually on this blessed island. If +there was a dive like Dougal’s anywhere West it would be raided as a matter of +course. But to shut Dougal’s would be to raise hell. There are two laws in +England, sir; one for Piccadilly and the other for the Isle of Dogs!” He sipped +his coffee with appreciation. Jervis looked about him cautiously, and: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s George—the red-headed hooligan against the counter,” he said. +“He’s been liquoring up pretty freely, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find +that he’s got a job on tonight. He has a skiff beached below here, and I think +he’s waiting for the tide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Where can we find a boat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Jervis smiled. “There are several lying there if you didn’t come in an +R.P. boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“We did. But I’ll dismiss it. We want a small boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. We shall have to pinch one!” +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t matter,” declared Kerry glancing at Seton with a sudden twinkle +discernible in his steely eyes. “What do you say, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you entirely,” replied Seton quietly. “We must find a boat, and +lie off somewhere to watch for George. He should be worth following.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll be moving, then,” said the Leman Street detective. “It will be high tide +in an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +They finished their coffee as quickly as possible; the stuff was not far below +boiling-point. Then Jervis returned the cups to the counter. “Good night, Pat!” +he cried, and rejoined Seton and Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +As they came out into the desolation of the scrap heaps, the last traces of fog +had disappeared and a steady breeze came up the river, fresh and salty from the +Nore. Jervis led them in a north-easterly direction, threading a way through +pyramids of rubbish, until with the wind in their teeth they came out upon the +river bank at a point where the shore shelved steeply downwards. A number of +boats lay on the shingle. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re pretty well opposite Greenwich Marshes,” said Jervis. “You can just see +one of the big gasometers. The end boat is George’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you searched it?” rapped Kerry, placing a fresh piece of chewing-gum +between his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“I have, sir. Oh, he’s too wise for that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I propose,” said Seton briskly, “that we borrow one of the other boats and +pull down stream to where that short pier juts out. We can hide behind it and +watch for our man. I take it he’ll be bound up-stream, and the tide will help +us to follow him quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right,” said Kerry. “We’ll take the small dinghy. It’s big enough.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to Jervis. +</p> + +<p> +“Nip across to the wooden stairs,” he directed, “and tell Inspector White to +stand by, but to keep out of sight. If we’ve started before you return, go back +and join him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Jervis turned and disappeared into the mazes of rubbish, as Seton and Kerry +grasped the boat and ran it down into the rising tide. Kerry boarding, Seton +thrust it out into the river and climbed in over the stern. +</p> + +<p> +“Phew! The current drags like a tow-boat!” said Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +They were being drawn rapidly up-stream. But as Kerry seized the oars and began +to pull steadily, this progress was checked. He could make little actual +headway, however. +</p> + +<p> +“The tide races round this bend like fury,” he said. “Bear on the oars, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton thereupon came to Kerry’s assistance, and gradually the dinghy crept upon +its course, until, below the little pier, they found a sheltered spot, where it +was possible to run in and lie hidden. As they won this haven: +</p> + +<p> +“Quiet!” said Seton. “Don’t move the oars. Look! We were only just in time!” +</p> + +<p> +Immediately above them, where the boats were beached, a man was coming down the +slope, carrying a hurricane lantern. As Kerry and Seton watched, the man raised +the lantern and swung it to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +“Watch!” whispered Seton. “He’s signalling to the Greenwich bank!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s teeth snapped savagely together, and he chewed but made no reply, +until: +</p> + +<p> +“There it is!” he said rapidly. “On the marshes!” +</p> + +<p> +A speck of light in the darkness it showed, a distant moving lantern on the +curtain of the night. Although few would have credited Kerry with the virtue, +he was a man of cultured imagination, and it seemed to him, as it seemed to +Seton Pasha, that the dim light symbolized the life of the missing woman, of +the woman who hovered between the gay world from which tragically she had +vanished and some Chinese hell upon whose brink she hovered. Neither of the +watchers was thinking of the crime and the criminal, of Sir Lucien Pyne or +Kazmah, but of Mrs. Monte Irvin, mysterious victim of a mysterious tragedy. +“Oh, Dan! ye must find her! ye must find her! Puir weak hairt—dinna ye +ken how she is suffering!” Clairvoyantly, to Kerry’s ears was borne an echo of +his wife’s words. +</p> + +<p> +“The traffic!” he whispered. “If we lose George Martin tonight we deserve to +lose the case!” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree, Chief Inspector,” said Seton quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The grating sound made by a boat thrust out from a shingle beach came to their +ears above the whispering of the tide. A ghostly figure in the dim light, +George Martin clambered into his craft and took to the oars. +</p> + +<p> +“If he’s for the Greenwich bank,” said Seton grimly, “he has a stiff task.” +</p> + +<p> +But for the Greenwich bank the boat was headed; and pulling mightily against +the current, the man struck out into mid-stream. They watched him for some +time, silently, noting how he fought against the tide, sturdily heading for the +point at which the signal had shown. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suggest?” asked Seton. “He may follow the Surrey bank up-stream.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suggest,” said Kerry, “that we drift. Once in Limehouse Reach we’ll hear +him. There are no pleasure parties punting about that stretch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us pull out, then. I propose that we wait for him at some convenient point +between the West India Dock and Limehouse Basin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” rapped Kerry, thrusting the boat out into the fierce current. “You may +have spent a long time in the East, sir, but you’re fairly wise on the +geography of the lower Thames.” +</p> + +<p> +Gripped in the strongly running tide they were borne smoothly up-stream, using +the oars merely for the purpose of steering. The gloomy mystery of the London +river claimed them and imposed silence upon them, until familiar landmarks told +of the northern bend of the Thames, and the light above the Lavender Pond shone +out upon the unctuously moving water. +</p> + +<p> +Each pulling a scull they headed in for the left bank. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a wharf ahead,” said Seton, looking back over his shoulder. “If we put +in beside it we can wait there unobserved.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good enough,” said Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +They bent to the oars, stealing stroke by stroke out of the grip of the tide, +and presently came to a tiny pool above the wharf structure, where it was +possible to lie undisturbed by the eager current. +</p> + +<p> +Those limitations which are common to all humanity and that guile which is +peculiar to the Chinese veiled the fact from their ken that the deserted wharf, +in whose shelter they lay, was at once the roof and the gateway of Sin Sin Wa’s +receiving office! +</p> + +<p> +As the boat drew in to the bank, a Chinese boy who was standing on the wharf +retired into the shadows. From a spot visible down-stream but invisible to the +men in the boat, he signalled constantly with a hurricane lantern. +</p> + +<p> +Three men from New Scotland Yard were watching the house of Sin Sin Wa, and Sin +Sin Wa had given no sign of animation since, some hours earlier, he had +extinguished his bedroom light. Yet George, drifting noiselessly up-stream, +received a signal to the effect “police” while Seton Pasha and Chief Inspector +Kerry lay below the biggest dope cache in London. Seton sometimes swore under +his breath. Kerry chewed incessantly. But George never came. +</p> + +<p> +At that eerie hour of the night when all things living, from the lowest to the +highest, nor excepting Mother Earth herself, grow chilled, when all Nature’s +perishable handiwork feels the touch of death—a wild, sudden cry rang +out, a wailing, sorrowful cry, that seemed to come from nowhere, from +everywhere, from the bank, from the stream; that rose and fell and died sobbing +into the hushed whisper of the tide. +</p> + +<p> +Seton’s hand fastened like a vise on to Kerry’s shoulder, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Merciful God!” he whispered; “what was it? <i>Who</i> was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“If it wasn’t a spirit it was a woman,” replied Kerry hoarsely; “and a woman +very near to her end.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kerry!”—Seton Pasha had dropped all formality—“Kerry—if it +calls for all the men that Scotland Yard can muster, we must search every +building, down to the smallest rathole in the floor, on this bank—and do +it by dawn!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll do it,” rapped Kerry. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_PART4"></a> +PART FOURTH<br/> +THE EYE OF SIN SIN WA</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0033"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/> +CHINESE MAGIC</h2> + +<p> +Detective-Sergeant Coombes and three assistants watched the house of Sin Sin +Wa, and any one of the three would have been prepared to swear “on the Book” +that Sin Sin Wa was sleeping. But he who watches a Chinaman watches an +illusionist. He must approach his task in the spirit of a psychical inquirer +who seeks to trap a bogus medium. The great Robert Houdin, one of the master +wizards of modern times, quitted Petrograd by two gates at the same hour +according to credible witnesses; but his performance sinks into insignificance +beside that of a Chinese predecessor who flourished under one of the Ming +emperors. The palace of this potentate was approached by gates, each having +twelve locks, and each being watched by twelve guards. Nevertheless a +distinguished member of the wizard family not only gained access to the +imperial presence but also departed again unseen by any of the guards, and +leaving all the gates locked behind him! If Detective-Sergeant Coombes had +known this story he might not have experienced such complete confidence. +</p> + +<p> +That door of Sin Sin Wa’s establishment which gave upon a little backyard was +oiled both lock and hinge so that it opened noiselessly. Like a shadow, like a +ghost, Sin Sin Wa crept forth, closing the door behind him. He carried a sort +of canvas kit-bag, so that one observing him might have concluded that he was +“moving.” +</p> + +<p> +Resting his bag against the end wall, he climbed up by means of holes in the +neglected brickwork until he could peer over the top. A faint smell of tobacco +smoke greeted him: a detective was standing in the lane below. Soundlessly, Sin +Sin Wa descended again. Raising his bag he lifted it lovingly until it rested +upright upon the top of the wall and against the side of the house. The night +was dark and still. Only a confused beating sound on the Surrey bank rose above +the murmur of sleeping London. +</p> + +<p> +From the rubbish amid which he stood, Sin Sin Wa selected a piece of rusty +barrel-hoop. Cautiously he mounted upon a wooden structure built against the +end wall and raised himself upright, surveying the prospect. Then he hurled the +fragment of iron far along the lane, so that it bounded upon a strip of +corrugated roofing in a yard twice removed from his own, and fell clattering +among a neighbor’s rubbish. +</p> + +<p> +A short exclamation came from the detective in the lane. He could be heard +walking swiftly away in the direction of the disturbance. And ere he had gone +six paces, Sin Sin Wa was bending like an inverted U over the wall and was +lowering his precious bag to the ground. Like a cat he sprang across and +dropped noiselessly beside it. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! Who’s there?” cried the detective, standing by the wall of the house +which Sin Sin Wa had selected as a target. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa, bag in hand, trotted, soft of foot, across the lane and into the +shadow of the dock-building. By the time that the C.I.D. man had decided to +climb up and investigate the mysterious noise, Sin Sin Wa was on the other side +of the canal and rapping gently upon the door of Sam Tûk’s hairdressing +establishment. +</p> + +<p> +The door was opened so quickly as to suggest that someone had been posted there +for the purpose. Sin Sin Wa entered and the door was closed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Light, Ah Fung,” he said in Chinese. “What news?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy who had admitted him took a lamp from under a sort of rough counter and +turned to Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“George came with the boat, master, but I signalled to him that the red +policeman and the agent who has hired the end room were watching.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“They gather men at the head depot and are searching house from house. She who +sleeps below awoke and cried out. They heard her cry.” +</p> + +<p> +“George waits?” +</p> + +<p> +“He waits, master. He will wait long if the gain is great.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good.” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa shuffled across to the cellar stairs, followed by Ah Fung with the +lamp. He descended, and, brushing away the carefully spread coal dust, inserted +the piece of bent wire into the crevice and raised the secret trap. Bearing his +bag upon his shoulder he went down into the tunnel. +</p> + +<p> +“Reclose the door, Ah Fung,” he said softly; “and be watchful.” +</p> + +<p> +As the boy replaced the stone trap, Sin Sin Wa struck a match. Then, having the +lighted match held in one hand and carrying the bag in the other, he crept +along the low passage to the door of the cache. Dropping the smouldering +match-end, he opened the door and entered that secret warehouse for which so +many people were seeking. +</p> + +<p> +Seated in a cane chair by the oil-stove was the shrivelled figure of Sam Tûk, +his bald head lolling sideways so that his big horn-rimmed spectacles resembled +a figure 8. On the counter was set a ship’s lantern. As Sin Sin Wa came in Sam +Tûk slowly raised his head. +</p> + +<p> +No greetings were exchanged, but Sin Sin Wa untied the neck of his kit-bag and +drew out a large wicker cage. Thereupon: “Hello! hello!” remarked the occupant +drowsily. “Number one p’lice chop lo! Sin Sin Wa—Sin Sin....” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, my Tling-a-Ling,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the front of the cage and out stepped the raven onto his wrist. Sin +Sin Wa raised his arm and Tling-a-Ling settled himself contentedly upon his +master’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Placing the empty cage on the counter. Sin Sin Wa plunged his hand down into +the bag and drew out the gleaming wooden joss. This he set beside the cage. +With never a glance at the mummy figure of Sam Tûk, he walked around the +counter, raven on shoulder, and grasping the end of the laden shelves, he +pulled the last section smoothly to the left, showing that it was attached to a +sliding door. The establishments of Sin Sin Wa were as full of surprises as a +Sicilian trinketbox. +</p> + +<p> +The double purpose of the timbering which had been added to this old storage +vault was now revealed. It not only served to enlarge the store-room, but also +shut off from view a second portion of the cellar, smaller than the first, and +containing appointments which indicated that it was sometimes inhabited. +</p> + +<p> +There was an oil-stove in the room, which, like that adjoining it, was +evidently unprovided with any proper means of ventilation. A paper-shaded lamp +hung from the low roof. The floor was covered with matting, and there were +arm-chairs, a divan and other items of furniture, which had been removed from +Mrs. Sin’s sanctum in the dismantled House of a Hundred Raptures. In a recess a +bed was placed, and as Sin Sin Wa came in Mrs. Sin was standing by the bed +looking down at a woman who lay there. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin wore her kimona of embroidered green silk and made a striking picture +in that sordid setting. Her black hair she had dyed a fashionable shade of red. +She glanced rapidly across her shoulder at Sin Sin Wa—a glance of +contempt with which was mingled faint distrust. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” she said, in Chinese, “you have come at last.” Sin Sin Wa smiled. “They +watched the old fox,” he replied. “But their eyes were as the eyes of the +mole.” +</p> + +<p> +Still aside, contemptuously, the woman regarded him, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose they are keener than you think?” she said. “Are you sure you have not +led them—here?” +</p> + +<p> +“The snail may not pursue the hawk,” murmured Sin Sin Wa; “nor the eye of the +bat follow his flight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Smartest leg,” remarked the raven. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, my little friend,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, “very soon now you shall see +the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan and watch the great Yellow River sweeping eastward +to the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pah!” said Mrs. Sin. “Much—very much—you care about the +paddy-fields of Ho-Nan, and little, oh, very little, about the dollars and the +traffic! You have my papers?” +</p> + +<p> +“All are complete. With those dollars for which I care not, a man might buy the +world—if he had but enough of the dollars. You are well known in Poplar +as ‘Mrs. Jacobs,’ and your identity is easily established—as ‘Mrs. +Jacobs.’ You join the <i>Mahratta</i> at the Albert Dock. I have bought you a +post as stewardess.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin tossed her head. “And Juan?” +</p> + +<p> +“What can they prove against your Juan if <i>you</i> are missing?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin nodded towards the bed. +</p> + +<p> +With slow and shuffling steps Sin Sin Wa approached. He continued to smile, but +his glittering eye held even less of mirth than usual. Tucking his hands into +his sleeves, he stood and looked down—at Rita Irvin. +</p> + +<p> +Her face had acquired a waxen quality, but some of her delicate coloring still +lingered, lending her a ghastly and mask-like aspect. Her nostrils and lips +were blanched, however, and possessed a curiously pinched appearance. It was +impossible to detect the fact that she breathed, and her long lashes lay +motionless upon her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa studied her silently for some time, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he murmured, “she is beautiful. But women are like adder’s eggs. He is a +fool who warms them in his bosom.” He turned his slow regard upon Mrs. Sin. +“You have stained your hair to look even as hers. It was discreet, my wife. But +one is beautiful and many-shadowed like a copper vase, and the other is like a +winter sunset on the poppy-fields. You remind me of the angry red policeman, +and I tremble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tremble as much as you like,” said Mrs. Sin scornfully, “but do something, +think; don’t leave everything to me. She screamed tonight—and someone +heard her. They are searching the river bank from door to door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lo!” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “even this I had learned, nor failed to heed the +beating of a distant drum. And why did she scream?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was—keeping her asleep; and the prick of the needle woke her.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tchée, tchée</i>,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, his voice sinking lower and lower +and his eye nearly closing. “But still she lives—and is beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful!” mocked Mrs. Sin. “A doll-woman, bloodless and nerveless!” +</p> + +<p> +“So—so. Yet she, so bloodless and nerveless, unmasked the secret of +Kazmah, and she, so bloodless and nerveless, struck down—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin ground her teeth together audibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes!” she said in sibilant Chinese. “She is a robber, a thief, a +murderess.” She bent over the unconscious woman, her jewel-laden fingers +crooked and menacing. “With my bare hands I would strangle her, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be no marks of violence when she is found in the river. <i>Tchée, +chée</i>—it is a pity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Number one p’lice chop, lo!” croaked the raven, following this remark with the +police-whistle imitation. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin turned and stared fiercely at the one-eyed bird. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you bring that evil, croaking thing here?” she demanded. “Have we not +enough risks?” +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa smiled patiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Too many,” he murmured. “For failure is nothing but the taking of seven risks +when six were enough. Come—let us settle our affairs. The ‘Jacobs’ +account is closed, but it is only a question of hours or days before the police +learn that the wharf as well as the house belongs to someone of that name. We +have drawn our last dollar from the traffic, my wife. Our stock we are resigned +to lose. So let us settle our affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Smartest—smartest,” croaked Tling-a-Ling, and rattled ghostly castanets. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0034"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/> +ABOVE AND BELOW</h2> + +<p> +“Thank the guid God I see ye alive, Dan,” said Mary Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +Having her husband’s dressing-gown over her night attire, and her usually neat +hair in great disorder, she stood just within the doorway of the little +dining-room at Spenser Road, her face haggard and the fey light in her eyes. +Kerry, seated in the armchair dressed as he had come in from the street, a +parody of his neat self with mud on his shoes and streaks of green slime on his +overall, raised his face from his hands and stared at her wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“I awakened wi’ a cry at some hour afore the dawn,” she whispered stretching +out her hands and looking like a wild-eyed prophetess of old. “My hairt beat +sair fast and then grew caud. I droppit on my knees and prayed as I ha’ ne’er +prayed afore. Dan, Dan, I thought ye were gene from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I nearly was,” said Kerry, a faint spark of his old truculency lighting up the +weary eyes. “The man from Whitehall only missed me by a miracle.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas the miracle o’ prayer, Dan,” declared his wife in a low, awe-stricken +voice. “For as I prayed, a great comfort came to me an’ a great peace. The +second sight was wi’ me, Dan, and I saw, no’ yersel’—whereby I seemed to +ken that ye were safe—but a puir dying soul stretched on a bed o’ sorrow. +At the fuit o’ the bed was standing a fearsome figure o’ a man—yellow and +wicked, wi’ his hands tuckit in his sleeves. I thought ’twas a veesion that was +opening up tee me and that a’ was about to be made clear, when as though a +curtain had been droppit before my een, it went awe’ an’ I kenned it nae more; +but plain—plain, I heerd the howling o’ a dog.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry started and clutched the arms of the chair. +</p> + +<p> +“A dog!” he said. “A dog!” +</p> + +<p> +“The howling o’ a sma’ dog,” declared his wife; “and I thought ’twas a portent, +an’ the great fear came o’er me again. But as I prayed ’twas unfolder to me +that the portent was no’ for yersel’ but for her—the puir weak hairt ye +ha’ tee save.” +</p> + +<p> +She ceased speaking and the strange fey light left her eyes. She dropped upon +her knees beside Kerry, bending her head and throwing her arms about him. He +glanced down at her tenderly and laid his hands upon her shoulders; but he was +preoccupied, and the next moment, his jaws moving mechanically, he was staring +straight before him. +</p> + +<p> +“A dog,” he muttered, “a dog!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Kerry did not move; until, a light of understanding coming into Kerry’s +fierce eyes, he slowly raised her and stood upright himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I have it!” he said. “Mary, the case is won! Twenty men have spent the night +and early morning beating the river bank so that the very rats have been driven +from their holes. Twenty men have failed where a dog would have succeeded. +Mary, I must be off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’re no goin’ out again, Dan. Ye’re weary tee death.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must, my dear, and it’s <i>you</i> who send me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Dan, where are ye goin’?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry grabbed his hat and cane from the sideboard upon which they lay, and: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going for the dog!” he rapped. +</p> + +<p> +Weary as he was and travel-stained, for once neglectful of that neatness upon +which he prided himself, he set out, hope reborn in his heart. His assertion +that the very rats had been driven from their holes was scarce an exaggeration. +A search-party of twenty men, hastily mustered and conducted by Kerry and Seton +Pasha, had explored every house, every shop, every wharf, and, as Kerry +believed, every cellar adjoining the bank, between Limehouse Basin and the dock +gates. Where access had been denied them or where no one had resided they had +never hesitated to force an entrance. But no trace had they found of those whom +they sought. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time within Kerry’s memory, or, indeed, within the memory of any +member of the Criminal Investigation Department, Detective-Sergeant Coombes had +ceased to smile when the appalling truth was revealed to him that Sin Sin Wa +had vanished—that Sin Sin Wa had mysteriously joined that invisible +company which included Kazmah, Mrs. Sin and Mrs. Monte Irvin. Not a word of +reprimand did the Chief Inspector utter, but his eyes seemed to emit sparks. +Hands plunged deeply in his pockets he had turned away, and not even Seton +Pasha had dared to speak to him for fully five minutes. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry began to regard the one-eyed Chinaman with a superstitious fear which he +strove in vain to stifle. That any man could have succeeded in converting a +<i>chandu-khân</i> such as that described by Mollie Gretna into a filthy +deserted dwelling such as that visited by Kerry, within the space of some +thirty-six hours, was well nigh incredible. But the Chief Inspector had deduced +(correctly) that the exotic appointments depicted by Mollie were all of a +detachable nature—merely masking the filthiness beneath; so that at the +shortest notice the House of a Hundred Raptures could be dismantled. The +communicating door was a larger proposition, but that it was one within the +compass of Sin Sin Wa its effectual disappearance sufficiently demonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +Doubtless (Kerry mused savagely) the appointments of the opium-house had been +smuggled into that magically hidden cache which now concealed the conjurer Sin +Sin Wa as well as the other members of the Kazmah company. How any man of flesh +and blood could have escaped from a six-roomed house surrounded by detectives +surpassed Kerry’s powers of imagination. How any apartment large enough to +contain a mouse, much less half a dozen human beings, could exist anywhere +within the area covered by the search-party he failed to understand, nor was he +prepared to admit it humanly possible. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry chartered a taxicab by Brixton Town Hall and directed the man to drive to +Prince’s Gate. To the curious glances of certain of his neighbors who had never +before seen the Chief Inspector otherwise than a model of cleanliness and +spruceness he was indifferent. But the manner in which the taxi-driver looked +him up and down penetrated through the veil of abstraction which hitherto had +rendered Kerry impervious to all external impressions, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Give me another look like that, my lad,” he snapped furiously, “and I’ll bash +your head through your blasted wind-screen.” +</p> + +<p> +A ready retort trembled upon the cabman’s tongue, but a glance into the savage +blue eyes reduced him to fearful silence. Kerry entered the cab and banged the +door; and the man drove off positively trembling with indignation. +</p> + +<p> +Deep in reflection the Chief Inspector was driven westward through the early +morning traffic. Fine rain was falling, and the streets presented that +curiously drab appearance which only London streets can present in all its +dreary perfection. Workers bound Cityward fought for places inside trams and +buses. A hundred human comedies and tragedies were to be witnessed upon the +highways; but to all of them Kerry was blind as he was deaf to the din of +workaday Babylon. In spirit he was roaming the bank of old Father Thames where +the river sweeps eastward below Limehouse Causeway—wonder-stricken before +the magic of the one-eyed wizard who could at will efface himself as an artist +rubs out a drawing, who could <i>camouflage</i> a drug warehouse so +successfully that human skill, however closely addressed to the task, failed +utterly to detect its whereabouts. Above the discord of the busy streets he +heard again and again that cry in the night which had come from a hapless +prisoner whom they were powerless to succor. He beat his cane upon the floor of +the cab and swore savagely and loudly. The intimidated cabman, believing these +demonstrations designed to urge him to a greater speed, performed feats of +driving calculated to jeopardize his license. But still the savage passenger +stamped and cursed, so that the cabby began to believe that a madman was seated +behind him. +</p> + +<p> +At the corner of Kennington Oval Kerry was effectually aroused to the +realities. A little runabout car passed his cab, coming from a southerly +direction. Proceeding at a rapid speed it was lost in the traffic ahead. +Unconsciously Kerry had glanced at the occupants and had recognized Margaret +Halley and Seton Pasha. The old spirit of rivalry between himself and the man +from Whitehall leapt up hotly within Kerry’s breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Now where the hell has <i>he</i> been!” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, Seton Pasha, acting upon a suggestion of Margaret’s had +been to Brixton Prison to interview Juan Mareno who lay there under arrest. +Contents bills announcing this arrest as the latest public development in the +Bond Street murder case were to be seen upon every newstand; yet the problem of +that which had brought Seton to the south of London was one with which Kerry +grappled in vain. He had parted from the Home office agent in the early hours +of the morning, and their parting had been one of mutual despair which neither +had sought to disguise. +</p> + +<p> +It was a coincidence which a student of human nature might have regarded as +significant, that whereas Kerry had taken his troubles home to his wife, Seton +Pasha had sought inspiration from Margaret Halley; and whereas the guidance of +Mary Kerry had led the Chief Inspector to hurry in quest of Rita Irvin’s +spaniel, the result of Seton’s interview with Margaret had been an equally +hurried journey to the big jail. +</p> + +<p> +Unhappily Seton had failed to elicit the slightest information from the +saturnine Mareno. Unmoved alike by promises or threats, he had coolly adhered +to his original evidence. +</p> + +<p> +So, while the authorities worked feverishly and all England reading of the +arrest of Mareno inquired indignantly, “But who is Kazmah, and where is Mrs. +Monte Irvin?” Sin Sin Wa placidly pursued his arrangements for immediate +departure to the paddyfields of Ho-Nan, and sometimes in the weird crooning +voice with which he addressed the raven he would sing a monotonous chant +dealing with the valley of the Yellow River where the opium-poppy grows. Hidden +in the cunning vault, the search had passed above him; and watchful on a quay +on the Surrey shore whereto his dinghy was fastened, George Martin awaited the +signal which should tell him that Kazmah and Company were ready to leave. Any +time after dark he expected to see the waving lantern and to collect his last +payment from the traffic. +</p> + +<p> +At the very hour that Kerry was hastening to Prince’s Gate, Sin Sin Wa sat +before the stove in the drug cache, the green-eyed joss upon his knee. With a +fragment of chamois leather he lovingly polished the leering idol, crooning +softly to himself and smiling his mirthless smile. Perched upon his shoulder +the raven studied this operation with apparent interest, his solitary eye +glittering bead-like. Upon the opposite side of the stove sat the ancient Sam +Tûk and at intervals of five minutes or more he would slowly nod his hairless +head. +</p> + +<p> +The sliding door which concealed the inner room was partly open, and from the +opening there shone forth a dim red light, cast by the paper-shaded lamp which +illuminated the place. The coarse voice of the Cuban-Jewess rose and fell in a +ceaseless half-muttered soliloquy, indescribably unpleasant but to which Sin +Sin Wa was evidently indifferent. +</p> + +<p> +Propped up amid cushions on the divan which once had formed part of the +furniture of the House of a Hundred Raptures, Mrs. Sin was smoking opium. The +long bamboo pipe had fallen from her listless fingers, and her dark eyes were +partly glazed. Buddha-like immobility was claiming her, but it had not yet +effaced that expression of murderous malice with which the smoker contemplated +the unconscious woman who lay upon the bed at the other end of the room. +</p> + +<p> +As the moments passed the eyes of Mrs. Sin grew more and more glazed. Her harsh +voice became softened, and presently: “Ah!” she whispered; “so you wait to +smoke with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Immobile she sat propped up amid the cushions, and only her full lips moved. +</p> + +<p> +“Two pipes are nothing to Cy,” she murmured. “He smokes five. But you are not +going to smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +Again she paused, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my Lucy. You smoke with <i>me?</i>” she whispered coaxingly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chandu</i> had opened the poppy gates. Mrs. Sin was conversing with her dead +lover. +</p> + +<p> +“Something has changed you,” she sighed. “You are different—lately. You +have lots of money now. Your investments have been good. You want to +become—respectable, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Slightly—ever so slightly—the red lips curled upwards. No sound of +life came from the woman lying white and still in the bed. But through the +partly open door crept snatches of Sin Sin Wa’s crooning melody. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet once,” she murmured, “yet once I seemed beautiful to you, Lucy. For La +Belle Lola you forgot that English pride.” She laughed softly. “You forgot Sin +Sin Wa. If there had been no Lola you would never have escaped from Buenos +Ayres with your life, my Lucy. You forgot that English pride, and did not ask +me where I got them from—the ten thousand dollars to buy your ‘honor’ +back.” +</p> + +<p> +She became silent, as if listening to the dead man’s reply. Finally: +</p> + +<p> +“No—I do not reproach you, my dear,” she whispered. “You have paid me +back a thousand fold, and Sin Sin Wa, the old fox, grows rich and fat. Today we +hold the traffic in our hands, Lucy. The old fox cares only for his money. +Before it is too late let us go—you and I. Do you remember Havana, and +the two months of heaven we spent there? Oh, let us go back to Havana, Lucy. +Kazmah has made us rich. Let Kazmah die.... You smoke with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Again she became silent, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” she murmured; “very likely I know why you don’t smoke. You have +promised your pretty little friend that you will stay awake and see that nobody +tries to cut her sweet white throat.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused momentarily, then muttered something rapidly in Spanish, followed by +a short, guttural phrase in Chinese. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you bring her to the house?” she whispered hoarsely. “And you brought +her to Kazmah’s. Ah! I see. Now everybody says you are changed. Yes. She is a +charming friend.” +</p> + +<p> +The Buddha-like face became suddenly contorted, and as suddenly grew placid +again. +</p> + +<p> +“I know! I know!” Mrs. Sin muttered harshly. “Do you think I am blind! If she +had been like any of the others, do you suppose it would have mattered to +<i>me?</i> But you <i>respect</i> her—you <i>respect</i>....” Her voice +died away to an almost inaudible whisper: “I don’t believe you. You are telling +me lies. But you have always told me lies; one more does not matter, I +suppose.... How strong you are. You have hurt my wrists. You will smoke with me +now?” +</p> + +<p> +She ceased speaking abruptly, and abruptly resumed again: +</p> + +<p> +“And I do as you wish—I do as you wish. How can I keep her from it except +by making the price so high that she cannot afford to buy it? I tell you I do +it. I bargain for the pink and white boy, Quentin, because I want her to be +indebted to him—because I want her to be so sorry for him that she lets +him take her away from <i>you!</i> Why should you <i>respect</i> her—” +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell upon the drugged speaker. Sin Sin Wa could be heard crooning +softly about the Yellow River and the mountain gods who sent it sweeping down +through the valleys where the opium-poppy grows. +</p> + +<p> +“Go, Juan,” hissed Mrs. Sin. “I say—<i>go!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice changed eerily to a deep, mocking bass; and Rita Irvin lying, a +pallid wraith of her once lovely self, upon the untidy bed, stirred +slightly—her lashes quivering. Her eyes opened and stared straightly +upward at the low, dirty ceiling, horror growing in their shadowy depths. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0035"></a> +CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +BEYOND THE VEIL</h2> + +<p> +Rita Irvin’s awakening was no awakening in the usually accepted sense of the +word; it did not even represent a lifting of the veil which cut her off from +the world, but no more than a momentary perception of the existence of such a +veil and of the existence of something behind it. Upon the veil, in grey smoke, +the name “Kazmah” was written in moving characters. Beyond the veil, dimly +divined, was life. +</p> + +<p> +As of old the victims of the Inquisition, waking or dreaming, beheld ever +before them the instrument of their torture, so before this woman’s racked and +half-numbed mind panoramically passed, an endless pageant, the incidents of the +night which had cut her off from living men and women. She tottered on the +border-line which divides sanity from madness. She was learning what Sir Lucien +had meant when, once, long long ago, in some remote time when she was young and +happy and had belonged to a living world, he had said “a day is sure to come.” +It had come, that “day.” It had dawned when she had torn the veil before +Kazmah—and that veil had enveloped her ever since. All that had preceded +the fatal act was blotted out, blurred and indistinct; all that had succeeded +it lived eternally, passing, an endless pageant, before her tortured mind. +</p> + +<p> +The horror of the moment when she had touched the hands of the man seated in +the big ebony chair was of such kind that no subsequent terrors had supplanted +it. For those long, slim hands of the color of old ivory were cold, rigid, +lifeless—the hands of a corpse! Thus the pageant began, and it continued +as hereafter, memory and delusion taking the stage in turn. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Complete darkness came. +</p> + +<p> +Rita uttered a wild cry of horror and loathing, shrinking back from the thing +which sat in the ebony chair. She felt that consciousness was slipping from +her; felt herself falling, and shrieked to know herself helpless and alone with +Kazmah. She groped for support, but found none; and, moaning, she sank down, +and was unconscious of her fall. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A voice awakened her. Someone knelt beside her in the darkness, supporting her; +someone who spoke wildly, despairingly, but with a strange, emotional reverence +curbing the passion in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Rita—my Rita! What have they done to you? Speak to me.... Oh God! Spare +her to me.... Let her hate me for ever, but spare her—spare her. Rita, +speak to me! I tried, heaven hear me, to save you little girl. I only want you +to be happy!” +</p> + +<p> +She felt herself being lifted gently, tenderly. And as though the man’s +passionate entreaty had called her back from the dead, she reentered into life +and strove to realize what had happened. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien was supporting her, and she found it hard to credit the fact that it +was he, the hard, nonchalant man of the world she knew, who had spoken. She +clutched his arm with both hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lucy!” she whispered. “I am so frightened—and so ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God,” he said huskily, “she is alive. Lean against me and try to stand +up. We must get away from here.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita managed to stand upright, clinging wildly to Sir Lucien. A square, vaguely +luminous opening became visible to her. Against it, silhouetted, she could +discern part of the outline of Kazmah’s chair. She drew back, uttering a low, +sobbing cry. Sir Lucien supported her, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, dear,” he said reassuringly. “Nothing shall hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed open a door, and through it shone the same vague light which she had +seen in the opening behind the chair. Sir Lucien spoke rapidly in a language +which sounded like Spanish. He was answered by a perfect torrent of words in +the same tongue. +</p> + +<p> +Fiercely he cried something back at the hidden speaker. +</p> + +<p> +A shriek of rage, of frenzy, came out of the darkness. Rita felt that +consciousness was about to leave her again. She swayed forward dizzily, and a +figure which seemed to belong to delirium—a lithe shadow out of which +gleamed a pair of wild eyes—leapt upon her. A knife glittered.... +</p> + +<p> +In order to have repelled the attack, Sir Lucien would have had to release +Rita, who was clinging to him, weak and terror-stricken. Instead he threw +himself before her.... She saw the knife enter his shoulder.... +</p> + +<p> +Through absolute darkness she sank down into a land of chaotic nightmare +horrors. Great bells clanged maddeningly. Impish hands plucked at her garments, +dragged her hair. She was hurried this way and that, bruised, torn, and tossed +helpless upon a sea of liquid brass. Through vast avenues lined with yellow, +immobile Chinese faces she was borne upon a bier. Oblique eyes looked into +hers. Knives which glittered greenly in the light of lamps globular and +suspended in immeasurable space, were hurled at her in showers.... +</p> + +<p> +Sir Lucien stood before her, supporting her; and all the knives buried +themselves in his body. She tried to cry out, but no sound could she utter. +Darkness fell again.... +</p> + +<p> +A Chinaman was bending over her. His hands were tucked in his loose sleeves. He +smiled, and his smile was hideous but friendly. He was strangely like Sin Sin +Wa, save that he did not lack an eye. +</p> + +<p> +Rita found herself lying in an untidy bed in a room laden with opium fumes and +dimly lighted. On a table beside her were the remains of a meal. She strove to +recall having partaken of food, but was unsuccessful.... +</p> + +<p> +There came a blank—then a sharp, stabbing pain in her right arm. She +thought it was the knife, and shrieked wildly again and again.... +</p> + +<p> +Years seemingly elapsed, years of agony spent amid oblique eyes which floated +in space unattached to any visible body, amid reeking fumes and sounds of +ceaseless conflict. Once she heard the cry of some bird, and thought it must be +the parakeet which eternally sat on a branch of a lonely palm in the heart of +the Great Sahara.... Then, one night, when she lay shrinking from the plucking +yellow hands which reached out of the darkness: +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me your dream,” boomed a deep, mocking voice; “and I will read its +portent!” +</p> + +<p> +She opened her eyes. She lay in the untidy bed in the room which was laden with +the fumes of <i>chandu</i>. She stared upward at the low, dirty ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you come to <i>me</i> with your stories of desperation?” continued the +mocking voice. “You have insisted upon seeing me. I am here.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita managed to move her head so that she could see more of the room. +</p> + +<p> +On a divan at the other end of the place, propped up by a number of garish +cushions, Rita beheld Mrs. Sin. The long bamboo pipe had fallen from her +listless fingers. Her face wore an expression of mystic rapture, like that +characterizing the features of some Chinese Buddhas.... +</p> + +<p> +In the other corner of the divan, contemplating her from under heavy brows, sat +<i>Kazmah</i>.... +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0036"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/> +SAM TÛK MOVES</h2> + +<p> +Chinatown was being watched as Chinatown had never been watched before, even +during the most stringent enforcement of the Defence of the Realm Act. K +Division was on its mettle, and Scotland Yard had sent to aid Chief Inspector +Kerry every man that could be spared to the task. The River Police, too, were +aflame with zeal; for every officer in the service whose work lay east of +London Bridge had appropriated to himself the stigma implied by the creation of +Lord Wrexborough’s commission. +</p> + +<p> +“Corners” in foodstuffs, metals, and other indispensable commodities are +appreciated by every man, because every man knows such things to exist; but a +corner in drugs was something which the East End police authorities found very +difficult to grasp. They could not free their minds of the traditional idea +that every second Chinaman in the Causeway was a small importer. They were +seeking a hundred lesser stores instead of one greater one. Not all Seton’s +quiet explanations nor Kerry’s savage language could wean the higher local +officials from their ancient beliefs. They failed to conceive the idea of a +wealthy syndicate conducted by an educated Chinaman and backed, covered, and +protected by a crooked gentleman and accomplished man of affairs. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps they knew and perhaps they knew not, that during the period ruled by +D.O.R.A. as much as £25 was paid by habitués for one pipe of <i>chandu</i>. The +power of gold is often badly estimated by an official whose horizon is marked +by a pension. This is mere lack of imagination, and no more reflects discredit +upon a man than lack of hair on his crown or of color in his cheeks. +Nevertheless, it may prove very annoying. +</p> + +<p> +Towards the close of an afternoon which symbolized the worst that London’s +particular climate can do in the matter of drizzling rain and gloom, Chief +Inspector Kerry, carrying an irritable toy spaniel, came out of a turning which +forms a V with Limehouse Canal, into a narrow street which runs parallel with +the Thames. He had arrived at the conclusion that the neighborhood was sown so +thickly with detectives that one could not throw a stone without hitting one. +Yet Sin Sin Wa had quietly left his abode and had disappeared from official +ken. +</p> + +<p> +Three times within the past ten minutes the spaniel had tried to bite Kerry, +nor was Kerry blind to the amusement which his burden had occasioned among the +men of K Division whom he had met on his travels. Finally, as he came out into +the riverside lane, the ill-tempered little animal essayed a fourth, and +successful, attempt, burying his wicked white teeth in the Chief Inspector’s +wrist. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry hooked his finger into the dog’s collar, swung the yapping animal above +his head, and hurled it from him into the gloom and rain mist. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell take the blasted thing!” he shouted. “I’m done with it!” +</p> + +<p> +He tenderly sucked his wounded wrist, and picking up his cane, which he had +dropped, he looked about him and swore savagely. Of Seton Pasha he had had news +several times during the day, and he was aware that the Home office agent was +not idle. But to that old rivalry which had leapt up anew when he had seen +Seton near Kennington oval had succeeded a sort of despair; so that now he +would have welcomed the information that Seton had triumphed where he had +failed. A furious hatred of the one-eyed Chinaman around whom he was convinced +the mystery centred had grown up within his mind. At that hour he would gladly +have resigned his post and sacrificed his pension to know that Sin Sin Wa was +under lock and key. His outlook was official, and accordingly peculiar. He +regarded the murder of Sir Lucien Pyne and the flight or abduction of Mrs. +Monte Irvin as mere minor incidents in a case wherein Sin Sin Wa figured as the +chief culprit. Nothing had acted so powerfully to bring about this conviction +in the mind of the Chief Inspector as the inexplicable disappearance of the +Chinaman under circumstances which had apparently precluded such a possibility. +</p> + +<p> +A whimpering cry came to Kerry’s ears; and because beneath the mask of ferocity +which he wore a humane man was concealed: “Flames!” he snapped; “perhaps I’ve +broken the poor little devil’s leg.” +</p> + +<p> +Shaking a cascade of water from the brim of his neat bowler, he set off through +the murk towards the spot from whence the cries of the spaniel seemed to +proceed. A few paces brought him to the door of a dirty little shop. In a +window close beside it appeared the legend: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SAM TÛK<br/> +BARBER. +</p> + +<p> +The spaniel crouched by the door whining and scratching, and as Kerry came up +it raised its beady black eyes to him with a look which, while it was not +unfearful, held an unmistakable appeal. Kerry stood watching the dog for a +moment, and as he watched he became conscious of an exhilarated pulse. +</p> + +<p> +He tried the door and found it to be open. Thereupon he entered a dirty little +shop, which he remembered to have searched in person in the grey dawn of the +day which now was entering upon a premature dusk. The dog ran in past him, +crossed the gloomy shop, and raced down into a tiny coal cellar, which likewise +had been submitted during the early hours of the morning to careful scrutiny +under the directions of the Chief Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +A Chinese boy, who had been the only occupant of the place on that occasion and +who had given his name as Ah Fung, was surprised by the sudden entrance of man +and dog in the act of spreading coal dust with his fingers upon a portion of +the paved floor. He came to his feet with a leap and confronted Kerry. The +spaniel began to scratch feverishly upon the spot where the coal dust had been +artificially spread. Kerry’s eyes gleamed like steel. He shot out his hand and +grasped the Chinaman by his long hair. “Open that trap,” he said, “or I’ll +break you in half!” +</p> + +<p> +Ah Fung’s oblique eyes regarded him with an expression difficult to analyze, +but partly it was murder. He made no attempt to obey the order. Meanwhile the +dog, whining and scratching furiously, had exposed the greater part of a stone +slab somewhat larger than those adjoining it, and having a large crack or +fissure in one end. +</p> + +<p> +“For the last time,” said Kerry, drawing the man’s head back so that his breath +began to whistle through his nostrils, “open that trap.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke he released Ah Fung, and Ah Fung made one wild leap towards the +stairs. Kerry’s fist caught him behind the ear as he sprang, and he went down +like a dead man upon a small heap of coal which filled the angle of the cellar. +</p> + +<p> +Breathing rapidly and having his teeth so tightly clenched that his maxillary +muscles protruded lumpishly, Kerry stood looking at the fallen man. But Ah Fung +did not move. The dog had ceased to scratch, and now stood uttering short +staccato barks and looking up at the Chief Inspector. Otherwise there was no +sound in the house, above or below. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stooped, and with his handkerchief scrupulously dusted the stone slab. +The spaniel, resentment forgotten, danced excitedly beside him and barked +continuously. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s some sort of hook to fit in that crack,” muttered Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +He began to hunt about among the debris which littered one end of the cellar, +testing fragment after fragment, but failing to find any piece of scrap to suit +his purpose. By sheer perseverance rather than by any process of reasoning, he +finally hit upon the piece of bent wire which was the key to this door of Sin +Sin Wa’s drug warehouse. +</p> + +<p> +One short exclamation of triumph he muttered at the moment that his glance +rested upon it, and five seconds later he had the trapdoor open and was peering +down into the narrow pit in which wooden steps rested. The spaniel began to +bark wildly, whereupon Kerry grasped him, tucked him under his arm, and ran up +to the room above, where he deposited the furiously wriggling animal. He +stepped quickly back again and closed the upper door. By this act he plunged +the cellar into complete darkness, and accordingly he took out from the pocket +of his rain-drenched overall the electric torch which he always carried. +Directing its ray downwards into the cellar, he perceived Ah Fung move and toss +his hand above his head. He also detected a faint rattling sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +He descended, and stooping over the unconscious man extracted from the pocket +of his baggy blue trousers four keys upon a ring. At these Kerry stared +eagerly. Two of them belonged to yale locks; the third was a simple English +barrel-key, which probably fitted a padlock; but the fourth was large and +complicated. +</p> + +<p> +“Looks like the key of a jail,” he said aloud. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with unconscious prescience. This was the key of the door of the +vault. Removing his overall, Kerry laid it with his cane upon the scrap-heap, +then he climbed down the ladder and found himself in the mouth of that low +timbered tunnel, like a trenchwork, which owed its existence to the cunning +craftsmanship of Sin Sin Wa. Stooping uncomfortably, he made his way along the +passage until the massive door confronted him. He was in no doubt as to which +key to employ; his mental condition was such that he was indifferent to the +dangers which probably lay before him. +</p> + +<p> +The well-oiled lock operated smoothly. Kerry pushed the door open and stepped +briskly into the vault. +</p> + +<p> +His movements, from the moment that he had opened the trap, had been swift and +as nearly noiseless as the difficulties of the task had permitted. +Nevertheless, they had not been so silent as to escape the attention of the +preternaturally acute Sin Sin Wa. Kerry found the place occupied only by the +aged Sam Tûk. A bright fire burned in the stove, and a ship’s lantern stood +upon the counter. Dense chemical fumes rendered the air difficult to breathe; +but the shelves, once laden with the largest illicit collection of drugs in +London, were bare. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s fierce eyes moved right and left; his jaws worked automatically. Sam +Tûk sat motionless, his hands concealed in his sleeves, bending decrepitly +forward in his chair. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“Hi! Guy Fawkes!” rapped Kerry, striding forward. “Who’s been letting off +fire-works?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam Tûk nodded senilely, but spoke not a word. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry stooped and stared into the heart of the fire. A dense coat of white ash +lay upon the embers. He grasped the shoulder of the aged Chinaman, and pushed +him back so that he could look into the bleared eyes behind the owlish +spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“Been cleaning up the ‘evidence,’ eh?” he shouted. “This joint stinks of opium +and a score of other dopes. Where are the gang?” He shook the yielding, ancient +frame. “Where’s the smart with one eye?” +</p> + +<p> +But Sam Tûk merely nodded, and as Kerry released his hold sank forward again, +nodding incessantly. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m, you’re a hard case,” said the Chief Inspector. “A couple of witnesses +like you and the jury would retire to Bedlam!” +</p> + +<p> +He stood glaring fiercely at the limp frame of the old Chinaman, and as he +glared his expression changed. Lying on the dirty floor not a yard from Sam +Tûk’s feet was a ball of leaf opium! +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” exclaimed Kerry, and he stooped to pick it up. +</p> + +<p> +As he did so, with a lightning movement of which the most astute observer could +never have supposed him capable, Sam Tûk whipped a loaded rubber tube from his +sleeve and struck Kerry a shrewd blow across the back of the skull. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief Inspector, without word or cry, collapsed upon his knees, and then +fell gently forward—forward—and toppled face downwards before his +assailant. His bowler fell off and rolled across the dirty floor. +</p> + +<p> +Sam Tûk sank deeply into his chair, and his toothless jaws worked convulsively. +The skinny hand which clutched the piece of tubing twitched and shook, so that +the primitive deadly weapon fell from its wielder’s grasp. +</p> + +<p> +Silently, that set of empty shelves nearest to the inner wall of the vault slid +open, and Sin Sin Wa came out. He, too, carried his hands tucked in his +sleeves, and his yellow, pock-marked face wore its eternal smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well done,” he crooned softly in Chinese. “Well done, bald father of wisdom. +The dogs draw near, but the old fox sleeps not.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0037"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/> +SETON PASHA REPORTS</h2> + +<p> +At about the time that the fearless Chief Inspector was entering the +establishment of Sam Tûk Seton Pasha was reporting to Lord Wrexborough in +Whitehall. His nautical disguise had served its purpose, and he had now finally +abandoned it, recognizing that he had to deal with a criminal of genius to whom +disguise merely afforded matter for amusement. +</p> + +<p> +In his proper person, as Greville Seton, he afforded a marked contrast to that +John Smiles, seaman, who had sat in a top room in Limehouse with Chief +Inspector Kerry. And although he had to report failure, the grim, bronzed face +and bright grey eyes must have inspired in the heart of any thoughtful observer +confidence in ultimate success. Lord Wrexborough, silver-haired, florid and +dignified, sat before a vast table laden with neatly arranged dispatch-boxes, +books, documents tied with red tape, and the other impressive impedimenta which +characterize the table of a Secretary of State. Quentin Gray, unable to conceal +his condition of nervous excitement, stared from a window down into Whitehall. +</p> + +<p> +“I take it, then, Seton,” Lord Wrexborough was saying, “that in your +opinion—although perhaps it is somewhat hastily formed—there is and +has been no connivance between officials and receivers of drugs?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my opinion, sir. The traffic has gradually and ingeniously been +‘ringed’ by a wealthy group. Smaller dealers have been bought out or driven +out, and today I believe it would be difficult, if not impossible, to obtain +opium, cocaine, or veronal illicitly anywhere in London. Kazmah and Company had +the available stock cornered. Of course, now that they are out of business, no +doubt others will step in. It is a trade that can never be suppressed under +existing laws.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see, I see,” muttered Lord Wrexborough, adjusting his pince-nez. “You also +believe that Kazmah and Company are in hiding within what you term”—he +consulted a written page—“the ‘Causeway area’? And you believe that the +man called Sin Sin Wa is the head of the organization?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe the late Sir Lucien Pyne was the actual head of the group,” said +Seton bluntly. “But Sin Sin Wa is the acting head. In view of his physical +peculiarities, I don’t quite see how he’s going to escape us, either, sir. His +wife has a fighting chance, and as for Mohammed el-Kazmah, he might sail for +anywhere tomorrow, and we should never know. You see, we have no description of +the man.” +</p> + +<p> +“His passports?” murmured Lord Wrexborough. +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not an insurmountable difficulty, sir,” he replied, “but Sin Sin Wa is a +marked man. He has the longest and thickest pigtail which I ever saw on a human +scalp. I take it he is a Southerner of the old school; therefore, he won’t cut +it off. He has also only one eye, and while there are many one-eyed Chinamen, +there are few one-eyed Chinamen who possess pigtails like a battleship’s +hawser. Furthermore, he travels with a talking raven, and I’ll swear he won’t +leave it behind. On the other hand, he is endowed with an amount of craft which +comes very near to genius.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—Mrs. Monte Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray turned suddenly, and his boyish face was very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Seton, Seton!” he said. “For God’s sake tell me the truth! Do you +think—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, choking emotionally. Seton Pasha watched him with that cool, +confident stare which could either soothe or irritate; and: +</p> + +<p> +“She was alive this morning, Gray,” he replied quietly, “we heard her. You may +take it from me that they will offer her no violence. I shall say no more.” +</p> + +<p> +Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and took up a document from the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Your remark raises another point, Quentin,” he said sternly, “which has to be +settled today. Your appointment to Cairo was confirmed this morning. You sail +on Tuesday.” +</p> + +<p> +Quentin Gray turned again abruptly and stared out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re practically kicking me out, sir,” he said. “I don’t know what I’ve +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have done nothing,” replied Lord Wrexborough “which an honorable man may +not do. But in common with many others similarly circumstanced, you seem +inclined, now that your military duties are at an end, to regard life as a sort +of perpetual ‘leave.’ I speak frankly before Seton because I know that he +agrees with me. My friend the Foreign Secretary has generously offered you an +appointment which opens up a career that should not—I repeat, that should +not prove less successful than his own.” +</p> + +<p> +Gray turned, and his face had flushed deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that Margaret has been scaring you about Rita Irvin,” he said, “but on +my word, sir, there was no need to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +He met Seton Pasha’s cool regard, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Margaret’s one of the best,” he added. “I know you agree with me?” +</p> + +<p> +A faint suggestion of added color came into Seton’s tanned cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I do, Gray,” he answered quietly. “I believe you are good enough to look upon +me as a real friend; therefore allow me to add my advice, for what it is worth, +to that of Lord Wrexborough and your cousin: take the Egyptian appointment. I +know where it will lead. You can do no good by remaining in London; and when we +find Mrs. Irvin your presence would be an embarrassment to the unhappy man who +waits for news at Prince’s Gate. I am frank, but it’s my way.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand, smiling. Quentin Gray’s mercurial complexion was changing +again, but: +</p> + +<p> +“Good old Seton!” he said, rather huskily, and gripped the outstretched hand. +“For Irvin’s sake, save her!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to his father. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” he added, “you are always right. I shall be ready on Tuesday. +I suppose you are off again, Seton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” was the reply. “Chief Inspector Kerry is moving heaven and earth to +find the Kazmah establishment, and I don’t want to come in a poor second.” +</p> + +<p> +Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and turned in the padded revolving chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Honestly, Seton,” he said, “what do you think of your chance of success?” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Many ascribe success to wit,” he replied, “and failure to bad luck; but the +Arab says ‘Kismet.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0038"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/> +THE SONG OF SIN SIN WA</h2> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin, aroused by her husband from the deep opium sleep, came out into the +fume-laden vault. Her dyed hair was disarranged, and her dark eyes stared +glassily before her; but even in this half-drugged state she bore herself with +the lithe carriage of a dancer, swinging her hips lazily and pointing the toes +of her high-heeled slippers. +</p> + +<p> +“Awake, my wife,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. “Only a fool seeks the black smoke when +the jackals sit in a ring.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin gave him a glance of smiling contempt—a glance which, passing +him, rested finally upon the prone body of Chief Inspector Kerry lying +stretched upon the floor before the stove. Her pupils contracted to mere +pin-points and then dilated blackly. She recoiled a step, fighting with the +stupor which her ill-timed indulgence had left behind. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Kerry groaned loudly, tossed his arm out with a convulsive +movement, and rolled over on to his side, drawing up his knees. +</p> + +<p> +The eye of Sin Sin Wa gleamed strangely, but he did not move, and Sam Tûk who +sat huddled in his chair where his feet almost touched the fallen man, stirred +never a muscle. But Mrs. Sin, who still moved in a semi-phantasmagoric world, +swiftly raised the hem of her kimona, affording a glimpse of a shapely +silk-clad limb. From a sheath attached to her garter she drew a thin stilletto. +Curiously feline, she crouched, as if about to spring. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa extended his hand, grasping his wife’s wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“No, woman of indifferent intelligence,” he said in his queer sibilant +language, “since when has murder gone unpunished in these British dominions?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin snatched her wrist from his grasp, falling back wild-eyed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yellow ape! yellow ape!” she said hoarsely. “One more does not +matter—now.” +</p> + +<p> +“One more?” crooned Sin Sin Wa, glancing curiously at Kerry. +</p> + +<p> +“They are here! We are trapped!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Sin Sin Wa. “He is a brave man; he comes alone.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and then suddenly resumed in pidgin English: +</p> + +<p> +“You likee killa him, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps unconscious that she did so, Mrs. Sin replied also in English: +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am mad. Let me think, old fool!” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped the stiletto and raised her hand dazedly to her brow. +</p> + +<p> +“You gotchee tired of knifee chop, eh?” murmured Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin clenched her hands, holding them rigidly against her hips; and, +nostrils dilated, she stared at the smiling Chinaman. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa performed his curious oriental shrug. +</p> + +<p> +“You putta topside pidgin on Sir Lucy alla lightee,” he murmured. “Givee him +hell alla velly proper.” +</p> + +<p> +The pupils of the woman’s eyes contracted again, and remained so. She laughed +hoarsely and tossed her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you that?” she asked contemptuously. “It was the doll-woman who +killed him—I have said so.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> tella me so—<i>hoi, hoi!</i> But old Sin Sin Wa catchee +wonder. Lo!”—he extended a yellow forefinger, pointing at his +wife—“Mrs. Sin make him catchee die! No bhobbery, no palaber. Sin Sin Wa +gotchee you sized up allee timee.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin snapped her fingers under his nose then stooped, picked up the +stiletto, and swiftly restored it to its sheath. Her hands resting upon her +hips, she came forward, until her dark evil face almost touched the yellow, +smiling face of Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, old fool,” she said in a low, husky voice; “I have done with you, +ape-man, for good! Yes! <i>I</i> killed Lucy, <i>I</i> killed him! He belonged +to <i>me</i>—until that pink and white thing took him away. I am glad I +killed him. If I cannot have him neither can she. But I was mad all the same.” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced down at Kerry, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Tie him up,” she directed, “and send him to sleep. And understand, Sin, we’ve +shared out for the last time—You go your way and I go mine. No stinking +Yellow River for me. New York is good enough until it’s safe to go to Buenos +Ayres.” +</p> + +<p> +“Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres,” croaked the raven from his wicker cage, which +was set upon the counter. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa regarded him smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, my little friend,” he crooned in Chinese, while Tling-a-Ling rattled +ghostly castanets. “In Ho-Nan they will say that you are a devil and I am a +wizard. That which is unknown is always thought to be magical, my +Tling-a-Ling.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin, who was rapidly throwing off the effects of opium and recovering her +normal self-confident personality, glanced at her husband scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” she said, “what has happened? How did he come here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Blinga filly doggy,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Knockee Ah Fung on him head and +comee down here, lo. Ah Fung allee lightee now—topside. Chasee filly +doggy. Allee velly proper. No bhobbery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talk less and act more,” said Mrs. Sin. “Tie him up, and if you <i>must</i> +talk, talk Chinese. Tie him up.” +</p> + +<p> +She pointed to Kerry. Sin Sin Wa tucked his hands into his sleeves and shuffled +towards the masked door communicating with the inner room. +</p> + +<p> +“Only by intelligent speech are we distinguished from the other animals,” he +murmured in Chinese. +</p> + +<p> +Entering the inner room, he began to extricate a long piece of thin rope from +amid a tangle of other materials with which it was complicated. Mrs. Sin stood +looking down at the fallen man. Neither Kerry nor Sam Tûk gave the slightest +evidence of life. And as Sin Sin Wa disentangled yard upon yard of rope from +the bundle on the floor by the bed where Rita Irvin lay in her long troubled +sleep, he crooned a queer song. It was in the Ho-Nan dialect and intelligible +to himself alone. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Shöa, the evil woman (<i>he chanted</i>), the woman of many strange +loves....<br/> +Shöa, the ghoul....<br/> +Lo, the Yellow River leaps forth from the nostrils of the mountain god....<br/> +Shöa, the betrayer of men....<br/> +Blood is on her brow.<br/> +Lo, the betrayer is betrayed. Death sits at her elbow.<br/> +See, the Yellow River bears a corpse upon its tide...<br/> +Dead men hear her secret.<br/> +Shöa, the ghoul....<br/> +Shöa, the evil woman. Death sits at her elbow.<br/> +Black, the vultures flock about her....<br/> +Lo, the Yellow River leaps forth from the nostrils of the mountain god.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Kerry, lying motionless at the feet of Sam Tûk was doing some hard +and rapid thinking. He had recovered consciousness a few moments before Mrs. +Sin had come into the vault from the inner room. There were those, Seton Pasha +among them, who would have regarded the groan and the convulsive movements of +Kerry’s body with keen suspicion. And because the Chief Inspector suffered from +no illusions respecting the genius of Sin Sin Wa, the apparent failure of the +one-eyed Chinaman to recognize these preparations for attack nonplussed the +Chief Inspector. His outstanding vice as an investigator was the directness of +his own methods and of his mental outlook, so that he frequently experienced +great difficulty in penetrating to the motives of a tortuous brain such as that +of Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +That Sin Sin Wa thought him to be still unconscious he did not believe. He was +confident that his tactics had deceived the Jewess, but he entertained an +almost superstitious respect for the cleverness of the Chinaman. The trick with +the ball of leaf opium was painfully fresh in his memory. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry, in common with many members of the Criminal Investigation Department, +rarely carried firearms. He was a man with a profound belief in his bare +hands—aided when necessary by his agile feet. At the moment that Sin Sin +Wa had checked the woman’s murderous and half insane outburst Kerry had been +contemplating attack. The sudden change of language on the part of the Chinaman +had arrested him in the act; and, realizing that he was listening to a +confession which placed the hangman’s rope about the neck of Mrs. Sin, he lay +still and wondered. +</p> + +<p> +Why had Sin Sin Wa forced his wife to betray herself? To clear Mareno? To clear +Mrs. Irvin—or to save his own skin? +</p> + +<p> +It was a frightful puzzle for Kerry. Then—where was Kazmah? That Mrs. +Irvin, probably in a drugged condition, lay somewhere in that mysterious inner +room Kerry felt fairly sure. His maltreated skull was humming like a bee-hive +and aching intensely, but the man was tough as men are made, and he could not +only think clearly, but was capable of swift and dangerous action. +</p> + +<p> +He believed that he could tackle the Chinaman with fair prospects of success; +and women, however murderous, he habitually disregarded as adversaries. But the +mummy-like, deceptive Sam Tûk was not negligible, and Kazmah remained an +unknown quantity. +</p> + +<p> +From under that protective arm, cast across his face, Kerry’s fierce eyes +peered out across the dirty floor. Then quickly he shut his eyes again. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa, crooning his strange song, came in carrying a coil of +rope—and a Mauser pistol! +</p> + +<p> +“P’licemanee gotchee catchee sleepee,” he murmured, “or maybe he catchee die!” +</p> + +<p> +He tossed the rope to his wife, who stood silent tapping the floor with one +slim restless foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Number one top-side tie up,” he crooned. “Sin Sin Wa watchee withum gun!” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry lay like a dead man; for in the Chinaman’s voice were menace and warning. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0039"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIX.<br/> +THE EMPTY WHARF</h2> + +<p> +The suspected area of Limehouse was closely invested as any fortress of old +when Seton Pasha once more found himself approaching that painfully familiar +neighborhood. He had spoken to several pickets, and had gathered no news of +interest, except that none of them had seen Chief Inspector Kerry since some +time shortly before dusk. Seton, newly from more genial climes, shivered as he +contemplated the misty, rain-swept streets, deserted and but dimly lighted by +an occasional lamp. The hooting of a steam siren on the river seemed to be in +harmony with the prevailing gloom, and the most confirmed optimist must have +suffered depression amid those surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +He had no definite plan of action. Every line of inquiry hitherto followed had +led to nothing but disappointment. With most of the details concerning the +elaborate organization of the Kazmah group either gathered or in sight, the +whereabouts of the surviving members remained a profound mystery. From the +Chinese no information could be obtained. Distrust of the police resides deep +within the Chinese heart; for the Chinaman, and not unjustly, regards the +police as ever ready to accuse him and ever unwilling to defend him; knows +himself for a pariah capable of the worst crimes, and who may therefore be +robbed, beaten and even murdered by his white neighbors with impunity. But when +the police seek information from Chinatown, Chinatown takes its +revenge—and is silent. +</p> + +<p> +Out on the river, above and below Limehouse, patrols watched for signals from +the Asiatic quarter, and from a carefully selected spot on the Surrey side +George Martin watched also. Not even the lure of a neighboring tavern could +draw him from his post. Hour after hour he waited patiently—for Sin Sin +Wa paid fair prices, and tonight he bought neither opium nor cocaine, but +liberty. +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha, passing from point to point, and nowhere receiving news of Kerry, +began to experience a certain anxiety respecting the safety of the intrepid +Chief Inspector. His mind filled with troubled conjectures, he passed the house +formerly occupied by the one-eyed Chinaman—where he found +Detective-Sergeant Coombes on duty and very much on the alert—and +followed the bank of the Thames in the direction of Limehouse Basin. The +narrow, ill-lighted street was quite deserted. Bad weather and the presence of +many police had driven the Asiatic inhabitants indoors. But from the river and +the docks arose the incessant din of industry. Whistles shrieked and machinery +clanked, and sometimes remotely came the sound of human voices. +</p> + +<p> +Musing upon the sordid mystery which seems to underlie the whole of this dingy +quarter, Seton pursued his way, crossing inlets and circling around basins +dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flanked by high eyeless walls, +and again to the left, finally to emerge nearly opposite a dilapidated gateway +giving access to a small wharf. +</p> + +<p> +All unconsciously, he was traversing the same route as that recently pursued by +the fugitive Sin Sin Wa; but now he paused, staring at the empty wharf. The +annexed building, a mere shell, had not escaped examination by the search +party, and it was with no very definite purpose in view that Seton pushed open +the rickety gate. Doubtless Kismet, of which the Arabs speak, dictated that he +should do so. +</p> + +<p> +The tide was high, and the water whispered ghostly under the pile-supported +structure. Seton experienced a new sense of chill which did not seem to be +entirely physical as he stared out at the gloomy river prospect and listened to +the uncanny whisperings of the tide. He was about to turn back when another +sound attracted his attention. A dog was whimpering somewhere near him. +</p> + +<p> +At first he was disposed to believe that the sound was due to some other cause, +for the deserted wharf was not a likely spot in which to find a dog, but when +to the faint whimpering there was added a scratching sound, Seton’s last doubts +vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a dog,” he said, “a small dog.” +</p> + +<p> +Like Kerry, he always carried an electric pocket-lamp, and now he directed its +rays into the interior of the building. +</p> + +<p> +A tiny spaniel, whining excitedly, was engaged in scratching with its paws upon +the dirty floor as though determined to dig its way through. As the light shone +upon it the dog crouched affrightedly, and, glancing in Seton’s direction, +revealed its teeth. He saw that it was covered with mud from head to tail, +presenting a most woe-begone appearance, and the mystery of its presence there +came home to him forcibly. +</p> + +<p> +It was a toy spaniel of a breed very popular among ladies of fashion, and to +its collar was still attached a tattered and muddy fragment of ribbon. +</p> + +<p> +The little animal crouched in a manner which unmistakably pointed to the fact +that it apprehended ill-treatment, but these personal fears had only a +secondary place in its mind, and with one eye on the intruder it continued to +scratch madly at the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Seton acted promptly. He snapped off the light, and, replacing the lamp in his +pocket, stepped into the building and dropped down upon his knees beside the +dog. He next lay prone, and having rapidly cleared a space with his sleeve of +some of the dirt which coated it, he applied his ear to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of that iron control which habitually he imposed upon himself, he +became aware of the fact that his heart was beating rapidly. He had learned at +Leman Street that Kerry had brought Mrs. Irvin’s dog from Prince’s Gate to aid +in the search for the missing woman. He did not doubt that this was the dog +which snarled and scratched excitedly beside him. Dimly he divined something of +the truth. Kerry had fallen into the hands of the gang, but the dog, evidently +not without difficulty, had escaped. What lay below the wharf? +</p> + +<p> +Holding his breath, he crouched, listening; but not a sound could he detect. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing here, old chap,” he said to the dog. +</p> + +<p> +Responsive to the friendly tone, the little animal began barking loudly with +high staccato notes, which must have been audible on the Surrey shore. +</p> + +<p> +Seton was profoundly mystified by the animal’s behavior. He had personally +searched every foot of this particular building, and was confident that it +afforded no hiding-place. The behavior of the dog, however, was susceptible of +only one explanation; and Seton recognizing that the clue to the mystery lay +somewhere within this ramshackle building, became seized with a conviction that +he was being watched. +</p> + +<p> +Standing upright, he paused for a moment, irresolute, thinking that he had +detected a muffled shriek. But the riverside noises were misleading and his +imagination was on fire. +</p> + +<p> +That almost superstitious respect for the powers of Sin Sin Wa, which had led +Chief Inspector Kerry to look upon the Chinaman as a being more than humanly +endowed, began to take possession of Seton Pasha. He regretted having entered +the place so overtly, he regretted having shown a light. Keen eyes, vigilant, +regarded him. It was perhaps a delusion, bred of the mournful night sounds, the +gloom, and the uncanny resourcefulness, already proven, of the Kazmah group. +But it operated powerfully. +</p> + +<p> +Theories, wild, improbable, flocked to his mind. The great dope cache lay +beneath his feet—and there must be some hidden entrance to it which had +escaped the attention of the search-party. This in itself was not improbable, +since they had devoted no more time to this building than to any other in the +vicinity. That wild cry in the night which had struck so mournful a chill to +the hearts of the watchers on the river had seemed to come out of the void of +the blackness, had given but slight clue to the location of the place of +captivity. Indeed, they could only surmise that it had been uttered by the +missing woman. Yet in their hearts neither had doubted it. +</p> + +<p> +He determined to cause the place to be searched again, as secretly as possible; +he determined to set so close a guard over it and over its approaches that none +could enter or leave unobserved. +</p> + +<p> +Yet Kismet, in whose omnipotence he more than half believed, had ordained +otherwise; for man is merely an instrument in the hand of Fate. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0040"></a> +CHAPTER XL.<br/> +COIL OF THE PIGTAIL</h2> + +<p> +The inner room was in darkness and the fume-laden air almost unbreathable. A +dull and regular moaning sound proceeded from the corner where the bed was +situated, but of the contents of the place and of its other occupant or +occupants Kerry had no more than a hazy idea. His imagination supplied those +details which he had failed to observe. Mrs. Monte Irvin, in a dying condition, +lay upon the bed, and someone or some <i>thing</i> crouched on the divan behind +Kerry as he lay stretched upon the matting-covered floor. His wrists, tied +behind him, gave him great pain; and since his ankles were also fastened and +the end of the rope drawn taut and attached to that binding his wrists, he was +rendered absolutely helpless. For one of his fiery temperament this physical +impotence was maddening, and because his own handkerchief had been tied tightly +around his head so as to secure between his teeth a wooden stopper of +considerable size which possessed an unpleasant chemical taste and smell, even +speech was denied him. +</p> + +<p> +How long he had lain thus he had no means of judging accurately; but +hours—long, maddening hours—seemed to have passed since, with the +muzzle of Sin Sin Wa’s Mauser pressed coldly to his ear, he had submitted +willy-nilly to the adroit manipulations of Mrs. Sin. At first he had believed, +in his confirmed masculine vanity, that it would be a simple matter to +extricate himself from the fastenings made by a woman; but when, rolling him +sideways, she had drawn back his heels and run the loose end of the line +through the loop formed by the lashing of his wrists behind him, he had +recognized a Chinese training, and had resigned himself to the inevitable. The +wooden gag was a sore trial, and if it had not broken his spirit it had nearly +caused him to break an artery in his impotent fury. +</p> + +<p> +Into the darkened inner chamber Sin Sin Wa had dragged him, and there Kerry had +lain ever since, listening to the various sounds of the place, to the coarse +voice, often raised in anger, of the Cuban-Jewess, to the crooning tones of the +imperturbable Chinaman. The incessant moaning of the woman on the bed sometimes +became mingled with another sound more remote, which Kerry for long failed to +identify; but ultimately he concluded it to be occasioned by the tide flowing +under the wharf. The raven was silent, because, imprisoned in his wicker cage, +he had been placed in some dark spot below the counter. Very dimly from time to +time a steam siren might be heard upon the river, and once the thudding of a +screw-propeller told of the passage of a large vessel along Limehouse Reach. +</p> + +<p> +In the eyes of Mrs. Sin Kerry had read menace, and for all their dark beauty +they had reminded him of the eyes of a cornered rat. Beneath the contemptuous +nonchalance which she flaunted he read terror and remorse, and a foreboding of +doom—panic ill repressed, which made her dangerous as any beast at bay. +The attitude of the Chinaman was more puzzling. He seemed to bear the Chief +Inspector no personal animosity, and indeed, in his glittering eye, Kerry had +detected a sort of mysterious light of understanding which was almost mirthful, +but which bore no relation to Sin Sin Wa’s perpetual smile. Kerry’s respect for +the one-eyed Chinaman had increased rather than diminished upon closer +acquaintance. Underlying his urbanity he failed to trace any symptom of +apprehension. This Sin Sin Wa, accomplice of a murderess self-confessed, +evident head of a drug syndicate which had led to the establishment of a Home +office inquiry—this badly “wanted” man, whose last hiding-place, whose +keep, was closely invested by the agents of the law, was the same Sin Sin Wa +who had smilingly extended his wrists, inviting the manacles, when Kerry had +first made his acquaintance under circumstances legally very different. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Kerry could hear him singing his weird crooning song, and twice Mrs. +Sin had shrieked blasphemous execrations at him because of it. But why should +Sin Sin Wa sing? What hope had he of escape? In the case of any other criminal +Kerry would have answered “None,” but the ease with which this one-eyed singing +Chinaman had departed from his abode under the very noses of four detectives +had shaken the Chief Inspector’s confidence in the efficiency of ordinary +police methods where this Chinese conjurer was concerned. A man who could +convert an elaborate opium house into a dirty ruin in so short a time, too, was +capable of other miraculous feats, and it would not have surprised Kerry to +learn that Sin Sin Wa, at a moment’s notice, could disguise himself as a chest +of tea, or pass invisible through solid walls. +</p> + +<p> +For evidence that Seton Pasha or any of the men from Scotland Yard had +penetrated to the secret of Sam Tûk’s cellar Kerry listened in vain. What was +about to happen he could not imagine, nor if his life was to be spared. In the +confession so curiously extorted from Mrs. Sin by her husband he perceived a +clue to this and other mysteries, but strove in vain to disentangle it from the +many maddening complexities of the case. +</p> + +<p> +So he mused, wearily, listening to the moaning of his fellow captive, and +wondering, since no sign of life came thence, why he imagined another presence +in the stuffy room or the presence of someone or of some <i>thing</i> on the +divan behind him. And in upon these dreary musings broke an altercation between +Mrs. Sin and her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep the blasted thing covered up!” she cried hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Tling-a-Ling wantchee catchee bleathee sometime,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, hello!” croaked the raven drowsily. +“Smartest—smartest—smartest leg.” +</p> + +<p> +“You catchee sleepee, Tling-a-Ling,” murmured the Chinaman. “Mrs. Sin no likee +you palaber, lo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Burn it!” cried the woman, “burn the one-eyed horror!” +</p> + +<p> +But when, carrying a lighted lantern, Sin Sin Wa presently came into the inner +room, he smiled as imperturbably as ever, and was unmoved so far as external +evidence showed. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa set the lantern upon a Moorish coffee-table which once had stood +beside the divan in Mrs. Sin’s sanctum at the House of a Hundred Raptures. A +significant glance—its significance an acute puzzle to the +recipient—he cast upon Chief Inspector Kerry. His hands tucked in the +loose sleeves of his blouse, he stood looking down at the woman who lay moaning +on the bed; and: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tchée, tchée</i>,” he crooned softly, “you hate no catchee die, my +beautiful. You sniffee plenty too muchee ‘white snow,’ <i>hoi, hoi!</i> Velly +bad woman tly makee you catchee die, but Sin Sin Wa no hate got for killee +chop. Topside pidgin no good enough, lo!” +</p> + +<p> +His thick, extraordinary long pigtail hanging down his back and gleaming in the +rays of the lantern, he stood, head bowed, watching Rita Irvin. Because of his +position on the floor, Mrs. Irvin was invisible from Kerry’s point of view, but +she continued to moan incessantly, and he knew that she must be unconscious of +the Chinaman’s scrutiny. +</p> + +<p> +“Hurry, old fool!” came Mrs. Sin’s harsh voice from the outer room. “In ten +minutes Ah Fung will give the signal. Is she dead yet—the doll-woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“She hate no catchee die,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “She still vella +beautiful—<i>tchée!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +It was at the moment that he spoke these words that Seton Pasha entered the +empty building above and found the spaniel scratching at the paved floor. So +that, as Sin Sin Wa stood looking down at the wan face of the unfortunate woman +who refused to die, the dog above, excited by Seton’s presence, ceased to whine +and scratch and began to bark. +</p> + +<p> +Faintly to the vault the sound of the high-pitched barking penetrated. +</p> + +<p> +Kerry tensed his muscles and groaned impotently feeling his heart beating like +a hammer in his breast. Complete silence reigned in the outer room. Sin Sin Wa +never stirred. Again the dog barked, then: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, hello!” shrieked the raven shrilly. “Number one p’lice chop, lo! Sin +Sin Wa! Sin Sin Wa!” +</p> + +<p> +There came a fierce exclamation, the sound of something being hastily +overturned, of a scuffle, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Sin—Sin—Wa!” croaked the raven feebly. +</p> + +<p> +The words ended in a screeching cry, which was followed by a sound of wildly +beating wings. Sin Sin Wa, hands tucked in sleeves, turned and walked from the +inner room, closing the sliding door behind him with a movement of his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Resting against the empty shelves, he stood and surveyed the scene in the +vault. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sin, who had been kneeling beside the wicker cage, which was upset, was in +the act of standing upright. At her feet, and not far from the motionless form +of old Sam Tûk who sat like a dummy figure in his chair before the stove, lay a +palpitating mass of black feathers. Other detached feathers were sprinkled +about the floor. Feebly the raven’s wings beat the ground once, twice—and +were still. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa uttered one sibilant word, withdrew his hands from his sleeves, and, +stepping around the end of the counter, dropped upon his knees beside the +raven. He touched it with long yellow fingers, then raised it and stared into +the solitary eye, now glazed and sightless as its fellow. The smile had gone +from the face of Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +“My Tling-a-Ling!” he moaned in his native mandarin tongue. “Speak to me, my +little black friend!” +</p> + +<p> +A bead of blood, like a ruby, dropped from the raven’s beak. Sin Sin Wa bowed +his head and knelt awhile in silence; then, standing up, he reverently laid the +poor bedraggled body upon a chest. He turned and looked at his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Hands on hips, she confronted him, breathing rapidly, and her glance of +contempt swept him up and down. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve often threatened to do it,” she said in English. “Now I’ve done it. +They’re on the wharf. We’re trapped—thanks to that black, squalling +horror!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tchée, tchée!</i>” hissed Sin Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +His gleaming eye fixed upon the woman unblinkingly, he began very deliberately +to roll up his loose sleeves. She watched him, contempt in her glance, but her +expression changed subtly, and her dark eyes grew narrowed. She looked rapidly +towards Sam Tûk but Sam Tûk never stirred. +</p> + +<p> +“Old fool!” she cried at Sin Sin Wa. “What are you doing?” +</p> + +<p> +But Sin Sin Wa, his sleeves rolled up above his yellow, sinewy forearms, now +tossed his pigtail, serpentine, across his shoulder and touched it with his +fingers, an odd, caressing movement. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho!” laughed Mrs. Sin in her deep scoffing fashion, “it is for <i>me</i> you +make all this bhobbery, eh? It is me you are going to chastise, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +She flung back her head, snapping her fingers before the silent Chinaman. He +watched her, and slowly—slowly—he began to crouch, lower and lower, +but always that unblinking regard remained fixed upon the face of Mrs. Sin. +</p> + +<p> +The woman laughed again, more loudly. Bending her lithe body forward in mocking +mimicry, she snapped her fingers, once—again—and again under Sin +Sin Wa’s nose. Then: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think, you blasted yellow ape, that you can frighten <i>me?</i>” she +screamed, a swift flame of wrath lighting up her dark face. +</p> + +<p> +In a flash she had raised the kimona and had the stiletto in her hand. But, +even swifter than she, Sin Sin Wa sprang... +</p> + +<p> +Once, twice she struck at him, and blood streamed from his left shoulder. But +the pigtail, like an executioner’s rope, was about the woman’s throat. She +uttered one smothered shriek, dropping the knife, and then was silent... +</p> + +<p> +Her dyed hair escaped from its fastenings and descended, a ruddy torrent, about +her as she writhed, silent, horrible, in the death-coil of the pigtail. +</p> + +<p> +Rigidly, at arms-length, he held her, moment after moment, immovable, +implacable; and when he read death in her empurpled face, a miraculous thing +happened. +</p> + +<p> +The “blind” eye of Sin Sin Wa opened! +</p> + +<p> +A husky rattle told of the end, and he dropped the woman’s body from his steely +grip, disengaging the pigtail with a swift movement of his head. Opening and +closing his yellow fingers to restore circulation, he stood looking down at +her. He spat upon the floor at her feet. +</p> + +<p> +Then, turning, he held out his arms and confronted Sam Tûk. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it well done, bald father of wisdom?” he demanded hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +But old Sam Tûk seated lumpish in his chair like some grotesque idol before +whom a human sacrifice has been offered up, stirred not. The length of loaded +tubing with which he had struck Kerry lay beside him where it had fallen from +his nerveless hand. And the two oblique, beady eyes of Sin Sin Wa, watching, +grew dim. Step by step he approached the old Chinaman, stooped, touched him, +then knelt and laid his head upon the thin knees. +</p> + +<p> +“Old father,” he murmured, “Old bald father who knew so much. Tonight you know +all.” +</p> + +<p> +For Sam Tûk was no more. At what moment he had died, whether in the excitement +of striking Kerry or later, no man could have presumed to say, since, save by +an occasional nod of his head, he had often simulated death in life—he +who was so old that he was known as “The Father of Chinatown.” +</p> + +<p> +Standing upright, Sin Sin Wa looked from the dead man to the dead raven. Then, +tenderly raising poor Tling-a-Ling, he laid the great dishevelled bird—a +weird offering—upon the knees of Sam Tûk. +</p> + +<p> +“Take him with you where you travel tonight, my father,” he said. “He, too, was +faithful.” +</p> + +<p> +A cheap German clock commenced a muted clangor, for the little hammer was +muffled. +</p> + +<p> +Sin Sin Wa walked slowly across to the counter. Taking up the gleaming joss, he +unscrewed its pedestal. Then, returning to the spot where Mrs. Sin lay, he +coolly detached a leather wallet which she wore beneath her dress fastened to a +girdle. Next he removed her rings, her bangles and other ornaments. He secreted +all in the interior of the joss—his treasure-chest. He raised his hands +and began to unplait his long pigtail, which, like his “blind” eye, was +<i>camouflage</i>—a false queue attached to his own hair, which he wore +but slightly longer than some Europeans and many Americans. With a small pair +of scissors he clipped off his long, snake-like moustaches.... +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0041"></a> +CHAPTER XLI.<br/> +THE FINDING OF KAZMAH</h2> + +<p> +At a point just above the sweep of Limehouse Reach a watchful river police +patrol observed a moving speck of light on the right bank of the Thames. As if +in answer to the signal there came a few moments later a second moving speck at +a point not far above the district once notorious in its possession of Ratcliff +Highway. A third light answered from the Surrey bank, and a fourth shone out +yet higher up and on the opposite side of the Thames. +</p> + +<p> +The tide had just turned. As Chief Inspector Kerry had once observed, “there +are no pleasure parties punting about that stretch,” and, consequently, when +George Martin tumbled into his skiff on the Surrey shore and began lustily to +pull up stream, he was observed almost immediately by the River Police. +</p> + +<p> +Pulling hard against the stream, it took him a long time to reach his +destination—stone stairs near the point from which the second light had +been shown. Rain had ceased and the mist had cleared shortly after dusk, as +often happens at this time of year, and because the night was comparatively +clear the pursuing boats had to be handled with care. +</p> + +<p> +George did not disembark at the stone steps, but after waiting there for some +time he began to drop down on the tide, keeping close inshore. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows we’ve spotted him,” said Sergeant Coombes, who was in one of the +River Police boats. “It was at the stairs that he had to pick up his man.” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly, the tactics of George suggested that he had recognized surveillance, +and, his purpose abandoned, now sought to efface himself without delay. Taking +advantage of every shadow, he resigned his boat to the gentle current. He had +actually come to the entrance of Greenwich Reach when a dock light, shining out +across the river, outlined the boat yellowly. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s got a passenger!” said Coombes amazedly. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector White, who was in charge of the cutter, rested his arm on Coombes’ +shoulder and stared across the moving tide. +</p> + +<p> +“I can see no one,” he replied. “You’re over anxious, +Detective-Sergeant—and I can understand it!” +</p> + +<p> +Coombes smiled heroically. +</p> + +<p> +“I may be over anxious, Inspector,” he replied, “but if <i>I</i> lost Sin Sin +Wa, the River Police had never even <i>heard</i> of him till the C.I.D. put ’em +wise.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” muttered the Inspector. “D’you suggest we board him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Coombes, “let him land, but don’t trouble to hide any more. Show him +we’re in pursuit.” +</p> + +<p> +No longer drifting with the outgoing tide, George Martin had now boldly taken +to the oars. The River Police boat close in his wake, he headed for the blunt +promontory of the Isle of Dogs. The grim pursuit went on until: +</p> + +<p> +“I bet I know where he’s for,” said Coombes. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I,” declared Inspector White; “Dougal’s!” +</p> + +<p> +Their anticipations were realized. To the wooden stairs which served as a +water-gate for the establishment on the Isle of Dogs, George Martin ran in +openly; the police boat followed, and: +</p> + +<p> +“You were right!” cried the Inspector, “he has somebody with him!” +</p> + +<p> +A furtive figure, bearing a burden upon its shoulder, moved up the slope and +disappeared. A moment later the police were leaping ashore. George deserted his +boat and went running heavily after his passenger. +</p> + +<p> +“After them!” cried Coombes. “That’s <i>Sin Sin Wa!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Around the mazey, rubbish-strewn paths the pursuit went hotly. In sight of +Dougal’s Coombes saw the swing door open and a silhouette—that of a man +who carried a bag on his shoulder—pass in. George Martin followed, but +the Scotland Yard man had his hand upon his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Police!” he said sharply. “Who’s your friend?” +</p> + +<p> +George turned, red and truculent, with clenched fists. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind your own bloody business!” he roared. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind yours, my lad!” retorted Coombes warningly. “You’re no Thames waterman. +Who’s your friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wotcher mean?” shouted George. “You’re up the pole or canned you are!” +</p> + +<p> +“Grab him!” said Coombes, and he kicked open the door and entered the saloon, +followed by Inspector White and the boat’s crew. +</p> + +<p> +As they appeared, the Inspector conspicuous in his uniform, backed by the group +of River Police, one of whom grasped George Martin by his coat collar: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Splits!</i>” bellowed Dougal in a voice like a fog-horn. +</p> + +<p> +Twenty cups of tea, coffee and cocoa, too hot for speedy assimilation, were +spilled upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +The place as usual was crowded, more particularly in the neighborhood of the +two stoves. Here were dock laborers, seamen and riverside loafers, lascars, +Chinese, Arabs, negroes and dagoes. Mrs. Dougal, defiant and red, brawny arms +folded and her pose as that of one contemplating a physical contest, glared +from behind the “solid” counter. Dougal rested his hairy hands upon the “wet” +counter and revealed his defective teeth in a vicious snarl. Many of the +patrons carried light baggage, since a P and O boat, an oriental, and the <i>S. +S. Mahratta</i>, were sailing that night or in the early morning, and Dougal’s +was the favorite house of call for a <i>doch-an-dorrich</i> for sailormen, +particularly for sailormen of color. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the police group became focussed the glances of light eyes and dark eyes, +round eyes, almond-shaped eyes, and oblique eyes. Silence fell. +</p> + +<p> +“We are police officers,” called Coombes formally. “All papers, please.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon, without disturbance, the inspection began, and among the papers +scrutinized were those of one, Chung Chow, an able-bodied Chinese seaman. But +since his papers were in order, and since he possessed two eyes and wore no +pigtail, he excited no more interest in the mind of Detective-Sergeant Coombes +than did any one of the other Chinamen in the place. +</p> + +<p> +A careful search of the premises led to no better result, and George Martin +accounted for his possession of a considerable sum of money found upon him by +explaining that he had recently been paid off after a long voyage and had been +lucky at cards. +</p> + +<p> +The result of the night’s traffic, then, spelled failure for British justice, +the S.S. <i>Mahratta</i> sailed one stewardess short of her complement; but +among the Chinese crew of another steamer Eastward bound was one, Chung Chow, +formerly known as Sin Sin Wa. And sometimes in the night watches there arose +before him the picture of a black bird resting upon the knees of an aged +Chinaman. Beyond these figures dimly he perceived the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan +and the sweeping valley of the Yellow River, where the opium poppy grows. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was about an hour before the sailing of the ship which numbered Chung Chow +among the yellow members of its crew that Seton Pasha returned once more to the +deserted wharf whereon he had found Mrs. Monte Irvin’s spaniel. Afterwards, in +the light of ascertained facts, he condemned himself for a stupidity passing +the ordinary. For while he had conducted a careful search of the wharf and +adjoining premises, convinced that there was a cellar of some kind below, he +had omitted to look for a water-gate to this hypothetical cache. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps his self-condemnation was deserved, but in justice to the agent +selected by Lord Wrexborough, it should be added that Chief Inspector Kerry had +no more idea of the existence of such an entrance, and exit, than had Seton +Pasha. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the dog at Leman Street then, and learning that there was no news of +the missing Chief Inspector, Seton had set out once more. He had been informed +of the mysterious signals flashed from side to side of the Lower Pool, and was +hourly expecting a report to the effect that Sin Sin Wa had been apprehended in +the act of escaping. That Sin Sin Wa had dropped into the turgid tide from his +underground hiding-place, and pushing his property—which was +floatable—before him, encased in a waterproof bag, had swum out and clung +to the stern of George Martin’s boat as it passed close to the empty wharf, +neither Seton Pasha nor any other man knew—except George Martin and Sin +Sin Wa. +</p> + +<p> +At a suitably dark spot the Chinaman had boarded the little craft, not without +difficulty, for his wounded shoulder pained him, and had changed his sodden +attire for a dry outfit which awaited him in the locker at the stern of the +skiff. The cunning of the Chinese has the simplicity of true genius. +</p> + +<p> +Not two paces had Seton taken on to the mystifying wharf when: +</p> + +<p> +“Sam Tûk barber! Entrance in cellar!” rapped a ghostly, muffled voice from +beneath his feet. “Sam Tûk barber! Entrance in cellar!” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha stood still, temporarily bereft of speech. Then, “<i>Kerry!</i>” he +cried. “Kerry! Where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +But apparently his voice failed to reach the invisible speaker, for: +</p> + +<p> +“Sam Tûk barber! Entrance in cellar!” repeated the voice. +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha wasted no more time. He ran out into the narrow street. A man was +on duty there. +</p> + +<p> +“Call assistance!” ordered Seton briskly, “Send four men to join me at the +barber’s shop called Sam Tûk’s! You know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir; I searched it with Chief Inspector Kerry.” +</p> + +<p> +The note of a police whistle followed. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later the secret of Sam Tûk’s cellar was unmasked. The place was +empty, and the subterranean door locked; but it succumbed to the persistent +attacks of axe and crowbar, and Seton Pasha was the first of the party to enter +the vault. It was laden with chemical fumes.... +</p> + +<p> +He found there an aged Chinaman, dead, seated by a stove in which the fire had +burned very low. Sprawling across the old man’s knees was the body of a raven. +Lying at his feet was a woman, lithe, contorted, the face half hidden in masses +of bright red hair. +</p> + +<p> +“End case near the door!” rapped the voice of Kerry. “Slides to the left!” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha vaulted over the counter, drew the shelves aside, and entered the +inner room. +</p> + +<p> +By the dim light of a lantern burning upon a moorish coffee-table he discerned +an untidy bed, upon which a second woman lay, pallid. +</p> + +<p> +“God!” he muttered; “this place is a morgue!” +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly isn’t healthy!” said an irritable voice from the floor. “But I +think I might survive it if you could spare a second to untie me.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerry’s extensive practice in chewing and the enormous development of his +maxillary muscles had stood him in good stead. His keen, strong teeth had +bitten through the extemporized gag, and as a result the tension of the +handkerchief which had held it in place had become relaxed, enabling him to rid +himself of it and to spit out the fragments of filthy-tasting wood which the +biting operation had left in his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Seton turned, stooped on one knee to release the captive... and found himself +looking into the face of someone who sat crouched upon the divan behind the +Chief Inspector. The figure was that of an oriental, richly robed. Long, slim, +ivory hands rested upon his knees, and on the first finger of the right hand +gleamed a big talismanic ring. But the face, surmounted by a white turban, was +wonderful, arresting in its immobile intellectual beauty; and from under the +heavy brows a pair of abnormally large eyes looked out hypnotically. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” whispered Seton, then: +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ve finished your short prayer,” rapped Kerry, “set about <i>my</i> +little job.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Kerry—Kerry, behind you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t any eyes in my back hair!” +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically, half fearfully, Seton touched the hands of the crouching +oriental. A low moan came from the woman in the bed, and: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s <i>Kazmah!</i>” gasped Seton. “Kerry... Kazmah is—a <i>wax +figure!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” said Chief Inspector Kerry. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0042"></a> +CHAPTER XLII.<br/> +A YEAR LATER</h2> + +<p> +Beneath an awning spread above the balcony of one of those modern elegant +flats, which today characterize Heliopolis, the City of the Sun, site of +perhaps the most ancient seat of learning in the known world, a party of four +was gathered, awaiting the unique spectacle which is afforded when the sun’s +dying rays fade from the Libyan sands and the violet wonder of the afterglow +conjures up old magical Egypt from the ashes of the desert. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Monte Irvin was saying, “only a year ago; but, thank God, it seems more +like ten! Merciful time effaces sadness but spares joy.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to his wife, whose flower-like face peeped out from a nest of white +fur. Covertly he squeezed her hand, and was rewarded with a swift, half +coquettish glance, in which he read trust and contentment. The dreadful ordeal +through which she had passed had accomplished that which no physician in Europe +could have hoped for, since no physician would have dared to adopt such drastic +measures. Actuated by deliberate cruelty, and with the design of bringing about +her death from apparently natural causes, the Kazmah group had deprived her of +cocaine for so long a period that sanity, life itself, had barely survived; but +for so long a period that, surviving, she had outlived the drug craving. Kazmah +had cured her! +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin turned to the tall fair girl who sat upon the arm of a cane +rest-chair beside Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“But nothing can ever efface the memory of all you have done for Rita, and for +me,” he said, “nothing, Mrs. Seton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Margaret, “my mind was away back, and that sounded—so odd.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha, who occupied the lounge-chair upon the broad arm of which his wife +was seated, looked up, smiling into the suddenly flushed face. They were but +newly returned from their honeymoon, and had just taken possession of their +home, for Seton was now stationed in Cairo. He flicked a cone of ash from his +cheroot. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me that we are all more or less indebted to one another,” he +declared. “For instance, I might never have met you, Margaret, if I had not run +into your cousin that eventful night at Princes; and Gray would not have been +gazing abstractedly out of the doorway if Mrs. Irvin had joined him for dinner +as arranged. One can trace almost every episode in life right back, and +ultimately come—” +</p> + +<p> +“To Kismet!” cried his wife, laughing merrily. “So before we begin dinner +tonight—which is a night of reunion—I am going to propose a toast +to Kismet!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said Seton, “we shall all drink it gladly. Eh, Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gladly, indeed,” agreed Monte Irvin. “You know, Seton,” he continued, “we have +been wandering, Rita and I; and ever since your wife handed her patient over to +me as cured we have covered some territory. I don’t know if you or Chief +Inspector Kerry has been responsible, but the press accounts of the Kazmah +affair have been scanty to baldness. One stray bit of news reached us—in +Colorado, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was that, Mr. Irvin?” asked Margaret, leaning towards the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“It was about Mollie Gretna. Someone wrote and told me that she had eloped with +a billiard marker—a married man with five children!” +</p> + +<p> +Seton laughed heartily, and so did Margaret and Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“Right!” cried Seton. “She did. When last heard of she was acting as barmaid in +a Portsmouth tavern!” +</p> + +<p> +But Monte Irvin did not laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor, foolish girl!” he said gravely. “Her life might have been so +different—so useful and happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” replied Seton, “if she had had a husband like Kerry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please don’t!” said Margaret. “I almost fell in love with Chief Inspector +Kerry myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“A grand fellow!” declared her husband warmly. “The Kazmah inquiry was the +triumph of his career.” +</p> + +<p> +Monte Irvin turned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> did your bit, Seton,” he said quietly. “The last words Inspector +Kerry spoke to me before I left England were in the nature of a splendid +tribute to yourself, but I will spare your blushes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kerry is as white as they’re made,” replied Seton, “but we should never have +known for certain who killed Sir Lucien if he had not risked his life in that +filthy cellar as he did.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita Irvin shuddered slightly and drew her furs more closely about her +shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we change the conversation, dear?” whispered Margaret. +</p> + +<p> +“No, please,” said Rita. “You cannot imagine how curious I am to learn the true +details—for, as Monte says, we have been out of touch with things, and +although we were so intimately concerned, neither of us really knows the inner +history of the affair to this day. Of course, we know that Kazmah was a dummy +figure, posed in the big ebony chair. He never moved, except to raise his hand, +and this was done by someone seated in the inner room behind the figure. But +<i>who</i> was seated there?” +</p> + +<p> +Seton glanced inquiringly at his wife, and she nodded, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” he said. “If you will excuse me for a moment I will get my notes. +Hello, here’s Gray!” +</p> + +<p> +A little two-seater came bowling along the road from Cairo, and drew up beneath +the balcony. It was the car which had belonged to Margaret when in practice in +Dover Street. Quentin Gray jumped out, waving his hand cheerily to the +quartette above, and went in at the doorway. Seton walked through the flat and +admitted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry I’m late!” cried Gray, impetuous and boyish as ever, although he looked +older and had grown very bronzed. “The chief detained me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go through to them,” said Seton informally. “I’m getting my notes; we’re going +to read the thrilling story of the Kazmah mystery before dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good enough!” cried Gray. “I’m in the dark on many points.” +</p> + +<p> +He had outlived his youthful infatuation, although it was probable enough that +had Rita been free he would have presented himself as a suitor without delay. +But the old relationship he had no desire to renew. A generous self-effacing +regard had supplanted the madness of his earlier passion. Rita had changed too; +she had learned to know herself and to know her husband. +</p> + +<p> +So that when Seton Pasha presently rejoined his guests, he found the most +complete harmony to prevail among them. He carried a bulky notebook, and, +tapping his teeth with his monocle: +</p> + +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began whimsically, “I will bore you with a brief +account of the extraordinary facts concerning the Kazmah case.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret was seated in the rest-chair which her husband had vacated, and Seton +took up a position upon the ledge formed by one of the wide arms. Everyone +prepared to listen, with interest undisguised. +</p> + +<p> +“There were three outstanding personalities dominating what we may term the +Kazmah group,” continued Seton. “In order of importance they were: Sin Sin Wa, +Sir Lucien Pyne and Mrs. Sin.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita Irvin inhaled deeply, but did not interrupt the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall begin with Sir Lucien,” Seton went on. “For some years before his +father’s death he seems to have lived a very shady life in many parts of the +world. He was a confirmed gambler, and was also somewhat unduly fond of the +ladies’ society. In Buenos Ayres—the exact date does not matter—he +made the acquaintance of a variety artiste known as La Belle Lola, a +Cuban-Jewess, good-looking and unscrupulous. I cannot say if Sir Lucien was +aware from the outset of his affair with La Belle that she was a married woman. +But it is certain that her husband, Sin Sin Wa, very early learned of the +intrigue, and condoned it. +</p> + +<p> +“How Sir Lucien came to get into the clutches of the pair I do not know. But +that he did so we have ascertained beyond doubt. I think, personally, that his +third vice—opium—was probably responsible. For Sin Sin Wa appears +throughout in the character of a drug dealer. +</p> + +<p> +“These three people really become interesting from the time that La Belle Lola +quitted the stage and joined her husband in the conducting of a concern in +Buenos Ayres, which was the parent, if I may use the term, of the Kazmah +business later established in Bond Street. From a music-hall illusionist, who +came to grief during a South American tour, they acquired the oriental waxwork +figure which subsequently mystified so many thousands of dupes. It was the work +of a famous French artist in wax, and had originally been made to represent the +Pharaoh, Rameses II., for a Paris exhibition. Attired in Eastern robes, and +worked by a simple device which raised and lowered the right hand, it was used, +firstly, in a stage performance, and secondly, in the character of ‘Kazmah the +Dream-reader.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Even at this time Sir Lucien had access to good society, or to the best +society which Buenos Ayres could offer, and he was the source of the surprising +revelations made to patrons by the ‘dream-reader.’ At first, apparently, the +drug business was conducted independently of the Kazmah concern, but the +facilities offered by the latter for masking the former soon became apparent to +the wily Sin Sin Wa. Thereupon the affair was reorganized on the lines later +adopted in Bond Street. Kazmah’s became a secret dope-shop, and annexed to it +was an elaborate <i>chandu-khân</i>, conducted by the Chinaman. Mrs. Sin was +the go-between. +</p> + +<p> +“You are all waiting to hear—or, to be exact, two are waiting to hear, +Gray and Margaret already know—who spoke as Kazmah through the little +window behind the chair. The deep-voiced speaker was Juan Mareno, Mrs. Sin’s +brother! Mrs. Sin’s maiden name was Lola Mareno. +</p> + +<p> +“Many of these details were provided by Mareno, who, after the death of his +sister, to whom he was deeply attached, volunteered to give crown evidence. +Most of them we have confirmed from other sources. +</p> + +<p> +“Behold ‘Kazmah the dream-reader,’ then, established in Buenos Ayres. The +partners in the enterprise speedily acquired considerable wealth. Sir +Lucien—at this time plain Mr. Pyne—several times came home and +lived in London and elsewhere like a millionaire. There is no doubt, I think, +that he was seeking a suitable opportunity to establish a London branch of the +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” said Monte Irvin. “How horrible it seems!” +</p> + +<p> +“Horrible, indeed!” agreed Seton. “But there are two features of the case +which, in justice to Sir Lucien, we should not overlook. He, who had been a +poor man, had become a wealthy one and had tasted the sweets of wealth; also he +was now hopelessly in the toils of the woman Lola. +</p> + +<p> +“With the ingenious financial details of the concern, which were conducted in +the style of the ‘Jose Santos Company,’ I need not trouble you now. We come to +the second period, when the flat in Albemarle Street and the two offices in old +Bond Street became vacant and were promptly leased by Mareno, acting on Sir +Lucien’s behalf, and calling himself sometimes Mr. Isaacs, sometimes Mr. +Jacobs, and at other times merely posing as a representative of the Jose Santos +Company in some other name. +</p> + +<p> +“All went well. The concern had ample capital, and was organized by clever +people. Sin Sin Wa took up new quarters in Limehouse; they had actually bought +half the houses in one entire street as well as a wharf! And Sin Sin Wa brought +with him the good-will of an illicit drug business which already had almost +assumed the dimensions of a control. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Lucien’s household was a mere bluff. He rarely entertained at home, and +lived himself entirely at restaurants and clubs. The private entrance to the +Kazmah house of business was the back window of the Cubanis Cigarette Company’s +office. From thence down the back stair to Kazmah’s door it was a simple matter +for Mareno to pass unobserved. Sir Lucien resumed his rôle of private inquiry +agent, and Mareno recited the ‘revelations’ from notes supplied to him. +</p> + +<p> +“But the ‘dream reading’ part of the business was merely carried on to mask the +really profitable side of the concern. We have recently learned that drugs were +distributed from that one office alone to the amount of thirty thousand pounds’ +worth annually! This is excluding the profits of the House of a Hundred +Raptures and of the private <i>chandu</i> orgies organized by Mrs. Sin. +</p> + +<p> +“The Kazmah group gradually acquired control of the entire market, and we know +for a fact that at one period during the war they were actually supplying +smuggled cocaine, indirectly, to no fewer than twelve R.A.M.C. hospitals! The +complete ramifications of the system we shall never know. +</p> + +<p> +“I come, now, to the tragedy, or series of tragedies, which brought about the +collapse of the most ingenious criminal organization which has ever flourished, +probably, in any community. I will dare to be frank. Sir Lucien was the victim +of a woman’s jealousy. Am I to proceed?” +</p> + +<p> +Seton paused, glancing at his audience; and: +</p> + +<p> +“If you please,” whispered Rita. “Monte knows and I know—why—she +killed him. But we don’t know—” +</p> + +<p> +“The nasty details,” said Quentin Gray. “Carry on, Seton. Are you agreeable, +Irvin?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am anxious to know,” replied Irvin, “for I believe Sir Lucien deserved well +of me, bad as he was.” +</p> + +<p> +Seton clapped his hands, and an Egyptian servant appeared, silently and +mysteriously as is the way of his class. +</p> + +<p> +“Cocktails, Mahmoud!” +</p> + +<p> +The Egyptian disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s just time,” declared Margaret, gazing out across the prospect, “before +sunset.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0043"></a> +CHAPTER XLIII.<br/> +THE STORY OF THE CRIME</h2> + +<p> +“You are all aware,” Seton continued, “that Sir Lucien Pyne was an admirer of +Mrs. Irvin. God knows, I hold no brief for the man, but this love of his was +the one redeeming feature of a bad life. How and when it began I don’t profess +to know, but it became the only pure thing which he possessed. That he was +instrumental in introducing you, Mrs. Irvin, to the unfortunately prevalent +drug habit, you will not deny; but that he afterwards tried sincerely to redeem +you from it I can positively affirm. In seeking your redemption he found his +own, for I know that he was engaged at the time of his death in extricating +himself from the group. You may say that he had made a fortune, and was +satisfied; that is <i>your</i> view, Gray. I prefer to think that he was +anxious to begin a new life and to make himself more worthy of the respect of +those he loved. +</p> + +<p> +“There was one obstacle which proved too great for him—Mrs. Sin. Although +Juan Mareno was the spokesman of the group, Lola Mareno was the prompter. All +Sir Lucien’s plans for weaning Mrs. Irvin from the habits which she had +acquired were deliberately and malignantly foiled by this woman. She endeavored +to inveigle Mrs. Irvin into indebtedness to you, Gray, as you know now. Failing +in this, she endeavored to kill her by depriving her of that which had at the +time become practically indispensable. A venomous jealousy led her to almost +suicidal measures. She risked exposure and ruin in her endeavors to dispose of +one whom she looked upon as a rival. +</p> + +<p> +“During Sir Lucien’s several absences from London she was particularly active, +and this brings me to the closing scene of the drama. On the night that you +determined, in desperation, Mrs. Irvin, to see Kazmah personally, you will +recall that Sir Lucien went out to telephone to him?” +</p> + +<p> +Rita nodded but did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Actually,” Seton explained, “he instructed Mareno to go across the leads to +Kazmah’s directly you had left the flat, and to give you a certain message as +‘Kazmah.’ He also instructed Mareno to telephone certain orders to Rashîd, the +Egyptian attendant. In spite of the unforeseen meeting with Gray, all would +have gone well, no doubt, if Mrs. Sin had not chanced to be on the Kazmah +premises at the time that the message was received! +</p> + +<p> +“I need not say that Mrs. Sin was a remarkable woman, possessing many +accomplishments, among them that of mimicry. She had often amused herself by +taking Mareno’s place at the table behind Kazmah, and, speaking in her +brother’s oracular voice, had delivered the ‘revelations.’ Mareno was like wax +in his sister’s hands, and on this fateful night, when he arrived at the +place—which he did a few minutes before Mrs. Irvin, Gray and Sir +Lucien—Mrs. Sin peremptorily ordered him to wait upstairs in the Cubanis +office, and <i>she</i> took her seat in the room from which the Kazmah +illusions were controlled. +</p> + +<p> +“So carefully arranged was every detail of the business that Rashîd, the +Egyptian, was ignorant of Sir Lucien’s official connection with the Kazmah +concern. He had been ordered—by Mareno speaking from Sir Lucien’s +flat—to admit Mrs. Irvin to the room of seance and then to go home. He +obeyed and departed, leaving Sir Lucien in the waiting-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Driven to desperation by ‘Kazmah’s’ taunting words, we know that Mrs. Irvin +penetrated to the inner room. I must slur over the details of the scene which +ensued. Hearing her cry out, Sir Lucien ran to her assistance. Mrs. Sin, +enraged by his manner, lost all control of her insane passion. She attempted +Mrs. Irvin’s life with a stiletto which habitually she carried—and Sir +Lucien died like a gentleman who had lived like a blackguard. He shielded +her—” +</p> + +<p> +Seton paused. Margaret was biting her lip hard, and Rita was looking down so +that her face could not be seen. +</p> + +<p> +“The shock consequent upon the deed sobered the half crazy woman,” continued +the speaker. “Her usual resourcefulness returned to her. Self-preservation had +to be considered before remorse. Mrs. Irvin had swooned, and”—he +hesitated—“Mrs. Sin saw to it that she did not revive prematurely. Mareno +was summoned from the room above. The outer door was locked. +</p> + +<p> +“It affords evidence of this woman’s callous coolness that she removed from the +Kazmah premises, and—probably assisted by her brother, although he denies +it—from the person and garments of the dead man, every scrap of evidence. +They had not by any means finished the task when <i>you</i> knocked at the +door, Gray. But they completed it, faultlessly, after you had gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Their unconscious victim, and the figure of Kazmah, as well as every paper or +other possible clue, they carried up to the Cubanis office, and from thence +across the roof to Sir Lucien’s study. Next, while Mareno went for the car, +Mrs. Sin rifled the safe, bureaus and desks in Sir Lucien’s flat, so that we +had the devil’s own work, as you know, to find out even the more simple facts +of his everyday life. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a soul ever came forward who noticed the big car being driven into +Albemarle Street or who observed it outside the flat. The chances run by the +pair in conveying their several strange burdens from the top floor, down the +stairs and out into the street were extraordinary. Yet they succeeded +unobserved. Of course, the street was imperfectly lighted, and is but little +frequented after dusk. +</p> + +<p> +“The journey to Limehouse was performed without discovery—aided, no +doubt, by the mistiness of the night; and Mareno, returning to the West End, +ingeniously inquired for Sir Lucien at his club. Learning, although he knew it +already, that Sir Lucien had not been to the club that night, he returned the +car to the garage and calmly went back to the flat. +</p> + +<p> +“His reason for taking this dangerous step is by no means clear. According to +his own account, he did it to gain time for the fugitive Mrs. Sin. You see, +there was really only one witness of the crime (Mrs. Irvin) and she could not +have sworn to the identity of the assassin. Rashîd was warned and presumably +supplied with sufficient funds to enable him to leave the country. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the woman met her deserts, no doubt at the hands of Sin Sin Wa. Kerry is +sure of this. And Sin Sin Wa escaped, taking with him an enormous sum of ready +money. He was the true genius of the enterprise. No one, his wife and Mareno +excepted—we know of no other—suspected that the real Sin Sin Wa was +clean-shaven, possessed two eyes, and no pigtail! A wonderfully clever man!” +</p> + +<p> +The native servant appeared to announce that dinner was served; African dusk +drew its swift curtain over the desert, and a gun spoke sharply from the +Citadel. In silence the party watched the deepening velvet of the sky, +witnessing the birth of a million stars, and in silence they entered the gaily +lighted dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +Seton Pasha moved one of the lights so as to illuminate a small oil painting +which hung above the sideboard. It represented the head and shoulders of a +savage-looking red man, his hair close-cropped like that of a pugilist, and his +moustache trimmed in such a fashion that a row of large, fierce teeth were +revealed in an expression which might have been meant for a smile. A pair of +intolerant steel-blue eyes looked squarely out at the spectator. +</p> + +<p> +“What a time I had,” said Seton, “to get him to sit for that! But I managed to +secure his wife’s support, and the trick was done. <i>You</i> are down to toast +Kismet, Margaret, but I am going to propose the health, long life and +prosperity of Chief Inspector Kerry, of the Criminal Investigation Department.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOPE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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