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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77056-0.txt b/77056-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c2a760d --- /dev/null +++ b/77056-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9041 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77056 *** + + + + + + Caption: + A large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his + skull, French fashion. + + + + + THE + DREAM DETECTIVE + + By SAX ROHMER + + + + + McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE + NEW YORK + + + + + [COPYRIGHT] + + COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + + CONTENTS + + FIRST EPISODE + Case of the Tragedies in the Greek Room + + SECOND EPISODE + Case of the Potsherd of Anubis + + THIRD EPISODE + Case of the Crusader’s Ax + + FOURTH EPISODE + Case of the Ivory Statue + + FIFTH EPISODE + Case of the Blue Rajah + + SIXTH EPISODE + Case of the Whispering Poplars + + SEVENTH EPISODE + Case of the Chord in G + + EIGHTH EPISODE + Case of the Headless Mummies + + NINTH EPISODE + Case of the Haunting of Grange + + TENTH EPISODE + Case of the Veil of Isis + + + + + THE DREAM DETECTIVE + + FIRST EPISODE. + CASE OF THE TRAGEDIES IN THE GREEK ROOM + + I + +When did Moris Klaw first appear in London? It is a question which I +am asked sometimes and to which I reply, “To the best of my knowledge, +shortly before the commencement of the strange happenings at the +Menzies Museum.” + +What I know of him I have gathered from various sources; and in these +papers, which represent an attempt to justify the methods of one +frequently accused of being an insane theorist, I propose to recount +all the facts which have come to my knowledge. In some few of the +cases I was personally though slightly concerned; but regard me merely +as the historian and on no account as the principal or even minor +character in the story. My friendship with Martin Coram led, then, to +my first meeting with Moris Klaw--a meeting which resulted in my +becoming his biographer, inadequate though my information +unfortunately remains. + +It was some three months after the appointment of Coram to the +curatorship of the Menzies Museum that the first of a series of +singular occurrences took place there. + +This occurrence befell one night in August, and the matter was brought +to my ears by Coram himself on the following morning. I had, in fact, +just taken my seat at the breakfast table, when he walked in +unexpectedly and sank into an armchair. His dark, clean-shaven face +looked more gaunt than usual and I saw, as he lighted the cigarette +which I proffered, that his hand shook nervously. + +“There’s trouble at the Museum!” he said, abruptly. “I want you to run +around.” + +I looked at him for a moment without replying, and, knowing the +responsibility of his position, feared that he referred to a theft +from the collection. + +“Something gone?” I asked. + +“No; worse!” was his reply. + +“What do you mean, Coram?” + +He threw the cigarette, unsmoked, into the hearth. “You know Conway?” +he said; “Conway, the night attendant? Well--he’s dead!” + +I stood up from the table, my breakfast forgotten, and stared +incredulously. “Do you mean that he died in the night?” I inquired. + +“Yes. Done for, poor devil!” + +“What! murdered?” + +“Without a doubt, Searles! He’s had his neck broken!” + +I waited for no further explanations, but, hastily dressing, +accompanied Coram to the Museum. It consists, I should mention, of +four long, rectangular rooms, the windows of two overlooking South +Grafton Square, those of the third giving upon the court that leads to +the curator’s private entrance, and the fourth adjoining an enclosed +garden attached to the building. This fourth room is on the ground +floor and is entered through the hall from the Square, the other +three, containing the principal and more valuable exhibits, are upon +the first floor and are reached by a flight of stairs from the hall. +The remainder of the building is occupied by an office and the +curator’s private apartments, and is completely shut off from that +portion open to the public, the only communicating door--an iron +one--being kept locked. + +The room described in the catalogue as the “Greek Room” proved to be +the scene of the tragedy. This room is one of the two overlooking the +Square and contains some of the finest items of the collection. The +Museum is not open to the public until ten o’clock, and I found, upon +arriving there, that the only occupants of the Greek Room were the +commissionaire on duty, two constables, a plain-clothes officer and an +inspector--that is, if I except the body of poor Conway. + +He had not been touched, but lay as he was found by Beale, the +commissionaire who took charge of the upper rooms during the day, and, +indeed, it was patent that he was beyond medical aid. In fact, the +position of his body was so extraordinary as almost to defy +description. + +There are three windows in the Greek Room, with wall cases between, +and, in the gap corresponding to the east window and just by the door +opening into the next room, is a chair for the attendant. Conway lay +downward on the polished floor with his limbs partly under this chair +and his clenched fists thrust straight out before him. His head, +turned partially to one side, was doubled underneath his breast in a +most dreadful manner, indisputably pointing to a broken neck, and his +commissionaire’s cap lay some distance away, under a table supporting +a heavy case of vases. + +So much was revealed at a glance, and I immediately turned blankly to +Coram. + +“What do you make of it?” he said. + +I shook my head in silence. I could scarce grasp the reality of the +thing; indeed, I was still staring at the huddled figure when the +doctor arrived. At his request we laid the dead man flat upon the +floor to facilitate an examination, and we then saw that he was +greatly cut and bruised about the head and face, and that his features +were distorted in a most extraordinary manner, almost as though he had +been suffocated. + +The doctor did not fail to notice this expression. “Made a hard fight +of it!” he said. “He must have been in the last stages of exhaustion +when his neck was broken!” + +“My dear fellow!” cried Coram, somewhat irritably, “what do you mean +when you say that he made a hard fight? There could not possibly have +been any one else in these rooms last night!” + +“Excuse me, sir!” said the inspector, “but there certainly was +something going on here. Have you seen the glass case in the next +room?” + +“Glass case?” muttered Coram, running his hand distractedly through +his thick black hair. “No; what of a glass case?” + +“In here, sir,” explained the inspector, leading the way into the +adjoining apartment. + +At his words, we all followed, and found that he referred to the glass +front of a wall case containing statuettes and images of Egyptian +deities. The centre pane of this was smashed into fragments, the +broken glass strewing the floor and the shelves inside the case. + +“That looks like a struggle, sir, doesn’t it?” said the inspector. + +“Heaven help us! What does it mean?” groaned poor Coram. “Who could +possibly have gained access to the building in the night, or, having +done so, have quitted it again, when all the doors remained locked?” + +“That we must try and find out!” replied the inspector. “Meanwhile, +here are his keys. They lay on the floor in a corner of the Greek +Room.” + +Coram took them, mechanically. “Beale,” he said to the commissionaire, +“see if any of the cases are unlocked.” + +The man proceeded to go around the rooms. He had progressed no farther +than the Greek Room when he made a discovery. “Here’s the top of this +unfastened, sir!” he suddenly cried, excitedly. + +We hurriedly joined him, to find that he stood before a marble +pedestal surmounted by a thick glass case containing what Coram had +frequently assured me was the gem of the collection--the Athenean +Harp. + +It was alleged to be of very ancient Greek workmanship, and was +constructed of fine gold inlaid with jewels. It represented two +reclining female figures, their arms thrown above their heads, their +hands meeting; and the strings, several of which were still intact, +were of incredibly fine gold wire. The instrument was said to have +belonged to a Temple of Pallas in an extremely remote age, and at the +time it was brought to light much controversy had waged concerning its +claims to authenticity, several connoisseurs proclaiming it the work +of a famous goldsmith of mediæval Florence, and nothing but a clever +forgery. However, Greek or Florentine, amazingly ancient or +comparatively modern, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship and of +very great intrinsic value, apart from its artistic worth and unique +character. + +“I thought so!” said the plain-clothes man. “A clever museum thief!” + +Coram sighed wearily. “My good fellow,” he replied, “can you explain, +by any earthly hypothesis, how a man could get into these apartments +and leave them again during the night?” + +“Regarding that, sir,” remarked the detective, “there are a few +questions I should like to ask you. In the first place, at what time +does the Museum close?” + +“At six o’clock in the summer.” + +“What do you do when the last visitor has gone?” + +“Having locked the outside door, Beale, here, thoroughly examines +every room to make certain that no one remains concealed. He next +locks the communicating doors and comes down into the hall. It was +then his custom to hand me the keys. I gave them into poor Conway’s +keeping when he came on duty at half-past six, and every hour he went +through the Museum, relocking all the doors behind him.” + +“I understand that there is a tell-tale watch in each room?” + +“Yes. That in the Greek Room registers 4 A.M., so that it was about +then that he met his death. He had evidently opened the door +communicating with the next room--that containing the broken glass +case; but he did not touch the detector and the door was found open +this morning.” + +“Someone must have lain concealed there and sprung upon him as he +entered.” + +“Impossible! There is no other means of entrance or exit. The three +windows are iron-barred and they have not been tampered with. +Moreover, the watch shows that he was there at three o’clock, and +nothing larger than a mouse could find shelter in the place; there is +nowhere a man could hide.” + +“Then the murderer followed him into the Greek Room.” + +“Might I venture to point out that, had he done so, he would have been +there this morning when Beale arrived? The door of the Greek Room was +locked and the keys were found inside upon the floor!” + +“The thief might have had a duplicate set.” + +“Quite impossible; but, granting the impossible, how did he get in, +since the hall door was bolted and barred?” + +“We must assume that he succeeded in concealing himself before the +Museum was closed.” + +“The assumption is not permissible, in view of the fact that Beale and +I both examined the rooms last night prior to handing the keys to +Conway. However, again granting the impossible, how did he get out?” + +The Scotland Yard man removed his hat and mopped his forehead with his +handkerchief. “I must say, sir, it is a very strange thing,” he said; +“but how about the iron door here?” + +“It leads to my own apartments. I, alone, hold a key. It was locked.” + +A brief examination served to show that exit from any of the barred +windows was impossible. + +“Well, sir,” said the detective, “if the man had keys he could have +come down into the hall and the lower room.” + +“Step down and look,” was Coram’s invitation. + +The windows of the room on the ground floor were also heavily +protected, and it was easy to see that none of them had been opened. + +“Upon my word,” exclaimed the inspector, “it’s uncanny! He couldn’t +have gone out by the hall door, because you say it was bolted and +barred on the inside.” + +“It was,” replied Coram. + +“One moment, sir,” interrupted the plain-clothes man. “If that was so, +how did you get in this morning?” + +“It was Beale’s custom,” said Coram, “to come around by the private +entrance to my apartments. We then entered the Museum together by the +iron door into the Greek Room and relieved Conway of the keys. There +are several little matters to be attended to in the morning before +admitting the public, and the other door is never unlocked before ten +o’clock.” + +“Did you lock the door behind you when you came through this morning?” + +“Immediately on finding poor Conway.” + +“Could any one have come through this door in the night, provided he +had a duplicate key?” + +“No. There is a bolt on the private side.” + +“And you were in your rooms all last night?” + +“From twelve o’clock, yes.” + +The police looked at one another silently; then the inspector gave an +embarrassed laugh. “Frankly, sir,” he said, “I’m completely puzzled!” + +We passed upstairs again and Coram turned to the doctor. “Anything +else to report about poor Conway?” he asked. + +“His face is all cut by the broken glass and he seems to have had a +desperate struggle, although, curiously enough, his body bears no +other marks of violence. The direct cause of death was, of course, a +broken neck.” + +“And how should you think he came by it?” + +“I should say that he was hurled upon the floor by an opponent +possessing more than ordinary strength!” + +Thus the physician, and was about to depart when there came a knocking +upon the iron door. + +“It is Hilda,” said Coram, slipping the key in the lock--“my +daughter,” he added, turning to the detective. + + + II + +The heavy door swinging open, there entered Hilda Coram, a slim, +classical figure, with the regular features of her father and the pale +gold hair of her dead mother. She looked unwell, and stared about her +apprehensively. + +“Good morning, Mr. Searles,” she greeted me. “Is it not dreadful about +poor Conway!”--and then glanced at Coram. I saw that she held a card +in her hand. “Father, there is such a singular old man asking to see +you.” + +She handed the card to Coram, who in turn passed it to me. It was that +of Douglas Glade of the _Daily Cable_, and had written upon it in +Glade’s hand the words, “To introduce Mr. Moris Klaw.” + +“I suppose it is all right if Mr. Glade vouches for him,” said Coram. +“But does anybody here know Moris Klaw?” + +“I do,” replied the Scotland Yard man, smiling shortly. “He’s an +antique dealer or something of the kind; got a ramshackle old place by +Wapping Old Stairs--sort of a cross between Jamrach’s and a rag shop. +He’s lately been hanging about the Central Criminal Court a lot. Seems +to fancy his luck as an amateur investigator. He’s certainly smart,” +he added, grudgingly, “but cranky.” + +“Ask Mr. Klaw to come through, Hilda,” said Coram. + +Shortly afterward entered a strange figure. It was that of a tall man +who stooped, so that his apparent height was diminished--a very old +man who carried his many years lightly, or a younger man prematurely +aged; none could say which. His skin had the hue of dirty vellum, and +his hair, his shaggy brows, his scanty beard were so toneless as to +defy classification in terms of colour. He wore an archaic brown +bowler, smart, gold-rimmed pince-nez, and a black silk muffler. A +long, caped black cloak completely enveloped the stooping figure; from +beneath its mud-spattered edge peeped long-toed continental boots. + +He removed his hat. + +“Good morning, Mr. Coram,” he said. His voice reminded me of the +distant rumbling of empty casks; his accent was wholly indescribable. +“Good morning” (to the detective), “Mr. Grimsby. Good morning, Mr. +Searles. Your friend, Mr. Glade, tells me I shall find you here. Good +morning, Inspector. To Miss Coram I already have said good morning.” + +From the lining of the flat-topped hat he took out one of those small +cylindrical scent sprays and played its contents upon his high, bald +brow. An odour of verbena filled the air. He replaced the spray in the +hat, the hat upon his scantily thatched crown. + +“There is here a smell of dead men!” he explained. + +I turned aside to hide my smiles, so grotesque was my first impression +of the amazing individual known as Moris Klaw. + +“Mr. Coram,” he continued, “I am an old fool who sometimes has wise +dreams. Crime has been the hobby of a busy life. I have seen crime +upon the Gold Coast, where the black fever it danced in the air above +the murdered one like a lingering soul, and I have seen blood flow in +Arctic Lapland, where it was frozen up into red ice almost before it +left the veins. Have I your permit to see if I can help?” + +All of us, the police included, were strangely impressed now. + +“Certainly,” said Coram; “will you step this way?” + +Moris Klaw bent over the dead man. + +“You have moved him!” he said, sharply. + +It was explained that this had been for the purpose of a medical +examination. He nodded absently. With the aid of a large magnifying +glass he was scrutinizing poor Conway. He examined his hair, his eyes, +his hands, his fingernails. He rubbed long, flexible fingers upon the +floor beside the body--and sniffed at the dust. + +“Someone so kindly will tell me all about it,” he said, turning out +the dead man’s pockets. + +Coram briefly recounted much of the foregoing, and replied to the +oddly chosen questions which from time to time Moris Klaw put to him. +Throughout the duologue, the singular old man conducted a detailed +search of every square inch, I think, of the Greek Room. Before the +case containing the harp he stood, peering. + +“It is here that the trouble centres,” he muttered. “What do I know of +such a Grecian instrument? Let me think.” + +He threw back his head, closing his eyes. + +“Such valuable curios,” he rumbled, “have histories--and the crimes +they occasion operate in cycles.” He waved his hand in a slow circle. +“If I but knew the history of this harp! Mr. Coram!” + +He glanced toward my friend. + +“Thoughts are things, Mr. Coram. If I might spend a night here--upon +the very spot of floor where the poor Conway fell--I could from the +surrounding atmosphere (it is a sensitive plate) recover a picture of +the thing in his mind”--indicating Conway--“at the last!” + +The Scotland Yard man blew down his nose. + +“You snort, my friend,” said Moris Klaw, turning upon him. “You would +snort less if you had waked screaming, out in the desert; screaming +out with fear of the dripping beaks of the vultures--the last dreadful +fear which the mind had known of him who had died of thirst upon that +haunted spot!” + +The words and the manner of their delivery thrilled us all. + +“What is it,” continued the weird old man, “but the odic force, the +ether--say it how you please--which carries the wireless message, the +lightning? It is a huge, subtile, sensitive plate. Inspiration, what +you call bad luck and good luck--all are but reflections from it. The +supreme thought preceding death is imprinted on the surrounding +atmosphere like a photograph. I have trained this”--he tapped his +brow--“to reproduce those photographs! May I sleep here to-night, Mr. +Coram?” + +Somewhere beneath the ramshackle exterior we had caught a glimpse of a +man of power. From behind the thick pebbles momentarily had shone out +the light of a tremendous and original mind. + +“I should be most glad of your assistance,” answered my friend. + +“No police must be here to-night,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “No +heavy-footed constables, filling the room with thoughts of large cooks +and small Basses, must fog my negative!” + +“Can that be arranged?” asked Coram of the inspector. + +“The men on duty can remain in the hall, if you wish it, sir.” + +“Good!” rumbled Moris Klaw. + +He moistened his brow with verbena, bowed uncouthly, and shuffled from +the Greek Room. + + + III + +Moris Klaw reappeared in the evening, accompanied by a strikingly +beautiful brunette. + +The change of face upon the part of Mr. Grimsby of New Scotland Yard +was singular. + +“My daughter--Isis,” explained Moris Klaw. “She assists to develop my +negatives.” + +Grimsby became all attention. Leaving two men on duty in the hall, +Moris Klaw, his daughter, Grimsby, Coram, and I went up to the Greek +Room. Its darkness was relieved by a single lamp. + +“I’ve had the stones in the Athenean Harp examined by a lapidary,” +said Coram. “It occurred to me that they might have been removed and +paste substituted. It was not so, however.” + +“No,” rumbled Klaw. “I thought of that, too. No visitors have been +admitted here during the day?” + +“The Greek Room has been closed.” + +“It is well, Mr. Coram. Let no one disturb me until my daughter comes +in the morning.” + +Isis Klaw placed a red silk cushion upon the spot where the dead man +had lain. + +“Some pillows and a blanket, Mr. Klaw?” suggested the suddenly +attentive Mr. Grimsby. + +“I thank you, no,” was the reply. “They would be saturated with alien +impressions. My cushion it is odically sterilized! The ‘etheric storm’ +created by Conway’s last mental emotion reaches my brain unpolluted. +Good-night, gentlemen. Good-night, Isis!” + +We withdrew, leaving Moris Klaw to his ghostly vigil. + +“I suppose Mr. Klaw is quite trustworthy?” whispered Coram to the +detective. + +“Oh, undoubtedly!” was the reply. “In any case, he can do no harm. My +men will be on duty downstairs here all night.” + +“Do you speak of my father, Mr. Grimsby?” came a soft, thrilling +voice. + +Grimsby turned, and met the flashing black eyes of Isis Klaw. + +“I was assuring Mr. Coram,” he answered, readily, “that Mr. Klaw’s +methods have several times proved successful!” + +“Several times!” she cried, scornfully. “What! has he ever failed?” + +Her accent was certainly French, I determined; her voice, her entire +person, was certainly charming--to which the detective’s manner bore +witness. + +“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with all his cases, miss,” he said. “Can +I call you a cab?” + +“I thank you, no.” She rewarded him with a dazzling smile. +“Good-night.” + +Coram opened the doors of the Museum, and she passed out. Leaving the +men on duty in the hall, Coram and I shortly afterward also quitted +the Museum by the main entrance, in order to avoid disturbing Moris +Klaw by using the curator’s private door. + +To my friend’s study Hilda Coram brought us coffee. She was +unnaturally pale, and her eyes were feverishly bright. I concluded +that the tragedy was responsible. + +“Perhaps, to an extent,” said Coram; “but she is studying music and, I +fear, overworking in order to pass a stiff exam.” + +Coram and I surveyed the Greek Room problem from every conceivable +standpoint, but were unable to surmise how the thief had entered, how +left, and why he had fled without his booty. + +“I don’t mind confessing,” said Coram, “that I am very ill at ease. We +haven’t the remotest idea how the murderer got into the Greek Room or +how he got out again. Bolts and bars, it is evident, do not prevail +against him, so that we may expect a repetition of the dreadful +business at any time!” + +“What precautions do you propose to take?” + +“Well, there will be a couple of police on duty in the Museum for the +next week or so, but, after that, we shall have to rely upon a night +watchman. The funds only allow of the appointment of four attendants: +three for day and one for night duty.” + +“Do you think you’ll find any difficulty in getting a man?” + +“No,” replied Coram. “I know of a steady man who will come as soon as +we are ready for him.” + +I slept but little that night, and was early afoot and around to the +Museum. Isis Klaw was there before me, carrying the red cushion, and +her father was deep in conversation with Coram. + +Detective-Inspector Grimsby approached me. + +“I see you’re looking at the cushion, sir!” he said, smilingly. “But +it’s not a ‘plant.’ He’s not an up-to-date cracksman. Nothing’s +missing!” + +“You need not assure me of that,” I replied. “I do not doubt Mr. +Klaw’s honesty of purpose.” + +“Wait till you hear his mad theory, though!” he said, with a glance +aside at the girl. + +“Mr. Coram,” Moris Klaw was saying, in his odd, rumbling tones, “my +psychic photograph is of a woman! A woman dressed all in white!” + +Grimsby coughed--then flushed as he caught the eye of Isis. + +“Poor Conway’s mind,” continued Klaw, “is filled with such a picture +when he breathes his last--great wonder he has for the white woman and +great fear for the Athenean Harp, which she carries!” + +“Which she carries!” cried Coram. + +“Some woman took the harp from its case a few minutes before Conway +died!” affirmed Moris Klaw. “I have much research to make now, and +with aid from Isis shall develop my negative! Yesterday I learnt from +the constable who was on night duty at the corner of the Square that a +heavy pantechnicon van went driving round at four o’clock. It was +shortly after four o’clock that the tragedy occurred. The driver was +unaware that there was no way out, you understand. Is it important? I +cannot say. It often is such points that matter. We must, however, +waste no time. Until you hear from me again you will lay dry plaster +of Paris all around the stand of the Athenean Harp each night. Good +morning, gentlemen!” + +His arm linked in his daughter’s, he left the Museum. + + + IV + +For some weeks after this mysterious affair, all went well at the +Menzies Museum. The new night watchman, a big Scot, by name John +Macalister, seemed to have fallen thoroughly into his duties, and +everything was proceeding smoothly. No clue concerning the previous +outrage had come to light, the police being clearly at a loss. From +Moris Klaw we heard not a word. But Macalister did not appear to +suffer from nervousness, saying that he was quite big enough to look +after himself. + +Poor Macalister! His bulk did not save him from a dreadful fate. He +was found, one fine morning, lying flat on his back in the Greek +Room--_dead!_ + +As in the case of Conway, the place showed unmistakable signs of a +furious struggle. The attendant’s chair had been dashed upon the floor +with such violence as to break three of the legs; a bust of Pallas, +that had occupied a corner position upon a marble pedestal, was found +to be hurled down; and the top of the case which usually contained the +Athenean Harp had been unlocked, and the priceless antique lay close +by, upon the floor! + +The cause of death, in Macalister’s case, was heart failure, an +unsuspected weakness of that organ being brought to light at the +inquest; but, according to the medical testimony, deceased must have +undergone unnaturally violent exertions to bring about death. In other +respects, the circumstances of the two cases were almost identical. +The door of the Greek Room was locked upon the inside and the keys +were found on the floor. From the detector watches in the other rooms +it was evident that his death must have taken place about three +o’clock. Nothing was missing, and the jewels in the harp had not been +tampered with. + +But, most amazing circumstance of all, imprinted upon the dry plaster +of Paris which, in accordance with the instructions of the +mysteriously absent Moris Klaw, had nightly been placed around the +case containing the harp, _were the marks of little bare feet!_ + +A message sent, through the willing agency of Inspector Grimsby, to +the Wapping abode of the old curio dealer, resulted in the discovery +that Moris Klaw was abroad. His daughter, however, reported having +received a letter from her father which contained the words-- + + + “Let Mr. Coram keep the key of the case containing the Athenean Harp + under his pillow at night.” + + +“What does she mean?” asked Coram. “That I am to detach that +particular key from the bunch or place them all beneath my pillow?” + +Grimsby shrugged his shoulders. + +“I’m simply telling you what she told me, sir.” + +“I should suspect the man to be an impostor,” said Coram, “if it were +not for the extraordinary confirmation of his theory furnished by the +footprints. They certainly looked like those of a woman!” + +Remembering how Moris Klaw had acted, I sought out the constable who +had been on duty at the corner of South Grafton Square on the night of +the second tragedy. From him I elicited a fact which, though +insignificant in itself, was, when associated with another +circumstance, certainly singular. + +A Pickford traction engine, drawing two heavy wagons, had been driven +round the Square at 3 A.M., the driver thinking that he could get out +on the other side. + +That was practically all I learned from the constable, but it served +to set me thinking. Was it merely a coincidence that, at almost the +exact hour of the previous tragedy, a heavy pantechnicon had passed +the Museum? + +“It’s not once in six months,” the man assured me, “that any vehicle +but a tradesman’s cart goes round the Square. You see, it doesn’t lead +anywhere, but this Pickford chap he was rattling by before I could +stop him, and though I shouted he couldn’t hear me, the engine making +such a noise, so I just let him drive round and find out for himself.” + +I now come to the event which concluded this extraordinary case, and, +that it may be clearly understood, I must explain the positions which +we took up during the nights of the following week; for Coram had +asked me to take a night watch, with himself, Grimsby, and Beale, in +the Museum. + +Beale, the commissionaire, remained in the hall and lower room--it was +catalogued as the “Bronze Room”--Coram patrolled the room at the top +of the stairs, Grimsby the next, or Greek, Room, and I the Egyptian +Room. None of the doors was locked, and Grimsby, by his own special +request, held the keys of the cases in the Greek Room. + +We commenced our vigil on the Saturday, and I, for one, found it a +lugubrious business. One electric lamp was usually left burning in +each apartment throughout the night, and I sat as near to that in the +Egyptian Room as possible and endeavoured to distract my thoughts with +a bundle of papers with which I had provided myself. + +In the next room I could hear Grimsby walking about incessantly, and, +at regular intervals, the scratching of a match as he lighted a cigar. +He was an inveterate cheroot smoker. + +Our first night’s watching, then, was productive of no result, and the +five that followed were equally monotonous. + +Upon Grimsby’s suggestion we observed great secrecy in the matter of +these dispositions. Even Coram’s small household was kept in ignorance +of this midnight watching. Grimsby, following out some theory of his +own, now determined to dispense altogether with light in the Greek +Room. Friday was intensely hot, and occasional fitful breezes brought +with them banks of black thundercloud, which, however, did not break; +and, up to the time that we assumed our posts at the Museum, no rain +had fallen. At about twelve o’clock I looked out into South Grafton +Square and saw that the sky was entirely obscured by a heavy mass of +inky cloud, ominous of a gathering storm. + +Returning to my chair beneath the electric lamp, I took up a work of +Mark Twain’s, which I had brought as a likely antidote to melancholy +or nervousness. As I commenced to read, for the twentieth time, “The +Jumping Frog,” I heard the scratch of Grimsby’s match in the next room +and knew that he had lighted his fifth cigar. + +It must have been about one o’clock when the rain came. I heard the +big drops on the glass roof, followed by the steady pouring of the +deluge. For perhaps five minutes it rained steadily, and then ceased +as abruptly as it had begun. Above the noise of the water rushing down +the metal gutters, I distinctly detected the sound of Grimsby striking +another match. Then, with a mighty crash, came the thunder. + +Directly above the Museum it seemed as though the very heavens had +burst, and the glass roof rattled as if a shower of stones had fallen, +the thunderous report echoing and reverberating hollowly through the +building. + +As the lightning flashed with dazzling brilliance, I started from my +chair and stood, breathless, with every sense on the alert; for, +strangely intermingling with the patter of the rain that now commenced +to fall again, came a low wailing, like nothing so much as the voice +of a patient succumbing to an anæsthetic. There was something +indefinably sweet, but indescribably weird, in the low and mysterious +music. + +Not knowing from whence it proceeded, I stood undetermined what to do; +but, just as the thunder boomed again, I heard a wild cry--undoubtedly +proceeding from the Greek Room! Springing to the door, I threw it +open. + +All was in darkness, but, as I entered, a vivid flash of lightning +illuminated the place. + +I saw a sight which I can never forget. Grimsby lay flat upon the +floor by the farther door. But, dreadful as that spectacle was, it +scarce engaged my attention; nor did I waste a second glance upon the +Athenean Harp, which lay close beside its empty case. + +For the figure of a woman, draped in flimsy white, was passing across +the Greek Room! + +Grim fear took me by the throat, since I could not doubt that what I +saw was a supernatural manifestation. Darkness followed. I heard a +loud wailing cry and a sound as of a fall. + +Then Coram came running through the Greek Room. + +Trembling violently, I joined him; and together we stood looking down +at Grimsby. + +“Good God!” whispered Coram; “this is awful. It cannot be the work of +mortal hands! Poor Grimsby is dead!” + +“Did you--see--the woman?” I muttered. I will confess it: my courage +had completely deserted me. + +He shook his head; but, as Beale came running to join us, glanced +fearfully into the shadows of the Greek Room. The storm seemed to have +passed, and, as we three frightened men stood around Grimsby’s +recumbent body, we could almost hear the beating of each other’s +hearts. + +Suddenly, giving a great start, Coram clutched my arm. “Listen!” he +said. “What’s that?” + +I held my breath and listened. “It’s the thunder in the distance,” +said Beale. + +“You are wrong,” I answered. “It is someone knocking at the hall +entrance! There goes the bell, now!” + +Coram gave a sigh of relief. “Heavens!” he said; “I’ve no nerves left! +Come on and see who it is.” + +The three of us, keeping very close together, passed quickly through +the Greek Room and down into the hall. As the ringing continued, Coram +unbolted the door--and there, on the steps, stood Moris Klaw! + +Some vague idea of his mission flashed through my mind. “You are too +late!” I cried. “Grimsby has gone!” + +I saw a look of something like anger pass over his large pale +features, and then he had darted past us and vanished up the stairs. + + + V + +Having rebolted the door, we rejoined Moris Klaw in the Greek Room. He +was kneeling beside Grimsby in the dim light--and Grimsby, his face +ghastly pale, was sitting up and drinking from a flask! + +“I am in time!” said Moris Klaw. “He has only fainted!” + +“It was the ghost!” whispered the Scotland Yard man. “My God! I’m +prepared for anything human--but when the lightning came and I saw +that white thing--playing the harp----” + +Coram turned aside and was about to pick up the harp, which lay upon +the floor near, when-- + +“Ah!” cried Moris Klaw, “do not touch it! It is death!” + +Coram started back as though he had been stung as Grimsby very +unsteadily got upon his feet. + +“Turn up lights,” directed Moris Klaw, “and I will show you!” + +The curator went out to the switchboard and the Greek Room became +brightly illuminated. The ramshackle figure of Moris Klaw seemed to be +invested with triumphant majesty. Behind the pebbles his eyes gleamed. + +“Observe,” he said, “I raise the harp from the floor.” He did so. “And +I live. For why? Because I do not take hold upon it in a natural +manner--_by the top!_ I take it by the side! Conway and Macalister +took hold upon it at the top; and where are they--Conway and +Macalister?” + +“Mr. Klaw,” said Coram, “I cannot doubt that this black business is +all clear to your very unusual intelligence; but to me it is a +profound mystery. I have, myself, in the past, taken up the harp in +the way you describe as fatal, and without injury----” + +“But not immediately after it had been played upon!” interrupted Moris +Klaw. + +“Played upon! I have never attempted to play upon it!” + +“Even had you done so you might yet have escaped, provided you _set it +down_ before touching the top part! Note, please!” + +He ran his long white fingers over the golden strings. Instantly there +stole upon my ears that weird, wailing music which had heralded the +strange happenings of the night! + +“And now,” continued our mentor, “whilst I who am cunning hold it +where the ladies’ gold feet join, observe the top--where the hand +would in ordinary rest in holding it.” + +We gathered around him. + +“A _needle-point_,” he rumbled, impressively, “protruding! The player +touches it not! But who takes it from the hand of the player _dies!_ +By placing the harp again upon its base the point again retires! Shall +I say what is upon that point, to drive a man mad like a dog with +rabies, to stay potent for generations? I cannot. It is a secret +buried with the ugly body of Cæsar Borgia!” + +“Cæsar Borgia!” we cried in chorus. + +“Ah!” rumbled Moris Klaw, “your Athenean Harp was indeed made by +Paduano Zelloni, the Florentine! It is a clever forge! I have been in +Rome until yesterday. You are surprised? I am sorry, for the poor +Macalister died. Having perfected, with the aid of Isis, my mind +photograph of the lady who plays the harp, I go to Rome to perfect the +story of the harp. For why? At my house I have records, but +incomplete, useless. In Rome I have a friend, of so old a family, and +once so wicked, I shall not name it! + +“He has recourse to the great Vatican Library--to the annals of his +race. There he finds me an account of such a harp. In those priceless +parchments it is called ‘a Greek lyre of gold.’ It is described. I am +convinced. I am sure! + +“Once the beautiful Lucrece Borgia play upon this harp. To one who is +distasteful to her she says: ‘Replace for me my harp.’ He does so. He +is a dead man! God! what cleverness! + +“Where has it lain for generations before your Sir Menzies find it? No +man knows. But it has still its virtues! How did the poor Menzies die? +Throw himself from his room window, I recently learn. This harp +certainly was in his room. Conway, after dashing, mad, about the +place, springs head downward from the attendant’s chair. Macalister +dies in exhaustion and convulsions!” + +A silence; when-- + +“What caused the harp to play?” asked Coram. + +Moris Klaw looked hard at him. Then a thrill of new horror ran through +my veins. A low moan came from somewhere hard by! Coram turned in a +flash! + +“Why, my private door is open!” he whispered. + +“Where do you keep your private keys?” rumbled Klaw. + +“In my study.” Coram was staring at the open door, but seemed afraid +to approach it. “We have been using the attendant’s keys at night. My +own are on my study mantelpiece now.” + +“I think not,” continued the thick voice. “Your daughter has them!” + +“My daughter!” cried Coram, and sprang to the open door. “Heavens! +Hilda! Hilda!” + +“She is somnambulistic!” whispered Moris Klaw in my ear. “When certain +unusual sounds--such as heavy vehicles at night--reach her in her +sleep (ah! how little we know of the phenomenon of sleep!), she +arises, and, in common with many sleepwalkers, always acts the same. +Something, in the case of Miss Hilda, attracts her to the golden +harp----” + +“She is studying music!” + +“She must rest from it. Her brain is overwrought! She unlocks the case +and strikes the cords of the harp, relocking the door, replacing the +keys--I before have known such cases--then retires as she came. Who +takes the harp from her hands, or raises it, if she has laid it down +upon its side, dies! These dead attendants were brave fellows both, +for, hearing the music, they came running, saw how the matter was, and +did not waken the sleeping player. Conway was poisoned as he returned +the harp to its case; Macalister, as he took it up from where it lay. +Something to-night awoke her ere she could relock the door. The fright +of so awaking made her to swoon.” + +Coram’s kindly voice and the sound of a girl sobbing affrightedly +reached us. + +“It was my yell of fear, Mr. Klaw!” said Grimsby, shamefacedly. “She +looked like a ghost!” + +“I understand,” rumbled Moris Klaw, soothingly. “As I see her in my +sleep she is very awesome! I will show you the picture Isis has made +from my etheric photograph. I saw it, finished, earlier to-night. It +confirmed me that the Miss Hilda with the harp in her hand was poor +Conway’s last thought in life!” + +“Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby, earnestly, “you are a very remarkable man!” + +“Yes?” he rumbled, and gingerly placed in its case the “Greek lyre of +gold” which Paduano Zelloni had wrought for Cæsar Borgia. + +From the brown hat he took out his scent spray and squirted verbena +upon his heated forehead. + +“That harp,” he explained, “it smells of dead men!” + + + + + SECOND EPISODE. + CASE OF THE POTSHERD OF ANUBIS + +In examining the mass of material which I have collated respecting +Moris Klaw, several outstanding facts strike me as being worthy of +some special notice. + +For instance, an unusual number of the cases in which he was concerned +centred about curios and relics of various kinds. His personal tastes +(he was, I think, primarily, an antiquarian) may have led him to +examine such cases in preference to others. Then again, no two of his +acquaintances agree upon the point of Moris Klaw’s actual identity and +personality. He was a master of disguise; and the grand secret of his +life was one which he jealously guarded from all. + +But was the Moris Klaw who kept the curio shop in Wapping the real +Moris Klaw? And to what extent did he believe in those psychical +phenomena upon which professedly his methods were based? As +particularly bearing upon this phase of the matter, I have selected, +for narration here, the story of the potsherd. + +Since the Boswell, in records of this kind, has often appeared, to my +mind, to overshadow the Johnson, I have decided to present this +episode in the words of Mr. J.E. Wilson Clifford, electrical engineer, +of Copthall House, Copthall Avenue, E.C., to whom I am indebted for a +full and careful account. I do not think I could improve upon his +paper, and my own views might unduly intrude upon the story; +therefore, with your permission, I will vacate the rostrum in favour +of Mr. Clifford, for whom I solicit your attention. + + + _Mr. Clifford’s Story of the Egyptian Potsherd_ + + I + +During the autumn of 19--, I was sharing a pleasant set of rooms with +Mark Lesty, who was shortly taking up an appointment at a London +hospital, and it was, I think, about the middle of that month that the +extraordinary affair of Halesowen and his Egyptian potsherd came under +our notice. + +Our rooms (they were in a southwest suburb) overlooked a fine expanse +of Common. Halesowen rented a flat commanding a similar prospect; and, +at the time of which I write, he had but recently returned from a +protracted visit to Egypt. + +Halesowen was a tall, fair man, clean-shaven, very fresh coloured, and +wearing his hair cropped close to his head. He was well travelled and +no mean antiquary. He lived entirely by himself; and Lesty and I +frequently spent the evening at his place, which was a veritable +museum of curiosities. I distinctly recall the first time that he +showed us his latest acquisitions. + +Both the windows were wide open and the awning fluttered in the slight +breeze. Dusk was just descending, and we sat looking out over the +Common and puffing silently at our briars. We had been examining the +relics that Halesowen had brought back from the land of the Pharaohs, +the one, I remember, which had most impressed me, tyro that I was, +being the mummy of a sacred cat from Bubastis. + +“It wouldn’t have been worth bringing back only for the wrapping,” +Halesowen assured me. “This, now, is really unique.” + +The object referred to was a broken pot or vase, upon which he pointed +out a number of hieroglyphics and a figure with the head of a jackal. +“A potsherd inscribed with the figure of Anubis,” he explained. “Very +valuable.” + +“Why?” Lesty inquired, in his lazy way. + +“Well,” Halesowen replied, “the characters of the inscription are of a +kind entirely unfamiliar to me. I believe them to be a sort of secret +writing, possibly peculiar to some brotherhood. I am risking expert +opinion, although, in every sense, I stole the thing!” + +“How’s that?” I asked. + +“Well, Professor Sheraton--you’ll see his name on a row of cases in +the B.M.--excavated it. But it’s a moral certainty he didn’t intend to +advise the authorities of his find. He was going to smuggle it out of +Egypt into his private collection. I had marked the spot where he +found it for inquiries of my own. This dishonest old fossil----” + +Lesty laughed. + +“Oh! my own motives weren’t above suspicion! But, anyway, the +Professor anticipated me. Accordingly, I employed one Ali, a +distinguished member of a family of thieves, to visit the learned +gentleman’s tent! Cutting the story--there’s the pot!” + +“Here! I say!” drawled Lesty. “You’ll come to a bad end, young +fellow!” + +“The position is a peculiar one,” replied Halesowen, smiling. “Neither +of us had any legal claim to the sherd--whilst we were upon Egyptian +territory. Therefore, even if the Professor learnt that I had the +thing--and he may suspect--he couldn’t prosecute me!” + +“Devilish high-handed!” commented Lesty. + +“Yes. But remember we were well off the map--miles away from Cook’s +route. The possession of this potsherd ought to make a man’s +reputation--any man who knows a bit about the subject. Curiously +enough, a third party had had his eye upon the place where this +much-sought sherd was found. And in some mysterious fashion he tumbled +to the fact that it had fallen into _my_ hands. He made a sort of +veiled offer of a hundred pounds for it. I refused, but ran across him +again, a week or so later, in Cairo, and he raised his price to two +hundred.” + +“That’s strange,” I said. “Who was he?” + +“Called himself Zeda--Dr. Louis Zeda. He quite lost his temper when I +declined to sell, and I’ve not set eyes on him since.” + +He relocked the fragment in his cabinet, and we lapsed into silence, +to sit gazing meditatively across the Common, picturesque in the dim +autumn twilight. + +“By the way, Halesowen,” I said, “I see that the flat next door, same +floor as this, is to let.” + +“That’s so,” he replied. “Why don’t you men take it?” + +“We’ll think about it,” yawned Lesty, stretching his long limbs. +“Might look over it in the morning.” + +The following day we viewed the vacant flat, but found, upon inquiry +of the agent, that it had already been let. However, as our own rooms +suited us very well, we were not greatly concerned. Just as we +finished dinner the same evening, Halesowen came in, and, without +preamble, plunged into a surprising tale of uncanny happenings at his +place. + +“Take it slow,” said Lesty. “You say it was after we came away?” + +“About an hour after,” replied Halesowen. “I had brought out the +potsherd, and had it in the wooden stand on the table before me. I was +copying the hieroglyphics, which are unusual, and had my reading lamp +burning only, the rest of the room being consequently in shadow. I was +sitting with my back to the windows, facing the door, so no one could +possibly have entered the room unseen by me. It was as I bent down to +scrutinize a badly defaced character that I felt a queer sensation +stealing over me, as though someone were standing close behind my +chair, watching me!” + +“Very common,” explained Lesty; “merely nerves.” + +“Yes, I know; but not what followed. The sensation became so +pronounced that I stood up. No one was in the room. I determined to +take a stroll, concluding that the fresh air would clear these uncanny +cobwebs out of my brain. Accordingly, I extinguished the lamp and went +out. I was just putting my cap on when something prompted me to return +and lock up the potsherd.” + +He fixed his eyes upon us with an expression of doubt. + +“There was someone, or something, in the room!” + +“What do you mean?” asked Lesty, incredulously. + +“I quite distinctly saw a hand and bare white arm pass away from the +table--and vanish! It was dark in the room, remember; but I could see +the arm well enough. I switched on the reading lamp. Not a thing was +to be seen. There was no one in the room and no one but myself in the +flat, for I searched it thoroughly!” + +Some moments of silence followed this remarkable story, and I sat +watching Lesty, who, in turn, was regarding Halesowen with the stolid, +vacant stare which sometimes served to conceal the working of his keen +brain. + +“Pity you didn’t let us know sooner,” he said, rising slowly to his +feet. “This is interesting.” + + + II + +Halesowen’s nerves evidently had been shaken by the inexplicable +incident. As the three of us strode across the corner of the Common, +he informed us that the new tenant of the adjoining flat had moved in. +“I have been away all day,” he said; “but the stuff was bundled in +some time during the afternoon.” + +We proceeded upstairs and into the cosy room which had been the scene +of the remarkable occurrence related. As it was growing dark, +Halesowen turned on the electric light, and, indicating a chair by the +writing table, explained that it was there he had been seated at the +time. + +“Did you have the windows open?” asked Lesty. + +“Yes,” was the reply. “I left the chairs and the awning out, too, as +it was a fine night; in fact, you can see that they still remain +practically as you left them.” + +“When you returned, and saw, or thought you saw, the hand and arm--you +would have to pass around to this side of the table in order to reach +the lamp?” + +“Yes.” + +Apparently Lesty was about to make some observation, when an +interruption occurred in the form of a ringing on the door bell, +followed by a discreet fandango on the knocker. + +“Who the deuce have we here!” muttered Halesowen. “I saw no one go in +below.” + +As our host passed through the lighted room and into the hall, my +friend and I both leant forward in our chairs, the better to hear what +should pass; nor were we kept long in suspense, for, as we heard the +outer door opened, an odd, rumbling voice came, with a queer accent: + +“Ah, my dear Mr. Halesowen, it is indeed an intrusion of me! But when +I find how we are neighbours I cannot resist to make the call and +renew a so pleasant acquaintance!” + +“Doctor Zeda!” we heard Halesowen exclaim, with little cordiality. + +“Ever your devoted servant!” replied the courteous foreigner. + +I glanced at Lesty, and we rose together and stepped through the open +window in time to see a truly remarkable personage enter. + +This was a large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his +skull, French fashion. He had a high and very wrinkled brow and wore +gold-rimmed pince-nez. Jet-black and heavy eyebrows were his, and his +waxed moustache, his neat imperial, were likewise of the hue of coal. +His complexion was pallid; and in his well-cut frock coat, with a +loose black tie overhanging his vest, he made a striking picture, +standing bowing profoundly in the doorway. + +Halesowen rapidly muttered the usual formalities; in fact, I remember +mentally contrasting our friend’s unceremonious manners with the +courtly deportment of Doctor Zeda. + +The latter explained that he had taken the adjacent flat, only +learning, that evening, whom he had for a neighbour, and, despite the +lateness of the hour, he said, he could not resist the desire to see +Halesowen, of whose company in Egypt he retained such pleasant +memories. Allowing for his effusiveness, there was nothing one could +take exception to in his behaviour, and I rather wondered at the +brusque responses of our usually polite host. + +When, after a brief chat, the foreign gentleman rose to take his +leave, he extended an invitation to all of us to lunch with him on the +following day. “My place is in somewhat disorder,” he said, smiling, +“but you are Bohemian, like myself, and will not care!” + +Though I half expected that Halesowen would decline, he did not do so; +I, therefore, also accepted, as did Lesty. Whereupon, Zeda departed. + +Halesowen, returning to the chair which he had vacated to usher out +his visitor, lighted a cigarette, regarded it for a moment, +meditatively, and then frankly expressed his doubts. + +“He’s been watching me!” he said; “and when he saw the next flat +vacant he jumped at the chance.” + +“My dear chap,” I retorted, “he must be very keen on securing your +potsherd if he is prepared to take and furnish a flat next door to you +simply with a view to keeping an eye on it!” + +“You have no idea how anxious he is,” he assured me. “If you had seen +his face, in Cairo, when I flatly declined to sell, you would be +better able to understand.” + +“Why not sell, then?” + +“I’m dashed if I do!” said Halesowen, stubbornly. + +On the following day we lunched with Doctor Zeda and were surprised at +the orderly state of his establishment. Everything, from floor to +ceiling, was in its proper place. + +“It hasn’t taken you long to get things straight,” commented Lesty. + +“Ah, no,” replied the other. “These big firms, they do it all in a day +if you insist--and I insist, see?” + +I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, for he proved an excellent host, and I +think even Lesty grew less suspicious of him. During the weeks that +followed, the doctor came several times to our rooms, and we +frequently met at Halesowen’s. The latter, who boldly had submitted +photographs and drawings of the sherd to the British Museum, +experienced no repetition of the mysterious phenomenon already +described. Then, about seven o’clock one morning, when the mists hung +low over the Common in promise of a hot day, a boy came for Lesty and +myself with news of a fresh development. He was a lad who did odd jobs +for Halesowen, and he brought word of an attempted burglary, together +with a request that we should go over without delay. + +Our curiosity keenly aroused, we were soon with our friend, and found +him seated in the familiar room, before a large cabinet, with double +glass doors, which, as was clearly evident, had been hastily +ransacked. Other cases in which he kept various curios were also +opened, and the place was in general disorder. + +“What’s gone?” asked Lesty, quickly. + +“Nothing!” was the answer. “The potsherd is in the safe, and the safe +is in my bedroom--or perhaps something might have gone!” + +“You lock it up at night, then? I thought you kept it in the cabinet.” + +“Only during the day. It goes in the safe, with one or two other +trifles, at night; but _everybody_ doesn’t know that!” + +We looked at one another, silently; but the name that was on all our +lips remained unspoken--for we were startled by a loud knocking and +ringing at the door. Carter opening it, into the room ran Doctor Zeda! + +“Oh, my dear friends!” he cried, in his hoarse, rumbling voice, “there +has been to my flat a midnight robber! He has turned completely +upside-down all my collections!” + +Lesty coughed loudly; but, as I turned my head to look at him, his +face was quite expressionless. Halesowen seemed stricken dumb by +surprise; whilst, for my own part, as I watched the foreigner staring +about the disordered room, and noted the growing look of bewilderment +creeping over his pallid countenance, I was compelled to admit to +myself that here was either a consummate actor or a man of whom we +hastily had formed a most unwarrantable opinion. + +“But, my friend--my good Halesowen,” he exclaimed, with widely opened +eyes and extended palms, “what is it that I see? You are as disordered +as myself!” + +Halesowen nodded. “The burglar gave me a call, too!” he said, grimly. + +“My dear sir!” gasped Zeda, seizing the speaker’s arm, “tell me +quickly--you have lost nothing?” + +Halesowen glanced at him rather hard. “No,” he answered. + +“Ah! what a relief! I feared,” rumbled the doctor. “But perhaps you +wonder for what it is they came?” + +“I can guess!” + +“You need no longer to guess; I will tell you. It is for your fragment +of the sacred vase, and to me they come for mine!” + +We were even more astonished by this assertion than we had been by the +doctor’s first. “_Your_ fragment!” said Halesowen, slowly, with his +eyes fixed on Zeda; “to what fragment do you refer?” + +“To that which, together with your potsherd, makes up the complete +vase! But you doubt?” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “Wait but +a moment and I will prove!” + +He moved from the room; his gait had a mincing awkwardness, quite +indescribable; and we heard his retreating, heavy footsteps as he +passed downstairs. Then we stood and gaped at one another. “His +confounded ingenuity,” rapped Halesowen, “has completely tied my +hands.” + +Being interrupted, at this moment, by the re-entrance of the gentleman +in question, further discussion of the subject was precluded. Zeda +carried a small iron box which he placed carefully upon the table and +unlocked. A second box of polished ebony was revealed within, and +this, being unlocked in turn, was proved to contain, reposing in a +nest of blue velvet, a fragment of antique pottery. Taking the +fragment in his hand, the doctor begged that the potsherd be produced. + +Halesowen, after a momentary hesitation, retired from the room, to +return almost immediately with the broken vase in its wooden frame. +Doctor Zeda, placing the portion which he held in his hand against +that in the frame, but not so closely as to bring the parts in +contact, turned to us with a triumphant smile. “They correspond, +gentlemen, to a smallest fraction!” he declared; which, indeed, was +perfectly true. + +“And now,” continued Zeda, evidently gratified by the surprise which +we could not conceal, “I will relate to you a story. I do not ask that +you shall credit it; I only say that I have given up my life to such +studies, and that I am willing, as matters have so arrived, that you +shall join me to prove false or true what I think of the potsherd of +Anubis.” + +“Good!” said Lesty, and settled himself to listen, an example that was +followed by Halesowen and myself. Zeda paused for a moment, evidently +to collect his ideas, a pause upon which my stolid friend placed a +dubious interpretation, for he cleared his throat, significantly. + + + III + +“The date is no matter,” said Doctor Zeda, “but there was at Gîzeh, +to the north of the Sphinx, a temple dedicated to Isis, but wherein +the worship was different. We only know of this shrine by the +monuments, but they prove it to have been--eh, Mr. Halesowen?” + +Halesowen nodded. + +“Here, then, the gods of the dead were adored--but the worship of +Anubis took precedence, and was conducted at a shrine apart. Here, +locked within three-and-thirty doors, having each its separate janitor +who held the key, reposed a sacred symbol--a symbol, my friends, upon +which was based the occult knowledge of the initiated; a symbol more +precious than the lives of a hundred-hundred warriors--for so it is +written!” + +“I have never met with the inscription!” said Halesowen, drily. + +Doctor Zeda smiled. + +“You never are likely to meet it!” he responded. “Your Belzoni and +Lepsius, your Birch, Renouf, Brugsch and Petrie, is a mere unseeing +vandal, blinded to the great truth--to the ultimate secret that Egypt +holds for him who has eyes to see and a brain to realize!” + +The mysterious foreign gentleman looked about him with a sort of +challenge in his glance; then he quietly resumed his story. + +“At the change of the moon in the sacred month, Methori, a maiden +selected from a noble house for her beauty and purity, and for a whole +year dedicated to the service of the gods, held in her hands the +sacred thing--held it aloft that the initiated might worship, until +the first white beam lit up the receptacle, when all bowed down their +heads and chanted the ‘Hymn of the Souls Who Are Passing.’ Then was it +locked again within the three-and-thirty doors, there to remain for +another year. None saw the symbol itself but the high priest, who +looked upon it when he was so ordained--for any other that gazed upon +it died! It was contained in a holy vase!” + +He paused impressively. We had all fallen under the peculiar +fascination of the speaker’s personality; we felt as though he spoke +of matters wherein he had had personal concern. I could almost believe +him to have witnessed the strange rites that he told of with such +conviction. + +“In a year so long ago,” he softly resumed, his voice now a kind of +jagged whisper, “that to speak of its date were to convey nothing to +you, the high-born virgin on whom the exalted office was conferred +closed upon her unhappy soul the gates of paradise for ages +unnumbered; called down upon her head the curse of the high priest and +the anger of the most high gods; was rejected of Set himself! + +“She let fall from her hands the sacred vase, and the holy symbol was +lost to the children of earth for evermore! Lost was the key to the +book of wisdom; closed was that book to man for all time!” + +“Go on!” said Halesowen, harshly, for Zeda had paused again. + +“You do not grasp?” asked the doctor. “Well, then, know that the +sentence was ‘Until the parts of this vase be made whole again.’ Five +fragments there were: a large one, which is your potsherd, and four +smaller. The four smaller, after twenty years of untiring search, I +have recovered and joined together. What if we now make whole that +which was broken? May I not, by the exercise of such poor shreds of +the lost wisdom as I have gathered up, summon before me that wandering +spirit ere it return again to plead for rest at the judgment seat of +Amenti?” + +When I say that the man’s words proved electrical, I do not exaggerate +the effect which this astounding proposition had upon us. Halesowen +was fairly startled out of his chair, and stood with his eyes fixed on +the other in a fascinated gaze. + +Zeda, entirely returning to his customary urbanity, shrugged and +smiled. “You believe my story?” + +Lesty was the first to recover himself, and his reply was +characteristic. “Can’t say I do,” he drawled, frankly. “I don’t say +that _you_ may not, though,” he added. + +“Then do you not owe it to assist in proving my words? A little +séance? You are sceptical, quite? Very well; I try to show you. If I +fail, then it is unfortunate, but--I bow to an inevitable!” + +We looked at each other, interrogatively, and then Halesowen answered, +“All right. It’s a queer yarn, but we leave the matter entirely in +your hands.” + +The doctor bowed. “Shall we say to-night to begin?” he said, +tentatively. + +“By all means.” + +The doctor expressed himself delighted, and, carefully relocking the +fragment of the vase in its double case, he was about to depart, when +a point occurred to me. + +“Might I ask whom you suspect of the attempted burglary?” I said. + +He turned, in the door, and fixed a strange glance upon me. “There are +others,” he replied, “who seek as I seek, and who do not scruple to +gain their ends how they may. Of them we shall beware, my friends, for +we know they design upon us!” + +With that and a low bow he retired. + +Little of interest occurred during the day, until about four in the +afternoon, when Halesowen aroused us out of a lazy doze to show a +letter just received from the British Museum. + +It was in reply to one asking why he had received no acknowledgment of +the photographs and drawings submitted; and it informed him that no +such photographs and drawings had come to hand! + +We usually took tea in the afternoon, and Halesowen joined us on this +occasion, whilst, at about five o’clock, Doctor Zeda also looked in. +He remained until it began to grow dusk, when we all went over to +Halesowen’s to arrange the first “sitting”--for so the doctor referred +to the projected séance. Retiring, for a few minutes, to his own +establishment, Zeda returned with the iron box and explained what he +proposed to do. + +“Around this small table we sit, as at séance,” he said; “but no +medium--only the potsherd. With these flexible bands I will attach, +temporarily, the parts, and stand the vase in Mr. Halesowen’s frame, +here by the window--so. Beside it we will place the lamp, shaded +thus--so that a dim light is upon it. We can just see from where we +sit in the dark. We will now wait until it is more dusk.” + +Accordingly, we went out on to the balcony and smoked for an hour, +Zeda polluting the clean air with the fumes of the long, black cigars +he affected. They had an appearance as of dried twigs and an odour so +wholly original as to defy simile. Between eight and nine o’clock he +expressed himself satisfied with the light--or, rather, lack of +it--and we all gathered around the table in the gloom, spreading our +hands as he directed. For close upon an hour we sat in tense silence, +the room seeming to be very hot. A slight breeze off the Common had +wafted the fumes of Zeda’s cigar in through the open windows, which he +had afterward closed, and the reek filled the air as with something +palpable--and nauseous. I was growing very weary of the business, and +Lesty, despite the doctor’s warning against disturbing the silence, +had begun to cough and fidget irritably, when the rumbling foreign +voice came, so unexpectedly as to startle us all: “It is useless +to-night; something is not propitious. Turn up the lights.” + +From the celerity with which Halesowen complied, I divined that he, +too, had been growing impatient. + +“There is some not suitable condition,” said Zeda, relocking his +portion of the vase in its case. “To-morrow we shall make some changes +in the order.” + +He seemed not at all disappointed, being apparently as confident as +ever in the ultimate success of the séances. One of the windows, he +suggested, should be left open on the following evening during our +sitting; and this we were only too glad to agree upon, since it would +possibly serve to clear the atmosphere, somewhat, of the odour +emanating from the doctor’s cigars. Several other points he also +mentioned as being conceivably responsible for our initial +failure--such as our positions around the table, and the relative +distance of the potsherd. “We shall see to-morrow,” were his last +words as he left us. + +“A perfect monument of mendacity!” muttered Lesty, as we heard the +retiring footsteps of our foreign friend on the gravel below; “and I +think his accent is assumed. I don’t know why we even seem to credit +such an incredible fable.” + +“I don’t know, either,” said Halesowen, reflectively. “But he +certainly possesses the missing part of the vase, and if he does not +believe the story himself, what earthly object can he hope to serve by +these séances?” + +“Give it up!” replied Lesty, promptly; and that, I think, rather aptly +expressed the mental attitude of all three. + +We saw nothing of Zeda throughout the following day, but he duly put +in an appearance in the evening, and placed us around the table again, +but in different order. One of the French windows was left open, and +the potsherd, with the lamp beside it, placed somewhat to the left. + +After persevering for about forty minutes, we were rewarded by a +rather conventional phenomenon. The table rocked and gave forth +cracking sounds. There was no other manifestation, and, at about +half-past ten, the doctor again terminated the séance. + +“Excellent!” said Zeda, enthusiastically, “excellent! We were _en +rapport_, and within the circle there was power. To-morrow we shall +triumph, my friends, but there is again an alteration that occurs to +me. You, Mr. Clifford, shall sit next to Mr. Lesty on the left, Mr. +Halesowen shall be upon his right, and I, facing Mr. Lesty between. +Also, there is too much light from the lamps in the road. It is good, +I think, to have open the windows, but this Japanese screen will keep +out that too much light and shelter the vase. To-morrow we will +observe these things.” + +This, then, concluded our second sitting, and brings me to the final +episode of that affair which, strange enough in its several +developments, was stranger still in its dénouement. + + + IV + +Zeda, on the following day, entertained us to luncheon in town, +followed by an afternoon concert, for which he had procured seats, +being interested, or professing to be, in a certain fiddler who +figured largely in the programme. We had arranged that Halesowen and +the doctor should dine with us in the evening, before we went to the +former’s flat for the séance, and we accordingly returned direct to +our rooms and chatted over the doings of the day until dinner was +served. Zeda surpassed himself in brilliant conversation. He must, I +remember thinking, have led a strange and eventful life. + +At about nine o’clock, we walked over, in the dark, to our friend’s +flat, where we had to grope for and light an oil lamp which he had, +Zeda declaring that something in the atmosphere was propitious and +that the electric light would tend to disturb these favourable +conditions. He seemed to be strung to high tension, perhaps with +expectancy, but was not so preoccupied as to forget his black cigars, +one of which he lighted as he was about to go out for the iron box. He +borrowed my matches for the purpose and forgot to return them. + +It was, perhaps, a quarter to ten before Zeda had matters arranged to +his satisfaction, and so dark, by reason of the tall Japanese screen +which stood before the open windows, that I could see neither Zeda, on +my left, nor Lesty, who sat on my right. Halesowen was a dim +silhouette against the patch of light cast by the oil reading lamp +beside the vase, which stood the whole length of the room away. I was +conscious of a suppressed excitement, which I am sure was shared by my +companions. + +I heard a distant clock striking the half hour, and then the three +quarters; but still nothing had occurred. A motor car drove around +from the road and stopped somewhere at the outer end of the drive. I +wondered, idly, if it were that of the surgeon who lived at Number 10. +After that, everything was very quiet, and I was expecting to hear the +hour strike, and straining my ears to catch the sound of the first +chime, when the rocking and cracking of the table began. This was much +more violent than hitherto, and Zeda’s gruff tones came softly: +“Whatever shall happen, do not remove your hands from the table!” + +He ceased speaking, and the rocking motions, together with the rapping +and cracking that had sounded from all about us, also ceased, with +disconcerting suddenness. A silence fell, so short in duration as to +be scarcely appreciable; for it was almost instantly broken by an +unexpected sound. + +It was a woman’s voice, very low and clear, and it seemed to mutter +something in a weird, rising cadence, with a high note at the end of +every third bar or so, and this over and over again--an eerie thing, +vaguely like a Gregorian chant. + +“Triumph!” whispered Zeda. “The ‘Hymn of the Souls Who Are Passing.’” + +His speech seemed to disturb the singer, but only for a moment. The +Hymn was continued. + +This singular performance was proving too much for my nerves; at each +recurrence of the quiet, clear note on the fourth beat of the third +bar, a cold shudder ran down my spine. Then, as the very monotony of +the thing was beginning to grow appalling, I suddenly became aware of +a slim, white figure standing beside the vase! + +The chant stopped, and I could hear nothing but the nervous breathing +of my companions. Seated as they were, I doubted whether Halesowen or +Lesty could see this apparition, but I was facing directly toward +her--for it was a woman. I could see every line of her figure--the +curves of her throat and arms and shoulders, the dull, metallic +gleaming of her clustering hair. As she extended her hand toward the +light, I distinctly saw the large green stone set in a ring on her +index finger. She must be very beautiful, I thought, and I was peering +through the gloom in a vain endeavour to see her more clearly, when +there came a disconcerting crash--and utter darkness! The table +whereat we were seated was overturned, and I found myself capsized +from my chair! + +“Hold him!” yelled the voice of Lesty. “Hold him, +Halesowen--Clifford!” + +A door banged loudly. + +“Confound it! I’m on the floor!”--from Halesowen. + +I shouted for someone to turn up the light, at the same time +scrambling through the gloom with that intent. After severely damaging +my shins against the intervening furniture, I found the switch. It +would not work! + +“It’s cut off!” I cried. “Strike a match, somebody.” + +“Haven’t got any!” said Lesty. + +“Zeda has mine!” responded Halesowen. “Open the door.” + +“Locked!” was Lesty’s next report. + +“Break it down!” shouted Halesowen, hurling aside the Japanese screen. +“_The potsherd is gone!_” + +Lesty applied his shoulder to the oak--once--twice--thrice. Then all +together we attacked it, and it flew open with a splintering crash. + +“Round to his flat!” panted Halesowen, running downstairs. + +Out on to the drive we sprinted, into the next entrance and up to the +first landing. Knocking and ringing proved ineffectual, and the door +was too strong to be burst open. We stood in dismayed silence, staring +at one another. + +“Off your balcony, on to his and through the French window!” said +Lesty, suddenly; so back we all ran again. + +I had never before realized how easy it was to get from one balcony to +another, until I saw Lesty swing himself across. Halesowen and I +followed in a trice, and we all blundered into the dark room through +the open window and made for the electric switch beside the +mantelpiece. We turned on the light. The room was unfurnished! + +“Good Lord!” breathed Halesowen, hurrying into the next. + +That, too, was quite bare, as were all the rest! The outer door was +locked. + +“While we were fooling at that concert, he had every scrap of stuff +removed!” I said. “He probably had the lot on hire from a big +furnishing firm--curios and all. I remember noticing that his +curiosities were of a very ordinary character, considering his +extensive travels and the nature of his studies.” + +“No doubt whatever,” agreed Lesty. “His burglary proved a failure +(and, I think, must have been interrupted), though I am compelled to +admire the neat manner in which he handled the very delicate situation +that resulted. His more recent and elaborate device has turned out all +that could be desired--from Zeda’s point of view!” + +“But how has he got away?” said Halesowen, in bewilderment. + +“Motor waiting at the corner,” replied Lesty, promptly. “Heard it come +up. When the reading lamp was capsized, and whoever had crept from his +balcony to yours and in behind the screen had returned the same +way--with the vase!--Zeda overturned the table and pushed you two men +backward in your chairs. Then, before I could reach him, he bolted out +and locked the door after him. For, having lulled my suspicions by two +practically uneventful séances, he cunningly placed himself nearest +to the door and me farthest away. He probably removed the key when he +went out for the box and placed it outside in the lock when he +returned. His accomplice had run straight through Zeda’s flat and out +to the waiting car, and there he joined her. They may be thirty miles +away by now!” + +Being unable to open the door, we perforce returned to Halesowen’s +balcony by the same way that we had come, our friend bewailing his +lost potsherd and exclaiming: “The cunning, cunning scamp!” + +“I knew he had some deep game in hand,” said Lesty; “but I hadn’t +bargained for this move. Of course, I had noticed the dodge of +borrowing all our matches, but I didn’t grasp its importance until too +late. It never occurred to me that he’d disconnected the electric +light (which he probably did sometime in the night, by the way). I was +a fool not to realize it, too, when he insisted on our using only the +oil lamp. Then, again, I was slow not to go straight through the +window and into Zeda’s flat that way. It is just possible I might have +caught the lady songster if I had done that in the first place. The +possibility, however, had not been overlooked, since she took the +precaution to lock the door after her.” + +“A clever rogue!” I declared. “But wasn’t the first attempt--for I +suppose we must classify the mysterious arm under that head--more than +a trifle indiscreet?” + +“No doubt,” agreed Lesty. “But we didn’t know, then, that Zeda was in +London, and the flat was still unfurnished. Also, they may have +thought Halesowen was in bed; or the woman (whom he has so cleverly +kept out of sight) may have exceeded her instructions in attempting to +touch the potsherd while any one remained in the room.” + +“But,” said Halesowen, slowly, “we don’t know that there _was_ any +woman!” + +“Eh?” queried Lesty. + +“Did you see her?” + +“No.” + +“I did. She was lovely, very lovely--for a woman!” + +Lesty stared curiously. “You surprise me,” he commented, drily. + +“Zeda was a strange man,” pursued the other, “and there were certainly +things occurred as we sat round that table that need a lot of +explaining.” + +“Very ordinary three-and-six-a-head phenomena!” was the reply. “Merely +a blind.” + +“Then what was the reason of his burning desire to secure my potsherd, +if not to complete the vase?” + +“Do you mean to tell me,” asked Lesty, “that you are going to credit +that story about the priestess--_now_, after he has shown his hand? Do +you wish to suggest that he was aided by a spirit?” + +“Then why was he so keen to get the thing?” persisted Halesowen. + +Lesty looked at him, looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and began to +load his pipe. Having done so, he sat smoking and staring at the +brilliant moon. + +“Well?” inquired our host. + +“Give it up!” admitted Lesty. + + + (_Conclusion of Mr. Clifford’s Account_) + + V + +One of my visits to the Wapping curio shop of Moris Klaw was made in +company with Mr. Halesowen, who, with the others mentioned in the +foregoing narrative, I subsequently had met. + +Somewhere amid the misty gloom of this place, where loot of a hundred +ages, of every spot from pole to pole, veils its identity in the +darkness, sits a large gray parrot. Faint perfumes and scuffling +sounds tell of hidden animal life near to the visitor; but the parrot +proclaims itself stridently: + +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” + +That signal brings Moris Klaw from his hiding place. He shuffles into +the shop, a figure appropriate to its surroundings. Imagine a tall, +stooping man, enveloped in a very faded blue dressing gown. His skin +is but a half-shade lighter than that of a Chinaman; his hair, his +shaggy brows, his scanty beard, defy one to name their colour. He +wears pince-nez. + +When upon this particular occasion I introduced my companion, and +Moris Klaw acknowledged the introduction in his rumbling voice, I saw +Halesowen stare. + +Klaw produced a scent spray from somewhere and sprayed verbena upon +his high yellow brow. + +“It is very stuffy--in this shop!” he explained. “Isis! Isis! Bring +for my visitors some iced drinks!” + +He invoked a goddess, and a goddess appeared: a brilliantly beautiful +brunette, with delightfully curved scarlet lips and flashing eyes +whose fire the gloom could not dim. + +“Good God!” cried Halesowen--and fell back. + +“My daughter Isis,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “This is Mr. Halesowen, from +whom we rescue the Egyptian potsherd!” + +“_What!_” + +Halesowen leant forward across the counter. + +“You recognize my daughter?” continued Moris Klaw; “but not Doctor +Zeda, eh? Or only his poor old voice? You gave us great trouble, Mr. +Halesowen. Once, you came in just as Isis, who has climbed on to your +balcony, is about to take the potsherd----” + +“There was no one in the room!” + +“_I_ was in the room!” interrupted the girl, coolly. “I was draped in +black from head to foot, and I slipped behind the window hangings, +unseen, whilst you fumbled with your lamp!” + +“It was indiscreet,” continued Moris Klaw, “and made it harder for me; +because, afterward, you lock up the treasure and my search is +unavailing. Also, I am interrupted. Pah! I am clumsy! I waste time! +But, remember, I offered to buy it!” + +“Suppose,” said Halesowen, slowly, “I give you both in charge?” + +“You cannot,” was the placid reply; “for you cannot say how you came +into possession of the sherd! Professor Sheraton was in a similar +forked stick--and that is where _I_ come in!” + +“What! you were acting for him?” + +“Certainly! I happen to be in Egypt at the time, and he is a friend of +mine. Your thief, Ali, left a small piece of the pot behind, and I am +entrusted to make it complete!” + +“You have succeeded!” said Halesowen, grimly, all the time furtively +watching the beautiful Isis. + +“Yes,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am the instrument of poetic justice. +Isis, those cool beverages. Let us drink to poetic justice!” + +He sprayed his ample brow with verbena. + + +In conclusion, you may ask if the value of the potsherd justified the +elaborate and costly mode of its recovery. + +I reply: Upon what does the present fame of Professor Sheraton rest? +His “New Key to the Egyptian Book of the Dead.” Upon what is that work +founded? Upon the hieroglyphics of the Potsherd of Anubis, which (no +questions being asked of so distinguished a savant) was recently +acquired from the Professor by the nation at a cost of £15,000! + + + + + THIRD EPISODE. + CASE OF THE CRUSADER’S AX + + I + +I have heard people speak of Moris Klaw’s failures. So far as my +information bears me, he never experienced any. “What,” I have been +asked, “of the Cresping murder case? He certainly failed there.” + +Respecting this question of his failure or success in the sensational +case which first acquainted the entire country with the existence of +Crespie Hall, and that brought the old-world village of Cresping into +such unwonted prominence, I shall now invite your opinion. + +The investigation--the crime having baffled the local men--ultimately +was placed in the hands of Detective-Inspector Grimsby; and through +Grimsby I was brought into close touch with the matter. I had met +Grimsby during the course of the mysterious happenings at the Menzies +Museum, and at that time I also had made the acquaintance of Moris +Klaw. + +Thus, as I sat over my breakfast one morning reading an account of the +Cresping murder case, I was no more than moderately surprised to see +Inspector Grimsby walk into my rooms. + +He declined my offer of a really good Egyptian cigarette. + +“Thanks all the same,” he said; “but there’s only one smoke I can +think on.” + +With that he lighted one of the cheroots of which he smoked an +incredible quantity, and got up from his chair, restlessly. + +“I’ve just run up from Cresping by the early train,” he began, +abruptly. “You’ve heard all about the murder, of course?” + +I pointed to my newspaper, conspicuous upon the front page of which +was: + + + “THE MURDER AT CRESPIE HALL” + + +“Ah, yes,” he said, absently. “Well, I’ve been sent down and, to tell +you the white and unsullied truth, I’m in a knot!” + +I passed him a cup of coffee. + +“What are the difficulties?” I asked. + +“There’s only one,” he rapped back: “who did it!” + +“It looks to me a very clear case against Ryder, the ex-butler.” + +“So it did to me,” he agreed, “until I got down there! I’d got a +warrant in my pocket all ready. Then I began to have doubts!” + +“What do you propose to do?” + +Grimsby hesitated. + +“Well,” he replied, “it wouldn’t do any good to make a mistake in a +murder case; so what I should _like_ to do would be to get another +opinion--not official, of course!” + +I glanced across at him. + +“Mr. Moris Klaw?” + +He nodded. + +“Exactly!” + +“You’ve changed your opinion respecting him?” + +“Mr. Searles, his investigation of the Menzies Museum outrages +completely stood me on my head! I’m not joking. I’d always thought him +a crank, and in some ways I think so still; but at seeing through a +brick wall I’d put all I’ve got on Moris Klaw any day!” + +“But surely you are wasting time by coming to me?” + +“No, I’m not,” said Grimsby, confidently. “Moris Klaw, for all his +retiring habits, is not a man that wants his light hidden under a +bushel! He knows that you are collecting material about his methods, +and he’s more likely to move for you than for me.” + +I saw through Grimsby’s plan. He wanted me to invite Moris Klaw to +look into the Crespie murder case, in order that he (Grimsby) might +reap any official benefit accruing without loss of self-esteem! I +laughed. + +“All right, Grimsby!” I said. “Since he has made no move, voluntarily, +it may be that the case does not interest him; but we can try.” + +Accordingly, having consulted an A.B.C., we presently entrained for +Wapping, and as a laggard sun began to show up the dinginess and the +dirtiness of that locality, sought out a certain shop, whose locale I +shall no more closely describe than in saying that it is close to +Wapping Old Stairs. + +One turns down a narrow court, with a blank wall on the right and a +nailed-up doorway and boarded-up window on the left. Through the +cracks of the latter boarding, the inquiring visitor may catch a +glimpse, beyond a cavernous place which once was some kind of +warehouse, of Old Thames tiding muddily. + +The court is a cul de sac. The shop of Moris Klaw occupies the blind +end. Some broken marble pedestals stand upon the footway, among +seatless chairs, dilapidated chests, and a litter of books, stuffed +birds, cameos, inkstands, swords, lamps, and other unclassifiable +rubbish. A black doorway yawns amid the litter. + +Imagine Inspector Grimsby and me as entering into this singular +Cumæan cave. + +Our eyes at first failed to penetrate the gloom. All about moved +rustling suggestions of animal activity. The indescribable odour of +old furniture assailed our nostrils together with an equally +indescribable smell of avian, reptilian, and rodent life. + +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” + +Thus the scraping voice of the parrot. A door opened, admitting a +little more light and Moris Klaw. The latter was fully dressed; +whereby I mean that he wore his dilapidated caped black cloak, his +black silk muffler and that rarest relic of his unsavoury reliquary, +the flat-topped brown bowler. + +In that inadequate light his vellum face looked older, his shaggy +brows, his meagre beard, more toneless, than ever. Through the +gold-rimmed pince-nez he peered for a moment, downward from his great +height. He removed the bowler. + +“Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Inspector Grimsby! I am just +from Paris. It is so good of you to call so early to tell me all about +the poor murdered man of Cresping! Good morning! Good morning!” + + + II + +Moris Klaw’s sanctum is certainly one of the most remarkable +apartments in London. It is lined with shelves, which contain what I +believe to be a unique library of works dealing with criminology--from +Moris Klaw’s point of view. Strange relics are there, too; and all of +them have histories. A neat desk, with flowers in a silver vase, and a +revolving chair standing upon a fine tiger skin are the other notable +items of furniture. + +The contrast on entering was startling. Moris Klaw placed his hat upon +the desk, and from it took out the scent spray without which he never +travels. He played the contents upon his high, yellow +forehead--filling the air with the refreshing odour of verbena. + +“That shop!” he said, “it smell very strong this morning. It is not so +much the canaries as the rats!” + +“I trust,” began Grimsby, respectfully, “that Miss Klaw is quite +well?” + +“Isis will presently be here to say for herself,” was the reply. “And +now--this bad business of Cresping. It seems I am just back in time, +but, ah! it is a fortnight old!” + +Grimsby cleared his throat. “You will have read----” + +“Ah, my friend!” Moris Klaw held up a long, tapering white hand. “As +though you do not know that I never confuse my poor brain with those +foolish papers. No, I have not read, my friend!” + +“Oh!” said Grimsby, something taken aback. “Then I shall have to tell +you the family story----” + +Isis Klaw entered. + +From her small hat, with its flamingo-like plume, to her dainty shoes, +she was redolent of the Rue de la Paix. She wore an amazingly daring +toilette; I can only term it a study in flame tones. A less beautiful +woman could never have essayed such a scheme; but this superb +brunette, with her great flashing eyes and taunting smile, had the +lithe carriage of a Cleopatra, the indescribable diablerie of a +_ghaziyeh_. + +Inspector Grimsby greeted her with embarrassed admiration. Greetings +over-- + +“We must hurry, Father!” said the girl. + +Moris Klaw reclaimed his archaic bowler. + +“Mr. Searles and Inspector Grimsby will perhaps be joining us?” he +suggested. + +“Where?” began Grimsby. + +“Where but by the 9:5 train for Uxley!” said Klaw. “Where but from +Uxley to Cresping! Do I waste time, then--I?” + +“You have been retained?” suggested Grimsby. + +“Ah, no!” was the reply. “But I shall receive my fee, nevertheless!” + +At the end of the court a cab was waiting. Outside the cavernous door +a ramshackle man with a rosy nose bowed respectfully to the +proprietor. + +“You hear me, William,” said Moris Klaw, to this derelict. “You are to +sell nothing--unless it is the washstand! Forget not to change the +canaries’ water. The Indian corn is for the white rats. If there is no +mouse in the trap by eight o’clock, give the owl a herring. And keep +from the drink; it will be your ruin, William!” + +We entered the cab. My last impression of the place was derived from +the invisible parrot, who gave us Godspeed with: + +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! the devil’s come for you!” + +As we drove stationward, Grimsby, his eyes rarely leaving the piquant +face of Isis Klaw, outlined the history of the Crespie family to the +silent Moris. In brief it was this: + +The late Sir Richard Crespie, having become involved in serious +monetary difficulties, employed such methods of drowning his sorrows +as were far from conducive to domestic felicity; and after a certain +unusually violent outburst the home was broken up. His son, Roland, +was the first to go; and he took little with him but his mother’s +blessing and his father’s curses. Then Lady Crespie went away to her +sister in London, only surviving her departure from the Hall by two +years. Alone, and deserted, first by son and then by wife, the +debauched old baronet continued on his course of heavy drinking for +some years longer. The servants left him, one by one, so that in the +end, save for faithful old Ryder, the butler, whose family had served +the Crespies for time immemorial, he had the huge mansion to himself. +Apoplexy closed his unfortunate career; and, since nothing had been +heard of him for years, it was generally supposed that the son had met +his death in Africa, whither he had gone on leaving home. + +With the passing of Sir Richard came Mr. Isaac Heidelberger, and he +wasted no time in impressing his noxious personality upon the folks of +Cresping. He was a German Jew, large and oily, with huge coarse +features and a little black moustache that had been assiduously +trained in a futile attempt to hide a mouth that had well befitted +Nero. A week after Sir Richard’s burial, Mr. Heidelberger took +possession of the Hall. + +The new occupant brought with him one Heimer, a kind of confidential +clerk, and, old Ryder the butler having been sent about his business, +the two Jewish gentlemen proceeded to make themselves comfortable. The +nature of their business was soon public property; the grand old Hall +was to be turned into a “country mansion for paying guests.” + +Very strained relations existed between the big Jew and the ex-butler, +who, having a little money saved, had settled down in Cresping. One +night, at the Goblets--the historic village inn--Heidelberger having +swaggered into the place, there arose an open quarrel. Said Ryder: + +“Sir Richard, with all his faults, was once a good English gentleman, +and, but for such as you, a good English gentleman he might have +died!” + +It was exactly a week later that the tragedy occurred. + +“We come to it now, eh?” interrupted Moris Klaw at this point. “So--we +also come to the station! I will ask you to reserve us a first-class +carriage!” + +Grimsby made arrangements to that end. And, as the train moved out of +the station, resumed his story. + +“What I gather is this,” he said. + +[I condense his statement and append it in my own words.] + +The Goblets was just closing its doors, and the villagers who nightly +met there were standing in a group under the swinging sign, when a man +came running down the street from the direction of the Hall, and, +observing the gathering, ran up. It was Heimer, Isaac Heidelberger’s +secretary. He was hatless and his flabby face, in the dim light, was +ghastly. + +“Quick!” he rasped, hoarsely. “Where does the doctor live?” + +“Last house but one,” somebody said. “What’s the matter?” + +“Murder!” cried Heimer, as he rushed off down the village street. + +Such was the dramatic manner in which the news of the subsequently +notorious case was first carried to the outside world. The facts, as +soon made known throughout the length and breadth of the land, were, +briefly, as follows: + +Heidelberger and his secretary, who were engaged in making an +inventory of the contents of the Hall and in arranging for such +alterations of the rooms and laying out of the neglected grounds as +they considered necessary, had practically reached the end of their +task. In fact, had nothing intervened, Cresping would, on the +following day, have seen the old mansion in the hands of an army of +London workmen. + +At about half-past seven in the evening, Heidelberger had entered the +room occupied by Heimer and had mentioned that he expected a visitor. +The secretary, who had more work than he could well accomplish, did +not pause to inquire concerning him, believing the other to allude +either to the architect or to Heidelberger’s man, who was coming down +from London. Heidelberger had then gone up to the library, saying that +he should not require Heimer again that night. + +Between eight and half-past--Heimer was not sure of the time--there +was a ring at the bell (that of the tradesmen’s entrance). Knowing +that Heidelberger could admit the visitor directly to the library, +Heimer, hearing nothing more, concluded that the two were closeted +there. + +The first intimation that he received of anything amiss was a loud and +angry cry, apparently proceeding from the old banqueting hall directly +overhead, and unmistakably in the voice of Heidelberger. Springing +from his chair, he took a step toward the door, and then paused in +doubt. There was an angry murmur from above, the tones of the Jew +being clearly distinguishable; then a sudden scuffle and an +oscillation of the floor as though two heavy men were at hand grips; +next, a crash that shook the room, and a high-pitched cry of which he +only partially comprehended the last word. This he asserted to be +“holy.” + +That Heimer stood transfixed at the open door throughout all this, +suffices to brand him a coward. It was, in fact, only his stories of +shadowy figures in the picture gallery and his general disinclination +to leave his room after dusk that had prompted Heidelberger--a man of +different mettle--to wire to London for the servant. + +At this juncture, however, moved as much by a fear of the sudden +silence as by any higher motive, he took a revolver from the table +drawer, and, holding it cocked in one hand and seizing the lamp in the +other, he crept, trembling, up a narrow little stair that led to a +door beneath the minstrel’s gallery. To open it he had to place the +lamp on the floor, and, at the moment of doing so, he heard a sound +inside the hall like the grating of a badly oiled lock. + +Then, with the lamp held high above his head, he peered inside; and, +considering the character of the man, it is worthy of note that he did +not faint on the spot, for the feeble light, but serving, as it did, +to intensify the gloom of the long and shadowy place, revealed a scene +well calculated to shake the nerves of a stouter man than Heimer. + +Less than six feet from where he stood, and lying flat on his back +with his head toward the light, was Heidelberger in a perfect pool of +blood, his skull cleft almost to the chine! Beside him on the floor +lay the fearful weapon that had wrought his end--an enormous +battle-ax, a relic of the Crusades such as none but a man of Herculean +strength could possibly wield. + +Sick with terror, and scarcely capable of keeping his feet, Heimer +gave one glance around the gloomy place, which showed him that, save +for the murdered man, it was empty; then he staggered down the narrow +stairs and let himself out into the grounds. Slightly revived by the +fresh night air, but fearful of pursuit by the unknown assassin, he +ran, as fast as his condition would allow, into the village. + +“Here it is--Uxley!” jerked Moris Klaw. + + + III + +“Ah!” cried Moris Klaw, in a species of fanatic rapture, “look at the +blood!” + +We stood in the ancient banqueting hall of Crespie. By a distant door +I could see a policeman on duty. A ghostly silence was the marked +feature of the place. Klaw’s harsh, rumbling voice echoed eerily about +that chamber sacred to the shades of departed Crespies. + +Isis Klaw stood beside her father. They were a wildly incongruous +couple. The girl looked down at the bloodstained flooring with the +calm scrutiny of an experienced criminologist. + +“This spot must be alive with odic impressions,” she said, softly. + +A local officer, who formed one of the group, stared +uncomprehendingly. Moris Klaw instinctively turned to him. + +“You stare widely, my friend!” he said. “It is clear you know nothing +of the psychology of crime! Let me, then, enlighten you. First: all +crime”--he waved one long hand characteristically--“operates in +cycles. Its history repeats itself, you understand. Second: thoughts +are _things_. One who dies the violent death has, at the end, a strong +mental emotion--an etheric storm. The air--the atmosphere--retains +imprints of that storm.” + +“Indeed!” said the officer. + +“Yes, indeed! I shall not sleep in this place--as is my usual custom +in such inquiries. Why? Because I am afraid of the _shock_ of +experiencing such an emotion as was this late Heidelberger’s! Ah! you +are dense as a bull! Once, my bovine friend, I slept upon a spot in +desolate Palestine where a poor woman had been stoned to death. In my +dreams those merciless stones struck me! Upon the head and the face +they crashed! And I was helpless--bound--as was the unhappy one who +for her poor little sins had had her life crushed from her tender +body!” + +He ceased. No one spoke. In such moments, Moris Klaw became a +magician; a weaver of spells. The most unimpressionable shuddered as +though the strange things which this strangest of men told of, lived, +moved, before their eyes. Then-- + +“Yonder is the ax, sir,” said the local man, with a sudden awed +respect. + +Klaw walked over to where the huge battle-ax stood against a post of +the gallery. + +“Try to lift it, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby. “It will give you some idea +of what sort of man the murderer must have been! I can’t raise it +upright by the haft with one hand.” + +Moris Klaw seized the ax. Whilst Grimsby, the local man and myself +stared amazedly, he swung it about his head as one swings an Indian +club! He struck with it--to right--to left; he laid it down. + +“My father has a wrist of steel!” came the soft voice of Isis. “Did +you not know that he was once a famous swordsman?” + +Klaw removed his hat, took out the scent spray and bathed his forehead +with verbena. + +“That is a _man’s_ ax!” he said. “Isis, what do we know of such an ax? +We, who have so complete a catalogue of such relics?” + +Isis Klaw produced from her bag a bulky notebook. + +“It is the third one,” she replied, calmly, passing the open book to +her father; “the one we thought!” + +“Ah,” rumbled Klaw, adjusting his pince-nez, “‘Black Geoffrey’s’ ax!” +He turned again to Palmer, the local officer. “All such antiques,” he +said, “have histories. I collect those histories, you understand. This +ax was carried by ‘Black Geoffrey,’ a very early Crespie, in the first +Crusade. It slew many Saracens, I doubt not. But this does not +interest me. In the reign of Henry VIII we find it dwelt, this great +ax, at Dyke Manor, which is in Norfolk. It was not until Charles II +that it came to Crespie Hall. And what happened at Dyke Manor? One Sir +Gilbert Myerly was slain by it! Who wielded it? Patience, my friends! +All is clear to me! What a wonderful science is the Science of +Cycles!” + +Behind the pebbles his eyes gleamed with excitement. It seemed as +though his notes (how obtained I was unable to conjecture) had +furnished him with a clue; although to me they seemed to have not the +slightest bearing upon the case. + +“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” continued Moris Klaw: “In a few words, what is the +evidence against Ryder, the butler?” + +“Well,” was the reply, “you will note where the ax used to hang, up +there before the rail of the minstrels’ gallery. The theory is that +the murderer rushed up, wrenched the ax from its fastening----” + +“Theories, my friend,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “are not evidence!” + +Isis gazed at Mr. Grimsby with a smile. He looked embarrassed. + +“Sorry!” he said, humbly. “Here are the facts, then. In the right hand +of the dead man was an open pocket knife. It is assumed---- Sorry! +Several spots of blood were found on the knife. Do you want to see +it?” + +Moris Klaw shook his head. + +“It has been ascertained,” continued Grimsby, “that Ryder went out at +eight o’clock on the night of the murder and didn’t return until after +ten. He was interrogated. Listen to this, Mr. Klaw, and tell me why I +haven’t arrested him! He admitted that he was the man who rang the +bell; he admitted being closeted with Heidelberger in the library; and +he admitted that he was in the hall when the Jew met his death!” + +“Good!” said Moris Klaw. “And he is still at large?” + +“He is! He’s made no attempt to run away. I had his room searched, and +found a light coat with both sleeves bloodstained! He had a cut on his +left hand such as might be caused by the slash of a pocket knife! He +said he had caught his hand on a door-latch, but blankly declined to +say what he was doing here on the night of the murder! Yet, I didn’t +arrest him! Why?” + +“Why?” said Moris Klaw. “Tell me.” + +“Because I didn’t think it feasible that a man of his age could wield +that ax--and I hoped to use Ryder as a trap to catch his accomplice!” + +“Ah! clever!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “French, Mr. Grimsby! Subtle! But +you have just seen what a poor old fool can do with that ax!” + +I have never observed a man so suddenly lose faith in himself as did +Grimsby at those words. He flushed, he paled; he seemed to become +speechless. + +“Tell me, Mr. Grimsby,” said Klaw, “what does the suspected man do +that is suspicious? What letters does he write? What letters does he +receive?” + +“None!” replied the now angry Grimsby. “But he visits Doctor Madden, +in Uxley, every day.” + +“What for, eh?” + +“The doctor says the interviews are of a purely professional nature, +and I can’t very well suspect a man in his position!” + +“You have done two silly things,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “You have wasted +much time in the matter of Ryder, and you have accepted, unquestioned, +the word of a doctor. Mr. Grimsby, I have known doctors who were most +inspired liars!” + +“Then you are of opinion----” + +Klaw raised his hand. + +“It is Doctor Madden we shall visit,” he said. “This Ryder cannot +escape us. Isis, my child, I need not have troubled you. This is so +simple a case that we need no ‘mental negatives’ to point out to us +the culprit!” + +“Mr. Klaw----” began Grimsby, excitedly. + +“My friend,” he was answered, “I shall make a few examinations and +then we shall be off to Uxley. The assassin returns to London with us +by the 3:45 train!” + + + IV + +As we drove through the village street, in the car which Grimsby had +hired, upon the gate of one of the last cottages a tall, white-haired +old man was leaning. His clear-cut, handsome features wore an +expression of haggard sorrow. + +“There he is!” rapped Grimsby. “Hadn’t I better make the arrest at +once?” + +“Ah, no, my friend!” protested Klaw. “But stop--I have something to +say to him.” + +The car stopping, Moris Klaw descended and approached the old man, who +perceptibly paled at sight of us. + +“Good day, Mr. Ryder!” Klaw courteously saluted the ex-butler. + +“Good day to you, sir,” replied the old man, civilly. + +Whereupon Moris Klaw said a simple thing, which had an astounding +effect. + +“How is he to-day?” he inquired. + +Ryder’s face became convulsed. His eyes started forth. He made a +choking sound, staring, as one possessed, at his questioner. + +“What--what--do you mean?” he gasped. + +“Never mind, Mr. Ryder--never mind!” rumbled Klaw. “Isis, my child, +remain with this gentleman and tell him all we know about the ax of +‘Black Geoffrey.’ He will be glad to hear it!” + +The beautiful Isis obeyed without question. As the rest of us drove on +our way, I could see the flame-coloured figure passing up the garden +path beside the tall form of the old butler. Grimsby, a man badly out +of his depth, watched until both became lost to view. + +“I’ve got evidence,” he suddenly burst out, “that Ryder declared +Heidelberger to be the direct cause of Sir Richard’s downfall! And +I’ve got witnesses who heard him say, ‘Please God! the Jew won’t be +here much longer!’” + +“Good!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Very good!” + +During the remainder of the journey, Grimsby talked on incessantly, +smoking cheroots the whole time. But Moris Klaw was silent. + +Doctor Madden had but recently returned from his morning visits. He +was a typical country practitioner, fresh-faced and clean-shaven, with +iron-gray hair and a good head. He conveyed the impression, in some +way, that he knew himself to be in a tight corner. + +“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he said, briskly. + +“We have called, Doctor Madden,” rumbled Moris Klaw, wagging his +finger, impressively, “to tell you that Ryder is in imminent +danger--imminent danger--of arrest!” + +The doctor started. + +“And therefore we want a word with one of your patients!” + +“I do not understand you. Which of my patients?” + +Moris Klaw shook his head. + +“Let us be intelligent,” he said, “you and I, and not two old fools! +You understand so perfectly which of your patients.” + +Doctor Madden drummed his fingers on the table. + +“Are you a detective?” he snapped. + +“I am not!” replied Moris Klaw. “I am a student of the Science of +Cycles--not motor cycles; and a humble explorer of the etheric +borderland! You lay yourself open to grave charges, Doctor!” + +The doctor began to fidget nervously. + +“If indeed I am culpable,” he said, “my culpability only dates from +last night.” + +“So!” rumbled Klaw. “He has been insensible?” + +Doctor Madden started up. + +“Mr. Klaw,” he replied, “I do not know who you may be, but your +penetration is uncanny. He had lost his memory!” + +“What?--lost his memory! How is that?” + +“He was thrown from his horse! Come; I see it is useless, now, to +waste time. I will take you to him.” + +As we filed out to the waiting car, I glanced at Grimsby. His +stupefaction was almost laughable. + +“What in heaven’s name is it all about, Mr. Searles?” he whispered to +me. “I feel like a man in a strange country. People talk, and it +doesn’t seem to mean anything!” + +En route: + +“Tell me, Doctor,” said Moris Klaw, “about your patient.” + +The doctor, without hesitation, now explained that he had been called +to attend a Mr. Rogers, an artist, who was staying at Hinxman’s farm, +off the Uxley Road. On the evening of the tragedy Mr. Rogers went out +on Bess, a mare belonging to the farm, and, not having returned by +ten, some anxiety was felt concerning him, the mare possessing a very +bad reputation. At about a quarter-past ten the animal returned, +riderless, and Rogers was brought home later, in an insensible +condition, by two farm hands, having been found beside the road some +distance from the farm. + +For some time Mr. Rogers lay in a critical condition, suffering from +concussion. Finally, a change for the better set in, but the patient +was found to have lost his memory. + +“Last Saturday,” added the doctor, “a specialist whom I had invited to +come down from London performed a successful operation.” + +“Ah,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “so we can see him?” + +“Certainly. He is quite convalescent. His memory returned to him +completely last night.” + +In a state of uncertainty which can well be imagined, we arrived at, +and entered, Hinxman’s farm. Seated in the shade of the veranda, +smoking his pipe, was a bronzed young man who wore a bandage about his +head. He was chatting to the farmer when we arrived. + +Moris Klaw walked up the steps beside Doctor Madden. + +“Good day, Mr. Farmer,” he said, amiably. A rosy-cheeked girl face was +thrust from an open window. “Good day, Miss Farmer!” He removed the +brown bowler. He turned to the bronzed young man. “Good day, _Sir +Roland Crespie!_” + + + V + +When Grimsby and I had somewhat recovered from the shock of this +dramatic meeting, and Sir Roland, Madden, and Moris Klaw had talked +together for a few moments, said Moris Klaw: + +“And now Sir Roland will tell us all about the death of Mr. +Heidelberger!” + +Inspector Grimsby was all eyes when the young baronet began: + +“You must know, then, that I, together with three others, have been +engaged, since my departure from England, in a mining venture in West +Africa. Up to the time when I left, and, for the sake of my health, +came to England, our efforts had been attended by only moderate +success. Thus, on arriving in Cresping and taking lodgings with +Hinxman as ‘Mr. Rogers’--for the circumstances under which I left home +made me desirous of remaining unknown in the village--I, on learning +that my father had just died and that the Hall had fallen into +Heidelberger’s hands, realized that my slender capital would not allow +of my buying him out. The facts of the case came as a great shock to +me, and, without revealing my identity--the beard which I had +cultivated in Africa, but which the doctors have removed, acting as an +effectual disguise--I made inquiries concerning Ryder. I had little +difficulty in finding him, and he alone, in Cresping, knew who I +really was. + +“I now come to the events that immediately preceded Heidelberger’s +death. There was one object in the old place for which I determined to +negotiate, and which, owing to its associations, I particularly +desired to retain. This was my mother’s portrait. I may mention here +that, for certain reasons which I would prefer not to specify, I had +rather have burnt the picture than see it fall into the hands of the +Jew. + +“With this object in view, then, I enlisted the services of Ryder, +though from none other than myself would he have accepted the task. +This brings me to the day prior to Heidelberger’s death, and, on that +morning, I received news from Africa which led me to hope that I +might, after all, be able to save my old home from an ignominious +fate. Herein my hopes have since been realized, for I learnt to-day +that the mine has made rich men of us all; and I assume that some +ill-advised remark upon the part of Ryder, regarding Heidelberger’s +possible expulsion, gave rise to the idea that the old man +contemplated a violent deed. + +“It therefore came about that he made an appointment with +Heidelberger, an appointment which he duly kept; and it was solely due +to my anxiety on Ryder’s behalf, and lest he should meet with some +ill-treatment from the Jew--whom I knew for a man of most brutal +disposition--that I took certain steps which, indirectly, brought +about the tragedy. + +“In common with most old mansions of the period, the Hall has its +hidden entrances and exits--though, in accordance with certain ancient +traditions, the secret of their existence is strictly preserved among +the family. With a view, therefore, to becoming an unseen witness of +the transactions between Ryder and Heidelberger, I made use of a +passage that opens into a shrubbery some fifty yards from the west +wing. Entering, and mounting the steps at whose foot the tunnel +terminates, I found myself at the back of an old painting in the +banqueting hall. The frame of this picture forms a door which opens +upon pressing a spring, but the apparatus, owing to its great age, +works very stiffly. From this position, then, I could hear all that +took place in the hall, where, I had anticipated, the negotiations +would be conducted, as my mother’s picture hangs there. + +“This proved to be the case; for I had but just gained the top of the +steps when I heard the two enter the hall. Heidelberger spoke first. + +“‘Think of _you_ wanting to buy Lady Crespie’s picture, you +sentimental old fool!’ he said. ‘If it had been another I could name +who wanted it, the case would have been different!’ + +“Then I heard Ryder’s voice. ‘What do you mean, Mr. Heidelberger?’ he +asked. + +“I awaited the Jew’s reply with some curiosity. As I had anticipated, +it consisted of a foul and unfounded imputation against my poor +mother. It was, in fact, more than I could bear in silence, and the +tolerance of old Ryder, too, had reached its limit. For, at the moment +that I wrenched open the panel and sprang into the room to confront +this slanderer, I heard the sound of a blow, followed by an +animal-like roar of anger from Heidelberger. + +“The next moment, he seized the old man by the throat. Before he had +time to proceed further I struck him heavily with my fist, so that he +released his grip and turned to face his new assailant. + +“One tribute I must pay to Heidelberger. He was, seemingly, incapable +of fear; for this sudden attack by a person he had not known to be +present seemed only to arouse a new resentment. His face, as he turned +and looked me up and down, contained no trace of fear. + +“‘So it’s you that wants the picture, is it?’ he sneered. ‘I suppose +you are----’ + +“‘Stop!’ I said. ‘I am Roland Crespie, and can listen to no more of +your foul slanders!’ + +“For a second he hesitated, looking from me to Ryder and then toward +the picture, dimly discernible in the light of the candle which he had +brought with him. Then, before I could divine his intention, he drew a +knife from his pocket, and, opening a blade, took a step in the +direction of the portrait. ‘You shall never have it!’ he said. + +“He had actually inserted the blade in the canvas--as an examination +will show--when I came upon him, and we closed in a desperate +struggle. + +“In what followed, one can almost trace the finger of destiny. +Heidelberger was a more powerful man than myself, but in his fury he +endeavoured to stab me with the knife which he held in his hand! + +“I seized his wrist, but he wrenched it from my grasp. I leapt back +from him--as he struck down with the knife--and to the left of one of +the posts supporting the minstrels’ gallery. + +“In the blindness of his anger, Heidelberger failed to perceive the +proximity of this post. Moreover, it was very dark under the gallery. +He threw himself forward savagely--and struck his shoulder against the +post. The impact was tremendous. + +“Gentlemen! I tremble, now, to relate what happened! The ax of ‘Black +Geoffrey,’ which had hung for centuries before the rail above, was +shaken from its place by the shock and its time-worn fastenings were +torn bodily from their hold. At the instant that Heidelberger’s huge +body struck the post, the great ax, as though detached by invisible +hands, fell, blade downward, cleaving the head of the unfortunate man +and remaining, with quivering shaft, upright in the oaken floor! + +“The suddenness of the tragedy almost dazed me, and I was awakened to +its awful reality by old Ryder’s cry--‘Oh, Master Roly!’ As Master +Roly I had always been known to the old butler, and this name it was +which someone stated to be ‘holy.’ + +“Our subsequent action was, perhaps, ill-advised. Removing the ax and +raising the head of the victim, examination showed him to be dead, +and, hearing hesitating footsteps upon the narrow stair beneath the +gallery, we seized the candle and retreated through the secret panel, +Ryder severely cutting his hand in endeavouring to force the rusty +bolt into place. It was not until we stood in a lane bordering the +grounds, where I had tethered the mare upon which I had ridden from +the farm, that the seemingly guilty nature of our action dawned upon +me. Now, however, was too late to atone for what I attribute to a +momentary panic; and requesting Ryder to keep silence until he +received instructions from me, I mounted the mare, intending to return +to my lodgings and think the matter quietly over. + +“By an unlucky accident, the brute threw me, at some distance from the +farm, thereby all but bringing about a second tragedy; and what +followed is already known to you. + +“Of Ryder I need only say that rather than incriminate me he was +prepared to pay the penalty for a deed which was in truth a visitation +of God. Doctor Madden recognized me, of course, and to him also I am +eternally indebted. I had proposed to make this statement before a +magistrate later to-day.” + +“You see,” said Moris Klaw. “I have done nothing! It would all have +happened the same if I had been in Peru!” + +Grimsby cleared his throat. + +“Without casting any doubt upon Sir Roland’s word,” he began, “there’s +no evidence to go to a jury that he didn’t----” + +“Pull down the ax himself?” suggested Klaw. + +Grimsby looked uncomfortable. + +“Well--_is_ there?” + +“There is!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am he! This case most triumphantly +substantiates my theory of Cycles! Almost parallel it occurred +hundreds of years ago, at Dyke Manor! The ax has repeated itself!” + +“H’um!” said Grimsby. “Your theory of Cycles wouldn’t hold water with +twelve good men and true, I’m afraid, Mr. Klaw!” + +“Yes?” replied Moris Klaw. “No? You think not, eh? Well, then, there +is another little point. I am an old crank-fool, eh? So? But you? You +are sublimely mad, my Grimsby! You say he, or Mr. Ryder, may have +snatched down the black ax? Yes? Have you tried to reach the spot +where it hung before the rail?” + +“No,” confessed Grimsby, with the light as of the dawning of an +unpleasant idea in his eyes. + +“No,” said Klaw, placidly; “but _I_ have. Mr. Grimsby, it is +impossible to reach within three feet of the spot, from the stair or +from the gallery; and no live thing but a giraffe could reach it from +the floor!” + + +We were seated in the train, homeward bound. + +“For this case,” grumbled Klaw, “I get no credit. It will be said that +it all came out without aid from you or from me. Never mind--I have my +fee!” + +He patted the haft of the great ax, which ghastly relic in some way he +had arranged to appropriate. Grimsby was watching Isis Klaw out of the +corner of his eye. From a dainty gold case she offered him a +cigarette. Grimsby is no cigarette smoker but he accepted, with +alacrity. + +The beautiful Isis took one also, and lay back puffing sinuous spirals +from between her perfect red lips. + + + + + FOURTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE IVORY STATUE + + I + +Where a case did not touch his peculiar interests, appeals to Moris +Klaw fell upon deaf ears. However dastardly a crime, if its details +were of the sordid sort, he shrank within his Wapping curio shop as +closely as any tortoise within its shell. + +“Of what use,” he said to me on one occasion, “are my acute psychic +sensibilities to detect who it is with a chopper that has brained some +unhappy washerwoman? Shall I bring to bear those delicate perceptions +which it has taken me so many years to acquire in order that some ugly +old fool shall learn what has become of his pretty young wife? I think +not--no!” + +Sometimes, however, when Inspector Grimsby of Scotland Yard was at a +loss, he would induce me to intercede with the eccentric old dealer, +and sometimes Moris Klaw would throw out a hint. + +Beyond doubt the cases that really interested him were those that +afforded scope for the exploiting of his pet theories: the Cycle of +Crime, the criminal history of all valuable relics, the +indestructibility of thought. Such a case came under my personal +notice on one occasion, and my friend Coram was instrumental in +enlisting the services of Moris Klaw. It was, I think, one of the most +mysterious affairs with which I ever came in contact, and the better +to understand it you must permit me to explain how Roger Paxton, the +sculptor, came to have such a valuable thing in his studio as that +which we all assumed had inspired the strange business. + +It was Sir Melville Fennel, then, who commissioned Paxton to execute a +chryselephantine statue. Sir Melville’s museum of works of art, +ancient and modern, is admittedly the second finest private collection +of the kind in the world. The late Mr. Pierpont Morgan’s alone took +precedence. + +The commission came as something of a surprise. The art of +chryselephantine sculpture, save for one attempt at revival, in +Belgium, has been dead for untold generations. By many modern critics, +indeed, it is condemned, as being not art but a parody of art. + +Given carte blanche in the matter of cost, Paxton produced a piece of +work which induced the critics to talk about a modern Phidias. Based +upon designs furnished by the eccentric but wealthy baronet, the +statue represented a slim and graceful girl reclining as in exhaustion +upon an ebony throne. The ivory face, with its wearily closed eyes, +was a veritable triumph, and was surmounted by a headdress of gold +intertwined among a mass of dishevelled hair. One ivory arm hung down +so that the fingers almost touched the pedestal; the left hand was +pressed to the breast as though against a throbbing heart. Gold +bracelets and anklets, furnished by Sir Melville, were introduced into +the composition; and, despite the artist’s protest, a heavy girdle, +encrusted with gems and found in the tomb of some favourite of a +long-dead Pharaoh, encircled the waist. When complete, the thing was, +from a merely intrinsic point of view, worth several thousand pounds. + +As the baronet had agreed to the exhibition of the statue prior to its +removal to Fennel Hall, Paxton’s star was seemingly in the ascendant, +when the singular event occurred that threatened to bring about his +ruin. + +The sculptor gave one of the pleasant little dinners for which he had +gained a reputation. His task was practically completed, and his +friends had all been enjoined to come early, so that the statue could +be viewed before the light failed. We were quite a bachelor party, and +I shall always remember the circle of admiring faces surrounding the +figure of the reclining dancer--warmed in the soft light to an almost +uncanny semblance of fair flesh and blood. + +“You see,” explained Paxton, “this composite work, although it has +latterly fallen into disrepute, affords magnificent scope for +decorative purposes; such a richness of colour can be obtained. The +ornaments are genuine antiques and of great value--a fad of my +patron’s.” + +For some minutes we stood silently admiring the beautiful workmanship; +then Harman inquired, “Of what is the hair composed?” + +Paxton smiled. “A little secret I borrowed from the Greeks!” he +replied, with condonable vanity. “Polyclitus and his contemporaries +excelled at the work.” + +“That jewelled girdle looks detachable,” I said. + +“It is firmly fastened to the waist of the figure,” answered the +sculptor. “I defy any one to detach it inside an hour.” + +“From a modern point of view the thing is an innovation,” remarked one +of the others, thoughtfully. + +Coram, curator of the Menzies Museum, who up to the present had stood +in silent contemplation of the figure, now spoke for the first time. +“The cost of materials is too great for this style of work ever to +become popular,” he averred. “That girdle, by the way, represents a +small fortune, and together with the anklets, armlets, and headdress, +might well tempt any burglar. What precautions do you take, Paxton?” + +“Sleep out here every night,” was the reply; “and there is always +someone here in the daytime. Incidentally, a curious thing occurred +last week. I had just fixed the girdle, which, I may explain, was once +the property of Nicris, a favourite of Ramses III, and my model was +alone here for a few minutes. As I was returning from the house I +heard her cry out, and when I came to look for her she was crouching +in a corner trembling. What do you suppose had frightened her?” + +“Give it up,” said Harman. + +“She swore that Nicris--for the statue is supposed to represent +her--had moved!” + +“Imagination,” replied Coram, “but easily to be understood. I could +believe it, myself, if I were here alone long enough.” + +“I fancy,” continued Paxton, “that she must have heard some of the +tales that have been circulated concerning the girdle. The thing has a +rather peculiar history. It was discovered in the tomb of the dancer +by whom it had once been worn; and it is said that an inscription was +unearthed at the same time containing an account of Nicris’s death +under particularly horrible circumstances. Seton--you fellows know +Seton--who was present at the opening of the sarcophagus, tells me +that the Arabs, on catching sight of the girdle, all prostrated +themselves and then took to their heels. Sir Melville Fennel’s agent +sent it on to England, however, and Sir Melville conceived the idea of +this statue.” + +“Luckily for you,” added Coram. + +“Quite so,” laughed the sculptor, and, carefully locking the studio +door, he led the way up the short path to the house. + +We were a very merry party, and the night was far advanced ere the +gathering broke up. Coram and I were the last to depart; and having +listened to the voices of Harman and the others dying away as they +neared the end of the street, we also prepared to take our leave. + +“Just come with me as far as the studio,” said Paxton, “and having +seen that all’s well I’ll let you out by the garden door.” + +Accordingly, we donned our coats and hats, and followed our host to +the end of the garden, where his studio was situated. The door +unlocked, we all three stepped inside the place and gazed upon the +figure of Nicris--the pallid face and arms seeming almost unearthly in +the cold moonlight, wherein each jewel of the girdle and headdress +glittered strangely. + +“Of course,” muttered Coram, “the thing’s altogether irregular--a fact +which the critics will not fail to impress upon you; but it is +unquestionably very fine, Paxton. How uncannily human it is! I don’t +entirely envy you your bedchamber, old man!” + +“Oh, I sleep well enough,” laughed Paxton. “No luxury, though; just +this corner curtained off and a camp bedstead.” + +“A truly Spartan couch!” I said. “Well, good-night, Paxton. We shall +probably see you to-morrow--I mean later to-day!” + +With that we parted, leaving the sculptor to his lonely vigil at the +shrine of Nicris, and as my rooms were no great distance away, some +half-hour later I was in bed and asleep. + +I little suspected that I had actually witnessed the commencement of +one of the most amazing mysteries which ever cried out for the +presence of Moris Klaw. + + + II + +Some few minutes subsequent to retiring--or so it seemed to me; a +longer time actually had elapsed--I was aroused by the ringing of my +telephone bell. I scrambled sleepily out of bed and ran to the +instrument. + +Coram was the caller. And now, fully awake, I listened with an +ever-growing wonder to his account of that which had prompted him to +ring me up. Briefly, it amounted to this: some mysterious incident, +particulars of which he omitted, had aroused Paxton from his sleep. +Seeking the cause of the disturbance, the artist had unlocked the +studio door and gone out into the garden. He was absent but a moment +and never out of earshot of the door; yet, upon his return, _the +statue of Nicris had vanished!_ + +“I have not hesitated to ’phone through to Wapping,” concluded Coram, +“and get a special messenger sent to Moris Klaw. You see, the matter +is urgent. If the statue cannot be recovered, its loss may spell ruin +for Paxton. He had heard me speak of Moris Klaw and of the wonders he +worked in the Greek Room mysteries, and, accordingly, called me up. I +knew, if Klaw came, you would be anxious to be present.” + +“Certainly,” I replied, “I wouldn’t miss one of his inquiries for +anything. Shall I meet you at Paxton’s?” + +“Yes.” + +I lost little time in dressing. From Coram’s brief account, the +mystery appeared to be truly a dark one. Would Moris Klaw respond to +this midnight appeal? There was little chance of a big fee, for Paxton +was not a rich man; but in justice to the remarkable person whom it is +my privilege to present to you in these papers, I must add that +monetary considerations seemingly found no place in Klaw’s philosophy. +He acted, I believe, from sheer love of the work; and this affair, +with its bizarre details--the ancient girdle of the dancing girl--the +fear of the model, who had declared that the statue moved--was such, I +thought, as must appeal to him. + +Ten minutes later I was at Paxton’s house. He and Coram were in the +hall, and Coram admitted me. + +“Do you mean,” he asked of Paxton, pursuing a conversation which my +advent had interrupted, “that the statue melted into the empty air?” + +“The double doors opening on to the street were securely locked and +barred; that of the garden was also locked; I was in the garden and +not ten yards from the studio,” was Paxton’s reply. “Nevertheless, +Nicris had vanished, leaving no trace behind!” + +Incredible though the story appeared, its confirmation was to be found +in the speaker’s face. I was horrified to see how haggard he looked. + +“It will ruin me!” he said, and reiterated the statement again and +again. + +“But, my dear fellow,” I cried, “surely you have not given up hope of +recovering the statue? After all, such a robbery as this can scarcely +have been perpetrated without leaving some clue behind.” + +“Robbery!” repeated Paxton, looking at me strangely; “you would be +less confident that it is a case of robbery, Searles, if you had heard +what I heard!” + +I glanced at Coram, but he merely shrugged his shoulders. + +“What do you mean?” I said. + +“Then Coram has not told you?” + +“He has told me that something aroused you in the night and that you +left the studio to investigate the matter.” + +“Correct, so far. Something did arouse me; and the thing was a voice!” + +“A voice?” + +“It would be, I suppose, about two hours after you had gone, and I was +soundly asleep in the studio, when I suddenly awoke and sat up to +listen, for it seemed to me that I heard a cry immediately outside the +door.” + +“What kind of cry?” + +“Of that I was not, at first, by any means certain; but after a brief +interval the cry was repeated. It sounded more like the voice of a boy +than that of a man and it uttered but one word: ‘Nicris!’” + +“And then?” + +“I sprang on to the floor and stood for a moment in doubt--the thing +seemed so uncanny. The electric light is not, as you know, installed +in the studio, or I should have certainly switched it on. For possibly +a minute I hesitated, and then, as I pulled the curtains aside and +stood by the door to listen, for the third time the cry was repeated +and was now coming indisputably from immediately outside.” + +“You refer to the door that opens on to the garden?” + +“Exactly--close to which stands my bed. This, then, decided me. Taking +up the small revolver which I have always kept handy since Nicris was +completed, I unlocked the door and stepped out into the garden----” + +A vehicle, cab or car, was heard to draw up outside the house. Came +the sound of a rumbling voice. Coram sprang to the door. + +“Moris Klaw!” I cried. + +“Good morning, Mr. Coram!” said the strange voice, from the darkness +outside. “Good morning, Mr. Searles!” + +Moris Klaw entered. + +He wore his flat-topped brown bowler of effete pattern; he wore his +long, shabby, caped coat; and from beneath it gleamed the pointed +glossy toe-caps of his continental boots. Through his gold-rimmed +glasses he peered into the shadows of the hall. His scanty, colourless +beard appeared less adequate than ever to clothe the massive chin. The +dim light rendered his face more cadaverous and more yellow even than +usual. + +“And this,” he proceeded, as the anxious sculptor came forward, “is +Mr. Paxton, who has lost his statue? Good morning, Mr. Paxton!” + +He bowed, removing the bowler and revealing his great high brow. Coram +was about to reclose the door. + +“Ah, no!” Moris Klaw checked him. “My daughter is to come yet with my +cushion!” + +Paxton stared, not comprehending, but stared yet harder when Isis Klaw +appeared, carrying a huge red cushion. She was wrapped in a cloak +which effectually concealed her lithe figure, and from the raised hood +her darkly beautiful face looked out with bewitching effect. She +divided between Coram and myself one of her dazzling smiles. + +“It is Mr. Paxton,” said her father, indicating the sculptor. Then, +indicating the girl, “It is my daughter, Isis. Isis will help us to +look for Nicris. Why am I here, an old fool who ought to be asleep? +Because of this girdle your statue wore. I so well remember when it +was dug up. I cannot know its history, but be sure it is evil. From +the beginning, please, Mr. Paxton!” + +“I’m awfully indebted to you! Won’t you come in and sit down?” said +Paxton, glancing at the girl in bewilderment. + +“No, no!” replied Klaw, “let us stand. It is good to stand, and stand +upright; for it is because he can do this that man is superior to the +other animals!” + +Coram and I knew Klaw’s mannerisms, but I could see that Paxton +thought him to be a unique kind of lunatic. Nevertheless, he narrated +something of the foregoing up to the point reached at Moris Klaw’s +arrival. + +“Proceed slowly, now,” said Klaw. “You left the door open behind you?” + +“Yes; but I was never more than ten yards from it. It would have been +physically impossible for any one to remove the statue unknown to me. +You must remember that it was no light weight.” + +“One moment,” I interrupted. “Are you sure that the statue was in its +place before you came out?” + +“Certain! There was a bright moon, and the figure was the first thing +my eyes fell upon when I pulled the curtain aside.” + +“Did you _touch_ it?” rumbled Moris Klaw. + +“No. There was no occasion to do so.” + +“How much to be regretted, Mr. Paxton! The sense of touch is so +exquisite a thing!” + +We all wondered at his words. + +“Stepping just outside the door,” Paxton resumed, “I looked to right +and left. There was no one in sight. Then I walked to the wall--a +matter of some ten yards--and, pulling myself up by my hands, looked +over into the street. It was deserted, save for a constable on the +opposite corner. I know him, slightly, and his presence convinced me +that no one could either have come into or gone out of the garden by +way of the wall. I did not call him, but immediately returned to the +studio door.” + +“In all, you were absent from the studio about how long?” asked Moris +Klaw. + +“Not a second over half a minute!” + +“And on returning once more to the door?” + +“A single glance showed me that the statue had gone!” + +“Good Heavens!” I said; “it sounds impossible. Was the constable on +point duty?” + +“He was; there is always an officer there. He stood in sight of the +double doors opening on to the street during the whole time, so that +‘Nicris’ unquestionably came out by way of the garden or melted into +thin air. Since the only exit from the garden also opens on to the +street, how, but by magic, can the statue have been removed from the +premises?” + +“Ah, my friend,” said Moris Klaw, “you talk of magic as one talks of +onions! How little you know”--he swept wide his arms, looking +upward--“of the phenomena of the two atmospheres! Proceed!” + +“The throne,” continued Paxton, who was becoming impressed as was +evident by the uncanny sense of power which emanated in some way from +Moris Klaw, “remains.” + +“And the statue--it was attached to it?” + +“As to the figure being attached, I may say that it was only partially +so. Materials for completing the work were to have arrived to-day.” + +“How long would it have taken to detach it?” growled Klaw. + +“Granting some knowledge of the nature of the work, not long--for, as +I have said, in this respect it was incomplete. Half an hour or so, I +should have believed!” + +“Then,” I said, “the matter, in brief, stands thus: In the course of +thirty seconds, during which time a constable was in view of one +entrance and you were ten yards from the other, someone detached the +statue from the throne--an operation involving half an hour’s skilled +labour--and, unseen by yourself or the officer, removed it from the +premises.” + +“Oh, the thing is impossible!” groaned Paxton. “There is something +unearthly in the affair. I wish I had never set eyes upon that +accursed girdle!” + +“Curse not the girdle,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Curse instead its wearer, +and inform us, on finding Nicris to be missing, what did you do?” + +“I hastily searched the studio. A brief investigation convinced me +that neither statue nor thief was concealed there. I then came out, +locked the door, and, having examined the garden, hailed the +constable. He had been on duty for four hours at that point and had +observed absolutely nothing of an unusual nature. He saw you fellows +come out by the garden entrance, and from that time until I hailed +him, nothing, he declared, had come in or gone out!” + +“He heard no cry?” + +“No; it was not loud enough to be audible from the corner.” + +“Lastly,” said Klaw, “have you informed Scotland Yard?” + +“No,” answered the sculptor; “nor will the constable lodge +information; moreover, I withheld from him the object of my inquiries. +If this business gets into the papers I shall be a ruined man!” + +“I have hopes,” Klaw assured him, “that it will get in no papers. Let +us proceed now to the scene of these wonderful happenings. It is my +custom, Mr. Paxton, to lay my old head down upon the scene of a +mystery, and from the air I can sometimes recover the key to the +labyrinth!” + +“So I have heard,” said Paxton. + +“You have heard so, yes? You shall see! Lead on, Mr. Paxton! No time +must be wasted. I am another like Napoleon, and can sleep on an +instant. I do not know insomnia! Lead on. Isis, my child, be careful +that it brushes against no object in passing--my odically sterilized +cushion!” + +We proceeded to the studio. + +“I feel that I am responsible for dragging you here at this unearthly +hour,” said Paxton to Isis Klaw. + +She turned her fine eyes upon him. + +“My father is indebted for the opportunity,” she replied; “and since +he has need of me, I am here. I, too, am indebted.” + +Her supreme self-possession and tone of finality silenced the artist. +So far as I could see, everything in the studio was exactly as before, +save that Nicris’s throne was vacant. The top of the studio was +partially glazed, and Moris Klaw peered up at it earnestly. + +“From above,” he rumbled, “I should wish to look down into below. How +do I reach it?” + +“The only stepladder is that in the studio,” answered Paxton. “I will +bring it out.” + +He did so. The gray light of dawn was creeping into the sky, and +against that sombre background we watched Moris Klaw crawling about +the roof like some giant spider. + +“Did you find anything?” asked Paxton, anxiously, as the investigator +descended. + +“I find what I look for,” was the reply; “and no man is entitled to +find more. Isis, my child, place that cushion in the ebony chair.” + +The girl stepped on to the dais, and disposed the red cushion as +directed. + +“You see,” explained Morris Klaw, “whoever has robbed you, Mr. Paxton, +runs some one great danger, however clever his plans. There is, in +every criminal scheme, one little point that only Fate can +decide--either to hitch or to smooth out--to bring success and riches +or whistling policemen and Brixton Gaol! Upon that so critical point +his or her mind will concentrate at the critical moment. The critical +moment, here, was that of getting Nicris out of your studio. + +“I sleep upon that throne where she reclined--the ivory dancer. This +sensitive plate”--he tapped his brow--“will reproduce a negative of +that critical moment as it seemed in the mind of the one we look for. +Isis, return in the cab that waits and be here again at six o’clock.” + +He placed his quaint bowler upon a table and laid beside it his black +cloak. Then, a ramshackle figure in shabby tweed, reclined upon the +big ebony chair, his head against the cushion. + +“Place my cloak about me, Isis.” + +The girl did so. + +“Good morning, my child! Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Mr. +Coram and Mr. Paxton!” + +He closed his eyes. + +“Excuse me,” began Paxton. + +Isis placed her finger to her lips, and signed to us to withdraw +silently. + +“Ssh!” she whispered. “He is asleep!” + + + III + +At five minutes to six sounded Isis Klaw’s ring upon the door bell. +Paxton, Coram, and I had spent the interval in discussing the +apparently supernatural happening which threatened to wreak the +artist’s ruin. Again and again he had asked us, “Should I call in the +Scotland Yard people? If Moris Klaw fails, consider the priceless time +lost!” + +“If Moris Klaw fails,” Coram assured him, “no one else will succeed!” + +We admitted Isis, who wore now a smart tweed costume and a fashionable +hat. Beyond doubt, Isis Klaw was strikingly beautiful. + +At the door of the studio stood her father, staring straight up to the +morning sky, as though by astrological arts he hoped to solve the +mystery. + +“What time does your model come?” he asked, ere Paxton could question +him. + +“Half-past ten. But, Mr. Klaw----” began our anxious friend. + +“Where does it lead to,” Klaw rumbled on, “that lane behind the +studio?” + +“Tradesmen’s entrance to the next house.” + +“Whose house?” + +“Doctor Gleason.” + +“M.D.?” + +“Yes. But tell me, Mr. Klaw--tell me, have you any clue?” + +“My mind, Mr. Paxton, records for me that Nicris was not stolen away, +but _walked!_ Plainly, I feel her go tiptoe, tiptoe, so silent and +cautious! She is concerned, this barbaric dancing girl who escapes +from your studio, with two things. One is some very big man. She +thinks, as she tiptoes, of one very tall: six feet and three inches at +least! So it is not of you she thinks, Mr. Paxton. We shall see of +whom it is. Tell me the name of your acquaintance, the +point-policeman.” + +We were all staring at Moris Klaw, spellbound with astonishment. But +Paxton managed to mumble: + +“James--Constable James.” + +“We shall seek him, this James, at the section house of the police +depot,” rumbled Klaw. “Be silent, Mr. Paxton; let no one know of your +loss. And hope.” + +“I can see no ground for hope!” + +“No? But I? I recognize the clue, Mr. Paxton! What a great science is +that of mental photography!” + +What did he mean? None of us could surmise, and I could see that poor +Paxton reposed no faith whatever in the eccentric methods of the +investigator. He would have voiced his doubts, I think, but he met a +glance from the dark eyes of Isis Klaw which silenced him. + +“My child,” said Klaw to his daughter, “take the cushion and return. +My negative is a clear one. You understand?” + +“Perfectly,” replied Isis, with composure. + +“Breakfast----” began Paxton, tentatively. + +But Moris Klaw waved his hands and enveloped himself in the big cloak. + +“There is no time for such gross matters!” he said. “We are busy.” + +From the brown bowler he took out a scent spray and bedewed his high, +bald forehead with verbena. + +“It is exhausting, that odic photography!” he explained. + +Shortly afterward he and I walked around to the local police depot. +Something occurred to me, en route. + +“By the way,” I said, “what was the other thing of which you spoke? +The thing that you declared Nicris to be thinking of, though I don’t +understand in the least how one can refer to the ‘thoughts’ of an +ivory statue!” + +“Ah,” rumbled my companion, “it is something I shall explain +later--that other fear of the missing one.” + +Arriving at the police depot, “Shall I ask for Constable James?” I +said. + +“Ah, no,” replied Klaw. “It is for the constable that he relieved at +twelve o’clock I am looking.” + +Inquiry showed that the latter officer--his name was Freeman--had just +entered the section house. Moris Klaw’s questions elicited the +following story, although its bearing upon the matter in hand was not +evident to me. + +Toward twelve o’clock, that is, shortly before Freeman was relieved, a +man, supporting a woman, came down the street and entered the gate of +Doctor Gleeson’s house. The woman was enveloped in a huge fur cloak +which entirely concealed her face and figure, but from her feeble step +the constable judged her to be very ill. Considering the lateness of +the hour, also, he concluded that the case must be a serious one; he +further supposed the sick woman to be resident in the neighbourhood, +since she came on foot. + +He had begun to wonder at the length of the consultation, when, nearly +an hour later, the man appeared again from the shadows of the drive, +still supporting the woman. Pausing at the gate he waved his hand to +the policeman. + +Constable Freeman ran across the road immediately. + +“Fetch me a taxicab, officer!” said the stranger, supporting his +companion and exhibiting much solicitude. + +Freeman promptly ran to the corner of Beira Road and returned with a +cab from the all-night rank. + +“Open the door!” directed the man, who was a person of imposing +height--some six-feet-three, Freeman averred. + +“Ha, ha!” growled Moris Klaw, “six-feet-three! What a wondrous +science!” + +He seemed triumphant; but I was merely growing more nonplussed. + +With that, carefully wrapping the cloak about the woman’s figure, the +big man took her up in his arms and placed her inside the cab--the +only glimpse of her which the constable obtained being that of a small +foot clad in a silk stocking. She had apparently dropped her shoe. + +Tenderly assisting her to a corner of the vehicle, the man, having +bent and whispered some word of encouragement in her ear, directed the +cabman to drive to the Savoy. + +“Did you give him your assistance?” asked Moris Klaw. + +“No. He did not seem to require it.” + +“And the number of the cabman?” + +Freeman fetched his notebook and supplied the required information. + +“Thank you, Constable Freeman,” said Klaw. “You are a very alert +constable. Good morning, Constable Freeman!” + +Again satisfaction beamed from behind my companion’s glasses. But to +my eyes the darkness grew momentarily less penetrable. For these +inquiries bore upon matters which had occurred prior to twelve +o’clock; and, Coram, myself, and Paxton had seen the statue in its +usual place considerably after midnight! My brain was in a turmoil. + +Said Moris Klaw: “That cab was from the big garage at Brixton. We +shall ring up the Brixton garage and learn where the man may be found. +Perhaps, if Providence is with us--and Providence is with the +right--he has not yet again left home.” + +From a public call office we rang up the garage, and learned that the +man we wanted was not due to report for duty until ten o’clock. We +experienced some difficulty in obtaining his private address, but +finally it was given to us. Thither we hastened, and aroused the man +from his bed. + +“A big gentleman and a sick lady,” said Moris Klaw, “they hired your +cab from Doctor Gleeson’s, near Beira Road, at about twelve o’clock +last night, and you drove them to the Savoy Hotel.” + +“No, sir. He changed the address afterward. I’ve been wondering why. I +drove him to Number 6A, Rectory Grove, Old Town, Clapham.” + +“Was the lady by then recovered--no? Yes?” + +“Partly, sir. I heard him talking to her. But he carried her into the +house.” + +“Ah,” said Moris Klaw, “there is much genius wasted; but what a great +science is the science of the mind!” + + + IV + +Many times Moris Klaw knocked upon the door of the house in Clapham +Old Town, a small one, standing well back from the roadway. Within we +could hear someone coughing. + +Then the door was suddenly thrown open, and a man appeared who must +have stood some six feet three inches. He had finely chiselled +features, was clean-shaven, and wore pince-nez. + +Klaw said a thing that had a surprising effect. + +“What!” he rumbled, “has Nina caught cold?” + +The other glared, with a sudden savagery coming into his eyes, fell +back a step, and clenched his great fists. + +“Enough, Jean Colette!” said Morris Klaw, “you do not know me, but I +know you. Attempt no tricks, or it is the police and not a meddlesome, +harmless old fool who will come. Enter, Jean! We follow.” + +For a moment longer the big man hesitated, and I saw the shadows of +alternate resolves passing across his fine features. Then clearly he +saw that surrender was inevitable, shrugged his shoulders, and stared +hard at my companion. + +“Enter, messieurs,” he said, with a marked French accent. + +He said no more, but led the way into a long, bare room at the rear of +the house. To term the apartment a laboratory would be correct but not +inclusive; for it was, in addition, a studio and a workshop. Glancing +rapidly around him, Moris Klaw asked, “Where is it?” + +The man’s face was a study as he stood before us, looking from one to +the other. Then a peculiar smile, indescribably winning, played around +his lips. “You are very clever, and I know when I am beaten,” he +remarked; “but had you come four hours later it would have been one +hour too late.” + +He strode up the room to where a tall screen stood, and, seizing it by +the top, hurled it to the ground. + +Behind, on a model’s dais, reclined the statue of Nicris, in a low +chair! + +“You have already removed the girdle and one of the anklets,” rumbled +Klaw. + +This was true. Indeed, it now became evident that the man had been +interrupted in his task by our arrival. Opening a leather case that +stood upon the floor by the dais, he produced the missing ornaments. + +“What action is to be taken, messieurs?” he asked, quietly. + +“No action, Jean,” replied Moris Klaw. “It is impossible, you see. But +why did you delay so long?” + +The other’s reply was unexpected. + +“It is a task demanding much time and care, if the statue is not to be +ruined; otherwise I should have performed it in Mr. Paxton’s studio +instead of going to the trouble of removing the figure--and---- Nina’s +condition has caused me grave anxiety throughout the night.” He stared +hard at Moris Klaw. We could hear the sound of coughing from some room +hard by. “Who are you, m’sieur?” he asked, pointedly. + +“An old fool who knew Nina when she posed at Julien’s, Jean,” was the +reply, “and who knew you, also, in Paris.” + + + V + +Paxton, Coram, myself, and Moris Klaw sat in the studio, and all of us +gazed reflectively at the recovered statue. + +“It was so evident,” explained Klaw, “that, since you were absent from +here but thirty seconds, for any one to have removed the statue during +that time was out of the question.” + +“But someone did----” + +“Not during that time,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Nicris was removed whilst +you all made merry within the house!” + +“But, my dear Mr. Klaw, Searles, Coram, and I saw the statue long +after that--some time about one o’clock!” + +“Wrong, my friend! You saw the _model!_” + +“What! Nina?” + +“Madame Colette, whom you knew in Paris as Nina--yes! Listen--when I +drop off to sleep here and dream that I am afraid for what may happen +to some very large man, I dream, also, that I fear to be _touched!_ I +look down at myself, and I am beautiful! I am ivory of limb and decked +with gold! I creep, so cautiously, out of the studio (in my +dream--_you_ would call it a dream), and I know, when I wake, that I +must have been Nicris! Ah, you wonder! Listen. + +“At about midnight, whilst your party is amiable together, comes one, +Jean Colette, a clever scamp from that metropolis of such perverted +genius--Paris. Into Doctor Gleeson’s he goes, supporting Madame--your +model. This is seen by Constable Freeman. When the trees hide them +they climb over the fence into the lane and over the wall into your +garden. Nina has a cast of the studio key. How easy for her to get it! + +“Jean, a clever rogue with his hands, and a man who promised to be, +once, a great artist, detaches the figure from the throne and arrays +it as Madame--in Madame’s outer garb! Beneath her cloak, Madame is +Nicris--with copies of the jewels and all complete. He is clever, this +Jean! He is, too, a man of vast strength--a modern Crotonian Milo. Not +only does he carry that great piece of ivory from the studio, he lifts +it over the wall--did Madame assist?--and into Doctor Gleeson’s drive. +He bears it to the gate, wrapped in Nina’s furs. He calls a policeman! +Ah, genius is here! He gives the wrong address. He is as cool as an +orange! + +“Do they escape now? Not so! He sees that you, finding Nicris missing, +will apply to the point-policeman and get hold upon a thread. He says, +‘I will make it to appear that the robbery took place at a later time. +I will thus gain hours! Another policeman will be on duty when the +discovery is made; he will know nothing.’ He leaves Nina to pretend to +be Nicris! + +“Ah! she has courage, but her fears are many. Most of all she dreads +that you will _touch_ her! You do not. And Jean, the ivory statue safe +at Clapham, returns for Nina. He comes into the doctor’s drive by the +farther gate--where the point-policeman cannot see him. He wears +rubber shoes. He mounts to the studio roof. He lies flat upon the +ledge above the door. His voice is falsetto. He calls, ‘Nicris!’ + +“Presently, you come out. You peep over the wall. Ah! out, also, is +Madame! She stretches up her white arms--so like the real ivory!--he +stretches down his steel hands. He raises her beside him! Name of a +dog, he is strong! + +“Why to the roof and not over the wall? The path is of gravel and her +feet are bare. On the roof, to prove me correct, upon the grime are +marks of small bare feet; are marks of men’s rubber shoes; are, +halfway along, marks of smaller rubber shoes--which he had brought for +Nina. He has forethought. They retire by the farther gate of your +neighbour’s drive. + +“No doubt he bring her furs as well--no doubt. But she contracts a +chill, no wonder! Ah! he is cool, he is daring, he is a great man----” + +A maid entered the studio. + +“A gentleman to see you, sir.” + +“Ask him to come along here.” + +A short interval--and Jean Colette entered, hat in hand! + +“These two wedges, m’sieur”--he bowed to Paxton--“which help to attach +the girdle. I forgot to return them. Adieu!” + +He placed the wedges on a table and, amid a dramatic silence, +withdrew. + +Moris Klaw took out the cylindrical scent spray from the lining of the +brown bowler. + +“A true touch of Paris!” he rumbled. “Did I not say he was a great +man?” + + + + + FIFTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE BLUE RAJAH + + I + +Inspector Grimsby called upon me one evening, wearing a great +glumness of countenance. + +“Look here,” said he, “I’m in a bit of a corner. You’ll have heard +that a committee of commercial magnates has been formed to buy, and on +behalf of the City of London to present to the Crown, the big Indian +diamond?” + +I nodded and pushed the box of cigarettes toward him. + +“Well,” he continued, thoughtfully selecting one, “they are meeting in +Moorgate Street to-morrow morning to complete the deal and formally +take over the stone. Sir Michael Cayley, the Lord Mayor, will be +present, and he’s received a letter, which has been passed on to me.” + +He fumbled for his pocket-case. Grimsby is a man who will go far. He +is the youngest detective-inspector in the service, and he has that +priceless gift--the art of using other people for the furtherance of +his own ends. I do not intend this criticism unkindly. Grimsby does +nothing dishonourable and seeks to rob no man of the credit that may +be due. There is nothing underhand about Grimsby, but he is +exceedingly diplomatic. He imparts official secrets to me with an +ingenuousness entirely disarming--but always for reasons of his own. + +“Here you are,” he said, and passed a letter to me. + +It read as follows: + + + “_To the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of London._ + + “My Lord: + + “Beware that the Blue Rajah is not stolen on Wednesday the 13th inst. + Do not lose sight of it for one moment. + + “Your Lordship’s obedient servant, + “Moris Klaw.” + + +“You see,” continued Grimsby, “Wednesday the thirteenth is to-morrow, +when the thing is being brought to Moorgate Street. Naturally, Sir +Michael communicated with the Yard, and as I’m in the know about Moris +Klaw, I got the job of looking into the matter. I was at the Mansion +House this morning.” + +“I suppose Sir Michael regards this note with suspicion?” + +“Well, he’s not silly enough to suppose that anybody who thought of +stealing the diamond would drop him a line advising him of the matter! +But he’d never heard of Moris Klaw until I explained about him. When I +told him that Klaw had a theory about the Cycle of Crime, and his +letter probably meant that, according to said theory, on Wednesday the +thirteenth the Blue Rajah was due to be lifted, so to speak, he +laughed. You’ll have noticed that people mostly laugh at first about +Moris Klaw?” + +“Certainly. You did, yourself!” + +“I know it--and I’m suffering for it! Klaw won’t lift his little +finger when I ask him; and as for his daughter, she giggles as though +she was looking at a comedian when she looks at _me!_ She thinks I’m +properly funny!” + +“You’ve been to Wapping, then?” + +“Yes, this afternoon. The Lord Mayor wanted a lot of convincing that +Moris Klaw was on the straight after I’d told him that the old +gentleman was a dealer in curios in the East End. Finally, he +suggested that I should find out what the warning meant exactly. But I +couldn’t get to see Klaw; his daughter said he was out.” + +“I suppose every precaution will be taken?” + +“To-morrow morning we have arranged that I and two other C.I.D. men +are to accompany the party to the safe deposit vaults to fetch the +diamond and we shall guard it on the way back afterward.” + +“Who’s going to fetch it?” + +“Sir John Carron, representing the India Office, Mr. Mark +Anderson--the expert--representing the city, and Mr. Gautami Chinje, +representing the Gaekwar of Nizam. I was wondering”--he surveyed the +burning end of his cigarette--“if you had time to run down to Wapping +yourself and find out from what direction we ought to look for +trouble?” + +“Sorry, Grimsby,” I replied; “I would do it with pleasure, but my +evening is fully taken up. Personally, it appears to me that Moris +Klaw’s warning was a timely one. You seem to be watching the stone +pretty closely.” + +“Like a cat watches a mouse!” he rapped. “If any one steals the Blue +Rajah to-morrow, he’ll be a clever fellow.” + + + II + +Basinghall House, Moorgate Street, is built around a courtyard. You +enter under an archway, and find offices before you, offices to right +and offices to left. As a matter of fact, Basinghall House was +designed for a hotel, but subsequently let off in suites of chambers. +The offices of Messrs. Anderson & Brothers are on the left, as you +enter, and from the window of the principal’s sanctum you may look +down into the courtyard. + +The room chosen for the meeting on Wednesday morning, however, was one +opening off this. In common with the adjoining office--as I have said, +that of the principal--it had a second door, opening on a corridor. +This latter door, however, was never used and was always kept +double-locked. Thus, the doorway from the other office was really its +only means of entrance or egress. A large window offered a prospect of +the courtyard. + +At a quarter to eleven on Wednesday morning, Mr. Anderson (one of the +City Aldermen) entered his own private office from the corridor. He +was accompanied by Sir John Carron, Mr. Gautami Chinje, and Inspector +Grimsby. These three had come with him from the safe deposit vaults. +Mr. Anderson had possession of the case containing the diamond. + +In the office, already awaiting the party, were Sir Michael Cayley +(the Lord Mayor); Mr. Morrison Dell, of the Goldsmiths & Silversmiths +Company; Sir Vernon Rankin (ex-Lord Mayor); Mr. Werner, of the great +engineering firm; and Mr. Anderson, junior. These constituted the +Presentation Committee duly appointed by the City of London +(excluding, of course, Sir John Carron, of the India Office; Mr. +Chinje, representing the vendor of the jewel; and Mr. Grimsby, +representing New Scotland Yard). + +“We are all present, gentlemen,” said Mr. Anderson. “But before we +proceed to the business which brings us here, we will enter the inner +room, where we shall be quite private.” + +Accordingly the party of eight passed through the doorway; and Mr. +Anderson, senior, entering last, relocked the door behind him. +Inspector Grimsby remained alone in the private office. + +Eight oaken chairs and a small oaken table bearing a pewter inkpot, +two pens, and a blotting pad represent, with a square of red carpet +and a framed photograph bearing the legend: “Jagersfontein Diamond +Workings, Orange Free State, 1909,” an inventory of the furniture. + +The company being seated, Mr. Anderson, by the table, rose and said: + +“Gentlemen, our business this morning can be briefly dealt with. I +have here”--he produced a leather case, opened it, and placed it on +the table before him--“the diamond known as the Blue Rajah. Its +history may be summarized thus: It appeared in the year 1680 and is +supposed to have been found in the Kollur Mine, on the Kostna. It had +a weight of 254½ carats in the rough, but was reduced to 132 carats +in the cutting. It has been successively owned by Nadîr Shah, +Princess de Lambelle, the Sultan Abdúl Hámid, Mr. Simon Rabstein of +New York, and, finally, the Gaekwar of Nizam. It has no flaws; in +fact, two of the original facets were retained when the stone passed +through the cutter’s hands. It is rose cut and its colour is of the +finest water, having the rare blue tint.” + +He paused, raising the diamond from its receptacle, and holding it in +his hand. The sunlight, pouring in through the window, struck +flame-spears from the wonderful thing. + +“In fact, gentlemen,” he concluded, “the Blue Rajah is a fitting +offering for the City of London to make to the Crown.” + +“Hear, hear!” chorused the others; and the diamond was passed from +hand to hand. The formal business of making over the stone to the +Committee was then transacted. A huge check was placed in the +pocket-case of Mr. Gautami Chinje, autographs were affixed to two +formidable documents; and the Blue Rajah became the property of the +loyal City of London. + +“You see,” said Sir John Carron, holding the stone daintily between +thumb and forefinger, and pointing, lecturer-fashion, “the diamond is +perfectly proportioned, being a full three fifths as deep as it is +broad.” + +“Quite so,” agreed Mr. Morris Dell, looking over his shoulder. + +“It is the most perfectly proportioned stone I have ever handled, Sir +John,” said the younger Mr. Anderson--and he stood back surveying the +gem with the caressing glance of a connoisseur. + +Sir John turned and tenderly laid the diamond in its case. At which +moment, exactly, arose a blood-curdling scream in the courtyard below. + +“Good Lord!” cried Mr. Werner. “What is that?” + +There was a crowded rush to the window--those in the second rank +peering over the heads and shoulders of those in the first. The horrid +cries continued, in a choking yet shrill crescendo. + +“Ah! God in Heaven! You are killing me! No! No! Mercy!… Mercy!… +Mercy!…” + +“It is someone in the archway,” said Sir Vernon Rankin, excitedly. +“Can any of you see him?” + +No one could, though all craned necks vigorously. + +“Unfortunately, the window cannot be opened,” cried Mr. Anderson. “The +catch has jammed in some way. I am having it removed immediately.” + +The cries ceased. People were running about below, and the blue +uniform of a city constable showed among the group in the archway. + +“I’ll run down and see what has happened,” said Mr. Chinje, stepping +to the door which opened on the corridor. “Hullo! it is locked!” + +Young Mr. Anderson turned to him with a smile. + +“Both doors are locked, Mr. Chinje,” he said. “For the time being we +are virtually prisoners.” + +“Give me the case,” said his father, selecting the key of the door +communicating with his private office. “There is no occasion for +further delay.” + +The Lord Mayor turned from the window, through which he had still been +vainly peering, and stepped to the table. + +“Mr. Anderson!” + +“Yes?” said the latter, glancing back, keys in hand. + +“Have you the diamond?” + +“Certainly not!” + +“Then who has it?” + +No one had it. But the case was empty! + + + III + +Mr. Anderson replaced the keys in his pocket. His ruddy face suddenly +had grown pale. Sir Michael Cayley, the empty case in his hand, stood +staring across the room like a man dazed. Then he forced speech to his +lips. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “since it is physically impossible for the +diamond to have left this room, in this room it must be searched +for--and found. First, is it by any chance upon the floor?” + +A brief examination showed that it was not. + +“Then,” continued Sir Michael, “the painful conclusion is unavoidable +that it is upon someone’s person!” + +An angry murmur arose. Mr. Anderson raised his hand. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “Sir Michael states no more than the fact.” + +And, his face remaining very pale, he removed his coat and waistcoat +and threw them upon the table, emptied his trouser pockets and turned +out the linings. + +“Be good enough to examine them, gentlemen,” he said. + +There was a momentary hesitation; but the Lord Mayor stepped forward +and in a businesslike way examined the contents of the several +pockets. He turned to Mr. Anderson. + +“Thank you,” he said. “If the others are satisfied, I am.” + +There was a murmur of assent; and as the owner of the office picked up +his property, Sir Michael, in turn, submitted himself to examination. +All the others followed suit, without further hesitation. And the +result of the inquiry was _nil_. + +Eight anxious faces surrounded the little table. + +“I suggest,” said Mr. Anderson, quietly, “that we admit the detective +who is in my office. His experience may enable him to succeed where we +have failed.” + +All agreeing, the communicating door was opened. Mr. Anderson, without +quitting the room, called to Inspector Grimsby. The inspector entered. +The door was relocked. + +“Inspector,” said Mr. Anderson, “the diamond is missing!” + +Whereupon Grimsby’s eyes opened widely in amazement. + +“Are you sure, sir?” + +“Unfortunately, I cannot doubt it.” + +“When did you last see it?” + +“At the moment when that uproar broke out below,” said Mr. Dell. + +“Ah,” murmured Grimsby, thoughtfully. “You all rushed to the window, I +expect?” + +“Exactly.” + +“Leaving the diamond on the table?” + +“Yes.” + +“That’s when it was stolen!” + +“Very possibly, Inspector,” said the Lord Mayor, a stoutly built man +with an imperious manner. “But who took it and where did he conceal +it?” + +“You must all submit to be searched, gentlemen!” + +“We have already done so.” + +“I am more used to that sort of thing. Do you all agree to being +searched by me?” + +All did. The previous performance was repeated. Grimsby not only +searched the garments but passed his hands all over the persons of the +eight, even making them open their mouths and tapping at their teeth +with a lead pencil! + +“I did some I.D.B. work in South Africa,” he explained. “It’s +wonderful where a clever man can hide a diamond.” + +But no diamond was found! + +The better to bring home to those who read these records the truly +amazing nature of this circumstance, I will explain again, here, the +construction and furniture of the apartment. + +It was a small room, some fourteen feet by eighteen. It contained +eight oak chairs and an oak table; a red carpet; its walls were +distempered and bare, save for the framed photograph previously +mentioned. The one window was closed and fastened. The door opening on +the corridor was double-locked. Save when it had been opened to admit +Grimsby, the door communicating with the next office had also been +locked throughout the course of the meeting. There was no fireplace. +Ventilation was provided for by a small, square ventilator above the +corridor door. + +Having convinced himself that the diamond was not upon the person of +any one present, Inspector Grimsby took but two or three minutes to +satisfy himself that it was not concealed elsewhere. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, slowly, “the Blue Rajah is not in this room!” + +The Lord Mayor glared. He was a director of the company with which the +diamond was insured. + +“My good man,” he said, “it isn’t humanly possible for +anything--anything--to have gone out of this room since we entered +it!” + +“I’m disposed to agree with you, sir,” replied Grimsby. “But at the +same time I’ll stake my reputation that the diamond isn’t inside these +four walls! Although my search of you gentlemen was a mere formality, +I assure you it was thorough. I’ve searched a few score Kaffirs and I +know my business. As to the room itself, it’s as bare as a drawing +board. A child could find the smallest bead in it inside twenty +seconds. You can take it from me as a stone certainty that the diamond +has gone!” + +“Then we are wasting precious time!” cried Sir Michael. “Commence the +pursuit at once, Inspector!” + +Grimsby’s jaw shot out doggedly. + +“If you could give me a hint where to begin, sir,” he said, “I +shouldn’t waste another second!” + +“Hang it all, that’s your business, my man!” + +“I know it is, sir. But I’m only a poor human policeman, after all. We +sha’n’t gain anything by getting angry, shall we? This room, to all +intents and purposes, is a locked box from which something has been +abstracted without lifting the lid. That’s a conjuring trick, and as +puzzling to me as it is to you.” + +Sir Michael softened. Inspector Grimsby is not a man who can be +browbeaten. + +“Quite right, Inspector,” he said; “I recognize the difficulties. But +this loss is horrible. It reflects upon all of us--all of us. If the +news of this theft leaks out--if the stone cannot be recovered--a +certain stigma--I cannot blind myself to the fact--a certain stigma +will attach to our personal integrity. Clean as our records may be, we +cannot hope to escape it. For God’s sake, Inspector, set your wits to +work.” + +Indeed, those were anxious faces that surrounded the detective. +Suddenly-- + +“Ah!” cried the Lord Mayor, “the man Klaw! On his own showing he knows +something of this matter! Mr. Grimsby----” + +Grimsby held up his hand and nodded. + +“With your permission, gentlemen,” he said, “I will try to get into +communication with Moris Klaw at once.” + +“Good,” said Mr. Anderson; “and meanwhile, whilst we await the result +of your efforts, Inspector, I suggest, in the interests of all, that +we lunch in my office. It may be inconvenient for many of you, but for +my own part I am anxious to remain on these premises until we have +news of the whereabouts of the diamond.” + +The proposal was carried unanimously. No one of those substantial men +of affairs was anxious to lay himself open to the suspicion of having +removed the great Blue Rajah from the office! For, as Sir Michael +quite justly had pointed out, where a diamond worth an emperor’s +ransom is concerned, reputations melt like ice beneath a tropical sun. + +In this way, then, I found myself concerned in the case; for Grimsby +hastened to call me up, begging me to urge the retiring Moris Klaw to +quit his Wapping haunt, to which he clung like Diogenes to his wooden +cavern, and to journey to Moorgate Street. Fortunately, I was in my +rooms, and, willing enough to enjoy an opportunity of studying Klaw at +work, I despatched a district messenger to him, trusting that he would +be at his shop. + +Since evidently he had apprehended that an attempt would be made this +morning, I did not doubt that he would be at home. Indeed, he rang me +up less than half an hour later and arranged to meet me at Mr. +Anderson’s office. + +“I warned him--that Lord Mayor,” came his rumbling continental tones +along the wire, “how he must not let it out of his sight. He ignored +me. So! Ring him up immediately, and tell him to have ready for me hot +black coffee. It stimulates the inner perception when green tea is not +obtainable.” + +Without delay I followed Moris Klaw’s instructions, and then hurried +out and into a cab. My duties, as Klaw’s +biographer--self-appointed--forbade my delaying. + +We arrived at Basinghall House simultaneously. Our cabs drew up one +behind the other. Except for the presence of Inspector Grimsby at the +entrance, there was nothing to show that a stupendous robbery had been +committed there less than an hour before. As I descended, Grimsby ran +and opened the door of the other cab. He offered his hand to the +beautiful girl who was within, according her all the nervous deference +due to a queen. + +And indeed no queen of ancient times could have looked more queenly +than Isis Klaw--no Hatshepsu could have carried herself more regally. +She wore a dark, close-fitting costume and ermine furs. In contrast to +the snowy peltry, her large black eyes and perfect red lips rendered +her a study for the brush of a painter, but, like her Oriental grace, +defied the pen of the scribe. + +Moris Klaw’s daughter, her dazzling beauty enhanced by all the +feminine arts of Paris, was a rare exotic one would not have sought in +the neighbourhood of Wapping Old Stairs. But her father afforded a +contrast at least as singular as her residence. + +Behind this seductive vision he appeared, enveloped in his caped coat, +his yellow bearded face crowned by the brown bowler of Early Victorian +pattern--indeed, apparently of Early Victorian manufacture. He peered +at the taximeter through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. + +“Two and tenpence,” he rumbled, hoarsely. “That meter requires +inspection, my friend. I have watched it popping up those two pennies, +and I have perceived that it does so every time the cab bumps upon a +drain-hole. I am to pay, then, for all the drains between Wapping and +Moorgate Street. Here it is--three shillings. One and fourpence for +the company and one and eightpence for yourself.” + +He turned aside, raising his hat. + +“Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Mr. Grimsby! I shall charge +the City of London one and sixpence for drains. Let us walk on as far +as the courtyard I see yonder, and you shall tell me all the facts +before I interview those others, who will be, of course, so prejudiced +by their misfortune.” + +We passed on, and many a clerkly glance followed the furry figure of +Isis beneath the archway. Hemmed in by offices, a certain quietude +prevailed in the courtyard. + +“It is a chilly morning,” said Moris Klaw; “but here we will stop and +talk.” + +Accordingly Grimsby related the known facts of the case, more often +addressing his story to the girl than to her father. + +“Yes, yes,” growled the latter, when the tale was told; “and this +crying out--this screaming of murder--what occasioned it?” + +“That’s the mystery!” explained the detective. “I wish I had run out +at once. I might have learned something. As it is, all I can find out +amounts to nothing. The clerks and porters and other people who came +flocking to the scene found no one here who knew anything about it!” + +“The screamer was missing, eh?” + +“Vanished! I can’t help thinking it was a ruse; though what anybody +profited by it isn’t clear.” + +“It is not clear, you say?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Ah! you have a fog of +the mentality, my friend!” Grimsby flushed. + +“Of course,” he added, hurriedly, “I can see that it served to divert +the attention of the people who ought to have been guarding the +diamond. But as both the doors and the window were locked, how did it +help to get the stone out of the office?” + +Moris Klaw pulled reflectively at his scanty beard. + +“We shall see,” he rumbled. “Let us ascend.” + +We entered the lift and went up to the office of Messrs. Anderson & +Brothers. The Presentation Committee were awaiting the mysterious +Moris Klaw but had not anticipated a visit from a pretty woman. They +were prepared to adopt toward the man who would seem to have had some +foreknowledge of the robbery a certain attitude of suspicion. It was +amusing to note the change of front when Isis entered. Moris Klaw +singled out the Lord Mayor and the owner of the office with unerring +instinct. He removed his hat. + +“Good morning, Mr. Anderson!” he said. “Good morning, Sir Michael! +Good morning, gentlemen!” + +“This is Mr. Moris Klaw,” explained Grimsby, “and Miss Klaw. Mr. +Searles.” + +Mr. Anderson hastened to place chairs. We became seated. Following a +short interval, Sir Michael Cayley cleared his throat. + +“We are--er--indebted to you, Mr. Klaw,” he began, “for taking this +trouble. But, in view of your note to me----” + +Moris Klaw raised his hand. + +“So simple,” he said, whilst the Committee watched him, puzzled and +surprised--that is, those who were not watching Isis did so. “I have a +library, you understand, of records dealing with such historic gems. +To show you that I have made some study of these matters I will tell +you that the diamond called the Blue Rajah was discovered on the +morning of April the thirteenth, 1680, in the Kollur Mine, and stolen +the same evening!” + +“What is your authority for the exact date, Mr. Klaw?” asked Anderson, +with interest; “and for the statement that the diamond was stolen on +the day of its discovery?” + +“Fact, Mr. Anderson, is my authority,” was the rumbling reply, “and I +can tell you more. The diamond is the birth stone of the month of +April, and this diamond was itself born on the thirteenth of that +month. To illustrate how its history is associated with April, I shall +only tell you of the beautiful and unhappy Marie de Lamballe. This +great diamond was presented to her on the ninth of April, 1790, and +taken from her on the twelfth of April, 1792, after her return from +England, and only six months before her fair head was stuck upon a +pike and held up to the Queen’s window!” + +He paused impressively, waving his long hands in the air. + +“I could recount to you,” he resumed, “many such incidents in the +history of the Blue Rajah--and all took place within a week of its +birthday! What day is to-day?” + +“Why, it’s the thirteenth of April!” said Sir Michael Cayley, with a +start. + +“The thirteenth of April,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “For many years the +diamond has been too closely guarded for any new incident to occur, +but when I learn how to-day it is to be brought here, how many hands +will touch it, how many eyes will look upon it, I know that there is +danger! Its history repeats. These incidents”--again he waved his +hands--“proceed in cycles. I warned you. But it was perhaps +inevitable. The Cycle of Crime is as inevitable and immutable as the +cycle of the ages. Man’s will has no power to check it.” + +Everyone in the room was deeply impressed. Indeed, no one could have +failed to recognize in the speaker a man of powerful mind, one of +penetrating and unusual intellect. + +“Had I had the good fortune to meet you, Mr. Klaw,” said the Lord +Mayor, “I should have attached a greater, and--er--a different, +significance to your note. Your theories are strange ones, but to-day +they have received strange and ample substantiation. I can only +hope--and I do so with every confidence in your great ability”--Moris +Klaw rose and bowed--“that you will be able to recover the diamond +whose loss you so truly predicted.” + +“I will ask you,” replied Moris Klaw, “to have sent in to me the black +coffee. Myself, my daughter, Mr. Searles, and Mr. Grimsby will view +the room from which the robbery took place.” + +“You would wish us to remain here?” asked Mr. Anderson, glancing at +the others. + +“I would so wish it, yes.” + +“I hope, Mr. Klaw,” said Sir Michael Cayley, “that you will not +hesitate to send me an account of your fee and expenditures.” + +“I shall not so hesitate,” replied Moris Klaw. + + + IV + +We entered the small room from which the Blue Rajah had been spirited +away. Grimsby, who was badly puzzled, was evidently glad of Klaw’s +coöperation. Moris Klaw’s letter of warning, leading to the request +for Moris Klaw’s attendance, had enabled the Scotland Yard man to +summon that keen intellect to his aid without compromising his +professional reputation. He would lose no credit that might accrue if +the gem were recovered and, in short, was congratulating himself upon +a diplomatic move. + +“It’s beyond me,” he said, “how the thing was got out of the room. +With this door shut, the window fastened, and the other door +double-locked, as it always is, practically the place is a box.” + +Moris Klaw, from its hiding place in the lining of his hat, took out +the scent spray and squirted verbena upon his face. + +“A box--yes,” he rumbled; “and so stuffy. No air.” + +“There’s no ventilation,” explained Grimsby. “That square hole over +the door is intended for ventilation, but as there’s no corresponding +aperture over the window or elsewhere it’s useless. Anyway, it only +opens on the passage.” + +“Ah. You searched them all quite thoroughly?” + +“Certainly; like Kaffirs. But I didn’t expect to find it.” + +“Blessed is he who expecteth little. Isis, my child, there is someone +knocking.” + +Isis opened the door communicating with Mr. Anderson’s office, and a +boy entered carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cup upon it. + +“Good,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall not sleep in this room, Mr. Searles. +It is difficult to sleep in the morning and I cannot wait for night. I +shall sit here at this table for one hour with my mind a perfect +blank. I shall think of nothing. That is a great art, Mr. Searles--to +think of nothing. Few people but ascetics can do it. Try it for +yourself, and you will find that thinking of trying not to think is +the nearest you will get to it! I shall expose my mind, a sensitive +blank, to the etheric waves created here by mental emotion. + +“I shall secure many alien impressions of horror at finding the Blue +Rajah to be missing. That is unavoidable. But I hope, amongst all +these, to find that other thought-thing--the fear of the robber at the +critical moment of his crime! That should be a cogent and forceful +thought--keener and therefore stronger to survive, because a thought +of danger but of gain, than the thoughts of loss with which this +atmosphere is laden.” + +He stood up, removing his caped coat and revealing the shabby tweed +suit which he wore. A big French knot of black silk looked grotesquely +out of place beneath his yellow face with its edging of toneless +beard. + +“Isis,” he said, “lay my cloak carefully upon that chair by the +window. I will sit there.” + +Grimsby stepped forward to assist. + +“No, no!” said Isis, but smiled enchantingly. “No hand but mine must +touch it until my father has secured his impression!” + +She laid the coat upon the chair, completely covering it; and Moris +Klaw sat down. + +“Another cup of coffee,” he said; and his daughter poured one out and +handed it to him. “This is Java coffee and truly not coffee at all. +There is no coffee but _Mocha_--a thing you English will never learn. +Return in an hour, gentlemen. Isis, ask that no disturbing sound is +allowed within or without. That Committee, it can go home. None of it +has the diamond.” + +“And the other gentlemen?” asked Grimsby. “They’ll be anxious to get +about their business, too. There’s Sir John Carron from the India +Office and Mr. Gautami Chinje--the Gaekwar’s representative.” + +“Of course--certainly,” mused Moris Klaw. “But, of course, too, they +will all be anxious to know immediately the result of my inquiries. +Listen--Mr. Anderson will remain; he can represent the city. Mr. +Chinje, you will perhaps ask him to remain, to represent the +Gaekwar--the vendor; and Sir John Carron, he might be so good. Make +those arrangements, Mr. Grimsby, and let nothing again disturb me.” + +We left him, returning to the outer office. + +Sir John Carron expressed himself willing to remain. + +“If I may use your telephone for a moment, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “I +can put off an engagement.” + +Mr. Chinje had no other engagement, and Mr. Anderson’s duties had +detained him in any event. There was some general, but subdued, +conversation before the rest of the party left; but finally Sir John, +Chinje, Grimsby, Isis Klaw, and myself found ourselves in a waiting +room on the opposite side of the corridor, provided with refreshments, +and the gentlemen of the party with cigars, whilst the hospitable and +deeply anxious Messrs. Anderson piled the table with periodical +literature for our entertainment. + +It was a curious interlude, which I shall always remember. + +Sir John Carron, a tall, bronzed military man, middle-aged and +perfectly groomed, surveyed Isis Klaw through his monocle with +undisguised admiration. She bore this scrutiny with the perfect +composure which was hers, and presently engaged the admiring baronet +in some conversation about India, in which Mr. Chinje presently +joined. Chinje had all the quiet self-possession of a high-caste +Hindu, and his dark handsome face exhibited no signs of annoyance when +Sir John adopted that tone of breezy patronage characteristic of some +Anglo-Indian officers who find themselves in the company of a +well-bred native. Grimsby, with recognition of his social inferiority +written large upon him, smoked, for the most part, in silence--Isis +having given him permission to light up. Seeing his covert glances at +this intimate trio, I ultimately succeeded in making the conversation +a general one, thereby earning the Scotland Yard man’s evident +gratitude. + +“You know, Inspector Grimsby,” said Sir John, “I never was searched +before to-day! But, by Jove, you did it very efficiently! I was +dreadfully tempted to strike you when you calmly turned out my purse! +Your method was far more workmanlike than Sir Michael Cayley’s a few +minutes earlier. He forgot to look in my watch case, but you didn’t!” + +Grimsby smiled. + +“There’s more in a simple thing like searching a man than most people +take into consideration,” he replied. “I’ve known a Kaffir in the +mines who--excuse me, Miss Klaw--wore no more than Adam, to walk off +with stones worth my year’s wages.” + +“I’m prepared to accept your assurance, Inspector,” said Sir John, +“that none of us had the diamond about our persons.” + +“My father has accepted it,” added Isis Klaw; “and that is +conclusive.” + +Which brought us face to face again with the amazing problem that we +were there to solve. How, by any known natural law, had the Blue Rajah +been taken out of the room? None of us could conjecture. That the +detective was hopelessly mystified, his inaction, awaiting the result +of Moris Klaw’s séance, was sufficient proof. I wondered if the +Commissioner would have approved of his passive attitude and entire +dependence upon the efforts of an amateur, yet failed to perceive what +other he could adopt. One thing was certain: if the diamond was +recovered, its recovery would be recorded among Detective-Inspector +Grimsby’s successful cases! And there he sat placidly smoking one of +Mr. Anderson’s habanas. + +At the expiration of the hour specified, Isis Klaw rose and walked +across to Mr. Anderson’s office. Mr. Anderson, his ruddy +face--typically that of a lowland Scot--a shade paler than was its +wont, I fancy, was glancing from his watch to the clock. + +Isis knocked on the inner door, opened it, and entered. Sir John +Carron was watching with intense interest. Mr. Chinje met my glance +and smiled a little sceptically. + +Moris Klaw came out with his caped coat on and carrying his bowler in +his hand. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have secured a mental negative, somewhat +foggy, owing to those other thought forms with which the atmosphere is +laden. But I have identified him--the thief!” + +A sound like a gasp repressed came from somewhere immediately behind +me. I turned. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Anderson, junior, stood at my +elbow; close by were Mr. Chinje, Grimsby, and Sir John Carron. + +“Who snorts?” rumbled Moris Klaw, peering through his pince-nez. + +“Not I,” said Sir John, staring about him. + +We all, in turn, denied having uttered the sound. + +“Then there is in this office a ghost,” declared Klaw, “or a liar!” + +“Excuse me, Mr. Klaw,” began Mr. Anderson, with some heat. + +Moris Klaw raised his hand. His daughter’s magnificent eyes blazed +defiance at us all. + +“No anger,” implored the rumbling voice. “No anger. Anger is a misuse +of the emotions. There are present eight persons here. Someone +snorted. Eight persons deny the snort. It is a ghost or a liar. Am I +evident to you?” + +“Your logic is irrefutable,” admitted the younger Mr. Anderson, +glancing from face to face. “It pains me to have to admit that you are +right!” + +In turn, I examined the faces of those present. Grimsby was a man +witless with wonder. Both the Andersons were embarrassed and angry. +Isis Klaw was scornfully triumphant; her father was, as ever, +nonchalant. Sir John Carron looked ill at ease; Mr. Chinje appeared to +have changed his opinion of the eccentric investigator and now studied +him with the calm interest of the cultured Oriental. + +“I shall now make you laugh,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall tell you what +he was thinking of at the psychological instant--that mysterious +thief. He was thinking of two things. One was a very pretty, fair +young lady, and the other was a funny thing. He was thinking of +throwing twelve peanuts into a parrot’s cage!” + + + V + +There are speeches so entirely unexpected that their effect is +unappreciable until some little time after the utterance. This speech +of Moris Klaw’s was of that description. For some moments no one +seemed to grasp exactly what he had said, simple though his words had +been. Then, it was borne home to us--that grotesque declaration; and I +think I have never seen men more amazed. + +Could he be jesting? + +“Mr. Klaw----” began Sir John Carron. But-- + +“One moment, Sir John,” interrupted Klaw. “Let all remain here for one +moment. I shall return.” + +Whilst we stared, like so many fools, he shuffled from the office with +his awkward gait. During his brief absence no one spoke. We were +restrained, undoubtedly, by the presence of Isis Klaw, who, one hand +upon her hip and with the other swinging her big ermine muff, smiled +at us with a sort of pitying scorn for our stupidity. + +Moris Klaw returned. + +“Let me see,” he rumbled, reflectively, “have you, Sir John Carron or +Mr. Chinje, a specimen of the handwriting of the Gaekwar of Nizam?” + +Chinje and Sir John stared. + +“At the office--possibly,” replied Sir John. + +“I have my instructions, signed by him,” said Mr. Chinje. “But not +here.” + +“At your hotel, yes?” + +“Yes,” replied Chinje, shortly. + +He gave me the impression that he resented Moris Klaw’s catechizing as +that of a fool and an incompetent meddler with affairs of great +importance. + +“Then, gentlemen,” said Klaw, “we must adjourn to examine that +signature.” + +“Really,” the younger Mr. Anderson burst out, “I must protest against +this! You will pardon me, Mr. Klaw; I believe you to be sincere in +your efforts on our behalf, but such an expedition can be no more than +a wild-goose chase! What can the Gaekwar’s signature have to do with +the theft of the diamond?” + +“I will tell you something, my feverish friend,” said Moris Klaw, +slowly. “The Blue Rajah is not on these premises. It is gone! It went +before I came. If it is ever to come back you will put on your hat and +accompany me to examine the signature to Mr. Chinje’s instructions.” + +“I must add my protest to Mr. Anderson’s,” remarked Chinje. “This is +mere waste of time.” + +“Mr. Grimsby,” resumed Klaw, placidly, “it is a case to be hushed up, +this. There must be no arrests!” + +“Eh?” cried Grimsby. + +“Sir John Carron will ring up the Commissioner and he will say that +Detective-Inspector Grimsby has traced the Blue Rajah, which was +stolen, but that, for reasons of state, Detective-Inspector Grimsby +will make a confidential report and no arrest!” + +“Really----” began Sir John. + +“Mr. Klaw,” cried Anderson, interrupting excitedly. “You are jesting +with men who are faced by a desperate position! I ask you, as man to +man, if you know who stole the Blue Rajah and where it is?” + +“I reply,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “that I suspect who stole it, that I am +doubtful how it was stolen, and that when I have examined the +Gaekwar’s signature I may know where it is!” + +His reply had a tone of finality quite unanswerable. His attitude was +that of a stone wall; and he had, too, something of the rugged +strength of such a wall--of a Roman wall, commanding respect. + +Sir John got into communication with the Commissioner, as desired by +Klaw, and we all left the office and went down in the lift to the +hall. + +“Two cabs will be needful,” said Moris Klaw; and two cabs were +summoned. + +Sir John Carron, the Andersons, and Moris Klaw entered one; Isis Klaw, +Grimsby, Chinje, and I the other. + +“The Hotel Astoria,” directed Chinje. + +Throughout the drive to the Strand, Isis chatted to Grimsby, to his +great delight. Mr. Chinje contented himself with monosyllabic replies +to my occasional observations. He seemed to be disgusted with the +manner in which the inquiry was being conducted. When the two cabs +drove into the courtyard of the hotel, the one in which I was seated +followed the other. Mr. Chinje, on my left, descended first, and Moris +Klaw also descended first from the cab in front. As he did so he +stumbled on the step and clutched at Chinje for support. Isis leapt +forward to his assistance. + +“Ah,” growled Klaw, hobbling painfully, and resting one hand upon +Chinje’s shoulder and the other upon his daughter’s. “That foolish +ankle of mine! How unfortunate! An accident, Mr. Chinje, which I met +with in Egypt. I fell quite twenty feet in the shaft of a tomb and +broke my ankle. At the least strain, I suffer yet.” + +“Allow me, Mr. Chinje,” said Grimsby, stepping forward. + +“No, no!” rumbled Klaw. “If you will hand me my hat which I have +dropped, and see that my verbena has not fallen out--thank you--Mr. +Chinje and Isis will be so good as to walk with me to the lift. A few +moments’ rest in Mr. Chinje’s apartments will restore me.” + +This arrangement accordingly was adopted, and we presently came to the +rooms occupied by the Gaekwar’s representative, upon the fourth floor +of the hotel. At the door, Mr. Chinje asked me to take his place +whilst he found his key. + +I did so and Chinje opened the door. To my great surprise he entered +first. To my greater surprise, Moris Klaw, scorning my assistance and +apparently forgetting his injury, rapidly followed him in. The rest of +us flocked behind, possessed with a sense of something impending. We +little knew _what_ impended. + +One thing, as I entered the little sitting room, struck my vision with +a sensation almost of physical shock. It was a large, empty parrot +cage standing on the table! + +I had an impression that Chinje dashed forward in a vain attempt to +conceal the cage ere Moris Klaw entered. I saw, as one sees figures in +a dream, a pretty, fair-haired girl in the room. Then the Hindu had +leapt to an inner door--and was gone! + +“Quick!” cried Klaw, in a loud voice. “The door! The door!” + +He brushed the girl aside with a sweep of his arm and hurled himself +against the locked door. + +“Mr. Grimsby! Mr. Searles! Someone! Help with this door. Isis! hold +her back, this foolish girl!” + +The inner meaning of the scene was a mystery to us all, but the +urgency of Moris Klaw’s instructions brooked no denial. With a shrill +scream the girl threw herself upon him, but Isis, exhibiting +unsuspected strength, drew her away. + +Then Sir John Carron joined Klaw at the door and they applied their +combined weights to the task of forcing it open. + +Once they put their shoulders to it; twice--and there was a sound of +tearing woodwork; a third time--and it flew open, almost precipitating +them both into the room beyond. Hard on the din of the opening rang +the crack of a pistol shot. A wisp of smoke came floating out. + +“Ah, just God!” said Moris Klaw, hoarsely, “we are too late!” + +And, at his words, with a leap like that of a wild thing, the fair +girl broke from Isis, and passing us all, entered the room beyond. +Awed and fearful, we followed and looked upon a pitiful scene. + +Gautami Chinje lay dead upon the floor, a revolver yet between his +nerveless fingers and a red spot in his temple. Beside him knelt the +girl, plucking with both hands at her lower lip, her face as white as +paper and her eyes glaring insanely at the distorted features. + +“Dearest,” she kept whispering, in a listless way, “my dearest--what +is the matter? I have the diamond--I have it in my bag. What is it, my +dearest?” + +We got her away at last. + +“He had only been in London six months,” Moris Klaw rumbled in my ear, +“and you see, she adored him--helped him to steal. It is wonderful, +snake-like, the power of fascination some Hindus have over women--and +always over blondes, Mr. Searles, always blondes. It is a +psychological problem.” + + +So ended the case of the Blue Rajah robbery, one of the most brief in +the annals of Moris Klaw. The great diamond we found in the girl’s +handbag, wrapped in a curious little rubber covering, apparently made +to fit it. + +“You see,” explained Moris Klaw, later, to his wondering audience, +“this girl--I have yet to find out who she is--was perhaps married to +Mr. Chinje. He would, of course, have deserted her directly he +returned to India. But here at the Astoria she was known as Mrs. +Chinje. Who would have been the losers by the robbery? The insurance +company, if I do not mistake the case. For the Gaekwar, through his +representative, Chinje, had the diamond insured for all the time it +was his property and in England, and the Committee had it insured from +the time it became their property. It had become their property. The +Gaekwar would have got his check. He gets it now; it is in Chinje’s +pocket-case. The city would have lost its Blue Rajah, and the +insurance company would have paid the city for the loss! + +“The next office along the corridor from Mr. Anderson’s is the Central +London Electric Lighting Company. Many consumers call. Mrs. Chinje was +not suspected of any felonious purpose when she was seen in that +corridor--and she was seen by a clerk and by an engineer. After my +mental negative had told me of a pretty young lady of whom the thief +thinks at the moment of his theft, I went to inquire--you recall?--if +such a one had been seen near the office. + +“From the first my suspicions are with Chinje. The emotions have each +a note, distinct, like the notes of a piano, though only audible to +the trained mind. Both Isis and myself detect from Chinje the note of +_fear_. I arrange, then, that he remains. My talk of examining the +Gaekwar’s writing is a ruse. It is Chinje’s apartment and the fair +lady I expect to find there that I am anxious to see. + +“Then, in spite that he is the most cool of us all, I see that he +suspects me and I have to hold him fast; for, if he could have got +first to his room and hidden the parrot cage, where had been our +evidence? Indeed, only that I have the power to secure the astral +negative, there had been no evidence at all. There is a third +accomplice--him who howled in the courtyard; but I fear, as he so +cleverly vanished, we shall never know his name. + +“And how was it done, and why did this someone howl?” + +Moris Klaw paused and looked around. We awaited his next words in +tense silence. + +“He howled because Chinje had looked out from the window (which, +though hidden, the howler was watching) and made him some signal. The +signal meant: ‘The Blue Rajah has been placed upon the table--_howl!_’ + +“The one below obeyed, and the Committee, like foolish sheep--yes, +gentlemen, like no-headed cattle things!--flocked to the window. But +Chinje did not flock with them! Like a deft-handed conjurer he was at +the table, the diamond was in the little rubber purse held ready, and +Mrs. Chinje, with her large handbag open, was waiting outside the +door, in the corridor, like some new kind of wicket-keeper. Chinje +tossed the diamond through the little square ventilator! + +“He had been practising for weeks--ever since he knew that the +Committee would meet in that room--tossing peanuts into the square +opening of a parrot cage, placed at the same height from the floor as +the ventilator over Mr. Anderson’s doorway! He had practised until he +could do it twelve times without missing. He had nerves like piano +wires, yet he was a deadly anxious man; and he knew that a woman +cannot catch! + +“But she caught--or, if she dropped it, no one saw her pick it up. + +“Gentlemen, these Hindus are very clever, but talking of their +cleverness makes one very thirsty. I think I heard Mr. Anderson make +some cooling speech about a bottle of wine!” + + + + + SIXTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE WHISPERING POPLARS + + I + +One afternoon Moris Klaw walked into my office and announced that +“owing to alterations” he had temporarily suspended business at the +Wapping emporium, and thus had found time to give me a call. I always +welcomed a chat with that extraordinary man, and although I could +conceive of no really useful “alteration” to his unsavoury +establishment other than that of setting fire to it, I made no +inquiries, but placed an easy chair for him and offered a cigar. + +Moris Klaw removed his caped overcoat and dropped it upon the floor. +Upon this sartorial wreckage he disposed his flat-topped brown bowler +and from it extracted the inevitable scent spray. He sprayed his +dome-like brow and bedewed his toneless beard with verbena. + +“So refreshing,” he explained; “a custom of the Romans, Mr. Searles. +It is a very warm day.” + +I admitted that this was so. + +“My daughter Isis,” continued Klaw, “has taken advantage of the +alterations and decorations to run over so far as Paris.” + +I made some commonplace remark, and we drifted into a conversation +upon a daring robbery which at that time was flooding the press with +copy. We were so engaged when, to my great surprise (for I had thought +him at least a thousand miles away), Shan Haufmann was announced. As +my old American friend entered, Moris Klaw modestly arose to depart. +But I detained him and made the two acquainted. + +Haufmann hailed Klaw cordially, exhibiting none of the ill-bred +surprise which so often greeted my eccentric acquaintance of singular +aspect. Haufmann had all that bonhomie which overlooks the clothes and +welcomes the man. He glanced apologetically at his right hand which +hung in a sling. + +“Can’t shake, Mr. Klaw,” said the big American, a good-humoured smile +on his tanned, clean-shaven face. “I stopped some lead awhile back and +my right is still off duty.” + +Naturally I was anxious at once to know how he had come by the hurt; +and he briefly explained that in the discharge of certain official +duties he had run foul of a bad gang, two of whom he had been +instrumental in convicting of murder, whilst the third had shot him in +the arm and escaped. + +“Three dagoes,” he explained, in his crisply picturesque fashion, +“--been wanted for years. Helped themselves to a bunch of my colts +this fall; killed one of the boys and left another for dead. So I went +after them hot and strong. We rounded them up on the Mexican border +and got two--Schwart Sam and one of the Costas; but the younger +Costa--we call him Corpus Chris--broke away and found me in the elbow +with a lump of lead!” + +“So you’ve come for a holiday?” + +“Mostly,” replied Haufmann. “Greta hustled me here. She got real ill +when I said I wouldn’t come. So we came! I’m centring in London for +six months. Brought the girls over for a look round. I’m not stopping +at a hotel. We’ve rented a house a bit outside; it’s Lal’s idea. +Settled yesterday. All fixed. Expect you to dinner to-night! You, too, +Mr. Klaw! Is it a bet?” + +Moris Klaw was commencing some sort of a reply, but what it was never +transpired, for Haufmann, waving his sound hand cheerily, quitted the +office as rapidly as he had entered, calling back: + +“Dine seven-thirty. Girls expecting you!” + +That was his way; but so infectious was his real geniality that few +could fail to respond to it. + +“He is a good fellow, that Mr. Haufmann,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Yes, I +love such natures. But he has forgotten to tell us where he lives!” + +It was so! Haufmann in his hurry and impetuosity had overlooked that +important matter; but I thought it probable that he would recall the +oversight and communicate, so prevailed upon Klaw to remain. At last, +however, I glanced at my watch, and found it to be nearly six o’clock, +whereupon I looked blankly at Moris Klaw. That eccentric shrugged his +shoulders and took up the caped coat. Then the ’phone bell rang. It +was Haufmann. + +I was glad to hear his familiar accent as he laughingly apologized for +his oversight. Rapidly he acquainted me with the whereabouts of The +Grove--for so the house was called. + +“Come now,” he said. “Don’t stop to dress; you’ve only just got time,” +and rang off. + +I thought Moris Klaw stared oddly through his pince-nez when I told +him the address, but concluded, as he made no comment, that I had been +mistaken. There was just time to catch our train, and from the station +where we alighted it was only a short drive to the house. Haufmann’s +car was waiting for us, and in less than three quarters of an hour +from our quitting the Strand, we were driving up to The Grove, through +the most magnificent avenue of poplars I had ever seen. + +“By Jove!” I cried, “what fine trees!” + +Moris Klaw nodded and looked around at the towering trunks with a +peculiar expression, which I was wholly at a loss to account for. +However, ere I had leisure to think much about the matter, we found +ourselves in the hall, where Haufmann and his two fascinating +daughters were waiting to greet us. I do not know which of the girls +looked the more charming: Lilian with her bright mass of curls and +blue eyes dancing with vivacity, or Greta in her dark and rather +mystic beauty. At any rate, they were dangerous acquaintances for a +susceptible man. Even old Moris Klaw showed unmistakably that his mind +was not so wholly filled with obscure sciences as to be incapable of +appreciating the society of a pretty woman. + +Greta I noticed looking thoughtfully at him, and during dinner she +suddenly asked him if he had read a book called “Psychic Angles.” + +Rather unwillingly, as it seemed to me, Klaw admitted that he had, and +the girl displayed an immediate and marked interest in psychical +matters. Klaw, however, though usually but too willing to discuss +this, his pet subject, foiled her attempt to draw him into a technical +discussion and rather obviously steered the conversation into a more +general channel. + +“Don’t let her get away on the bogey tack, Mr. Klaw,” said Haufmann, +approvingly. “She’s a perfect demon for haunted chambers and so on.” + +Laughingly the girl pleaded guilty to an interest in ghostly subjects. +“But I’m not frightened about them!” she added, in pretended +indignation. “I should just love to see a ghost.” + +“Oh, Greta!” cried her sister. “What a horrid idea.” + +“You have perhaps investigated cases yourself, Mr. Klaw?” asked Greta. + +“Yes,” rumbled Klaw, “perhaps so. Who knows?” + +Since he thus clearly showed his wish to drop the subject, the girl +made a little humorously wry face, whereat her father laughed +boisterously; and no more was said during the evening about ghosts. I +could not well avoid noticing two things, however, in regard to Moris +Klaw: one, his evident interest in Greta; and the other, a certain +preoccupation which claimed him every now and again. + +We left at about ten o’clock, declining the offer of the car, as we +had ample time to walk to the station. Haufmann wanted to come along, +but we dissuaded him, with the assurance that we could find the way +without any difficulty. Klaw, especially, was very insistent on the +point, and when at last we swung sharply down the avenue and, rounding +the bend, lost sight of the house, he pulled up and said: + +“For this opportunity, Mr. Searles, I have been waiting. It may not, +of course, matter, but this house where the good Haufmann resides was +formerly known as The Park.” + +“What of that?” I asked, turning on him sharply. + +“It is,” he replied, “celebrated as what foolish people call a haunted +house. No doubt that is the reason why the name has been changed. As +The Park it has been dealt with many times in the psychical journals.” + +“The Park,” I mused. “Is it not included in that extraordinary work on +the occult--‘Psychic Angles’--of which Miss Haufmann spoke +to-night--the place where the monk was supposed to have been murdered, +where an old antiquary died, and some young girl, too, if I remember +rightly?” + +“Yes,” replied Moris Klaw, “yes. I will tell you a secret. ‘Psychic +Angles’ is a little book of my own, and so, of course, I know about +this place.” + +His words surprised me greatly, for the book was being generally +talked about. He peered around him into the shadows and seemed to +sniff the air suspiciously. + +“Setting aside the question of any supernatural menace,” I said, +“directly the servants find out, as they are sure to do from others in +the neighbourhood, they will leave _en bloc_. It is a pleasant way +servants have in such cases.” + +“We must certainly tell him, the good Haufmann,” agreed Klaw, “and he +will perhaps arrange to quit the place without letting the ladies to +know of its reputation. That Miss Greta she has the sympathetic +mind”--he tapped his forehead--“the plate so sensitive, the photo film +so delicate! For her it is dangerous to remain. There is such a thing, +Mr. Searles, as sympathetic suicide! That girl she is mediumistic. +From The Park she must be removed.” + +“There is no time to lose,” I said. “We must decide what to do +to-night. Suppose you come along to my place?” + +Moris Klaw agreed, and we resumed our walk through the poplar grove. + +Although the night was very still, an eerie whispering went on without +pause or cessation along the whole length of the avenue. Against the +star-spangled sky the tall trees reared their shapes in a manner +curiously suggestive of dead things. Or this fancy may have had birth +in the associations of the place. It was a fatally easy matter +mentally to fashion one of the poplars into the gaunt form of a monk; +and no one, however unimaginative, being acquainted with the history +of The Grove, could fail to find, in the soft and ceaseless voices of +the trees, something akin to a woman’s broken sighs. In short, I was +not sorry when the gate was passed, and we came out upon the high +road. + +Later, seated in my study, we discussed the business thoroughly. From +my bookcase I took down “Psychic Angles” and passed it to Moris Klaw. + +“There we are,” he rumbled, turning over the leaves. I read: “On +August 8, 1858, a Fra Giulimo, of a peculiar religious brotherhood who +occupied this house from 1851 to 1858, was found strangled at the foot +of a poplar close by the entrance gate.” “I could never find out much +about them, this brotherhood,” he added, looking up; “but they were, I +believe, decent people. They left the place almost immediately after +the crime. No arrest was ever made. Then”--referring to the +book--“‘about the end of February or early in the March of 1863, a Mr. +B---- J---- took the house. He was an antiquarian of European repute +and a man of retired habits. With only two servants--an old soldier +and his wife--he occupied The Park’--that is The Grove--‘from the +spring of ’63 to the autumn of ’65.’ Then follow verbatim reports by +the well-known Pepley of interviews with people who had heard Mr. +J---- declare that a hushed voice sometimes called upon him by name in +the night, from the poplar grove. Also, an interview with his +manservant and with wife of latter, corroborating other statements. +Mr. B---- J---- was found one September morning dead in the grove. +Cause of death never properly established. The house next enters upon +a period of neglect. It is empty; it is shunned. From ’65 right up to +’88 it stood so empty. It was then taken by a Mr. K----; but he only +occupied it for two months, this K----. Three other tenants +subsequently rented the place. Only one of them actually occupied +it--for a week; the other, hearing, we presume, of its evil repute, +never entered into residence. Seventeen years ago the last tragedy +connected with the unpleasant Grove took place. An eccentric old +bachelor took the house, and, in the summer of ’03, had a niece there +to stay with him. The evidence clearly indicates to me that this +unhappy one was highly neurotic--oh, clearly; so that the tragedy +explains itself. She fell, or sprang, from her bedroom window to the +drive one night in June, and was picked up quite dead at the foot of +the first poplar in the grove. _Sacré!_ it is a morgue, that house!” + +He returned the book and sat watching me in silence for some moments. + +“Did you spend any time in the house, yourself?” I asked. + +“On four different occasions, Mr. Searles! It is only from certain of +the rooms that the whispering is audible, and then only if the windows +are open. You will notice, though, that all the tragedies occurred in +the warm months when the windows would be so open.” + +“Did you note anything supernormal in this whispering?” + +“Nothing. You have read my explanation.” + + + II + +Haufmann looked rather blank when we told him. + +“Just my luck!” he commented. “Greta’s read your book, Mr. Klaw, and +if she hasn’t fixed it yet she’s sure to come to it that The Park and +The Grove are one and the same. It was largely because of her I +arranged this trip,” he added. “The trouble I’ve told you about got on +her nerves and she had the idea some guy was tracking her around. The +medicos said it was a common enough symptom and ordered a change. +Anyhow, I quitted, to give her a chance to tone up. Confound this +business!” + +He ultimately left quite determined to change his place of residence. +But so averse was his practical mind from the idea of inconveniencing +oneself on such ghostly grounds, that two weeks slipped by, and still +the Haufmanns occupied The Grove. The decoration of Moris Klaw’s +establishment being presumably still in progress, Klaw accompanied me +on more than one other occasion to visit Shan Haufmann and the girls. +At last, one afternoon, Greta asked him point-blank if he thought the +house to be that dealt with in “Psychic Angles.” + +Of course, he had to admit that it was so; but far from exhibiting any +signs of alarm, the girl appeared to be delighted. + +“How dense I have been!” she cried. “I should have known it from the +description! As a matter of fact, I might never have found out, but +this morning the servants resigned unanimously!” + +Klaw looked at me significantly. All was befalling as we had foreseen. + +“They told you, then!” he said. “Yes? No?” + +“They said the house was haunted,” she replied, “but they didn’t seem +to know much more about it. That simple fact was enough for them!” + +Haufmann came in and in answer to our queries declared himself +helpless. + +“Lal and Greta won’t quit,” he declared; “so what’s to do? I’ve cabled +for servants from home. Meanwhile, we’re at the mercy of day girls and +charwomen!” + +The concern evinced by Moris Klaw was very great. He seized an early +opportunity of taking Haufmann aside and questioning him relative to +the situation of the rooms occupied by the family. + +“My room overlooks the avenue,” replied Haufmann, “and so does +Greta’s. Lal’s is on the opposite side. Come up and see them!” + +Klaw and I accompanied him. It was a beautiful clear day, and from his +window we gazed along the majestic ranks of poplars, motionless as a +giant guard, in the still summer air. It was difficult to conjure up a +glamour of the uncanny, with the bright sunlight pouring gladness upon +trees, flowers, shrubs, and lawn. + +“This is the room from which the whisper is the most clearly audible!” +said Moris Klaw. “I could tell you--ah! I spent several nights here!” + +“The devil you did,” rapped Haufmann. “I must sleep pretty soundly. +I’ve never heard a thing. Greta’s room is next on the right. She has +said nothing.” + +Klaw looked troubled. + +“There is no sound unusual to hear,” he answered. “I quite convinced +myself of that. But it is the tradition that speaks, Mr. Haufmann! In +those silent watches, even so insensible an old fool as I can imagine +almost anything, aided by such gruesome memories. Excepting the monk, +who probably fell foul of a prowler thief, the tragedies are easily to +be explained. The old antiquarian died of syncope, and the poor girl, +in all probability, fell from the balcony in her sleep. She had a +tremendously neurotic temperament.” + +“It’s bad, now Greta knows,” mused Haufmann. “Her nerves are all +unstrung. It’s just the thing I wanted to avoid!” + +“Can’t you induce her at any rate to change her room?” I suggested. + +“No! She’s as obstinate as a pony! Her poor mother was the same. It’s +the Irish blood!” + +Such was the situation when we left. No development took place for a +couple of days or so, then that befell which we had feared and half +expected. + +Haufmann walked into my office with: + +“It’s started! Greta says she hears it every night!” + +Prepared though I had been for the news, his harshly spoken words sent +a cold shudder through me. + +“Haufmann!” I said, sternly. “There must be no more of this. Get the +girls away at once. On top of her previous nerve trouble this morbid +imagining may affect her mind.” + +“You haven’t heard me out,” he went on, more slowly than was his wont. +“You talk of morbid imagining. What about this: _I’ve_ heard it!” + +I stared at him blankly. + +“That’s one on you!” he said, with a certain grim triumph. “After +Greta said there was something came in the night that wasn’t trees +rustling, I sat up and smoked. First night I read and nothing +happened. Next night I sat in the dark. There was no breeze and I +heard nothing for my pains. Third night I stayed in the dark again, +and about twelve o’clock a breeze came along. All mixed up with the +rustling and sighing of the leaves I heard a voice calling as plain as +I ever heard anything in my life! And it called _me!_” + +“Haufmann!” + +“It blame-well called _me!_ I’d take my oath before a jury on it!” + +“This is almost incredible!” I said. “I wish Moris Klaw were here.” + +“Where is he?” + +“He is in Paris. He will be away over the week-end.” + +“I met a man curiously enough,” continued Haufmann, “just outside the +Charing Cross Tube, on my way here, who’s coming down to have a look +into the business--a hot man on mysteries.” He mentioned the name of a +celebrated American detective agency. “I’m afraid it’s right outside +his radius, but he volunteered and I was glad to have him. I’d like +Klaw down though.” + +“What about the girls?” + +“I was going to tell you. They’re at Brighton for a while. Greta +didn’t want to quit, but poor Lal was dead scared! Anyway, I got them +off.” + +The uncanny business claimed entire possession of my mind, and further +work was out of the question. I accordingly accompanied Haufmann to +the hotel where the detective was lodged and made the acquaintance of +Mr. J. Shorter Ottley. He was a typical New Yorker, clean-shaven and +sallow complexioned with good gray eyes and an inflexible mouth. + +“We don’t deal in ghosts!” he said, smilingly; “I never met a ghost +that couldn’t stop a bullet if it came his way!” + +“I’ll make a confession to you,” remarked Haufmann. “When I heard that +soft voice calling, I hadn’t the sand to go and look out! How’s that +for funk?” + +“Not funk at all,” replied Ottley, quietly. “Maybe it was wisdom!” + +“How do you mean?” + +“I’ve got an idea about it, that’s all. Did Miss Haufmann hear it the +same night?” + +“Not the same night I did--no. She seems to have dozed off.” + +“When she _did_ hear it, was it calling you?” + +“She couldn’t make out what it called!” + +“Did she go to the window?” + +“Yes, but she only looked out from behind the blind.” + +“See anything?” + +“No.” + +“I should have very much liked an interview with her,” said Ottley, +thoughtfully. + +“She could tell you no more than I have.” + +“About that, no! There’s something else I would like to ask her.” + +That evening we all three dined at The Grove, dinner being prepared by +a woman who departed directly we were finished. A desultory game of +billiards served to pass the time between twilight and darkness, and +the detective and I departed, leaving Haufmann alone in the house. +This was prearranged by Ottley, who had some scheme in hand. Side by +side we tramped down the poplar avenue, went out by the big gate, and +closed it behind us. We then skirted the grounds to a point on the +side opposite the gate, and, scaling the wall, found ourselves in a +wilderness of neglected kitchen garden. Through this the American +cautiously led the way toward the house, visible through the tangle of +bushes and trees in sharp silhouette against the sky. On all fours we +crossed a little yard and entered a side door which had been left ajar +for the purpose, closing it softly behind us. So, passing through the +kitchen, we made our way upstairs and rejoined Haufmann. + +A post had been allotted to me in the room next to his and I was +enjoined to sit in the dark and watch for anything moving among the +trees. Haufmann departed to a room on the west front with similar +injunctions, and the detective remained in Haufmann’s room. + +As I crept cautiously to the window, avoiding the broad moonbeam +streaming in, I saw a light on my left. Ottley was acting as Haufmann +would have done if he had been retiring for the night. Three minutes +later the light vanished, and the nervous vigil was begun. + +There was very little breeze, but sufficient to send up and down the +poplar ranks waves of that mysterious whispering which Klaw and I had +previously noted. The moon, though invisible from that point, swam in +an absolutely cloudless sky, and the shadow of the house lay black +beneath me, its edge tropically sharp. A broad belt of moon-bright +grass and gravel succeeded, and this merged into the light-patched +gloom of the avenue. On the right of the poplars lay a shrubbery, and +beyond that a garden stretching to the east wall. Just to the left, an +outbuilding gleamed whitely. Some former occupant had built it for a +coach house and it now housed Haufmann’s car. The apartments above +were at present untenanted. + +I cannot say with certainty when I first detected, mingled with the +whistling of the branches, something that was not caused by the wind. +But ultimately I found myself listening for this other sound. With my +eyes fixed straight ahead and peering into the shadows of the poplars +I crouched, every nerve at high tension. A slight sound on my left +told of a window softly opened. It was Ottley creeping out on to the +balcony. He, too, had heard it! + +Then, with awful suddenness, the inexplicable happened. + +A short, shrill cry broke the complete silence, succeeding one of +those spells of whispering. A shot followed hot upon it--then a +second. Somebody fell with a muffled thud upon the drive--and I leapt +to the window, threw it widely open, and stepped out on the balcony. + +“Ottley!” I cried. “Haufmann!” + +A door banged somewhere and I heard Haufmann’s muffled voice: + +“Downstairs! Come down!” + +I ran across the room, out on to the landing, and down into the hall. +Haufmann was unfastening the bolts. His injured arm was still stiff, +and I hastened to assist him. + +“My God!” he cried, turning a pale face toward me. “It’s Ottley gone! +Did you see anything?” + +“No! Did you?” + +“Curse it! No! I had just slipped away from the window to get my +repeater! You heard the voice?” + +“Clearly!” + +The door was thrown open and we ran out into the drive. + +There was no sign of Ottley, and we stood for a moment, undecided how +we should act. Then, just inside the shadow belt we found the +detective lying. + +Thinking him dead, we raised and dragged him back to the house. Having +refastened the door, we laid him on a sofa in the morning room. His +face was deathly and blood flowed from a terrible wound on his skull. +Strangest of all, though, he had a gaping hole just above the right +wrist. The skin about it was discoloured as if with burning. Neither +of us could detect any sign of life, and we stood, two frankly +frightened men, looking at each other over the body. + +“It’s got to be done!” said Haufmann, slowly. “One of us has to stay +here and do what he can for him, and one has to go for a doctor! +There’s no telephone!” + +“Where’s the nearest doctor?” I asked. + +“There’s one at the corner of the first road on the right.” + +“I’ll go!” I said. + +Without shame I confess that from the moment the door closed behind +me, I ran my hardest down the poplar avenue until I had passed the +gate! And it was not anxiety that spurred me, for I did not doubt that +Ottley was dead, but stark fear! + + + III + +Moris Klaw deposited a large grip and a travelling rug upon the +veranda. + +“Good day, Mr. Haufmann! Good day, Mr. Searles!” At an open window the +white-aproned figure of a nurse appeared. “Good day, Nurse! I am +direct from Paris. This is a case which cannot be dealt with under the +head of the Cycle of Crime, and I do not think it has any relation +with the history of The Park. But thoughts are things, Mr. Haufmann. +How helpful that is!” + +Forty-eight hours had elapsed since Haufmann and I had picked up +Ottley for dead in the poplar avenue. Now he lay in a bed made up in +the billiard room hovering between this world and another. I had a +shrewd suspicion that the doctor who attended him was mystified by +some of the patient’s symptoms. + +Haufmann stared oddly at Moris Klaw, not altogether comprehending the +drift of his words. + +“If only Ottley could tell us!” he muttered. + +“He will tell us nothing for many a day,” I said; “if, indeed, he ever +speaks again.” + +“Ah,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “to _me_ he will speak! How? With the +mind! Something--we have yet to learn what--struck him down that +night. The blow, if it was a blow, made so acute an impression upon +his brain that no other has secured admittance yet! Good! That blow, +it still resides within his mind. To-night I shall sleep beside his +bed. I shall be unable odically to sterilize myself, but we must hope. +From amid the phantasms which that sick brain will throw out upon the +astral film--upon the surrounding ether--I must trust that I find the +thought, the last thought before delirium came!” + +Haufmann looked amazed. I had prepared him, to some extent, for Klaw’s +theories, but, nevertheless, he was tremendously surprised. Klaw, +however, paid no attention to this. He looked around at the trees. + +“I am glad,” he rumbled, impressively, “that you managed to hush up. +Distinctly, we have now a chance.” + +“A chance of what?” I cried. “The thing seems susceptible of no +ordinary explanation! How can you account for what happened to Ottley +and for his condition? What incredible thing came out from the +poplars?” + +“No thing!” answered Moris Klaw. “No thing, my good friend!” + +“Then what did he fire at?” + +“At the coach house!” + +I met the gaze of his peculiar eyes, fixed upon me through the +pince-nez. + +“If you will look at the coach-house chimney,” he continued, “you will +see it--the hole made by his bullet!” + +I turned quickly, and even from that considerable distance the hole +was visible; a triangular break on the red-tiled rim. + +“What on earth does it mean?” I asked, more hopelessly mystified than +ever. + +“It means that Ottley is a clever man who knows his business; and it +means, Mr. Searles, that we must take up this so extraordinary affair +where the poor Ottley dropped it!” + +“What do you propose?” + +“I propose that you invite yourself to a few days’ holiday, as I have +done. You stay here. Do not allow even the doctor to know that you are +in the house. The nurse you will have to confide in, I suppose. Mr. +Haufmann”--he turned to the latter--“you will occupy your old room. Do +not, I beg of you, go outside after dusk upon any consideration. If +either of you shall hear it again--the evil whispering--come out by +the front door, and keep in the shadow. Carry no light. Above all, do +not come out upon the balcony!” + +“Then you,” I said, “will be unable to stay?” + +“I shall be so unable,” was the reply; “for I go to Brighton to secure +the interview with Miss Greta which the poor Ottley so much required!” + +“You don’t suggest that she knows----” + +“She knows no more than we do, Mr. Searles! But I think she holds a +clue and does not know that she holds a clue! For an hour I shall +slumber--I who, like the tortoise, know that to sleep is to live--I +shall slumber beside the sick man’s bed. Then, we shall see!” + + + IV + +It was a quarter to seven when Moris Klaw entered the sick room. +Ottley lay in a trance-like condition, and the eccentric investigator, +of whose proceedings the nurse strongly disapproved, settled himself +in a split-cane armchair by the bedside, and waving his hand in +dismissal to Haufmann and myself, placed a large silk handkerchief +over his sparsely covered skull and composed himself for slumber. + +We left him and tiptoed from the room. + +“If you hadn’t told me what he’s done in the past,” whispered +Haufmann, “I should say our old friend was mad a lot!” + +The great empty house was eerily silent, and during the time that we +sat smoking and awaiting the end of Moris Klaw’s singular telepathic +experiment, neither of us talked very much. At eight o’clock the man +whose proceedings savoured so much of charlatanism, but whom I knew +for one of the foremost criminologists of the world, emerged, spraying +his face with verbena. + +“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, coming in to us, “I have recovered some +slight impression”--he tapped his moist forehead--“of that agonizing +thought which preceded the unconsciousness of Ottley. I depart. +Sometime to-night will come Sir Bartram Vane from Half-Moon Street, +the specialist, to confer with the physician who is attending here. +Mr. Searles, remain concealed. Not even he must know of your being +here; no one outside the house must know. Remember my warnings. I +depart.” + +Behind the thick pebbles his eyes gleamed with some excitement +repressed. By singular means, he would seem to have come upon a clue. + +“Good-night, Mr. Haufmann,” he said. “Good-night, Mr. Searles. To the +nurse I have said good-night and she only glared. She thinks I am the +mad old fool!” + +He departed, curtly declining company, and carrying his huge plaid rug +and heavy grip. As his slouching footsteps died away along the avenue, +Haufmann and I looked grimly at each other. + +“Seems we’re left!” said my friend. “You won’t desert me, Searles?” + +“Most certainly I shall not! You are tied here by the presence of poor +Ottley, in any event, and you can rely upon me to keep you company.” + +At about ten o’clock Sir Bartram Vane drove up, bringing with him the +local physician who was attending upon Ottley. I kept well out of +sight, but learnt, when the medical men had left, that the course of +treatment had been entirely changed. + +Thus commenced our strange ordeal; how it terminated you presently +shall learn. + +Moris Klaw, in pursuit of whatever plan he had formed, never appeared +on the scene, but evidence of his active interest reached us in the +form of telegraphic instructions. Once it was a wire telling Haufmann +to detain the American servants in London should they arrive and to go +on living as we were. Again it was a warning not to go out on the +balcony after dusk; and, again, that we should not desert our posts +for one single evening. On the fourth day the doctor pronounced a +slight improvement in Ottley’s condition, and Haufmann determined to +run down to Brighton on the following morning, returning in the +afternoon. + +That night we again heard the voice. + +The house was very still, and Haufmann and I had retired to our rooms, +when I discerned, above the subdued rustling whisper of the leaves, +that other sound that no leaf ever made. In an instant I was crouching +by the open window. A lull followed. Then, again, I heard the soft +voice calling. I could not detect the words, but in obedience to the +instructions of Klaw, I picked up the pistol which I had brought for +the purpose, and ran to the door. The idea that the whispering menace +was something that could be successfully shot at robbed it of much of +its eerie horror, and I relished the prospect of action after the +dreary secret sojourn in the upper rooms of the house. + +I groped my way down to the hall. As we had carefully oiled the bolts, +I experienced no difficulty in silently opening the door. Inch by inch +I opened it, listening intently. + +Again I heard the queer call. + +Now, by craning my neck, I could see the moon-bright front of the +house; and looking upward, I was horrified to see Shan Haufmann, a +conspicuous figure in his light pajama suit, crouching on the balcony! +The moonlight played vividly on the nickelled barrel of the pistol he +carried as he rose slowly to his feet. + +Though I did not know what danger threatened, nor from whence it would +proceed, I knew well that Klaw’s was no idle warning. I could not +imagine what madness had prompted Haufmann to neglect it, and was +about to throw wide the door and call to him, when a series of strange +things happened in bewildering succession. + +An odd _strumming_ sound came from somewhere in the outer darkness. +Haufmann dropped to his knees (I learnt, afterward, that the loose +slippers he wore had tripped him). The glass of the window behind him +was shattered with a great deal of noise. + +A shot!… a spurt of flame in the black darkness of the poplar avenue!… +a shriek from somewhere on the west front… and I ran out on to the +drive. + +With a tremendous crash a bulky form rolled down the sloping roof of +the coach house, to fall with a sickening thud to the ground! + +Then, out into the moonlight, Moris Klaw came running, his yet smoking +pistol in his hand! + +“Haufmann!” he cried, and again, “Haufmann!” + +The big American peered down from the balcony, hauling in something +which seemed to be a line, but which I was unable to distinguish in +the darkness. + +“Good boy!” he panted. “I was a fool to do it! But I saw him lying +behind the chimney and thought I could drop him!” + +Moris Klaw ran, ungainly, across to the coach house and I followed +him. The figure of a tall, lithe man, wearing a blue serge suit, lay +face downward on the gravel. As we turned him over, Haufmann, +breathing heavily, joined us. The moonlight fell on a dark saturnine +face. + +“Gee!” came the cry. “It’s _Corpus Chris!_” + + + V + +“Where did I get hold upon the clue?” asked Moris Klaw, when he, +Haufmann, and I sat, in the gray dawn, waiting for the police to come +and take away the body of Costa. “It was from the brain of Ottley! His +poor mind”--he waved long hands circularly in the air--“goes round and +round about the thing that happened to him on the balcony.” + +“And what was that?” demanded Haufmann, eagerly. “Same as happened to +me?” + +“It was something--something that his knowledge of strange things +tells him is venomous--which struck his wrist as he raised his +revolver! What did he do? I can tell you; because he is doing it over +and over again in his poor feverish mind. He clapped to the injured +wrist the barrel of his revolver and fired! Then, swooning, he toppled +over and fell among the bushes. The wound that so had puzzled all +becomes explained. It was self-inflicted--a precaution--a cauterizing; +and it saved his life. For I saw Sir Bartram Vane to-day and he had +spoken with the other doctor on the telephone. The new treatment +succeeds.” + +“I am still in the dark!” confessed Haufmann. + +“Yes?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “So? Why do I go to Brighton? I go to ask +Miss Greta what Ottley would have asked her.” + +“And that is?” + +“What she feared that made her so very anxious to get you away from +your home. To me she admitted that she had received from the man Costa +impassioned appeals, such as, foolish girl, she had been afraid to +show to you--her father!” + +“Good heavens! the scamp!” + +“The _canaille!_ But no matter, he is dead _canaille!_ After you got +the brother hanged, this Corpus Chris (it was Fate that named him!) +sent to your daughter a mad letter, swearing that if she does not fly +with him, he will kill you if he has to follow you around the world! +Yes, he was insane, I fancy; I think so. But he was a man of very +great culture. He held a Cambridge degree! You did not know? I thought +not. He tracked you to Europe and right to this house. Its history he +learned in some way and used for his own ends. Probably, too, he had +no opportunity of getting at you otherwise, without leaving behind a +clue or being seen and pursued.” + +Moris Klaw picked up an Indian bow which lay upon the floor beside +him. + +“A bow of the Sioux pattern,” he rumbled, impressively. + +He stooped again, picking up a small arrow to which a length of thin +black twine was attached. + +“One standing on the balcony in the moonlight,” he continued, “what a +certain mark if the wind be not too high! And you will remember that +on gently blowing nights the whispering came!” + +He raised the point of the arrow. It was encrusted in some black, +shining substance. Moris Klaw lowered his voice. + +“_Curari!_” he said, hoarsely, “the ancient arrow poison of the South +American tribes! This small arrow would make only a tiny wound, and it +could be drawn back again by means of the twine attached. Costa, of +course, mistook Ottley for you, Mr. Haufmann. Ah, a clever fellow! I +spent three evenings up the second tree in the avenue waiting for him. +I need not have shot him if you had followed my instructions and not +come out on the balcony. We could have captured him alive!” + +“I’m not crying about it!” said Haufmann. + +“Neither do I weep,” rumbled Moris Klaw, and bathed his face with +perfume. “But I loathe it, this _curari_--it smells of death. Ah! the +_canaille!_” + + + + + SEVENTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE CHORD IN G + + I + +It has been suggested to me more than once that the extraordinary +crime which became known throughout the press as the Chelsea studio +murder was the Waterloo of my eccentric friend, Moris Klaw; to which I +reply that, on the contrary, it was his Austerlitz. This prince of +criminologists, some of whose triumphs it has been my privilege to +chronicle, never more dramatically established his theory of what he +termed “Odic negatives” than in his solution of the mystery of the +death of Pyke Webley, the portrait painter. + +His singular power, which I can only term post-telepathy, of +recovering thought-forms from the atmosphere, earned him the derision +of the ignorant, as I have shown, but the grateful appreciation of the +better informed--not least among these, Detective-Inspector Grimsby, +of New Scotland Yard. + +I cannot doubt that the recent experiments of Professor Gilbert Murray +were based upon that law of “psychic angles” laid down by the strange +genius of Wapping Old Stairs. + +During lunch, I had been reading an account of the Chelsea tragedy in +an early edition of the _Evening Standard_, and on returning to my +chambers I found Inspector Grimsby waiting for me. A preamble was +unnecessary. Simple deduction told me why he had come. + +He was in charge of the Chelsea mystery--and out of his depth. + +By several years the youngest detective inspector in the Service, +Grimsby is a man earmarked by nature for constant promotion. He +possesses a gift more precious than genius--the art of _using_ genius; +allied to which he has that knack indispensable to any man who would +succeed--the knack of finding the limelight. Although he may have done +no more than stand in the wings throughout the performance, +Detective-Inspector Grimsby invariably takes the last curtain. + +This is as it should be, and I accord him my respectful admiration. +Therefore, on seeing him: + +“The murder of Pyke Webley?” I said, interrogatively. + +“Well, that’s wonderful!” he declared, trying to look surprised. “I +shall begin to think you are Moris Klaw’s only rival if you spring +things like this on me.” + +“I see,” said I, tossing my paper on the table. “The case is not so +simple as it appears.” + +“Simple!” cried Grimsby. He threw the stump of a vicious-looking +cheroot into my hearth. “Simple? It’s _too_ simple. By which I mean +that there is nothing to work upon--nothing _I_ can see.” + +He stood, his back to the hearth, looking at me appealingly; and: + +“Have you ’phoned to Wapping?” I asked. + +Grimsby nodded. + +“I could get no reply,” he answered gloomily. + +“Then what do you suggest?” + +“Well”--he hesitated--“I know your time is of value, Mr. Searles, but +I was wondering--I have a taxi outside--if you had time to run down to +Moris Klaw’s place with me for a chat?” + +“Why not go alone?” + +“Ah!” He selected a fresh cheroot and made it crackle between finger +and thumb. “His daughter is the snag. She thinks I waste his time. I +doubt if she’d let me see him.” + +“Your own fault,” I said. “She’s a charming girl. You don’t handle her +properly.” + +“Ah!” he repeated, and became silent, fumbling for matches. Finally, +taking pity upon him: + +“Very well,” I agreed, “I have a couple of hours to spare, and if Klaw +takes up the case my time will not be wasted.” + + + II + +“You see,” said Grimsby, plaintively, as the cab threaded dingy +highways, “there is absolutely no motive. Pyke Webley seems to have +been a decent, clean-living man, with absolutely no vices as far as I +can gather. Of course, I have tried to find a woman in the case, but +the only women I’ve found are heartbroken about his death. A most +popular chap. Revenge is out of the question; robbery is out of the +question; and I’d take my oath that jealousy is out of the question. +So what am I to make of it?” + +“He was strangled?” + +“Yes.” Grimsby nodded. “By a very powerful man. His face is horrible +to see, and there are blue weals on his neck where the strangler’s +fingers bit into the flesh.” + +“Who saw him last, alive?” + +“The door-keeper of the Ham Bone Club,” came the answer, promptly. “He +dined there, stayed an hour talking to friends and then went out, +saying that he had work to do at his studio. The studio is separated +from the house by a small garden and can be entered direct from a side +entrance. There are only two servants--he was a bachelor--a cook +general and a man who has been with him for years. Neither of them +heard him come into the house, so that we presume he went straight +into the studio. Early this morning a charwoman, who comes daily, +finding the studio door locked (I mean the one that opens on the +garden) reported this to Parker (that’s the man’s name) and he came +down with the key.” + +“But,” I interrupted, “Parker must surely have known before this that +his master was not in the house?” + +“No!” Grimsby shook his head emphatically. “Mr. Webley often worked +late and Parker had orders never to disturb him until his bell rang.” + +“I see,” said I. “So they unlocked the studio----” + +“Yes,” Grimsby went on, “and found him there--lying strangled on the +floor.” + +“How long had he been dead?” + +“Well, the police surgeon says several hours. Everything points to the +fact that it happened shortly after he entered the place.” + +“Someone may have been concealed there,” I suggested. + +“God knows!” Grimsby muttered. “I can’t find a thing to work upon. And +in a case like this the first twelve hours are important. But here we +are,” he added, nervously. + +At the head of that blind alley which shelters the +all-but-indescribable establishment of Moris Klaw, we directed the +taxi man to wait. This was a foggy afternoon and only dimly could we +discern the lights in front of the shop. A chill in the atmosphere +told of the nearness of old Father Thames, and as we approached that +stacked-up lumber which represented the visible stock-in-trade of the +proprietor, a singular piece of human flotsam was revealed propped +against the door-post, a fragment of cigarette adhering to the corner +of his mouth and threatening at any moment to ignite the stained and +walrus-like moustache which distinguished William, Moris Klaw’s +salesman. + +“Good afternoon,” I said; “will you tell Mr. Moris Klaw that I have +called?” + +“Certainly, sir,” wheezed the inebriate. “Great pleasure, sir, I’m +sure, sir.” + +William paused, turned, and looked back. + +“Do you mind a-waitin’ outside?” he added. “There’s a boy with red +’air ’angin’ about somewhere as ’as got ’is eye on this ’ere golf +club”--indicating a dilapidated niblick. “If we all goes in ’e’ll nip +orf with it.” + +Accordingly we lingered, and: + +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” screeched the +parrot who mounted guard within. + +Presently came Klaw’s unmistakable deep, rumbling voice from the +interior gloom: + +“Ah! Good afternoon, Mr. Searles! Is it Detective-Inspector Grimsby +you have with you? Good afternoon, Mr. Grimsby.” + +He advanced through the odorous shadows, a strange, a striking figure +and-- + +“Behold!” he said, “_I_ have my hat and _you_ have your cab. It is to +Chelsea you take me? Yes?” + +From the lining of the flat-topped hat he took out his cylindrical +scent spray and played its contents upon his high, bald crown. + +“Verbena,” he rumbled. “My guinea-pigs, they detest it, but I find it +so refreshing.” He replaced the spray in the hat, the hat on his +crown. “I have recently bought a fine pair of armadillos,” he +explained, “and they have an odour peculiar which, to me, is +objectionable.” + +He regarded William, who was glancing suspiciously up and down the +narrow alley. + +“William,” he admonished, “cease to dwell upon the youth with red +hair. He becomes with you an obsession. Give the sheldrake some fresh +seaweed, and if the hedgehogs continue to refuse apples, they may have +each a small piece of raw steak.” + +He approached the waiting taxi cab, and on the step he paused. + +“Mr. Searles, I shall buy no more hedgehogs. They are not only +delicate in captivity but one was in my bed last night.” + +We all entered the cab; and: + +“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” Moris Klaw continued, “tell me all about this poor +fellow who is murdered. I am expecting you. I see it is not simple. I +say, ‘The old fool from Wapping is wanted here.’” + + + III + +“You are squeamish, Mr. Searles,” said Moris Klaw, wagging a long +finger at me. “You squeam. You are not yet recovered from the blue +face of the murdered. Ah, well! it is horrible.” + +The body had been removed and we had been to view it. Now we stood in +the studio where the crime had taken place, and although some time had +elapsed since we had left the mortuary, I confess that I was not +entirely myself. Dusk was come and we had turned up the studio lights. +A faint mist hung in the place, for the fog had grown denser. + +I looked about me at half-completed pictures: groups; studies for +magazine jackets; portraits of children and of women--and the ghastly +face seemed to rise up before me, the distorted face of the man whose +hand would never touch again the brushes of his craft. + +“It isn’t the first time I’ve seen a strangling case,” said Grimsby, +“but it’s the first time I’ve seen marks like that.” + +“Ah! really!” Moris Klaw rumbled, turning to him. “Never before, eh, +like that? You interest me, my friend; you begin to notice. Your +intellect it expands like a sunflower in the sun. What is it that you +see different in those marks?” + +Grimsby stared hard, painfully uncertain whether to regard the words +as a compliment or a joke, but finally: + +“The pressure was greater,” he replied. “The murderer must have had +amazing strength.” + +“Ah, yes!” Moris Klaw removed his hat and stared reflectively into the +crown thereof. “Amazing strength? And the surgeon, what does he +think?” + +“He thinks the same.” + +“Ah! but no more, eh? Amazing strength only?” + +Grimsby figuratively pricked up his ears. + +“I don’t quite follow you, Mr. Klaw,” he said. “Did you notice +something else?” + +Moris Klaw placed his hat upon a little table. + +“I did take notice of some other thing, Mr. Grimsby,” he replied, “and +for a moment I had dreams that you synchronize with me. It is a +complimentary mistake which I make. Please forgive me. This +ashtray”--he took up an ashtray from the table beside his hat--“is of +great interest. You are agreeable, Mr. Searles”--turning to me--“that +it is of great interest?” + +I stared rather helplessly. It was a common brass ashtray containing +match sticks and cigarette ends. I could see nothing unusual about it, +and so presently I shook my head. + +“Ah!” + +Moris Klaw inserted two long yellow fingers gingerly and plucked out a +cigarette stump. He replaced the tray and held up the stump. + +“Behold!” he said, “what I find!” + +Grimsby now was frankly amazed and not a little angry. As for myself, +familiar though I was with Klaw’s peculiar methods, I could not divine +at what he was driving. + +“My friends,” he continued, looking from one to the other of us, and +holding up the cigarette stump as a lecturer holds up a specimen, “the +cigarette, a vice which has killed many men. I have known a woman to +hang because of a hairpin, but men and women, too, many of them, +because of a cigarette.” + +He opened a bulging pocket-case and tenderly deposited the stump +inside. As he was about to close the case: + +“One moment, Mr. Klaw!” said Grimsby. “If that is evidence--though I +can’t for the life of me see how it can be…” + +“But _I_ see!” cried Moris Klaw--“I, the old foolish from Wapping, +behold in this the hangman’s rope!” + +He closed the case. + +“But----” Grimsby began again. + +“But me no buts!” Moris Klaw implored. “In _my_ hands it is the +evidence, in _your_ hands it is the cigarette stump. But listen!” A +bell rang. “It is Isis. I had arranged with her to meet me here. +Perhaps, Mr. Grimsby, you would be so good as to open the door?” + +Grimsby obeying with alacrity, the beautiful Isis presently entered, +exquisitely gowned. She gave me smiling greeting, this lovely daughter +of a singular father, and whilst Grimsby deferentially held the door +wide open, managed to introduce into the studio, without brushing it +against the sides of the door, a large brown paper bag. + +“Ah!” Moris Klaw exclaimed, “it is my odically sterilized cushion. +Place it here, my child.” He indicated a spot upon the floor. “My +other engagements do not allow of my sleeping here for more than two +hours, but, in that time, I shall hope to recapture the etheric storm +in the mind of the slayer or the last great emotion in the brain of +the slain. Something, certainly, I shall get, for this was no common +crime.” + +From its paper wrappings Isis Klaw took a red silk cushion and placed +it upon the spot where the dead man had been found. + +I turned aside, shuddering. That any human being, having seen what we +had seen that day, could lie down and, above all, could sleep upon +that haunted spot, was almost more than I could believe. Yet such was +Moris Klaw’s intention, and that he would carry it out I did not +doubt. + +“Isis, my child,” he said, “awake me in two hours.” + +Removing his caped coat and revealing the shabby tweed suit which he +wore beneath it, he spread the garment on the carpet, stretched his +gaunt shape upon it, and rested his head on the red cushion. + +“Gentlemen,” he said in his queer, rumbling tones, “leave me to my +slumber. When I awake, I perhaps shall know something more about the +man who smoked”--he tapped long fingers upon his breast pocket--“this +cigarette.” + +We went out of the studio through the door leading to the garden. Isis +was last to leave and I heard her father’s voice: + +“Isis, my child, be pleased to extinguish the lights.” + +So, leaving the eccentric investigator to his dark and ghastly vigil, +we went up to the house; and, taking pity upon Grimsby, whose anxiety +to talk to Isis was almost pathetic, I sought out Parker, the dead +artist’s manservant, and endeavoured to obtain from him some useful +information. In this, however, I was wholly unsuccessful. + +“He hadn’t an enemy in the world, sir,” the man declared emotionally. +“He was the best employer I’ve ever had or am ever likely to have. I +don’t deny that he had his little affairs, sir, but there was nothing +that left a nasty taste behind. Believe me, there was no woman in it, +like the Scotland Yard men tried to make out.” + +And indeed, the more I considered the facts of the case, the more +inexplicable these became. + +For instance, there were no signs of a struggle. If one had taken +place the murderer had removed all traces of it before leaving. Upon +the fingerprint evidence which Scotland Yard hoped to obtain, I based +little hope of result. But the astute perceptions of Moris Klaw had +undoubtedly enabled him to pick up a clue where no one else had found +one; and strange though his behaviour appeared to be, I had good +reason to know that his subconscious mind, termed by him “the astral +negative,” rarely failed to obtain some record under conditions such +as those which, he maintained, prevail upon the scene of a crime of +violence. + +When at the appointed time we returned to the studio, we found it to +be brightly lighted, and entering, discovered Moris Klaw engaged in +squirting verbena upon his high, bald forehead. He stooped and picked +up the caped coat. + +“Ah, my friends,” he said, “there are many laws governing the +functions of mind which have yet to be classified. I think so; yes. +Why is it that some emotions register”--he waved his long hands in the +air--“indelibly; others, impermanently, and some, not at all? I ask +myself the question, and no one replies. We are, then, ignorant, and +stupid. To-night”--he lowered his voice--“I do murder with my bare +hands! Yes! I am the assassin! My motive----” + +“Yes, yes!” cried Grimsby, eagerly. + +“No, no!” Moris Klaw frowned at him. “My motive beats in my brain, my +second brain, my subconscious brain. Myself I do not see, nor my +victim; but I hear, I _hear_. I hear a _sound!_” + +“A sound,” Isis whispered. “Do you mean a horrible sound--his death +cry?” + +“No, no!” her father assured her. “I hear a _beautiful_ sound.” + + + IV + +Time passed and no arrest was made. Other matters engaged public +attention, and the Chelsea studio murder gradually dropped out of +sight, occupying less and less space in the press and presently +disappearing altogether. + +Between Inspector Grimsby and Moris Klaw a definite breach occurred. + +“He’s either bluffing or else hiding something,” the Inspector +declared to me. “Why did he keep that cigarette? What the devil was +the sound he heard, or thought he heard, or pretended he heard? All I +know is that I’ve made a fool of myself. There’s not a ghost of a +clue.” + +I was not without sympathy for Grimsby. He had grown so used to +finding his difficulties resolved by the genius of Wapping Old Stairs, +that beyond doubt in the Chelsea case he had promised more than he had +been able to perform, optimistically trusting Klaw to provide light in +the darkness; and the great man had proved to be fallible. + +It was a dreadful blow to Detective-Inspector Grimsby, and, I must +confess, a surprise to me. Although I had no definite evidence, I +nevertheless had certain reasons to suppose that Moris Klaw was not +entirely inactive during this time. Twice I met him, accompanied by +the dazzling Isis, in the neighbourhood of Queen’s Hall, and on the +second occasion as he entered a car which was waiting for him: + +“Mr. Searles,” he said, “tell him, that Detective Inspector, that all +work and no play makes of Jean a dull fellow. Recommend to him music. +Tell him he should sometimes steal an afternoon and at a concert relax +himself.” + +I reported the conversation to Grimsby in due course and had never +seen him more angry. + +“He’s pulling my leg!” he said. “It’ll be a long time before I ask him +to help me again. Concerts! What time have _I_ got for concerts?” + +Such, then, was the state of affairs at the time that Len Hassett, a +black-and-white artist of my acquaintance whose work was beginning to +attract attention, leased the house and studio of ill-fame where poor +Pyke Webley had met his death. + +Hassett was ultra-modern and very morbid, but although he professed to +have taken the place because its murderous atmosphere appealed to him, +I had more than a suspicion that the low rental, consequent upon its +evil reputation, had done much more to influence his decision. +However, in due course I received an invitation to the house-warming, +and on the same day a telephone message from Moris Klaw. + +“Good morning, Mr. Searles,” came his rumbling greeting over the +wires; “it is very wet again. This appalling English climate becomes +disastrous. I have lost in one week two marmosets and a Peruvian +squirrel. They see the fog and rain, they sneeze, they cough, they +die. I have to make to you a request, Mr. Searles: it is that you +secure for myself and Isis the invitation to Mr. Len Hassett’s party +at his new studio.” + +“Certainly, Mr. Klaw,” I replied, trying to keep a note of surprise +from my voice; “Hassett and I are old friends. I have only to mention +your name and you will be heartily welcomed.” + +That Isis would be welcome I did not doubt, but, mentally picturing +the eccentric figure of Moris Klaw at such a gathering, I could not +deny that it seemed out of place. However, I doubted not that some +purpose deeper than amusement underlay the request, and the matter was +arranged accordingly. + +Moris Klaw called for me in a Daimler, wherein, queenly, Isis reclined +in an ermine cloak. I think I had never before become so fully +conscious of the mystery enshrouding the life of this oddly assorted +pair as I did during that drive to Chelsea. + +Who, I asked myself, was Moris Klaw, the inscrutable genius who so +gladly offered his services to the guardians of law and order?--who +dealt in beasts and birds and reptiles, old furniture and fusty +books?--who lived in one of the most unsavoury quarters of +London?--whose daughter was an unchallenged beauty, possessed of +clothes and jewels which never were purchased out of the profits of +the Wapping business? My reflections, however, availed me nothing. + +Arrived at Chelsea, we met our host in the lounge hall of the house, +and, introductions being over and the beauty of Isis having annoyed +every other pretty woman in the place, I presently found myself +escorting Morris Klaw’s daughter through the garden to the studio, +whither some of the party had preceded us. We paused for a moment and +looked in at the window. + +A group of a dozen people or so gathered around the piano at the +farther end of the place; but, nearer to us, seated in a high armchair +before the blazing fire and caressing a black cat which rested upon +his knee, was a strange-looking, gaunt-faced man. Upon his harsh +features the dancing firelight painted odd shadows, so that at one +moment it was a smiling, benevolent face, and, in the next, the face +of a devil. + +It was a mere illusion, of course, but when I turned again to Isis and +we proceeded toward the door, I saw her biting her lip in sudden +agitation, and: + +“What is the matter?” I asked. + +“Nothing,” she replied--“but what a queer-looking man that was sitting +before the fire.” + +Presently we met him, however, as well as the black cat (which proved +to belong to Len Hassett). He was Serg Skobolov, a Russian pianist +whose reputation was growing by leaps and bounds. Upon Isis his +curious small eyes rested greedily; and that she was repelled, the +girl was unable to disguise. In due course, when the merriment was in +full swing, there were songs, and a certain amount of dancing took +place; and then melting at the right moment to the entreaties of +Hassett, Skobolov agreed to play. + +“You know,” said a lady journalist who was sitting on the floor near +me, “Skobolov has composed numerous works but not one of them is +published.” + +“Ah!” came a hoarse whisper. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Moris +Klaw standing in the shadow behind us. “How strange! Does he refuse +then to publish his compositions?” + +“Absolutely,” the lady declared earnestly. “He maintains that no one +else could play them.” + +“Is that so?” wheezed Moris Klaw. “Perhaps he is right. Presently we +shall hear and judge for ourselves.” + +He became silent, as the pianist, seating himself, began to speak: + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his broken English, “you know that +the friend of us all, our good Hassett, takes this studio because it +is haunted. Here, murder is done, yes, and so I shall play to you a +prelude newly composed in which--it is appropriate--I try to express +in music the lust of slaying.” + +He paused amid an uncomfortable silence, and then: + +“Some of you must know,” he resumed, “that all my compositions are +emotions, attempts to paint in chords things experienced. Some +experiences one cannot have and so can never paint--for atmosphere, +atmosphere, is everything! Now I shall paint for you the story of this +studio.” + +With that, he began to play; and although I had never heard him +before, I realized from the outset that he was a master of his +instrument. Indeed, I thought, a genius. His theme and its treatment +alike were unusual, grotesque. There was some quality in the man’s +technique which I found myself unable to define. He possessed uncanny +power. When, at last, the prelude ended, it was greeted by a silence +more eloquent than any applause. + +It was only momentary, of course. Then came a wild outburst of +enthusiasm. Yet it had been long enough, that moment of stillness, for +me to hear the squirting of Moris Klaw’s scent spray immediately +behind me. And when at last the clapping and shouting died down: + +“That prelude,” came his voice, almost in my ear, “it has a bad smell. +Soon, Isis my child, we must go. It grows late. But perhaps Mr. +Hassett will permit me to telephone to my chauffeur, as I allow him to +go away? It is all right? Very well. How wonderful is that prelude.” + + + V + +Skobolov’s attentions to Isis Klaw became very marked. Presently, +following some whispered words from her father, I noticed with +surprise that she had ceased to avoid the Russian pianist, indeed was +consenting to smile upon him. Hence, when presently Moris Klaw’s car +arrived, I was prepared for Skobolov’s acceptance of an offer of a +lift as far as his hotel. + +For my own part I confess quite frankly that I disliked the man. I had +disliked him on sight, and nearer acquaintance did nothing to dispel +that first impression. That Isis disliked him, also, I could not +doubt. Therefore I divined that she was playing a part, although its +purpose defeated my imagination. + +Throughout the drive from Chelsea to the hotel Moris Klaw discussed +music, a subject with which I had not hitherto believed him to be +acquainted. Perhaps his intention was to exhibit Skobolov’s intense +egotism, for indeed the man was a monument to his own colossal vanity. +His genius I could not dispute, but his personality was detestable. + +I had foreseen that he would try to detain the party at his hotel, or, +rather, that he would try to detain Isis. (I had no doubt whatever +that he would gladly have excused both Moris Klaw and myself.) But I +had not been prepared for Klaw’s acceptance of the offer. However, as +we descended from the car and I hesitated whether to accept Skobolov’s +grudging inclusion of myself in the party, or to walk home, I detected +an unmistakable expression in Moris Klaw’s queer eyes, twinkling +behind the pebbles of his pince-nez. + +Suddenly the fact came home to me that I was a minor actor in some +mysterious comedy directed by the genius of Wapping Old Stairs. + +The Russian occupied a luxurious suite, and Moris Klaw, with +reluctance which I could see to be feigned, agreed at Skobolov’s +pressing invitation to drink one glass of wine and then to depart for +home. + +Skobolov did his best to make himself agreeable, proffering cigars and +cigarettes, and opening a bottle of Bollinger. Moris Klaw and I +declined to smoke, but Isis accepted a cigarette and lay back in a +deep lounge chair blowing smoke rings and watching the vainglorious +Russian musician through half-lowered lashes. + +There was a grand piano in the room, and Moris Klaw, who had not +touched his wine, prevailed upon Skobolov to play for us once more the +prelude which we had heard at Hassett’s studio. + +The pianist shrugged, glanced at Isis, and then seated himself at the +instrument. Placing his cigarette in a little ashtray, he laid his +fingers caressingly on the keyboard, and once more my soul was +harrowed by those indescribable strains. + +As the sound of the last chord died away: + +“Good,” said Moris Klaw, “excellent, most excellent. And now, +please”--he stood up--“I am an old nuisance, an absent old foolish. Do +you object that I telephone to my chauffeur? I just remember that Isis +leaves her ermine cloak in the car. Is it not so, my child?” + +“Good heavens, yes!” Isis exclaimed. + +He crossed the room to the telephone, circling ungainly around the +piano, raised the instrument, and: + +“Will you be pleased to ask Mr. Moris Klaw’s chauffeur to bring in +from the car the cloak,” he said, distinctly. “Yes, all right, very +well.” He hung up the receiver and turned to face us again, shrugging +his shoulders. “So greatly tempting,” he explained, “to some prowler +thief.” + +I now became aware that Isis had suddenly grown very pale. She had +stood up and was watching Skobolov intently. He seemed rather to be +enjoying the scrutiny of her fine dark eyes--when there came a +peremptory rap upon the door. + +“Come in!” said the Russian sharply. + +The door opened--and Detective-Inspector Grimsby stood on the +threshold! + +Moris Klaw nodded in Skobolov’s direction, and, literally stupefied +with astonishment, I heard Grimsby say: + +“Serg Skobolov, I arrest you on a charge of having murdered Mr. Pyke +Webley at his studio on the night of November the fourteenth. I must +warn you----” But he got no further. + +Uttering a sound which I can only describe as the roar of a wild +beast, Skobolov leapt upon him, clasped his hands about the speaker’s +throat, and hurled him to the floor! + +To Moris Klaw, Grimsby owed his life. The Russian was kneeling on the +detective’s chest and literally squeezing life out of him, when Klaw, +surprisingly agile, sprang forward. He stooped over the would-be +murderer and performed some simple operation which threw Skobolov upon +his back. + +In two seconds the madman was up again; and, even now, I sometimes see +in my dreams that devil face, transfigured by such evil as I could not +have supposed to reside in any human being. He opened and closed his +hands in a horrible, writhing, suggestive movement, looked at Grimsby +who was trying slowly, painfully to struggle to his feet, looked at +Isis, looked at Moris Klaw, looked at myself. Then, bursting into +peals of laughter, he ran to the French windows, threw one open, +sprang on to the parapet outside, and uttering one final frenzied +shriek, leapt into the courtyard sixty feet below! + + + VI + +“Everyone will say,” Moris Klaw declared, “‘he was a failure, that old +fool from Wapping’--for how can a dead man confess, and what use for +the newspapers to tell the public why this poor Russian leaps from his +window?” He shrugged his shoulders, looking around my study. “You say +to me,” he continued, addressing Grimsby: ‘What is the sound you hear +when you sleep in the studio?’ and I do not tell you because you would +not understand. But now I shall tell you. I hear, my friend, a chord +in G Minor! + +“Ah! you wag your head. I knew you would wag your head! But beware +that your brains do not rattle. This is what I hear, and this is the +thing in the mind of the murderer at the moment that he does the +murder--a chord in G Minor, Mr. Grimsby! I, the old fool, have the +music sense, and this chord it intrigues me. Why? because it is not +playable--yet it is a chord upon a piano.” + +“Not playable!” Grimsby exclaimed. + +“Not playable, my friend, except by a man having enormous hands! And +also, my good Grimsby, the poor Webley could not have been strangled +as he was except by one having enormous hands. + +“This is what I first perceive when I see his body, and what for one +absurd moment I dream that you have perceived also. I, myself, have +large hands, but although I try I cannot span within inches of the +marks made upon his throat by the monster who kills him. And so, when +I hear this chord, and I question and I try and I find that it cannot +be played by any normal hand, I say, ‘Yes! it is a musician with +abnormal hands!’ And I look for him and I listen for him. And to him I +have one other clue--a _hashish_ cigarette.” + +“_What_ kind of cigarette?” Grimsby muttered. + +“I said _hashish_, my friend--a cigarette containing the drug Indian +hemp; a kind of cigarette very rarely met in England. In that ashtray, +among a dozen others, I detect it immediately. Is it not strange”--he +turned to me--“how the murderer is drawn to the place of the murder? +It is why, when I hear of the house-warming, I plan to go. Perhaps it +is accident--perhaps something else. + +“He was a mad genius, that Skobolov. He tries to know supreme emotion +that he may write supreme music. Perhaps he succeeds. Who can say? But +his compositions cannot live--for no other man can play them, on the +piano at any rate. Where did he meet the poor Webley? Who can say? +Perhaps they were acquainted, perhaps they met in the street. Webley +was Bohemian. He invites Skobolov into the lonely studio. Good! There +could be no evidence. It was his opportunity--to know the emotion of +_murder_ and to get safe away! + +“To-night I hear it again--the dream chord: I see his great hands. But +he smokes no cigarette in the studio, not until he has returned to his +own rooms. For this I waited, this last piece of evidence. Behold!” + +From his pocket-case he took out _two_ cigarette stumps. + +“To-night, in the studio, at last I hear again my dream chord--the +chord in G, in G Minor; yet when I telephone to you, my good Grimsby, +you think I am the old fool. I say, ‘Hurry to Chelsea. I await.’ You +obey, but you reluct. I say, ‘When at the place we go I send a +message, “the cloak is in the car.” Enter.’ You enter and you permit +the strangler to escape the law.” + +He shrugged, stooped to where his brown bowler rested upon the floor +beside him, took out the scent spray and squirted verbena upon his +forehead. + +“I have the hot brain,” he explained; “it is the activity. But yours, +my friend”--turning to Grimsby--“is as cool as a lemon.” + + + + + EIGHTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE HEADLESS MUMMIES + + I + +The mysteries which my eccentric friend, Moris Klaw, was most +successful in handling undoubtedly were those which had their origin +in kinks of the human brain or in the mysterious history of some relic +of ancient times. + +I have seen his theory of the Cycle of Crime proved triumphantly time +and time again; I have known him successfully to demonstrate how the +history of a valuable gem or curio automatically repeats itself, +subject, it would seem, to that obscure law of chance into which he +had made particular inquiry. Then his peculiar power--assiduously +cultivated by a course of obscure study--of recovering from the +atmosphere, the ether, call it what you will, the thought-forms--the +ideas thrown out by the scheming mind of the criminal he sought +for--enabled him to succeed where any ordinary investigator must +inevitably have failed. + +“They destroy,” he would say in his odd, rumbling voice, “the clumsy +tools of their crime; they hide away the knife, the bludgeon; they sop +up the blood, they throw it, the jemmy, the dead man, the suffocated +poor infant, into the ditch, the pool--and they leave intact the odic +negative, the photograph of their sin, the thought thing in the air!” +He would tap his high yellow brow significantly. “Here upon this +sensitive plate I reproduce it, the hanging evidence! The headless +child is buried in the garden, but the thought of the beheader is left +to lie about. I pick it up. Poof! he swings--that child-slayer! I +triumph. He is a dead man. What an art is the art of the odic +photograph.” + +But I propose to relate here an instance of Moris Klaw’s amazing +knowledge in matters of archæology--of the history of relics. In his +singular emporium at Wapping, where dwelt the white rats, the singing +canary, the cursing parrot, and the other stock-in-trade of this +supposed dealer in oddities, was furthermore a library probably +unique. It contained obscure works on criminology; it contained +catalogues of every relic known to European collectors with elaborate +histories of the same. What else it contained I am unable to say, for +the dazzling Isis Klaw was a jealous librarian. + +You who have followed these records will have made the acquaintance of +Coram, the curator of the Menzies Museum; and it was through Coram +that I first came to hear of the inexplicable beheading of mummies, +which, commencing with that of Mr. Pettigrew’s valuable mummy of the +priestess Hor-ankhu, developed into a perfect epidemic. No more +useless outrage could well be imagined than the decapitation of an +ancient Egyptian corpse; and if I was surprised when I heard of the +first case, my surprise became stark amazement when yet other mummies +began mysteriously to lose their heads. But I will deal with the first +instance, now, as it was brought under my notice by Coram. + +He rang me up early one morning. + +“I say, Searles,” he said; “a very odd thing has happened. You’ve +heard me speak of Pettigrew the collector; he lives out Wandsworth +way; he’s one of our trustees. Well, some demented burglar broke into +his house last night, took nothing, but cut off the head of a valuable +mummy!” + +“Good Heavens!” I cried. “What an original idea!” + +“Highly so,” agreed Coram. “The police are hopelessly mystified, and +as I know you are keen on this class of copy I thought you might like +to run down and have a chat with Pettigrew. Shall I tell him you are +coming?” + +“By all means,” I said, and made an arrangement forthwith. + +Accordingly, about eleven o’clock, I presented myself at a gloomy +Georgian house standing well back from the high road and screened by +an unkempt shrubbery. Mr. Mark Pettigrew, a familiar figure at Sotheby +auctions, was a little shrivelled man, clean-shaven, and with the +complexion of a dried apricot. His big spectacles seemed to occupy a +great proportion of his face, but his eyes twinkled merrily and his +humour was as dry as his appearance. + +“Glad to see you, Mr. Searles,” he said. “You’ve had some experience +of the _outré_, I believe, and where two constables, an imposing +inspector, and a plain-clothes gentleman who looked like a horse have +merely upset my domestic arrangements, you may be able to make some +intelligent suggestion.” + +He conducted me to a large gloomy room in which relics, principally +Egyptian, were arranged and ticketed with museum-like precision. +Before a wooden sarcophagus containing the swathed figure of a mummy +he stopped, pointing. He looked as though he had come out of a +sarcophagus himself. + +“Hor-ankhu,” he said, “a priestess of Sekhet; a very fine specimen, +Mr. Searles. I was present when it was found. See--here is her head!” + +Stooping, he picked up the head of the mummy. Very cleanly and +scientifically it had been unwrapped and severed from the trunk. It +smelt strongly of bitumen, and the shrivelled features reminded me of +nothing so much as of Mr. Mark Pettigrew. + +“Did you ever hear of a more senseless thing?” he asked. “Come over +and look at the window where he got in.” + +We crossed the dark apartment, and the collector drew my attention to +a round hole which had been drilled in the glass of one of the French +windows opening on a kind of miniature prairie which once had been a +lawn. + +“I am having shutters fitted,” he went on. “It is so easy to cut a +hole in the glass and open the catch of these windows.” + +“Very easy,” I agreed. “Was any one disturbed?” + +“No one,” he replied, excitedly; “that’s the insane part of the thing. +The burglar, with all the night before him and with cases containing +portable and really priceless objects about him, contented himself +with decapitating the priestess. What on earth did he want her head +for? Whatever he wanted it for, why the devil didn’t he _take_ it?” + +We stared at each other blankly. + +“I fear,” said Pettigrew, “I have been guilty of injustice to my +horsey visitor, the centaur. You look as stupid as the worst of us!” + +“I feel stupid,” I said. + +“You are!” Pettigrew assured me with cheerful impertinence. “So am I, +so are the police; but the biggest fool of the lot is the fool who +came here last night and cut off the head of my mummy.” + +That, then, is all which I have occasion to relate regarding the first +of these mysterious outrages. I was quite unable to propound any +theory covering the facts, to Pettigrew’s evident annoyance; he +assured me that I was very stupid, and insisted upon opening a magnum +of champagne. I then returned to my rooms, and since reflection upon +the subject promised to be unprofitable, had dismissed it from my +mind, when some time during the evening Inspector Grimsby rang me up +from the Yard. + +“Hullo, Mr. Searles,” he said; “I hear you called on Mr. Pettigrew +this morning?” + +I replied in the affirmative. + +“Did anything strike you?” + +“No; were you on the case?” + +“I wasn’t on the case then, but I’m on it now.” + +“How’s that?” + +“Well, there’s been another mummy beheaded in Sotheby’s auction +rooms!” + + + II + +I knew quite well what was expected of me. + +“Where are you speaking from?” I asked. + +“The auction rooms.” + +“I will meet you there in an hour,” I said, “and bring Moris Klaw if I +can find him.” + +“Good,” replied Grimsby, with much satisfaction in his voice; “this +case ought to be right in his line.” + +I chartered a taxi and proceeded without delay to the insalubrious +neighbourhood of Wapping Old Stairs. At the head of the blind alley +which harbours the Klaw emporium I directed the man to wait. The gloom +was very feebly dispelled by a wavering gaslight in the shed-like +front of the shop. River noises were about me. Somewhere a drunken man +was singing. An old lady who looked like a pantomime dame was +critically examining a mahogany chair with only half a back, which +formed one of the exhibits displayed before the establishment. + +A dilapidated person whose nose chronically blushed for the excesses +of its owner hovered about the prospective purchaser. This was +William, whose exact position in the Klaw establishment I had never +learned, but who apparently acted during his intervals of sobriety as +a salesman. + +“Good evening,” I said. “Is Mr. Moris Klaw at home?” + +“He is, sir,” husked the derelict; “but he’s very busy, sir, I +believe, sir.” + +“Tell him Mr. Searles has called.” + +“Yes, sir,” said William; and, turning to the dame: “Was you thinking +of buyin’ that chair, mum, after you’ve quite done muckin’ it about?” + +He retired into the cavernous depths of the shop, and I followed him +as far as the dimly seen counter. + +“Moris Klaw, Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” + +Thus the invisible parrot hailed my entrance. Indescribable smells, +zoo-like, with the fusty odour of old books and the unclassifiable +perfume of half-rotten furniture, assailed my nostrils; and mingling +with it was the distinct scent of reptile life. Scufflings and +scratchings sounded continuously about me, punctuated with squeals. +Then came the rumbling voice of Moris Klaw. + +“Ah, Mr. Searles--good evening, Mr. Searles! It is the Pettigrew +mummy, is it not?” + +He advanced through the shadows, his massive figure arrayed for +travelling, in the caped coat, his toneless beard untidy as ever, his +pince-nez glittering, his high bald brow yellow as that of a Chinaman. + +“There has been a second outrage,” I said, “at Sotheby’s.” + +“So?” said Moris Klaw, with interest; “another mummy is executed!” + +“Yes, Inspector Grimsby has asked us to join him there.” + +Moris Klaw stooped and from beneath the counter took out his +flat-topped brown bowler. From its lining he extracted a cylindrical +scent spray and mingled with the less pleasing perfumes that of +verbena. + +“A cooling Roman custom, Mr. Searles,” he rumbled, “so refreshing when +one lives with rats. So it is Mr. Grimsby who is puzzled again? It is +Mr. Grimsby who needs the poor old fool to hold the lantern for him, +so that he, the clever Grimsby, can pick up the credit out of the +darkness! And why not, Mr. Searles, and why not? It is his business; +it is my pleasure.” + +He raised his voice. “Isis! Isis!” + +Out into the light of the fluttering gas lamp, out from that nightmare +abode, stepped Isis Klaw--looking more grotesque than a French fashion +plate in an ironmonger’s catalogue. She wore a costume of +lettuce-green silk, absolutely plain and unrelieved by any ornament, +which rendered it the more remarkable. It was cut low at the neck, and +at the point of the V, suspended upon a thin gold chain, hung a big +emerald. Her darkly beautiful face was one to inspire a painter +seeking a model for the Queen of Sheba, but an ultra-modern note was +struck by a hat of some black, gauzy material which loudly proclaimed +its Paris origin. She greeted me with her wonderful smile. + +“What, then,” I said. “Were you about to go out?” + +“When I hear who it is,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “I know that we are about +to go out; and behold we are ready!” + +He placed the quaint bowler on his head and passed through to the +front of the shop. + +“William,” he admonished the ripe-nosed salesman, “there is here a +smell of fourpenny ale. It will be your ruin, William. You will close +at half-past nine, and be sure you do not let the cat in the cupboard +with the white mice. See that the goat does not get at the Dutch +bulbs. They will kill him, that goat--those bulbs; he has for them a +passion.” + +The three of us entered the waiting cab; and within half an hour we +arrived at the famous auction rooms. The doors were closed and barred, +but a constable who was on duty there evidently had orders to admit +us. + +The thing we had come to see lay upon the table with an electric lamp +burning directly over it. The effect was indescribably weird. All +about in the shadows fantastic “lots” seemed to leer at us. A famous +private collection was to be sold in the morning and a rank of mummies +lined one wall, whilst, from another, stony Pharaohs, gods and +goddesses scorned us through the gloom. We were a living group in a +place of long-dead things. And yellow on the table beneath the white +light, with partially unwrapped coils of discoloured linen hanging +gruesomely from it, lay a headless mummy! + +I heard the spurt of Moris Klaw’s scent spray behind me, and a faint +breath of verbena stole to my nostrils. + +“Pah!” came the rumbling voice; “this air is full of deadness!” + +“Good evening, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby, appearing from somewhere out +of the gloom. “I am so glad you have come.” He bowed to Isis. “How do +you do, Miss Klaw?” + +The bright green figure moved forward into the pool of light. I think +I had never seen a more singular picture than that of Isis Klaw +bending over the decapitated mummy. Indeed, the whole scene would have +delighted Rembrandt. + +“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Klaw,” said a middle-aged gentleman, +stepping up to the curio dealer; “the Inspector has been telling me +about you.” + +Moris Klaw bowed, and his daughter turned to him with a little nod of +the head. + +“It is the same period,” she said, “as Mr. Pettigrew’s mummy. Possibly +this was a priest of the same temple. Certainly both are of the same +dynasty.” + +“It is instructive,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “but so confusing.” + +“It’s amazing, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby. “If I understand Miss Klaw +rightly, this is the mummy of someone who lived at the same period as +the priestess whose mummy is in Mr. Pettigrew’s possession?” + +“I do not trouble to look,” rumbled Moris Klaw, who, in fact, was +staring all about the room. “If Isis has said so, it is so.” + +“If I happened to be superstitious,” said Grimsby, “I should think +this was a sort of curse being fulfilled, or some fantastic thing of +that sort.” + +“You should call a curse fantastic, eh, my friend?” said Moris Klaw. +“Yet here in your own country you have seen a whole family that was +cursed to be wiped out mysteriously. Am I with you?” + +Grimsby looked very perplexed. + +“There’s nothing very mysterious about how the thing was done,” he +said. “Some madman got in here with a knife early in the evening. It’s +always pretty dark, even during the daytime. But the mystery is his +object.” + +“His object is a mystery, yes,” agreed Klaw. “I would sleep here in +order to procure a mental negative of what he hoped or what he feared, +this lunatic headsman, only that I know he is a man possessed.” + +“Possessed!” I cried; and even Isis looked surprised. + +“I said possessed,” continued Klaw, impressively. “He is some madman +with a one idea. His mad brain will have charged the ether”--he waved +his long arms right and left--“with mad thoughts. The room of Mr. +Pettigrew also will be filled with these grotesque thought-forms. +Certainly he is insane, this butcher of mummies. In this case I shall +rely, not upon the odic photography, not upon that great science the +Cycle of Crime, but upon my library.” + +None of us, I am sure, entirely understood his meaning; and following +a brief silence, during which, in a curiously muffled way, the sounds +of the traffic in Wellington Street came to us as we stood there +around that modern bier with its 4000-year-old burden, Grimsby asked, +with hesitancy: + +“Don’t you want to make any investigations, Mr. Klaw?” + +Then Moris Klaw startled us all. + +“I have a thought!” he cried, loudly. “Name of a dog! I have a +thought!” + +Grabbing his brown bowler, which he had laid on the table beside the +headless mummy, “Come, Isis!” he cried, and grasped the girl by the +arm. “I have yet another thought, most disturbing! Mr. Searles, would +you be so good as also to come?” + +Wondering greatly whence we were bound and upon what errand, I +hastened down the room after them, leaving Inspector Grimsby staring +blankly. I think he was rather disappointed with the result of Moris +Klaw’s inquiry--if inquiry this hasty visit may be termed. He was +disappointed, too, at having spent so short a time in the company of +the charming Isis. + +The middle-aged gentleman came running to let us out. + +“Good-night, Inspector Grimsby!” called Moris Klaw. + +“Good-night! good-night, Miss Klaw!” + +“Good-night, Mr. Someone who has not been introduced!” said Klaw. + +“My name is Welby,” smiled the other. + +“Good-night, Mr. Welby!” said Moris Klaw. + + + III + +During the whole of the journey back to Wapping, Moris Klaw regaled me +with anecdotes of travels in the Yucatan Peninsula. I had never met a +man before who had ventured fully to explore those deadly swamps; but +Moris Klaw chatted about the Izamal temples as unconcernedly as +another man might chat about the Paris boulevards. Isis took no part +in the conversation, from which I gathered that, although she seemed +to accompany her father everywhere, she had not accompanied him into +the jungles of Yucatan. + +“In the heart of those forests, Mr. Searles,” he whispered, “are +stranger things than these headless mummies. Do you know that the +secret of those great temples buried in the swamps and the jungles and +guarded only by serpents and slimy, crawling things, is a door which +science has yet to unlock? What people built them, and what god was +worshipped in them? Suppose”--he bent to my ear--“I hold the key to +that riddle; am I assured to be immortal? Yes? No?” + +His conversation, although it often seemed to be studiously eccentric, +was always that of a man of powerful and unusual mind, a man of vast +and unique experience. I was rather sorry when we arrived at our +destination. + +As the cab drew up at the head of the court, I saw that the shop of +Moris Klaw was in darkness; but again telling the man to wait, we +walked down past the warehouse, beyond whose bulk tided muddy Thames, +and my eccentric companion producing a key from one of the bulging +pockets of his caped coat inserted it into the lock of a door which +looked less like a door than a section of a dilapidated hoarding. + +The door swung open. + +“Ah!” he hissed. “It was not locked!” + +Klaw struck a match and peered into the odorous darkness. + +“William!” he rumbled. “William!” + +But there was no reply. Isis suddenly laid her hand upon my arm, and +it occurred to me that for once her wonderful composure was shaken. + +“Something has happened!” she whispered. + +Her father lighted a gas-burner, and the yellow light flared up, +reclaiming from the gloom furniture, pictures, cages, glass cases, +statuettes, heaps of cheap jewellery and false teeth, books, and a +hundred-and-one other items of that weird stock-in-trade. + +Then, under the littered counter we found William lying flat on his +back with his arms spread widely. + +“Ah! _cochon!_” muttered Klaw; “beer-swilling pig!” + +He stooped to raise the head of the prostrate man, and then to my +surprise dropped upon his knees beside him, stooped yet lower, and +sniffed suspiciously. Again Isis Klaw seized my arm, and her dark eyes +were opened very widely as she leaned forward watching her father. He +stood up, holding a glass in his hand which yet contained some drops +of what was apparently beer. At this, too, he sniffed. He walked over +to the gaslight and examined the fluid closely, whilst Isis and I +watched him, together. Finally Moris Klaw inserted a long white +forefinger into the dirty glass and applied the tip to his tongue. + +“Opium!” he said. “Many drops of pure opium were put in this beer.” + +He turned to me with a curious expression upon his parchment-coloured +face. + +“Mr. Searles,” he said, “my second idea was a good idea. I shall now +surprise you.” + +He led the way through that neat and businesslike office which opened +out of the unutterably dirty and untidy shop. Although within the shop +and in front of it only gaslight was used, in the office he switched +on an electric lamp. But we did not delay long in Moris Klaw’s +sanctum, lined with its hundreds of books, its obscure works of +criminology, its records of strange things: we proceeded through +another door and up a thickly carpeted stair. + +I had never before penetrated thus far into the habitable portion of +Moris Klaw’s establishment; the book-lined office hitherto had marked +the limit of my explorations. But now, as more electric lights were +switched on, I saw that we stood upon a wide landing panelled in +massive black oak. Armoured figures stood sentinel-like against the +walls, and several magnificent specimens of Chinese porcelain met my +gaze. I might have thought myself in some old English baronial hall. +Next we entered a big, rectangular room, which I wholly despair of +describing. Apparently it was used as a study, a library, a +laboratory, and a warehouse for all sorts of things, from marble +Buddhas to innumerable pairs of boots. Also, there was in it a French +stove; and upon a Persian coffee table stood a frying pan containing a +cooked sausage solidified in its own fat. There was clear evidence, +moreover, in the form of a rolled-up hammock, that the place served as +a bedroom. + +Altogether there were four mummies in the apartment. One of these, +partly unwrapped, lay amongst the litter on the floor--headless! + +“Mon Dieu!” cried Isis, clasping her hands; “it is uncanny, this!” + +She was evidently excited, for her French accent suddenly asserted +itself to a marked degree. Moris Klaw, from somewhere amongst the +rubbish at his feet, picked up the severed head of the mummy and +stared at it intently. In the stillness I could hear the river noises +very distinctly, and a sort of subterranean lapping and creaking which +suggested that at high tide the cellars of the establishment became +flooded. Moris Klaw dropped the head from his hands. It fell with a +dull thud to the floor. + +From the lining of his hat he took out the inevitable scent spray and +moistened his brow with verbena. + +“I need the cool brain, Mr. Searles,” he said. “I, the old cunning, +the fox, the wily, am threatened with defeat. This slaughter of +mummies it surpasses my experience. I am nonplussed; I am a stupid old +fool. Let me think!” + +Isis was looking about her in a startled way. + +“It is horribly uncanny, Miss Klaw,” I said. “But the drugging of the +man downstairs points to very human agency. Perhaps if we could revive +him----” + +“He will not revive,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “for twelve hours at +least. In his beer was enough opium to render unconscious the +rhinoceros!” + +“Is there anything missing?” I asked. + +“Nothing,” rumbled Klaw. “He came for the mummy. Isis, will you +prepare for us those cooling drinks that help the fevered mind, and +from downstairs bring me the seventh volume of the ‘Books of the +Temples.’” + +Isis Klaw immediately walked forward to the door. + +“And Isis, my child,” added her father, “remove the tall cage to the +top end of the shop. Presently that William’s snores will awake the +Borneo squirrel.” + +As the girl departed, Klaw opened an inner door and ushered me into a +dainty white room, an amazing apartment indeed, a true Parisian +boudoir. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, for bowls of white +and pink roses were everywhere. Klaw lighted a silver table lamp with +a unique silver gauze shade apparently lined with pale rose-coloured +silk. Evidently this apartment belonged to Isis, and was as +appropriate for her, exquisite Parisian that she seemed to be, as the +weird barn through which we had come was an appropriate abode for her +father. + +When presently Isis returned I saw her for the first time in her +proper setting, a dainty green figure in a white frame. Moris Klaw +opened the bulky leather-bound volume which she had handed to him, and +whilst I sat sipping my wine and watching him, he busily turned over +the pages (apparently French MS.) in quest of the reference he sought. + +“Ah!” he cried, in sudden triumph; “vaguely I had it in my memory, but +here it is, the clue. I will translate for you, Mr. Searles, what is +written here: ‘The “Book of the Lamps,” which was revealed to the +priest, Pankhaur, and by him revealed only to the Queen’--it was the +ancient Egyptian Queen, Hatshepsu, Mr. Searles--‘was kept locked in +the secret place beneath the altar, and each high priest of the +temple--all of whom were of the family of Pankhaur--held the key and +alone might consult the magic writing. In the 14th dynasty, Seteb was +high priest, and was the last of the family of Pankhaur. At his death +the newly appointed priest, receiving the key of the secret place, +complained to Pharaoh that the “Book of the Lamps” was missing.’” + +He closed the volume and placed it on a little table beside him. + +“Isis,” he rumbled, looking across at his daughter, “does the mystery +become clear to you? Am I not an old fool? Mr. Searles, there is only +one other copy of this work”--he laid a long white hand upon the +book--“known to European collectors. Do I know where that copy is? +Yes? No? I think so!” + +There was triumph in his hoarse voice. Personally I was quite unable +to see in what way the history of the “Book of the Lamps” bore upon +the case of the headless mummies; but Moris Klaw evidently considered +that it afforded a clue. He stood up. + +“Isis,” he said, “bring me my catalogue of the mummies of the +Bubastite priests.” + +That imperious beauty departed in meek obedience. + +“Mr. Searles,” said Moris Klaw, “this will be for Inspector Grimsby +another triumph; but without these records of a poor old fool, who +shall say if the one that beheads mummies had ever been detected? I +neglected to secure the odic negative because I thought I had to deal +with a madman; but I was more stupid than an owl. This decapitating of +mummies is no madman’s work, but is done with a purpose, my +friend--with a wonderful purpose.” + + + IV + +The Menzies Museum (scene of my first meeting with Moris Klaw) was not +yet opened to the public when Coram (the curator), Moris Klaw, +Grimsby, and I stood in the Egyptian Room before a case containing +mummies. The room adjoining--the Greek Room--had been the scene of the +dreadful tragedies which first had acquainted me with the wonderful +methods of the eccentric investigator. + +“Whoever broke into Sotheby’s last night, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby, +“knew the ins and outs of the place; knew it backward. It’s my idea +that he was known to the people there. After having cut off the head +of the mummy he probably walked out openly. Then, again, it must have +been somebody who knew the habits of Mr. Pettigrew’s household that +got at _his_ mummy. Of course”--his eyes twinkled with a satisfaction +which he could not conceal--“I’m very sorry to hear that our man has +proved too clever for _you!_ Think of a burglar breaking into Mr. +Moris Klaw’s house!” + +“Think of it, my friend,” rumbled the other; “if it makes you laugh go +on thinking of it, and you will grow fat!” + +Grimsby openly winked at me. He was out of his depth himself, and was +not displeased to find the omniscient Moris Klaw apparently in a +similar position. + +“I am not resentful,” continued Klaw, “and I will capture for you the +mummy man.” + +“What?” cried Grimsby. “Are you on the track?” + +“I will tell you something, my laughing friend. You will secretly +watch this Egyptian Room like the cat at the mouse-hole, and +presently--I expect it will be at night--he will come here, this +hunter of mummies!” + +Grimsby stared incredulously. + +“I don’t doubt your word, Mr. Klaw,” he said; “but I don’t see how you +can possibly know that. Why should he go for the mummies here rather +than for those in one of the other museums or in private collections?” + +“Why do you order a bottle of Bass,” rasped Klaw, “in a saloon, rather +than a bottle of water or a bottle of vinegar? It is because what you +want is a bottle of Bass. Am I a damn fool? There are others. I am not +alone in my foolishness!” + +The group broke up: Grimsby, very puzzled, going off to make +arrangements to have the Egyptian Room watched night and day, and +Coram, Klaw, and I walking along in the direction of the Greek Room. + +“I have no occasion to remind you, Mr. Klaw,” said Coram, “that the +Menzies Museum is a hard nut for any burglar to crack. We have a night +watchman, you will remember, who hourly patrols every apartment. For +any one to break into the Egyptian Room, force one of the cases and +take out a mummy, would be a task extremely difficult to perform +undetected.” + +“This mummy hunter,” replied Klaw, “can perform it with ease; but +because we shall all be waiting for him he cannot perform it +undetected.” + +“I shouldn’t think there is much likelihood of any attempt during the +day?” I said. + +“There is no likelihood,” agreed Klaw; “but I like to see that Grimsby +busy! The man with the knife to decapitate mummies will come to-night. +Without fear he will come, for how is he to know that an old fool from +Wapping anticipates his arrival?” + +We quitted the Museum together. The affair brought back to my mind the +gruesome business of the Greek Room murders, and for the second time +in my life I made arrangements to watch in the Menzies Museum at +night. + +On several occasions during the day I found myself thinking of this +most singular affair and wondering in what way the “Book of the +Lamps,” mentioned by Moris Klaw, could be associated with it. I was +quite unable to surmise, too, how Klaw had divined that the Menzies +Museum would become the scene of the next outrage. + +We had arranged to dine with Coram in his apartments, which adjoined +the Museum buildings, and an oddly mixed party we were, comprising +Coram, his daughter, Moris Klaw, Isis Klaw, Grimsby, and myself. + +A man had gone on duty in the Egyptian Room directly the doors were +closed to the public, and we had secretly arranged to watch the place +from nightfall onward. The construction of the room greatly +facilitated our plan; for there was a long glass skylight in the +centre of its roof, and by having the blinds drawn back we could look +down into the room from a landing window of a higher floor--a portion +of the curator’s house. + +Dinner over, Isis Klaw departed. + +“You will not remain, Isis,” said her father. “It is so unnecessary. +Good-night, my child!” + +Accordingly, the deferential and very admiring Grimsby descended with +Coram to see Isis off in a taxi. I marvelled to think of her returning +to that tumble-down, water-logged ruin in Wapping. + +“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” said Moris Klaw, when we four investigators had +gathered together again, “you will hide in the case with the mummies!” + +“But I may find myself helpless! How do we know that any particular +case is going to be opened? Besides, I don’t know what to expect!” + +“Blessed is he that expecteth little, my friend. It is quite possible +that no attempt will be made to-night. In that event you will have to +be locked in again to-morrow night!” + +Grimsby accordingly set out. He held a key to the curator’s private +door, which opened upon the Greek Room, and also the key of a wall +case. Moris Klaw had especially warned him against making the +slightest noise. In fact, he had us all agog with curiosity and +expectation. As he and Coram and I, having opened, very carefully, the +landing window, looked down through the skylight into the Egyptian +Room, Grimsby appeared beneath us. He was carrying an electric pocket +torch. + +Opening the wall case nearest to the lower end of the room, he glanced +up rapidly, then stepped within, reclosing the glass door. As Klaw had +pointed out earlier in the evening, an ideal hiding place existed +between the side of the last sarcophagus and the angle of the wall. + +“I hope he has refastened the catch,” said our eccentric companion; +“but not with noisiness.” + +“Why do you fear his making a noise?” asked Coram, curiously. + +“Outside, upon the landing,” replied Moris Klaw, “is a tall piece of a +bas-relief; it leans back against the wall. You know it?” + +“Certainly.” + +“To-night, you did not look behind it, in the triangular space so +formed.” + +“There’s no occasion. A man could not get in there.” + +“He could not, you say? No? That exploits to me, Mr. Coram, that you +have no eye for capacity! But if you are wrong, what then?” + +“Any one hiding there would have to remain in hiding until the +morning. He could not gain access to any of the rooms; all are locked, +and he could not go downstairs, because of the night attendant in the +hallway.” + +“No? Yes? You are two times wrong! First--someone is concealed there!” + +“Mr. Klaw!” began Coram, excitedly. + +“_Ssh!_” Moris Klaw raised his hand. “No excitement. It is noisy and a +tax upon the nerves. Second--you are wrong, because presently that +hidden one will come into the Egyptian Room!” + +“How? How in Heaven’s name is he going to _get_ in?” + +“We shall see.” + +Utterly mystified, Coram and I stared at Moris Klaw, for we stood one +on either side of him; but he merely wagged his finger enjoining us to +silence, and silent perforce we became. + +The view was a cramped one, and standing there looking out at the +clear summer night, I for one grew very weary of the business. But I +was sustained by the anticipation that the mystery of the headless +mummies was about to come to a climax. I felt very sorry for poor +Grimsby, cramped in the corner of the Egyptian Room, for I knew him to +be even more hopelessly in the dark respecting the purpose of these +manœuvres than I was myself. In vain I racked my brain in quest of +the link which united the ancient “Book of the Lamps” with the +singular case which had brought us there that night. + +Coram began to fidget, and I knew intuitively that he was about to +speak. + +“_Ssh!_” whispered Moris Klaw. + +A beam of light shone out beneath us, across the Egyptian Room! + +I concluded that something had attracted the attention of Grimsby. I +leaned forward in tense expectancy, and Coram was keenly excited. + +The beam of light moved; it shone upon the door of the very case in +the corner of which Grimsby was hiding, but upon the nearer end, fully +upon the face of a mummy. + +A small figure was dimly discernible, now, the figure of the man who +carried the light. Cautiously he crossed the room. Evidently he held +the key of the wall case, for in an instant he had swung the door back +and was hauling the mummy on to the floor. + +Then out upon the midnight visitor leapt Grimsby. The light was +extinguished--and Moris Klaw, drawing back from the window, seized +Coram by the arm, crying, “The key of the door! The key of the door!” + +We were down and into the Egyptian Room in less than half a minute. +Coram switched on all the lights; and there with his back to the open +door of the wall case, handcuffed and wild-eyed, was--Mr. Mark +Pettigrew! + +Coram’s face was a study--for the famous archæologist whom we now saw +manacled before us was a trustee of the Menzies Museum! + +“Mr. Pettigrew!” he said, hoarsely. “Mr. Pettigrew! there must be some +mistake----” + +“There is no mistake, my good sir,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Look, he has +with him a sharp knife to cut off the head of the priest!” + +It was true. An open knife lay upon the floor beside the fallen mummy! + +Grimsby was breathing very heavily and looking in rather a startled +way at his captive, who seemed unable to realize what had happened. +Coram cleared his throat nervously. It was one of the strangest scenes +in which I had ever participated. + +“Mr. Pettigrew,” he began, “it is incomprehensible to me----” + +“I will make you to comprehend,” interrupted Moris Klaw. “You ask”--he +raised a long finger--“why should Mr. Pettigrew cut off the head of +his own mummy? I answer for the same reason that he cut off the head +of the one at Sotheby’s. You ask why did he cut off the head of the +one at Sotheby’s? I answer for the same reason that he cut off the +head of the one at my house, and for the same reason that he came to +cut off the head of this one! What is he looking for? He is looking +for the ‘Book of the Lamps’!” He paused, gazing around upon us. +Probably, excepting the prisoner, I alone amongst his listeners +understood what he meant. + +“I have related to Mr. Searles,” he continued, “some of the history of +that book. It contained the ritual of the ancient Egyptian ceremonial +magic. It was priceless; it gave its possessors a power above the +power of kings! And when the line of Pankhaur became extinct it +vanished. Where did it go? According to a very rare record--of which +there are only two copies in existence--one of them in my possession +and one in Mr. Pettigrew’s!--it was hidden _in the skull of the mummy +of a priest or priestess of the temple!_” + +Pettigrew was staring at him like a man fascinated. + +“Mr. Pettigrew had only recently acquired that valuable manuscript +work in which the fact is recorded; and being an enthusiast, +gentlemen”--he spread wide his hands continentally “--all we poor +collectors are enthusiasts--he set to work upon the first available +mummy of a priest of that temple. It was his own. The skull did not +contain the priceless papyrus! But all these mummies are historic; +there are only five in Europe.” + +“_Five?_” blurted Pettigrew. + +“Five,” replied Klaw; “you thought there were only four, eh? But as a +blind you called in the police and showed them how your mummy had been +mutilated. It was good. It was clever. No one suspected you of the +outrages after that--no one but the old fool who knew that you had +secured the second copy of that valuable work of guidance! + +“So you did not hesitate to use the keys you had procured in your +capacity as trustee to gain access to this fourth mummy here.” He +turned to Grimsby and Coram. “Gentlemen,” he said, “there will be no +prosecution. The fever of research is a disease; never a crime.” + +“I agree,” said Coram, “most certainly there must be no prosecution; +no scandal. Mr. Pettigrew, I am very, very sorry for this.” + +Grimsby, with a rather wry face, removed the handcuffs. A singular +expression proclaimed itself upon Pettigrew’s shrivelled countenance. + +“The thing I’m most sorry for,” he said, dryly, but with the true +fever of research burning in his eyes, “if you will excuse me saying +it, Coram, for I’m very deeply indebted to you--is that I can’t cut +off the head of this fourth mummy!” + +Mr. Mark Pettigrew was a singularly purposeful and rudely truculent +man. + +“It would be useless,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I found the fifth mummy in +Egypt two years ago! And behold”--he swept his hand picturesquely +through the air--“I beheaded him!” + +“What!” screamed Pettigrew, and leapt upon Klaw with blazing eyes. + +“Ah,” rumbled Klaw, massive and unruffled, “that is the +question--_what?_ And I shall not tell you!” + +From his pocket he took out the scent spray and squirted verbena into +the face of Mr. Pettigrew. + + + + + NINTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE HAUNTING OF GRANGE + + I + +A large lamp burned in the centre of the table; a red-shaded candle +stood close by each diner; and the soft light made a brave enough show +upon the snowy napery and spotless silver, but dispersed nothing of +the gloom about us. The table was a lighted oasis in the desert of the +huge apartment. One could barely pick out the suits of armour and +trophies which hung from distant panelled walls, and I started +repeatedly when the butler appeared, silent, at my elbow. + +Of the party of five, four were men--three of them (for I venture to +include myself) neatly groomed and dressed with care in conventional +dinner fashion. The fourth was a heavy figure in a dress coat with +broad satin lapels such as I have seen, I think, in pictures of +Victorian celebrities. I have no doubt, judging from its shiny +appearance, that it was the workmanship of a Victorian tailor. The +vest was cut high and also boasted lapels; the trousers, though at +present they were concealed beneath the table, belonged to a different +suit, possibly a mourning suit, and to a different sartorial epoch. + +The woman, young, dark, and exceedingly pretty, wore a gown of +shimmering amber, cut with Parisian daring. Her beautiful eyes were +more often lowered than raised, for Sir James Leyland, our host, was +unable to conceal his admiration; his face, tanned by his life in the +Bush, was often turned to her. Clement Leyland, the baronet’s cousin, +bore a striking resemblance to Sir James, but entirely lacked the +latter’s breezy manner. I set him down for a man who thought much and +said little. + +However, conversation could not well flag at a board boasting the +presence of such a genial colonial as Sir James and such a storehouse +of anecdotal oddities as Moris Klaw. Mr. Leyland and myself, then, for +the most part practised the difficult art of listening; for Isis Klaw, +I learned, could talk almost as entertainingly as her father. + +“I am so glad,” said Moris Klaw, and his voice rumbled thunderously +about the room, “that I have this opportunity to visit Grange.” + +“It certainly has great historic interest,” agreed Sir James. “I had +never anticipated inheriting the grand old place, much less the title. +My uncle’s early death, unmarried, very considerably altered my +prospects; I became a landed proprietor who might otherwise have +become a ‘Murrumbidgee whaler’!” + +He laughed, light-heartedly, glancing at Isis Klaw, and from her to +his cousin. + +“Clem had everything in apple-pie order for me,” he added, “including +the family goblin!” + +“Ah! that family goblin!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “It is him I am after, +that goblin!” + +The history of Grange, in fact, was directly responsible for Moris +Klaw’s presence that night. An odd little book, “Psychic Angles,” had +recently attracted considerable attention among students of the +occult, and had proved equally interesting to the general public. It +dealt with the subject of ghosts from quite a new standpoint, and +incidentally revealed its anonymous author as one conversant +apparently with the history of every haunted house in Europe. Few knew +that the curio-dealer of Wapping was the author, but as Grange was +dealt with in “Psychic Angles,” amongst a number of other haunted +homes of England, a letter from Sir James Leyland, forwarded by the +publisher, had invited the author to investigate the latest +developments of the Leyland family ghost. + +I had had the privilege to be associated with Moris Klaw in another +case of apparent haunting--that which I have dealt with in an earlier +paper: the haunting of The Grove. He had courteously invited me, then, +to assist him (his own expression) in the inquiry at Grange. I +welcomed the opportunity, for I was anxious to include in my annals at +least one other case of the apparent occult. + +“We shall without delay,” continued the eccentric investigator, +“endeavour to meet him face to face--this disturber of the peace. Sir +James, it is with the phenomena you call ghosts the same as with +valuable relics, with jewels, with mummies--ah, those mummies!--with +beautiful women!” + +“To liken a beautiful woman to a relic,” said Sir James, “would +be--well”--he glanced at Isis--“hardly complimentary!” + +“It would be true!” Moris Klaw assured him, impressively. “Nature, +that mystic process of reproduction, wastes not its models. Sir James, +all beauty is duplicated. Look at my daughter, Isis.” Sir James +readily obeyed. “You see her, yes? And what do you see?” + +Isis lowered her eyes, but, frankly, I was unable to perceive any +evidence of embarrassment in this singularly self-possessed girl. + +“Perhaps,” resumed her father, “I could tell you what you see; but I +will only tell you what it is you _may_ see. You may see a beauty of +your Regency or a favourite of your Charles; the daughter of a Viking, +an ancient British princess; the slave of a Cæsar, the dancer of a +Pharaoh!” + +“You believe in reincarnation?” suggested Clement Leyland, quietly. + +“Yes, certainly, why not, of course!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “But I do +not speak of it now, not I; I speak of Nature’s reproduction; I tell +you how Nature wastes nothing which is beautiful. What has the soul to +do with the body? I tell you how the reproduction goes on and on until +the mould, the plate, the die, has perished! So is it with ghosts. You +write me that your goblin has learned some new tricks. I answer, your +goblin can never learn new tricks; I answer, this is not he, it is +another goblin! Nature is conservative with her goblins as with her +beautiful women; she does not disfigure the old model with +alterations. What! Chop them about? Never! she makes new ones.” + +Clement Leyland smiled discreetly, but Sir James was evidently +interested. + +“Of course I’ve read ‘Psychic Angles,’ Mr. Klaw,” he said; +“consequently, your novel theories do not altogether surprise me. I +gather your meaning to be this: a haunted house is haunted in exactly +the same way generation after generation? Any new development points +to the presence of a new force or intelligence?” + +“It is exactly quite so,” Moris Klaw nodded, sympathetically. “You +have the receptive mind, Sir James; you should take up ghosts; they +would like you. There is a scientific future for the sympathetic +ghost-hunter, for--I will whisper it--these poor ghosts are sometimes +so glad to be hunted! It is a lonely life, that of a ghost!” + +“The Grange ghost,” Sir James assured him, “is a most gregarious +animal. He doesn’t go in for lonely groanings in the chapel or +anything of that kind; he drops into the billiard room frequently, +he’s often to be met with right here in the dining room, and of late +he’s been sleeping with me regularly!” + +“So I hear,” rumbled Moris Klaw; “so I hear. It is quaint, yes; +proceed, my friend.” + +Isis Klaw sat with her big eyes fixed upon Sir James, as he continued: + +“The traditional ghost of Grange was a gray monk who, on certain +nights--I forget the exact dates--came out from the chapel beyond the +orchard carrying a long staff, walked up to a buttress of the west +wall, and disappeared at the point where formerly there was a private +entrance. In fact, there used to be a secret stair opening at that +point and communicating with a room built by a remote Leyland of the +eighth Henry’s time--a notorious roué. The last Leyland to use the +room was Sir Francis, an intimate of Charles II. The next heir had the +wing rebuilt, and the ancient door walled up.” + +“Yes, yes,” said Moris Klaw. “I know it all, but you tell it well. +This is a most interesting house, this Grange. I have recorded him, +the gray monk, and I learn with surprise how another spook comes +poaching on his preserves! Tell us now of these new developments, Sir +James.” + +Sir James cleared his throat and glanced about the table. + +“Please smoke,” said Isis; “because I should like to smoke, too!” + +“Yes, yes!” agreed Moris Klaw. “Remain, my child, we will all remain; +do not let us move an inch. This banqueting hall is loaded with +psychic impressions. Let us smoke and concentrate our minds upon the +problem.” + +Coffee and liqueurs were placed upon the table and cigarettes lighted. +In deference to the presence of Isis, I suppose, no cigars were +smoked; but the girl lighted an Egyptian cigarette proffered by Sir +James with the insouciance of an old devotee of my Lady Nicotine. The +butler having made his final departure, we were left--a lonely company +in our lighted oasis--amid the shadow desert of that huge and ghostly +apartment. + +“All sorts of singular things have happened,” began Sir James, “since +my return from Australia. Of course, I cannot say if these are recent +developments, because my uncle, for seven or eight years before his +death, resided entirely in London, and Grange was in charge of the +housekeeper. It is notorious, is it not, that housekeepers and such +worthy ladies never by any chance detect anything unseemly in family +establishments with which they are associated? Anyway, when I was dug +up out of the Bush, and all the formalities were through, good old +Clement here set about putting things to rights for me, and I arrived +to find Grange a perfect picture from floor to roof. New servants +engaged, too, though the housekeeper and the butler, who have been in +the family for years, remained, of course, with some other old +servants. As I have said, everything was in apple-pie order.” + +“Including the ghost!” interpolated his cousin, laughing. + +“That’s the trouble,” said Sir James, banging his fist upon the table; +“the very first night I dined in this room there was a most uncanny +manifestation. Clement and I were sitting here at this very table; we +had dined--not unwisely, don’t think that--and were just smoking and +chatting, when----” + +He ceased abruptly; in fact, the effect was similar to that which +would have resulted had a solid door suddenly been closed upon the +speaker. But the stark silence which ensued was instantly interrupted. +My blood seemed to freeze in my veins; a horrid, supernatural dread +held me fast in my chair. For, echoing hollowly around and about the +huge, ancient apartment, rolled, booming, a peal of demoniacal +laughter! From whence it proceeded I was wholly unable to imagine. It +seemed to be all about, above us, and beneath us. It was mad, +devilish, a hell-sound impossible to describe. It rose, it fell, it +rose again--and ceased abruptly. + +“My God!” I whispered. “What was it?” + + + II + +In the silence that followed the ghostly disturbance we sat around the +table listening. Sir James was the first to speak. + +“A demonstration, Mr. Klaw!” he said. “This sort of thing happens +every night!” + +“Ah!” rumbled Moris Klaw, “every night, eh? That laughing? You have +investigated--yes--no?” + +“I tried to investigate,” explained the baronet, “but quite frankly I +didn’t know where to begin.” + +We were all recovering our composure somewhat, I think. + +“You hear that laughter nowhere but in this room?” asked Klaw. + +“I have always heard it when we have been seated at this table,” was +the reply; “at no other time, but it can be heard clearly beyond the +room. The servants have heard it. Excepting the housekeeper and the +butler, they are leaving almost immediately.” + +“Ah! _canaille!_” grunted Moris Klaw; “fear-pigs! It is always so, +these servants. So you have not located the one that laughs, no?” + +“No,” answered Sir James; “and he doesn’t stop at laughing--does he, +Clem?” + +Clement Leyland shook his head. He looked even paler than usual, I +thought, and the uncanny incident seemed to have disturbed him +greatly. + +“What else?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “The gray monk is forgetting his +manners. He becomes rude, eh--that gray monk?” + +“The house has practically become uninhabitable,” said the baronet, +bitterly. “None of the usual phenomena are missing. We have slamming +doors, phantom footsteps, and, if the servants are to be believed, +half the forces of hell loose here at night!” + +“But your _own_ experiences?” interrupted Klaw. + +“My own experiences in brief amount to this: I rarely sit at this +table at night without hearing that beastly laughter, at least once. I +never go into the billiard room, which opens out under the gallery +yonder, without feeling a cold wind blowing upon my face or head, even +in perfectly still weather, or with all the windows closed. To the +left of the billiard room, and opening out of it, is a third centre of +these disturbances. It’s the gun room, and guns have been fired there +in the night, with the door locked, on no fewer than five occasions!” + +Moris Klaw, from a tail pocket of his coat, produced a cylindrical +scent spray and squirted verbena upon his high yellow forehead. + +“It grows exciting, this,” he said. “I require the cool brain.” + +“Finally,” added Sir James, “the only other point worth mentioning is +the ghostly voice which regularly wakes me from my sleep at night.” + +“A voice,” rumbled Klaw; “what voice, and what does it say, that +voice?” + +“I won’t repeat what it says!” replied the baronet, glancing at Isis; +“but it offers obscene suggestions or that is the impression I have of +it--a low, filthy mumbling; if you can follow me, the voice of +something dead and infinitely evil.” + +Moris Klaw stood up. + +“This intelligence,” he rumbled, “a living or a dead one, has thoughts +then, and thoughts, Sir James, are things. I shall sleep in one of the +centres of its activity to-night, perhaps here, perhaps in the +billiard room or the gun room. Isis, my child, bring for me my +odically sterilized pillows. This is a charming case and worthy of the +subtle method.” + +He placed his hands upon the shoulders of Sir James Leyland, who stood +facing him. + +“Evil thoughts live, Sir James,” he said. “I cannot explain to you how +hard it is to slay them. Few good thoughts survive; but such an +ancient abode as this”--he waved his long hands characteristically +about him--“is peopled with thought-forms surviving from the dark +ages. I have opened the inner eye, my friend. Mercifully, perhaps, the +inner eye is closed in most of us; in some it is blind. But I have +opened that eye and trained it. As I sleep”--he lowered his voice +oddly--“those thought things come to me. It is an uncomfortable gift, +yes; for here in Grange I shall find myself to-night in evil company. +Murders long forgotten will be accomplished again before that inner +eye of mine! I shall swim in blood! Assassins will come stealing to +me, murdered ones will scream in my ears, the secret knife will flash, +the honest ax do its deadly work; for in the moment of such deeds two +imperishable thought-forms are created: the thought-form of the +slayer, strong to survive, because a blood-lustful thought, a +revengeful thought; and the thought of the slain, likewise a +long-surviving thought because a thought of wildest despair, a final +massing of the mental forces greater than any generally possible in +life, upon that last awful grievance.” + +He paused, looking around him. + +“From the phantom company,” he said, “I must pick out that one whose +thought is of laughter, of firing guns, and of evil whisperings. What +a task! Wondrous is the science of the mental negative!” + +The meeting broke up, then, and Isis Klaw, having brought from a large +case, which formed part of her father’s luggage, two huge red +cushions, bade us good-night and retired to her own room. Moris Klaw, +with a cushion swinging in each hand, went shuffling ungainly from +room to room like some strange animal seeking a lair. + +“Do I understand,” Clement Leyland whispered to me, “that your friend +proposes to sleep down here?” + +“Yes,” I replied, smiling at his evident wonderment; “such is his +method of investigation, eccentric, but effective.” + +“It is really effective, then? The experiences given in ‘Psychic +Angles’ are not fabulous?” + +“In no way. Moris Klaw is a very remarkable man. I have yet to meet +the mystery which is beyond him.” + +Moris Klaw’s rumbling voice, which frequently reminded me of the +rolling of casks in a distant cellar, broke in upon our conversation: + +“Here is the ideal spot; here upon this settee by the door of the gun +room I am in the centre of these psychic storms which nightly arise in +Grange.” + +“If you are determined to remain here, Mr. Klaw,” said Sir James, “I +shall not endeavour to dissuade you, of course; but I should prefer to +see you turn into more comfortable quarters.” + +“No, no,” was the reply; “it is here I shall lay down my old head, it +is here I shall lie and wait for him, the one who laughs.” + +Accordingly, since the hour grew late, we left this novel ghost-hunter +stretched out upon the settee in the billiard room; and as I knew his +objection to any disturbance, I suggested to Sir James that we should +retire out of earshot for a final smoke ere seeking our separate +apartments. + +We sat chatting for close upon an hour, I suppose. Then Clement +Leyland left us, saying that he had had a heavy day. + +“Clement’s been working real hard,” the baronet confided to me. “In +the circumstances, as I think I told you, I have decided to abandon +Grange, and we are having the old Friars House, a mile from here, but +on part of the estate, restored. It hasn’t been inhabited for about +three generations, and it’s very much older than Grange; part of it +dates back to King John. Perhaps I can get servants to stop there, +though, and it’s quite impossible to keep up Grange without a staff. +Clement has been superintending the work over there all day; he’s one +of the best.” + +A few moments later we parted for the night. I left Sir James at the +door of his room, which had formerly opened off the balcony +overlooking the banqueting hall. That door was now walled up, however, +and the entrance was from the corridor beyond. The room allotted to me +was upon the opposite side of the same corridor and farther to the +north. + +I felt particularly unlike sleep. The extremely modern furniture of my +room could not rob the walls, with their small square panelling, of +the air of hoary antiquity which was theirs. The one window, deep set +and overlooking an extensive orchard, was such as might have formed +the focus for cavalierly glance, was such as might have framed the +head of a romantic maid of Stuart days. And with it all was that +gloomy air that had a more remote antiquity, that harked back to +darker times than those of the Merry Monarch: the air of ghostly evil, +the cloud from which proceeded the devilish laughter, the obscene +whisperings. + +Where the shadows of the trees lay beneath me on the turf, I could +fancy a gray cowled figure flitting across the lighted patches and +lurking, evilly watching, amid the pools of darkness. Sleep was +impossible. Moris Klaw, to whom such fears as mine were utterly +unknown, might repose, nay, was actually reposing, in the very vortex +of this psychical storm; but I was otherwise constituted. I had been +with him in many cases of dark enough evil-doing, but this purely +ghostly menace was something that sapped my courage. + +Grange stood upon rather high ground, and in a northeasterly +direction, peeping out from the trees of a wooded slope, showed a gray +tower almost like a giant monkish figure under the moon. I watched it +with a vague interest. It was Friars House, to which the baronet +projected retreat from the haunted Grange. Lighting my pipe, I leaned +from the window, idly watching that ancient tower and wondering if +more evil deeds had taken place within it--long as it had stood there +amid the trees--than those which had left their ghostly mark upon +Grange. + +The night was very beautiful and very still. Not the slightest sound +could I detect within or without the house. How long I had lounged +there in this half-dreamy, but vaguely fearful, mood I cannot say, but +I was aroused by a tremendous outcry. Loud it broke in upon the +silence of the night, broke in on my mood with nerve-racking effect. +My pipe dropped to the floor, and taking one step across the room I +stood there, rooted to the spot with indefinable horror. + +“Father!” it came in a piercing scream, and again: “Father! O God! +save him! save him!” + + + III + +The voice was that of Isis Klaw! + +Whenever I accompanied her father upon any of his inquiries I came +armed, and now, with a magazine pistol held in my hand, I leapt out +into the corridor and turned toward the stair. A door slammed open in +front of me and Sir James Leyland also came running out, pulling on +his dressing gown as he ran. One quick glance he gave me; his face was +very pale; and together we went racing down the stairs into the hall +patched with ghostly moonlight. + +“You heard it?” he breathed, hoarsely. “It was Miss Klaw! What in +God’s name has happened? Where is she?” + +But even as he asked the question, and as we pressed on into the +billiard room, it was answered. For Isis Klaw, with a dressing gown +thrown over her night apparel, was kneeling beside the settee upon +which her father lay. + +“What has happened? What has happened?” groaned Sir James. Then, as we +approached together: “Mr. Klaw! Mr. Klaw!” he cried. + +“All right, my friend!” came the rumbling voice, and to my inestimable +relief Moris Klaw sat up and looked around upon us, adjusting his +pince-nez to the bridge of his massive nose: “I live! It has saved me, +the Science of the Mind!” + +Isis Klaw bowed her head upon the red cushion, and I saw that she was +trembling violently. It was the first time I had known her to lose her +regal composure, and, utterly mystified, I wondered what awful danger +had threatened Moris Klaw. + +“Thank Heaven for that!” said the baronet, earnestly. + +Approaching footsteps sounded now, and a group of frightened servants, +headed by the butler, appeared at the door of the billiard room. +Through them came pressing Mr. Clement Leyland. His face was ghastly, +showing a startling white against the dull red of the dressing gown he +wore. + +“James!” he said, huskily. “James! that awful screaming! What was it? +What has occurred?” + +I knew that he slept in the west wing and that he must have been +unable to distinguish the words which Isis had cried. Thus heard, the +shrill scream must have sounded even more terrifying. + +Moris Klaw raised his hand protestingly. + +“No fuss, dear friends,” he implored, in rumbling accents, “no +wonderings and botherings. They so disturb the nerves. Let us be calm, +let us be peaceful.” He laid his hand upon the head of the girl who +knelt beside him. “Isis, my child, what a delicate instrument is the +psychic perception! You knew it, the danger to your poor old father, +to the poor old fool who lies here waiting to be slaughtered! Almost +you knew it before I knew it myself!” + +“For God’s sake, Mr. Klaw,” said Clement Leyland, shakily, “what has +happened? Who, or what, came to you here? What occasioned Miss Klaw’s +terror?” + +“My friend,” replied Klaw, “you ask me conundrum-riddles. Some +dreadful thing haunts this Grange, some deadly thing. The man has not +lived who has not tasted fear, and I, the old foolish, have lived +indeed to-night! I fail, my friend. There is some evil intelligence +ruling this Grange, which I cannot capture upon my negative”--he +tapped his brow characteristically--“to attempt it would be to die. It +is too powerful for me. Grange is unclean, Sir James. You will leave +Grange without delay; it is I, the old experienced who knows, that +warns you. Fly from Grange. Take up your residence to-morrow at Friars +House!” + +No further explanation would he vouchsafe. + +“I am defeated, my friends!” he declared, shrugging, resignedly. + +Accordingly, Isis, her beautiful face deathly pale and her great eyes +feverishly bright, returned to her room. She covered her face with her +hands as she passed to the door. Moris Klaw accepted the use of an +apartment next to mine, and we all sought our couches again in states +of varying perturbation. + +That there was some profound mystery underlying these happenings of +the night was evident to me. Moris Klaw and Isis Klaw were keeping +something back. They shared some dark secret and guarded it jealously; +but with what motive they acted in this fashion was a problem that +defied my efforts at solution. + +The morning came and brought a haggard company to the breakfast table. +Few, if any, beneath the roof of Grange, had known sleep that night, +although, so far as I could gather, there had been no manifestations +of any kind. + +Moris Klaw talked incessantly about the fauna of the Sahara Desert, +and so monopolized the conversation with his queer anecdotes of snakes +and scorpions that no other topic found entrance. + +After breakfast the whole party, in Sir James’s car, drove over to +Friars House; and despite the up-to-date furniture and upholstery, I +found it a very gloomy residence. Stripped of its ghostly atmosphere, +Grange had been quite a charming seat for any man; but this +dungeonesque place, with its lichened tower that had dominated the +valley when John signed Magna Charta, with its massive walls and +arrow-slit windows, its eccentrically designed apartments and +crypt-like smell, was altogether too archaic to be comfortable. + +Moris Klaw, standing in the room which had been fitted up as a +library, removed his flat-topped brown bowler and fumbled for his +scent spray. + +“This place,” he said, “smells abominably of dead abbots!” + +He squirted verbena upon himself and upon Isis. He replaced the scent +spray in the lining of the hat, and was about to replace the hat on +his head, when he paused, staring straight up at the ceiling +reflectively. + +“My notes!” he said, abruptly; “I have left those notes in my valise. +I must have them. Curse me, for an old foolish! Sir James, you will +show Isis this charming old tower in my absence? Do I intrude? But I +would borrow the car and return to Grange for my notes!” + +“Not a bit!” replied the baronet, readily. “Clement can go with you!” + +“No, no! Certainly no! I could not think of it! My old friend, Mr. +Searles, may come if he so likes; if not, I go alone.” + +Naturally, I agreed to accompany him; and, leaving the others at the +ancient gateway, we set off in Sir James’s car back to Grange. Down +into the valley we swept and up the slope to Grange, Moris Klaw +sitting muttering in his beard, but offering no remark and patently +desirous to avoid conversation. + +“Come, my friend,” he said, as the car drew up before the house, “and +I will show you what my mental negative recorded to me last night, +just before the great danger came.” + +He led the way into the billiard room, curtly directing the butler to +leave us. When we were alone-- + +“You will note something,” he rumbled, swinging his arm vaguely around +in the direction of the banqueting hall. “What you will note is this: +the laughter--where is it heard? It is heard here, in the gun room on +my right, in the banquet room before me. Great is the Science of the +Mind! I will now test my negative.” + +I followed him with wondering gaze as he stepped into the deep +old-fashioned fireplace which formed one of the quaintest features of +the room. He bent his tall figure to avoid striking his head upon the +stonework, and placed the historic brown bowler upon one of the +settles. + +“Perhaps I cannot find it,” came his rumbling voice; “my negative was +fogged by assassinations, murderous sieges, candle-light duels, and +other thought-forms of the troubled past; but I may triumph--I may +triumph!” + +He was standing on a settle with his head far up the chimney, and +presently a faint grating sound proceeded from that sooty darkness. + +“I have it!” he rumbled, triumphantly. “And in my pocket reposes the +electric lamp. I ascend; you, my good friend, will follow.” + +True enough he scrambled upward and, to my unspeakable amazement, +disappeared in the chimney. Filled with great wonder I followed and +saw him standing in a recess high above my head, a recess which he +must have opened in some way unknown to me. He extended a long arm and +grasped my hand in his. + +“Up!” he cried, exerted his surprising strength, and jerked me up +beside him with as little effort as though I had been a child. + +He pressed the button of a torch which he held and I saw that we stood +upon an exceedingly steep and narrow wooden stair. + +“It is in the thickness of the wall between the panellings,” he +whispered, solemnly; “a Jacobite hiding place. Sir James knows nothing +of it, for has he not spent his life in the Bush?” + +He mounted the stair. + +“On the right,” his voice came back to me, “the gun room, the billiard +room! On the left, the banquet room. From here comes the +laughter--from here comes the danger.” + +Still he ascended and I followed. The narrow stair terminated in a +dusty box-like apartment no more than six feet high by six feet +square. Moris Klaw, ducking his head grotesquely, stood there shining +the light about him. From the floor he took up a square wooden case +and waved to me to descend again. + +“No exit,” he said; “no exit. Sir James’s bedroom is upon the farther +side, but, as I had anticipated, there is no exit.” + +We returned the way we had come; clearly there was no other. Beneath +his caped coat Moris Klaw jealously concealed the case which he had +discovered in the secret chamber. I was filled with intense curiosity; +but Moris Klaw, having gone to his room, asking me to await him +outside in the drive, returned, ultimately, without the case, but +carrying a huge notebook, and intimated that he was prepared to +reënter the waiting car. + +Behind the pebbles of his pince-nez his strange eyes gleamed +triumphantly. + +“We triumph,” he said. “The haunting of Grange succumbs to the Science +of the Mind!” + + + IV + +We all had lunch at Friars House, but were by no means a jovial party. +Sir James seemed worried and preoccupied, and Clement Leyland even +more reticent than usual. Moris Klaw talked, certainly, but his +conversation turned entirely upon the subject of the Borgias, +concerning which notorious family he was possessed of a stock of most +unsavoury anecdote. So realistic were his gruesome stories, delivered +in that rumbling whisper, wholly impossible to describe or imitate, +that every mouthful of food which I swallowed threatened to choke me. + +Afterward we wandered idly about the beautiful old grounds, which bore +ineffaceable marks of monkish cultivation. Sir James, who was walking +ahead with Moris Klaw and Isis, suddenly turned and waited for me. I +had been examining a sundial with much interest, but I now walked on +and joined our host. + +“Mr. Searles,” he said, “may I press you to remain here over the +week-end?” + +“That’s very good of you,” I replied. “I think I could manage it, and +I should enjoy the stay immensely.” + +I concluded that Moris Klaw also was remaining, and consequently was +surprised when a short time later he drew me aside into a rose-covered +arbour and announced that he was leaving by the four-o’clock train. + +“But I shall be back in the morning, Mr. Searles,” he assured me, +wagging his finger mysteriously; “I shall be back in the morning!” + +“And Miss Klaw?” + +“She, too, goes by the four-o’clock train and will not be +returning--for the present.” + +“I understand that Sir James is taking up his residence here at Friars +House from now onward?” + +“It is so, my friend; he deserts Grange. The servants come over here +to-day. Is he not well advised? Mr. Clement has all along recommended +that this shall be his residence. He was against it, the idea of +inhabiting Grange, from the first. He is wise, that Mr. Clement. He +has lived in these parts so long. He knows that Grange is haunted, is +uninhabitable.” + +Later, then, Moris Klaw and Isis took their departure; and just as the +car was about to drive off my eccentric friend removed his brown +bowler and sprayed his bald brow with verbena. He bent to me: + +“Day and night,” he whispered, huskily, “do not lose sight of him, Sir +James! Above all, allow him not to _explore!_” + +With that the car drove off, and I stood looking after it, wondering, +utterly mystified. On the steps behind me stood Clement Leyland and +his cousin. The latter’s gaze followed the course of the car along the +picturesque winding road until it became lost from view. I thought I +heard him sigh. + +Ensued an uneventful day and night. Life was pleasant enough at Friars +House, if a trifle dull; and Sir James seemed unsettled, whilst his +disquietude was reflected in his cousin. The latter, now that his +active labours in preparing this new residence for the baronet were +checked, seemed a man at a loss what to do with himself. His was one +of those quietly ardent temperaments, I divined, and idleness palled +upon him. Apparently he had no profession, and although I presumed +that he had some residence of his own in the neighbourhood, he, +apparently, was prepared indefinitely to prolong his stay at Friars +House. I think his companionship was welcome to Sir James, for the +latter was yet strange to the new duties of a landed gentleman. + +The next morning brought Moris Klaw, and I learned with ever-growing +surprise that he had made arrangements to spend the following week +beneath the hospitable roof of Friars House. + +I have nothing to record of interest up to the time I left; but often +during the ensuing six days the problem of the haunting of Grange, and +the mystery of Moris Klaw’s protracted visit to Friars House came +between me and my work. Then on the Saturday morning arrived a +telegram: + + + “Can you join us for week-end--car will meet 2:30. Wire reply. Best + wishes.--Leyland.” + + +I determined to accept the invitation; for respecting the nature of +Moris Klaw’s business at Friars House--and that he had some other +motive than ordinary in sojourning there I was persuaded--my curiosity +knew no bounds. Accordingly, I packed my grip, and at about five +o’clock on a delightful afternoon found myself taking tea in a +cloister-like apartment of the former Friary. + +“Grange,” said Sir James, in answer to a question of mine, “is shut +up.” + +“It is shut, yes,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “What a pity! What a pity!” + +In the course of the day occurred incidents which I have since +perceived to have been significant. I will pass over them, however, +and hasten to what I may term the catastrophe of this very singular +case. + +Four of us sat down to dinner in an apartment which clearly had been +the ancient refectory of the monks. Clement Leyland, who had arrived +barely in time to dress, looked haggard and worried. I determined that +he had some private troubles of his own, and beneath his quiet +geniality I thought I could detect a sort of brooding gloom. His pale, +clean-shaven face, so like yet so unlike that of his cousin, was a +mask that ill repaid study; yet I knew that the real Clement Leyland +was a stranger to me, perhaps to all of us. + +I was most anxious to learn if Moris Klaw had divulged the secret of +the hidden chamber at Grange to Sir James; and I was unspeakably +curious concerning the box of which I had had but a glimpse--the box +that he had found there. But he baffled my curiosity at every point. + +Have you experienced that sense of impending calamity which sometimes +heralds tragic things? It was with me that night, throughout dinner; +and afterward, when we entered the library and sat over our cigars, it +grew portentously. I felt that I stood upon the brink of a precipice. +And literally I was not in great error. Moris Klaw, to the evident +discomfort of Sir James, brought the conversation around to the +subject of the haunting. I observed him to glance at his watch, with a +rather odd expression upon his vellum-hued face. + +“Is it not singular,” he said, “how poor spectres are confined, like +linnets, to their cages? They seem, these spooks, never to roam. That +laughing demon of Grange--look at him. He remains in that empty, +desolate house; he----” + +There was a dreadful interruption. + +Commencing with a sort of guttural rattle, out upon the cloisteresque +stillness burst a peal of wicked laughter. + +It rang throughout the room; it poured fear into my every fibre. It +died away--and was gone. + +Sir James, clutching the leather-covered chair-arms, looked like a man +of stone. I was frankly terrorized. Moris Klaw stood behind me, by a +bookcase, him I could not see. But Clement Leyland’s face I can never +forget. It was positively deathlike. His eyes seemed starting from +their sockets, and his teeth chattered horribly. + +“God in Heaven!” he whispered, brokenly. “What is it? O God! What is +it! Take it away--take it away!” + +Then Moris Klaw spoke, slowly: + +“It is for _you_ to take it away, Mr. Leyland!” + +Clement Leyland rose from his seat; he swayed like a drunken man, and +there was madness in the glaring eyes that he turned in Klaw’s +direction. + +“You--you----” he gasped. + +“I--I----” rumbled Moris Klaw, sternly, and took a step forward; “I +have entered the Jacobite hiding place at Grange, and there I found a +box! Ah! you glare! glare on, my friend! I returned that box to where +I found it; but first I examined its contents! What! that demon +laughter frightens you! Then descend, Mr. Leyland, descend and bring +him out--the one who laughs!” + +Rigidly, Sir James sat in his chair; I, too, seemed to be palsied. But +at sight of the next happening we both stood up. Moris Klaw stamped +heavily upon the oaken floor in a deep recess; then applied his weight +to a section of the seemingly solid stone wall. + +It turned, as on a pivot, revealing a dark cavity. + +He stood there, a bizarre figure, pointing down into the blackness. + +“Descend, my friend!” he cried. “The one who laughs is upon the +seventh step!” + +“_The seventh step!_” + +In a whisper the words came from Clement Leyland. A draft of damp, +cavernous air blew into the library out of the opening. + +“Descend, my friend!” + +Remorselessly, Moris Klaw repeated the words. In the centre of the +room, Clement Leyland, a pitiable sight, stood staring--and +hesitating. Suddenly his cousin spoke. + +“Don’t go, Clement!” he whispered. + +The other turned to him, dazedly. + +“Don’t go--down that place. But--O God! I understand at last, or +partly.… _Quit!_ I give you half an hour!” + +Sir James sank back into his chair and buried his face in his hands; +Moris Klaw never moved from where he stood by the cavity. But Clement +Leyland, with bowed head, walked from the room. + +In the silence that followed his going-- + +“Await me, gentlemen,” rumbled Klaw; “I descend for the laughter!” + +He stepped into the opening. + +“One,” he counted, “two--three--four--five--” his voice came up to us +from the depths--“_six!_” + +We heard him ascending. Walking into the library he placed upon the +table beside Sir James a very large and up-to-date gramophone! + +“The laughter!” he explained, simply. “That night, my friends, when +first I slept at Grange, I secured, among a host of other dreadful +negatives, the negative of one who lurked in a secret hiding place. I +saw him come creeping from the chimney corner, bearing a great mace +which I recognized for one that had hung in the hall! Almost, the +Science of the Mind betrayed me; for I mistook him for a thought-form! +But the mind of Isis is _en rapport_ with the mind of her poor old +father. In her dreams she saw my peril, and she it was who, screaming, +saved me!--saved me from the murderer with the mace!” + +Sir James made no sign. Moris Klaw continued: + +“I gathered, then, that the one who sometimes lurked in the Jacobite +hiding place and who, somehow, made the demon laughter, and the other +phenomena, sought _one_ end. It was to cause you to leave Grange and +to live in Friars House! Beyond so far, my science could not show me. +I assisted, therefore, the project of the lurker; and came myself, +too, in order to watch, my friend, to guard and to spy! + +“His gramophone I found, examined, and replaced. It had a clockwork +attachment, very ingenious, which both started and stopped it; there +was little or no scraping. To-night, from his room, unknown to him, I +removed the instrument from its case, which lay hidden at the bottom +of his trunk. Yes! I stole his key! I am the old fox! Why did he bring +it here? I cannot reply. Perhaps he meant again to use it; his future +projects are dark to me, but their object is all too light.” + +Sir James groaned. + +“Old Clem!” he whispered, “and how I trusted him!” + +“He did not quite believe in my science,” resumed Moris Klaw, “but he +did not know that, hidden, I slept almost beside him as he sat, +planning, in this very room! From his own bad mind I secured my second +negative; and it showed me the death trap of some bad old son of +Mother Church! At Grange there was but the Jacobite hiding place, but +here was the devilry of feudal times! I returned to London. Why? To +learn if my suspicions were well founded. Yes! You may or may not be +aware; but if you die childless, the wicked Clement inherits Grange!” + +“I knew that,” whispered Sir James. + +“Ah! you knew? _So._ I returned to here, for, even at that time, I +suspected that your _accidental_ death was the object of removal! Then +I secured it, my second negative. Biding my time, I explored that +death-smelling place. Its wicked machinery had been _freshly oiled!_ +Ah! he knew its secrets well, the old house that he hoped to inherit! + +“One night, all innocent, as you sat here, with other guests, he would +have blundered upon that doorway! And _you_, the host, would have led +the search party! But I saw that he feared to move whilst I remained, +and so I played the ghost upon him with his own spook!” + +Sir James Leyland looked up. His bronzed face was transformed with +emotion. + +“Mr. Klaw,” he said, huskily, “why did you lay so much emphasis upon +the words, ‘the seventh step’?” + +Moris Klaw shrugged, replying simply: + +“Because _there is no seventh step--only the mouth of a well!_” + + + + + TENTH EPISODE. + CASE OF THE VEIL OF ISIS + + I + +I have made no attempt, in these chronicles, to arrange the cases of +my remarkable friend, Moris Klaw, in sections. Yet, as has recently +been pointed out to me, they seem naturally to fall into two orders. +There were those in which he appeared in the rôle of criminal +investigator, and in which he was usually associated with Inspector +Grimsby. There was another class of inquiry in which the criminal +element was lacking: mysteries which never came under the notice of +New Scotland Yard. + +Since Moris Klaw’s methods were, if not supernatural, at any rate +supernormal, I have been asked if he ever, to my knowledge, inquired +into a case which proved insusceptible of a natural explanation--which +fell strictly within the province of the occult. + +To that I answer that I am aware of several; but I have refrained from +including them because readers of these papers would be unlikely to +appreciate the nature of Klaw’s investigations outside the sphere of +ordinary natural laws. Those who are curious upon the point cannot do +better than consult the remarkable work by Moris Klaw entitled, +“Psychic Angles.” + +But there was one case with which I found myself concerned that I am +disposed to include, for it fell between the provinces of the natural +and supernatural in such a way that it might, with equal legitimacy, +be included under either head. On the whole, I am disposed to bracket +it with the case of the headless mummies. + +I will take leave to introduce you, then, to the company which met at +Otter Brearley’s house one night in August. + +“This is most truly amazing,” Moris Klaw was saying; “and I am +indebted to my good friend Searles”--he inclined his sparsely covered +head in my direction--“for the opportunity to be one of you. It is a +séance? Yes and no. But there is a mummy in it--and those mummies are +so instructive!” + +He extracted the scent spray from his pocket and refreshed his yellow +brow with verbena. + +“How to be regretted that my daughter is in Paris,” he continued, his +rumbling voice echoing queerly about the room. “She loves them like a +mother--those mummies! Ah, Mr. Brearley, this will cement your great +reputation!” + +Otter Brearley shook his head. + +“I am not yet prepared to make it public property,” he declared, +slowly. “No one, outside the present circle, knows of my discovery. I +do not wish it to go farther--at present.” + +He glanced around the table, his prominent blue eyes passing from +myself to Moris Klaw and from Klaw to the clean-cut dark face of +Doctor Fairbank. The latter, scarce heeding his host’s last words, sat +watching how the shaded light played, tenderly, amid the soft billows +of Ailsa Brearley’s wonderful hair. + +“Shall you make it the subject of a paper?” he asked suddenly. + +“My dear Doctor Fairbank!” rumbled Moris Klaw, solemnly, “if you had +been paying attention to our good friend you would have heard him say +that he was not prepared, at present, to make public his wonderful +discovery.” + +“Sorry!” said Fairbank, turning to Brearley. “But if it is not to be +made public I don’t altogether follow the idea. What _do_ you intend, +Brearley?” + +“I intend to experiment,” answered Brearley. + +“In what way?” I asked. + +“In every way possible!” + +Doctor Fairbank sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. + +“Rather a comprehensive scheme?” + +Brearley toyed with the bundle of notes under his hand. + +“I have already,” he said, “exhaustively examined seven of the +possibilities; the eighth, and--I believe, the last--remains to be +considered.” + +“Listen now to me, Mr. Brearley,” said Moris Klaw, wagging a long +finger. “I am here, the old curious, and find myself in delightful +company. But until this evening I know nothing of your work except +that I have read all your books. For me you will be so good as to +outline all the points--yes?” + +Otter Brearley mutely sought permission of the company, and turned the +leaves of his manuscript. All men have an innate love of “talking +shop,” but few can make such talk of general interest. Brearley was an +exception in this respect. He loved to talk of Egypt, of the Pharaohs, +of the temples, of the priesthood and its mysteries; but others loved +to hear him. That made all the difference. + +“The discovery,” he now began, “upon which I have blundered--for pure +accident, alone, led me to it--assumes its great importance by reason +of the absolute mystery surrounding certain phases of Egyptian +worship. In the old days, Fairbank, you will recall that it was my +supreme ambition to learn the secrets of Isis-worship as practised in +early Egyptian times. Save for impostors, and legitimate imaginative +writers, no one has yet lifted the veil of Isis. That mystical +ceremony by which a priest was consecrated to the goddess, or made an +arch adept, was thought to be hopelessly lost, or, by others, to be a +myth devised by the priesthood to awe the ignorant masses. In fact, we +know little of the entire religion but its outward form. Of that +occult lore so widely attributed to its votaries we know +nothing--absolutely nothing! By we, I mean students in general. I, +individually, have made a step, if not a stride, into that holy of +holies!” + +“Mind you don’t lose yourself!” said Fairbank, lightly. + +But, professionally, he was displeased with Brearley’s drawn face and +with the feverish brightness of his eyes. So much was plain for all to +see. In the eyes of Ailsa Brearley, so like, yet so unlike, her +brother’s, he read understanding of his displeasure, I think, together +with a pathetic appeal. + +Brearley waved his long white hand carelessly. + +“Rest assured of that, Doctor!” he replied. “The labyrinth in which I +find myself is intricate, I readily admit; but all my steps have been +well considered. To return, Mr. Klaw”--addressing the latter--“I have +secured the mummy of one of those arch adepts! That he was one is +proved by the papyrus, presumably in his own writing, which lay upon +his breast! I unwrapped the mummy in Egypt, where it now reposes; but +the writing I brought back with me and have recently deciphered. A +glance had showed me that it was not the usual excerpts from the ‘Book +of the Dead.’ Six months’ labour has proved it to be a detailed +account of his initiation into the inner mysteries!” + +“Is such a papyrus unique?” I asked. + +“Unique!” cried Moris Klaw. “Name of a little blue man! It is +priceless!” + +“But why,” I pursued, “should this priest, alone among the many who +must have been so initiated, have left an account of the ceremony?” + +“It was forbidden to divulge any part, any word, of it, Searles!” said +Brearley. “Departure from this law was visited with fearful +punishments in this world and dire penalties in the next. Khamus, for +so this priest was named, well knew this. But some reason which, I +fear, can never be known, prompted him to write the papyrus. It is +probable, if not certain, that no eye but his, and mine, has read what +is written there.” + +A silence of a few seconds followed his words. + +“Yes,” rumbled Klaw, presently; “it is undoubtedly a discovery of +extraordinary importance, this. You agree, my friend?” + +I nodded. + +“That’s evident,” I replied. “But I cannot altogether get the hang of +the ceremony itself, Brearley. That is the point upon which I am +particularly hazy.” + +“To read you the entire account in detail,” Brearley resumed, “would +occupy too long, and would almost certainly confuse you. But the +singular thing is this: Khamus distinctly asserts that the goddess +appeared to him. His writing is eminently sane and reserved, and his +account of the ceremony, up to that point, highly interesting. Now, I +have tested the papyrus itself--though no possibility of fraud is +really admissible, and I have been able to confirm many of the +statements made therein. There is only one point, it seems to me, +remaining to be settled.” + +“What is that?” I asked. + +“Whether, as a result of the ceremony described, Khamus did see Isis, +or whether he merely imagined he did!” + +No one spoke for a moment. Then-- + +“My friend,” said Moris Klaw, “I have a daughter whom I have named +Isis. Why did I name her Isis? Mr. Brearley, you must know that that +name has a mystic and beautiful significance. But I will say +something--I am glad that my daughter is not here! Mr. +Brearley--beware! Beware, I say: you play with burning fires; my +friend--beware!” + +His words impressed us all immensely; for there was something +underlying them more portentous than appeared upon the surface. + +Fairbank stared at Brearley, hard. + +“Do I understand,” he began, quietly, “that you admit the first +possibility?” + +“Certainly!” replied Brearley, with conviction. + +“You are prepared to admit the existence, as an entity, of Isis?” + +“I am prepared to admit the existence of _anything_ until it can be +proved not to exist!” + +“Then, admitting the existence of Isis, what should you assume it, or +her, to be?” + +“That is not a matter for presumption; it is a matter for inquiry!” + +The doctor glanced quickly toward Ailsa Brearley, and her beautiful +face was troubled. + +“And this inquiry--how should you propose to conduct it?” + +“In surroundings as nearly as possible identical with those described +in the papyrus,” replied Brearley, with growing excitement. “I should +follow the ceremony, word by word, as Khamus did!” + +His eyes gleamed with pent-up enthusiasm. We four listeners, again +stricken silent, watched him; and again it was the doctor who broke +the silence. + +“Is the ceremony spoken?” + +“In the first half there is a long prayer, which is chanted.” + +“But Egyptian, as a _spoken_ language, is lost, surely?” + +“The exact pronunciation, or accent, is lost, of course; but there are +many who can speak it. I can, for instance.” + +“And I,” rumbled Moris Klaw, gloomily. “But these special +surroundings? Eh, my friend?” + +“I have spent a year in searching for the necessary things, as +specified in the writing. At last my collection is complete. Some of +the things I have had made, in the proper materials mentioned. These +materials, in some cases, have been exceedingly difficult to procure. +But now I have a complete shrine of Isis fitted up! Khamus’s +initiation took place in a small chamber of which he gives a concise +and detailed account. It is because my duplicate of this chamber is +ready that I have asked you to meet me here to-night.” + +“How long have you been at work upon this inquiry?” said Fairbank. + +He put the question as he might have put one relating to a patient’s +symptoms; and this Brearley detected in his tone, with sudden +resentment. + +“Fairbank,” he said, huskily, “I believe you think me insane!” + +With his pale, drawn face and long, fair hair, he certainly looked +anything but normal, as he sat with bright, staring eyes fixed upon +the other across the table. + +“My dear chap,” replied the doctor, soothingly, “what a strange idea! +My question was prompted by a professional spirit, I will admit, for I +thought you had been sticking to this business too closely. You are +the last man in the world I should expect to go mad, Brearley, but I +should not care to answer for your nerves if you don’t give this Isis +affair a rest.” + +Brearley smiled, and waved his hand characteristically. “Excuse me, +Fairbank,” he said, “but to the average person my ideas do seem +fantastic, I know. That is what makes me so touchy on the point, I +suppose.” + +“You are hoping for too much from what is at most only a wild +conjecture, Brearley. Your translation of the manuscript, alone, is a +sufficiently notable achievement. If I were in your place, I should +leave the occult business to the psychical societies. ‘Let the +cobbler,’ you know.” + +“It has gone too far for that,” returned Brearley, “and I must see it +through, now.” + +“You are putting too much into it,” said the doctor, severely. “I want +you to promise me that if nothing results from your final experiment, +you will drop the whole inquiry.” + +Brearley frowned thoughtfully. + +“Do you really think I am overdoing it?” he asked. + +“Sure,” was the answer. “Drop the whole thing for a month or two.” + +“That is impossible.” + +“Why?” + +“Because the ceremony must take place upon the first night of _Panoi_, +the tenth month of the Sacred Sothic year. This we take to correspond +to the April of the Julian year.” + +“Yes,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “it is to-night!” + +“Why!” I cried, “of course it is! Do you mean, Brearley, that you are +going to conduct your experiment _now?_” + +“Exactly,” was the calm reply; “and I have asked you all--Mr. Moris +Klaw in particular--in order that it may take place in the presence of +competent witnesses!” + +Moris Klaw shook his massive head and pulled at his scanty, toneless +beard in a very significant manner. All of us were vaguely startled, I +think, and through my mind the idea flashed that the first of April +was a date pathetically appropriate for such an undertaking. Frankly, +I was beginning to entertain serious doubts regarding Brearley’s +sanity. + +“I have given the servants a holiday,” said the latter. “They are at a +theatre in town; so there is no possibility of the experiment being +interrupted.” + +Something of his enthusiasm, unnatural though it seemed, strangely +enough began to communicate itself to me. + +“Come upstairs,” he continued, “and I will explain what we all have to +do.” + +Moris Klaw squirted verbena upon his brow. + + + II + +“Doctor Fairbank!” + +Fairbank, startled by the touch on his arm, stopped. It was Ailsa +Brearley who had dropped behind her brother and now stood confronting +us. In the dense shadows of the corridor one could barely distinguish +her figure, but a stray beam of light touched one side of her pure +oval face and burnished her fair hair. + +She wanted help, guidance. I had read it in her eyes before. I was +sorry that her sweet lips should have that pathetic little droop. + +“Doctor Fairbank! I have wanted to ask you all night--do you think +he----” + +She could not speak the words, and stood biting her lips, with eyes +averted. + +“Miss Brearley,” he replied, “I do, certainly, fear that your brother +is liable to a nervous breakdown at any moment. He has applied his +mind too closely to this inquiry, and has studiously surrounded +himself with a morbid atmosphere.” + +Ailsa Brearley was now watching him, anxiously. + +“Should we allow him to go on with it?” + +“I fear any attempt to prevent him would prove most detrimental, in +his present condition.” + +“But----” There was clearly something else which she wanted to say. +“But, apart from that”--she suddenly turned to Moris Klaw, +instinctively it almost seemed--“Mr. Klaw--is this--ceremony _right?_” + +He peered at her through his pince-nez. + +“In what way, my dear Miss Brearley--how right?” + +“Well--what I mean is--it amounts to idolatry, does it not?” + +I started. It was a point of view which had not, hitherto, occurred to +me. + +“You probably understand the nature of the thing better than we do, +Miss Brearley,” said Fairbank. “Do you mean that it involves worship +of Isis?” + +“He has always avoided a direct answer when I have asked him that,” +she said. “But it is only reasonable to suppose that it does. His +translation of the writing I have never seen. But he has been dieting +in a most extraordinary manner for nearly a year! Since the workmen +completed it, no one but himself has been inside the chamber which he +has had constructed at the end of his study; and he spends hours and +hours there every day--and every night!” + +Her anxiety became more evident with each word. + +“You saw that he ate nothing at dinner,” she continued, “and taxed him +with faddism. But it is something more than that. Why has he sent the +servants away to-night? Oh, Doctor Fairbank! I have a dreadful +foreboding! I am so afraid!” + +The light in her eyes, suddenly upturned to him in the vague +half-light, the tone in her voice, the appeal in her attitude--were +unmistakable. Fairbank had been abroad for three years, and I could +see that between these two was an undeclared love, and almost I felt +that I intruded. Moris Klaw looked away for a moment, too. Then-- + +“My dear young lady,” he rumbled, paternally, “do not be afraid. I, +the old know-all, so fortunately am here! Perhaps there is +danger--yes, I admit it; there may be danger. But it is such danger as +dwells here”--he tapped his yellow brow--“it is a danger of the mind. +For thoughts are things, Miss Brearley--that is where it lies, the +peril--and thought things can kill!” + +“Ailsa! Fairbank! Mr. Klaw!” came Brearley’s voice. “We have none too +much time!” + +“Proceed, my friends,” rumbled Moris Klaw; “I am with you.” And, oddly +enough, I was comforted by his presence; so, it was evident, were the +girl and the doctor; for Moris Klaw, beneath that shabby, ramshackle +exterior, Moris Klaw, the Wapping curio dealer, was a man of power--an +intellectual ark of refuge. + +In the Egyptologist’s study all appeared much the same as when last I +had set foot there. The cases filled with vases, scarabs, tablets, +weapons, and the hundred-and-one relics of the great dead age with +which the student had surrounded himself; the sarcophagi; the frames +of papyri--all seemed familiar. + +Brearley sat at the huge writing table, littered, as of yore, and in +picturesque confusion. + +“We must begin almost immediately!” he said, as we entered. + +A danger spot burned lividly upon either pale cheek. His eyes gleamed +brilliantly. The prolonged excitement of his strange experiment was +burning the man up. His nerve centres must be taxed abnormally, I +knew. + +Brearley glanced at his watch. + +“I must be very brief,” he explained, hurriedly, “as it is vitally +important that I commence in time. Beyond the bookcase, there, you +will see that a part of the room has been walled off.” + +We looked in the direction indicated. Although it was not noticeable +at first glance I now saw that the apartment was, indeed, smaller than +formerly. The usual books covered the new wall, giving it much the +same aspect as the old; but, where hitherto there had been nothing but +shelves, a small, narrow door of black wood now broke the imposing +expanse of faded volumes. + +“In there,” Brearley resumed, “is the Secret Place described by +Khamus!” + +He placed his long, thin hand upon a yellow roll that lay partly +opened on the table. + +“No one but myself may enter there--until after to-night, at any +rate!” with a glance at Moris Klaw. “To the most minute +particular”--patting the papyrus--“it is equipped as Khamus describes. +For many months I have prepared myself, by fasting and meditation, as +_he_ prepared! There was, as no doubt you know, a widespread belief in +ancient times that for any but the chosen to look upon the goddess was +death. As I admit the possibility of Isis existing, I must also admit +the possibility of this belief being true--the more so as it is +confirmed by Khamus! Therefore none may enter with me.” + +“One moment, Mr. Brearley,” interrupted Klaw; “in what form does +Khamus relate that the goddess appeared?” + +A cloud crossed Brearley’s face. + +“It is the one point upon which he is not clear,” was the reply. “I do +not know, in the least, _what_ to expect!” + +“Go on!” I said, quickly. Although I seriously doubted my poor +friend’s sanity, I began to find the affair weirdly, uncannily +fascinating. + +Brearley continued: + +“The ritual opens with a chant, which I may broadly translate as ‘The +Hymn of Dedication.’ Its exact purport is not very clear to me. This +hymn is the only part of the ceremony in which I am assisted. It is to +be ‘sung by a virgin beyond the door.’ That is, directly I have +entered yonder it must be sung out here. Ailsa has composed a sort of +chant to the words, which, I think, is the proper kind of setting. +Have you not, Ailsa?” + +She bowed her graceful head, glancing, under her lashes, toward +Fairbank. + +“She has learned the words--for, of course, it must be sung in +Egyptian----” + +“But have no idea of their meaning,” said his sister, softly. + +“That is unnecessary,” he went on, quickly. “After this, I want you +all just to remain here in this room. I am afraid you will have to sit +in the dark! Any sounds which you detect, please note. I will not tell +you what to expect, then imagination cannot deceive you. I will be +back in a moment.” + +With another hasty glance at his watch, he went out in high +excitement. + +“Please,” began Ailsa Brearley, the moment he was gone, “do not think +that because I assist him I approve of this attempt! I think it is +horrible! But what am I to do? He is wrapped up in it! I _dare_ not +try to check him!” + +“We understand that,” said Fairbank; “all of us. Do as he desires. +When he has made the attempt, and failed--as, of course, he must +do--the folly of the whole thing will become apparent to him. Do not +let it worry you, Miss Brearley. Your brother is not the first man to +succumb, temporarily, to the glamour of the Unknown.” + +She shook her head sadly. + +“It is an unpleasant farce,” she said. “But there is something more in +it than that.” + +Her blue eyes were full of trouble. + +“What do you mean, Miss Brearley?” asked Moris Klaw. + +“I hardly know, myself!” was the reply; “but for the past two months +an indefinable horror of some kind has been growing upon me.” + +With a deep sigh, she turned to a tall case and took from it a kind of +slender harp. The instrument, of which the frame, at any rate, was +evidently ancient Egyptian work, rested upon a claw-shaped pedestal. + +“Do you play this? Yes? No?” inquired Moris Klaw, with interest. + +“Yes,” she said, wearily. “It comes from the tomb of a priestess of +Isis and was played by her in the temple. It is scaled differently +from the modern harp, but any one with a slight knowledge of the +ordinary harp, or even of the piano, can perform upon it with ease. It +is sweet toned, but--creepy!” + +She smiled slightly at her own expression, and I was glad to see it. + +Brearley returned. + +He wore a single loose garment of white linen, and thin sandals were +upon his feet. Save for his long, fair hair, he looked a true pagan +priest, his eyes bright with the fire of research that consumed him, +his features gaunt, ascetic. + +Some ghost of his old humorous expression played, momentarily, about +his lips as he observed the astonishment depicted upon our faces. But +it was gone almost in the moment of its coming. + +“You wonder at me, no doubt,” he said; “and at times I have wondered +at myself! Do not think me fanatic. I scarcely hope for any result. +But remembering that the writing is authentic and that there prevails, +to this day, a widespread belief in the occult wisdom of the +Egyptians, _why_ should not this problem in psychics receive the same +attention from me that one in physics would receive from you, +Fairbank?” + +There was reason in his argument and in his manner of advancing it. +Fairbank glanced from Brearley to the girl sitting with her white +hands listlessly caressing the harp strings. The silence of the great +empty house grew oppressive. Suppose the ancients indeed possessed the +strange lore attributed to them? Suppose in those Dark Continents, the +Past and the Future, somewhere in the vast unknown, there existed a +power, a being, a spirit, named by the Egyptians, Isis? + +Those were my thoughts, when Moris Klaw said suddenly: + +“Mr. Brearley, it is not yet too late to turn back! This sensitive +plate”--he tapped his forehead--“warns me that some evil thought thing +hovers about us! You are about to give form to that thought being. Be +wise, Mr. Brearley--abandon your experiment!” + +His tone surprised everyone. Otter Brearley looked at him with an odd +expression and then glanced at the watch upon the writing table. + +“Mr. Klaw,” he said, quietly, “I had hoped for a different attitude in +you; but if you really disapprove of what I am about to attempt, I can +only ask you to withdraw; it is too late for further arguments.” + +“I remain, my friend! I spoke not for myself--my life has been passed +in this coping with evil things; I spoke for others.” + +None of us entirely understood his words, but Brearley went on, +impatiently: + +“Listen, please. I rely upon your coöperation. From now onward I +require absolute silence. Whatever happens make no noise.” + +“I shall not be noisy, I, my friend!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am the +old silent; I watch and wait--until I am wanted.” + +He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, significantly. + +“Good!” said Brearley, and his voice quivered with excitement; “then +the experiment, the final experiment, has begun!” + + + III + +He suddenly extinguished the light. + +Passing to a window, he looked up to the moon, and, a moment later, +lowered the blind. Dimly visible in his white garment, he crossed the +room. He might be heard unfastening the door of the inner chamber, and +a faint, church-like smell crept to our nostrils. The door closed. + +Immediately the harp sounded. + +Its tone was peculiar--uncomfortable. The strain which Ailsa played +was a mere repetition of three notes. Then she began to sing. + +Our eyes becoming more accustomed to the gloom, we could vaguely +discern her now; the soft outlines of her figure; the white, +ghost-like fingers straying over the strings of the instrument. The +music of the chant was very monotonous, and weird to a marked degree. +The sound of that ancient tongue, dead for many ages, chanted softly +by Ailsa Brearley’s beautiful voice, was almost incredibly eerie. I +found myself gripped hard by a powerful sense of the uncanny. + +No other sound was audible. Throughout the rambling old house intense +silence prevailed. A slight breeze stirred the cedars outside. Every +now and again it came--like a series of broken sighs. + +How long the chant lasted I cannot pretend to state. It seemed +interminable. I became aware of a curious sense of physical loss. I +found myself drawn to high tension, as though the continuance of the +chant demanded a vast effort on my part. Though I told myself that +imagination was tricking me, the music seemed to be draining my nerve +force! + +Ailsa’s voice grew louder and clearer, until the queer words, of +unknown purport, rang out passionately, imperatively. + +She ceased. + +In the ensuing silence I could hear distinctly Moris Klaw’s heavy +breathing. A compelling atmosphere of mystery had grown up about us. +Repel it how we might, it was there--commanding acknowledgment. + +Fairbank, who sat nearest, was the first to see Ailsa Brearley rise, +unsteadily, and move in the direction of the study door. + +Something in her manner alarmed us all, and the doctor quietly left +his seat and followed her. As she quitted the room, he came out behind +her; and in the better light on the landing, as he told us later, saw +that she was deathly pale. + +“Miss Brearley!” he said. + +She turned. + +“_Ssh!_” she whispered, anxiously, “it is nothing--Doctor Fairbank. +The excitement has made me rather faint, that is all. I shall go to my +room and lie down. Believe me, I am quite well!” + +“But there is no servant in the house,” he whispered, “if you should +become worse----” + +“If I need anything I shall not hesitate to ring,” she answered. “It +is so still, you will hear the bell. Please go back! He has hoped for +so much from this.” + +Fairbank was nonplussed. But the appeal was so obviously sincere, and +the situation so difficult, that he saw no alternative. Ailsa Brearley +passed along the corridor. Fairbank slipped back into the study, where +Moris Klaw and I anxiously awaited him. + +From the inner room came Brearley’s voice, muffled. + +The long vigil began. + +I found myself claimed by the all-pervading spirit of mystery. For +some little time I listened in expectation of hearing Ailsa Brearley +returning. But soon the strange business of the night claimed my mind, +to the exclusion of every other idea. I found myself listening only +for Brearley’s muffled voice. Although the half-audible words were +meaningless, their sound assumed, as time wore on, a curious +significance. They seemed potent with a strange power proceeding not +_from_ them, but _to_ them. + +Then I heard a new sound. + +Fairbank heard it--for I saw him start, and Moris Klaw muttered +something. + +It did not come from the trees outside, nor from the inner room. It +was somewhere in the house. + +A faint rattling it was, bell-like but toneless. + +Brearley’s voice had ceased. + +Again the sound rose--nearer. + +I turned my head toward Fairbank, and seemed to perceive him more +clearly. I had less difficulty in distinguishing the objects about. + +Again it came--the shivering, bell-like sound. + +Even the strings of the harp were visible now. + +“Curse me!” came Moris Klaw’s hoarse whisper; “it seems to grow light! +That is a delusion of the mind, my friends--repel it--repel it!” + +Fairbank drew a quick, sibilant breath. A half-suppressed exclamation +from Klaw followed; for the high-pitched rattle came from close at +hand! The sense of the supernormal had grown unbearable. Fairbank’s +science and my own semi-scepticism were but weapons of sand against +it. + +The door opened silently, admitting a flood of the soft moon-like +radiance. And Ailsa Brearley entered! + +Her slim figure was bathed in light; her fair hair, unbound, swept +like a gleaming torrent about her shoulders. She looked magnificently, +unnaturally beautiful. A diaphanous veil was draped over her face. +From her radiant figure I turned away my head in sudden, stark _fear!_ + +Fairbank, clutching the arms of his chair, seemed to strive to look +away, too. + +Her widely opened eyes, visible even through the veil, were awful in +their supernormal, significant beauty. _Was_ it Ailsa Brearley? I +clenched my fists convulsively; I felt my reason tottering. As the +luminous figure, so terrible in its perfect loveliness, moved slowly +toward the inner door, with set gaze that was not for any about her, +Doctor Fairbank wrenched himself from his chair and leapt forward. + +“Ailsa!” + +His voice came in a hoarse shriek. But it was drowned by a rumbling +roar from Moris Klaw. + +“Look away! Look away!” he shouted. “The good God! Do not look at her! +_Look away!_” + +The warning came too late. Fairbank had all but reached her side, when +she turned her eyes upon him--looking fully in his face. + +With no sound or cry he went down as though felled with a mighty blow! + +She passed to the door of the inner room. It swung open noiselessly. A +stifling cloud of some pungent perfume swept into the study; and the +door reclosed. + +“Fairbank!” I whispered, huskily. “My God! he’s dead!” + +Moris Klaw sprang forward to where Fairbank, clearly visible in the +soft light, lay huddled upon the floor. + +“Lift him!” he hissed. “We must get him out--before she returns--you +understand?--before she returns!” + +Bending together, we raised the doctor’s inanimate body and half +dragged, half carried him from the room. On the landing we laid him +down and stood panting. A voice, clear and sweet, was speaking. I +recognized neither the language nor the voice. But each liquid +syllable thrilled me like an icy shock. I met Moris Klaw’s gaze, set +upon me through the pince-nez. + +“Do not listen, my friend!” he said. + +Raising Fairbank, we dragged him into the first room we came to--and +Klaw locked the door. + +“Here we remain,” he rumbled, “until something has gone back where it +came from!” + +Fairbank lay motionless at our feet. + +Presently came the rattling. + +“It is the sistrum,” whispered Moris Klaw, “the sacred instrument of +the Isis temples.” + +The sound passed--and faded. + +“Searles! Fairbank!”--it was Brearley’s voice, sobbingly intense--“do +not _touch_ her! Do not _look_ at her!” + +The study door crashed open and I heard his sandals pattering on the +landing. + +“Fairbank! Mr. Klaw! Good God! Answer me! Tell me you are safe!” + +Moris Klaw unlocked the door. + +Brearley, his face white as death and bathed in perspiration, stood +outside. As Klaw appeared, he leapt forward, wild-eyed. + +“Quick! Did any one----” + +“Fairbank!” I said, huskily. + +Brearley pushed into the room and turned on the light. Fairbank, very +pale, lay propped against an armchair. Moris Klaw immediately dropped +on his knee beside him and felt his heart. + +“Ah, the good God! He is alive!” he whispered. “Get some water--no +brandy, my friend--water. Then look to your sister!” + +Brearley plunged his trembling hands into his hair and tugged at it +distractedly. + +“How was I to know!” he moaned, “how was I to know! There is water in +the bottle, Mr. Klaw. Searles will come with me. I must look for +Ailsa!” + +A bizarre figure, in his linen robe, he ran off. Moris Klaw waved me +to follow him. + +The door of his sister’s room was closed. + +He knocked, but there was no reply. He turned the knob and went in, +whilst I waited in the corridor. + +“Ailsa!” I heard him call, and again, “Ailsa!” then, following an +interval, “Are you all right, dear?” he whispered. + +“Oh, thank Heaven it is finished!” came a murmur in Ailsa Brearley’s +soft voice. “It _is_ finished, is it not?” + +“Quite finished,” he answered. + +“Just look at my hair!” she went on, with returning animation. “My +head was so bad--I think that was why I took it down. Then I must have +dropped off to sleep.” + +“All right, dear,” said Brearley. “I want you to come downstairs; be +as quick as you can.” + +He rejoined me in the corridor. + +“She was lying with her hair strewn all over the pillow!” he +whispered, “and she had been burning something--ashes in the +hearth----” + +Ailsa came out. She seemed suddenly to observe her brother’s haggard +face. + +“Is there anything the matter?” she said, quickly. “Oh! has something +dreadful happened?” + +“No, dear,” he answered, reassuringly. “Only Doctor Fairbank was +overcome----” + +She turned very pale. + +“He is not ill?” + +“No. He became faint. You can come and see for yourself.” + +Very quickly we all hurried downstairs. Moris Klaw, on his knees +beside the doctor, was trying to force something between his clenched +teeth. Ailsa, with a little cry, ran forward and knelt upon the other +side of him. + +“Ralph!” she whispered; “Ralph!”--and smoothed the hair back from his +forehead. + +He sighed deeply, and with an effort swallowed the draught which Klaw +held to his lips. A moment later he opened his eyes, glaring wildly +into Ailsa’s face. + +“Ralph!” she said, brokenly. + +Then, realizing how tenderly she had spoken--using his Christian +name--she hung her graceful head in hot confusion. But he had heard +her. And the wild light died from his eyes. He took both her hands in +his own and held them fast; then, rather unsteadily, he stood up. + +As his features came more fully into the light, we all saw that a +small bruise discoloured his forehead, squarely between the brows. + +Then Brearley, who had been back into the study, came running, crying: + +“The papyrus! And my translation! Gone!” + +I thought of the ashes in Ailsa Brearley’s room. + + + IV + +“My friends,” rumbled Moris Klaw, impressively, “we are fortunate. We +have passed through scorching fires unscathed!” + +He applied himself with vigour to the operating of the scent spray. + +“God forgive me!” said Brearley. “What did I do?” + +“I will tell you, my friend,” replied Klaw; “you clothed a thought in +the beautiful form which you knew as your sister! Ah! You stare! +Ritual, my friends, is the soul of what the ignorant call magic. With +the sacred incense, _kyphi_ (yes, I detected it!), you invoked secret +powers. Those powers, Mr. Brearley, were but _thoughts_. All such +forces are thoughts. + +“Thoughts are things--and you gathered together in this house, by that +ancient formula, a thought thing created by generations of worshippers +who have worshipped the moon! + +“The light that we saw was only the moonlight, the sounds that we +heard were thought-sounds. But so powerful was this mighty +thought-force, this centuries-old power which you loosed upon us, that +it drove out Miss Ailsa’s own thoughts from her mind, bringing what +she mistook for sleep; and it implanted itself there! + +“She was transformed by that mighty power which for a time dwelled +within her. She was as powerful, as awful, as a goddess! None might +look upon her and be sane. Hypnotism has similarities with the ancient +science of thought--yes! _Suggestion_ is the secret of all so-called +occult phenomena!” + +With his eyes gleaming oddly, he stepped forward, resting his long +white hands upon Fairbank’s shoulders. + +“Doctor,” he rumbled, “you have a bruise on your forehead.” + +“Have I?” said Fairbank, in surprise. “I hadn’t noticed it.” + +“Because it is not a physical bruise; it is a mental bruise, +physically reflected! Nearly were you slain, my friend--oh, so nearly! +But another force--as great as the force of ancient thought--weakened +the blow. Doctor Fairbank, it is fortunate that Miss Ailsa loves you!” + +His frank words startled us all. + +“Look well at the shape of this little bruise, my friends,” continued +Moris Klaw. “Mr. Brearley--it is a shape that will be familiar to you. +See! it is thus.” He drew an imaginary outline with his long +forefinger-- + +“And that is the sign of Isis!” + + THE END + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + +Alterations to the text: + +Abandon the use of drop-caps. + +Punctuation: fix a few quotation mark pairings/nestings and missing +periods. + +[First Episode] + +Change “I waited for no further _explanatians_, but, hastily” to +_explanations_. + +“her voice, her entire person, _as_ certainly charming--to” to +_was_. + +[Third Episode] + +“tell him all we know about the ax of ‘Black _Goeffrey_.’” to +_Geoffrey_. + +“In the _blidness_ of his anger, Heidelberger failed” to _blindness_. + +[Fourth Episode] + +“We were all _star ng_ at Moris Klaw, spellbound with” to _staring_. + +[Fifth Episode] + +“He was accompanied by Sir John Carron, Mr. Gautami _Chini_” to +_Chinje_. + +“he removed his coat and _waitscoat_ and threw them upon the table” to +_waistcoat_. + +[Sixth Episode] + +“Having _re-fastened_ the door, we laid him on a sofa” to +_refastened_. + +“the pistol he _carred_ as he rose slowly to his feet” to _carried_. + +(“_Curari!_” he said, _horasely_, “the ancient arrow poison) to +_hoarsely_. + +[Tenth Episode] + +“that one in physics would receive _f om_ you, Fairbank?” to _from_. + +“_Whatver_ happens make no noise.” to _Whatever_. + +“As Klaw appeared, he leapt forward, _wild eyed_” to _wild-eyed_. + + [End of text] + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77056 *** diff --git a/77056-h/77056-h.htm b/77056-h/77056-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7361da --- /dev/null +++ b/77056-h/77056-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13487 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The dream detective | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3 {margin:4em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + h4 {margin:2em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:avoid; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + .nobreak {page-break-before:avoid;} + + p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em;} + .center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .noindent {text-indent:0em;} + + .toc_l {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .rt1 {margin:0em 1em 0em 0em; text-align:right; text-indent:0em;} + + .chap_sub {font-size:80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + + figure {margin:1em auto 1em auto; text-align:center;} + figcaption {font-size:80%; margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + +/* special formatting */ + + blockquote {margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + + .mt1 {margin-top:1em;} + .mt6 {margin-top:6em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77056 ***</div> + +<figure> +<a href="images/img_000.jpg"><img alt="img_000.jpg" src="images/img_000_th.jpg"></a> +<figcaption> +A large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his +skull, French fashion. +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<h1> +THE<br> +DREAM DETECTIVE +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +By SAX ROHMER +</p> + +<p class="center mt6"> +McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE<br> +NEW YORK +</p> + + +<h2> +[COPYRIGHT] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY<br> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED +</p> + + +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch01">FIRST EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Tragedies in the Greek Room +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch02">SECOND EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Potsherd of Anubis +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch03">THIRD EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Crusader’s Ax +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch04">FOURTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Ivory Statue +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch05">FIFTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Blue Rajah +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch06">SIXTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Whispering Poplars +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch07">SEVENTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Chord in G +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch08">EIGHTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Headless Mummies +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch09">NINTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Haunting of Grange +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch10">TENTH EPISODE</a><br> +Case of the Veil of Isis +</p> + + +<h2> +THE DREAM DETECTIVE +</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01"> +FIRST EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE TRAGEDIES IN THE GREEK ROOM</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">When</span> did Moris Klaw first appear in London? It is a question which I +am asked sometimes and to which I reply, “To the best of my knowledge, +shortly before the commencement of the strange happenings at the +Menzies Museum.” +</p> + +<p> +What I know of him I have gathered from various sources; and in these +papers, which represent an attempt to justify the methods of one +frequently accused of being an insane theorist, I propose to recount +all the facts which have come to my knowledge. In some few of the +cases I was personally though slightly concerned; but regard me merely +as the historian and on no account as the principal or even minor +character in the story. My friendship with Martin Coram led, then, to +my first meeting with Moris Klaw—a meeting which resulted in my +becoming his biographer, inadequate though my information +unfortunately remains. +</p> + +<p> +It was some three months after the appointment of Coram to the +curatorship of the Menzies Museum that the first of a series of +singular occurrences took place there. +</p> + +<p> +This occurrence befell one night in August, and the matter was brought +to my ears by Coram himself on the following morning. I had, in fact, +just taken my seat at the breakfast table, when he walked in +unexpectedly and sank into an armchair. His dark, clean-shaven face +looked more gaunt than usual and I saw, as he lighted the cigarette +which I proffered, that his hand shook nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s trouble at the Museum!” he said, abruptly. “I want you to run +around.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him for a moment without replying, and, knowing the +responsibility of his position, feared that he referred to a theft +from the collection. +</p> + +<p> +“Something gone?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No; worse!” was his reply. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, Coram?” +</p> + +<p> +He threw the cigarette, unsmoked, into the hearth. “You know Conway?” +he said; “Conway, the night attendant? Well—he’s dead!” +</p> + +<p> +I stood up from the table, my breakfast forgotten, and stared +incredulously. “Do you mean that he died in the night?” I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Done for, poor devil!” +</p> + +<p> +“What! murdered?” +</p> + +<p> +“Without a doubt, Searles! He’s had his neck broken!” +</p> + +<p> +I waited for no further explanations, but, hastily dressing, +accompanied Coram to the Museum. It consists, I should mention, of +four long, rectangular rooms, the windows of two overlooking South +Grafton Square, those of the third giving upon the court that leads to +the curator’s private entrance, and the fourth adjoining an enclosed +garden attached to the building. This fourth room is on the ground +floor and is entered through the hall from the Square, the other +three, containing the principal and more valuable exhibits, are upon +the first floor and are reached by a flight of stairs from the hall. +The remainder of the building is occupied by an office and the +curator’s private apartments, and is completely shut off from that +portion open to the public, the only communicating door—an iron +one—being kept locked. +</p> + +<p> +The room described in the catalogue as the “Greek Room” proved to be +the scene of the tragedy. This room is one of the two overlooking the +Square and contains some of the finest items of the collection. The +Museum is not open to the public until ten o’clock, and I found, upon +arriving there, that the only occupants of the Greek Room were the +commissionaire on duty, two constables, a plain-clothes officer and an +inspector—that is, if I except the body of poor Conway. +</p> + +<p> +He had not been touched, but lay as he was found by Beale, the +commissionaire who took charge of the upper rooms during the day, and, +indeed, it was patent that he was beyond medical aid. In fact, the +position of his body was so extraordinary as almost to defy +description. +</p> + +<p> +There are three windows in the Greek Room, with wall cases between, +and, in the gap corresponding to the east window and just by the door +opening into the next room, is a chair for the attendant. Conway lay +downward on the polished floor with his limbs partly under this chair +and his clenched fists thrust straight out before him. His head, +turned partially to one side, was doubled underneath his breast in a +most dreadful manner, indisputably pointing to a broken neck, and his +commissionaire’s cap lay some distance away, under a table supporting +a heavy case of vases. +</p> + +<p> +So much was revealed at a glance, and I immediately turned blankly to +Coram. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you make of it?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head in silence. I could scarce grasp the reality of the +thing; indeed, I was still staring at the huddled figure when the +doctor arrived. At his request we laid the dead man flat upon the +floor to facilitate an examination, and we then saw that he was +greatly cut and bruised about the head and face, and that his features +were distorted in a most extraordinary manner, almost as though he had +been suffocated. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor did not fail to notice this expression. “Made a hard fight +of it!” he said. “He must have been in the last stages of exhaustion +when his neck was broken!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow!” cried Coram, somewhat irritably, “what do you mean +when you say that he made a hard fight? There could not possibly have +been any one else in these rooms last night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, sir!” said the inspector, “but there certainly was +something going on here. Have you seen the glass case in the next +room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Glass case?” muttered Coram, running his hand distractedly through +his thick black hair. “No; what of a glass case?” +</p> + +<p> +“In here, sir,” explained the inspector, leading the way into the +adjoining apartment. +</p> + +<p> +At his words, we all followed, and found that he referred to the glass +front of a wall case containing statuettes and images of Egyptian +deities. The centre pane of this was smashed into fragments, the +broken glass strewing the floor and the shelves inside the case. +</p> + +<p> +“That looks like a struggle, sir, doesn’t it?” said the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven help us! What does it mean?” groaned poor Coram. “Who could +possibly have gained access to the building in the night, or, having +done so, have quitted it again, when all the doors remained locked?” +</p> + +<p> +“That we must try and find out!” replied the inspector. “Meanwhile, +here are his keys. They lay on the floor in a corner of the Greek +Room.” +</p> + +<p> +Coram took them, mechanically. “Beale,” he said to the commissionaire, +“see if any of the cases are unlocked.” +</p> + +<p> +The man proceeded to go around the rooms. He had progressed no farther +than the Greek Room when he made a discovery. “Here’s the top of this +unfastened, sir!” he suddenly cried, excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +We hurriedly joined him, to find that he stood before a marble +pedestal surmounted by a thick glass case containing what Coram had +frequently assured me was the gem of the collection—the Athenean +Harp. +</p> + +<p> +It was alleged to be of very ancient Greek workmanship, and was +constructed of fine gold inlaid with jewels. It represented two +reclining female figures, their arms thrown above their heads, their +hands meeting; and the strings, several of which were still intact, +were of incredibly fine gold wire. The instrument was said to have +belonged to a Temple of Pallas in an extremely remote age, and at the +time it was brought to light much controversy had waged concerning its +claims to authenticity, several connoisseurs proclaiming it the work +of a famous goldsmith of mediæval Florence, and nothing but a clever +forgery. However, Greek or Florentine, amazingly ancient or +comparatively modern, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship and of +very great intrinsic value, apart from its artistic worth and unique +character. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought so!” said the plain-clothes man. “A clever museum thief!” +</p> + +<p> +Coram sighed wearily. “My good fellow,” he replied, “can you explain, +by any earthly hypothesis, how a man could get into these apartments +and leave them again during the night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Regarding that, sir,” remarked the detective, “there are a few +questions I should like to ask you. In the first place, at what time +does the Museum close?” +</p> + +<p> +“At six o’clock in the summer.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do when the last visitor has gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Having locked the outside door, Beale, here, thoroughly examines +every room to make certain that no one remains concealed. He next +locks the communicating doors and comes down into the hall. It was +then his custom to hand me the keys. I gave them into poor Conway’s +keeping when he came on duty at half-past six, and every hour he went +through the Museum, relocking all the doors behind him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that there is a tell-tale watch in each room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. That in the Greek Room registers 4 A.M., so that it was about +then that he met his death. He had evidently opened the door +communicating with the next room—that containing the broken glass +case; but he did not touch the detector and the door was found open +this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Someone must have lain concealed there and sprung upon him as he +entered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible! There is no other means of entrance or exit. The three +windows are iron-barred and they have not been tampered with. +Moreover, the watch shows that he was there at three o’clock, and +nothing larger than a mouse could find shelter in the place; there is +nowhere a man could hide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the murderer followed him into the Greek Room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Might I venture to point out that, had he done so, he would have been +there this morning when Beale arrived? The door of the Greek Room was +locked and the keys were found inside upon the floor!” +</p> + +<p> +“The thief might have had a duplicate set.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite impossible; but, granting the impossible, how did he get in, +since the hall door was bolted and barred?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must assume that he succeeded in concealing himself before the +Museum was closed.” +</p> + +<p> +“The assumption is not permissible, in view of the fact that Beale and +I both examined the rooms last night prior to handing the keys to +Conway. However, again granting the impossible, how did he get out?” +</p> + +<p> +The Scotland Yard man removed his hat and mopped his forehead with his +handkerchief. “I must say, sir, it is a very strange thing,” he said; +“but how about the iron door here?” +</p> + +<p> +“It leads to my own apartments. I, alone, hold a key. It was locked.” +</p> + +<p> +A brief examination served to show that exit from any of the barred +windows was impossible. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said the detective, “if the man had keys he could have +come down into the hall and the lower room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Step down and look,” was Coram’s invitation. +</p> + +<p> +The windows of the room on the ground floor were also heavily +protected, and it was easy to see that none of them had been opened. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” exclaimed the inspector, “it’s uncanny! He couldn’t +have gone out by the hall door, because you say it was bolted and +barred on the inside.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was,” replied Coram. +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, sir,” interrupted the plain-clothes man. “If that was so, +how did you get in this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was Beale’s custom,” said Coram, “to come around by the private +entrance to my apartments. We then entered the Museum together by the +iron door into the Greek Room and relieved Conway of the keys. There +are several little matters to be attended to in the morning before +admitting the public, and the other door is never unlocked before ten +o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you lock the door behind you when you came through this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Immediately on finding poor Conway.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could any one have come through this door in the night, provided he +had a duplicate key?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. There is a bolt on the private side.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you were in your rooms all last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“From twelve o’clock, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The police looked at one another silently; then the inspector gave an +embarrassed laugh. “Frankly, sir,” he said, “I’m completely puzzled!” +</p> + +<p> +We passed upstairs again and Coram turned to the doctor. “Anything +else to report about poor Conway?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“His face is all cut by the broken glass and he seems to have had a +desperate struggle, although, curiously enough, his body bears no +other marks of violence. The direct cause of death was, of course, a +broken neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how should you think he came by it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say that he was hurled upon the floor by an opponent +possessing more than ordinary strength!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus the physician, and was about to depart when there came a knocking +upon the iron door. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Hilda,” said Coram, slipping the key in the lock—“my +daughter,” he added, turning to the detective. +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +The heavy door swinging open, there entered Hilda Coram, a slim, +classical figure, with the regular features of her father and the pale +gold hair of her dead mother. She looked unwell, and stared about her +apprehensively. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Searles,” she greeted me. “Is it not dreadful about +poor Conway!”—and then glanced at Coram. I saw that she held a card +in her hand. “Father, there is such a singular old man asking to see +you.” +</p> + +<p> +She handed the card to Coram, who in turn passed it to me. It was that +of Douglas Glade of the <i>Daily Cable</i>, and had written upon it in +Glade’s hand the words, “To introduce Mr. Moris Klaw.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it is all right if Mr. Glade vouches for him,” said Coram. +“But does anybody here know Moris Klaw?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” replied the Scotland Yard man, smiling shortly. “He’s an +antique dealer or something of the kind; got a ramshackle old place by +Wapping Old Stairs—sort of a cross between Jamrach’s and a rag shop. +He’s lately been hanging about the Central Criminal Court a lot. Seems +to fancy his luck as an amateur investigator. He’s certainly smart,” +he added, grudgingly, “but cranky.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask Mr. Klaw to come through, Hilda,” said Coram. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterward entered a strange figure. It was that of a tall man +who stooped, so that his apparent height was diminished—a very old +man who carried his many years lightly, or a younger man prematurely +aged; none could say which. His skin had the hue of dirty vellum, and +his hair, his shaggy brows, his scanty beard were so toneless as to +defy classification in terms of colour. He wore an archaic brown +bowler, smart, gold-rimmed pince-nez, and a black silk muffler. A +long, caped black cloak completely enveloped the stooping figure; from +beneath its mud-spattered edge peeped long-toed continental boots. +</p> + +<p> +He removed his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Coram,” he said. His voice reminded me of the +distant rumbling of empty casks; his accent was wholly indescribable. +“Good morning” (to the detective), “Mr. Grimsby. Good morning, Mr. +Searles. Your friend, Mr. Glade, tells me I shall find you here. Good +morning, Inspector. To Miss Coram I already have said good morning.” +</p> + +<p> +From the lining of the flat-topped hat he took out one of those small +cylindrical scent sprays and played its contents upon his high, bald +brow. An odour of verbena filled the air. He replaced the spray in the +hat, the hat upon his scantily thatched crown. +</p> + +<p> +“There is here a smell of dead men!” he explained. +</p> + +<p> +I turned aside to hide my smiles, so grotesque was my first impression +of the amazing individual known as Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Coram,” he continued, “I am an old fool who sometimes has wise +dreams. Crime has been the hobby of a busy life. I have seen crime +upon the Gold Coast, where the black fever it danced in the air above +the murdered one like a lingering soul, and I have seen blood flow in +Arctic Lapland, where it was frozen up into red ice almost before it +left the veins. Have I your permit to see if I can help?” +</p> + +<p> +All of us, the police included, were strangely impressed now. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Coram; “will you step this way?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw bent over the dead man. +</p> + +<p> +“You have moved him!” he said, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +It was explained that this had been for the purpose of a medical +examination. He nodded absently. With the aid of a large magnifying +glass he was scrutinizing poor Conway. He examined his hair, his eyes, +his hands, his fingernails. He rubbed long, flexible fingers upon the +floor beside the body—and sniffed at the dust. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone so kindly will tell me all about it,” he said, turning out +the dead man’s pockets. +</p> + +<p> +Coram briefly recounted much of the foregoing, and replied to the +oddly chosen questions which from time to time Moris Klaw put to him. +Throughout the duologue, the singular old man conducted a detailed +search of every square inch, I think, of the Greek Room. Before the +case containing the harp he stood, peering. +</p> + +<p> +“It is here that the trouble centres,” he muttered. “What do I know of +such a Grecian instrument? Let me think.” +</p> + +<p> +He threw back his head, closing his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Such valuable curios,” he rumbled, “have histories—and the crimes +they occasion operate in cycles.” He waved his hand in a slow circle. +“If I but knew the history of this harp! Mr. Coram!” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced toward my friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Thoughts are things, Mr. Coram. If I might spend a night here—upon +the very spot of floor where the poor Conway fell—I could from the +surrounding atmosphere (it is a sensitive plate) recover a picture of +the thing in his mind”—indicating Conway—“at the last!” +</p> + +<p> +The Scotland Yard man blew down his nose. +</p> + +<p> +“You snort, my friend,” said Moris Klaw, turning upon him. “You would +snort less if you had waked screaming, out in the desert; screaming +out with fear of the dripping beaks of the vultures—the last dreadful +fear which the mind had known of him who had died of thirst upon that +haunted spot!” +</p> + +<p> +The words and the manner of their delivery thrilled us all. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it,” continued the weird old man, “but the odic force, the +ether—say it how you please—which carries the wireless message, the +lightning? It is a huge, subtile, sensitive plate. Inspiration, what +you call bad luck and good luck—all are but reflections from it. The +supreme thought preceding death is imprinted on the surrounding +atmosphere like a photograph. I have trained this”—he tapped his +brow—“to reproduce those photographs! May I sleep here to-night, Mr. +Coram?” +</p> + +<p> +Somewhere beneath the ramshackle exterior we had caught a glimpse of a +man of power. From behind the thick pebbles momentarily had shone out +the light of a tremendous and original mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be most glad of your assistance,” answered my friend. +</p> + +<p> +“No police must be here to-night,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “No +heavy-footed constables, filling the room with thoughts of large cooks +and small Basses, must fog my negative!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can that be arranged?” asked Coram of the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“The men on duty can remain in the hall, if you wish it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rumbled Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +He moistened his brow with verbena, bowed uncouthly, and shuffled from +the Greek Room. +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +Moris Klaw reappeared in the evening, accompanied by a strikingly +beautiful brunette. +</p> + +<p> +The change of face upon the part of Mr. Grimsby of New Scotland Yard +was singular. +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter—Isis,” explained Moris Klaw. “She assists to develop my +negatives.” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby became all attention. Leaving two men on duty in the hall, +Moris Klaw, his daughter, Grimsby, Coram, and I went up to the Greek +Room. Its darkness was relieved by a single lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had the stones in the Athenean Harp examined by a lapidary,” +said Coram. “It occurred to me that they might have been removed and +paste substituted. It was not so, however.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” rumbled Klaw. “I thought of that, too. No visitors have been +admitted here during the day?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Greek Room has been closed.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well, Mr. Coram. Let no one disturb me until my daughter comes +in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw placed a red silk cushion upon the spot where the dead man +had lain. +</p> + +<p> +“Some pillows and a blanket, Mr. Klaw?” suggested the suddenly +attentive Mr. Grimsby. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, no,” was the reply. “They would be saturated with alien +impressions. My cushion it is odically sterilized! The ‘etheric storm’ +created by Conway’s last mental emotion reaches my brain unpolluted. +Good-night, gentlemen. Good-night, Isis!” +</p> + +<p> +We withdrew, leaving Moris Klaw to his ghostly vigil. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Mr. Klaw is quite trustworthy?” whispered Coram to the +detective. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, undoubtedly!” was the reply. “In any case, he can do no harm. My +men will be on duty downstairs here all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you speak of my father, Mr. Grimsby?” came a soft, thrilling +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby turned, and met the flashing black eyes of Isis Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“I was assuring Mr. Coram,” he answered, readily, “that Mr. Klaw’s +methods have several times proved successful!” +</p> + +<p> +“Several times!” she cried, scornfully. “What! has he ever failed?” +</p> + +<p> +Her accent was certainly French, I determined; her voice, her entire +person, was certainly charming—to which the detective’s manner bore +witness. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with all his cases, miss,” he said. “Can +I call you a cab?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, no.” She rewarded him with a dazzling smile. +“Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Coram opened the doors of the Museum, and she passed out. Leaving the +men on duty in the hall, Coram and I shortly afterward also quitted +the Museum by the main entrance, in order to avoid disturbing Moris +Klaw by using the curator’s private door. +</p> + +<p> +To my friend’s study Hilda Coram brought us coffee. She was +unnaturally pale, and her eyes were feverishly bright. I concluded +that the tragedy was responsible. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, to an extent,” said Coram; “but she is studying music and, I +fear, overworking in order to pass a stiff exam.” +</p> + +<p> +Coram and I surveyed the Greek Room problem from every conceivable +standpoint, but were unable to surmise how the thief had entered, how +left, and why he had fled without his booty. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind confessing,” said Coram, “that I am very ill at ease. We +haven’t the remotest idea how the murderer got into the Greek Room or +how he got out again. Bolts and bars, it is evident, do not prevail +against him, so that we may expect a repetition of the dreadful +business at any time!” +</p> + +<p> +“What precautions do you propose to take?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there will be a couple of police on duty in the Museum for the +next week or so, but, after that, we shall have to rely upon a night +watchman. The funds only allow of the appointment of four attendants: +three for day and one for night duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you’ll find any difficulty in getting a man?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Coram. “I know of a steady man who will come as soon as +we are ready for him.” +</p> + +<p> +I slept but little that night, and was early afoot and around to the +Museum. Isis Klaw was there before me, carrying the red cushion, and +her father was deep in conversation with Coram. +</p> + +<p> +Detective-Inspector Grimsby approached me. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you’re looking at the cushion, sir!” he said, smilingly. “But +it’s not a ‘plant.’ He’s not an up-to-date cracksman. Nothing’s +missing!” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not assure me of that,” I replied. “I do not doubt Mr. +Klaw’s honesty of purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till you hear his mad theory, though!” he said, with a glance +aside at the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Coram,” Moris Klaw was saying, in his odd, rumbling tones, “my +psychic photograph is of a woman! A woman dressed all in white!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby coughed—then flushed as he caught the eye of Isis. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Conway’s mind,” continued Klaw, “is filled with such a picture +when he breathes his last—great wonder he has for the white woman and +great fear for the Athenean Harp, which she carries!” +</p> + +<p> +“Which she carries!” cried Coram. +</p> + +<p> +“Some woman took the harp from its case a few minutes before Conway +died!” affirmed Moris Klaw. “I have much research to make now, and +with aid from Isis shall develop my negative! Yesterday I learnt from +the constable who was on night duty at the corner of the Square that a +heavy pantechnicon van went driving round at four o’clock. It was +shortly after four o’clock that the tragedy occurred. The driver was +unaware that there was no way out, you understand. Is it important? I +cannot say. It often is such points that matter. We must, however, +waste no time. Until you hear from me again you will lay dry plaster +of Paris all around the stand of the Athenean Harp each night. Good +morning, gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +His arm linked in his daughter’s, he left the Museum. +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +For some weeks after this mysterious affair, all went well at the +Menzies Museum. The new night watchman, a big Scot, by name John +Macalister, seemed to have fallen thoroughly into his duties, and +everything was proceeding smoothly. No clue concerning the previous +outrage had come to light, the police being clearly at a loss. From +Moris Klaw we heard not a word. But Macalister did not appear to +suffer from nervousness, saying that he was quite big enough to look +after himself. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Macalister! His bulk did not save him from a dreadful fate. He +was found, one fine morning, lying flat on his back in the Greek +Room—<i>dead!</i> +</p> + +<p> +As in the case of Conway, the place showed unmistakable signs of a +furious struggle. The attendant’s chair had been dashed upon the floor +with such violence as to break three of the legs; a bust of Pallas, +that had occupied a corner position upon a marble pedestal, was found +to be hurled down; and the top of the case which usually contained the +Athenean Harp had been unlocked, and the priceless antique lay close +by, upon the floor! +</p> + +<p> +The cause of death, in Macalister’s case, was heart failure, an +unsuspected weakness of that organ being brought to light at the +inquest; but, according to the medical testimony, deceased must have +undergone unnaturally violent exertions to bring about death. In other +respects, the circumstances of the two cases were almost identical. +The door of the Greek Room was locked upon the inside and the keys +were found on the floor. From the detector watches in the other rooms +it was evident that his death must have taken place about three +o’clock. Nothing was missing, and the jewels in the harp had not been +tampered with. +</p> + +<p> +But, most amazing circumstance of all, imprinted upon the dry plaster +of Paris which, in accordance with the instructions of the +mysteriously absent Moris Klaw, had nightly been placed around the +case containing the harp, <i>were the marks of little bare feet!</i> +</p> + +<p> +A message sent, through the willing agency of Inspector Grimsby, to +the Wapping abode of the old curio dealer, resulted in the discovery +that Moris Klaw was abroad. His daughter, however, reported having +received a letter from her father which contained the words— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Let Mr. Coram keep the key of the case containing the Athenean Harp +under his pillow at night.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“What does she mean?” asked Coram. “That I am to detach that +particular key from the bunch or place them all beneath my pillow?” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m simply telling you what she told me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should suspect the man to be an impostor,” said Coram, “if it were +not for the extraordinary confirmation of his theory furnished by the +footprints. They certainly looked like those of a woman!” +</p> + +<p> +Remembering how Moris Klaw had acted, I sought out the constable who +had been on duty at the corner of South Grafton Square on the night of +the second tragedy. From him I elicited a fact which, though +insignificant in itself, was, when associated with another +circumstance, certainly singular. +</p> + +<p> +A Pickford traction engine, drawing two heavy wagons, had been driven +round the Square at 3 A.M., the driver thinking that he could get out +on the other side. +</p> + +<p> +That was practically all I learned from the constable, but it served +to set me thinking. Was it merely a coincidence that, at almost the +exact hour of the previous tragedy, a heavy pantechnicon had passed +the Museum? +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not once in six months,” the man assured me, “that any vehicle +but a tradesman’s cart goes round the Square. You see, it doesn’t lead +anywhere, but this Pickford chap he was rattling by before I could +stop him, and though I shouted he couldn’t hear me, the engine making +such a noise, so I just let him drive round and find out for himself.” +</p> + +<p> +I now come to the event which concluded this extraordinary case, and, +that it may be clearly understood, I must explain the positions which +we took up during the nights of the following week; for Coram had +asked me to take a night watch, with himself, Grimsby, and Beale, in +the Museum. +</p> + +<p> +Beale, the commissionaire, remained in the hall and lower room—it was +catalogued as the “Bronze Room”—Coram patrolled the room at the top +of the stairs, Grimsby the next, or Greek, Room, and I the Egyptian +Room. None of the doors was locked, and Grimsby, by his own special +request, held the keys of the cases in the Greek Room. +</p> + +<p> +We commenced our vigil on the Saturday, and I, for one, found it a +lugubrious business. One electric lamp was usually left burning in +each apartment throughout the night, and I sat as near to that in the +Egyptian Room as possible and endeavoured to distract my thoughts with +a bundle of papers with which I had provided myself. +</p> + +<p> +In the next room I could hear Grimsby walking about incessantly, and, +at regular intervals, the scratching of a match as he lighted a cigar. +He was an inveterate cheroot smoker. +</p> + +<p> +Our first night’s watching, then, was productive of no result, and the +five that followed were equally monotonous. +</p> + +<p> +Upon Grimsby’s suggestion we observed great secrecy in the matter of +these dispositions. Even Coram’s small household was kept in ignorance +of this midnight watching. Grimsby, following out some theory of his +own, now determined to dispense altogether with light in the Greek +Room. Friday was intensely hot, and occasional fitful breezes brought +with them banks of black thundercloud, which, however, did not break; +and, up to the time that we assumed our posts at the Museum, no rain +had fallen. At about twelve o’clock I looked out into South Grafton +Square and saw that the sky was entirely obscured by a heavy mass of +inky cloud, ominous of a gathering storm. +</p> + +<p> +Returning to my chair beneath the electric lamp, I took up a work of +Mark Twain’s, which I had brought as a likely antidote to melancholy +or nervousness. As I commenced to read, for the twentieth time, “The +Jumping Frog,” I heard the scratch of Grimsby’s match in the next room +and knew that he had lighted his fifth cigar. +</p> + +<p> +It must have been about one o’clock when the rain came. I heard the +big drops on the glass roof, followed by the steady pouring of the +deluge. For perhaps five minutes it rained steadily, and then ceased +as abruptly as it had begun. Above the noise of the water rushing down +the metal gutters, I distinctly detected the sound of Grimsby striking +another match. Then, with a mighty crash, came the thunder. +</p> + +<p> +Directly above the Museum it seemed as though the very heavens had +burst, and the glass roof rattled as if a shower of stones had fallen, +the thunderous report echoing and reverberating hollowly through the +building. +</p> + +<p> +As the lightning flashed with dazzling brilliance, I started from my +chair and stood, breathless, with every sense on the alert; for, +strangely intermingling with the patter of the rain that now commenced +to fall again, came a low wailing, like nothing so much as the voice +of a patient succumbing to an anæsthetic. There was something +indefinably sweet, but indescribably weird, in the low and mysterious +music. +</p> + +<p> +Not knowing from whence it proceeded, I stood undetermined what to do; +but, just as the thunder boomed again, I heard a wild cry—undoubtedly +proceeding from the Greek Room! Springing to the door, I threw it +open. +</p> + +<p> +All was in darkness, but, as I entered, a vivid flash of lightning +illuminated the place. +</p> + +<p> +I saw a sight which I can never forget. Grimsby lay flat upon the +floor by the farther door. But, dreadful as that spectacle was, it +scarce engaged my attention; nor did I waste a second glance upon the +Athenean Harp, which lay close beside its empty case. +</p> + +<p> +For the figure of a woman, draped in flimsy white, was passing across +the Greek Room! +</p> + +<p> +Grim fear took me by the throat, since I could not doubt that what I +saw was a supernatural manifestation. Darkness followed. I heard a +loud wailing cry and a sound as of a fall. +</p> + +<p> +Then Coram came running through the Greek Room. +</p> + +<p> +Trembling violently, I joined him; and together we stood looking down +at Grimsby. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” whispered Coram; “this is awful. It cannot be the work of +mortal hands! Poor Grimsby is dead!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you—see—the woman?” I muttered. I will confess it: my courage +had completely deserted me. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head; but, as Beale came running to join us, glanced +fearfully into the shadows of the Greek Room. The storm seemed to have +passed, and, as we three frightened men stood around Grimsby’s +recumbent body, we could almost hear the beating of each other’s +hearts. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, giving a great start, Coram clutched my arm. “Listen!” he +said. “What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +I held my breath and listened. “It’s the thunder in the distance,” +said Beale. +</p> + +<p> +“You are wrong,” I answered. “It is someone knocking at the hall +entrance! There goes the bell, now!” +</p> + +<p> +Coram gave a sigh of relief. “Heavens!” he said; “I’ve no nerves left! +Come on and see who it is.” +</p> + +<p> +The three of us, keeping very close together, passed quickly through +the Greek Room and down into the hall. As the ringing continued, Coram +unbolted the door—and there, on the steps, stood Moris Klaw! +</p> + +<p> +Some vague idea of his mission flashed through my mind. “You are too +late!” I cried. “Grimsby has gone!” +</p> + +<p> +I saw a look of something like anger pass over his large pale +features, and then he had darted past us and vanished up the stairs. +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +Having rebolted the door, we rejoined Moris Klaw in the Greek Room. He +was kneeling beside Grimsby in the dim light—and Grimsby, his face +ghastly pale, was sitting up and drinking from a flask! +</p> + +<p> +“I am in time!” said Moris Klaw. “He has only fainted!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was the ghost!” whispered the Scotland Yard man. “My God! I’m +prepared for anything human—but when the lightning came and I saw +that white thing—playing the harp——” +</p> + +<p> +Coram turned aside and was about to pick up the harp, which lay upon +the floor near, when— +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried Moris Klaw, “do not touch it! It is death!” +</p> + +<p> +Coram started back as though he had been stung as Grimsby very +unsteadily got upon his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Turn up lights,” directed Moris Klaw, “and I will show you!” +</p> + +<p> +The curator went out to the switchboard and the Greek Room became +brightly illuminated. The ramshackle figure of Moris Klaw seemed to be +invested with triumphant majesty. Behind the pebbles his eyes gleamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Observe,” he said, “I raise the harp from the floor.” He did so. “And +I live. For why? Because I do not take hold upon it in a natural +manner—<i>by the top!</i> I take it by the side! Conway and Macalister +took hold upon it at the top; and where are they—Conway and +Macalister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw,” said Coram, “I cannot doubt that this black business is +all clear to your very unusual intelligence; but to me it is a +profound mystery. I have, myself, in the past, taken up the harp in +the way you describe as fatal, and without injury——” +</p> + +<p> +“But not immediately after it had been played upon!” interrupted Moris +Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Played upon! I have never attempted to play upon it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Even had you done so you might yet have escaped, provided you <i>set it +down</i> before touching the top part! Note, please!” +</p> + +<p> +He ran his long white fingers over the golden strings. Instantly there +stole upon my ears that weird, wailing music which had heralded the +strange happenings of the night! +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” continued our mentor, “whilst I who am cunning hold it +where the ladies’ gold feet join, observe the top—where the hand +would in ordinary rest in holding it.” +</p> + +<p> +We gathered around him. +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>needle-point</i>,” he rumbled, impressively, “protruding! The player +touches it not! But who takes it from the hand of the player <i>dies!</i> +By placing the harp again upon its base the point again retires! Shall +I say what is upon that point, to drive a man mad like a dog with +rabies, to stay potent for generations? I cannot. It is a secret +buried with the ugly body of Cæsar Borgia!” +</p> + +<p> +“Cæsar Borgia!” we cried in chorus. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” rumbled Moris Klaw, “your Athenean Harp was indeed made by +Paduano Zelloni, the Florentine! It is a clever forge! I have been in +Rome until yesterday. You are surprised? I am sorry, for the poor +Macalister died. Having perfected, with the aid of Isis, my mind +photograph of the lady who plays the harp, I go to Rome to perfect the +story of the harp. For why? At my house I have records, but +incomplete, useless. In Rome I have a friend, of so old a family, and +once so wicked, I shall not name it! +</p> + +<p> +“He has recourse to the great Vatican Library—to the annals of his +race. There he finds me an account of such a harp. In those priceless +parchments it is called ‘a Greek lyre of gold.’ It is described. I am +convinced. I am sure! +</p> + +<p> +“Once the beautiful Lucrece Borgia play upon this harp. To one who is +distasteful to her she says: ‘Replace for me my harp.’ He does so. He +is a dead man! God! what cleverness! +</p> + +<p> +“Where has it lain for generations before your Sir Menzies find it? No +man knows. But it has still its virtues! How did the poor Menzies die? +Throw himself from his room window, I recently learn. This harp +certainly was in his room. Conway, after dashing, mad, about the +place, springs head downward from the attendant’s chair. Macalister +dies in exhaustion and convulsions!” +</p> + +<p> +A silence; when— +</p> + +<p> +“What caused the harp to play?” asked Coram. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw looked hard at him. Then a thrill of new horror ran through +my veins. A low moan came from somewhere hard by! Coram turned in a +flash! +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my private door is open!” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you keep your private keys?” rumbled Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“In my study.” Coram was staring at the open door, but seemed afraid +to approach it. “We have been using the attendant’s keys at night. My +own are on my study mantelpiece now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” continued the thick voice. “Your daughter has them!” +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter!” cried Coram, and sprang to the open door. “Heavens! +Hilda! Hilda!” +</p> + +<p> +“She is somnambulistic!” whispered Moris Klaw in my ear. “When certain +unusual sounds—such as heavy vehicles at night—reach her in her +sleep (ah! how little we know of the phenomenon of sleep!), she +arises, and, in common with many sleepwalkers, always acts the same. +Something, in the case of Miss Hilda, attracts her to the golden +harp——” +</p> + +<p> +“She is studying music!” +</p> + +<p> +“She must rest from it. Her brain is overwrought! She unlocks the case +and strikes the cords of the harp, relocking the door, replacing the +keys—I before have known such cases—then retires as she came. Who +takes the harp from her hands, or raises it, if she has laid it down +upon its side, dies! These dead attendants were brave fellows both, +for, hearing the music, they came running, saw how the matter was, and +did not waken the sleeping player. Conway was poisoned as he returned +the harp to its case; Macalister, as he took it up from where it lay. +Something to-night awoke her ere she could relock the door. The fright +of so awaking made her to swoon.” +</p> + +<p> +Coram’s kindly voice and the sound of a girl sobbing affrightedly +reached us. +</p> + +<p> +“It was my yell of fear, Mr. Klaw!” said Grimsby, shamefacedly. “She +looked like a ghost!” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” rumbled Moris Klaw, soothingly. “As I see her in my +sleep she is very awesome! I will show you the picture Isis has made +from my etheric photograph. I saw it, finished, earlier to-night. It +confirmed me that the Miss Hilda with the harp in her hand was poor +Conway’s last thought in life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby, earnestly, “you are a very remarkable man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he rumbled, and gingerly placed in its case the “Greek lyre of +gold” which Paduano Zelloni had wrought for Cæsar Borgia. +</p> + +<p> +From the brown hat he took out his scent spray and squirted verbena +upon his heated forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“That harp,” he explained, “it smells of dead men!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch02"> +SECOND EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE POTSHERD OF ANUBIS</span> +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">In examining</span> the mass of material which I have collated respecting +Moris Klaw, several outstanding facts strike me as being worthy of +some special notice. +</p> + +<p> +For instance, an unusual number of the cases in which he was concerned +centred about curios and relics of various kinds. His personal tastes +(he was, I think, primarily, an antiquarian) may have led him to +examine such cases in preference to others. Then again, no two of his +acquaintances agree upon the point of Moris Klaw’s actual identity and +personality. He was a master of disguise; and the grand secret of his +life was one which he jealously guarded from all. +</p> + +<p> +But was the Moris Klaw who kept the curio shop in Wapping the real +Moris Klaw? And to what extent did he believe in those psychical +phenomena upon which professedly his methods were based? As +particularly bearing upon this phase of the matter, I have selected, +for narration here, the story of the potsherd. +</p> + +<p> +Since the Boswell, in records of this kind, has often appeared, to my +mind, to overshadow the Johnson, I have decided to present this +episode in the words of Mr. J.E. Wilson Clifford, electrical engineer, +of Copthall House, Copthall Avenue, E.C., to whom I am indebted for a +full and careful account. I do not think I could improve upon his +paper, and my own views might unduly intrude upon the story; +therefore, with your permission, I will vacate the rostrum in favour +of Mr. Clifford, for whom I solicit your attention. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +<i>Mr. Clifford’s Story of the Egyptian Potsherd</i> +</p> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p> +During the autumn of 19—, I was sharing a pleasant set of rooms with +Mark Lesty, who was shortly taking up an appointment at a London +hospital, and it was, I think, about the middle of that month that the +extraordinary affair of Halesowen and his Egyptian potsherd came under +our notice. +</p> + +<p> +Our rooms (they were in a southwest suburb) overlooked a fine expanse +of Common. Halesowen rented a flat commanding a similar prospect; and, +at the time of which I write, he had but recently returned from a +protracted visit to Egypt. +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen was a tall, fair man, clean-shaven, very fresh coloured, and +wearing his hair cropped close to his head. He was well travelled and +no mean antiquary. He lived entirely by himself; and Lesty and I +frequently spent the evening at his place, which was a veritable +museum of curiosities. I distinctly recall the first time that he +showed us his latest acquisitions. +</p> + +<p> +Both the windows were wide open and the awning fluttered in the slight +breeze. Dusk was just descending, and we sat looking out over the +Common and puffing silently at our briars. We had been examining the +relics that Halesowen had brought back from the land of the Pharaohs, +the one, I remember, which had most impressed me, tyro that I was, +being the mummy of a sacred cat from Bubastis. +</p> + +<p> +“It wouldn’t have been worth bringing back only for the wrapping,” +Halesowen assured me. “This, now, is really unique.” +</p> + +<p> +The object referred to was a broken pot or vase, upon which he pointed +out a number of hieroglyphics and a figure with the head of a jackal. +“A potsherd inscribed with the figure of Anubis,” he explained. “Very +valuable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” Lesty inquired, in his lazy way. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Halesowen replied, “the characters of the inscription are of a +kind entirely unfamiliar to me. I believe them to be a sort of secret +writing, possibly peculiar to some brotherhood. I am risking expert +opinion, although, in every sense, I stole the thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Professor Sheraton—you’ll see his name on a row of cases in +the B.M.—excavated it. But it’s a moral certainty he didn’t intend to +advise the authorities of his find. He was going to smuggle it out of +Egypt into his private collection. I had marked the spot where he +found it for inquiries of my own. This dishonest old fossil——” +</p> + +<p> +Lesty laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my own motives weren’t above suspicion! But, anyway, the +Professor anticipated me. Accordingly, I employed one Ali, a +distinguished member of a family of thieves, to visit the learned +gentleman’s tent! Cutting the story—there’s the pot!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here! I say!” drawled Lesty. “You’ll come to a bad end, young +fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +“The position is a peculiar one,” replied Halesowen, smiling. “Neither +of us had any legal claim to the sherd—whilst we were upon Egyptian +territory. Therefore, even if the Professor learnt that I had the +thing—and he may suspect—he couldn’t prosecute me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Devilish high-handed!” commented Lesty. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But remember we were well off the map—miles away from Cook’s +route. The possession of this potsherd ought to make a man’s +reputation—any man who knows a bit about the subject. Curiously +enough, a third party had had his eye upon the place where this +much-sought sherd was found. And in some mysterious fashion he tumbled +to the fact that it had fallen into <i>my</i> hands. He made a sort of +veiled offer of a hundred pounds for it. I refused, but ran across him +again, a week or so later, in Cairo, and he raised his price to two +hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s strange,” I said. “Who was he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Called himself Zeda—Dr. Louis Zeda. He quite lost his temper when I +declined to sell, and I’ve not set eyes on him since.” +</p> + +<p> +He relocked the fragment in his cabinet, and we lapsed into silence, +to sit gazing meditatively across the Common, picturesque in the dim +autumn twilight. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, Halesowen,” I said, “I see that the flat next door, same +floor as this, is to let.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” he replied. “Why don’t you men take it?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll think about it,” yawned Lesty, stretching his long limbs. +“Might look over it in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +The following day we viewed the vacant flat, but found, upon inquiry +of the agent, that it had already been let. However, as our own rooms +suited us very well, we were not greatly concerned. Just as we +finished dinner the same evening, Halesowen came in, and, without +preamble, plunged into a surprising tale of uncanny happenings at his +place. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it slow,” said Lesty. “You say it was after we came away?” +</p> + +<p> +“About an hour after,” replied Halesowen. “I had brought out the +potsherd, and had it in the wooden stand on the table before me. I was +copying the hieroglyphics, which are unusual, and had my reading lamp +burning only, the rest of the room being consequently in shadow. I was +sitting with my back to the windows, facing the door, so no one could +possibly have entered the room unseen by me. It was as I bent down to +scrutinize a badly defaced character that I felt a queer sensation +stealing over me, as though someone were standing close behind my +chair, watching me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very common,” explained Lesty; “merely nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know; but not what followed. The sensation became so +pronounced that I stood up. No one was in the room. I determined to +take a stroll, concluding that the fresh air would clear these uncanny +cobwebs out of my brain. Accordingly, I extinguished the lamp and went +out. I was just putting my cap on when something prompted me to return +and lock up the potsherd.” +</p> + +<p> +He fixed his eyes upon us with an expression of doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“There was someone, or something, in the room!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Lesty, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“I quite distinctly saw a hand and bare white arm pass away from the +table—and vanish! It was dark in the room, remember; but I could see +the arm well enough. I switched on the reading lamp. Not a thing was +to be seen. There was no one in the room and no one but myself in the +flat, for I searched it thoroughly!” +</p> + +<p> +Some moments of silence followed this remarkable story, and I sat +watching Lesty, who, in turn, was regarding Halesowen with the stolid, +vacant stare which sometimes served to conceal the working of his keen +brain. +</p> + +<p> +“Pity you didn’t let us know sooner,” he said, rising slowly to his +feet. “This is interesting.” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +Halesowen’s nerves evidently had been shaken by the inexplicable +incident. As the three of us strode across the corner of the Common, +he informed us that the new tenant of the adjoining flat had moved in. +“I have been away all day,” he said; “but the stuff was bundled in +some time during the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +We proceeded upstairs and into the cosy room which had been the scene +of the remarkable occurrence related. As it was growing dark, +Halesowen turned on the electric light, and, indicating a chair by the +writing table, explained that it was there he had been seated at the +time. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you have the windows open?” asked Lesty. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” was the reply. “I left the chairs and the awning out, too, as +it was a fine night; in fact, you can see that they still remain +practically as you left them.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you returned, and saw, or thought you saw, the hand and arm—you +would have to pass around to this side of the table in order to reach +the lamp?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Apparently Lesty was about to make some observation, when an +interruption occurred in the form of a ringing on the door bell, +followed by a discreet fandango on the knocker. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the deuce have we here!” muttered Halesowen. “I saw no one go in +below.” +</p> + +<p> +As our host passed through the lighted room and into the hall, my +friend and I both leant forward in our chairs, the better to hear what +should pass; nor were we kept long in suspense, for, as we heard the +outer door opened, an odd, rumbling voice came, with a queer accent: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my dear Mr. Halesowen, it is indeed an intrusion of me! But when +I find how we are neighbours I cannot resist to make the call and +renew a so pleasant acquaintance!” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor Zeda!” we heard Halesowen exclaim, with little cordiality. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever your devoted servant!” replied the courteous foreigner. +</p> + +<p> +I glanced at Lesty, and we rose together and stepped through the open +window in time to see a truly remarkable personage enter. +</p> + +<p> +This was a large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his +skull, French fashion. He had a high and very wrinkled brow and wore +gold-rimmed pince-nez. Jet-black and heavy eyebrows were his, and his +waxed moustache, his neat imperial, were likewise of the hue of coal. +His complexion was pallid; and in his well-cut frock coat, with a +loose black tie overhanging his vest, he made a striking picture, +standing bowing profoundly in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen rapidly muttered the usual formalities; in fact, I remember +mentally contrasting our friend’s unceremonious manners with the +courtly deportment of Doctor Zeda. +</p> + +<p> +The latter explained that he had taken the adjacent flat, only +learning, that evening, whom he had for a neighbour, and, despite the +lateness of the hour, he said, he could not resist the desire to see +Halesowen, of whose company in Egypt he retained such pleasant +memories. Allowing for his effusiveness, there was nothing one could +take exception to in his behaviour, and I rather wondered at the +brusque responses of our usually polite host. +</p> + +<p> +When, after a brief chat, the foreign gentleman rose to take his +leave, he extended an invitation to all of us to lunch with him on the +following day. “My place is in somewhat disorder,” he said, smiling, +“but you are Bohemian, like myself, and will not care!” +</p> + +<p> +Though I half expected that Halesowen would decline, he did not do so; +I, therefore, also accepted, as did Lesty. Whereupon, Zeda departed. +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen, returning to the chair which he had vacated to usher out +his visitor, lighted a cigarette, regarded it for a moment, +meditatively, and then frankly expressed his doubts. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been watching me!” he said; “and when he saw the next flat +vacant he jumped at the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap,” I retorted, “he must be very keen on securing your +potsherd if he is prepared to take and furnish a flat next door to you +simply with a view to keeping an eye on it!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no idea how anxious he is,” he assured me. “If you had seen +his face, in Cairo, when I flatly declined to sell, you would be +better able to understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not sell, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m dashed if I do!” said Halesowen, stubbornly. +</p> + +<p> +On the following day we lunched with Doctor Zeda and were surprised at +the orderly state of his establishment. Everything, from floor to +ceiling, was in its proper place. +</p> + +<p> +“It hasn’t taken you long to get things straight,” commented Lesty. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no,” replied the other. “These big firms, they do it all in a day +if you insist—and I insist, see?” +</p> + +<p> +I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, for he proved an excellent host, and I +think even Lesty grew less suspicious of him. During the weeks that +followed, the doctor came several times to our rooms, and we +frequently met at Halesowen’s. The latter, who boldly had submitted +photographs and drawings of the sherd to the British Museum, +experienced no repetition of the mysterious phenomenon already +described. Then, about seven o’clock one morning, when the mists hung +low over the Common in promise of a hot day, a boy came for Lesty and +myself with news of a fresh development. He was a lad who did odd jobs +for Halesowen, and he brought word of an attempted burglary, together +with a request that we should go over without delay. +</p> + +<p> +Our curiosity keenly aroused, we were soon with our friend, and found +him seated in the familiar room, before a large cabinet, with double +glass doors, which, as was clearly evident, had been hastily +ransacked. Other cases in which he kept various curios were also +opened, and the place was in general disorder. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s gone?” asked Lesty, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing!” was the answer. “The potsherd is in the safe, and the safe +is in my bedroom—or perhaps something might have gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“You lock it up at night, then? I thought you kept it in the cabinet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only during the day. It goes in the safe, with one or two other +trifles, at night; but <i>everybody</i> doesn’t know that!” +</p> + +<p> +We looked at one another, silently; but the name that was on all our +lips remained unspoken—for we were startled by a loud knocking and +ringing at the door. Carter opening it, into the room ran Doctor Zeda! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear friends!” he cried, in his hoarse, rumbling voice, “there +has been to my flat a midnight robber! He has turned completely +upside-down all my collections!” +</p> + +<p> +Lesty coughed loudly; but, as I turned my head to look at him, his +face was quite expressionless. Halesowen seemed stricken dumb by +surprise; whilst, for my own part, as I watched the foreigner staring +about the disordered room, and noted the growing look of bewilderment +creeping over his pallid countenance, I was compelled to admit to +myself that here was either a consummate actor or a man of whom we +hastily had formed a most unwarrantable opinion. +</p> + +<p> +“But, my friend—my good Halesowen,” he exclaimed, with widely opened +eyes and extended palms, “what is it that I see? You are as disordered +as myself!” +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen nodded. “The burglar gave me a call, too!” he said, grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir!” gasped Zeda, seizing the speaker’s arm, “tell me +quickly—you have lost nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen glanced at him rather hard. “No,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! what a relief! I feared,” rumbled the doctor. “But perhaps you +wonder for what it is they came?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can guess!” +</p> + +<p> +“You need no longer to guess; I will tell you. It is for your fragment +of the sacred vase, and to me they come for mine!” +</p> + +<p> +We were even more astonished by this assertion than we had been by the +doctor’s first. “<i>Your</i> fragment!” said Halesowen, slowly, with his +eyes fixed on Zeda; “to what fragment do you refer?” +</p> + +<p> +“To that which, together with your potsherd, makes up the complete +vase! But you doubt?” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “Wait but +a moment and I will prove!” +</p> + +<p> +He moved from the room; his gait had a mincing awkwardness, quite +indescribable; and we heard his retreating, heavy footsteps as he +passed downstairs. Then we stood and gaped at one another. “His +confounded ingenuity,” rapped Halesowen, “has completely tied my +hands.” +</p> + +<p> +Being interrupted, at this moment, by the re-entrance of the gentleman +in question, further discussion of the subject was precluded. Zeda +carried a small iron box which he placed carefully upon the table and +unlocked. A second box of polished ebony was revealed within, and +this, being unlocked in turn, was proved to contain, reposing in a +nest of blue velvet, a fragment of antique pottery. Taking the +fragment in his hand, the doctor begged that the potsherd be produced. +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen, after a momentary hesitation, retired from the room, to +return almost immediately with the broken vase in its wooden frame. +Doctor Zeda, placing the portion which he held in his hand against +that in the frame, but not so closely as to bring the parts in +contact, turned to us with a triumphant smile. “They correspond, +gentlemen, to a smallest fraction!” he declared; which, indeed, was +perfectly true. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” continued Zeda, evidently gratified by the surprise which +we could not conceal, “I will relate to you a story. I do not ask that +you shall credit it; I only say that I have given up my life to such +studies, and that I am willing, as matters have so arrived, that you +shall join me to prove false or true what I think of the potsherd of +Anubis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said Lesty, and settled himself to listen, an example that was +followed by Halesowen and myself. Zeda paused for a moment, evidently +to collect his ideas, a pause upon which my stolid friend placed a +dubious interpretation, for he cleared his throat, significantly. +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +“The date is no matter,” said Doctor Zeda, “but there was at Gîzeh, +to the north of the Sphinx, a temple dedicated to Isis, but wherein +the worship was different. We only know of this shrine by the +monuments, but they prove it to have been—eh, Mr. Halesowen?” +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, then, the gods of the dead were adored—but the worship of +Anubis took precedence, and was conducted at a shrine apart. Here, +locked within three-and-thirty doors, having each its separate janitor +who held the key, reposed a sacred symbol—a symbol, my friends, upon +which was based the occult knowledge of the initiated; a symbol more +precious than the lives of a hundred-hundred warriors—for so it is +written!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never met with the inscription!” said Halesowen, drily. +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Zeda smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“You never are likely to meet it!” he responded. “Your Belzoni and +Lepsius, your Birch, Renouf, Brugsch and Petrie, is a mere unseeing +vandal, blinded to the great truth—to the ultimate secret that Egypt +holds for him who has eyes to see and a brain to realize!” +</p> + +<p> +The mysterious foreign gentleman looked about him with a sort of +challenge in his glance; then he quietly resumed his story. +</p> + +<p> +“At the change of the moon in the sacred month, Methori, a maiden +selected from a noble house for her beauty and purity, and for a whole +year dedicated to the service of the gods, held in her hands the +sacred thing—held it aloft that the initiated might worship, until +the first white beam lit up the receptacle, when all bowed down their +heads and chanted the ‘Hymn of the Souls Who Are Passing.’ Then was it +locked again within the three-and-thirty doors, there to remain for +another year. None saw the symbol itself but the high priest, who +looked upon it when he was so ordained—for any other that gazed upon +it died! It was contained in a holy vase!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused impressively. We had all fallen under the peculiar +fascination of the speaker’s personality; we felt as though he spoke +of matters wherein he had had personal concern. I could almost believe +him to have witnessed the strange rites that he told of with such +conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“In a year so long ago,” he softly resumed, his voice now a kind of +jagged whisper, “that to speak of its date were to convey nothing to +you, the high-born virgin on whom the exalted office was conferred +closed upon her unhappy soul the gates of paradise for ages +unnumbered; called down upon her head the curse of the high priest and +the anger of the most high gods; was rejected of Set himself! +</p> + +<p> +“She let fall from her hands the sacred vase, and the holy symbol was +lost to the children of earth for evermore! Lost was the key to the +book of wisdom; closed was that book to man for all time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on!” said Halesowen, harshly, for Zeda had paused again. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not grasp?” asked the doctor. “Well, then, know that the +sentence was ‘Until the parts of this vase be made whole again.’ Five +fragments there were: a large one, which is your potsherd, and four +smaller. The four smaller, after twenty years of untiring search, I +have recovered and joined together. What if we now make whole that +which was broken? May I not, by the exercise of such poor shreds of +the lost wisdom as I have gathered up, summon before me that wandering +spirit ere it return again to plead for rest at the judgment seat of +Amenti?” +</p> + +<p> +When I say that the man’s words proved electrical, I do not exaggerate +the effect which this astounding proposition had upon us. Halesowen +was fairly startled out of his chair, and stood with his eyes fixed on +the other in a fascinated gaze. +</p> + +<p> +Zeda, entirely returning to his customary urbanity, shrugged and +smiled. “You believe my story?” +</p> + +<p> +Lesty was the first to recover himself, and his reply was +characteristic. “Can’t say I do,” he drawled, frankly. “I don’t say +that <i>you</i> may not, though,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Then do you not owe it to assist in proving my words? A little +séance? You are sceptical, quite? Very well; I try to show you. If I +fail, then it is unfortunate, but—I bow to an inevitable!” +</p> + +<p> +We looked at each other, interrogatively, and then Halesowen answered, +“All right. It’s a queer yarn, but we leave the matter entirely in +your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor bowed. “Shall we say to-night to begin?” he said, +tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +“By all means.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor expressed himself delighted, and, carefully relocking the +fragment of the vase in its double case, he was about to depart, when +a point occurred to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Might I ask whom you suspect of the attempted burglary?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He turned, in the door, and fixed a strange glance upon me. “There are +others,” he replied, “who seek as I seek, and who do not scruple to +gain their ends how they may. Of them we shall beware, my friends, for +we know they design upon us!” +</p> + +<p> +With that and a low bow he retired. +</p> + +<p> +Little of interest occurred during the day, until about four in the +afternoon, when Halesowen aroused us out of a lazy doze to show a +letter just received from the British Museum. +</p> + +<p> +It was in reply to one asking why he had received no acknowledgment of +the photographs and drawings submitted; and it informed him that no +such photographs and drawings had come to hand! +</p> + +<p> +We usually took tea in the afternoon, and Halesowen joined us on this +occasion, whilst, at about five o’clock, Doctor Zeda also looked in. +He remained until it began to grow dusk, when we all went over to +Halesowen’s to arrange the first “sitting”—for so the doctor referred +to the projected séance. Retiring, for a few minutes, to his own +establishment, Zeda returned with the iron box and explained what he +proposed to do. +</p> + +<p> +“Around this small table we sit, as at séance,” he said; “but no +medium—only the potsherd. With these flexible bands I will attach, +temporarily, the parts, and stand the vase in Mr. Halesowen’s frame, +here by the window—so. Beside it we will place the lamp, shaded +thus—so that a dim light is upon it. We can just see from where we +sit in the dark. We will now wait until it is more dusk.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, we went out on to the balcony and smoked for an hour, +Zeda polluting the clean air with the fumes of the long, black cigars +he affected. They had an appearance as of dried twigs and an odour so +wholly original as to defy simile. Between eight and nine o’clock he +expressed himself satisfied with the light—or, rather, lack of +it—and we all gathered around the table in the gloom, spreading our +hands as he directed. For close upon an hour we sat in tense silence, +the room seeming to be very hot. A slight breeze off the Common had +wafted the fumes of Zeda’s cigar in through the open windows, which he +had afterward closed, and the reek filled the air as with something +palpable—and nauseous. I was growing very weary of the business, and +Lesty, despite the doctor’s warning against disturbing the silence, +had begun to cough and fidget irritably, when the rumbling foreign +voice came, so unexpectedly as to startle us all: “It is useless +to-night; something is not propitious. Turn up the lights.” +</p> + +<p> +From the celerity with which Halesowen complied, I divined that he, +too, had been growing impatient. +</p> + +<p> +“There is some not suitable condition,” said Zeda, relocking his +portion of the vase in its case. “To-morrow we shall make some changes +in the order.” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed not at all disappointed, being apparently as confident as +ever in the ultimate success of the séances. One of the windows, he +suggested, should be left open on the following evening during our +sitting; and this we were only too glad to agree upon, since it would +possibly serve to clear the atmosphere, somewhat, of the odour +emanating from the doctor’s cigars. Several other points he also +mentioned as being conceivably responsible for our initial +failure—such as our positions around the table, and the relative +distance of the potsherd. “We shall see to-morrow,” were his last +words as he left us. +</p> + +<p> +“A perfect monument of mendacity!” muttered Lesty, as we heard the +retiring footsteps of our foreign friend on the gravel below; “and I +think his accent is assumed. I don’t know why we even seem to credit +such an incredible fable.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, either,” said Halesowen, reflectively. “But he +certainly possesses the missing part of the vase, and if he does not +believe the story himself, what earthly object can he hope to serve by +these séances?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it up!” replied Lesty, promptly; and that, I think, rather aptly +expressed the mental attitude of all three. +</p> + +<p> +We saw nothing of Zeda throughout the following day, but he duly put +in an appearance in the evening, and placed us around the table again, +but in different order. One of the French windows was left open, and +the potsherd, with the lamp beside it, placed somewhat to the left. +</p> + +<p> +After persevering for about forty minutes, we were rewarded by a +rather conventional phenomenon. The table rocked and gave forth +cracking sounds. There was no other manifestation, and, at about +half-past ten, the doctor again terminated the séance. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent!” said Zeda, enthusiastically, “excellent! We were <i>en +rapport</i>, and within the circle there was power. To-morrow we shall +triumph, my friends, but there is again an alteration that occurs to +me. You, Mr. Clifford, shall sit next to Mr. Lesty on the left, Mr. +Halesowen shall be upon his right, and I, facing Mr. Lesty between. +Also, there is too much light from the lamps in the road. It is good, +I think, to have open the windows, but this Japanese screen will keep +out that too much light and shelter the vase. To-morrow we will +observe these things.” +</p> + +<p> +This, then, concluded our second sitting, and brings me to the final +episode of that affair which, strange enough in its several +developments, was stranger still in its dénouement. +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +Zeda, on the following day, entertained us to luncheon in town, +followed by an afternoon concert, for which he had procured seats, +being interested, or professing to be, in a certain fiddler who +figured largely in the programme. We had arranged that Halesowen and +the doctor should dine with us in the evening, before we went to the +former’s flat for the séance, and we accordingly returned direct to +our rooms and chatted over the doings of the day until dinner was +served. Zeda surpassed himself in brilliant conversation. He must, I +remember thinking, have led a strange and eventful life. +</p> + +<p> +At about nine o’clock, we walked over, in the dark, to our friend’s +flat, where we had to grope for and light an oil lamp which he had, +Zeda declaring that something in the atmosphere was propitious and +that the electric light would tend to disturb these favourable +conditions. He seemed to be strung to high tension, perhaps with +expectancy, but was not so preoccupied as to forget his black cigars, +one of which he lighted as he was about to go out for the iron box. He +borrowed my matches for the purpose and forgot to return them. +</p> + +<p> +It was, perhaps, a quarter to ten before Zeda had matters arranged to +his satisfaction, and so dark, by reason of the tall Japanese screen +which stood before the open windows, that I could see neither Zeda, on +my left, nor Lesty, who sat on my right. Halesowen was a dim +silhouette against the patch of light cast by the oil reading lamp +beside the vase, which stood the whole length of the room away. I was +conscious of a suppressed excitement, which I am sure was shared by my +companions. +</p> + +<p> +I heard a distant clock striking the half hour, and then the three +quarters; but still nothing had occurred. A motor car drove around +from the road and stopped somewhere at the outer end of the drive. I +wondered, idly, if it were that of the surgeon who lived at Number 10. +After that, everything was very quiet, and I was expecting to hear the +hour strike, and straining my ears to catch the sound of the first +chime, when the rocking and cracking of the table began. This was much +more violent than hitherto, and Zeda’s gruff tones came softly: +“Whatever shall happen, do not remove your hands from the table!” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased speaking, and the rocking motions, together with the rapping +and cracking that had sounded from all about us, also ceased, with +disconcerting suddenness. A silence fell, so short in duration as to +be scarcely appreciable; for it was almost instantly broken by an +unexpected sound. +</p> + +<p> +It was a woman’s voice, very low and clear, and it seemed to mutter +something in a weird, rising cadence, with a high note at the end of +every third bar or so, and this over and over again—an eerie thing, +vaguely like a Gregorian chant. +</p> + +<p> +“Triumph!” whispered Zeda. “The ‘Hymn of the Souls Who Are Passing.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +His speech seemed to disturb the singer, but only for a moment. The +Hymn was continued. +</p> + +<p> +This singular performance was proving too much for my nerves; at each +recurrence of the quiet, clear note on the fourth beat of the third +bar, a cold shudder ran down my spine. Then, as the very monotony of +the thing was beginning to grow appalling, I suddenly became aware of +a slim, white figure standing beside the vase! +</p> + +<p> +The chant stopped, and I could hear nothing but the nervous breathing +of my companions. Seated as they were, I doubted whether Halesowen or +Lesty could see this apparition, but I was facing directly toward +her—for it was a woman. I could see every line of her figure—the +curves of her throat and arms and shoulders, the dull, metallic +gleaming of her clustering hair. As she extended her hand toward the +light, I distinctly saw the large green stone set in a ring on her +index finger. She must be very beautiful, I thought, and I was peering +through the gloom in a vain endeavour to see her more clearly, when +there came a disconcerting crash—and utter darkness! The table +whereat we were seated was overturned, and I found myself capsized +from my chair! +</p> + +<p> +“Hold him!” yelled the voice of Lesty. “Hold him, +Halesowen—Clifford!” +</p> + +<p> +A door banged loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Confound it! I’m on the floor!”—from Halesowen. +</p> + +<p> +I shouted for someone to turn up the light, at the same time +scrambling through the gloom with that intent. After severely damaging +my shins against the intervening furniture, I found the switch. It +would not work! +</p> + +<p> +“It’s cut off!” I cried. “Strike a match, somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t got any!” said Lesty. +</p> + +<p> +“Zeda has mine!” responded Halesowen. “Open the door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Locked!” was Lesty’s next report. +</p> + +<p> +“Break it down!” shouted Halesowen, hurling aside the Japanese screen. +“<i>The potsherd is gone!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Lesty applied his shoulder to the oak—once—twice—thrice. Then all +together we attacked it, and it flew open with a splintering crash. +</p> + +<p> +“Round to his flat!” panted Halesowen, running downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +Out on to the drive we sprinted, into the next entrance and up to the +first landing. Knocking and ringing proved ineffectual, and the door +was too strong to be burst open. We stood in dismayed silence, staring +at one another. +</p> + +<p> +“Off your balcony, on to his and through the French window!” said +Lesty, suddenly; so back we all ran again. +</p> + +<p> +I had never before realized how easy it was to get from one balcony to +another, until I saw Lesty swing himself across. Halesowen and I +followed in a trice, and we all blundered into the dark room through +the open window and made for the electric switch beside the +mantelpiece. We turned on the light. The room was unfurnished! +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” breathed Halesowen, hurrying into the next. +</p> + +<p> +That, too, was quite bare, as were all the rest! The outer door was +locked. +</p> + +<p> +“While we were fooling at that concert, he had every scrap of stuff +removed!” I said. “He probably had the lot on hire from a big +furnishing firm—curios and all. I remember noticing that his +curiosities were of a very ordinary character, considering his +extensive travels and the nature of his studies.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt whatever,” agreed Lesty. “His burglary proved a failure +(and, I think, must have been interrupted), though I am compelled to +admire the neat manner in which he handled the very delicate situation +that resulted. His more recent and elaborate device has turned out all +that could be desired—from Zeda’s point of view!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how has he got away?” said Halesowen, in bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“Motor waiting at the corner,” replied Lesty, promptly. “Heard it come +up. When the reading lamp was capsized, and whoever had crept from his +balcony to yours and in behind the screen had returned the same +way—with the vase!—Zeda overturned the table and pushed you two men +backward in your chairs. Then, before I could reach him, he bolted out +and locked the door after him. For, having lulled my suspicions by two +practically uneventful séances, he cunningly placed himself nearest +to the door and me farthest away. He probably removed the key when he +went out for the box and placed it outside in the lock when he +returned. His accomplice had run straight through Zeda’s flat and out +to the waiting car, and there he joined her. They may be thirty miles +away by now!” +</p> + +<p> +Being unable to open the door, we perforce returned to Halesowen’s +balcony by the same way that we had come, our friend bewailing his +lost potsherd and exclaiming: “The cunning, cunning scamp!” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew he had some deep game in hand,” said Lesty; “but I hadn’t +bargained for this move. Of course, I had noticed the dodge of +borrowing all our matches, but I didn’t grasp its importance until too +late. It never occurred to me that he’d disconnected the electric +light (which he probably did sometime in the night, by the way). I was +a fool not to realize it, too, when he insisted on our using only the +oil lamp. Then, again, I was slow not to go straight through the +window and into Zeda’s flat that way. It is just possible I might have +caught the lady songster if I had done that in the first place. The +possibility, however, had not been overlooked, since she took the +precaution to lock the door after her.” +</p> + +<p> +“A clever rogue!” I declared. “But wasn’t the first attempt—for I +suppose we must classify the mysterious arm under that head—more than +a trifle indiscreet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt,” agreed Lesty. “But we didn’t know, then, that Zeda was in +London, and the flat was still unfurnished. Also, they may have +thought Halesowen was in bed; or the woman (whom he has so cleverly +kept out of sight) may have exceeded her instructions in attempting to +touch the potsherd while any one remained in the room.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Halesowen, slowly, “we don’t know that there <i>was</i> any +woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” queried Lesty. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see her?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did. She was lovely, very lovely—for a woman!” +</p> + +<p> +Lesty stared curiously. “You surprise me,” he commented, drily. +</p> + +<p> +“Zeda was a strange man,” pursued the other, “and there were certainly +things occurred as we sat round that table that need a lot of +explaining.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very ordinary three-and-six-a-head phenomena!” was the reply. “Merely +a blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what was the reason of his burning desire to secure my potsherd, +if not to complete the vase?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” asked Lesty, “that you are going to credit +that story about the priestess—<i>now</i>, after he has shown his hand? Do +you wish to suggest that he was aided by a spirit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why was he so keen to get the thing?” persisted Halesowen. +</p> + +<p> +Lesty looked at him, looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and began to +load his pipe. Having done so, he sat smoking and staring at the +brilliant moon. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” inquired our host. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it up!” admitted Lesty. +</p> + + +<p class="center mt1"> +(<i>Conclusion of Mr. Clifford’s Account</i>) +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +One of my visits to the Wapping curio shop of Moris Klaw was made in +company with Mr. Halesowen, who, with the others mentioned in the +foregoing narrative, I subsequently had met. +</p> + +<p> +Somewhere amid the misty gloom of this place, where loot of a hundred +ages, of every spot from pole to pole, veils its identity in the +darkness, sits a large gray parrot. Faint perfumes and scuffling +sounds tell of hidden animal life near to the visitor; but the parrot +proclaims itself stridently: +</p> + +<p> +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” +</p> + +<p> +That signal brings Moris Klaw from his hiding place. He shuffles into +the shop, a figure appropriate to its surroundings. Imagine a tall, +stooping man, enveloped in a very faded blue dressing gown. His skin +is but a half-shade lighter than that of a Chinaman; his hair, his +shaggy brows, his scanty beard, defy one to name their colour. He +wears pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +When upon this particular occasion I introduced my companion, and +Moris Klaw acknowledged the introduction in his rumbling voice, I saw +Halesowen stare. +</p> + +<p> +Klaw produced a scent spray from somewhere and sprayed verbena upon +his high yellow brow. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very stuffy—in this shop!” he explained. “Isis! Isis! Bring +for my visitors some iced drinks!” +</p> + +<p> +He invoked a goddess, and a goddess appeared: a brilliantly beautiful +brunette, with delightfully curved scarlet lips and flashing eyes +whose fire the gloom could not dim. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” cried Halesowen—and fell back. +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter Isis,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “This is Mr. Halesowen, from +whom we rescue the Egyptian potsherd!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>What!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Halesowen leant forward across the counter. +</p> + +<p> +“You recognize my daughter?” continued Moris Klaw; “but not Doctor +Zeda, eh? Or only his poor old voice? You gave us great trouble, Mr. +Halesowen. Once, you came in just as Isis, who has climbed on to your +balcony, is about to take the potsherd——” +</p> + +<p> +“There was no one in the room!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> was in the room!” interrupted the girl, coolly. “I was draped in +black from head to foot, and I slipped behind the window hangings, +unseen, whilst you fumbled with your lamp!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was indiscreet,” continued Moris Klaw, “and made it harder for me; +because, afterward, you lock up the treasure and my search is +unavailing. Also, I am interrupted. Pah! I am clumsy! I waste time! +But, remember, I offered to buy it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose,” said Halesowen, slowly, “I give you both in charge?” +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot,” was the placid reply; “for you cannot say how you came +into possession of the sherd! Professor Sheraton was in a similar +forked stick—and that is where <i>I</i> come in!” +</p> + +<p> +“What! you were acting for him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly! I happen to be in Egypt at the time, and he is a friend of +mine. Your thief, Ali, left a small piece of the pot behind, and I am +entrusted to make it complete!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have succeeded!” said Halesowen, grimly, all the time furtively +watching the beautiful Isis. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am the instrument of poetic justice. +Isis, those cool beverages. Let us drink to poetic justice!” +</p> + +<p> +He sprayed his ample brow with verbena. +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +In conclusion, you may ask if the value of the potsherd justified the +elaborate and costly mode of its recovery. +</p> + +<p> +I reply: Upon what does the present fame of Professor Sheraton rest? +His “New Key to the Egyptian Book of the Dead.” Upon what is that work +founded? Upon the hieroglyphics of the Potsherd of Anubis, which (no +questions being asked of so distinguished a savant) was recently +acquired from the Professor by the nation at a cost of £15,000! +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch03"> +THIRD EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE CRUSADER’S AX</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">I have</span> heard people speak of Moris Klaw’s failures. So far as my +information bears me, he never experienced any. “What,” I have been +asked, “of the Cresping murder case? He certainly failed there.” +</p> + +<p> +Respecting this question of his failure or success in the sensational +case which first acquainted the entire country with the existence of +Crespie Hall, and that brought the old-world village of Cresping into +such unwonted prominence, I shall now invite your opinion. +</p> + +<p> +The investigation—the crime having baffled the local men—ultimately +was placed in the hands of Detective-Inspector Grimsby; and through +Grimsby I was brought into close touch with the matter. I had met +Grimsby during the course of the mysterious happenings at the Menzies +Museum, and at that time I also had made the acquaintance of Moris +Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, as I sat over my breakfast one morning reading an account of the +Cresping murder case, I was no more than moderately surprised to see +Inspector Grimsby walk into my rooms. +</p> + +<p> +He declined my offer of a really good Egyptian cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks all the same,” he said; “but there’s only one smoke I can +think on.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he lighted one of the cheroots of which he smoked an +incredible quantity, and got up from his chair, restlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just run up from Cresping by the early train,” he began, +abruptly. “You’ve heard all about the murder, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +I pointed to my newspaper, conspicuous upon the front page of which +was: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="center"> +“THE MURDER AT CRESPIE HALL” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“Ah, yes,” he said, absently. “Well, I’ve been sent down and, to tell +you the white and unsullied truth, I’m in a knot!” +</p> + +<p> +I passed him a cup of coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“What are the difficulties?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one,” he rapped back: “who did it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks to me a very clear case against Ryder, the ex-butler.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it did to me,” he agreed, “until I got down there! I’d got a +warrant in my pocket all ready. Then I began to have doubts!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you propose to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he replied, “it wouldn’t do any good to make a mistake in a +murder case; so what I should <i>like</i> to do would be to get another +opinion—not official, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +I glanced across at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Moris Klaw?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve changed your opinion respecting him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles, his investigation of the Menzies Museum outrages +completely stood me on my head! I’m not joking. I’d always thought him +a crank, and in some ways I think so still; but at seeing through a +brick wall I’d put all I’ve got on Moris Klaw any day!” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you are wasting time by coming to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m not,” said Grimsby, confidently. “Moris Klaw, for all his +retiring habits, is not a man that wants his light hidden under a +bushel! He knows that you are collecting material about his methods, +and he’s more likely to move for you than for me.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw through Grimsby’s plan. He wanted me to invite Moris Klaw to +look into the Crespie murder case, in order that he (Grimsby) might +reap any official benefit accruing without loss of self-esteem! I +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Grimsby!” I said. “Since he has made no move, voluntarily, +it may be that the case does not interest him; but we can try.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, having consulted an A.B.C., we presently entrained for +Wapping, and as a laggard sun began to show up the dinginess and the +dirtiness of that locality, sought out a certain shop, whose locale I +shall no more closely describe than in saying that it is close to +Wapping Old Stairs. +</p> + +<p> +One turns down a narrow court, with a blank wall on the right and a +nailed-up doorway and boarded-up window on the left. Through the +cracks of the latter boarding, the inquiring visitor may catch a +glimpse, beyond a cavernous place which once was some kind of +warehouse, of Old Thames tiding muddily. +</p> + +<p> +The court is a cul de sac. The shop of Moris Klaw occupies the blind +end. Some broken marble pedestals stand upon the footway, among +seatless chairs, dilapidated chests, and a litter of books, stuffed +birds, cameos, inkstands, swords, lamps, and other unclassifiable +rubbish. A black doorway yawns amid the litter. +</p> + +<p> +Imagine Inspector Grimsby and me as entering into this singular +Cumæan cave. +</p> + +<p> +Our eyes at first failed to penetrate the gloom. All about moved +rustling suggestions of animal activity. The indescribable odour of +old furniture assailed our nostrils together with an equally +indescribable smell of avian, reptilian, and rodent life. +</p> + +<p> +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus the scraping voice of the parrot. A door opened, admitting a +little more light and Moris Klaw. The latter was fully dressed; +whereby I mean that he wore his dilapidated caped black cloak, his +black silk muffler and that rarest relic of his unsavoury reliquary, +the flat-topped brown bowler. +</p> + +<p> +In that inadequate light his vellum face looked older, his shaggy +brows, his meagre beard, more toneless, than ever. Through the +gold-rimmed pince-nez he peered for a moment, downward from his great +height. He removed the bowler. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Inspector Grimsby! I am just +from Paris. It is so good of you to call so early to tell me all about +the poor murdered man of Cresping! Good morning! Good morning!” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +Moris Klaw’s sanctum is certainly one of the most remarkable +apartments in London. It is lined with shelves, which contain what I +believe to be a unique library of works dealing with criminology—from +Moris Klaw’s point of view. Strange relics are there, too; and all of +them have histories. A neat desk, with flowers in a silver vase, and a +revolving chair standing upon a fine tiger skin are the other notable +items of furniture. +</p> + +<p> +The contrast on entering was startling. Moris Klaw placed his hat upon +the desk, and from it took out the scent spray without which he never +travels. He played the contents upon his high, yellow +forehead—filling the air with the refreshing odour of verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“That shop!” he said, “it smell very strong this morning. It is not so +much the canaries as the rats!” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust,” began Grimsby, respectfully, “that Miss Klaw is quite +well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Isis will presently be here to say for herself,” was the reply. “And +now—this bad business of Cresping. It seems I am just back in time, +but, ah! it is a fortnight old!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby cleared his throat. “You will have read——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my friend!” Moris Klaw held up a long, tapering white hand. “As +though you do not know that I never confuse my poor brain with those +foolish papers. No, I have not read, my friend!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Grimsby, something taken aback. “Then I shall have to tell +you the family story——” +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw entered. +</p> + +<p> +From her small hat, with its flamingo-like plume, to her dainty shoes, +she was redolent of the Rue de la Paix. She wore an amazingly daring +toilette; I can only term it a study in flame tones. A less beautiful +woman could never have essayed such a scheme; but this superb +brunette, with her great flashing eyes and taunting smile, had the +lithe carriage of a Cleopatra, the indescribable diablerie of a +<i>ghaziyeh</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Grimsby greeted her with embarrassed admiration. Greetings +over— +</p> + +<p> +“We must hurry, Father!” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw reclaimed his archaic bowler. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles and Inspector Grimsby will perhaps be joining us?” he +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” began Grimsby. +</p> + +<p> +“Where but by the 9:5 train for Uxley!” said Klaw. “Where but from +Uxley to Cresping! Do I waste time, then—I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have been retained?” suggested Grimsby. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no!” was the reply. “But I shall receive my fee, nevertheless!” +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the court a cab was waiting. Outside the cavernous door +a ramshackle man with a rosy nose bowed respectfully to the +proprietor. +</p> + +<p> +“You hear me, William,” said Moris Klaw, to this derelict. “You are to +sell nothing—unless it is the washstand! Forget not to change the +canaries’ water. The Indian corn is for the white rats. If there is no +mouse in the trap by eight o’clock, give the owl a herring. And keep +from the drink; it will be your ruin, William!” +</p> + +<p> +We entered the cab. My last impression of the place was derived from +the invisible parrot, who gave us Godspeed with: +</p> + +<p> +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! the devil’s come for you!” +</p> + +<p> +As we drove stationward, Grimsby, his eyes rarely leaving the piquant +face of Isis Klaw, outlined the history of the Crespie family to the +silent Moris. In brief it was this: +</p> + +<p> +The late Sir Richard Crespie, having become involved in serious +monetary difficulties, employed such methods of drowning his sorrows +as were far from conducive to domestic felicity; and after a certain +unusually violent outburst the home was broken up. His son, Roland, +was the first to go; and he took little with him but his mother’s +blessing and his father’s curses. Then Lady Crespie went away to her +sister in London, only surviving her departure from the Hall by two +years. Alone, and deserted, first by son and then by wife, the +debauched old baronet continued on his course of heavy drinking for +some years longer. The servants left him, one by one, so that in the +end, save for faithful old Ryder, the butler, whose family had served +the Crespies for time immemorial, he had the huge mansion to himself. +Apoplexy closed his unfortunate career; and, since nothing had been +heard of him for years, it was generally supposed that the son had met +his death in Africa, whither he had gone on leaving home. +</p> + +<p> +With the passing of Sir Richard came Mr. Isaac Heidelberger, and he +wasted no time in impressing his noxious personality upon the folks of +Cresping. He was a German Jew, large and oily, with huge coarse +features and a little black moustache that had been assiduously +trained in a futile attempt to hide a mouth that had well befitted +Nero. A week after Sir Richard’s burial, Mr. Heidelberger took +possession of the Hall. +</p> + +<p> +The new occupant brought with him one Heimer, a kind of confidential +clerk, and, old Ryder the butler having been sent about his business, +the two Jewish gentlemen proceeded to make themselves comfortable. The +nature of their business was soon public property; the grand old Hall +was to be turned into a “country mansion for paying guests.” +</p> + +<p> +Very strained relations existed between the big Jew and the ex-butler, +who, having a little money saved, had settled down in Cresping. One +night, at the Goblets—the historic village inn—Heidelberger having +swaggered into the place, there arose an open quarrel. Said Ryder: +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Richard, with all his faults, was once a good English gentleman, +and, but for such as you, a good English gentleman he might have +died!” +</p> + +<p> +It was exactly a week later that the tragedy occurred. +</p> + +<p> +“We come to it now, eh?” interrupted Moris Klaw at this point. “So—we +also come to the station! I will ask you to reserve us a first-class +carriage!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby made arrangements to that end. And, as the train moved out of +the station, resumed his story. +</p> + +<p> +“What I gather is this,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +[I condense his statement and append it in my own words.] +</p> + +<p> +The Goblets was just closing its doors, and the villagers who nightly +met there were standing in a group under the swinging sign, when a man +came running down the street from the direction of the Hall, and, +observing the gathering, ran up. It was Heimer, Isaac Heidelberger’s +secretary. He was hatless and his flabby face, in the dim light, was +ghastly. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!” he rasped, hoarsely. “Where does the doctor live?” +</p> + +<p> +“Last house but one,” somebody said. “What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Murder!” cried Heimer, as he rushed off down the village street. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the dramatic manner in which the news of the subsequently +notorious case was first carried to the outside world. The facts, as +soon made known throughout the length and breadth of the land, were, +briefly, as follows: +</p> + +<p> +Heidelberger and his secretary, who were engaged in making an +inventory of the contents of the Hall and in arranging for such +alterations of the rooms and laying out of the neglected grounds as +they considered necessary, had practically reached the end of their +task. In fact, had nothing intervened, Cresping would, on the +following day, have seen the old mansion in the hands of an army of +London workmen. +</p> + +<p> +At about half-past seven in the evening, Heidelberger had entered the +room occupied by Heimer and had mentioned that he expected a visitor. +The secretary, who had more work than he could well accomplish, did +not pause to inquire concerning him, believing the other to allude +either to the architect or to Heidelberger’s man, who was coming down +from London. Heidelberger had then gone up to the library, saying that +he should not require Heimer again that night. +</p> + +<p> +Between eight and half-past—Heimer was not sure of the time—there +was a ring at the bell (that of the tradesmen’s entrance). Knowing +that Heidelberger could admit the visitor directly to the library, +Heimer, hearing nothing more, concluded that the two were closeted +there. +</p> + +<p> +The first intimation that he received of anything amiss was a loud and +angry cry, apparently proceeding from the old banqueting hall directly +overhead, and unmistakably in the voice of Heidelberger. Springing +from his chair, he took a step toward the door, and then paused in +doubt. There was an angry murmur from above, the tones of the Jew +being clearly distinguishable; then a sudden scuffle and an +oscillation of the floor as though two heavy men were at hand grips; +next, a crash that shook the room, and a high-pitched cry of which he +only partially comprehended the last word. This he asserted to be +“holy.” +</p> + +<p> +That Heimer stood transfixed at the open door throughout all this, +suffices to brand him a coward. It was, in fact, only his stories of +shadowy figures in the picture gallery and his general disinclination +to leave his room after dusk that had prompted Heidelberger—a man of +different mettle—to wire to London for the servant. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture, however, moved as much by a fear of the sudden +silence as by any higher motive, he took a revolver from the table +drawer, and, holding it cocked in one hand and seizing the lamp in the +other, he crept, trembling, up a narrow little stair that led to a +door beneath the minstrel’s gallery. To open it he had to place the +lamp on the floor, and, at the moment of doing so, he heard a sound +inside the hall like the grating of a badly oiled lock. +</p> + +<p> +Then, with the lamp held high above his head, he peered inside; and, +considering the character of the man, it is worthy of note that he did +not faint on the spot, for the feeble light, but serving, as it did, +to intensify the gloom of the long and shadowy place, revealed a scene +well calculated to shake the nerves of a stouter man than Heimer. +</p> + +<p> +Less than six feet from where he stood, and lying flat on his back +with his head toward the light, was Heidelberger in a perfect pool of +blood, his skull cleft almost to the chine! Beside him on the floor +lay the fearful weapon that had wrought his end—an enormous +battle-ax, a relic of the Crusades such as none but a man of Herculean +strength could possibly wield. +</p> + +<p> +Sick with terror, and scarcely capable of keeping his feet, Heimer +gave one glance around the gloomy place, which showed him that, save +for the murdered man, it was empty; then he staggered down the narrow +stairs and let himself out into the grounds. Slightly revived by the +fresh night air, but fearful of pursuit by the unknown assassin, he +ran, as fast as his condition would allow, into the village. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is—Uxley!” jerked Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried Moris Klaw, in a species of fanatic rapture, “look at the +blood!” +</p> + +<p> +We stood in the ancient banqueting hall of Crespie. By a distant door +I could see a policeman on duty. A ghostly silence was the marked +feature of the place. Klaw’s harsh, rumbling voice echoed eerily about +that chamber sacred to the shades of departed Crespies. +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw stood beside her father. They were a wildly incongruous +couple. The girl looked down at the bloodstained flooring with the +calm scrutiny of an experienced criminologist. +</p> + +<p> +“This spot must be alive with odic impressions,” she said, softly. +</p> + +<p> +A local officer, who formed one of the group, stared +uncomprehendingly. Moris Klaw instinctively turned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“You stare widely, my friend!” he said. “It is clear you know nothing +of the psychology of crime! Let me, then, enlighten you. First: all +crime”—he waved one long hand characteristically—“operates in +cycles. Its history repeats itself, you understand. Second: thoughts +are <i>things</i>. One who dies the violent death has, at the end, a strong +mental emotion—an etheric storm. The air—the atmosphere—retains +imprints of that storm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed! I shall not sleep in this place—as is my usual custom +in such inquiries. Why? Because I am afraid of the <i>shock</i> of +experiencing such an emotion as was this late Heidelberger’s! Ah! you +are dense as a bull! Once, my bovine friend, I slept upon a spot in +desolate Palestine where a poor woman had been stoned to death. In my +dreams those merciless stones struck me! Upon the head and the face +they crashed! And I was helpless—bound—as was the unhappy one who +for her poor little sins had had her life crushed from her tender +body!” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased. No one spoke. In such moments, Moris Klaw became a +magician; a weaver of spells. The most unimpressionable shuddered as +though the strange things which this strangest of men told of, lived, +moved, before their eyes. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“Yonder is the ax, sir,” said the local man, with a sudden awed +respect. +</p> + +<p> +Klaw walked over to where the huge battle-ax stood against a post of +the gallery. +</p> + +<p> +“Try to lift it, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby. “It will give you some idea +of what sort of man the murderer must have been! I can’t raise it +upright by the haft with one hand.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw seized the ax. Whilst Grimsby, the local man and myself +stared amazedly, he swung it about his head as one swings an Indian +club! He struck with it—to right—to left; he laid it down. +</p> + +<p> +“My father has a wrist of steel!” came the soft voice of Isis. “Did +you not know that he was once a famous swordsman?” +</p> + +<p> +Klaw removed his hat, took out the scent spray and bathed his forehead +with verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a <i>man’s</i> ax!” he said. “Isis, what do we know of such an ax? +We, who have so complete a catalogue of such relics?” +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw produced from her bag a bulky notebook. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the third one,” she replied, calmly, passing the open book to +her father; “the one we thought!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” rumbled Klaw, adjusting his pince-nez, “ ‘Black Geoffrey’s’ ax!” +He turned again to Palmer, the local officer. “All such antiques,” he +said, “have histories. I collect those histories, you understand. This +ax was carried by ‘Black Geoffrey,’ a very early Crespie, in the first +Crusade. It slew many Saracens, I doubt not. But this does not +interest me. In the reign of Henry VIII we find it dwelt, this great +ax, at Dyke Manor, which is in Norfolk. It was not until Charles II +that it came to Crespie Hall. And what happened at Dyke Manor? One Sir +Gilbert Myerly was slain by it! Who wielded it? Patience, my friends! +All is clear to me! What a wonderful science is the Science of +Cycles!” +</p> + +<p> +Behind the pebbles his eyes gleamed with excitement. It seemed as +though his notes (how obtained I was unable to conjecture) had +furnished him with a clue; although to me they seemed to have not the +slightest bearing upon the case. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” continued Moris Klaw: “In a few words, what is the +evidence against Ryder, the butler?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” was the reply, “you will note where the ax used to hang, up +there before the rail of the minstrels’ gallery. The theory is that +the murderer rushed up, wrenched the ax from its fastening——” +</p> + +<p> +“Theories, my friend,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “are not evidence!” +</p> + +<p> +Isis gazed at Mr. Grimsby with a smile. He looked embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry!” he said, humbly. “Here are the facts, then. In the right hand +of the dead man was an open pocket knife. It is assumed—— Sorry! +Several spots of blood were found on the knife. Do you want to see +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“It has been ascertained,” continued Grimsby, “that Ryder went out at +eight o’clock on the night of the murder and didn’t return until after +ten. He was interrogated. Listen to this, Mr. Klaw, and tell me why I +haven’t arrested him! He admitted that he was the man who rang the +bell; he admitted being closeted with Heidelberger in the library; and +he admitted that he was in the hall when the Jew met his death!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said Moris Klaw. “And he is still at large?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is! He’s made no attempt to run away. I had his room searched, and +found a light coat with both sleeves bloodstained! He had a cut on his +left hand such as might be caused by the slash of a pocket knife! He +said he had caught his hand on a door-latch, but blankly declined to +say what he was doing here on the night of the murder! Yet, I didn’t +arrest him! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Moris Klaw. “Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I didn’t think it feasible that a man of his age could wield +that ax—and I hoped to use Ryder as a trap to catch his accomplice!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! clever!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “French, Mr. Grimsby! Subtle! But +you have just seen what a poor old fool can do with that ax!” +</p> + +<p> +I have never observed a man so suddenly lose faith in himself as did +Grimsby at those words. He flushed, he paled; he seemed to become +speechless. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, Mr. Grimsby,” said Klaw, “what does the suspected man do +that is suspicious? What letters does he write? What letters does he +receive?” +</p> + +<p> +“None!” replied the now angry Grimsby. “But he visits Doctor Madden, +in Uxley, every day.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“The doctor says the interviews are of a purely professional nature, +and I can’t very well suspect a man in his position!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have done two silly things,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “You have wasted +much time in the matter of Ryder, and you have accepted, unquestioned, +the word of a doctor. Mr. Grimsby, I have known doctors who were most +inspired liars!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are of opinion——” +</p> + +<p> +Klaw raised his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Doctor Madden we shall visit,” he said. “This Ryder cannot +escape us. Isis, my child, I need not have troubled you. This is so +simple a case that we need no ‘mental negatives’ to point out to us +the culprit!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw——” began Grimsby, excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” he was answered, “I shall make a few examinations and +then we shall be off to Uxley. The assassin returns to London with us +by the 3:45 train!” +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +As we drove through the village street, in the car which Grimsby had +hired, upon the gate of one of the last cottages a tall, white-haired +old man was leaning. His clear-cut, handsome features wore an +expression of haggard sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“There he is!” rapped Grimsby. “Hadn’t I better make the arrest at +once?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no, my friend!” protested Klaw. “But stop—I have something to +say to him.” +</p> + +<p> +The car stopping, Moris Klaw descended and approached the old man, who +perceptibly paled at sight of us. +</p> + +<p> +“Good day, Mr. Ryder!” Klaw courteously saluted the ex-butler. +</p> + +<p> +“Good day to you, sir,” replied the old man, civilly. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon Moris Klaw said a simple thing, which had an astounding +effect. +</p> + +<p> +“How is he to-day?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Ryder’s face became convulsed. His eyes started forth. He made a +choking sound, staring, as one possessed, at his questioner. +</p> + +<p> +“What—what—do you mean?” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Mr. Ryder—never mind!” rumbled Klaw. “Isis, my child, +remain with this gentleman and tell him all we know about the ax of +‘Black Geoffrey.’ He will be glad to hear it!” +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful Isis obeyed without question. As the rest of us drove on +our way, I could see the flame-coloured figure passing up the garden +path beside the tall form of the old butler. Grimsby, a man badly out +of his depth, watched until both became lost to view. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got evidence,” he suddenly burst out, “that Ryder declared +Heidelberger to be the direct cause of Sir Richard’s downfall! And +I’ve got witnesses who heard him say, ‘Please God! the Jew won’t be +here much longer!’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Very good!” +</p> + +<p> +During the remainder of the journey, Grimsby talked on incessantly, +smoking cheroots the whole time. But Moris Klaw was silent. +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Madden had but recently returned from his morning visits. He +was a typical country practitioner, fresh-faced and clean-shaven, with +iron-gray hair and a good head. He conveyed the impression, in some +way, that he knew himself to be in a tight corner. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he said, briskly. +</p> + +<p> +“We have called, Doctor Madden,” rumbled Moris Klaw, wagging his +finger, impressively, “to tell you that Ryder is in imminent +danger—imminent danger—of arrest!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor started. +</p> + +<p> +“And therefore we want a word with one of your patients!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand you. Which of my patients?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us be intelligent,” he said, “you and I, and not two old fools! +You understand so perfectly which of your patients.” +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Madden drummed his fingers on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a detective?” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not!” replied Moris Klaw. “I am a student of the Science of +Cycles—not motor cycles; and a humble explorer of the etheric +borderland! You lay yourself open to grave charges, Doctor!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor began to fidget nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“If indeed I am culpable,” he said, “my culpability only dates from +last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“So!” rumbled Klaw. “He has been insensible?” +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Madden started up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw,” he replied, “I do not know who you may be, but your +penetration is uncanny. He had lost his memory!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?—lost his memory! How is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was thrown from his horse! Come; I see it is useless, now, to +waste time. I will take you to him.” +</p> + +<p> +As we filed out to the waiting car, I glanced at Grimsby. His +stupefaction was almost laughable. +</p> + +<p> +“What in heaven’s name is it all about, Mr. Searles?” he whispered to +me. “I feel like a man in a strange country. People talk, and it +doesn’t seem to mean anything!” +</p> + +<p> +En route: +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, Doctor,” said Moris Klaw, “about your patient.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor, without hesitation, now explained that he had been called +to attend a Mr. Rogers, an artist, who was staying at Hinxman’s farm, +off the Uxley Road. On the evening of the tragedy Mr. Rogers went out +on Bess, a mare belonging to the farm, and, not having returned by +ten, some anxiety was felt concerning him, the mare possessing a very +bad reputation. At about a quarter-past ten the animal returned, +riderless, and Rogers was brought home later, in an insensible +condition, by two farm hands, having been found beside the road some +distance from the farm. +</p> + +<p> +For some time Mr. Rogers lay in a critical condition, suffering from +concussion. Finally, a change for the better set in, but the patient +was found to have lost his memory. +</p> + +<p> +“Last Saturday,” added the doctor, “a specialist whom I had invited to +come down from London performed a successful operation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “so we can see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. He is quite convalescent. His memory returned to him +completely last night.” +</p> + +<p> +In a state of uncertainty which can well be imagined, we arrived at, +and entered, Hinxman’s farm. Seated in the shade of the veranda, +smoking his pipe, was a bronzed young man who wore a bandage about his +head. He was chatting to the farmer when we arrived. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw walked up the steps beside Doctor Madden. +</p> + +<p> +“Good day, Mr. Farmer,” he said, amiably. A rosy-cheeked girl face was +thrust from an open window. “Good day, Miss Farmer!” He removed the +brown bowler. He turned to the bronzed young man. “Good day, <i>Sir +Roland Crespie!</i>” +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +When Grimsby and I had somewhat recovered from the shock of this +dramatic meeting, and Sir Roland, Madden, and Moris Klaw had talked +together for a few moments, said Moris Klaw: +</p> + +<p> +“And now Sir Roland will tell us all about the death of Mr. +Heidelberger!” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Grimsby was all eyes when the young baronet began: +</p> + +<p> +“You must know, then, that I, together with three others, have been +engaged, since my departure from England, in a mining venture in West +Africa. Up to the time when I left, and, for the sake of my health, +came to England, our efforts had been attended by only moderate +success. Thus, on arriving in Cresping and taking lodgings with +Hinxman as ‘Mr. Rogers’—for the circumstances under which I left home +made me desirous of remaining unknown in the village—I, on learning +that my father had just died and that the Hall had fallen into +Heidelberger’s hands, realized that my slender capital would not allow +of my buying him out. The facts of the case came as a great shock to +me, and, without revealing my identity—the beard which I had +cultivated in Africa, but which the doctors have removed, acting as an +effectual disguise—I made inquiries concerning Ryder. I had little +difficulty in finding him, and he alone, in Cresping, knew who I +really was. +</p> + +<p> +“I now come to the events that immediately preceded Heidelberger’s +death. There was one object in the old place for which I determined to +negotiate, and which, owing to its associations, I particularly +desired to retain. This was my mother’s portrait. I may mention here +that, for certain reasons which I would prefer not to specify, I had +rather have burnt the picture than see it fall into the hands of the +Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“With this object in view, then, I enlisted the services of Ryder, +though from none other than myself would he have accepted the task. +This brings me to the day prior to Heidelberger’s death, and, on that +morning, I received news from Africa which led me to hope that I +might, after all, be able to save my old home from an ignominious +fate. Herein my hopes have since been realized, for I learnt to-day +that the mine has made rich men of us all; and I assume that some +ill-advised remark upon the part of Ryder, regarding Heidelberger’s +possible expulsion, gave rise to the idea that the old man +contemplated a violent deed. +</p> + +<p> +“It therefore came about that he made an appointment with +Heidelberger, an appointment which he duly kept; and it was solely due +to my anxiety on Ryder’s behalf, and lest he should meet with some +ill-treatment from the Jew—whom I knew for a man of most brutal +disposition—that I took certain steps which, indirectly, brought +about the tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +“In common with most old mansions of the period, the Hall has its +hidden entrances and exits—though, in accordance with certain ancient +traditions, the secret of their existence is strictly preserved among +the family. With a view, therefore, to becoming an unseen witness of +the transactions between Ryder and Heidelberger, I made use of a +passage that opens into a shrubbery some fifty yards from the west +wing. Entering, and mounting the steps at whose foot the tunnel +terminates, I found myself at the back of an old painting in the +banqueting hall. The frame of this picture forms a door which opens +upon pressing a spring, but the apparatus, owing to its great age, +works very stiffly. From this position, then, I could hear all that +took place in the hall, where, I had anticipated, the negotiations +would be conducted, as my mother’s picture hangs there. +</p> + +<p> +“This proved to be the case; for I had but just gained the top of the +steps when I heard the two enter the hall. Heidelberger spoke first. +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘Think of <i>you</i> wanting to buy Lady Crespie’s picture, you +sentimental old fool!’ he said. ‘If it had been another I could name +who wanted it, the case would have been different!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then I heard Ryder’s voice. ‘What do you mean, Mr. Heidelberger?’ he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I awaited the Jew’s reply with some curiosity. As I had anticipated, +it consisted of a foul and unfounded imputation against my poor +mother. It was, in fact, more than I could bear in silence, and the +tolerance of old Ryder, too, had reached its limit. For, at the moment +that I wrenched open the panel and sprang into the room to confront +this slanderer, I heard the sound of a blow, followed by an +animal-like roar of anger from Heidelberger. +</p> + +<p> +“The next moment, he seized the old man by the throat. Before he had +time to proceed further I struck him heavily with my fist, so that he +released his grip and turned to face his new assailant. +</p> + +<p> +“One tribute I must pay to Heidelberger. He was, seemingly, incapable +of fear; for this sudden attack by a person he had not known to be +present seemed only to arouse a new resentment. His face, as he turned +and looked me up and down, contained no trace of fear. +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘So it’s you that wants the picture, is it?’ he sneered. ‘I suppose +you are——’ +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘Stop!’ I said. ‘I am Roland Crespie, and can listen to no more of +your foul slanders!’ +</p> + +<p> +“For a second he hesitated, looking from me to Ryder and then toward +the picture, dimly discernible in the light of the candle which he had +brought with him. Then, before I could divine his intention, he drew a +knife from his pocket, and, opening a blade, took a step in the +direction of the portrait. ‘You shall never have it!’ he said. +</p> + +<p> +“He had actually inserted the blade in the canvas—as an examination +will show—when I came upon him, and we closed in a desperate +struggle. +</p> + +<p> +“In what followed, one can almost trace the finger of destiny. +Heidelberger was a more powerful man than myself, but in his fury he +endeavoured to stab me with the knife which he held in his hand! +</p> + +<p> +“I seized his wrist, but he wrenched it from my grasp. I leapt back +from him—as he struck down with the knife—and to the left of one of +the posts supporting the minstrels’ gallery. +</p> + +<p> +“In the blindness of his anger, Heidelberger failed to perceive the +proximity of this post. Moreover, it was very dark under the gallery. +He threw himself forward savagely—and struck his shoulder against the +post. The impact was tremendous. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen! I tremble, now, to relate what happened! The ax of ‘Black +Geoffrey,’ which had hung for centuries before the rail above, was +shaken from its place by the shock and its time-worn fastenings were +torn bodily from their hold. At the instant that Heidelberger’s huge +body struck the post, the great ax, as though detached by invisible +hands, fell, blade downward, cleaving the head of the unfortunate man +and remaining, with quivering shaft, upright in the oaken floor! +</p> + +<p> +“The suddenness of the tragedy almost dazed me, and I was awakened to +its awful reality by old Ryder’s cry—‘Oh, Master Roly!’ As Master +Roly I had always been known to the old butler, and this name it was +which someone stated to be ‘holy.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Our subsequent action was, perhaps, ill-advised. Removing the ax and +raising the head of the victim, examination showed him to be dead, +and, hearing hesitating footsteps upon the narrow stair beneath the +gallery, we seized the candle and retreated through the secret panel, +Ryder severely cutting his hand in endeavouring to force the rusty +bolt into place. It was not until we stood in a lane bordering the +grounds, where I had tethered the mare upon which I had ridden from +the farm, that the seemingly guilty nature of our action dawned upon +me. Now, however, was too late to atone for what I attribute to a +momentary panic; and requesting Ryder to keep silence until he +received instructions from me, I mounted the mare, intending to return +to my lodgings and think the matter quietly over. +</p> + +<p> +“By an unlucky accident, the brute threw me, at some distance from the +farm, thereby all but bringing about a second tragedy; and what +followed is already known to you. +</p> + +<p> +“Of Ryder I need only say that rather than incriminate me he was +prepared to pay the penalty for a deed which was in truth a visitation +of God. Doctor Madden recognized me, of course, and to him also I am +eternally indebted. I had proposed to make this statement before a +magistrate later to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Moris Klaw. “I have done nothing! It would all have +happened the same if I had been in Peru!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Without casting any doubt upon Sir Roland’s word,” he began, “there’s +no evidence to go to a jury that he didn’t——” +</p> + +<p> +“Pull down the ax himself?” suggested Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby looked uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—<i>is</i> there?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am he! This case most triumphantly +substantiates my theory of Cycles! Almost parallel it occurred +hundreds of years ago, at Dyke Manor! The ax has repeated itself!” +</p> + +<p> +“H’um!” said Grimsby. “Your theory of Cycles wouldn’t hold water with +twelve good men and true, I’m afraid, Mr. Klaw!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” replied Moris Klaw. “No? You think not, eh? Well, then, there +is another little point. I am an old crank-fool, eh? So? But you? You +are sublimely mad, my Grimsby! You say he, or Mr. Ryder, may have +snatched down the black ax? Yes? Have you tried to reach the spot +where it hung before the rail?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” confessed Grimsby, with the light as of the dawning of an +unpleasant idea in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Klaw, placidly; “but <i>I</i> have. Mr. Grimsby, it is +impossible to reach within three feet of the spot, from the stair or +from the gallery; and no live thing but a giraffe could reach it from +the floor!” +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +We were seated in the train, homeward bound. +</p> + +<p> +“For this case,” grumbled Klaw, “I get no credit. It will be said that +it all came out without aid from you or from me. Never mind—I have my +fee!” +</p> + +<p> +He patted the haft of the great ax, which ghastly relic in some way he +had arranged to appropriate. Grimsby was watching Isis Klaw out of the +corner of his eye. From a dainty gold case she offered him a +cigarette. Grimsby is no cigarette smoker but he accepted, with +alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful Isis took one also, and lay back puffing sinuous spirals +from between her perfect red lips. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch04"> +FOURTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE IVORY STATUE</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Where</span> a case did not touch his peculiar interests, appeals to Moris +Klaw fell upon deaf ears. However dastardly a crime, if its details +were of the sordid sort, he shrank within his Wapping curio shop as +closely as any tortoise within its shell. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what use,” he said to me on one occasion, “are my acute psychic +sensibilities to detect who it is with a chopper that has brained some +unhappy washerwoman? Shall I bring to bear those delicate perceptions +which it has taken me so many years to acquire in order that some ugly +old fool shall learn what has become of his pretty young wife? I think +not—no!” +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, however, when Inspector Grimsby of Scotland Yard was at a +loss, he would induce me to intercede with the eccentric old dealer, +and sometimes Moris Klaw would throw out a hint. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond doubt the cases that really interested him were those that +afforded scope for the exploiting of his pet theories: the Cycle of +Crime, the criminal history of all valuable relics, the +indestructibility of thought. Such a case came under my personal +notice on one occasion, and my friend Coram was instrumental in +enlisting the services of Moris Klaw. It was, I think, one of the most +mysterious affairs with which I ever came in contact, and the better +to understand it you must permit me to explain how Roger Paxton, the +sculptor, came to have such a valuable thing in his studio as that +which we all assumed had inspired the strange business. +</p> + +<p> +It was Sir Melville Fennel, then, who commissioned Paxton to execute a +chryselephantine statue. Sir Melville’s museum of works of art, +ancient and modern, is admittedly the second finest private collection +of the kind in the world. The late Mr. Pierpont Morgan’s alone took +precedence. +</p> + +<p> +The commission came as something of a surprise. The art of +chryselephantine sculpture, save for one attempt at revival, in +Belgium, has been dead for untold generations. By many modern critics, +indeed, it is condemned, as being not art but a parody of art. +</p> + +<p> +Given carte blanche in the matter of cost, Paxton produced a piece of +work which induced the critics to talk about a modern Phidias. Based +upon designs furnished by the eccentric but wealthy baronet, the +statue represented a slim and graceful girl reclining as in exhaustion +upon an ebony throne. The ivory face, with its wearily closed eyes, +was a veritable triumph, and was surmounted by a headdress of gold +intertwined among a mass of dishevelled hair. One ivory arm hung down +so that the fingers almost touched the pedestal; the left hand was +pressed to the breast as though against a throbbing heart. Gold +bracelets and anklets, furnished by Sir Melville, were introduced into +the composition; and, despite the artist’s protest, a heavy girdle, +encrusted with gems and found in the tomb of some favourite of a +long-dead Pharaoh, encircled the waist. When complete, the thing was, +from a merely intrinsic point of view, worth several thousand pounds. +</p> + +<p> +As the baronet had agreed to the exhibition of the statue prior to its +removal to Fennel Hall, Paxton’s star was seemingly in the ascendant, +when the singular event occurred that threatened to bring about his +ruin. +</p> + +<p> +The sculptor gave one of the pleasant little dinners for which he had +gained a reputation. His task was practically completed, and his +friends had all been enjoined to come early, so that the statue could +be viewed before the light failed. We were quite a bachelor party, and +I shall always remember the circle of admiring faces surrounding the +figure of the reclining dancer—warmed in the soft light to an almost +uncanny semblance of fair flesh and blood. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” explained Paxton, “this composite work, although it has +latterly fallen into disrepute, affords magnificent scope for +decorative purposes; such a richness of colour can be obtained. The +ornaments are genuine antiques and of great value—a fad of my +patron’s.” +</p> + +<p> +For some minutes we stood silently admiring the beautiful workmanship; +then Harman inquired, “Of what is the hair composed?” +</p> + +<p> +Paxton smiled. “A little secret I borrowed from the Greeks!” he +replied, with condonable vanity. “Polyclitus and his contemporaries +excelled at the work.” +</p> + +<p> +“That jewelled girdle looks detachable,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It is firmly fastened to the waist of the figure,” answered the +sculptor. “I defy any one to detach it inside an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“From a modern point of view the thing is an innovation,” remarked one +of the others, thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +Coram, curator of the Menzies Museum, who up to the present had stood +in silent contemplation of the figure, now spoke for the first time. +“The cost of materials is too great for this style of work ever to +become popular,” he averred. “That girdle, by the way, represents a +small fortune, and together with the anklets, armlets, and headdress, +might well tempt any burglar. What precautions do you take, Paxton?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sleep out here every night,” was the reply; “and there is always +someone here in the daytime. Incidentally, a curious thing occurred +last week. I had just fixed the girdle, which, I may explain, was once +the property of Nicris, a favourite of Ramses III, and my model was +alone here for a few minutes. As I was returning from the house I +heard her cry out, and when I came to look for her she was crouching +in a corner trembling. What do you suppose had frightened her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it up,” said Harman. +</p> + +<p> +“She swore that Nicris—for the statue is supposed to represent +her—had moved!” +</p> + +<p> +“Imagination,” replied Coram, “but easily to be understood. I could +believe it, myself, if I were here alone long enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy,” continued Paxton, “that she must have heard some of the +tales that have been circulated concerning the girdle. The thing has a +rather peculiar history. It was discovered in the tomb of the dancer +by whom it had once been worn; and it is said that an inscription was +unearthed at the same time containing an account of Nicris’s death +under particularly horrible circumstances. Seton—you fellows know +Seton—who was present at the opening of the sarcophagus, tells me +that the Arabs, on catching sight of the girdle, all prostrated +themselves and then took to their heels. Sir Melville Fennel’s agent +sent it on to England, however, and Sir Melville conceived the idea of +this statue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Luckily for you,” added Coram. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” laughed the sculptor, and, carefully locking the studio +door, he led the way up the short path to the house. +</p> + +<p> +We were a very merry party, and the night was far advanced ere the +gathering broke up. Coram and I were the last to depart; and having +listened to the voices of Harman and the others dying away as they +neared the end of the street, we also prepared to take our leave. +</p> + +<p> +“Just come with me as far as the studio,” said Paxton, “and having +seen that all’s well I’ll let you out by the garden door.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, we donned our coats and hats, and followed our host to +the end of the garden, where his studio was situated. The door +unlocked, we all three stepped inside the place and gazed upon the +figure of Nicris—the pallid face and arms seeming almost unearthly in +the cold moonlight, wherein each jewel of the girdle and headdress +glittered strangely. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” muttered Coram, “the thing’s altogether irregular—a fact +which the critics will not fail to impress upon you; but it is +unquestionably very fine, Paxton. How uncannily human it is! I don’t +entirely envy you your bedchamber, old man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I sleep well enough,” laughed Paxton. “No luxury, though; just +this corner curtained off and a camp bedstead.” +</p> + +<p> +“A truly Spartan couch!” I said. “Well, good-night, Paxton. We shall +probably see you to-morrow—I mean later to-day!” +</p> + +<p> +With that we parted, leaving the sculptor to his lonely vigil at the +shrine of Nicris, and as my rooms were no great distance away, some +half-hour later I was in bed and asleep. +</p> + +<p> +I little suspected that I had actually witnessed the commencement of +one of the most amazing mysteries which ever cried out for the +presence of Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +Some few minutes subsequent to retiring—or so it seemed to me; a +longer time actually had elapsed—I was aroused by the ringing of my +telephone bell. I scrambled sleepily out of bed and ran to the +instrument. +</p> + +<p> +Coram was the caller. And now, fully awake, I listened with an +ever-growing wonder to his account of that which had prompted him to +ring me up. Briefly, it amounted to this: some mysterious incident, +particulars of which he omitted, had aroused Paxton from his sleep. +Seeking the cause of the disturbance, the artist had unlocked the +studio door and gone out into the garden. He was absent but a moment +and never out of earshot of the door; yet, upon his return, <i>the +statue of Nicris had vanished!</i> +</p> + +<p> +“I have not hesitated to ’phone through to Wapping,” concluded Coram, +“and get a special messenger sent to Moris Klaw. You see, the matter +is urgent. If the statue cannot be recovered, its loss may spell ruin +for Paxton. He had heard me speak of Moris Klaw and of the wonders he +worked in the Greek Room mysteries, and, accordingly, called me up. I +knew, if Klaw came, you would be anxious to be present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” I replied, “I wouldn’t miss one of his inquiries for +anything. Shall I meet you at Paxton’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +I lost little time in dressing. From Coram’s brief account, the +mystery appeared to be truly a dark one. Would Moris Klaw respond to +this midnight appeal? There was little chance of a big fee, for Paxton +was not a rich man; but in justice to the remarkable person whom it is +my privilege to present to you in these papers, I must add that +monetary considerations seemingly found no place in Klaw’s philosophy. +He acted, I believe, from sheer love of the work; and this affair, +with its bizarre details—the ancient girdle of the dancing girl—the +fear of the model, who had declared that the statue moved—was such, I +thought, as must appeal to him. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later I was at Paxton’s house. He and Coram were in the +hall, and Coram admitted me. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean,” he asked of Paxton, pursuing a conversation which my +advent had interrupted, “that the statue melted into the empty air?” +</p> + +<p> +“The double doors opening on to the street were securely locked and +barred; that of the garden was also locked; I was in the garden and +not ten yards from the studio,” was Paxton’s reply. “Nevertheless, +Nicris had vanished, leaving no trace behind!” +</p> + +<p> +Incredible though the story appeared, its confirmation was to be found +in the speaker’s face. I was horrified to see how haggard he looked. +</p> + +<p> +“It will ruin me!” he said, and reiterated the statement again and +again. +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear fellow,” I cried, “surely you have not given up hope of +recovering the statue? After all, such a robbery as this can scarcely +have been perpetrated without leaving some clue behind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Robbery!” repeated Paxton, looking at me strangely; “you would be +less confident that it is a case of robbery, Searles, if you had heard +what I heard!” +</p> + +<p> +I glanced at Coram, but he merely shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Coram has not told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has told me that something aroused you in the night and that you +left the studio to investigate the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Correct, so far. Something did arouse me; and the thing was a voice!” +</p> + +<p> +“A voice?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be, I suppose, about two hours after you had gone, and I was +soundly asleep in the studio, when I suddenly awoke and sat up to +listen, for it seemed to me that I heard a cry immediately outside the +door.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of cry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that I was not, at first, by any means certain; but after a brief +interval the cry was repeated. It sounded more like the voice of a boy +than that of a man and it uttered but one word: ‘Nicris!’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I sprang on to the floor and stood for a moment in doubt—the thing +seemed so uncanny. The electric light is not, as you know, installed +in the studio, or I should have certainly switched it on. For possibly +a minute I hesitated, and then, as I pulled the curtains aside and +stood by the door to listen, for the third time the cry was repeated +and was now coming indisputably from immediately outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“You refer to the door that opens on to the garden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly—close to which stands my bed. This, then, decided me. Taking +up the small revolver which I have always kept handy since Nicris was +completed, I unlocked the door and stepped out into the garden——” +</p> + +<p> +A vehicle, cab or car, was heard to draw up outside the house. Came +the sound of a rumbling voice. Coram sprang to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Moris Klaw!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Coram!” said the strange voice, from the darkness +outside. “Good morning, Mr. Searles!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw entered. +</p> + +<p> +He wore his flat-topped brown bowler of effete pattern; he wore his +long, shabby, caped coat; and from beneath it gleamed the pointed +glossy toe-caps of his continental boots. Through his gold-rimmed +glasses he peered into the shadows of the hall. His scanty, colourless +beard appeared less adequate than ever to clothe the massive chin. The +dim light rendered his face more cadaverous and more yellow even than +usual. +</p> + +<p> +“And this,” he proceeded, as the anxious sculptor came forward, “is +Mr. Paxton, who has lost his statue? Good morning, Mr. Paxton!” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed, removing the bowler and revealing his great high brow. Coram +was about to reclose the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no!” Moris Klaw checked him. “My daughter is to come yet with my +cushion!” +</p> + +<p> +Paxton stared, not comprehending, but stared yet harder when Isis Klaw +appeared, carrying a huge red cushion. She was wrapped in a cloak +which effectually concealed her lithe figure, and from the raised hood +her darkly beautiful face looked out with bewitching effect. She +divided between Coram and myself one of her dazzling smiles. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Mr. Paxton,” said her father, indicating the sculptor. Then, +indicating the girl, “It is my daughter, Isis. Isis will help us to +look for Nicris. Why am I here, an old fool who ought to be asleep? +Because of this girdle your statue wore. I so well remember when it +was dug up. I cannot know its history, but be sure it is evil. From +the beginning, please, Mr. Paxton!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully indebted to you! Won’t you come in and sit down?” said +Paxton, glancing at the girl in bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” replied Klaw, “let us stand. It is good to stand, and stand +upright; for it is because he can do this that man is superior to the +other animals!” +</p> + +<p> +Coram and I knew Klaw’s mannerisms, but I could see that Paxton +thought him to be a unique kind of lunatic. Nevertheless, he narrated +something of the foregoing up to the point reached at Moris Klaw’s +arrival. +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed slowly, now,” said Klaw. “You left the door open behind you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but I was never more than ten yards from it. It would have been +physically impossible for any one to remove the statue unknown to me. +You must remember that it was no light weight.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment,” I interrupted. “Are you sure that the statue was in its +place before you came out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain! There was a bright moon, and the figure was the first thing +my eyes fell upon when I pulled the curtain aside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you <i>touch</i> it?” rumbled Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“No. There was no occasion to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much to be regretted, Mr. Paxton! The sense of touch is so +exquisite a thing!” +</p> + +<p> +We all wondered at his words. +</p> + +<p> +“Stepping just outside the door,” Paxton resumed, “I looked to right +and left. There was no one in sight. Then I walked to the wall—a +matter of some ten yards—and, pulling myself up by my hands, looked +over into the street. It was deserted, save for a constable on the +opposite corner. I know him, slightly, and his presence convinced me +that no one could either have come into or gone out of the garden by +way of the wall. I did not call him, but immediately returned to the +studio door.” +</p> + +<p> +“In all, you were absent from the studio about how long?” asked Moris +Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a second over half a minute!” +</p> + +<p> +“And on returning once more to the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“A single glance showed me that the statue had gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens!” I said; “it sounds impossible. Was the constable on +point duty?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was; there is always an officer there. He stood in sight of the +double doors opening on to the street during the whole time, so that +‘Nicris’ unquestionably came out by way of the garden or melted into +thin air. Since the only exit from the garden also opens on to the +street, how, but by magic, can the statue have been removed from the +premises?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my friend,” said Moris Klaw, “you talk of magic as one talks of +onions! How little you know”—he swept wide his arms, looking +upward—“of the phenomena of the two atmospheres! Proceed!” +</p> + +<p> +“The throne,” continued Paxton, who was becoming impressed as was +evident by the uncanny sense of power which emanated in some way from +Moris Klaw, “remains.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the statue—it was attached to it?” +</p> + +<p> +“As to the figure being attached, I may say that it was only partially +so. Materials for completing the work were to have arrived to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long would it have taken to detach it?” growled Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Granting some knowledge of the nature of the work, not long—for, as +I have said, in this respect it was incomplete. Half an hour or so, I +should have believed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” I said, “the matter, in brief, stands thus: In the course of +thirty seconds, during which time a constable was in view of one +entrance and you were ten yards from the other, someone detached the +statue from the throne—an operation involving half an hour’s skilled +labour—and, unseen by yourself or the officer, removed it from the +premises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the thing is impossible!” groaned Paxton. “There is something +unearthly in the affair. I wish I had never set eyes upon that +accursed girdle!” +</p> + +<p> +“Curse not the girdle,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Curse instead its wearer, +and inform us, on finding Nicris to be missing, what did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hastily searched the studio. A brief investigation convinced me +that neither statue nor thief was concealed there. I then came out, +locked the door, and, having examined the garden, hailed the +constable. He had been on duty for four hours at that point and had +observed absolutely nothing of an unusual nature. He saw you fellows +come out by the garden entrance, and from that time until I hailed +him, nothing, he declared, had come in or gone out!” +</p> + +<p> +“He heard no cry?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; it was not loud enough to be audible from the corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lastly,” said Klaw, “have you informed Scotland Yard?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered the sculptor; “nor will the constable lodge +information; moreover, I withheld from him the object of my inquiries. +If this business gets into the papers I shall be a ruined man!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have hopes,” Klaw assured him, “that it will get in no papers. Let +us proceed now to the scene of these wonderful happenings. It is my +custom, Mr. Paxton, to lay my old head down upon the scene of a +mystery, and from the air I can sometimes recover the key to the +labyrinth!” +</p> + +<p> +“So I have heard,” said Paxton. +</p> + +<p> +“You have heard so, yes? You shall see! Lead on, Mr. Paxton! No time +must be wasted. I am another like Napoleon, and can sleep on an +instant. I do not know insomnia! Lead on. Isis, my child, be careful +that it brushes against no object in passing—my odically sterilized +cushion!” +</p> + +<p> +We proceeded to the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel that I am responsible for dragging you here at this unearthly +hour,” said Paxton to Isis Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +She turned her fine eyes upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“My father is indebted for the opportunity,” she replied; “and since +he has need of me, I am here. I, too, am indebted.” +</p> + +<p> +Her supreme self-possession and tone of finality silenced the artist. +So far as I could see, everything in the studio was exactly as before, +save that Nicris’s throne was vacant. The top of the studio was +partially glazed, and Moris Klaw peered up at it earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“From above,” he rumbled, “I should wish to look down into below. How +do I reach it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The only stepladder is that in the studio,” answered Paxton. “I will +bring it out.” +</p> + +<p> +He did so. The gray light of dawn was creeping into the sky, and +against that sombre background we watched Moris Klaw crawling about +the roof like some giant spider. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you find anything?” asked Paxton, anxiously, as the investigator +descended. +</p> + +<p> +“I find what I look for,” was the reply; “and no man is entitled to +find more. Isis, my child, place that cushion in the ebony chair.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stepped on to the dais, and disposed the red cushion as +directed. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” explained Morris Klaw, “whoever has robbed you, Mr. Paxton, +runs some one great danger, however clever his plans. There is, in +every criminal scheme, one little point that only Fate can +decide—either to hitch or to smooth out—to bring success and riches +or whistling policemen and Brixton Gaol! Upon that so critical point +his or her mind will concentrate at the critical moment. The critical +moment, here, was that of getting Nicris out of your studio. +</p> + +<p> +“I sleep upon that throne where she reclined—the ivory dancer. This +sensitive plate”—he tapped his brow—“will reproduce a negative of +that critical moment as it seemed in the mind of the one we look for. +Isis, return in the cab that waits and be here again at six o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +He placed his quaint bowler upon a table and laid beside it his black +cloak. Then, a ramshackle figure in shabby tweed, reclined upon the +big ebony chair, his head against the cushion. +</p> + +<p> +“Place my cloak about me, Isis.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl did so. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, my child! Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Mr. +Coram and Mr. Paxton!” +</p> + +<p> +He closed his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” began Paxton. +</p> + +<p> +Isis placed her finger to her lips, and signed to us to withdraw +silently. +</p> + +<p> +“Ssh!” she whispered. “He is asleep!” +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +At five minutes to six sounded Isis Klaw’s ring upon the door bell. +Paxton, Coram, and I had spent the interval in discussing the +apparently supernatural happening which threatened to wreak the +artist’s ruin. Again and again he had asked us, “Should I call in the +Scotland Yard people? If Moris Klaw fails, consider the priceless time +lost!” +</p> + +<p> +“If Moris Klaw fails,” Coram assured him, “no one else will succeed!” +</p> + +<p> +We admitted Isis, who wore now a smart tweed costume and a fashionable +hat. Beyond doubt, Isis Klaw was strikingly beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +At the door of the studio stood her father, staring straight up to the +morning sky, as though by astrological arts he hoped to solve the +mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“What time does your model come?” he asked, ere Paxton could question +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Half-past ten. But, Mr. Klaw——” began our anxious friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Where does it lead to,” Klaw rumbled on, “that lane behind the +studio?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tradesmen’s entrance to the next house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor Gleason.” +</p> + +<p> +“M.D.?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But tell me, Mr. Klaw—tell me, have you any clue?” +</p> + +<p> +“My mind, Mr. Paxton, records for me that Nicris was not stolen away, +but <i>walked!</i> Plainly, I feel her go tiptoe, tiptoe, so silent and +cautious! She is concerned, this barbaric dancing girl who escapes +from your studio, with two things. One is some very big man. She +thinks, as she tiptoes, of one very tall: six feet and three inches at +least! So it is not of you she thinks, Mr. Paxton. We shall see of +whom it is. Tell me the name of your acquaintance, the +point-policeman.” +</p> + +<p> +We were all staring at Moris Klaw, spellbound with astonishment. But +Paxton managed to mumble: +</p> + +<p> +“James—Constable James.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall seek him, this James, at the section house of the police +depot,” rumbled Klaw. “Be silent, Mr. Paxton; let no one know of your +loss. And hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can see no ground for hope!” +</p> + +<p> +“No? But I? I recognize the clue, Mr. Paxton! What a great science is +that of mental photography!” +</p> + +<p> +What did he mean? None of us could surmise, and I could see that poor +Paxton reposed no faith whatever in the eccentric methods of the +investigator. He would have voiced his doubts, I think, but he met a +glance from the dark eyes of Isis Klaw which silenced him. +</p> + +<p> +“My child,” said Klaw to his daughter, “take the cushion and return. +My negative is a clear one. You understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” replied Isis, with composure. +</p> + +<p> +“Breakfast——” began Paxton, tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +But Moris Klaw waved his hands and enveloped himself in the big cloak. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no time for such gross matters!” he said. “We are busy.” +</p> + +<p> +From the brown bowler he took out a scent spray and bedewed his high, +bald forehead with verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“It is exhausting, that odic photography!” he explained. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterward he and I walked around to the local police depot. +Something occurred to me, en route. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” I said, “what was the other thing of which you spoke? +The thing that you declared Nicris to be thinking of, though I don’t +understand in the least how one can refer to the ‘thoughts’ of an +ivory statue!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” rumbled my companion, “it is something I shall explain +later—that other fear of the missing one.” +</p> + +<p> +Arriving at the police depot, “Shall I ask for Constable James?” I +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no,” replied Klaw. “It is for the constable that he relieved at +twelve o’clock I am looking.” +</p> + +<p> +Inquiry showed that the latter officer—his name was Freeman—had just +entered the section house. Moris Klaw’s questions elicited the +following story, although its bearing upon the matter in hand was not +evident to me. +</p> + +<p> +Toward twelve o’clock, that is, shortly before Freeman was relieved, a +man, supporting a woman, came down the street and entered the gate of +Doctor Gleeson’s house. The woman was enveloped in a huge fur cloak +which entirely concealed her face and figure, but from her feeble step +the constable judged her to be very ill. Considering the lateness of +the hour, also, he concluded that the case must be a serious one; he +further supposed the sick woman to be resident in the neighbourhood, +since she came on foot. +</p> + +<p> +He had begun to wonder at the length of the consultation, when, nearly +an hour later, the man appeared again from the shadows of the drive, +still supporting the woman. Pausing at the gate he waved his hand to +the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +Constable Freeman ran across the road immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch me a taxicab, officer!” said the stranger, supporting his +companion and exhibiting much solicitude. +</p> + +<p> +Freeman promptly ran to the corner of Beira Road and returned with a +cab from the all-night rank. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the door!” directed the man, who was a person of imposing +height—some six-feet-three, Freeman averred. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” growled Moris Klaw, “six-feet-three! What a wondrous +science!” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed triumphant; but I was merely growing more nonplussed. +</p> + +<p> +With that, carefully wrapping the cloak about the woman’s figure, the +big man took her up in his arms and placed her inside the cab—the +only glimpse of her which the constable obtained being that of a small +foot clad in a silk stocking. She had apparently dropped her shoe. +</p> + +<p> +Tenderly assisting her to a corner of the vehicle, the man, having +bent and whispered some word of encouragement in her ear, directed the +cabman to drive to the Savoy. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you give him your assistance?” asked Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“No. He did not seem to require it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the number of the cabman?” +</p> + +<p> +Freeman fetched his notebook and supplied the required information. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Constable Freeman,” said Klaw. “You are a very alert +constable. Good morning, Constable Freeman!” +</p> + +<p> +Again satisfaction beamed from behind my companion’s glasses. But to +my eyes the darkness grew momentarily less penetrable. For these +inquiries bore upon matters which had occurred prior to twelve +o’clock; and, Coram, myself, and Paxton had seen the statue in its +usual place considerably after midnight! My brain was in a turmoil. +</p> + +<p> +Said Moris Klaw: “That cab was from the big garage at Brixton. We +shall ring up the Brixton garage and learn where the man may be found. +Perhaps, if Providence is with us—and Providence is with the +right—he has not yet again left home.” +</p> + +<p> +From a public call office we rang up the garage, and learned that the +man we wanted was not due to report for duty until ten o’clock. We +experienced some difficulty in obtaining his private address, but +finally it was given to us. Thither we hastened, and aroused the man +from his bed. +</p> + +<p> +“A big gentleman and a sick lady,” said Moris Klaw, “they hired your +cab from Doctor Gleeson’s, near Beira Road, at about twelve o’clock +last night, and you drove them to the Savoy Hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. He changed the address afterward. I’ve been wondering why. I +drove him to Number 6A, Rectory Grove, Old Town, Clapham.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was the lady by then recovered—no? Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Partly, sir. I heard him talking to her. But he carried her into the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Moris Klaw, “there is much genius wasted; but what a great +science is the science of the mind!” +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +Many times Moris Klaw knocked upon the door of the house in Clapham +Old Town, a small one, standing well back from the roadway. Within we +could hear someone coughing. +</p> + +<p> +Then the door was suddenly thrown open, and a man appeared who must +have stood some six feet three inches. He had finely chiselled +features, was clean-shaven, and wore pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +Klaw said a thing that had a surprising effect. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” he rumbled, “has Nina caught cold?” +</p> + +<p> +The other glared, with a sudden savagery coming into his eyes, fell +back a step, and clenched his great fists. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough, Jean Colette!” said Morris Klaw, “you do not know me, but I +know you. Attempt no tricks, or it is the police and not a meddlesome, +harmless old fool who will come. Enter, Jean! We follow.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment longer the big man hesitated, and I saw the shadows of +alternate resolves passing across his fine features. Then clearly he +saw that surrender was inevitable, shrugged his shoulders, and stared +hard at my companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Enter, messieurs,” he said, with a marked French accent. +</p> + +<p> +He said no more, but led the way into a long, bare room at the rear of +the house. To term the apartment a laboratory would be correct but not +inclusive; for it was, in addition, a studio and a workshop. Glancing +rapidly around him, Moris Klaw asked, “Where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s face was a study as he stood before us, looking from one to +the other. Then a peculiar smile, indescribably winning, played around +his lips. “You are very clever, and I know when I am beaten,” he +remarked; “but had you come four hours later it would have been one +hour too late.” +</p> + +<p> +He strode up the room to where a tall screen stood, and, seizing it by +the top, hurled it to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Behind, on a model’s dais, reclined the statue of Nicris, in a low +chair! +</p> + +<p> +“You have already removed the girdle and one of the anklets,” rumbled +Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +This was true. Indeed, it now became evident that the man had been +interrupted in his task by our arrival. Opening a leather case that +stood upon the floor by the dais, he produced the missing ornaments. +</p> + +<p> +“What action is to be taken, messieurs?” he asked, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“No action, Jean,” replied Moris Klaw. “It is impossible, you see. But +why did you delay so long?” +</p> + +<p> +The other’s reply was unexpected. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a task demanding much time and care, if the statue is not to be +ruined; otherwise I should have performed it in Mr. Paxton’s studio +instead of going to the trouble of removing the figure—and—— Nina’s +condition has caused me grave anxiety throughout the night.” He stared +hard at Moris Klaw. We could hear the sound of coughing from some room +hard by. “Who are you, m’sieur?” he asked, pointedly. +</p> + +<p> +“An old fool who knew Nina when she posed at Julien’s, Jean,” was the +reply, “and who knew you, also, in Paris.” +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +Paxton, Coram, myself, and Moris Klaw sat in the studio, and all of us +gazed reflectively at the recovered statue. +</p> + +<p> +“It was so evident,” explained Klaw, “that, since you were absent from +here but thirty seconds, for any one to have removed the statue during +that time was out of the question.” +</p> + +<p> +“But someone did——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not during that time,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Nicris was removed whilst +you all made merry within the house!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear Mr. Klaw, Searles, Coram, and I saw the statue long +after that—some time about one o’clock!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong, my friend! You saw the <i>model!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Nina?” +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Colette, whom you knew in Paris as Nina—yes! Listen—when I +drop off to sleep here and dream that I am afraid for what may happen +to some very large man, I dream, also, that I fear to be <i>touched!</i> I +look down at myself, and I am beautiful! I am ivory of limb and decked +with gold! I creep, so cautiously, out of the studio (in my +dream—<i>you</i> would call it a dream), and I know, when I wake, that I +must have been Nicris! Ah, you wonder! Listen. +</p> + +<p> +“At about midnight, whilst your party is amiable together, comes one, +Jean Colette, a clever scamp from that metropolis of such perverted +genius—Paris. Into Doctor Gleeson’s he goes, supporting Madame—your +model. This is seen by Constable Freeman. When the trees hide them +they climb over the fence into the lane and over the wall into your +garden. Nina has a cast of the studio key. How easy for her to get it! +</p> + +<p> +“Jean, a clever rogue with his hands, and a man who promised to be, +once, a great artist, detaches the figure from the throne and arrays +it as Madame—in Madame’s outer garb! Beneath her cloak, Madame is +Nicris—with copies of the jewels and all complete. He is clever, this +Jean! He is, too, a man of vast strength—a modern Crotonian Milo. Not +only does he carry that great piece of ivory from the studio, he lifts +it over the wall—did Madame assist?—and into Doctor Gleeson’s drive. +He bears it to the gate, wrapped in Nina’s furs. He calls a policeman! +Ah, genius is here! He gives the wrong address. He is as cool as an +orange! +</p> + +<p> +“Do they escape now? Not so! He sees that you, finding Nicris missing, +will apply to the point-policeman and get hold upon a thread. He says, +‘I will make it to appear that the robbery took place at a later time. +I will thus gain hours! Another policeman will be on duty when the +discovery is made; he will know nothing.’ He leaves Nina to pretend to +be Nicris! +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! she has courage, but her fears are many. Most of all she dreads +that you will <i>touch</i> her! You do not. And Jean, the ivory statue safe +at Clapham, returns for Nina. He comes into the doctor’s drive by the +farther gate—where the point-policeman cannot see him. He wears +rubber shoes. He mounts to the studio roof. He lies flat upon the +ledge above the door. His voice is falsetto. He calls, ‘Nicris!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Presently, you come out. You peep over the wall. Ah! out, also, is +Madame! She stretches up her white arms—so like the real ivory!—he +stretches down his steel hands. He raises her beside him! Name of a +dog, he is strong! +</p> + +<p> +“Why to the roof and not over the wall? The path is of gravel and her +feet are bare. On the roof, to prove me correct, upon the grime are +marks of small bare feet; are marks of men’s rubber shoes; are, +halfway along, marks of smaller rubber shoes—which he had brought for +Nina. He has forethought. They retire by the farther gate of your +neighbour’s drive. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt he bring her furs as well—no doubt. But she contracts a +chill, no wonder! Ah! he is cool, he is daring, he is a great man——” +</p> + +<p> +A maid entered the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman to see you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask him to come along here.” +</p> + +<p> +A short interval—and Jean Colette entered, hat in hand! +</p> + +<p> +“These two wedges, m’sieur”—he bowed to Paxton—“which help to attach +the girdle. I forgot to return them. Adieu!” +</p> + +<p> +He placed the wedges on a table and, amid a dramatic silence, +withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw took out the cylindrical scent spray from the lining of the +brown bowler. +</p> + +<p> +“A true touch of Paris!” he rumbled. “Did I not say he was a great +man?” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch05"> +FIFTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE BLUE RAJAH</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Inspector Grimsby</span> called upon me one evening, wearing a great +glumness of countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said he, “I’m in a bit of a corner. You’ll have heard +that a committee of commercial magnates has been formed to buy, and on +behalf of the City of London to present to the Crown, the big Indian +diamond?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded and pushed the box of cigarettes toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he continued, thoughtfully selecting one, “they are meeting in +Moorgate Street to-morrow morning to complete the deal and formally +take over the stone. Sir Michael Cayley, the Lord Mayor, will be +present, and he’s received a letter, which has been passed on to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He fumbled for his pocket-case. Grimsby is a man who will go far. He +is the youngest detective-inspector in the service, and he has that +priceless gift—the art of using other people for the furtherance of +his own ends. I do not intend this criticism unkindly. Grimsby does +nothing dishonourable and seeks to rob no man of the credit that may +be due. There is nothing underhand about Grimsby, but he is +exceedingly diplomatic. He imparts official secrets to me with an +ingenuousness entirely disarming—but always for reasons of his own. +</p> + +<p> +“Here you are,” he said, and passed a letter to me. +</p> + +<p> +It read as follows: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<i>To the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of London.</i> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<span class="sc">My Lord</span>: +</p> + +<p> +“Beware that the Blue Rajah is not stolen on Wednesday the 13th inst. +Do not lose sight of it for one moment. +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“Your Lordship’s obedient servant,<br> +“<span class="sc">Moris Klaw</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“You see,” continued Grimsby, “Wednesday the thirteenth is to-morrow, +when the thing is being brought to Moorgate Street. Naturally, Sir +Michael communicated with the Yard, and as I’m in the know about Moris +Klaw, I got the job of looking into the matter. I was at the Mansion +House this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Sir Michael regards this note with suspicion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’s not silly enough to suppose that anybody who thought of +stealing the diamond would drop him a line advising him of the matter! +But he’d never heard of Moris Klaw until I explained about him. When I +told him that Klaw had a theory about the Cycle of Crime, and his +letter probably meant that, according to said theory, on Wednesday the +thirteenth the Blue Rajah was due to be lifted, so to speak, he +laughed. You’ll have noticed that people mostly laugh at first about +Moris Klaw?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. You did, yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it—and I’m suffering for it! Klaw won’t lift his little +finger when I ask him; and as for his daughter, she giggles as though +she was looking at a comedian when she looks at <i>me!</i> She thinks I’m +properly funny!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been to Wapping, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, this afternoon. The Lord Mayor wanted a lot of convincing that +Moris Klaw was on the straight after I’d told him that the old +gentleman was a dealer in curios in the East End. Finally, he +suggested that I should find out what the warning meant exactly. But I +couldn’t get to see Klaw; his daughter said he was out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose every precaution will be taken?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow morning we have arranged that I and two other C.I.D. men +are to accompany the party to the safe deposit vaults to fetch the +diamond and we shall guard it on the way back afterward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s going to fetch it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir John Carron, representing the India Office, Mr. Mark +Anderson—the expert—representing the city, and Mr. Gautami Chinje, +representing the Gaekwar of Nizam. I was wondering”—he surveyed the +burning end of his cigarette—“if you had time to run down to Wapping +yourself and find out from what direction we ought to look for +trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, Grimsby,” I replied; “I would do it with pleasure, but my +evening is fully taken up. Personally, it appears to me that Moris +Klaw’s warning was a timely one. You seem to be watching the stone +pretty closely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like a cat watches a mouse!” he rapped. “If any one steals the Blue +Rajah to-morrow, he’ll be a clever fellow.” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +Basinghall House, Moorgate Street, is built around a courtyard. You +enter under an archway, and find offices before you, offices to right +and offices to left. As a matter of fact, Basinghall House was +designed for a hotel, but subsequently let off in suites of chambers. +The offices of Messrs. Anderson & Brothers are on the left, as you +enter, and from the window of the principal’s sanctum you may look +down into the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +The room chosen for the meeting on Wednesday morning, however, was one +opening off this. In common with the adjoining office—as I have said, +that of the principal—it had a second door, opening on a corridor. +This latter door, however, was never used and was always kept +double-locked. Thus, the doorway from the other office was really its +only means of entrance or egress. A large window offered a prospect of +the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +At a quarter to eleven on Wednesday morning, Mr. Anderson (one of the +City Aldermen) entered his own private office from the corridor. He +was accompanied by Sir John Carron, Mr. Gautami Chinje, and Inspector +Grimsby. These three had come with him from the safe deposit vaults. +Mr. Anderson had possession of the case containing the diamond. +</p> + +<p> +In the office, already awaiting the party, were Sir Michael Cayley +(the Lord Mayor); Mr. Morrison Dell, of the Goldsmiths & Silversmiths +Company; Sir Vernon Rankin (ex-Lord Mayor); Mr. Werner, of the great +engineering firm; and Mr. Anderson, junior. These constituted the +Presentation Committee duly appointed by the City of London +(excluding, of course, Sir John Carron, of the India Office; Mr. +Chinje, representing the vendor of the jewel; and Mr. Grimsby, +representing New Scotland Yard). +</p> + +<p> +“We are all present, gentlemen,” said Mr. Anderson. “But before we +proceed to the business which brings us here, we will enter the inner +room, where we shall be quite private.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly the party of eight passed through the doorway; and Mr. +Anderson, senior, entering last, relocked the door behind him. +Inspector Grimsby remained alone in the private office. +</p> + +<p> +Eight oaken chairs and a small oaken table bearing a pewter inkpot, +two pens, and a blotting pad represent, with a square of red carpet +and a framed photograph bearing the legend: “Jagersfontein Diamond +Workings, Orange Free State, 1909,” an inventory of the furniture. +</p> + +<p> +The company being seated, Mr. Anderson, by the table, rose and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, our business this morning can be briefly dealt with. I +have here”—he produced a leather case, opened it, and placed it on +the table before him—“the diamond known as the Blue Rajah. Its +history may be summarized thus: It appeared in the year 1680 and is +supposed to have been found in the Kollur Mine, on the Kostna. It had +a weight of 254½ carats in the rough, but was reduced to 132 carats +in the cutting. It has been successively owned by Nadîr Shah, +Princess de Lambelle, the Sultan Abdúl Hámid, Mr. Simon Rabstein of +New York, and, finally, the Gaekwar of Nizam. It has no flaws; in +fact, two of the original facets were retained when the stone passed +through the cutter’s hands. It is rose cut and its colour is of the +finest water, having the rare blue tint.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, raising the diamond from its receptacle, and holding it in +his hand. The sunlight, pouring in through the window, struck +flame-spears from the wonderful thing. +</p> + +<p> +“In fact, gentlemen,” he concluded, “the Blue Rajah is a fitting +offering for the City of London to make to the Crown.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear, hear!” chorused the others; and the diamond was passed from +hand to hand. The formal business of making over the stone to the +Committee was then transacted. A huge check was placed in the +pocket-case of Mr. Gautami Chinje, autographs were affixed to two +formidable documents; and the Blue Rajah became the property of the +loyal City of London. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Sir John Carron, holding the stone daintily between +thumb and forefinger, and pointing, lecturer-fashion, “the diamond is +perfectly proportioned, being a full three fifths as deep as it is +broad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” agreed Mr. Morris Dell, looking over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the most perfectly proportioned stone I have ever handled, Sir +John,” said the younger Mr. Anderson—and he stood back surveying the +gem with the caressing glance of a connoisseur. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John turned and tenderly laid the diamond in its case. At which +moment, exactly, arose a blood-curdling scream in the courtyard below. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” cried Mr. Werner. “What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a crowded rush to the window—those in the second rank +peering over the heads and shoulders of those in the first. The horrid +cries continued, in a choking yet shrill crescendo. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! God in Heaven! You are killing me! No! No! Mercy! … Mercy! … +Mercy! …” +</p> + +<p> +“It is someone in the archway,” said Sir Vernon Rankin, excitedly. +“Can any of you see him?” +</p> + +<p> +No one could, though all craned necks vigorously. +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately, the window cannot be opened,” cried Mr. Anderson. “The +catch has jammed in some way. I am having it removed immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +The cries ceased. People were running about below, and the blue +uniform of a city constable showed among the group in the archway. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll run down and see what has happened,” said Mr. Chinje, stepping +to the door which opened on the corridor. “Hullo! it is locked!” +</p> + +<p> +Young Mr. Anderson turned to him with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Both doors are locked, Mr. Chinje,” he said. “For the time being we +are virtually prisoners.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the case,” said his father, selecting the key of the door +communicating with his private office. “There is no occasion for +further delay.” +</p> + +<p> +The Lord Mayor turned from the window, through which he had still been +vainly peering, and stepped to the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Anderson!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said the latter, glancing back, keys in hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you the diamond?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then who has it?” +</p> + +<p> +No one had it. But the case was empty! +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +Mr. Anderson replaced the keys in his pocket. His ruddy face suddenly +had grown pale. Sir Michael Cayley, the empty case in his hand, stood +staring across the room like a man dazed. Then he forced speech to his +lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “since it is physically impossible for the +diamond to have left this room, in this room it must be searched +for—and found. First, is it by any chance upon the floor?” +</p> + +<p> +A brief examination showed that it was not. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” continued Sir Michael, “the painful conclusion is unavoidable +that it is upon someone’s person!” +</p> + +<p> +An angry murmur arose. Mr. Anderson raised his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “Sir Michael states no more than the fact.” +</p> + +<p> +And, his face remaining very pale, he removed his coat and waistcoat +and threw them upon the table, emptied his trouser pockets and turned +out the linings. +</p> + +<p> +“Be good enough to examine them, gentlemen,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was a momentary hesitation; but the Lord Mayor stepped forward +and in a businesslike way examined the contents of the several +pockets. He turned to Mr. Anderson. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he said. “If the others are satisfied, I am.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a murmur of assent; and as the owner of the office picked up +his property, Sir Michael, in turn, submitted himself to examination. +All the others followed suit, without further hesitation. And the +result of the inquiry was <i>nil</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Eight anxious faces surrounded the little table. +</p> + +<p> +“I suggest,” said Mr. Anderson, quietly, “that we admit the detective +who is in my office. His experience may enable him to succeed where we +have failed.” +</p> + +<p> +All agreeing, the communicating door was opened. Mr. Anderson, without +quitting the room, called to Inspector Grimsby. The inspector entered. +The door was relocked. +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector,” said Mr. Anderson, “the diamond is missing!” +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon Grimsby’s eyes opened widely in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately, I cannot doubt it.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you last see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the moment when that uproar broke out below,” said Mr. Dell. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” murmured Grimsby, thoughtfully. “You all rushed to the window, I +expect?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leaving the diamond on the table?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s when it was stolen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very possibly, Inspector,” said the Lord Mayor, a stoutly built man +with an imperious manner. “But who took it and where did he conceal +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must all submit to be searched, gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“We have already done so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am more used to that sort of thing. Do you all agree to being +searched by me?” +</p> + +<p> +All did. The previous performance was repeated. Grimsby not only +searched the garments but passed his hands all over the persons of the +eight, even making them open their mouths and tapping at their teeth +with a lead pencil! +</p> + +<p> +“I did some I.D.B. work in South Africa,” he explained. “It’s +wonderful where a clever man can hide a diamond.” +</p> + +<p> +But no diamond was found! +</p> + +<p> +The better to bring home to those who read these records the truly +amazing nature of this circumstance, I will explain again, here, the +construction and furniture of the apartment. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small room, some fourteen feet by eighteen. It contained +eight oak chairs and an oak table; a red carpet; its walls were +distempered and bare, save for the framed photograph previously +mentioned. The one window was closed and fastened. The door opening on +the corridor was double-locked. Save when it had been opened to admit +Grimsby, the door communicating with the next office had also been +locked throughout the course of the meeting. There was no fireplace. +Ventilation was provided for by a small, square ventilator above the +corridor door. +</p> + +<p> +Having convinced himself that the diamond was not upon the person of +any one present, Inspector Grimsby took but two or three minutes to +satisfy himself that it was not concealed elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, slowly, “the Blue Rajah is not in this room!” +</p> + +<p> +The Lord Mayor glared. He was a director of the company with which the +diamond was insured. +</p> + +<p> +“My good man,” he said, “it isn’t humanly possible for +anything—anything—to have gone out of this room since we entered +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m disposed to agree with you, sir,” replied Grimsby. “But at the +same time I’ll stake my reputation that the diamond isn’t inside these +four walls! Although my search of you gentlemen was a mere formality, +I assure you it was thorough. I’ve searched a few score Kaffirs and I +know my business. As to the room itself, it’s as bare as a drawing +board. A child could find the smallest bead in it inside twenty +seconds. You can take it from me as a stone certainty that the diamond +has gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we are wasting precious time!” cried Sir Michael. “Commence the +pursuit at once, Inspector!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby’s jaw shot out doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“If you could give me a hint where to begin, sir,” he said, “I +shouldn’t waste another second!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hang it all, that’s your business, my man!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it is, sir. But I’m only a poor human policeman, after all. We +sha’n’t gain anything by getting angry, shall we? This room, to all +intents and purposes, is a locked box from which something has been +abstracted without lifting the lid. That’s a conjuring trick, and as +puzzling to me as it is to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Michael softened. Inspector Grimsby is not a man who can be +browbeaten. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right, Inspector,” he said; “I recognize the difficulties. But +this loss is horrible. It reflects upon all of us—all of us. If the +news of this theft leaks out—if the stone cannot be recovered—a +certain stigma—I cannot blind myself to the fact—a certain stigma +will attach to our personal integrity. Clean as our records may be, we +cannot hope to escape it. For God’s sake, Inspector, set your wits to +work.” +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, those were anxious faces that surrounded the detective. +Suddenly— +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried the Lord Mayor, “the man Klaw! On his own showing he knows +something of this matter! Mr. Grimsby——” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby held up his hand and nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“With your permission, gentlemen,” he said, “I will try to get into +communication with Moris Klaw at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Mr. Anderson; “and meanwhile, whilst we await the result +of your efforts, Inspector, I suggest, in the interests of all, that +we lunch in my office. It may be inconvenient for many of you, but for +my own part I am anxious to remain on these premises until we have +news of the whereabouts of the diamond.” +</p> + +<p> +The proposal was carried unanimously. No one of those substantial men +of affairs was anxious to lay himself open to the suspicion of having +removed the great Blue Rajah from the office! For, as Sir Michael +quite justly had pointed out, where a diamond worth an emperor’s +ransom is concerned, reputations melt like ice beneath a tropical sun. +</p> + +<p> +In this way, then, I found myself concerned in the case; for Grimsby +hastened to call me up, begging me to urge the retiring Moris Klaw to +quit his Wapping haunt, to which he clung like Diogenes to his wooden +cavern, and to journey to Moorgate Street. Fortunately, I was in my +rooms, and, willing enough to enjoy an opportunity of studying Klaw at +work, I despatched a district messenger to him, trusting that he would +be at his shop. +</p> + +<p> +Since evidently he had apprehended that an attempt would be made this +morning, I did not doubt that he would be at home. Indeed, he rang me +up less than half an hour later and arranged to meet me at Mr. +Anderson’s office. +</p> + +<p> +“I warned him—that Lord Mayor,” came his rumbling continental tones +along the wire, “how he must not let it out of his sight. He ignored +me. So! Ring him up immediately, and tell him to have ready for me hot +black coffee. It stimulates the inner perception when green tea is not +obtainable.” +</p> + +<p> +Without delay I followed Moris Klaw’s instructions, and then hurried +out and into a cab. My duties, as Klaw’s +biographer—self-appointed—forbade my delaying. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived at Basinghall House simultaneously. Our cabs drew up one +behind the other. Except for the presence of Inspector Grimsby at the +entrance, there was nothing to show that a stupendous robbery had been +committed there less than an hour before. As I descended, Grimsby ran +and opened the door of the other cab. He offered his hand to the +beautiful girl who was within, according her all the nervous deference +due to a queen. +</p> + +<p> +And indeed no queen of ancient times could have looked more queenly +than Isis Klaw—no Hatshepsu could have carried herself more regally. +She wore a dark, close-fitting costume and ermine furs. In contrast to +the snowy peltry, her large black eyes and perfect red lips rendered +her a study for the brush of a painter, but, like her Oriental grace, +defied the pen of the scribe. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw’s daughter, her dazzling beauty enhanced by all the +feminine arts of Paris, was a rare exotic one would not have sought in +the neighbourhood of Wapping Old Stairs. But her father afforded a +contrast at least as singular as her residence. +</p> + +<p> +Behind this seductive vision he appeared, enveloped in his caped coat, +his yellow bearded face crowned by the brown bowler of Early Victorian +pattern—indeed, apparently of Early Victorian manufacture. He peered +at the taximeter through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +“Two and tenpence,” he rumbled, hoarsely. “That meter requires +inspection, my friend. I have watched it popping up those two pennies, +and I have perceived that it does so every time the cab bumps upon a +drain-hole. I am to pay, then, for all the drains between Wapping and +Moorgate Street. Here it is—three shillings. One and fourpence for +the company and one and eightpence for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned aside, raising his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Mr. Grimsby! I shall charge +the City of London one and sixpence for drains. Let us walk on as far +as the courtyard I see yonder, and you shall tell me all the facts +before I interview those others, who will be, of course, so prejudiced +by their misfortune.” +</p> + +<p> +We passed on, and many a clerkly glance followed the furry figure of +Isis beneath the archway. Hemmed in by offices, a certain quietude +prevailed in the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a chilly morning,” said Moris Klaw; “but here we will stop and +talk.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly Grimsby related the known facts of the case, more often +addressing his story to the girl than to her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” growled the latter, when the tale was told; “and this +crying out—this screaming of murder—what occasioned it?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the mystery!” explained the detective. “I wish I had run out +at once. I might have learned something. As it is, all I can find out +amounts to nothing. The clerks and porters and other people who came +flocking to the scene found no one here who knew anything about it!” +</p> + +<p> +“The screamer was missing, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Vanished! I can’t help thinking it was a ruse; though what anybody +profited by it isn’t clear.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not clear, you say?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Ah! you have a fog of +the mentality, my friend!” Grimsby flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” he added, hurriedly, “I can see that it served to divert +the attention of the people who ought to have been guarding the +diamond. But as both the doors and the window were locked, how did it +help to get the stone out of the office?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw pulled reflectively at his scanty beard. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” he rumbled. “Let us ascend.” +</p> + +<p> +We entered the lift and went up to the office of Messrs. Anderson & +Brothers. The Presentation Committee were awaiting the mysterious +Moris Klaw but had not anticipated a visit from a pretty woman. They +were prepared to adopt toward the man who would seem to have had some +foreknowledge of the robbery a certain attitude of suspicion. It was +amusing to note the change of front when Isis entered. Moris Klaw +singled out the Lord Mayor and the owner of the office with unerring +instinct. He removed his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Anderson!” he said. “Good morning, Sir Michael! +Good morning, gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“This is Mr. Moris Klaw,” explained Grimsby, “and Miss Klaw. Mr. +Searles.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Anderson hastened to place chairs. We became seated. Following a +short interval, Sir Michael Cayley cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“We are—er—indebted to you, Mr. Klaw,” he began, “for taking this +trouble. But, in view of your note to me——” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw raised his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“So simple,” he said, whilst the Committee watched him, puzzled and +surprised—that is, those who were not watching Isis did so. “I have a +library, you understand, of records dealing with such historic gems. +To show you that I have made some study of these matters I will tell +you that the diamond called the Blue Rajah was discovered on the +morning of April the thirteenth, 1680, in the Kollur Mine, and stolen +the same evening!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is your authority for the exact date, Mr. Klaw?” asked Anderson, +with interest; “and for the statement that the diamond was stolen on +the day of its discovery?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fact, Mr. Anderson, is my authority,” was the rumbling reply, “and I +can tell you more. The diamond is the birth stone of the month of +April, and this diamond was itself born on the thirteenth of that +month. To illustrate how its history is associated with April, I shall +only tell you of the beautiful and unhappy Marie de Lamballe. This +great diamond was presented to her on the ninth of April, 1790, and +taken from her on the twelfth of April, 1792, after her return from +England, and only six months before her fair head was stuck upon a +pike and held up to the Queen’s window!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused impressively, waving his long hands in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“I could recount to you,” he resumed, “many such incidents in the +history of the Blue Rajah—and all took place within a week of its +birthday! What day is to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s the thirteenth of April!” said Sir Michael Cayley, with a +start. +</p> + +<p> +“The thirteenth of April,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “For many years the +diamond has been too closely guarded for any new incident to occur, +but when I learn how to-day it is to be brought here, how many hands +will touch it, how many eyes will look upon it, I know that there is +danger! Its history repeats. These incidents”—again he waved his +hands—“proceed in cycles. I warned you. But it was perhaps +inevitable. The Cycle of Crime is as inevitable and immutable as the +cycle of the ages. Man’s will has no power to check it.” +</p> + +<p> +Everyone in the room was deeply impressed. Indeed, no one could have +failed to recognize in the speaker a man of powerful mind, one of +penetrating and unusual intellect. +</p> + +<p> +“Had I had the good fortune to meet you, Mr. Klaw,” said the Lord +Mayor, “I should have attached a greater, and—er—a different, +significance to your note. Your theories are strange ones, but to-day +they have received strange and ample substantiation. I can only +hope—and I do so with every confidence in your great ability”—Moris +Klaw rose and bowed—“that you will be able to recover the diamond +whose loss you so truly predicted.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will ask you,” replied Moris Klaw, “to have sent in to me the black +coffee. Myself, my daughter, Mr. Searles, and Mr. Grimsby will view +the room from which the robbery took place.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would wish us to remain here?” asked Mr. Anderson, glancing at +the others. +</p> + +<p> +“I would so wish it, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope, Mr. Klaw,” said Sir Michael Cayley, “that you will not +hesitate to send me an account of your fee and expenditures.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not so hesitate,” replied Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +We entered the small room from which the Blue Rajah had been spirited +away. Grimsby, who was badly puzzled, was evidently glad of Klaw’s +coöperation. Moris Klaw’s letter of warning, leading to the request +for Moris Klaw’s attendance, had enabled the Scotland Yard man to +summon that keen intellect to his aid without compromising his +professional reputation. He would lose no credit that might accrue if +the gem were recovered and, in short, was congratulating himself upon +a diplomatic move. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s beyond me,” he said, “how the thing was got out of the room. +With this door shut, the window fastened, and the other door +double-locked, as it always is, practically the place is a box.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw, from its hiding place in the lining of his hat, took out +the scent spray and squirted verbena upon his face. +</p> + +<p> +“A box—yes,” he rumbled; “and so stuffy. No air.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no ventilation,” explained Grimsby. “That square hole over +the door is intended for ventilation, but as there’s no corresponding +aperture over the window or elsewhere it’s useless. Anyway, it only +opens on the passage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah. You searched them all quite thoroughly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly; like Kaffirs. But I didn’t expect to find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blessed is he who expecteth little. Isis, my child, there is someone +knocking.” +</p> + +<p> +Isis opened the door communicating with Mr. Anderson’s office, and a +boy entered carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cup upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall not sleep in this room, Mr. Searles. +It is difficult to sleep in the morning and I cannot wait for night. I +shall sit here at this table for one hour with my mind a perfect +blank. I shall think of nothing. That is a great art, Mr. Searles—to +think of nothing. Few people but ascetics can do it. Try it for +yourself, and you will find that thinking of trying not to think is +the nearest you will get to it! I shall expose my mind, a sensitive +blank, to the etheric waves created here by mental emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall secure many alien impressions of horror at finding the Blue +Rajah to be missing. That is unavoidable. But I hope, amongst all +these, to find that other thought-thing—the fear of the robber at the +critical moment of his crime! That should be a cogent and forceful +thought—keener and therefore stronger to survive, because a thought +of danger but of gain, than the thoughts of loss with which this +atmosphere is laden.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood up, removing his caped coat and revealing the shabby tweed +suit which he wore. A big French knot of black silk looked grotesquely +out of place beneath his yellow face with its edging of toneless +beard. +</p> + +<p> +“Isis,” he said, “lay my cloak carefully upon that chair by the +window. I will sit there.” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby stepped forward to assist. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” said Isis, but smiled enchantingly. “No hand but mine must +touch it until my father has secured his impression!” +</p> + +<p> +She laid the coat upon the chair, completely covering it; and Moris +Klaw sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“Another cup of coffee,” he said; and his daughter poured one out and +handed it to him. “This is Java coffee and truly not coffee at all. +There is no coffee but <i>Mocha</i>—a thing you English will never learn. +Return in an hour, gentlemen. Isis, ask that no disturbing sound is +allowed within or without. That Committee, it can go home. None of it +has the diamond.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the other gentlemen?” asked Grimsby. “They’ll be anxious to get +about their business, too. There’s Sir John Carron from the India +Office and Mr. Gautami Chinje—the Gaekwar’s representative.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course—certainly,” mused Moris Klaw. “But, of course, too, they +will all be anxious to know immediately the result of my inquiries. +Listen—Mr. Anderson will remain; he can represent the city. Mr. +Chinje, you will perhaps ask him to remain, to represent the +Gaekwar—the vendor; and Sir John Carron, he might be so good. Make +those arrangements, Mr. Grimsby, and let nothing again disturb me.” +</p> + +<p> +We left him, returning to the outer office. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John Carron expressed himself willing to remain. +</p> + +<p> +“If I may use your telephone for a moment, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “I +can put off an engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Chinje had no other engagement, and Mr. Anderson’s duties had +detained him in any event. There was some general, but subdued, +conversation before the rest of the party left; but finally Sir John, +Chinje, Grimsby, Isis Klaw, and myself found ourselves in a waiting +room on the opposite side of the corridor, provided with refreshments, +and the gentlemen of the party with cigars, whilst the hospitable and +deeply anxious Messrs. Anderson piled the table with periodical +literature for our entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +It was a curious interlude, which I shall always remember. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John Carron, a tall, bronzed military man, middle-aged and +perfectly groomed, surveyed Isis Klaw through his monocle with +undisguised admiration. She bore this scrutiny with the perfect +composure which was hers, and presently engaged the admiring baronet +in some conversation about India, in which Mr. Chinje presently +joined. Chinje had all the quiet self-possession of a high-caste +Hindu, and his dark handsome face exhibited no signs of annoyance when +Sir John adopted that tone of breezy patronage characteristic of some +Anglo-Indian officers who find themselves in the company of a +well-bred native. Grimsby, with recognition of his social inferiority +written large upon him, smoked, for the most part, in silence—Isis +having given him permission to light up. Seeing his covert glances at +this intimate trio, I ultimately succeeded in making the conversation +a general one, thereby earning the Scotland Yard man’s evident +gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Inspector Grimsby,” said Sir John, “I never was searched +before to-day! But, by Jove, you did it very efficiently! I was +dreadfully tempted to strike you when you calmly turned out my purse! +Your method was far more workmanlike than Sir Michael Cayley’s a few +minutes earlier. He forgot to look in my watch case, but you didn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s more in a simple thing like searching a man than most people +take into consideration,” he replied. “I’ve known a Kaffir in the +mines who—excuse me, Miss Klaw—wore no more than Adam, to walk off +with stones worth my year’s wages.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m prepared to accept your assurance, Inspector,” said Sir John, +“that none of us had the diamond about our persons.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father has accepted it,” added Isis Klaw; “and that is +conclusive.” +</p> + +<p> +Which brought us face to face again with the amazing problem that we +were there to solve. How, by any known natural law, had the Blue Rajah +been taken out of the room? None of us could conjecture. That the +detective was hopelessly mystified, his inaction, awaiting the result +of Moris Klaw’s séance, was sufficient proof. I wondered if the +Commissioner would have approved of his passive attitude and entire +dependence upon the efforts of an amateur, yet failed to perceive what +other he could adopt. One thing was certain: if the diamond was +recovered, its recovery would be recorded among Detective-Inspector +Grimsby’s successful cases! And there he sat placidly smoking one of +Mr. Anderson’s habanas. +</p> + +<p> +At the expiration of the hour specified, Isis Klaw rose and walked +across to Mr. Anderson’s office. Mr. Anderson, his ruddy +face—typically that of a lowland Scot—a shade paler than was its +wont, I fancy, was glancing from his watch to the clock. +</p> + +<p> +Isis knocked on the inner door, opened it, and entered. Sir John +Carron was watching with intense interest. Mr. Chinje met my glance +and smiled a little sceptically. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw came out with his caped coat on and carrying his bowler in +his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have secured a mental negative, somewhat +foggy, owing to those other thought forms with which the atmosphere is +laden. But I have identified him—the thief!” +</p> + +<p> +A sound like a gasp repressed came from somewhere immediately behind +me. I turned. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Anderson, junior, stood at my +elbow; close by were Mr. Chinje, Grimsby, and Sir John Carron. +</p> + +<p> +“Who snorts?” rumbled Moris Klaw, peering through his pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +“Not I,” said Sir John, staring about him. +</p> + +<p> +We all, in turn, denied having uttered the sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is in this office a ghost,” declared Klaw, “or a liar!” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Mr. Klaw,” began Mr. Anderson, with some heat. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw raised his hand. His daughter’s magnificent eyes blazed +defiance at us all. +</p> + +<p> +“No anger,” implored the rumbling voice. “No anger. Anger is a misuse +of the emotions. There are present eight persons here. Someone +snorted. Eight persons deny the snort. It is a ghost or a liar. Am I +evident to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your logic is irrefutable,” admitted the younger Mr. Anderson, +glancing from face to face. “It pains me to have to admit that you are +right!” +</p> + +<p> +In turn, I examined the faces of those present. Grimsby was a man +witless with wonder. Both the Andersons were embarrassed and angry. +Isis Klaw was scornfully triumphant; her father was, as ever, +nonchalant. Sir John Carron looked ill at ease; Mr. Chinje appeared to +have changed his opinion of the eccentric investigator and now studied +him with the calm interest of the cultured Oriental. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall now make you laugh,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall tell you what +he was thinking of at the psychological instant—that mysterious +thief. He was thinking of two things. One was a very pretty, fair +young lady, and the other was a funny thing. He was thinking of +throwing twelve peanuts into a parrot’s cage!” +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +There are speeches so entirely unexpected that their effect is +unappreciable until some little time after the utterance. This speech +of Moris Klaw’s was of that description. For some moments no one +seemed to grasp exactly what he had said, simple though his words had +been. Then, it was borne home to us—that grotesque declaration; and I +think I have never seen men more amazed. +</p> + +<p> +Could he be jesting? +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw——” began Sir John Carron. But— +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, Sir John,” interrupted Klaw. “Let all remain here for one +moment. I shall return.” +</p> + +<p> +Whilst we stared, like so many fools, he shuffled from the office with +his awkward gait. During his brief absence no one spoke. We were +restrained, undoubtedly, by the presence of Isis Klaw, who, one hand +upon her hip and with the other swinging her big ermine muff, smiled +at us with a sort of pitying scorn for our stupidity. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” he rumbled, reflectively, “have you, Sir John Carron or +Mr. Chinje, a specimen of the handwriting of the Gaekwar of Nizam?” +</p> + +<p> +Chinje and Sir John stared. +</p> + +<p> +“At the office—possibly,” replied Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +“I have my instructions, signed by him,” said Mr. Chinje. “But not +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“At your hotel, yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Chinje, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +He gave me the impression that he resented Moris Klaw’s catechizing as +that of a fool and an incompetent meddler with affairs of great +importance. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, gentlemen,” said Klaw, “we must adjourn to examine that +signature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” the younger Mr. Anderson burst out, “I must protest against +this! You will pardon me, Mr. Klaw; I believe you to be sincere in +your efforts on our behalf, but such an expedition can be no more than +a wild-goose chase! What can the Gaekwar’s signature have to do with +the theft of the diamond?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you something, my feverish friend,” said Moris Klaw, +slowly. “The Blue Rajah is not on these premises. It is gone! It went +before I came. If it is ever to come back you will put on your hat and +accompany me to examine the signature to Mr. Chinje’s instructions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must add my protest to Mr. Anderson’s,” remarked Chinje. “This is +mere waste of time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Grimsby,” resumed Klaw, placidly, “it is a case to be hushed up, +this. There must be no arrests!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” cried Grimsby. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir John Carron will ring up the Commissioner and he will say that +Detective-Inspector Grimsby has traced the Blue Rajah, which was +stolen, but that, for reasons of state, Detective-Inspector Grimsby +will make a confidential report and no arrest!” +</p> + +<p> +“Really——” began Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw,” cried Anderson, interrupting excitedly. “You are jesting +with men who are faced by a desperate position! I ask you, as man to +man, if you know who stole the Blue Rajah and where it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reply,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “that I suspect who stole it, that I am +doubtful how it was stolen, and that when I have examined the +Gaekwar’s signature I may know where it is!” +</p> + +<p> +His reply had a tone of finality quite unanswerable. His attitude was +that of a stone wall; and he had, too, something of the rugged +strength of such a wall—of a Roman wall, commanding respect. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John got into communication with the Commissioner, as desired by +Klaw, and we all left the office and went down in the lift to the +hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Two cabs will be needful,” said Moris Klaw; and two cabs were +summoned. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John Carron, the Andersons, and Moris Klaw entered one; Isis Klaw, +Grimsby, Chinje, and I the other. +</p> + +<p> +“The Hotel Astoria,” directed Chinje. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the drive to the Strand, Isis chatted to Grimsby, to his +great delight. Mr. Chinje contented himself with monosyllabic replies +to my occasional observations. He seemed to be disgusted with the +manner in which the inquiry was being conducted. When the two cabs +drove into the courtyard of the hotel, the one in which I was seated +followed the other. Mr. Chinje, on my left, descended first, and Moris +Klaw also descended first from the cab in front. As he did so he +stumbled on the step and clutched at Chinje for support. Isis leapt +forward to his assistance. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” growled Klaw, hobbling painfully, and resting one hand upon +Chinje’s shoulder and the other upon his daughter’s. “That foolish +ankle of mine! How unfortunate! An accident, Mr. Chinje, which I met +with in Egypt. I fell quite twenty feet in the shaft of a tomb and +broke my ankle. At the least strain, I suffer yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Allow me, Mr. Chinje,” said Grimsby, stepping forward. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” rumbled Klaw. “If you will hand me my hat which I have +dropped, and see that my verbena has not fallen out—thank you—Mr. +Chinje and Isis will be so good as to walk with me to the lift. A few +moments’ rest in Mr. Chinje’s apartments will restore me.” +</p> + +<p> +This arrangement accordingly was adopted, and we presently came to the +rooms occupied by the Gaekwar’s representative, upon the fourth floor +of the hotel. At the door, Mr. Chinje asked me to take his place +whilst he found his key. +</p> + +<p> +I did so and Chinje opened the door. To my great surprise he entered +first. To my greater surprise, Moris Klaw, scorning my assistance and +apparently forgetting his injury, rapidly followed him in. The rest of +us flocked behind, possessed with a sense of something impending. We +little knew <i>what</i> impended. +</p> + +<p> +One thing, as I entered the little sitting room, struck my vision with +a sensation almost of physical shock. It was a large, empty parrot +cage standing on the table! +</p> + +<p> +I had an impression that Chinje dashed forward in a vain attempt to +conceal the cage ere Moris Klaw entered. I saw, as one sees figures in +a dream, a pretty, fair-haired girl in the room. Then the Hindu had +leapt to an inner door—and was gone! +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!” cried Klaw, in a loud voice. “The door! The door!” +</p> + +<p> +He brushed the girl aside with a sweep of his arm and hurled himself +against the locked door. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Grimsby! Mr. Searles! Someone! Help with this door. Isis! hold +her back, this foolish girl!” +</p> + +<p> +The inner meaning of the scene was a mystery to us all, but the +urgency of Moris Klaw’s instructions brooked no denial. With a shrill +scream the girl threw herself upon him, but Isis, exhibiting +unsuspected strength, drew her away. +</p> + +<p> +Then Sir John Carron joined Klaw at the door and they applied their +combined weights to the task of forcing it open. +</p> + +<p> +Once they put their shoulders to it; twice—and there was a sound of +tearing woodwork; a third time—and it flew open, almost precipitating +them both into the room beyond. Hard on the din of the opening rang +the crack of a pistol shot. A wisp of smoke came floating out. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, just God!” said Moris Klaw, hoarsely, “we are too late!” +</p> + +<p> +And, at his words, with a leap like that of a wild thing, the fair +girl broke from Isis, and passing us all, entered the room beyond. +Awed and fearful, we followed and looked upon a pitiful scene. +</p> + +<p> +Gautami Chinje lay dead upon the floor, a revolver yet between his +nerveless fingers and a red spot in his temple. Beside him knelt the +girl, plucking with both hands at her lower lip, her face as white as +paper and her eyes glaring insanely at the distorted features. +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest,” she kept whispering, in a listless way, “my dearest—what +is the matter? I have the diamond—I have it in my bag. What is it, my +dearest?” +</p> + +<p> +We got her away at last. +</p> + +<p> +“He had only been in London six months,” Moris Klaw rumbled in my ear, +“and you see, she adored him—helped him to steal. It is wonderful, +snake-like, the power of fascination some Hindus have over women—and +always over blondes, Mr. Searles, always blondes. It is a +psychological problem.” +</p> + + +<p class="mt1"> +So ended the case of the Blue Rajah robbery, one of the most brief in +the annals of Moris Klaw. The great diamond we found in the girl’s +handbag, wrapped in a curious little rubber covering, apparently made +to fit it. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” explained Moris Klaw, later, to his wondering audience, +“this girl—I have yet to find out who she is—was perhaps married to +Mr. Chinje. He would, of course, have deserted her directly he +returned to India. But here at the Astoria she was known as Mrs. +Chinje. Who would have been the losers by the robbery? The insurance +company, if I do not mistake the case. For the Gaekwar, through his +representative, Chinje, had the diamond insured for all the time it +was his property and in England, and the Committee had it insured from +the time it became their property. It had become their property. The +Gaekwar would have got his check. He gets it now; it is in Chinje’s +pocket-case. The city would have lost its Blue Rajah, and the +insurance company would have paid the city for the loss! +</p> + +<p> +“The next office along the corridor from Mr. Anderson’s is the Central +London Electric Lighting Company. Many consumers call. Mrs. Chinje was +not suspected of any felonious purpose when she was seen in that +corridor—and she was seen by a clerk and by an engineer. After my +mental negative had told me of a pretty young lady of whom the thief +thinks at the moment of his theft, I went to inquire—you recall?—if +such a one had been seen near the office. +</p> + +<p> +“From the first my suspicions are with Chinje. The emotions have each +a note, distinct, like the notes of a piano, though only audible to +the trained mind. Both Isis and myself detect from Chinje the note of +<i>fear</i>. I arrange, then, that he remains. My talk of examining the +Gaekwar’s writing is a ruse. It is Chinje’s apartment and the fair +lady I expect to find there that I am anxious to see. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, in spite that he is the most cool of us all, I see that he +suspects me and I have to hold him fast; for, if he could have got +first to his room and hidden the parrot cage, where had been our +evidence? Indeed, only that I have the power to secure the astral +negative, there had been no evidence at all. There is a third +accomplice—him who howled in the courtyard; but I fear, as he so +cleverly vanished, we shall never know his name. +</p> + +<p> +“And how was it done, and why did this someone howl?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw paused and looked around. We awaited his next words in +tense silence. +</p> + +<p> +“He howled because Chinje had looked out from the window (which, +though hidden, the howler was watching) and made him some signal. The +signal meant: ‘The Blue Rajah has been placed upon the table—<i>howl!</i>’ +</p> + +<p> +“The one below obeyed, and the Committee, like foolish sheep—yes, +gentlemen, like no-headed cattle things!—flocked to the window. But +Chinje did not flock with them! Like a deft-handed conjurer he was at +the table, the diamond was in the little rubber purse held ready, and +Mrs. Chinje, with her large handbag open, was waiting outside the +door, in the corridor, like some new kind of wicket-keeper. Chinje +tossed the diamond through the little square ventilator! +</p> + +<p> +“He had been practising for weeks—ever since he knew that the +Committee would meet in that room—tossing peanuts into the square +opening of a parrot cage, placed at the same height from the floor as +the ventilator over Mr. Anderson’s doorway! He had practised until he +could do it twelve times without missing. He had nerves like piano +wires, yet he was a deadly anxious man; and he knew that a woman +cannot catch! +</p> + +<p> +“But she caught—or, if she dropped it, no one saw her pick it up. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, these Hindus are very clever, but talking of their +cleverness makes one very thirsty. I think I heard Mr. Anderson make +some cooling speech about a bottle of wine!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch06"> +SIXTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE WHISPERING POPLARS</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">One</span> afternoon Moris Klaw walked into my office and announced that +“owing to alterations” he had temporarily suspended business at the +Wapping emporium, and thus had found time to give me a call. I always +welcomed a chat with that extraordinary man, and although I could +conceive of no really useful “alteration” to his unsavoury +establishment other than that of setting fire to it, I made no +inquiries, but placed an easy chair for him and offered a cigar. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw removed his caped overcoat and dropped it upon the floor. +Upon this sartorial wreckage he disposed his flat-topped brown bowler +and from it extracted the inevitable scent spray. He sprayed his +dome-like brow and bedewed his toneless beard with verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“So refreshing,” he explained; “a custom of the Romans, Mr. Searles. +It is a very warm day.” +</p> + +<p> +I admitted that this was so. +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter Isis,” continued Klaw, “has taken advantage of the +alterations and decorations to run over so far as Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +I made some commonplace remark, and we drifted into a conversation +upon a daring robbery which at that time was flooding the press with +copy. We were so engaged when, to my great surprise (for I had thought +him at least a thousand miles away), Shan Haufmann was announced. As +my old American friend entered, Moris Klaw modestly arose to depart. +But I detained him and made the two acquainted. +</p> + +<p> +Haufmann hailed Klaw cordially, exhibiting none of the ill-bred +surprise which so often greeted my eccentric acquaintance of singular +aspect. Haufmann had all that bonhomie which overlooks the clothes and +welcomes the man. He glanced apologetically at his right hand which +hung in a sling. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t shake, Mr. Klaw,” said the big American, a good-humoured smile +on his tanned, clean-shaven face. “I stopped some lead awhile back and +my right is still off duty.” +</p> + +<p> +Naturally I was anxious at once to know how he had come by the hurt; +and he briefly explained that in the discharge of certain official +duties he had run foul of a bad gang, two of whom he had been +instrumental in convicting of murder, whilst the third had shot him in +the arm and escaped. +</p> + +<p> +“Three dagoes,” he explained, in his crisply picturesque fashion, +“—been wanted for years. Helped themselves to a bunch of my colts +this fall; killed one of the boys and left another for dead. So I went +after them hot and strong. We rounded them up on the Mexican border +and got two—Schwart Sam and one of the Costas; but the younger +Costa—we call him Corpus Chris—broke away and found me in the elbow +with a lump of lead!” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve come for a holiday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mostly,” replied Haufmann. “Greta hustled me here. She got real ill +when I said I wouldn’t come. So we came! I’m centring in London for +six months. Brought the girls over for a look round. I’m not stopping +at a hotel. We’ve rented a house a bit outside; it’s Lal’s idea. +Settled yesterday. All fixed. Expect you to dinner to-night! You, too, +Mr. Klaw! Is it a bet?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw was commencing some sort of a reply, but what it was never +transpired, for Haufmann, waving his sound hand cheerily, quitted the +office as rapidly as he had entered, calling back: +</p> + +<p> +“Dine seven-thirty. Girls expecting you!” +</p> + +<p> +That was his way; but so infectious was his real geniality that few +could fail to respond to it. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a good fellow, that Mr. Haufmann,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Yes, I +love such natures. But he has forgotten to tell us where he lives!” +</p> + +<p> +It was so! Haufmann in his hurry and impetuosity had overlooked that +important matter; but I thought it probable that he would recall the +oversight and communicate, so prevailed upon Klaw to remain. At last, +however, I glanced at my watch, and found it to be nearly six o’clock, +whereupon I looked blankly at Moris Klaw. That eccentric shrugged his +shoulders and took up the caped coat. Then the ’phone bell rang. It +was Haufmann. +</p> + +<p> +I was glad to hear his familiar accent as he laughingly apologized for +his oversight. Rapidly he acquainted me with the whereabouts of The +Grove—for so the house was called. +</p> + +<p> +“Come now,” he said. “Don’t stop to dress; you’ve only just got time,” +and rang off. +</p> + +<p> +I thought Moris Klaw stared oddly through his pince-nez when I told +him the address, but concluded, as he made no comment, that I had been +mistaken. There was just time to catch our train, and from the station +where we alighted it was only a short drive to the house. Haufmann’s +car was waiting for us, and in less than three quarters of an hour +from our quitting the Strand, we were driving up to The Grove, through +the most magnificent avenue of poplars I had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” I cried, “what fine trees!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw nodded and looked around at the towering trunks with a +peculiar expression, which I was wholly at a loss to account for. +However, ere I had leisure to think much about the matter, we found +ourselves in the hall, where Haufmann and his two fascinating +daughters were waiting to greet us. I do not know which of the girls +looked the more charming: Lilian with her bright mass of curls and +blue eyes dancing with vivacity, or Greta in her dark and rather +mystic beauty. At any rate, they were dangerous acquaintances for a +susceptible man. Even old Moris Klaw showed unmistakably that his mind +was not so wholly filled with obscure sciences as to be incapable of +appreciating the society of a pretty woman. +</p> + +<p> +Greta I noticed looking thoughtfully at him, and during dinner she +suddenly asked him if he had read a book called “Psychic Angles.” +</p> + +<p> +Rather unwillingly, as it seemed to me, Klaw admitted that he had, and +the girl displayed an immediate and marked interest in psychical +matters. Klaw, however, though usually but too willing to discuss +this, his pet subject, foiled her attempt to draw him into a technical +discussion and rather obviously steered the conversation into a more +general channel. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let her get away on the bogey tack, Mr. Klaw,” said Haufmann, +approvingly. “She’s a perfect demon for haunted chambers and so on.” +</p> + +<p> +Laughingly the girl pleaded guilty to an interest in ghostly subjects. +“But I’m not frightened about them!” she added, in pretended +indignation. “I should just love to see a ghost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Greta!” cried her sister. “What a horrid idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have perhaps investigated cases yourself, Mr. Klaw?” asked Greta. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” rumbled Klaw, “perhaps so. Who knows?” +</p> + +<p> +Since he thus clearly showed his wish to drop the subject, the girl +made a little humorously wry face, whereat her father laughed +boisterously; and no more was said during the evening about ghosts. I +could not well avoid noticing two things, however, in regard to Moris +Klaw: one, his evident interest in Greta; and the other, a certain +preoccupation which claimed him every now and again. +</p> + +<p> +We left at about ten o’clock, declining the offer of the car, as we +had ample time to walk to the station. Haufmann wanted to come along, +but we dissuaded him, with the assurance that we could find the way +without any difficulty. Klaw, especially, was very insistent on the +point, and when at last we swung sharply down the avenue and, rounding +the bend, lost sight of the house, he pulled up and said: +</p> + +<p> +“For this opportunity, Mr. Searles, I have been waiting. It may not, +of course, matter, but this house where the good Haufmann resides was +formerly known as The Park.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of that?” I asked, turning on him sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” he replied, “celebrated as what foolish people call a haunted +house. No doubt that is the reason why the name has been changed. As +The Park it has been dealt with many times in the psychical journals.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Park,” I mused. “Is it not included in that extraordinary work on +the occult—‘Psychic Angles’—of which Miss Haufmann spoke +to-night—the place where the monk was supposed to have been murdered, +where an old antiquary died, and some young girl, too, if I remember +rightly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Moris Klaw, “yes. I will tell you a secret. ‘Psychic +Angles’ is a little book of my own, and so, of course, I know about +this place.” +</p> + +<p> +His words surprised me greatly, for the book was being generally +talked about. He peered around him into the shadows and seemed to +sniff the air suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Setting aside the question of any supernatural menace,” I said, +“directly the servants find out, as they are sure to do from others in +the neighbourhood, they will leave <i>en bloc</i>. It is a pleasant way +servants have in such cases.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must certainly tell him, the good Haufmann,” agreed Klaw, “and he +will perhaps arrange to quit the place without letting the ladies to +know of its reputation. That Miss Greta she has the sympathetic +mind”—he tapped his forehead—“the plate so sensitive, the photo film +so delicate! For her it is dangerous to remain. There is such a thing, +Mr. Searles, as sympathetic suicide! That girl she is mediumistic. +From The Park she must be removed.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no time to lose,” I said. “We must decide what to do +to-night. Suppose you come along to my place?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw agreed, and we resumed our walk through the poplar grove. +</p> + +<p> +Although the night was very still, an eerie whispering went on without +pause or cessation along the whole length of the avenue. Against the +star-spangled sky the tall trees reared their shapes in a manner +curiously suggestive of dead things. Or this fancy may have had birth +in the associations of the place. It was a fatally easy matter +mentally to fashion one of the poplars into the gaunt form of a monk; +and no one, however unimaginative, being acquainted with the history +of The Grove, could fail to find, in the soft and ceaseless voices of +the trees, something akin to a woman’s broken sighs. In short, I was +not sorry when the gate was passed, and we came out upon the high +road. +</p> + +<p> +Later, seated in my study, we discussed the business thoroughly. From +my bookcase I took down “Psychic Angles” and passed it to Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“There we are,” he rumbled, turning over the leaves. I read: “On +August 8, 1858, a Fra Giulimo, of a peculiar religious brotherhood who +occupied this house from 1851 to 1858, was found strangled at the foot +of a poplar close by the entrance gate.” “I could never find out much +about them, this brotherhood,” he added, looking up; “but they were, I +believe, decent people. They left the place almost immediately after +the crime. No arrest was ever made. Then”—referring to the +book—“ ‘about the end of February or early in the March of 1863, a Mr. +B—— J—— took the house. He was an antiquarian of European repute +and a man of retired habits. With only two servants—an old soldier +and his wife—he occupied The Park’—that is The Grove—‘from the +spring of ’63 to the autumn of ’65.’ Then follow verbatim reports by +the well-known Pepley of interviews with people who had heard Mr. +J—— declare that a hushed voice sometimes called upon him by name in +the night, from the poplar grove. Also, an interview with his +manservant and with wife of latter, corroborating other statements. +Mr. B—— J—— was found one September morning dead in the grove. +Cause of death never properly established. The house next enters upon +a period of neglect. It is empty; it is shunned. From ’65 right up to +’88 it stood so empty. It was then taken by a Mr. K——; but he only +occupied it for two months, this K——. Three other tenants +subsequently rented the place. Only one of them actually occupied +it—for a week; the other, hearing, we presume, of its evil repute, +never entered into residence. Seventeen years ago the last tragedy +connected with the unpleasant Grove took place. An eccentric old +bachelor took the house, and, in the summer of ’03, had a niece there +to stay with him. The evidence clearly indicates to me that this +unhappy one was highly neurotic—oh, clearly; so that the tragedy +explains itself. She fell, or sprang, from her bedroom window to the +drive one night in June, and was picked up quite dead at the foot of +the first poplar in the grove. <i>Sacré!</i> it is a morgue, that house!” +</p> + +<p> +He returned the book and sat watching me in silence for some moments. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you spend any time in the house, yourself?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“On four different occasions, Mr. Searles! It is only from certain of +the rooms that the whispering is audible, and then only if the windows +are open. You will notice, though, that all the tragedies occurred in +the warm months when the windows would be so open.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you note anything supernormal in this whispering?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. You have read my explanation.” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +Haufmann looked rather blank when we told him. +</p> + +<p> +“Just my luck!” he commented. “Greta’s read your book, Mr. Klaw, and +if she hasn’t fixed it yet she’s sure to come to it that The Park and +The Grove are one and the same. It was largely because of her I +arranged this trip,” he added. “The trouble I’ve told you about got on +her nerves and she had the idea some guy was tracking her around. The +medicos said it was a common enough symptom and ordered a change. +Anyhow, I quitted, to give her a chance to tone up. Confound this +business!” +</p> + +<p> +He ultimately left quite determined to change his place of residence. +But so averse was his practical mind from the idea of inconveniencing +oneself on such ghostly grounds, that two weeks slipped by, and still +the Haufmanns occupied The Grove. The decoration of Moris Klaw’s +establishment being presumably still in progress, Klaw accompanied me +on more than one other occasion to visit Shan Haufmann and the girls. +At last, one afternoon, Greta asked him point-blank if he thought the +house to be that dealt with in “Psychic Angles.” +</p> + +<p> +Of course, he had to admit that it was so; but far from exhibiting any +signs of alarm, the girl appeared to be delighted. +</p> + +<p> +“How dense I have been!” she cried. “I should have known it from the +description! As a matter of fact, I might never have found out, but +this morning the servants resigned unanimously!” +</p> + +<p> +Klaw looked at me significantly. All was befalling as we had foreseen. +</p> + +<p> +“They told you, then!” he said. “Yes? No?” +</p> + +<p> +“They said the house was haunted,” she replied, “but they didn’t seem +to know much more about it. That simple fact was enough for them!” +</p> + +<p> +Haufmann came in and in answer to our queries declared himself +helpless. +</p> + +<p> +“Lal and Greta won’t quit,” he declared; “so what’s to do? I’ve cabled +for servants from home. Meanwhile, we’re at the mercy of day girls and +charwomen!” +</p> + +<p> +The concern evinced by Moris Klaw was very great. He seized an early +opportunity of taking Haufmann aside and questioning him relative to +the situation of the rooms occupied by the family. +</p> + +<p> +“My room overlooks the avenue,” replied Haufmann, “and so does +Greta’s. Lal’s is on the opposite side. Come up and see them!” +</p> + +<p> +Klaw and I accompanied him. It was a beautiful clear day, and from his +window we gazed along the majestic ranks of poplars, motionless as a +giant guard, in the still summer air. It was difficult to conjure up a +glamour of the uncanny, with the bright sunlight pouring gladness upon +trees, flowers, shrubs, and lawn. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the room from which the whisper is the most clearly audible!” +said Moris Klaw. “I could tell you—ah! I spent several nights here!” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil you did,” rapped Haufmann. “I must sleep pretty soundly. +I’ve never heard a thing. Greta’s room is next on the right. She has +said nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Klaw looked troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no sound unusual to hear,” he answered. “I quite convinced +myself of that. But it is the tradition that speaks, Mr. Haufmann! In +those silent watches, even so insensible an old fool as I can imagine +almost anything, aided by such gruesome memories. Excepting the monk, +who probably fell foul of a prowler thief, the tragedies are easily to +be explained. The old antiquarian died of syncope, and the poor girl, +in all probability, fell from the balcony in her sleep. She had a +tremendously neurotic temperament.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s bad, now Greta knows,” mused Haufmann. “Her nerves are all +unstrung. It’s just the thing I wanted to avoid!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you induce her at any rate to change her room?” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“No! She’s as obstinate as a pony! Her poor mother was the same. It’s +the Irish blood!” +</p> + +<p> +Such was the situation when we left. No development took place for a +couple of days or so, then that befell which we had feared and half +expected. +</p> + +<p> +Haufmann walked into my office with: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s started! Greta says she hears it every night!” +</p> + +<p> +Prepared though I had been for the news, his harshly spoken words sent +a cold shudder through me. +</p> + +<p> +“Haufmann!” I said, sternly. “There must be no more of this. Get the +girls away at once. On top of her previous nerve trouble this morbid +imagining may affect her mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t heard me out,” he went on, more slowly than was his wont. +“You talk of morbid imagining. What about this: <i>I’ve</i> heard it!” +</p> + +<p> +I stared at him blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s one on you!” he said, with a certain grim triumph. “After +Greta said there was something came in the night that wasn’t trees +rustling, I sat up and smoked. First night I read and nothing +happened. Next night I sat in the dark. There was no breeze and I +heard nothing for my pains. Third night I stayed in the dark again, +and about twelve o’clock a breeze came along. All mixed up with the +rustling and sighing of the leaves I heard a voice calling as plain as +I ever heard anything in my life! And it called <i>me!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Haufmann!” +</p> + +<p> +“It blame-well called <i>me!</i> I’d take my oath before a jury on it!” +</p> + +<p> +“This is almost incredible!” I said. “I wish Moris Klaw were here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is in Paris. He will be away over the week-end.” +</p> + +<p> +“I met a man curiously enough,” continued Haufmann, “just outside the +Charing Cross Tube, on my way here, who’s coming down to have a look +into the business—a hot man on mysteries.” He mentioned the name of a +celebrated American detective agency. “I’m afraid it’s right outside +his radius, but he volunteered and I was glad to have him. I’d like +Klaw down though.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about the girls?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to tell you. They’re at Brighton for a while. Greta +didn’t want to quit, but poor Lal was dead scared! Anyway, I got them +off.” +</p> + +<p> +The uncanny business claimed entire possession of my mind, and further +work was out of the question. I accordingly accompanied Haufmann to +the hotel where the detective was lodged and made the acquaintance of +Mr. J. Shorter Ottley. He was a typical New Yorker, clean-shaven and +sallow complexioned with good gray eyes and an inflexible mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t deal in ghosts!” he said, smilingly; “I never met a ghost +that couldn’t stop a bullet if it came his way!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make a confession to you,” remarked Haufmann. “When I heard that +soft voice calling, I hadn’t the sand to go and look out! How’s that +for funk?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not funk at all,” replied Ottley, quietly. “Maybe it was wisdom!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got an idea about it, that’s all. Did Miss Haufmann hear it the +same night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the same night I did—no. She seems to have dozed off.” +</p> + +<p> +“When she <i>did</i> hear it, was it calling you?” +</p> + +<p> +“She couldn’t make out what it called!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she go to the window?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but she only looked out from behind the blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“See anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have very much liked an interview with her,” said Ottley, +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“She could tell you no more than I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“About that, no! There’s something else I would like to ask her.” +</p> + +<p> +That evening we all three dined at The Grove, dinner being prepared by +a woman who departed directly we were finished. A desultory game of +billiards served to pass the time between twilight and darkness, and +the detective and I departed, leaving Haufmann alone in the house. +This was prearranged by Ottley, who had some scheme in hand. Side by +side we tramped down the poplar avenue, went out by the big gate, and +closed it behind us. We then skirted the grounds to a point on the +side opposite the gate, and, scaling the wall, found ourselves in a +wilderness of neglected kitchen garden. Through this the American +cautiously led the way toward the house, visible through the tangle of +bushes and trees in sharp silhouette against the sky. On all fours we +crossed a little yard and entered a side door which had been left ajar +for the purpose, closing it softly behind us. So, passing through the +kitchen, we made our way upstairs and rejoined Haufmann. +</p> + +<p> +A post had been allotted to me in the room next to his and I was +enjoined to sit in the dark and watch for anything moving among the +trees. Haufmann departed to a room on the west front with similar +injunctions, and the detective remained in Haufmann’s room. +</p> + +<p> +As I crept cautiously to the window, avoiding the broad moonbeam +streaming in, I saw a light on my left. Ottley was acting as Haufmann +would have done if he had been retiring for the night. Three minutes +later the light vanished, and the nervous vigil was begun. +</p> + +<p> +There was very little breeze, but sufficient to send up and down the +poplar ranks waves of that mysterious whispering which Klaw and I had +previously noted. The moon, though invisible from that point, swam in +an absolutely cloudless sky, and the shadow of the house lay black +beneath me, its edge tropically sharp. A broad belt of moon-bright +grass and gravel succeeded, and this merged into the light-patched +gloom of the avenue. On the right of the poplars lay a shrubbery, and +beyond that a garden stretching to the east wall. Just to the left, an +outbuilding gleamed whitely. Some former occupant had built it for a +coach house and it now housed Haufmann’s car. The apartments above +were at present untenanted. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot say with certainty when I first detected, mingled with the +whistling of the branches, something that was not caused by the wind. +But ultimately I found myself listening for this other sound. With my +eyes fixed straight ahead and peering into the shadows of the poplars +I crouched, every nerve at high tension. A slight sound on my left +told of a window softly opened. It was Ottley creeping out on to the +balcony. He, too, had heard it! +</p> + +<p> +Then, with awful suddenness, the inexplicable happened. +</p> + +<p> +A short, shrill cry broke the complete silence, succeeding one of +those spells of whispering. A shot followed hot upon it—then a +second. Somebody fell with a muffled thud upon the drive—and I leapt +to the window, threw it widely open, and stepped out on the balcony. +</p> + +<p> +“Ottley!” I cried. “Haufmann!” +</p> + +<p> +A door banged somewhere and I heard Haufmann’s muffled voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Downstairs! Come down!” +</p> + +<p> +I ran across the room, out on to the landing, and down into the hall. +Haufmann was unfastening the bolts. His injured arm was still stiff, +and I hastened to assist him. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” he cried, turning a pale face toward me. “It’s Ottley gone! +Did you see anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Curse it! No! I had just slipped away from the window to get my +repeater! You heard the voice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Clearly!” +</p> + +<p> +The door was thrown open and we ran out into the drive. +</p> + +<p> +There was no sign of Ottley, and we stood for a moment, undecided how +we should act. Then, just inside the shadow belt we found the +detective lying. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking him dead, we raised and dragged him back to the house. Having +refastened the door, we laid him on a sofa in the morning room. His +face was deathly and blood flowed from a terrible wound on his skull. +Strangest of all, though, he had a gaping hole just above the right +wrist. The skin about it was discoloured as if with burning. Neither +of us could detect any sign of life, and we stood, two frankly +frightened men, looking at each other over the body. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s got to be done!” said Haufmann, slowly. “One of us has to stay +here and do what he can for him, and one has to go for a doctor! +There’s no telephone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the nearest doctor?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one at the corner of the first road on the right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Without shame I confess that from the moment the door closed behind +me, I ran my hardest down the poplar avenue until I had passed the +gate! And it was not anxiety that spurred me, for I did not doubt that +Ottley was dead, but stark fear! +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +Moris Klaw deposited a large grip and a travelling rug upon the +veranda. +</p> + +<p> +“Good day, Mr. Haufmann! Good day, Mr. Searles!” At an open window the +white-aproned figure of a nurse appeared. “Good day, Nurse! I am +direct from Paris. This is a case which cannot be dealt with under the +head of the Cycle of Crime, and I do not think it has any relation +with the history of The Park. But thoughts are things, Mr. Haufmann. +How helpful that is!” +</p> + +<p> +Forty-eight hours had elapsed since Haufmann and I had picked up +Ottley for dead in the poplar avenue. Now he lay in a bed made up in +the billiard room hovering between this world and another. I had a +shrewd suspicion that the doctor who attended him was mystified by +some of the patient’s symptoms. +</p> + +<p> +Haufmann stared oddly at Moris Klaw, not altogether comprehending the +drift of his words. +</p> + +<p> +“If only Ottley could tell us!” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“He will tell us nothing for many a day,” I said; “if, indeed, he ever +speaks again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “to <i>me</i> he will speak! How? With the +mind! Something—we have yet to learn what—struck him down that +night. The blow, if it was a blow, made so acute an impression upon +his brain that no other has secured admittance yet! Good! That blow, +it still resides within his mind. To-night I shall sleep beside his +bed. I shall be unable odically to sterilize myself, but we must hope. +From amid the phantasms which that sick brain will throw out upon the +astral film—upon the surrounding ether—I must trust that I find the +thought, the last thought before delirium came!” +</p> + +<p> +Haufmann looked amazed. I had prepared him, to some extent, for Klaw’s +theories, but, nevertheless, he was tremendously surprised. Klaw, +however, paid no attention to this. He looked around at the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad,” he rumbled, impressively, “that you managed to hush up. +Distinctly, we have now a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“A chance of what?” I cried. “The thing seems susceptible of no +ordinary explanation! How can you account for what happened to Ottley +and for his condition? What incredible thing came out from the +poplars?” +</p> + +<p> +“No thing!” answered Moris Klaw. “No thing, my good friend!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what did he fire at?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the coach house!” +</p> + +<p> +I met the gaze of his peculiar eyes, fixed upon me through the +pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will look at the coach-house chimney,” he continued, “you will +see it—the hole made by his bullet!” +</p> + +<p> +I turned quickly, and even from that considerable distance the hole +was visible; a triangular break on the red-tiled rim. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth does it mean?” I asked, more hopelessly mystified than +ever. +</p> + +<p> +“It means that Ottley is a clever man who knows his business; and it +means, Mr. Searles, that we must take up this so extraordinary affair +where the poor Ottley dropped it!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you propose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I propose that you invite yourself to a few days’ holiday, as I have +done. You stay here. Do not allow even the doctor to know that you are +in the house. The nurse you will have to confide in, I suppose. Mr. +Haufmann”—he turned to the latter—“you will occupy your old room. Do +not, I beg of you, go outside after dusk upon any consideration. If +either of you shall hear it again—the evil whispering—come out by +the front door, and keep in the shadow. Carry no light. Above all, do +not come out upon the balcony!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you,” I said, “will be unable to stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be so unable,” was the reply; “for I go to Brighton to secure +the interview with Miss Greta which the poor Ottley so much required!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t suggest that she knows——” +</p> + +<p> +“She knows no more than we do, Mr. Searles! But I think she holds a +clue and does not know that she holds a clue! For an hour I shall +slumber—I who, like the tortoise, know that to sleep is to live—I +shall slumber beside the sick man’s bed. Then, we shall see!” +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +It was a quarter to seven when Moris Klaw entered the sick room. +Ottley lay in a trance-like condition, and the eccentric investigator, +of whose proceedings the nurse strongly disapproved, settled himself +in a split-cane armchair by the bedside, and waving his hand in +dismissal to Haufmann and myself, placed a large silk handkerchief +over his sparsely covered skull and composed himself for slumber. +</p> + +<p> +We left him and tiptoed from the room. +</p> + +<p> +“If you hadn’t told me what he’s done in the past,” whispered +Haufmann, “I should say our old friend was mad a lot!” +</p> + +<p> +The great empty house was eerily silent, and during the time that we +sat smoking and awaiting the end of Moris Klaw’s singular telepathic +experiment, neither of us talked very much. At eight o’clock the man +whose proceedings savoured so much of charlatanism, but whom I knew +for one of the foremost criminologists of the world, emerged, spraying +his face with verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, coming in to us, “I have recovered some +slight impression”—he tapped his moist forehead—“of that agonizing +thought which preceded the unconsciousness of Ottley. I depart. +Sometime to-night will come Sir Bartram Vane from Half-Moon Street, +the specialist, to confer with the physician who is attending here. +Mr. Searles, remain concealed. Not even he must know of your being +here; no one outside the house must know. Remember my warnings. I +depart.” +</p> + +<p> +Behind the thick pebbles his eyes gleamed with some excitement +repressed. By singular means, he would seem to have come upon a clue. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mr. Haufmann,” he said. “Good-night, Mr. Searles. To the +nurse I have said good-night and she only glared. She thinks I am the +mad old fool!” +</p> + +<p> +He departed, curtly declining company, and carrying his huge plaid rug +and heavy grip. As his slouching footsteps died away along the avenue, +Haufmann and I looked grimly at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“Seems we’re left!” said my friend. “You won’t desert me, Searles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly I shall not! You are tied here by the presence of poor +Ottley, in any event, and you can rely upon me to keep you company.” +</p> + +<p> +At about ten o’clock Sir Bartram Vane drove up, bringing with him the +local physician who was attending upon Ottley. I kept well out of +sight, but learnt, when the medical men had left, that the course of +treatment had been entirely changed. +</p> + +<p> +Thus commenced our strange ordeal; how it terminated you presently +shall learn. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw, in pursuit of whatever plan he had formed, never appeared +on the scene, but evidence of his active interest reached us in the +form of telegraphic instructions. Once it was a wire telling Haufmann +to detain the American servants in London should they arrive and to go +on living as we were. Again it was a warning not to go out on the +balcony after dusk; and, again, that we should not desert our posts +for one single evening. On the fourth day the doctor pronounced a +slight improvement in Ottley’s condition, and Haufmann determined to +run down to Brighton on the following morning, returning in the +afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +That night we again heard the voice. +</p> + +<p> +The house was very still, and Haufmann and I had retired to our rooms, +when I discerned, above the subdued rustling whisper of the leaves, +that other sound that no leaf ever made. In an instant I was crouching +by the open window. A lull followed. Then, again, I heard the soft +voice calling. I could not detect the words, but in obedience to the +instructions of Klaw, I picked up the pistol which I had brought for +the purpose, and ran to the door. The idea that the whispering menace +was something that could be successfully shot at robbed it of much of +its eerie horror, and I relished the prospect of action after the +dreary secret sojourn in the upper rooms of the house. +</p> + +<p> +I groped my way down to the hall. As we had carefully oiled the bolts, +I experienced no difficulty in silently opening the door. Inch by inch +I opened it, listening intently. +</p> + +<p> +Again I heard the queer call. +</p> + +<p> +Now, by craning my neck, I could see the moon-bright front of the +house; and looking upward, I was horrified to see Shan Haufmann, a +conspicuous figure in his light pajama suit, crouching on the balcony! +The moonlight played vividly on the nickelled barrel of the pistol he +carried as he rose slowly to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Though I did not know what danger threatened, nor from whence it would +proceed, I knew well that Klaw’s was no idle warning. I could not +imagine what madness had prompted Haufmann to neglect it, and was +about to throw wide the door and call to him, when a series of strange +things happened in bewildering succession. +</p> + +<p> +An odd <i>strumming</i> sound came from somewhere in the outer darkness. +Haufmann dropped to his knees (I learnt, afterward, that the loose +slippers he wore had tripped him). The glass of the window behind him +was shattered with a great deal of noise. +</p> + +<p> +A shot! … a spurt of flame in the black darkness of the poplar avenue! … +a shriek from somewhere on the west front… and I ran out on to the +drive. +</p> + +<p> +With a tremendous crash a bulky form rolled down the sloping roof of +the coach house, to fall with a sickening thud to the ground! +</p> + +<p> +Then, out into the moonlight, Moris Klaw came running, his yet smoking +pistol in his hand! +</p> + +<p> +“Haufmann!” he cried, and again, “Haufmann!” +</p> + +<p> +The big American peered down from the balcony, hauling in something +which seemed to be a line, but which I was unable to distinguish in +the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Good boy!” he panted. “I was a fool to do it! But I saw him lying +behind the chimney and thought I could drop him!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw ran, ungainly, across to the coach house and I followed +him. The figure of a tall, lithe man, wearing a blue serge suit, lay +face downward on the gravel. As we turned him over, Haufmann, +breathing heavily, joined us. The moonlight fell on a dark saturnine +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Gee!” came the cry. “It’s <i>Corpus Chris!</i>” +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +“Where did I get hold upon the clue?” asked Moris Klaw, when he, +Haufmann, and I sat, in the gray dawn, waiting for the police to come +and take away the body of Costa. “It was from the brain of Ottley! His +poor mind”—he waved long hands circularly in the air—“goes round and +round about the thing that happened to him on the balcony.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that?” demanded Haufmann, eagerly. “Same as happened to +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was something—something that his knowledge of strange things +tells him is venomous—which struck his wrist as he raised his +revolver! What did he do? I can tell you; because he is doing it over +and over again in his poor feverish mind. He clapped to the injured +wrist the barrel of his revolver and fired! Then, swooning, he toppled +over and fell among the bushes. The wound that so had puzzled all +becomes explained. It was self-inflicted—a precaution—a cauterizing; +and it saved his life. For I saw Sir Bartram Vane to-day and he had +spoken with the other doctor on the telephone. The new treatment +succeeds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am still in the dark!” confessed Haufmann. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “So? Why do I go to Brighton? I go to ask +Miss Greta what Ottley would have asked her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is?” +</p> + +<p> +“What she feared that made her so very anxious to get you away from +your home. To me she admitted that she had received from the man Costa +impassioned appeals, such as, foolish girl, she had been afraid to +show to you—her father!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens! the scamp!” +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>canaille!</i> But no matter, he is dead <i>canaille!</i> After you got +the brother hanged, this Corpus Chris (it was Fate that named him!) +sent to your daughter a mad letter, swearing that if she does not fly +with him, he will kill you if he has to follow you around the world! +Yes, he was insane, I fancy; I think so. But he was a man of very +great culture. He held a Cambridge degree! You did not know? I thought +not. He tracked you to Europe and right to this house. Its history he +learned in some way and used for his own ends. Probably, too, he had +no opportunity of getting at you otherwise, without leaving behind a +clue or being seen and pursued.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw picked up an Indian bow which lay upon the floor beside +him. +</p> + +<p> +“A bow of the Sioux pattern,” he rumbled, impressively. +</p> + +<p> +He stooped again, picking up a small arrow to which a length of thin +black twine was attached. +</p> + +<p> +“One standing on the balcony in the moonlight,” he continued, “what a +certain mark if the wind be not too high! And you will remember that +on gently blowing nights the whispering came!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised the point of the arrow. It was encrusted in some black, +shining substance. Moris Klaw lowered his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Curari!</i>” he said, hoarsely, “the ancient arrow poison of the South +American tribes! This small arrow would make only a tiny wound, and it +could be drawn back again by means of the twine attached. Costa, of +course, mistook Ottley for you, Mr. Haufmann. Ah, a clever fellow! I +spent three evenings up the second tree in the avenue waiting for him. +I need not have shot him if you had followed my instructions and not +come out on the balcony. We could have captured him alive!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not crying about it!” said Haufmann. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither do I weep,” rumbled Moris Klaw, and bathed his face with +perfume. “But I loathe it, this <i>curari</i>—it smells of death. Ah! the +<i>canaille!</i>” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch07"> +SEVENTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE CHORD IN G</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">It has</span> been suggested to me more than once that the extraordinary +crime which became known throughout the press as the Chelsea studio +murder was the Waterloo of my eccentric friend, Moris Klaw; to which I +reply that, on the contrary, it was his Austerlitz. This prince of +criminologists, some of whose triumphs it has been my privilege to +chronicle, never more dramatically established his theory of what he +termed “Odic negatives” than in his solution of the mystery of the +death of Pyke Webley, the portrait painter. +</p> + +<p> +His singular power, which I can only term post-telepathy, of +recovering thought-forms from the atmosphere, earned him the derision +of the ignorant, as I have shown, but the grateful appreciation of the +better informed—not least among these, Detective-Inspector Grimsby, +of New Scotland Yard. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot doubt that the recent experiments of Professor Gilbert Murray +were based upon that law of “psychic angles” laid down by the strange +genius of Wapping Old Stairs. +</p> + +<p> +During lunch, I had been reading an account of the Chelsea tragedy in +an early edition of the <i>Evening Standard</i>, and on returning to my +chambers I found Inspector Grimsby waiting for me. A preamble was +unnecessary. Simple deduction told me why he had come. +</p> + +<p> +He was in charge of the Chelsea mystery—and out of his depth. +</p> + +<p> +By several years the youngest detective inspector in the Service, +Grimsby is a man earmarked by nature for constant promotion. He +possesses a gift more precious than genius—the art of <i>using</i> genius; +allied to which he has that knack indispensable to any man who would +succeed—the knack of finding the limelight. Although he may have done +no more than stand in the wings throughout the performance, +Detective-Inspector Grimsby invariably takes the last curtain. +</p> + +<p> +This is as it should be, and I accord him my respectful admiration. +Therefore, on seeing him: +</p> + +<p> +“The murder of Pyke Webley?” I said, interrogatively. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s wonderful!” he declared, trying to look surprised. “I +shall begin to think you are Moris Klaw’s only rival if you spring +things like this on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said I, tossing my paper on the table. “The case is not so +simple as it appears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Simple!” cried Grimsby. He threw the stump of a vicious-looking +cheroot into my hearth. “Simple? It’s <i>too</i> simple. By which I mean +that there is nothing to work upon—nothing <i>I</i> can see.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood, his back to the hearth, looking at me appealingly; and: +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ’phoned to Wapping?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I could get no reply,” he answered gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do you suggest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well”—he hesitated—“I know your time is of value, Mr. Searles, but +I was wondering—I have a taxi outside—if you had time to run down to +Moris Klaw’s place with me for a chat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not go alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” He selected a fresh cheroot and made it crackle between finger +and thumb. “His daughter is the snag. She thinks I waste his time. I +doubt if she’d let me see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your own fault,” I said. “She’s a charming girl. You don’t handle her +properly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he repeated, and became silent, fumbling for matches. Finally, +taking pity upon him: +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” I agreed, “I have a couple of hours to spare, and if Klaw +takes up the case my time will not be wasted.” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +“You see,” said Grimsby, plaintively, as the cab threaded dingy +highways, “there is absolutely no motive. Pyke Webley seems to have +been a decent, clean-living man, with absolutely no vices as far as I +can gather. Of course, I have tried to find a woman in the case, but +the only women I’ve found are heartbroken about his death. A most +popular chap. Revenge is out of the question; robbery is out of the +question; and I’d take my oath that jealousy is out of the question. +So what am I to make of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was strangled?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Grimsby nodded. “By a very powerful man. His face is horrible +to see, and there are blue weals on his neck where the strangler’s +fingers bit into the flesh.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who saw him last, alive?” +</p> + +<p> +“The door-keeper of the Ham Bone Club,” came the answer, promptly. “He +dined there, stayed an hour talking to friends and then went out, +saying that he had work to do at his studio. The studio is separated +from the house by a small garden and can be entered direct from a side +entrance. There are only two servants—he was a bachelor—a cook +general and a man who has been with him for years. Neither of them +heard him come into the house, so that we presume he went straight +into the studio. Early this morning a charwoman, who comes daily, +finding the studio door locked (I mean the one that opens on the +garden) reported this to Parker (that’s the man’s name) and he came +down with the key.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” I interrupted, “Parker must surely have known before this that +his master was not in the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Grimsby shook his head emphatically. “Mr. Webley often worked +late and Parker had orders never to disturb him until his bell rang.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said I. “So they unlocked the studio——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Grimsby went on, “and found him there—lying strangled on the +floor.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long had he been dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the police surgeon says several hours. Everything points to the +fact that it happened shortly after he entered the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Someone may have been concealed there,” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“God knows!” Grimsby muttered. “I can’t find a thing to work upon. And +in a case like this the first twelve hours are important. But here we +are,” he added, nervously. +</p> + +<p> +At the head of that blind alley which shelters the +all-but-indescribable establishment of Moris Klaw, we directed the +taxi man to wait. This was a foggy afternoon and only dimly could we +discern the lights in front of the shop. A chill in the atmosphere +told of the nearness of old Father Thames, and as we approached that +stacked-up lumber which represented the visible stock-in-trade of the +proprietor, a singular piece of human flotsam was revealed propped +against the door-post, a fragment of cigarette adhering to the corner +of his mouth and threatening at any moment to ignite the stained and +walrus-like moustache which distinguished William, Moris Klaw’s +salesman. +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon,” I said; “will you tell Mr. Moris Klaw that I have +called?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, sir,” wheezed the inebriate. “Great pleasure, sir, I’m +sure, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +William paused, turned, and looked back. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mind a-waitin’ outside?” he added. “There’s a boy with red +’air ’angin’ about somewhere as ’as got ’is eye on this ’ere golf +club”—indicating a dilapidated niblick. “If we all goes in ’e’ll nip +orf with it.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly we lingered, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” screeched the +parrot who mounted guard within. +</p> + +<p> +Presently came Klaw’s unmistakable deep, rumbling voice from the +interior gloom: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Good afternoon, Mr. Searles! Is it Detective-Inspector Grimsby +you have with you? Good afternoon, Mr. Grimsby.” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced through the odorous shadows, a strange, a striking figure +and— +</p> + +<p> +“Behold!” he said, “<i>I</i> have my hat and <i>you</i> have your cab. It is to +Chelsea you take me? Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +From the lining of the flat-topped hat he took out his cylindrical +scent spray and played its contents upon his high, bald crown. +</p> + +<p> +“Verbena,” he rumbled. “My guinea-pigs, they detest it, but I find it +so refreshing.” He replaced the spray in the hat, the hat on his +crown. “I have recently bought a fine pair of armadillos,” he +explained, “and they have an odour peculiar which, to me, is +objectionable.” +</p> + +<p> +He regarded William, who was glancing suspiciously up and down the +narrow alley. +</p> + +<p> +“William,” he admonished, “cease to dwell upon the youth with red +hair. He becomes with you an obsession. Give the sheldrake some fresh +seaweed, and if the hedgehogs continue to refuse apples, they may have +each a small piece of raw steak.” +</p> + +<p> +He approached the waiting taxi cab, and on the step he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles, I shall buy no more hedgehogs. They are not only +delicate in captivity but one was in my bed last night.” +</p> + +<p> +We all entered the cab; and: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” Moris Klaw continued, “tell me all about this poor +fellow who is murdered. I am expecting you. I see it is not simple. I +say, ‘The old fool from Wapping is wanted here.’ ” +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +“You are squeamish, Mr. Searles,” said Moris Klaw, wagging a long +finger at me. “You squeam. You are not yet recovered from the blue +face of the murdered. Ah, well! it is horrible.” +</p> + +<p> +The body had been removed and we had been to view it. Now we stood in +the studio where the crime had taken place, and although some time had +elapsed since we had left the mortuary, I confess that I was not +entirely myself. Dusk was come and we had turned up the studio lights. +A faint mist hung in the place, for the fog had grown denser. +</p> + +<p> +I looked about me at half-completed pictures: groups; studies for +magazine jackets; portraits of children and of women—and the ghastly +face seemed to rise up before me, the distorted face of the man whose +hand would never touch again the brushes of his craft. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t the first time I’ve seen a strangling case,” said Grimsby, +“but it’s the first time I’ve seen marks like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! really!” Moris Klaw rumbled, turning to him. “Never before, eh, +like that? You interest me, my friend; you begin to notice. Your +intellect it expands like a sunflower in the sun. What is it that you +see different in those marks?” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby stared hard, painfully uncertain whether to regard the words +as a compliment or a joke, but finally: +</p> + +<p> +“The pressure was greater,” he replied. “The murderer must have had +amazing strength.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes!” Moris Klaw removed his hat and stared reflectively into the +crown thereof. “Amazing strength? And the surgeon, what does he +think?” +</p> + +<p> +“He thinks the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! but no more, eh? Amazing strength only?” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby figuratively pricked up his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite follow you, Mr. Klaw,” he said. “Did you notice +something else?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw placed his hat upon a little table. +</p> + +<p> +“I did take notice of some other thing, Mr. Grimsby,” he replied, “and +for a moment I had dreams that you synchronize with me. It is a +complimentary mistake which I make. Please forgive me. This +ashtray”—he took up an ashtray from the table beside his hat—“is of +great interest. You are agreeable, Mr. Searles”—turning to me—“that +it is of great interest?” +</p> + +<p> +I stared rather helplessly. It was a common brass ashtray containing +match sticks and cigarette ends. I could see nothing unusual about it, +and so presently I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw inserted two long yellow fingers gingerly and plucked out a +cigarette stump. He replaced the tray and held up the stump. +</p> + +<p> +“Behold!” he said, “what I find!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby now was frankly amazed and not a little angry. As for myself, +familiar though I was with Klaw’s peculiar methods, I could not divine +at what he was driving. +</p> + +<p> +“My friends,” he continued, looking from one to the other of us, and +holding up the cigarette stump as a lecturer holds up a specimen, “the +cigarette, a vice which has killed many men. I have known a woman to +hang because of a hairpin, but men and women, too, many of them, +because of a cigarette.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened a bulging pocket-case and tenderly deposited the stump +inside. As he was about to close the case: +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, Mr. Klaw!” said Grimsby. “If that is evidence—though I +can’t for the life of me see how it can be…” +</p> + +<p> +“But <i>I</i> see!” cried Moris Klaw—“I, the old foolish from Wapping, +behold in this the hangman’s rope!” +</p> + +<p> +He closed the case. +</p> + +<p> +“But——” Grimsby began again. +</p> + +<p> +“But me no buts!” Moris Klaw implored. “In <i>my</i> hands it is the +evidence, in <i>your</i> hands it is the cigarette stump. But listen!” A +bell rang. “It is Isis. I had arranged with her to meet me here. +Perhaps, Mr. Grimsby, you would be so good as to open the door?” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby obeying with alacrity, the beautiful Isis presently entered, +exquisitely gowned. She gave me smiling greeting, this lovely daughter +of a singular father, and whilst Grimsby deferentially held the door +wide open, managed to introduce into the studio, without brushing it +against the sides of the door, a large brown paper bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” Moris Klaw exclaimed, “it is my odically sterilized cushion. +Place it here, my child.” He indicated a spot upon the floor. “My +other engagements do not allow of my sleeping here for more than two +hours, but, in that time, I shall hope to recapture the etheric storm +in the mind of the slayer or the last great emotion in the brain of +the slain. Something, certainly, I shall get, for this was no common +crime.” +</p> + +<p> +From its paper wrappings Isis Klaw took a red silk cushion and placed +it upon the spot where the dead man had been found. +</p> + +<p> +I turned aside, shuddering. That any human being, having seen what we +had seen that day, could lie down and, above all, could sleep upon +that haunted spot, was almost more than I could believe. Yet such was +Moris Klaw’s intention, and that he would carry it out I did not +doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“Isis, my child,” he said, “awake me in two hours.” +</p> + +<p> +Removing his caped coat and revealing the shabby tweed suit which he +wore beneath it, he spread the garment on the carpet, stretched his +gaunt shape upon it, and rested his head on the red cushion. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said in his queer, rumbling tones, “leave me to my +slumber. When I awake, I perhaps shall know something more about the +man who smoked”—he tapped long fingers upon his breast pocket—“this +cigarette.” +</p> + +<p> +We went out of the studio through the door leading to the garden. Isis +was last to leave and I heard her father’s voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Isis, my child, be pleased to extinguish the lights.” +</p> + +<p> +So, leaving the eccentric investigator to his dark and ghastly vigil, +we went up to the house; and, taking pity upon Grimsby, whose anxiety +to talk to Isis was almost pathetic, I sought out Parker, the dead +artist’s manservant, and endeavoured to obtain from him some useful +information. In this, however, I was wholly unsuccessful. +</p> + +<p> +“He hadn’t an enemy in the world, sir,” the man declared emotionally. +“He was the best employer I’ve ever had or am ever likely to have. I +don’t deny that he had his little affairs, sir, but there was nothing +that left a nasty taste behind. Believe me, there was no woman in it, +like the Scotland Yard men tried to make out.” +</p> + +<p> +And indeed, the more I considered the facts of the case, the more +inexplicable these became. +</p> + +<p> +For instance, there were no signs of a struggle. If one had taken +place the murderer had removed all traces of it before leaving. Upon +the fingerprint evidence which Scotland Yard hoped to obtain, I based +little hope of result. But the astute perceptions of Moris Klaw had +undoubtedly enabled him to pick up a clue where no one else had found +one; and strange though his behaviour appeared to be, I had good +reason to know that his subconscious mind, termed by him “the astral +negative,” rarely failed to obtain some record under conditions such +as those which, he maintained, prevail upon the scene of a crime of +violence. +</p> + +<p> +When at the appointed time we returned to the studio, we found it to +be brightly lighted, and entering, discovered Moris Klaw engaged in +squirting verbena upon his high, bald forehead. He stooped and picked +up the caped coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my friends,” he said, “there are many laws governing the +functions of mind which have yet to be classified. I think so; yes. +Why is it that some emotions register”—he waved his long hands in the +air—“indelibly; others, impermanently, and some, not at all? I ask +myself the question, and no one replies. We are, then, ignorant, and +stupid. To-night”—he lowered his voice—“I do murder with my bare +hands! Yes! I am the assassin! My motive——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes!” cried Grimsby, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” Moris Klaw frowned at him. “My motive beats in my brain, my +second brain, my subconscious brain. Myself I do not see, nor my +victim; but I hear, I <i>hear</i>. I hear a <i>sound!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“A sound,” Isis whispered. “Do you mean a horrible sound—his death +cry?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” her father assured her. “I hear a <i>beautiful</i> sound.” +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +Time passed and no arrest was made. Other matters engaged public +attention, and the Chelsea studio murder gradually dropped out of +sight, occupying less and less space in the press and presently +disappearing altogether. +</p> + +<p> +Between Inspector Grimsby and Moris Klaw a definite breach occurred. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s either bluffing or else hiding something,” the Inspector +declared to me. “Why did he keep that cigarette? What the devil was +the sound he heard, or thought he heard, or pretended he heard? All I +know is that I’ve made a fool of myself. There’s not a ghost of a +clue.” +</p> + +<p> +I was not without sympathy for Grimsby. He had grown so used to +finding his difficulties resolved by the genius of Wapping Old Stairs, +that beyond doubt in the Chelsea case he had promised more than he had +been able to perform, optimistically trusting Klaw to provide light in +the darkness; and the great man had proved to be fallible. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dreadful blow to Detective-Inspector Grimsby, and, I must +confess, a surprise to me. Although I had no definite evidence, I +nevertheless had certain reasons to suppose that Moris Klaw was not +entirely inactive during this time. Twice I met him, accompanied by +the dazzling Isis, in the neighbourhood of Queen’s Hall, and on the +second occasion as he entered a car which was waiting for him: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles,” he said, “tell him, that Detective Inspector, that all +work and no play makes of Jean a dull fellow. Recommend to him music. +Tell him he should sometimes steal an afternoon and at a concert relax +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +I reported the conversation to Grimsby in due course and had never +seen him more angry. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s pulling my leg!” he said. “It’ll be a long time before I ask him +to help me again. Concerts! What time have <i>I</i> got for concerts?” +</p> + +<p> +Such, then, was the state of affairs at the time that Len Hassett, a +black-and-white artist of my acquaintance whose work was beginning to +attract attention, leased the house and studio of ill-fame where poor +Pyke Webley had met his death. +</p> + +<p> +Hassett was ultra-modern and very morbid, but although he professed to +have taken the place because its murderous atmosphere appealed to him, +I had more than a suspicion that the low rental, consequent upon its +evil reputation, had done much more to influence his decision. +However, in due course I received an invitation to the house-warming, +and on the same day a telephone message from Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Searles,” came his rumbling greeting over the +wires; “it is very wet again. This appalling English climate becomes +disastrous. I have lost in one week two marmosets and a Peruvian +squirrel. They see the fog and rain, they sneeze, they cough, they +die. I have to make to you a request, Mr. Searles: it is that you +secure for myself and Isis the invitation to Mr. Len Hassett’s party +at his new studio.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, Mr. Klaw,” I replied, trying to keep a note of surprise +from my voice; “Hassett and I are old friends. I have only to mention +your name and you will be heartily welcomed.” +</p> + +<p> +That Isis would be welcome I did not doubt, but, mentally picturing +the eccentric figure of Moris Klaw at such a gathering, I could not +deny that it seemed out of place. However, I doubted not that some +purpose deeper than amusement underlay the request, and the matter was +arranged accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw called for me in a Daimler, wherein, queenly, Isis reclined +in an ermine cloak. I think I had never before become so fully +conscious of the mystery enshrouding the life of this oddly assorted +pair as I did during that drive to Chelsea. +</p> + +<p> +Who, I asked myself, was Moris Klaw, the inscrutable genius who so +gladly offered his services to the guardians of law and order?—who +dealt in beasts and birds and reptiles, old furniture and fusty +books?—who lived in one of the most unsavoury quarters of +London?—whose daughter was an unchallenged beauty, possessed of +clothes and jewels which never were purchased out of the profits of +the Wapping business? My reflections, however, availed me nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Arrived at Chelsea, we met our host in the lounge hall of the house, +and, introductions being over and the beauty of Isis having annoyed +every other pretty woman in the place, I presently found myself +escorting Morris Klaw’s daughter through the garden to the studio, +whither some of the party had preceded us. We paused for a moment and +looked in at the window. +</p> + +<p> +A group of a dozen people or so gathered around the piano at the +farther end of the place; but, nearer to us, seated in a high armchair +before the blazing fire and caressing a black cat which rested upon +his knee, was a strange-looking, gaunt-faced man. Upon his harsh +features the dancing firelight painted odd shadows, so that at one +moment it was a smiling, benevolent face, and, in the next, the face +of a devil. +</p> + +<p> +It was a mere illusion, of course, but when I turned again to Isis and +we proceeded toward the door, I saw her biting her lip in sudden +agitation, and: +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she replied—“but what a queer-looking man that was sitting +before the fire.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently we met him, however, as well as the black cat (which proved +to belong to Len Hassett). He was Serg Skobolov, a Russian pianist +whose reputation was growing by leaps and bounds. Upon Isis his +curious small eyes rested greedily; and that she was repelled, the +girl was unable to disguise. In due course, when the merriment was in +full swing, there were songs, and a certain amount of dancing took +place; and then melting at the right moment to the entreaties of +Hassett, Skobolov agreed to play. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” said a lady journalist who was sitting on the floor near +me, “Skobolov has composed numerous works but not one of them is +published.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” came a hoarse whisper. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Moris +Klaw standing in the shadow behind us. “How strange! Does he refuse +then to publish his compositions?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely,” the lady declared earnestly. “He maintains that no one +else could play them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that so?” wheezed Moris Klaw. “Perhaps he is right. Presently we +shall hear and judge for ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +He became silent, as the pianist, seating himself, began to speak: +</p> + +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his broken English, “you know that +the friend of us all, our good Hassett, takes this studio because it +is haunted. Here, murder is done, yes, and so I shall play to you a +prelude newly composed in which—it is appropriate—I try to express +in music the lust of slaying.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused amid an uncomfortable silence, and then: +</p> + +<p> +“Some of you must know,” he resumed, “that all my compositions are +emotions, attempts to paint in chords things experienced. Some +experiences one cannot have and so can never paint—for atmosphere, +atmosphere, is everything! Now I shall paint for you the story of this +studio.” +</p> + +<p> +With that, he began to play; and although I had never heard him +before, I realized from the outset that he was a master of his +instrument. Indeed, I thought, a genius. His theme and its treatment +alike were unusual, grotesque. There was some quality in the man’s +technique which I found myself unable to define. He possessed uncanny +power. When, at last, the prelude ended, it was greeted by a silence +more eloquent than any applause. +</p> + +<p> +It was only momentary, of course. Then came a wild outburst of +enthusiasm. Yet it had been long enough, that moment of stillness, for +me to hear the squirting of Moris Klaw’s scent spray immediately +behind me. And when at last the clapping and shouting died down: +</p> + +<p> +“That prelude,” came his voice, almost in my ear, “it has a bad smell. +Soon, Isis my child, we must go. It grows late. But perhaps Mr. +Hassett will permit me to telephone to my chauffeur, as I allow him to +go away? It is all right? Very well. How wonderful is that prelude.” +</p> + +<h4> +V +</h4> + +<p> +Skobolov’s attentions to Isis Klaw became very marked. Presently, +following some whispered words from her father, I noticed with +surprise that she had ceased to avoid the Russian pianist, indeed was +consenting to smile upon him. Hence, when presently Moris Klaw’s car +arrived, I was prepared for Skobolov’s acceptance of an offer of a +lift as far as his hotel. +</p> + +<p> +For my own part I confess quite frankly that I disliked the man. I had +disliked him on sight, and nearer acquaintance did nothing to dispel +that first impression. That Isis disliked him, also, I could not +doubt. Therefore I divined that she was playing a part, although its +purpose defeated my imagination. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the drive from Chelsea to the hotel Moris Klaw discussed +music, a subject with which I had not hitherto believed him to be +acquainted. Perhaps his intention was to exhibit Skobolov’s intense +egotism, for indeed the man was a monument to his own colossal vanity. +His genius I could not dispute, but his personality was detestable. +</p> + +<p> +I had foreseen that he would try to detain the party at his hotel, or, +rather, that he would try to detain Isis. (I had no doubt whatever +that he would gladly have excused both Moris Klaw and myself.) But I +had not been prepared for Klaw’s acceptance of the offer. However, as +we descended from the car and I hesitated whether to accept Skobolov’s +grudging inclusion of myself in the party, or to walk home, I detected +an unmistakable expression in Moris Klaw’s queer eyes, twinkling +behind the pebbles of his pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the fact came home to me that I was a minor actor in some +mysterious comedy directed by the genius of Wapping Old Stairs. +</p> + +<p> +The Russian occupied a luxurious suite, and Moris Klaw, with +reluctance which I could see to be feigned, agreed at Skobolov’s +pressing invitation to drink one glass of wine and then to depart for +home. +</p> + +<p> +Skobolov did his best to make himself agreeable, proffering cigars and +cigarettes, and opening a bottle of Bollinger. Moris Klaw and I +declined to smoke, but Isis accepted a cigarette and lay back in a +deep lounge chair blowing smoke rings and watching the vainglorious +Russian musician through half-lowered lashes. +</p> + +<p> +There was a grand piano in the room, and Moris Klaw, who had not +touched his wine, prevailed upon Skobolov to play for us once more the +prelude which we had heard at Hassett’s studio. +</p> + +<p> +The pianist shrugged, glanced at Isis, and then seated himself at the +instrument. Placing his cigarette in a little ashtray, he laid his +fingers caressingly on the keyboard, and once more my soul was +harrowed by those indescribable strains. +</p> + +<p> +As the sound of the last chord died away: +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Moris Klaw, “excellent, most excellent. And now, +please”—he stood up—“I am an old nuisance, an absent old foolish. Do +you object that I telephone to my chauffeur? I just remember that Isis +leaves her ermine cloak in the car. Is it not so, my child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens, yes!” Isis exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed the room to the telephone, circling ungainly around the +piano, raised the instrument, and: +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be pleased to ask Mr. Moris Klaw’s chauffeur to bring in +from the car the cloak,” he said, distinctly. “Yes, all right, very +well.” He hung up the receiver and turned to face us again, shrugging +his shoulders. “So greatly tempting,” he explained, “to some prowler +thief.” +</p> + +<p> +I now became aware that Isis had suddenly grown very pale. She had +stood up and was watching Skobolov intently. He seemed rather to be +enjoying the scrutiny of her fine dark eyes—when there came a +peremptory rap upon the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in!” said the Russian sharply. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened—and Detective-Inspector Grimsby stood on the +threshold! +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw nodded in Skobolov’s direction, and, literally stupefied +with astonishment, I heard Grimsby say: +</p> + +<p> +“Serg Skobolov, I arrest you on a charge of having murdered Mr. Pyke +Webley at his studio on the night of November the fourteenth. I must +warn you——” But he got no further. +</p> + +<p> +Uttering a sound which I can only describe as the roar of a wild +beast, Skobolov leapt upon him, clasped his hands about the speaker’s +throat, and hurled him to the floor! +</p> + +<p> +To Moris Klaw, Grimsby owed his life. The Russian was kneeling on the +detective’s chest and literally squeezing life out of him, when Klaw, +surprisingly agile, sprang forward. He stooped over the would-be +murderer and performed some simple operation which threw Skobolov upon +his back. +</p> + +<p> +In two seconds the madman was up again; and, even now, I sometimes see +in my dreams that devil face, transfigured by such evil as I could not +have supposed to reside in any human being. He opened and closed his +hands in a horrible, writhing, suggestive movement, looked at Grimsby +who was trying slowly, painfully to struggle to his feet, looked at +Isis, looked at Moris Klaw, looked at myself. Then, bursting into +peals of laughter, he ran to the French windows, threw one open, +sprang on to the parapet outside, and uttering one final frenzied +shriek, leapt into the courtyard sixty feet below! +</p> + +<h4> +VI +</h4> + +<p> +“Everyone will say,” Moris Klaw declared, “ ‘he was a failure, that old +fool from Wapping’—for how can a dead man confess, and what use for +the newspapers to tell the public why this poor Russian leaps from his +window?” He shrugged his shoulders, looking around my study. “You say +to me,” he continued, addressing Grimsby: ‘What is the sound you hear +when you sleep in the studio?’ and I do not tell you because you would +not understand. But now I shall tell you. I hear, my friend, a chord +in G Minor! +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you wag your head. I knew you would wag your head! But beware +that your brains do not rattle. This is what I hear, and this is the +thing in the mind of the murderer at the moment that he does the +murder—a chord in G Minor, Mr. Grimsby! I, the old fool, have the +music sense, and this chord it intrigues me. Why? because it is not +playable—yet it is a chord upon a piano.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not playable!” Grimsby exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not playable, my friend, except by a man having enormous hands! And +also, my good Grimsby, the poor Webley could not have been strangled +as he was except by one having enormous hands. +</p> + +<p> +“This is what I first perceive when I see his body, and what for one +absurd moment I dream that you have perceived also. I, myself, have +large hands, but although I try I cannot span within inches of the +marks made upon his throat by the monster who kills him. And so, when +I hear this chord, and I question and I try and I find that it cannot +be played by any normal hand, I say, ‘Yes! it is a musician with +abnormal hands!’ And I look for him and I listen for him. And to him I +have one other clue—a <i>hashish</i> cigarette.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>What</i> kind of cigarette?” Grimsby muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“I said <i>hashish</i>, my friend—a cigarette containing the drug Indian +hemp; a kind of cigarette very rarely met in England. In that ashtray, +among a dozen others, I detect it immediately. Is it not strange”—he +turned to me—“how the murderer is drawn to the place of the murder? +It is why, when I hear of the house-warming, I plan to go. Perhaps it +is accident—perhaps something else. +</p> + +<p> +“He was a mad genius, that Skobolov. He tries to know supreme emotion +that he may write supreme music. Perhaps he succeeds. Who can say? But +his compositions cannot live—for no other man can play them, on the +piano at any rate. Where did he meet the poor Webley? Who can say? +Perhaps they were acquainted, perhaps they met in the street. Webley +was Bohemian. He invites Skobolov into the lonely studio. Good! There +could be no evidence. It was his opportunity—to know the emotion of +<i>murder</i> and to get safe away! +</p> + +<p> +“To-night I hear it again—the dream chord: I see his great hands. But +he smokes no cigarette in the studio, not until he has returned to his +own rooms. For this I waited, this last piece of evidence. Behold!” +</p> + +<p> +From his pocket-case he took out <i>two</i> cigarette stumps. +</p> + +<p> +“To-night, in the studio, at last I hear again my dream chord—the +chord in G, in G Minor; yet when I telephone to you, my good Grimsby, +you think I am the old fool. I say, ‘Hurry to Chelsea. I await.’ You +obey, but you reluct. I say, ‘When at the place we go I send a +message, “the cloak is in the car.” Enter.’ You enter and you permit +the strangler to escape the law.” +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged, stooped to where his brown bowler rested upon the floor +beside him, took out the scent spray and squirted verbena upon his +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“I have the hot brain,” he explained; “it is the activity. But yours, +my friend”—turning to Grimsby—“is as cool as a lemon.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch08"> +EIGHTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE HEADLESS MUMMIES</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">The</span> mysteries which my eccentric friend, Moris Klaw, was most +successful in handling undoubtedly were those which had their origin +in kinks of the human brain or in the mysterious history of some relic +of ancient times. +</p> + +<p> +I have seen his theory of the Cycle of Crime proved triumphantly time +and time again; I have known him successfully to demonstrate how the +history of a valuable gem or curio automatically repeats itself, +subject, it would seem, to that obscure law of chance into which he +had made particular inquiry. Then his peculiar power—assiduously +cultivated by a course of obscure study—of recovering from the +atmosphere, the ether, call it what you will, the thought-forms—the +ideas thrown out by the scheming mind of the criminal he sought +for—enabled him to succeed where any ordinary investigator must +inevitably have failed. +</p> + +<p> +“They destroy,” he would say in his odd, rumbling voice, “the clumsy +tools of their crime; they hide away the knife, the bludgeon; they sop +up the blood, they throw it, the jemmy, the dead man, the suffocated +poor infant, into the ditch, the pool—and they leave intact the odic +negative, the photograph of their sin, the thought thing in the air!” +He would tap his high yellow brow significantly. “Here upon this +sensitive plate I reproduce it, the hanging evidence! The headless +child is buried in the garden, but the thought of the beheader is left +to lie about. I pick it up. Poof! he swings—that child-slayer! I +triumph. He is a dead man. What an art is the art of the odic +photograph.” +</p> + +<p> +But I propose to relate here an instance of Moris Klaw’s amazing +knowledge in matters of archæology—of the history of relics. In his +singular emporium at Wapping, where dwelt the white rats, the singing +canary, the cursing parrot, and the other stock-in-trade of this +supposed dealer in oddities, was furthermore a library probably +unique. It contained obscure works on criminology; it contained +catalogues of every relic known to European collectors with elaborate +histories of the same. What else it contained I am unable to say, for +the dazzling Isis Klaw was a jealous librarian. +</p> + +<p> +You who have followed these records will have made the acquaintance of +Coram, the curator of the Menzies Museum; and it was through Coram +that I first came to hear of the inexplicable beheading of mummies, +which, commencing with that of Mr. Pettigrew’s valuable mummy of the +priestess Hor-ankhu, developed into a perfect epidemic. No more +useless outrage could well be imagined than the decapitation of an +ancient Egyptian corpse; and if I was surprised when I heard of the +first case, my surprise became stark amazement when yet other mummies +began mysteriously to lose their heads. But I will deal with the first +instance, now, as it was brought under my notice by Coram. +</p> + +<p> +He rang me up early one morning. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Searles,” he said; “a very odd thing has happened. You’ve +heard me speak of Pettigrew the collector; he lives out Wandsworth +way; he’s one of our trustees. Well, some demented burglar broke into +his house last night, took nothing, but cut off the head of a valuable +mummy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens!” I cried. “What an original idea!” +</p> + +<p> +“Highly so,” agreed Coram. “The police are hopelessly mystified, and +as I know you are keen on this class of copy I thought you might like +to run down and have a chat with Pettigrew. Shall I tell him you are +coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” I said, and made an arrangement forthwith. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, about eleven o’clock, I presented myself at a gloomy +Georgian house standing well back from the high road and screened by +an unkempt shrubbery. Mr. Mark Pettigrew, a familiar figure at Sotheby +auctions, was a little shrivelled man, clean-shaven, and with the +complexion of a dried apricot. His big spectacles seemed to occupy a +great proportion of his face, but his eyes twinkled merrily and his +humour was as dry as his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you, Mr. Searles,” he said. “You’ve had some experience +of the <i>outré</i>, I believe, and where two constables, an imposing +inspector, and a plain-clothes gentleman who looked like a horse have +merely upset my domestic arrangements, you may be able to make some +intelligent suggestion.” +</p> + +<p> +He conducted me to a large gloomy room in which relics, principally +Egyptian, were arranged and ticketed with museum-like precision. +Before a wooden sarcophagus containing the swathed figure of a mummy +he stopped, pointing. He looked as though he had come out of a +sarcophagus himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Hor-ankhu,” he said, “a priestess of Sekhet; a very fine specimen, +Mr. Searles. I was present when it was found. See—here is her head!” +</p> + +<p> +Stooping, he picked up the head of the mummy. Very cleanly and +scientifically it had been unwrapped and severed from the trunk. It +smelt strongly of bitumen, and the shrivelled features reminded me of +nothing so much as of Mr. Mark Pettigrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear of a more senseless thing?” he asked. “Come over +and look at the window where he got in.” +</p> + +<p> +We crossed the dark apartment, and the collector drew my attention to +a round hole which had been drilled in the glass of one of the French +windows opening on a kind of miniature prairie which once had been a +lawn. +</p> + +<p> +“I am having shutters fitted,” he went on. “It is so easy to cut a +hole in the glass and open the catch of these windows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very easy,” I agreed. “Was any one disturbed?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one,” he replied, excitedly; “that’s the insane part of the thing. +The burglar, with all the night before him and with cases containing +portable and really priceless objects about him, contented himself +with decapitating the priestess. What on earth did he want her head +for? Whatever he wanted it for, why the devil didn’t he <i>take</i> it?” +</p> + +<p> +We stared at each other blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear,” said Pettigrew, “I have been guilty of injustice to my +horsey visitor, the centaur. You look as stupid as the worst of us!” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel stupid,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You are!” Pettigrew assured me with cheerful impertinence. “So am I, +so are the police; but the biggest fool of the lot is the fool who +came here last night and cut off the head of my mummy.” +</p> + +<p> +That, then, is all which I have occasion to relate regarding the first +of these mysterious outrages. I was quite unable to propound any +theory covering the facts, to Pettigrew’s evident annoyance; he +assured me that I was very stupid, and insisted upon opening a magnum +of champagne. I then returned to my rooms, and since reflection upon +the subject promised to be unprofitable, had dismissed it from my +mind, when some time during the evening Inspector Grimsby rang me up +from the Yard. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Mr. Searles,” he said; “I hear you called on Mr. Pettigrew +this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +I replied in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Did anything strike you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; were you on the case?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t on the case then, but I’m on it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s been another mummy beheaded in Sotheby’s auction +rooms!” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +I knew quite well what was expected of me. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you speaking from?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The auction rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will meet you there in an hour,” I said, “and bring Moris Klaw if I +can find him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” replied Grimsby, with much satisfaction in his voice; “this +case ought to be right in his line.” +</p> + +<p> +I chartered a taxi and proceeded without delay to the insalubrious +neighbourhood of Wapping Old Stairs. At the head of the blind alley +which harbours the Klaw emporium I directed the man to wait. The gloom +was very feebly dispelled by a wavering gaslight in the shed-like +front of the shop. River noises were about me. Somewhere a drunken man +was singing. An old lady who looked like a pantomime dame was +critically examining a mahogany chair with only half a back, which +formed one of the exhibits displayed before the establishment. +</p> + +<p> +A dilapidated person whose nose chronically blushed for the excesses +of its owner hovered about the prospective purchaser. This was +William, whose exact position in the Klaw establishment I had never +learned, but who apparently acted during his intervals of sobriety as +a salesman. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening,” I said. “Is Mr. Moris Klaw at home?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is, sir,” husked the derelict; “but he’s very busy, sir, I +believe, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him Mr. Searles has called.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said William; and, turning to the dame: “Was you thinking +of buyin’ that chair, mum, after you’ve quite done muckin’ it about?” +</p> + +<p> +He retired into the cavernous depths of the shop, and I followed him +as far as the dimly seen counter. +</p> + +<p> +“Moris Klaw, Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus the invisible parrot hailed my entrance. Indescribable smells, +zoo-like, with the fusty odour of old books and the unclassifiable +perfume of half-rotten furniture, assailed my nostrils; and mingling +with it was the distinct scent of reptile life. Scufflings and +scratchings sounded continuously about me, punctuated with squeals. +Then came the rumbling voice of Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Searles—good evening, Mr. Searles! It is the Pettigrew +mummy, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced through the shadows, his massive figure arrayed for +travelling, in the caped coat, his toneless beard untidy as ever, his +pince-nez glittering, his high bald brow yellow as that of a Chinaman. +</p> + +<p> +“There has been a second outrage,” I said, “at Sotheby’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“So?” said Moris Klaw, with interest; “another mummy is executed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Inspector Grimsby has asked us to join him there.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw stooped and from beneath the counter took out his +flat-topped brown bowler. From its lining he extracted a cylindrical +scent spray and mingled with the less pleasing perfumes that of +verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“A cooling Roman custom, Mr. Searles,” he rumbled, “so refreshing when +one lives with rats. So it is Mr. Grimsby who is puzzled again? It is +Mr. Grimsby who needs the poor old fool to hold the lantern for him, +so that he, the clever Grimsby, can pick up the credit out of the +darkness! And why not, Mr. Searles, and why not? It is his business; +it is my pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his voice. “Isis! Isis!” +</p> + +<p> +Out into the light of the fluttering gas lamp, out from that nightmare +abode, stepped Isis Klaw—looking more grotesque than a French fashion +plate in an ironmonger’s catalogue. She wore a costume of +lettuce-green silk, absolutely plain and unrelieved by any ornament, +which rendered it the more remarkable. It was cut low at the neck, and +at the point of the V, suspended upon a thin gold chain, hung a big +emerald. Her darkly beautiful face was one to inspire a painter +seeking a model for the Queen of Sheba, but an ultra-modern note was +struck by a hat of some black, gauzy material which loudly proclaimed +its Paris origin. She greeted me with her wonderful smile. +</p> + +<p> +“What, then,” I said. “Were you about to go out?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I hear who it is,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “I know that we are about +to go out; and behold we are ready!” +</p> + +<p> +He placed the quaint bowler on his head and passed through to the +front of the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“William,” he admonished the ripe-nosed salesman, “there is here a +smell of fourpenny ale. It will be your ruin, William. You will close +at half-past nine, and be sure you do not let the cat in the cupboard +with the white mice. See that the goat does not get at the Dutch +bulbs. They will kill him, that goat—those bulbs; he has for them a +passion.” +</p> + +<p> +The three of us entered the waiting cab; and within half an hour we +arrived at the famous auction rooms. The doors were closed and barred, +but a constable who was on duty there evidently had orders to admit +us. +</p> + +<p> +The thing we had come to see lay upon the table with an electric lamp +burning directly over it. The effect was indescribably weird. All +about in the shadows fantastic “lots” seemed to leer at us. A famous +private collection was to be sold in the morning and a rank of mummies +lined one wall, whilst, from another, stony Pharaohs, gods and +goddesses scorned us through the gloom. We were a living group in a +place of long-dead things. And yellow on the table beneath the white +light, with partially unwrapped coils of discoloured linen hanging +gruesomely from it, lay a headless mummy! +</p> + +<p> +I heard the spurt of Moris Klaw’s scent spray behind me, and a faint +breath of verbena stole to my nostrils. +</p> + +<p> +“Pah!” came the rumbling voice; “this air is full of deadness!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby, appearing from somewhere out +of the gloom. “I am so glad you have come.” He bowed to Isis. “How do +you do, Miss Klaw?” +</p> + +<p> +The bright green figure moved forward into the pool of light. I think +I had never seen a more singular picture than that of Isis Klaw +bending over the decapitated mummy. Indeed, the whole scene would have +delighted Rembrandt. +</p> + +<p> +“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Klaw,” said a middle-aged gentleman, +stepping up to the curio dealer; “the Inspector has been telling me +about you.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw bowed, and his daughter turned to him with a little nod of +the head. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the same period,” she said, “as Mr. Pettigrew’s mummy. Possibly +this was a priest of the same temple. Certainly both are of the same +dynasty.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is instructive,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “but so confusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s amazing, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby. “If I understand Miss Klaw +rightly, this is the mummy of someone who lived at the same period as +the priestess whose mummy is in Mr. Pettigrew’s possession?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not trouble to look,” rumbled Moris Klaw, who, in fact, was +staring all about the room. “If Isis has said so, it is so.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I happened to be superstitious,” said Grimsby, “I should think +this was a sort of curse being fulfilled, or some fantastic thing of +that sort.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should call a curse fantastic, eh, my friend?” said Moris Klaw. +“Yet here in your own country you have seen a whole family that was +cursed to be wiped out mysteriously. Am I with you?” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby looked very perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing very mysterious about how the thing was done,” he +said. “Some madman got in here with a knife early in the evening. It’s +always pretty dark, even during the daytime. But the mystery is his +object.” +</p> + +<p> +“His object is a mystery, yes,” agreed Klaw. “I would sleep here in +order to procure a mental negative of what he hoped or what he feared, +this lunatic headsman, only that I know he is a man possessed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possessed!” I cried; and even Isis looked surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“I said possessed,” continued Klaw, impressively. “He is some madman +with a one idea. His mad brain will have charged the ether”—he waved +his long arms right and left—“with mad thoughts. The room of Mr. +Pettigrew also will be filled with these grotesque thought-forms. +Certainly he is insane, this butcher of mummies. In this case I shall +rely, not upon the odic photography, not upon that great science the +Cycle of Crime, but upon my library.” +</p> + +<p> +None of us, I am sure, entirely understood his meaning; and following +a brief silence, during which, in a curiously muffled way, the sounds +of the traffic in Wellington Street came to us as we stood there +around that modern bier with its 4000-year-old burden, Grimsby asked, +with hesitancy: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you want to make any investigations, Mr. Klaw?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Moris Klaw startled us all. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a thought!” he cried, loudly. “Name of a dog! I have a +thought!” +</p> + +<p> +Grabbing his brown bowler, which he had laid on the table beside the +headless mummy, “Come, Isis!” he cried, and grasped the girl by the +arm. “I have yet another thought, most disturbing! Mr. Searles, would +you be so good as also to come?” +</p> + +<p> +Wondering greatly whence we were bound and upon what errand, I +hastened down the room after them, leaving Inspector Grimsby staring +blankly. I think he was rather disappointed with the result of Moris +Klaw’s inquiry—if inquiry this hasty visit may be termed. He was +disappointed, too, at having spent so short a time in the company of +the charming Isis. +</p> + +<p> +The middle-aged gentleman came running to let us out. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Inspector Grimsby!” called Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night! good-night, Miss Klaw!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mr. Someone who has not been introduced!” said Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Welby,” smiled the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mr. Welby!” said Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +During the whole of the journey back to Wapping, Moris Klaw regaled me +with anecdotes of travels in the Yucatan Peninsula. I had never met a +man before who had ventured fully to explore those deadly swamps; but +Moris Klaw chatted about the Izamal temples as unconcernedly as +another man might chat about the Paris boulevards. Isis took no part +in the conversation, from which I gathered that, although she seemed +to accompany her father everywhere, she had not accompanied him into +the jungles of Yucatan. +</p> + +<p> +“In the heart of those forests, Mr. Searles,” he whispered, “are +stranger things than these headless mummies. Do you know that the +secret of those great temples buried in the swamps and the jungles and +guarded only by serpents and slimy, crawling things, is a door which +science has yet to unlock? What people built them, and what god was +worshipped in them? Suppose”—he bent to my ear—“I hold the key to +that riddle; am I assured to be immortal? Yes? No?” +</p> + +<p> +His conversation, although it often seemed to be studiously eccentric, +was always that of a man of powerful and unusual mind, a man of vast +and unique experience. I was rather sorry when we arrived at our +destination. +</p> + +<p> +As the cab drew up at the head of the court, I saw that the shop of +Moris Klaw was in darkness; but again telling the man to wait, we +walked down past the warehouse, beyond whose bulk tided muddy Thames, +and my eccentric companion producing a key from one of the bulging +pockets of his caped coat inserted it into the lock of a door which +looked less like a door than a section of a dilapidated hoarding. +</p> + +<p> +The door swung open. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he hissed. “It was not locked!” +</p> + +<p> +Klaw struck a match and peered into the odorous darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“William!” he rumbled. “William!” +</p> + +<p> +But there was no reply. Isis suddenly laid her hand upon my arm, and +it occurred to me that for once her wonderful composure was shaken. +</p> + +<p> +“Something has happened!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Her father lighted a gas-burner, and the yellow light flared up, +reclaiming from the gloom furniture, pictures, cages, glass cases, +statuettes, heaps of cheap jewellery and false teeth, books, and a +hundred-and-one other items of that weird stock-in-trade. +</p> + +<p> +Then, under the littered counter we found William lying flat on his +back with his arms spread widely. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! <i>cochon!</i>” muttered Klaw; “beer-swilling pig!” +</p> + +<p> +He stooped to raise the head of the prostrate man, and then to my +surprise dropped upon his knees beside him, stooped yet lower, and +sniffed suspiciously. Again Isis Klaw seized my arm, and her dark eyes +were opened very widely as she leaned forward watching her father. He +stood up, holding a glass in his hand which yet contained some drops +of what was apparently beer. At this, too, he sniffed. He walked over +to the gaslight and examined the fluid closely, whilst Isis and I +watched him, together. Finally Moris Klaw inserted a long white +forefinger into the dirty glass and applied the tip to his tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Opium!” he said. “Many drops of pure opium were put in this beer.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to me with a curious expression upon his parchment-coloured +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles,” he said, “my second idea was a good idea. I shall now +surprise you.” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way through that neat and businesslike office which opened +out of the unutterably dirty and untidy shop. Although within the shop +and in front of it only gaslight was used, in the office he switched +on an electric lamp. But we did not delay long in Moris Klaw’s +sanctum, lined with its hundreds of books, its obscure works of +criminology, its records of strange things: we proceeded through +another door and up a thickly carpeted stair. +</p> + +<p> +I had never before penetrated thus far into the habitable portion of +Moris Klaw’s establishment; the book-lined office hitherto had marked +the limit of my explorations. But now, as more electric lights were +switched on, I saw that we stood upon a wide landing panelled in +massive black oak. Armoured figures stood sentinel-like against the +walls, and several magnificent specimens of Chinese porcelain met my +gaze. I might have thought myself in some old English baronial hall. +Next we entered a big, rectangular room, which I wholly despair of +describing. Apparently it was used as a study, a library, a +laboratory, and a warehouse for all sorts of things, from marble +Buddhas to innumerable pairs of boots. Also, there was in it a French +stove; and upon a Persian coffee table stood a frying pan containing a +cooked sausage solidified in its own fat. There was clear evidence, +moreover, in the form of a rolled-up hammock, that the place served as +a bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Altogether there were four mummies in the apartment. One of these, +partly unwrapped, lay amongst the litter on the floor—headless! +</p> + +<p> +“Mon Dieu!” cried Isis, clasping her hands; “it is uncanny, this!” +</p> + +<p> +She was evidently excited, for her French accent suddenly asserted +itself to a marked degree. Moris Klaw, from somewhere amongst the +rubbish at his feet, picked up the severed head of the mummy and +stared at it intently. In the stillness I could hear the river noises +very distinctly, and a sort of subterranean lapping and creaking which +suggested that at high tide the cellars of the establishment became +flooded. Moris Klaw dropped the head from his hands. It fell with a +dull thud to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +From the lining of his hat he took out the inevitable scent spray and +moistened his brow with verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“I need the cool brain, Mr. Searles,” he said. “I, the old cunning, +the fox, the wily, am threatened with defeat. This slaughter of +mummies it surpasses my experience. I am nonplussed; I am a stupid old +fool. Let me think!” +</p> + +<p> +Isis was looking about her in a startled way. +</p> + +<p> +“It is horribly uncanny, Miss Klaw,” I said. “But the drugging of the +man downstairs points to very human agency. Perhaps if we could revive +him——” +</p> + +<p> +“He will not revive,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “for twelve hours at +least. In his beer was enough opium to render unconscious the +rhinoceros!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anything missing?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” rumbled Klaw. “He came for the mummy. Isis, will you +prepare for us those cooling drinks that help the fevered mind, and +from downstairs bring me the seventh volume of the ‘Books of the +Temples.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw immediately walked forward to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“And Isis, my child,” added her father, “remove the tall cage to the +top end of the shop. Presently that William’s snores will awake the +Borneo squirrel.” +</p> + +<p> +As the girl departed, Klaw opened an inner door and ushered me into a +dainty white room, an amazing apartment indeed, a true Parisian +boudoir. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, for bowls of white +and pink roses were everywhere. Klaw lighted a silver table lamp with +a unique silver gauze shade apparently lined with pale rose-coloured +silk. Evidently this apartment belonged to Isis, and was as +appropriate for her, exquisite Parisian that she seemed to be, as the +weird barn through which we had come was an appropriate abode for her +father. +</p> + +<p> +When presently Isis returned I saw her for the first time in her +proper setting, a dainty green figure in a white frame. Moris Klaw +opened the bulky leather-bound volume which she had handed to him, and +whilst I sat sipping my wine and watching him, he busily turned over +the pages (apparently French MS.) in quest of the reference he sought. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he cried, in sudden triumph; “vaguely I had it in my memory, but +here it is, the clue. I will translate for you, Mr. Searles, what is +written here: ‘The “Book of the Lamps,” which was revealed to the +priest, Pankhaur, and by him revealed only to the Queen’—it was the +ancient Egyptian Queen, Hatshepsu, Mr. Searles—‘was kept locked in +the secret place beneath the altar, and each high priest of the +temple—all of whom were of the family of Pankhaur—held the key and +alone might consult the magic writing. In the 14th dynasty, Seteb was +high priest, and was the last of the family of Pankhaur. At his death +the newly appointed priest, receiving the key of the secret place, +complained to Pharaoh that the “Book of the Lamps” was missing.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +He closed the volume and placed it on a little table beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“Isis,” he rumbled, looking across at his daughter, “does the mystery +become clear to you? Am I not an old fool? Mr. Searles, there is only +one other copy of this work”—he laid a long white hand upon the +book—“known to European collectors. Do I know where that copy is? +Yes? No? I think so!” +</p> + +<p> +There was triumph in his hoarse voice. Personally I was quite unable +to see in what way the history of the “Book of the Lamps” bore upon +the case of the headless mummies; but Moris Klaw evidently considered +that it afforded a clue. He stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“Isis,” he said, “bring me my catalogue of the mummies of the +Bubastite priests.” +</p> + +<p> +That imperious beauty departed in meek obedience. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles,” said Moris Klaw, “this will be for Inspector Grimsby +another triumph; but without these records of a poor old fool, who +shall say if the one that beheads mummies had ever been detected? I +neglected to secure the odic negative because I thought I had to deal +with a madman; but I was more stupid than an owl. This decapitating of +mummies is no madman’s work, but is done with a purpose, my +friend—with a wonderful purpose.” +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +The Menzies Museum (scene of my first meeting with Moris Klaw) was not +yet opened to the public when Coram (the curator), Moris Klaw, +Grimsby, and I stood in the Egyptian Room before a case containing +mummies. The room adjoining—the Greek Room—had been the scene of the +dreadful tragedies which first had acquainted me with the wonderful +methods of the eccentric investigator. +</p> + +<p> +“Whoever broke into Sotheby’s last night, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby, +“knew the ins and outs of the place; knew it backward. It’s my idea +that he was known to the people there. After having cut off the head +of the mummy he probably walked out openly. Then, again, it must have +been somebody who knew the habits of Mr. Pettigrew’s household that +got at <i>his</i> mummy. Of course”—his eyes twinkled with a satisfaction +which he could not conceal—“I’m very sorry to hear that our man has +proved too clever for <i>you!</i> Think of a burglar breaking into Mr. +Moris Klaw’s house!” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of it, my friend,” rumbled the other; “if it makes you laugh go +on thinking of it, and you will grow fat!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby openly winked at me. He was out of his depth himself, and was +not displeased to find the omniscient Moris Klaw apparently in a +similar position. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not resentful,” continued Klaw, “and I will capture for you the +mummy man.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried Grimsby. “Are you on the track?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you something, my laughing friend. You will secretly +watch this Egyptian Room like the cat at the mouse-hole, and +presently—I expect it will be at night—he will come here, this +hunter of mummies!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby stared incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t doubt your word, Mr. Klaw,” he said; “but I don’t see how you +can possibly know that. Why should he go for the mummies here rather +than for those in one of the other museums or in private collections?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you order a bottle of Bass,” rasped Klaw, “in a saloon, rather +than a bottle of water or a bottle of vinegar? It is because what you +want is a bottle of Bass. Am I a damn fool? There are others. I am not +alone in my foolishness!” +</p> + +<p> +The group broke up: Grimsby, very puzzled, going off to make +arrangements to have the Egyptian Room watched night and day, and +Coram, Klaw, and I walking along in the direction of the Greek Room. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no occasion to remind you, Mr. Klaw,” said Coram, “that the +Menzies Museum is a hard nut for any burglar to crack. We have a night +watchman, you will remember, who hourly patrols every apartment. For +any one to break into the Egyptian Room, force one of the cases and +take out a mummy, would be a task extremely difficult to perform +undetected.” +</p> + +<p> +“This mummy hunter,” replied Klaw, “can perform it with ease; but +because we shall all be waiting for him he cannot perform it +undetected.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think there is much likelihood of any attempt during the +day?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no likelihood,” agreed Klaw; “but I like to see that Grimsby +busy! The man with the knife to decapitate mummies will come to-night. +Without fear he will come, for how is he to know that an old fool from +Wapping anticipates his arrival?” +</p> + +<p> +We quitted the Museum together. The affair brought back to my mind the +gruesome business of the Greek Room murders, and for the second time +in my life I made arrangements to watch in the Menzies Museum at +night. +</p> + +<p> +On several occasions during the day I found myself thinking of this +most singular affair and wondering in what way the “Book of the +Lamps,” mentioned by Moris Klaw, could be associated with it. I was +quite unable to surmise, too, how Klaw had divined that the Menzies +Museum would become the scene of the next outrage. +</p> + +<p> +We had arranged to dine with Coram in his apartments, which adjoined +the Museum buildings, and an oddly mixed party we were, comprising +Coram, his daughter, Moris Klaw, Isis Klaw, Grimsby, and myself. +</p> + +<p> +A man had gone on duty in the Egyptian Room directly the doors were +closed to the public, and we had secretly arranged to watch the place +from nightfall onward. The construction of the room greatly +facilitated our plan; for there was a long glass skylight in the +centre of its roof, and by having the blinds drawn back we could look +down into the room from a landing window of a higher floor—a portion +of the curator’s house. +</p> + +<p> +Dinner over, Isis Klaw departed. +</p> + +<p> +“You will not remain, Isis,” said her father. “It is so unnecessary. +Good-night, my child!” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, the deferential and very admiring Grimsby descended with +Coram to see Isis off in a taxi. I marvelled to think of her returning +to that tumble-down, water-logged ruin in Wapping. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” said Moris Klaw, when we four investigators had +gathered together again, “you will hide in the case with the mummies!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I may find myself helpless! How do we know that any particular +case is going to be opened? Besides, I don’t know what to expect!” +</p> + +<p> +“Blessed is he that expecteth little, my friend. It is quite possible +that no attempt will be made to-night. In that event you will have to +be locked in again to-morrow night!” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby accordingly set out. He held a key to the curator’s private +door, which opened upon the Greek Room, and also the key of a wall +case. Moris Klaw had especially warned him against making the +slightest noise. In fact, he had us all agog with curiosity and +expectation. As he and Coram and I, having opened, very carefully, the +landing window, looked down through the skylight into the Egyptian +Room, Grimsby appeared beneath us. He was carrying an electric pocket +torch. +</p> + +<p> +Opening the wall case nearest to the lower end of the room, he glanced +up rapidly, then stepped within, reclosing the glass door. As Klaw had +pointed out earlier in the evening, an ideal hiding place existed +between the side of the last sarcophagus and the angle of the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope he has refastened the catch,” said our eccentric companion; +“but not with noisiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you fear his making a noise?” asked Coram, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Outside, upon the landing,” replied Moris Klaw, “is a tall piece of a +bas-relief; it leans back against the wall. You know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night, you did not look behind it, in the triangular space so +formed.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no occasion. A man could not get in there.” +</p> + +<p> +“He could not, you say? No? That exploits to me, Mr. Coram, that you +have no eye for capacity! But if you are wrong, what then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Any one hiding there would have to remain in hiding until the +morning. He could not gain access to any of the rooms; all are locked, +and he could not go downstairs, because of the night attendant in the +hallway.” +</p> + +<p> +“No? Yes? You are two times wrong! First—someone is concealed there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw!” began Coram, excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ssh!</i>” Moris Klaw raised his hand. “No excitement. It is noisy and a +tax upon the nerves. Second—you are wrong, because presently that +hidden one will come into the Egyptian Room!” +</p> + +<p> +“How? How in Heaven’s name is he going to <i>get</i> in?” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see.” +</p> + +<p> +Utterly mystified, Coram and I stared at Moris Klaw, for we stood one +on either side of him; but he merely wagged his finger enjoining us to +silence, and silent perforce we became. +</p> + +<p> +The view was a cramped one, and standing there looking out at the +clear summer night, I for one grew very weary of the business. But I +was sustained by the anticipation that the mystery of the headless +mummies was about to come to a climax. I felt very sorry for poor +Grimsby, cramped in the corner of the Egyptian Room, for I knew him to +be even more hopelessly in the dark respecting the purpose of these +manœuvres than I was myself. In vain I racked my brain in quest of +the link which united the ancient “Book of the Lamps” with the +singular case which had brought us there that night. +</p> + +<p> +Coram began to fidget, and I knew intuitively that he was about to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ssh!</i>” whispered Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +A beam of light shone out beneath us, across the Egyptian Room! +</p> + +<p> +I concluded that something had attracted the attention of Grimsby. I +leaned forward in tense expectancy, and Coram was keenly excited. +</p> + +<p> +The beam of light moved; it shone upon the door of the very case in +the corner of which Grimsby was hiding, but upon the nearer end, fully +upon the face of a mummy. +</p> + +<p> +A small figure was dimly discernible, now, the figure of the man who +carried the light. Cautiously he crossed the room. Evidently he held +the key of the wall case, for in an instant he had swung the door back +and was hauling the mummy on to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Then out upon the midnight visitor leapt Grimsby. The light was +extinguished—and Moris Klaw, drawing back from the window, seized +Coram by the arm, crying, “The key of the door! The key of the door!” +</p> + +<p> +We were down and into the Egyptian Room in less than half a minute. +Coram switched on all the lights; and there with his back to the open +door of the wall case, handcuffed and wild-eyed, was—Mr. Mark +Pettigrew! +</p> + +<p> +Coram’s face was a study—for the famous archæologist whom we now saw +manacled before us was a trustee of the Menzies Museum! +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pettigrew!” he said, hoarsely. “Mr. Pettigrew! there must be some +mistake——” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no mistake, my good sir,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Look, he has +with him a sharp knife to cut off the head of the priest!” +</p> + +<p> +It was true. An open knife lay upon the floor beside the fallen mummy! +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby was breathing very heavily and looking in rather a startled +way at his captive, who seemed unable to realize what had happened. +Coram cleared his throat nervously. It was one of the strangest scenes +in which I had ever participated. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pettigrew,” he began, “it is incomprehensible to me——” +</p> + +<p> +“I will make you to comprehend,” interrupted Moris Klaw. “You ask”—he +raised a long finger—“why should Mr. Pettigrew cut off the head of +his own mummy? I answer for the same reason that he cut off the head +of the one at Sotheby’s. You ask why did he cut off the head of the +one at Sotheby’s? I answer for the same reason that he cut off the +head of the one at my house, and for the same reason that he came to +cut off the head of this one! What is he looking for? He is looking +for the ‘Book of the Lamps’!” He paused, gazing around upon us. +Probably, excepting the prisoner, I alone amongst his listeners +understood what he meant. +</p> + +<p> +“I have related to Mr. Searles,” he continued, “some of the history of +that book. It contained the ritual of the ancient Egyptian ceremonial +magic. It was priceless; it gave its possessors a power above the +power of kings! And when the line of Pankhaur became extinct it +vanished. Where did it go? According to a very rare record—of which +there are only two copies in existence—one of them in my possession +and one in Mr. Pettigrew’s!—it was hidden <i>in the skull of the mummy +of a priest or priestess of the temple!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Pettigrew was staring at him like a man fascinated. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pettigrew had only recently acquired that valuable manuscript +work in which the fact is recorded; and being an enthusiast, +gentlemen”—he spread wide his hands continentally “—all we poor +collectors are enthusiasts—he set to work upon the first available +mummy of a priest of that temple. It was his own. The skull did not +contain the priceless papyrus! But all these mummies are historic; +there are only five in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Five?</i>” blurted Pettigrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Five,” replied Klaw; “you thought there were only four, eh? But as a +blind you called in the police and showed them how your mummy had been +mutilated. It was good. It was clever. No one suspected you of the +outrages after that—no one but the old fool who knew that you had +secured the second copy of that valuable work of guidance! +</p> + +<p> +“So you did not hesitate to use the keys you had procured in your +capacity as trustee to gain access to this fourth mummy here.” He +turned to Grimsby and Coram. “Gentlemen,” he said, “there will be no +prosecution. The fever of research is a disease; never a crime.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” said Coram, “most certainly there must be no prosecution; +no scandal. Mr. Pettigrew, I am very, very sorry for this.” +</p> + +<p> +Grimsby, with a rather wry face, removed the handcuffs. A singular +expression proclaimed itself upon Pettigrew’s shrivelled countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“The thing I’m most sorry for,” he said, dryly, but with the true +fever of research burning in his eyes, “if you will excuse me saying +it, Coram, for I’m very deeply indebted to you—is that I can’t cut +off the head of this fourth mummy!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mark Pettigrew was a singularly purposeful and rudely truculent +man. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be useless,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I found the fifth mummy in +Egypt two years ago! And behold”—he swept his hand picturesquely +through the air—“I beheaded him!” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” screamed Pettigrew, and leapt upon Klaw with blazing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” rumbled Klaw, massive and unruffled, “that is the +question—<i>what?</i> And I shall not tell you!” +</p> + +<p> +From his pocket he took out the scent spray and squirted verbena into +the face of Mr. Pettigrew. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch09"> +NINTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE HAUNTING OF GRANGE</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">A large</span> lamp burned in the centre of the table; a red-shaded candle +stood close by each diner; and the soft light made a brave enough show +upon the snowy napery and spotless silver, but dispersed nothing of +the gloom about us. The table was a lighted oasis in the desert of the +huge apartment. One could barely pick out the suits of armour and +trophies which hung from distant panelled walls, and I started +repeatedly when the butler appeared, silent, at my elbow. +</p> + +<p> +Of the party of five, four were men—three of them (for I venture to +include myself) neatly groomed and dressed with care in conventional +dinner fashion. The fourth was a heavy figure in a dress coat with +broad satin lapels such as I have seen, I think, in pictures of +Victorian celebrities. I have no doubt, judging from its shiny +appearance, that it was the workmanship of a Victorian tailor. The +vest was cut high and also boasted lapels; the trousers, though at +present they were concealed beneath the table, belonged to a different +suit, possibly a mourning suit, and to a different sartorial epoch. +</p> + +<p> +The woman, young, dark, and exceedingly pretty, wore a gown of +shimmering amber, cut with Parisian daring. Her beautiful eyes were +more often lowered than raised, for Sir James Leyland, our host, was +unable to conceal his admiration; his face, tanned by his life in the +Bush, was often turned to her. Clement Leyland, the baronet’s cousin, +bore a striking resemblance to Sir James, but entirely lacked the +latter’s breezy manner. I set him down for a man who thought much and +said little. +</p> + +<p> +However, conversation could not well flag at a board boasting the +presence of such a genial colonial as Sir James and such a storehouse +of anecdotal oddities as Moris Klaw. Mr. Leyland and myself, then, for +the most part practised the difficult art of listening; for Isis Klaw, +I learned, could talk almost as entertainingly as her father. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so glad,” said Moris Klaw, and his voice rumbled thunderously +about the room, “that I have this opportunity to visit Grange.” +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly has great historic interest,” agreed Sir James. “I had +never anticipated inheriting the grand old place, much less the title. +My uncle’s early death, unmarried, very considerably altered my +prospects; I became a landed proprietor who might otherwise have +become a ‘Murrumbidgee whaler’!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, light-heartedly, glancing at Isis Klaw, and from her to +his cousin. +</p> + +<p> +“Clem had everything in apple-pie order for me,” he added, “including +the family goblin!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that family goblin!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “It is him I am after, +that goblin!” +</p> + +<p> +The history of Grange, in fact, was directly responsible for Moris +Klaw’s presence that night. An odd little book, “Psychic Angles,” had +recently attracted considerable attention among students of the +occult, and had proved equally interesting to the general public. It +dealt with the subject of ghosts from quite a new standpoint, and +incidentally revealed its anonymous author as one conversant +apparently with the history of every haunted house in Europe. Few knew +that the curio-dealer of Wapping was the author, but as Grange was +dealt with in “Psychic Angles,” amongst a number of other haunted +homes of England, a letter from Sir James Leyland, forwarded by the +publisher, had invited the author to investigate the latest +developments of the Leyland family ghost. +</p> + +<p> +I had had the privilege to be associated with Moris Klaw in another +case of apparent haunting—that which I have dealt with in an earlier +paper: the haunting of The Grove. He had courteously invited me, then, +to assist him (his own expression) in the inquiry at Grange. I +welcomed the opportunity, for I was anxious to include in my annals at +least one other case of the apparent occult. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall without delay,” continued the eccentric investigator, +“endeavour to meet him face to face—this disturber of the peace. Sir +James, it is with the phenomena you call ghosts the same as with +valuable relics, with jewels, with mummies—ah, those mummies!—with +beautiful women!” +</p> + +<p> +“To liken a beautiful woman to a relic,” said Sir James, “would +be—well”—he glanced at Isis—“hardly complimentary!” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be true!” Moris Klaw assured him, impressively. “Nature, +that mystic process of reproduction, wastes not its models. Sir James, +all beauty is duplicated. Look at my daughter, Isis.” Sir James +readily obeyed. “You see her, yes? And what do you see?” +</p> + +<p> +Isis lowered her eyes, but, frankly, I was unable to perceive any +evidence of embarrassment in this singularly self-possessed girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” resumed her father, “I could tell you what you see; but I +will only tell you what it is you <i>may</i> see. You may see a beauty of +your Regency or a favourite of your Charles; the daughter of a Viking, +an ancient British princess; the slave of a Cæsar, the dancer of a +Pharaoh!” +</p> + +<p> +“You believe in reincarnation?” suggested Clement Leyland, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, certainly, why not, of course!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “But I do +not speak of it now, not I; I speak of Nature’s reproduction; I tell +you how Nature wastes nothing which is beautiful. What has the soul to +do with the body? I tell you how the reproduction goes on and on until +the mould, the plate, the die, has perished! So is it with ghosts. You +write me that your goblin has learned some new tricks. I answer, your +goblin can never learn new tricks; I answer, this is not he, it is +another goblin! Nature is conservative with her goblins as with her +beautiful women; she does not disfigure the old model with +alterations. What! Chop them about? Never! she makes new ones.” +</p> + +<p> +Clement Leyland smiled discreetly, but Sir James was evidently +interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’ve read ‘Psychic Angles,’ Mr. Klaw,” he said; +“consequently, your novel theories do not altogether surprise me. I +gather your meaning to be this: a haunted house is haunted in exactly +the same way generation after generation? Any new development points +to the presence of a new force or intelligence?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is exactly quite so,” Moris Klaw nodded, sympathetically. “You +have the receptive mind, Sir James; you should take up ghosts; they +would like you. There is a scientific future for the sympathetic +ghost-hunter, for—I will whisper it—these poor ghosts are sometimes +so glad to be hunted! It is a lonely life, that of a ghost!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Grange ghost,” Sir James assured him, “is a most gregarious +animal. He doesn’t go in for lonely groanings in the chapel or +anything of that kind; he drops into the billiard room frequently, +he’s often to be met with right here in the dining room, and of late +he’s been sleeping with me regularly!” +</p> + +<p> +“So I hear,” rumbled Moris Klaw; “so I hear. It is quaint, yes; +proceed, my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw sat with her big eyes fixed upon Sir James, as he continued: +</p> + +<p> +“The traditional ghost of Grange was a gray monk who, on certain +nights—I forget the exact dates—came out from the chapel beyond the +orchard carrying a long staff, walked up to a buttress of the west +wall, and disappeared at the point where formerly there was a private +entrance. In fact, there used to be a secret stair opening at that +point and communicating with a room built by a remote Leyland of the +eighth Henry’s time—a notorious roué. The last Leyland to use the +room was Sir Francis, an intimate of Charles II. The next heir had the +wing rebuilt, and the ancient door walled up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said Moris Klaw. “I know it all, but you tell it well. +This is a most interesting house, this Grange. I have recorded him, +the gray monk, and I learn with surprise how another spook comes +poaching on his preserves! Tell us now of these new developments, Sir +James.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir James cleared his throat and glanced about the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Please smoke,” said Isis; “because I should like to smoke, too!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes!” agreed Moris Klaw. “Remain, my child, we will all remain; +do not let us move an inch. This banqueting hall is loaded with +psychic impressions. Let us smoke and concentrate our minds upon the +problem.” +</p> + +<p> +Coffee and liqueurs were placed upon the table and cigarettes lighted. +In deference to the presence of Isis, I suppose, no cigars were +smoked; but the girl lighted an Egyptian cigarette proffered by Sir +James with the insouciance of an old devotee of my Lady Nicotine. The +butler having made his final departure, we were left—a lonely company +in our lighted oasis—amid the shadow desert of that huge and ghostly +apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“All sorts of singular things have happened,” began Sir James, “since +my return from Australia. Of course, I cannot say if these are recent +developments, because my uncle, for seven or eight years before his +death, resided entirely in London, and Grange was in charge of the +housekeeper. It is notorious, is it not, that housekeepers and such +worthy ladies never by any chance detect anything unseemly in family +establishments with which they are associated? Anyway, when I was dug +up out of the Bush, and all the formalities were through, good old +Clement here set about putting things to rights for me, and I arrived +to find Grange a perfect picture from floor to roof. New servants +engaged, too, though the housekeeper and the butler, who have been in +the family for years, remained, of course, with some other old +servants. As I have said, everything was in apple-pie order.” +</p> + +<p> +“Including the ghost!” interpolated his cousin, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the trouble,” said Sir James, banging his fist upon the table; +“the very first night I dined in this room there was a most uncanny +manifestation. Clement and I were sitting here at this very table; we +had dined—not unwisely, don’t think that—and were just smoking and +chatting, when——” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased abruptly; in fact, the effect was similar to that which +would have resulted had a solid door suddenly been closed upon the +speaker. But the stark silence which ensued was instantly interrupted. +My blood seemed to freeze in my veins; a horrid, supernatural dread +held me fast in my chair. For, echoing hollowly around and about the +huge, ancient apartment, rolled, booming, a peal of demoniacal +laughter! From whence it proceeded I was wholly unable to imagine. It +seemed to be all about, above us, and beneath us. It was mad, +devilish, a hell-sound impossible to describe. It rose, it fell, it +rose again—and ceased abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” I whispered. “What was it?” +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +In the silence that followed the ghostly disturbance we sat around the +table listening. Sir James was the first to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“A demonstration, Mr. Klaw!” he said. “This sort of thing happens +every night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” rumbled Moris Klaw, “every night, eh? That laughing? You have +investigated—yes—no?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tried to investigate,” explained the baronet, “but quite frankly I +didn’t know where to begin.” +</p> + +<p> +We were all recovering our composure somewhat, I think. +</p> + +<p> +“You hear that laughter nowhere but in this room?” asked Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“I have always heard it when we have been seated at this table,” was +the reply; “at no other time, but it can be heard clearly beyond the +room. The servants have heard it. Excepting the housekeeper and the +butler, they are leaving almost immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! <i>canaille!</i>” grunted Moris Klaw; “fear-pigs! It is always so, +these servants. So you have not located the one that laughs, no?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Sir James; “and he doesn’t stop at laughing—does he, +Clem?” +</p> + +<p> +Clement Leyland shook his head. He looked even paler than usual, I +thought, and the uncanny incident seemed to have disturbed him +greatly. +</p> + +<p> +“What else?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “The gray monk is forgetting his +manners. He becomes rude, eh—that gray monk?” +</p> + +<p> +“The house has practically become uninhabitable,” said the baronet, +bitterly. “None of the usual phenomena are missing. We have slamming +doors, phantom footsteps, and, if the servants are to be believed, +half the forces of hell loose here at night!” +</p> + +<p> +“But your <i>own</i> experiences?” interrupted Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“My own experiences in brief amount to this: I rarely sit at this +table at night without hearing that beastly laughter, at least once. I +never go into the billiard room, which opens out under the gallery +yonder, without feeling a cold wind blowing upon my face or head, even +in perfectly still weather, or with all the windows closed. To the +left of the billiard room, and opening out of it, is a third centre of +these disturbances. It’s the gun room, and guns have been fired there +in the night, with the door locked, on no fewer than five occasions!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw, from a tail pocket of his coat, produced a cylindrical +scent spray and squirted verbena upon his high yellow forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“It grows exciting, this,” he said. “I require the cool brain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Finally,” added Sir James, “the only other point worth mentioning is +the ghostly voice which regularly wakes me from my sleep at night.” +</p> + +<p> +“A voice,” rumbled Klaw; “what voice, and what does it say, that +voice?” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t repeat what it says!” replied the baronet, glancing at Isis; +“but it offers obscene suggestions or that is the impression I have of +it—a low, filthy mumbling; if you can follow me, the voice of +something dead and infinitely evil.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“This intelligence,” he rumbled, “a living or a dead one, has thoughts +then, and thoughts, Sir James, are things. I shall sleep in one of the +centres of its activity to-night, perhaps here, perhaps in the +billiard room or the gun room. Isis, my child, bring for me my +odically sterilized pillows. This is a charming case and worthy of the +subtle method.” +</p> + +<p> +He placed his hands upon the shoulders of Sir James Leyland, who stood +facing him. +</p> + +<p> +“Evil thoughts live, Sir James,” he said. “I cannot explain to you how +hard it is to slay them. Few good thoughts survive; but such an +ancient abode as this”—he waved his long hands characteristically +about him—“is peopled with thought-forms surviving from the dark +ages. I have opened the inner eye, my friend. Mercifully, perhaps, the +inner eye is closed in most of us; in some it is blind. But I have +opened that eye and trained it. As I sleep”—he lowered his voice +oddly—“those thought things come to me. It is an uncomfortable gift, +yes; for here in Grange I shall find myself to-night in evil company. +Murders long forgotten will be accomplished again before that inner +eye of mine! I shall swim in blood! Assassins will come stealing to +me, murdered ones will scream in my ears, the secret knife will flash, +the honest ax do its deadly work; for in the moment of such deeds two +imperishable thought-forms are created: the thought-form of the +slayer, strong to survive, because a blood-lustful thought, a +revengeful thought; and the thought of the slain, likewise a +long-surviving thought because a thought of wildest despair, a final +massing of the mental forces greater than any generally possible in +life, upon that last awful grievance.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, looking around him. +</p> + +<p> +“From the phantom company,” he said, “I must pick out that one whose +thought is of laughter, of firing guns, and of evil whisperings. What +a task! Wondrous is the science of the mental negative!” +</p> + +<p> +The meeting broke up, then, and Isis Klaw, having brought from a large +case, which formed part of her father’s luggage, two huge red +cushions, bade us good-night and retired to her own room. Moris Klaw, +with a cushion swinging in each hand, went shuffling ungainly from +room to room like some strange animal seeking a lair. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I understand,” Clement Leyland whispered to me, “that your friend +proposes to sleep down here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I replied, smiling at his evident wonderment; “such is his +method of investigation, eccentric, but effective.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is really effective, then? The experiences given in ‘Psychic +Angles’ are not fabulous?” +</p> + +<p> +“In no way. Moris Klaw is a very remarkable man. I have yet to meet +the mystery which is beyond him.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw’s rumbling voice, which frequently reminded me of the +rolling of casks in a distant cellar, broke in upon our conversation: +</p> + +<p> +“Here is the ideal spot; here upon this settee by the door of the gun +room I am in the centre of these psychic storms which nightly arise in +Grange.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you are determined to remain here, Mr. Klaw,” said Sir James, “I +shall not endeavour to dissuade you, of course; but I should prefer to +see you turn into more comfortable quarters.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” was the reply; “it is here I shall lay down my old head, it +is here I shall lie and wait for him, the one who laughs.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, since the hour grew late, we left this novel ghost-hunter +stretched out upon the settee in the billiard room; and as I knew his +objection to any disturbance, I suggested to Sir James that we should +retire out of earshot for a final smoke ere seeking our separate +apartments. +</p> + +<p> +We sat chatting for close upon an hour, I suppose. Then Clement +Leyland left us, saying that he had had a heavy day. +</p> + +<p> +“Clement’s been working real hard,” the baronet confided to me. “In +the circumstances, as I think I told you, I have decided to abandon +Grange, and we are having the old Friars House, a mile from here, but +on part of the estate, restored. It hasn’t been inhabited for about +three generations, and it’s very much older than Grange; part of it +dates back to King John. Perhaps I can get servants to stop there, +though, and it’s quite impossible to keep up Grange without a staff. +Clement has been superintending the work over there all day; he’s one +of the best.” +</p> + +<p> +A few moments later we parted for the night. I left Sir James at the +door of his room, which had formerly opened off the balcony +overlooking the banqueting hall. That door was now walled up, however, +and the entrance was from the corridor beyond. The room allotted to me +was upon the opposite side of the same corridor and farther to the +north. +</p> + +<p> +I felt particularly unlike sleep. The extremely modern furniture of my +room could not rob the walls, with their small square panelling, of +the air of hoary antiquity which was theirs. The one window, deep set +and overlooking an extensive orchard, was such as might have formed +the focus for cavalierly glance, was such as might have framed the +head of a romantic maid of Stuart days. And with it all was that +gloomy air that had a more remote antiquity, that harked back to +darker times than those of the Merry Monarch: the air of ghostly evil, +the cloud from which proceeded the devilish laughter, the obscene +whisperings. +</p> + +<p> +Where the shadows of the trees lay beneath me on the turf, I could +fancy a gray cowled figure flitting across the lighted patches and +lurking, evilly watching, amid the pools of darkness. Sleep was +impossible. Moris Klaw, to whom such fears as mine were utterly +unknown, might repose, nay, was actually reposing, in the very vortex +of this psychical storm; but I was otherwise constituted. I had been +with him in many cases of dark enough evil-doing, but this purely +ghostly menace was something that sapped my courage. +</p> + +<p> +Grange stood upon rather high ground, and in a northeasterly +direction, peeping out from the trees of a wooded slope, showed a gray +tower almost like a giant monkish figure under the moon. I watched it +with a vague interest. It was Friars House, to which the baronet +projected retreat from the haunted Grange. Lighting my pipe, I leaned +from the window, idly watching that ancient tower and wondering if +more evil deeds had taken place within it—long as it had stood there +amid the trees—than those which had left their ghostly mark upon +Grange. +</p> + +<p> +The night was very beautiful and very still. Not the slightest sound +could I detect within or without the house. How long I had lounged +there in this half-dreamy, but vaguely fearful, mood I cannot say, but +I was aroused by a tremendous outcry. Loud it broke in upon the +silence of the night, broke in on my mood with nerve-racking effect. +My pipe dropped to the floor, and taking one step across the room I +stood there, rooted to the spot with indefinable horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” it came in a piercing scream, and again: “Father! O God! +save him! save him!” +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +The voice was that of Isis Klaw! +</p> + +<p> +Whenever I accompanied her father upon any of his inquiries I came +armed, and now, with a magazine pistol held in my hand, I leapt out +into the corridor and turned toward the stair. A door slammed open in +front of me and Sir James Leyland also came running out, pulling on +his dressing gown as he ran. One quick glance he gave me; his face was +very pale; and together we went racing down the stairs into the hall +patched with ghostly moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard it?” he breathed, hoarsely. “It was Miss Klaw! What in +God’s name has happened? Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +But even as he asked the question, and as we pressed on into the +billiard room, it was answered. For Isis Klaw, with a dressing gown +thrown over her night apparel, was kneeling beside the settee upon +which her father lay. +</p> + +<p> +“What has happened? What has happened?” groaned Sir James. Then, as we +approached together: “Mr. Klaw! Mr. Klaw!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, my friend!” came the rumbling voice, and to my inestimable +relief Moris Klaw sat up and looked around upon us, adjusting his +pince-nez to the bridge of his massive nose: “I live! It has saved me, +the Science of the Mind!” +</p> + +<p> +Isis Klaw bowed her head upon the red cushion, and I saw that she was +trembling violently. It was the first time I had known her to lose her +regal composure, and, utterly mystified, I wondered what awful danger +had threatened Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven for that!” said the baronet, earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +Approaching footsteps sounded now, and a group of frightened servants, +headed by the butler, appeared at the door of the billiard room. +Through them came pressing Mr. Clement Leyland. His face was ghastly, +showing a startling white against the dull red of the dressing gown he +wore. +</p> + +<p> +“James!” he said, huskily. “James! that awful screaming! What was it? +What has occurred?” +</p> + +<p> +I knew that he slept in the west wing and that he must have been +unable to distinguish the words which Isis had cried. Thus heard, the +shrill scream must have sounded even more terrifying. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw raised his hand protestingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No fuss, dear friends,” he implored, in rumbling accents, “no +wonderings and botherings. They so disturb the nerves. Let us be calm, +let us be peaceful.” He laid his hand upon the head of the girl who +knelt beside him. “Isis, my child, what a delicate instrument is the +psychic perception! You knew it, the danger to your poor old father, +to the poor old fool who lies here waiting to be slaughtered! Almost +you knew it before I knew it myself!” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, Mr. Klaw,” said Clement Leyland, shakily, “what has +happened? Who, or what, came to you here? What occasioned Miss Klaw’s +terror?” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” replied Klaw, “you ask me conundrum-riddles. Some +dreadful thing haunts this Grange, some deadly thing. The man has not +lived who has not tasted fear, and I, the old foolish, have lived +indeed to-night! I fail, my friend. There is some evil intelligence +ruling this Grange, which I cannot capture upon my negative”—he +tapped his brow characteristically—“to attempt it would be to die. It +is too powerful for me. Grange is unclean, Sir James. You will leave +Grange without delay; it is I, the old experienced who knows, that +warns you. Fly from Grange. Take up your residence to-morrow at Friars +House!” +</p> + +<p> +No further explanation would he vouchsafe. +</p> + +<p> +“I am defeated, my friends!” he declared, shrugging, resignedly. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, Isis, her beautiful face deathly pale and her great eyes +feverishly bright, returned to her room. She covered her face with her +hands as she passed to the door. Moris Klaw accepted the use of an +apartment next to mine, and we all sought our couches again in states +of varying perturbation. +</p> + +<p> +That there was some profound mystery underlying these happenings of +the night was evident to me. Moris Klaw and Isis Klaw were keeping +something back. They shared some dark secret and guarded it jealously; +but with what motive they acted in this fashion was a problem that +defied my efforts at solution. +</p> + +<p> +The morning came and brought a haggard company to the breakfast table. +Few, if any, beneath the roof of Grange, had known sleep that night, +although, so far as I could gather, there had been no manifestations +of any kind. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw talked incessantly about the fauna of the Sahara Desert, +and so monopolized the conversation with his queer anecdotes of snakes +and scorpions that no other topic found entrance. +</p> + +<p> +After breakfast the whole party, in Sir James’s car, drove over to +Friars House; and despite the up-to-date furniture and upholstery, I +found it a very gloomy residence. Stripped of its ghostly atmosphere, +Grange had been quite a charming seat for any man; but this +dungeonesque place, with its lichened tower that had dominated the +valley when John signed Magna Charta, with its massive walls and +arrow-slit windows, its eccentrically designed apartments and +crypt-like smell, was altogether too archaic to be comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw, standing in the room which had been fitted up as a +library, removed his flat-topped brown bowler and fumbled for his +scent spray. +</p> + +<p> +“This place,” he said, “smells abominably of dead abbots!” +</p> + +<p> +He squirted verbena upon himself and upon Isis. He replaced the scent +spray in the lining of the hat, and was about to replace the hat on +his head, when he paused, staring straight up at the ceiling +reflectively. +</p> + +<p> +“My notes!” he said, abruptly; “I have left those notes in my valise. +I must have them. Curse me, for an old foolish! Sir James, you will +show Isis this charming old tower in my absence? Do I intrude? But I +would borrow the car and return to Grange for my notes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit!” replied the baronet, readily. “Clement can go with you!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Certainly no! I could not think of it! My old friend, Mr. +Searles, may come if he so likes; if not, I go alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Naturally, I agreed to accompany him; and, leaving the others at the +ancient gateway, we set off in Sir James’s car back to Grange. Down +into the valley we swept and up the slope to Grange, Moris Klaw +sitting muttering in his beard, but offering no remark and patently +desirous to avoid conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, my friend,” he said, as the car drew up before the house, “and +I will show you what my mental negative recorded to me last night, +just before the great danger came.” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way into the billiard room, curtly directing the butler to +leave us. When we were alone— +</p> + +<p> +“You will note something,” he rumbled, swinging his arm vaguely around +in the direction of the banqueting hall. “What you will note is this: +the laughter—where is it heard? It is heard here, in the gun room on +my right, in the banquet room before me. Great is the Science of the +Mind! I will now test my negative.” +</p> + +<p> +I followed him with wondering gaze as he stepped into the deep +old-fashioned fireplace which formed one of the quaintest features of +the room. He bent his tall figure to avoid striking his head upon the +stonework, and placed the historic brown bowler upon one of the +settles. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I cannot find it,” came his rumbling voice; “my negative was +fogged by assassinations, murderous sieges, candle-light duels, and +other thought-forms of the troubled past; but I may triumph—I may +triumph!” +</p> + +<p> +He was standing on a settle with his head far up the chimney, and +presently a faint grating sound proceeded from that sooty darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“I have it!” he rumbled, triumphantly. “And in my pocket reposes the +electric lamp. I ascend; you, my good friend, will follow.” +</p> + +<p> +True enough he scrambled upward and, to my unspeakable amazement, +disappeared in the chimney. Filled with great wonder I followed and +saw him standing in a recess high above my head, a recess which he +must have opened in some way unknown to me. He extended a long arm and +grasped my hand in his. +</p> + +<p> +“Up!” he cried, exerted his surprising strength, and jerked me up +beside him with as little effort as though I had been a child. +</p> + +<p> +He pressed the button of a torch which he held and I saw that we stood +upon an exceedingly steep and narrow wooden stair. +</p> + +<p> +“It is in the thickness of the wall between the panellings,” he +whispered, solemnly; “a Jacobite hiding place. Sir James knows nothing +of it, for has he not spent his life in the Bush?” +</p> + +<p> +He mounted the stair. +</p> + +<p> +“On the right,” his voice came back to me, “the gun room, the billiard +room! On the left, the banquet room. From here comes the +laughter—from here comes the danger.” +</p> + +<p> +Still he ascended and I followed. The narrow stair terminated in a +dusty box-like apartment no more than six feet high by six feet +square. Moris Klaw, ducking his head grotesquely, stood there shining +the light about him. From the floor he took up a square wooden case +and waved to me to descend again. +</p> + +<p> +“No exit,” he said; “no exit. Sir James’s bedroom is upon the farther +side, but, as I had anticipated, there is no exit.” +</p> + +<p> +We returned the way we had come; clearly there was no other. Beneath +his caped coat Moris Klaw jealously concealed the case which he had +discovered in the secret chamber. I was filled with intense curiosity; +but Moris Klaw, having gone to his room, asking me to await him +outside in the drive, returned, ultimately, without the case, but +carrying a huge notebook, and intimated that he was prepared to +reënter the waiting car. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the pebbles of his pince-nez his strange eyes gleamed +triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +“We triumph,” he said. “The haunting of Grange succumbs to the Science +of the Mind!” +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +We all had lunch at Friars House, but were by no means a jovial party. +Sir James seemed worried and preoccupied, and Clement Leyland even +more reticent than usual. Moris Klaw talked, certainly, but his +conversation turned entirely upon the subject of the Borgias, +concerning which notorious family he was possessed of a stock of most +unsavoury anecdote. So realistic were his gruesome stories, delivered +in that rumbling whisper, wholly impossible to describe or imitate, +that every mouthful of food which I swallowed threatened to choke me. +</p> + +<p> +Afterward we wandered idly about the beautiful old grounds, which bore +ineffaceable marks of monkish cultivation. Sir James, who was walking +ahead with Moris Klaw and Isis, suddenly turned and waited for me. I +had been examining a sundial with much interest, but I now walked on +and joined our host. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Searles,” he said, “may I press you to remain here over the +week-end?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very good of you,” I replied. “I think I could manage it, and +I should enjoy the stay immensely.” +</p> + +<p> +I concluded that Moris Klaw also was remaining, and consequently was +surprised when a short time later he drew me aside into a rose-covered +arbour and announced that he was leaving by the four-o’clock train. +</p> + +<p> +“But I shall be back in the morning, Mr. Searles,” he assured me, +wagging his finger mysteriously; “I shall be back in the morning!” +</p> + +<p> +“And Miss Klaw?” +</p> + +<p> +“She, too, goes by the four-o’clock train and will not be +returning—for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that Sir James is taking up his residence here at Friars +House from now onward?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so, my friend; he deserts Grange. The servants come over here +to-day. Is he not well advised? Mr. Clement has all along recommended +that this shall be his residence. He was against it, the idea of +inhabiting Grange, from the first. He is wise, that Mr. Clement. He +has lived in these parts so long. He knows that Grange is haunted, is +uninhabitable.” +</p> + +<p> +Later, then, Moris Klaw and Isis took their departure; and just as the +car was about to drive off my eccentric friend removed his brown +bowler and sprayed his bald brow with verbena. He bent to me: +</p> + +<p> +“Day and night,” he whispered, huskily, “do not lose sight of him, Sir +James! Above all, allow him not to <i>explore!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +With that the car drove off, and I stood looking after it, wondering, +utterly mystified. On the steps behind me stood Clement Leyland and +his cousin. The latter’s gaze followed the course of the car along the +picturesque winding road until it became lost from view. I thought I +heard him sigh. +</p> + +<p> +Ensued an uneventful day and night. Life was pleasant enough at Friars +House, if a trifle dull; and Sir James seemed unsettled, whilst his +disquietude was reflected in his cousin. The latter, now that his +active labours in preparing this new residence for the baronet were +checked, seemed a man at a loss what to do with himself. His was one +of those quietly ardent temperaments, I divined, and idleness palled +upon him. Apparently he had no profession, and although I presumed +that he had some residence of his own in the neighbourhood, he, +apparently, was prepared indefinitely to prolong his stay at Friars +House. I think his companionship was welcome to Sir James, for the +latter was yet strange to the new duties of a landed gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning brought Moris Klaw, and I learned with ever-growing +surprise that he had made arrangements to spend the following week +beneath the hospitable roof of Friars House. +</p> + +<p> +I have nothing to record of interest up to the time I left; but often +during the ensuing six days the problem of the haunting of Grange, and +the mystery of Moris Klaw’s protracted visit to Friars House came +between me and my work. Then on the Saturday morning arrived a +telegram: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Can you join us for week-end—car will meet 2:30. Wire reply. Best +wishes.—<span class="sc">Leyland</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +I determined to accept the invitation; for respecting the nature of +Moris Klaw’s business at Friars House—and that he had some other +motive than ordinary in sojourning there I was persuaded—my curiosity +knew no bounds. Accordingly, I packed my grip, and at about five +o’clock on a delightful afternoon found myself taking tea in a +cloister-like apartment of the former Friary. +</p> + +<p> +“Grange,” said Sir James, in answer to a question of mine, “is shut +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is shut, yes,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “What a pity! What a pity!” +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the day occurred incidents which I have since +perceived to have been significant. I will pass over them, however, +and hasten to what I may term the catastrophe of this very singular +case. +</p> + +<p> +Four of us sat down to dinner in an apartment which clearly had been +the ancient refectory of the monks. Clement Leyland, who had arrived +barely in time to dress, looked haggard and worried. I determined that +he had some private troubles of his own, and beneath his quiet +geniality I thought I could detect a sort of brooding gloom. His pale, +clean-shaven face, so like yet so unlike that of his cousin, was a +mask that ill repaid study; yet I knew that the real Clement Leyland +was a stranger to me, perhaps to all of us. +</p> + +<p> +I was most anxious to learn if Moris Klaw had divulged the secret of +the hidden chamber at Grange to Sir James; and I was unspeakably +curious concerning the box of which I had had but a glimpse—the box +that he had found there. But he baffled my curiosity at every point. +</p> + +<p> +Have you experienced that sense of impending calamity which sometimes +heralds tragic things? It was with me that night, throughout dinner; +and afterward, when we entered the library and sat over our cigars, it +grew portentously. I felt that I stood upon the brink of a precipice. +And literally I was not in great error. Moris Klaw, to the evident +discomfort of Sir James, brought the conversation around to the +subject of the haunting. I observed him to glance at his watch, with a +rather odd expression upon his vellum-hued face. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not singular,” he said, “how poor spectres are confined, like +linnets, to their cages? They seem, these spooks, never to roam. That +laughing demon of Grange—look at him. He remains in that empty, +desolate house; he——” +</p> + +<p> +There was a dreadful interruption. +</p> + +<p> +Commencing with a sort of guttural rattle, out upon the cloisteresque +stillness burst a peal of wicked laughter. +</p> + +<p> +It rang throughout the room; it poured fear into my every fibre. It +died away—and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Sir James, clutching the leather-covered chair-arms, looked like a man +of stone. I was frankly terrorized. Moris Klaw stood behind me, by a +bookcase, him I could not see. But Clement Leyland’s face I can never +forget. It was positively deathlike. His eyes seemed starting from +their sockets, and his teeth chattered horribly. +</p> + +<p> +“God in Heaven!” he whispered, brokenly. “What is it? O God! What is +it! Take it away—take it away!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Moris Klaw spoke, slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“It is for <i>you</i> to take it away, Mr. Leyland!” +</p> + +<p> +Clement Leyland rose from his seat; he swayed like a drunken man, and +there was madness in the glaring eyes that he turned in Klaw’s +direction. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you——” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I——” rumbled Moris Klaw, sternly, and took a step forward; “I +have entered the Jacobite hiding place at Grange, and there I found a +box! Ah! you glare! glare on, my friend! I returned that box to where +I found it; but first I examined its contents! What! that demon +laughter frightens you! Then descend, Mr. Leyland, descend and bring +him out—the one who laughs!” +</p> + +<p> +Rigidly, Sir James sat in his chair; I, too, seemed to be palsied. But +at sight of the next happening we both stood up. Moris Klaw stamped +heavily upon the oaken floor in a deep recess; then applied his weight +to a section of the seemingly solid stone wall. +</p> + +<p> +It turned, as on a pivot, revealing a dark cavity. +</p> + +<p> +He stood there, a bizarre figure, pointing down into the blackness. +</p> + +<p> +“Descend, my friend!” he cried. “The one who laughs is upon the +seventh step!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>The seventh step!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +In a whisper the words came from Clement Leyland. A draft of damp, +cavernous air blew into the library out of the opening. +</p> + +<p> +“Descend, my friend!” +</p> + +<p> +Remorselessly, Moris Klaw repeated the words. In the centre of the +room, Clement Leyland, a pitiable sight, stood staring—and +hesitating. Suddenly his cousin spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go, Clement!” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +The other turned to him, dazedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go—down that place. But—O God! I understand at last, or +partly.… <i>Quit!</i> I give you half an hour!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir James sank back into his chair and buried his face in his hands; +Moris Klaw never moved from where he stood by the cavity. But Clement +Leyland, with bowed head, walked from the room. +</p> + +<p> +In the silence that followed his going— +</p> + +<p> +“Await me, gentlemen,” rumbled Klaw; “I descend for the laughter!” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped into the opening. +</p> + +<p> +“One,” he counted, “two—three—four—five—” his voice came up to us +from the depths—“<i>six!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +We heard him ascending. Walking into the library he placed upon the +table beside Sir James a very large and up-to-date gramophone! +</p> + +<p> +“The laughter!” he explained, simply. “That night, my friends, when +first I slept at Grange, I secured, among a host of other dreadful +negatives, the negative of one who lurked in a secret hiding place. I +saw him come creeping from the chimney corner, bearing a great mace +which I recognized for one that had hung in the hall! Almost, the +Science of the Mind betrayed me; for I mistook him for a thought-form! +But the mind of Isis is <i>en rapport</i> with the mind of her poor old +father. In her dreams she saw my peril, and she it was who, screaming, +saved me!—saved me from the murderer with the mace!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir James made no sign. Moris Klaw continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I gathered, then, that the one who sometimes lurked in the Jacobite +hiding place and who, somehow, made the demon laughter, and the other +phenomena, sought <i>one</i> end. It was to cause you to leave Grange and +to live in Friars House! Beyond so far, my science could not show me. +I assisted, therefore, the project of the lurker; and came myself, +too, in order to watch, my friend, to guard and to spy! +</p> + +<p> +“His gramophone I found, examined, and replaced. It had a clockwork +attachment, very ingenious, which both started and stopped it; there +was little or no scraping. To-night, from his room, unknown to him, I +removed the instrument from its case, which lay hidden at the bottom +of his trunk. Yes! I stole his key! I am the old fox! Why did he bring +it here? I cannot reply. Perhaps he meant again to use it; his future +projects are dark to me, but their object is all too light.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir James groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Old Clem!” he whispered, “and how I trusted him!” +</p> + +<p> +“He did not quite believe in my science,” resumed Moris Klaw, “but he +did not know that, hidden, I slept almost beside him as he sat, +planning, in this very room! From his own bad mind I secured my second +negative; and it showed me the death trap of some bad old son of +Mother Church! At Grange there was but the Jacobite hiding place, but +here was the devilry of feudal times! I returned to London. Why? To +learn if my suspicions were well founded. Yes! You may or may not be +aware; but if you die childless, the wicked Clement inherits Grange!” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew that,” whispered Sir James. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you knew? <i>So.</i> I returned to here, for, even at that time, I +suspected that your <i>accidental</i> death was the object of removal! Then +I secured it, my second negative. Biding my time, I explored that +death-smelling place. Its wicked machinery had been <i>freshly oiled!</i> +Ah! he knew its secrets well, the old house that he hoped to inherit! +</p> + +<p> +“One night, all innocent, as you sat here, with other guests, he would +have blundered upon that doorway! And <i>you</i>, the host, would have led +the search party! But I saw that he feared to move whilst I remained, +and so I played the ghost upon him with his own spook!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir James Leyland looked up. His bronzed face was transformed with +emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw,” he said, huskily, “why did you lay so much emphasis upon +the words, ‘the seventh step’?” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw shrugged, replying simply: +</p> + +<p> +“Because <i>there is no seventh step—only the mouth of a well!</i>” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch10"> +TENTH EPISODE.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CASE OF THE VEIL OF ISIS</span> +</h3> + +<h4> +I +</h4> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">I have</span> made no attempt, in these chronicles, to arrange the cases of +my remarkable friend, Moris Klaw, in sections. Yet, as has recently +been pointed out to me, they seem naturally to fall into two orders. +There were those in which he appeared in the rôle of criminal +investigator, and in which he was usually associated with Inspector +Grimsby. There was another class of inquiry in which the criminal +element was lacking: mysteries which never came under the notice of +New Scotland Yard. +</p> + +<p> +Since Moris Klaw’s methods were, if not supernatural, at any rate +supernormal, I have been asked if he ever, to my knowledge, inquired +into a case which proved insusceptible of a natural explanation—which +fell strictly within the province of the occult. +</p> + +<p> +To that I answer that I am aware of several; but I have refrained from +including them because readers of these papers would be unlikely to +appreciate the nature of Klaw’s investigations outside the sphere of +ordinary natural laws. Those who are curious upon the point cannot do +better than consult the remarkable work by Moris Klaw entitled, +“Psychic Angles.” +</p> + +<p> +But there was one case with which I found myself concerned that I am +disposed to include, for it fell between the provinces of the natural +and supernatural in such a way that it might, with equal legitimacy, +be included under either head. On the whole, I am disposed to bracket +it with the case of the headless mummies. +</p> + +<p> +I will take leave to introduce you, then, to the company which met at +Otter Brearley’s house one night in August. +</p> + +<p> +“This is most truly amazing,” Moris Klaw was saying; “and I am +indebted to my good friend Searles”—he inclined his sparsely covered +head in my direction—“for the opportunity to be one of you. It is a +séance? Yes and no. But there is a mummy in it—and those mummies are +so instructive!” +</p> + +<p> +He extracted the scent spray from his pocket and refreshed his yellow +brow with verbena. +</p> + +<p> +“How to be regretted that my daughter is in Paris,” he continued, his +rumbling voice echoing queerly about the room. “She loves them like a +mother—those mummies! Ah, Mr. Brearley, this will cement your great +reputation!” +</p> + +<p> +Otter Brearley shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not yet prepared to make it public property,” he declared, +slowly. “No one, outside the present circle, knows of my discovery. I +do not wish it to go farther—at present.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced around the table, his prominent blue eyes passing from +myself to Moris Klaw and from Klaw to the clean-cut dark face of +Doctor Fairbank. The latter, scarce heeding his host’s last words, sat +watching how the shaded light played, tenderly, amid the soft billows +of Ailsa Brearley’s wonderful hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall you make it the subject of a paper?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Doctor Fairbank!” rumbled Moris Klaw, solemnly, “if you had +been paying attention to our good friend you would have heard him say +that he was not prepared, at present, to make public his wonderful +discovery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry!” said Fairbank, turning to Brearley. “But if it is not to be +made public I don’t altogether follow the idea. What <i>do</i> you intend, +Brearley?” +</p> + +<p> +“I intend to experiment,” answered Brearley. +</p> + +<p> +“In what way?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In every way possible!” +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Fairbank sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather a comprehensive scheme?” +</p> + +<p> +Brearley toyed with the bundle of notes under his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I have already,” he said, “exhaustively examined seven of the +possibilities; the eighth, and—I believe, the last—remains to be +considered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen now to me, Mr. Brearley,” said Moris Klaw, wagging a long +finger. “I am here, the old curious, and find myself in delightful +company. But until this evening I know nothing of your work except +that I have read all your books. For me you will be so good as to +outline all the points—yes?” +</p> + +<p> +Otter Brearley mutely sought permission of the company, and turned the +leaves of his manuscript. All men have an innate love of “talking +shop,” but few can make such talk of general interest. Brearley was an +exception in this respect. He loved to talk of Egypt, of the Pharaohs, +of the temples, of the priesthood and its mysteries; but others loved +to hear him. That made all the difference. +</p> + +<p> +“The discovery,” he now began, “upon which I have blundered—for pure +accident, alone, led me to it—assumes its great importance by reason +of the absolute mystery surrounding certain phases of Egyptian +worship. In the old days, Fairbank, you will recall that it was my +supreme ambition to learn the secrets of Isis-worship as practised in +early Egyptian times. Save for impostors, and legitimate imaginative +writers, no one has yet lifted the veil of Isis. That mystical +ceremony by which a priest was consecrated to the goddess, or made an +arch adept, was thought to be hopelessly lost, or, by others, to be a +myth devised by the priesthood to awe the ignorant masses. In fact, we +know little of the entire religion but its outward form. Of that +occult lore so widely attributed to its votaries we know +nothing—absolutely nothing! By we, I mean students in general. I, +individually, have made a step, if not a stride, into that holy of +holies!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mind you don’t lose yourself!” said Fairbank, lightly. +</p> + +<p> +But, professionally, he was displeased with Brearley’s drawn face and +with the feverish brightness of his eyes. So much was plain for all to +see. In the eyes of Ailsa Brearley, so like, yet so unlike, her +brother’s, he read understanding of his displeasure, I think, together +with a pathetic appeal. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley waved his long white hand carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Rest assured of that, Doctor!” he replied. “The labyrinth in which I +find myself is intricate, I readily admit; but all my steps have been +well considered. To return, Mr. Klaw”—addressing the latter—“I have +secured the mummy of one of those arch adepts! That he was one is +proved by the papyrus, presumably in his own writing, which lay upon +his breast! I unwrapped the mummy in Egypt, where it now reposes; but +the writing I brought back with me and have recently deciphered. A +glance had showed me that it was not the usual excerpts from the ‘Book +of the Dead.’ Six months’ labour has proved it to be a detailed +account of his initiation into the inner mysteries!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is such a papyrus unique?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Unique!” cried Moris Klaw. “Name of a little blue man! It is +priceless!” +</p> + +<p> +“But why,” I pursued, “should this priest, alone among the many who +must have been so initiated, have left an account of the ceremony?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was forbidden to divulge any part, any word, of it, Searles!” said +Brearley. “Departure from this law was visited with fearful +punishments in this world and dire penalties in the next. Khamus, for +so this priest was named, well knew this. But some reason which, I +fear, can never be known, prompted him to write the papyrus. It is +probable, if not certain, that no eye but his, and mine, has read what +is written there.” +</p> + +<p> +A silence of a few seconds followed his words. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” rumbled Klaw, presently; “it is undoubtedly a discovery of +extraordinary importance, this. You agree, my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s evident,” I replied. “But I cannot altogether get the hang of +the ceremony itself, Brearley. That is the point upon which I am +particularly hazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“To read you the entire account in detail,” Brearley resumed, “would +occupy too long, and would almost certainly confuse you. But the +singular thing is this: Khamus distinctly asserts that the goddess +appeared to him. His writing is eminently sane and reserved, and his +account of the ceremony, up to that point, highly interesting. Now, I +have tested the papyrus itself—though no possibility of fraud is +really admissible, and I have been able to confirm many of the +statements made therein. There is only one point, it seems to me, +remaining to be settled.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Whether, as a result of the ceremony described, Khamus did see Isis, +or whether he merely imagined he did!” +</p> + +<p> +No one spoke for a moment. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” said Moris Klaw, “I have a daughter whom I have named +Isis. Why did I name her Isis? Mr. Brearley, you must know that that +name has a mystic and beautiful significance. But I will say +something—I am glad that my daughter is not here! Mr. +Brearley—beware! Beware, I say: you play with burning fires; my +friend—beware!” +</p> + +<p> +His words impressed us all immensely; for there was something +underlying them more portentous than appeared upon the surface. +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank stared at Brearley, hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I understand,” he began, quietly, “that you admit the first +possibility?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly!” replied Brearley, with conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“You are prepared to admit the existence, as an entity, of Isis?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am prepared to admit the existence of <i>anything</i> until it can be +proved not to exist!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, admitting the existence of Isis, what should you assume it, or +her, to be?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is not a matter for presumption; it is a matter for inquiry!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor glanced quickly toward Ailsa Brearley, and her beautiful +face was troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“And this inquiry—how should you propose to conduct it?” +</p> + +<p> +“In surroundings as nearly as possible identical with those described +in the papyrus,” replied Brearley, with growing excitement. “I should +follow the ceremony, word by word, as Khamus did!” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes gleamed with pent-up enthusiasm. We four listeners, again +stricken silent, watched him; and again it was the doctor who broke +the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the ceremony spoken?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the first half there is a long prayer, which is chanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Egyptian, as a <i>spoken</i> language, is lost, surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“The exact pronunciation, or accent, is lost, of course; but there are +many who can speak it. I can, for instance.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I,” rumbled Moris Klaw, gloomily. “But these special +surroundings? Eh, my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have spent a year in searching for the necessary things, as +specified in the writing. At last my collection is complete. Some of +the things I have had made, in the proper materials mentioned. These +materials, in some cases, have been exceedingly difficult to procure. +But now I have a complete shrine of Isis fitted up! Khamus’s +initiation took place in a small chamber of which he gives a concise +and detailed account. It is because my duplicate of this chamber is +ready that I have asked you to meet me here to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you been at work upon this inquiry?” said Fairbank. +</p> + +<p> +He put the question as he might have put one relating to a patient’s +symptoms; and this Brearley detected in his tone, with sudden +resentment. +</p> + +<p> +“Fairbank,” he said, huskily, “I believe you think me insane!” +</p> + +<p> +With his pale, drawn face and long, fair hair, he certainly looked +anything but normal, as he sat with bright, staring eyes fixed upon +the other across the table. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap,” replied the doctor, soothingly, “what a strange idea! +My question was prompted by a professional spirit, I will admit, for I +thought you had been sticking to this business too closely. You are +the last man in the world I should expect to go mad, Brearley, but I +should not care to answer for your nerves if you don’t give this Isis +affair a rest.” +</p> + +<p> +Brearley smiled, and waved his hand characteristically. “Excuse me, +Fairbank,” he said, “but to the average person my ideas do seem +fantastic, I know. That is what makes me so touchy on the point, I +suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are hoping for too much from what is at most only a wild +conjecture, Brearley. Your translation of the manuscript, alone, is a +sufficiently notable achievement. If I were in your place, I should +leave the occult business to the psychical societies. ‘Let the +cobbler,’ you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has gone too far for that,” returned Brearley, “and I must see it +through, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are putting too much into it,” said the doctor, severely. “I want +you to promise me that if nothing results from your final experiment, +you will drop the whole inquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +Brearley frowned thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really think I am overdoing it?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure,” was the answer. “Drop the whole thing for a month or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because the ceremony must take place upon the first night of <i>Panoi</i>, +the tenth month of the Sacred Sothic year. This we take to correspond +to the April of the Julian year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “it is to-night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” I cried, “of course it is! Do you mean, Brearley, that you are +going to conduct your experiment <i>now?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” was the calm reply; “and I have asked you all—Mr. Moris +Klaw in particular—in order that it may take place in the presence of +competent witnesses!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw shook his massive head and pulled at his scanty, toneless +beard in a very significant manner. All of us were vaguely startled, I +think, and through my mind the idea flashed that the first of April +was a date pathetically appropriate for such an undertaking. Frankly, +I was beginning to entertain serious doubts regarding Brearley’s +sanity. +</p> + +<p> +“I have given the servants a holiday,” said the latter. “They are at a +theatre in town; so there is no possibility of the experiment being +interrupted.” +</p> + +<p> +Something of his enthusiasm, unnatural though it seemed, strangely +enough began to communicate itself to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Come upstairs,” he continued, “and I will explain what we all have to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw squirted verbena upon his brow. +</p> + +<h4> +II +</h4> + +<p> +“Doctor Fairbank!” +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank, startled by the touch on his arm, stopped. It was Ailsa +Brearley who had dropped behind her brother and now stood confronting +us. In the dense shadows of the corridor one could barely distinguish +her figure, but a stray beam of light touched one side of her pure +oval face and burnished her fair hair. +</p> + +<p> +She wanted help, guidance. I had read it in her eyes before. I was +sorry that her sweet lips should have that pathetic little droop. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor Fairbank! I have wanted to ask you all night—do you think +he——” +</p> + +<p> +She could not speak the words, and stood biting her lips, with eyes +averted. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brearley,” he replied, “I do, certainly, fear that your brother +is liable to a nervous breakdown at any moment. He has applied his +mind too closely to this inquiry, and has studiously surrounded +himself with a morbid atmosphere.” +</p> + +<p> +Ailsa Brearley was now watching him, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Should we allow him to go on with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear any attempt to prevent him would prove most detrimental, in +his present condition.” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” There was clearly something else which she wanted to say. +“But, apart from that”—she suddenly turned to Moris Klaw, +instinctively it almost seemed—“Mr. Klaw—is this—ceremony <i>right?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +He peered at her through his pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +“In what way, my dear Miss Brearley—how right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—what I mean is—it amounts to idolatry, does it not?” +</p> + +<p> +I started. It was a point of view which had not, hitherto, occurred to +me. +</p> + +<p> +“You probably understand the nature of the thing better than we do, +Miss Brearley,” said Fairbank. “Do you mean that it involves worship +of Isis?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has always avoided a direct answer when I have asked him that,” +she said. “But it is only reasonable to suppose that it does. His +translation of the writing I have never seen. But he has been dieting +in a most extraordinary manner for nearly a year! Since the workmen +completed it, no one but himself has been inside the chamber which he +has had constructed at the end of his study; and he spends hours and +hours there every day—and every night!” +</p> + +<p> +Her anxiety became more evident with each word. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw that he ate nothing at dinner,” she continued, “and taxed him +with faddism. But it is something more than that. Why has he sent the +servants away to-night? Oh, Doctor Fairbank! I have a dreadful +foreboding! I am so afraid!” +</p> + +<p> +The light in her eyes, suddenly upturned to him in the vague +half-light, the tone in her voice, the appeal in her attitude—were +unmistakable. Fairbank had been abroad for three years, and I could +see that between these two was an undeclared love, and almost I felt +that I intruded. Moris Klaw looked away for a moment, too. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young lady,” he rumbled, paternally, “do not be afraid. I, +the old know-all, so fortunately am here! Perhaps there is +danger—yes, I admit it; there may be danger. But it is such danger as +dwells here”—he tapped his yellow brow—“it is a danger of the mind. +For thoughts are things, Miss Brearley—that is where it lies, the +peril—and thought things can kill!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ailsa! Fairbank! Mr. Klaw!” came Brearley’s voice. “We have none too +much time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed, my friends,” rumbled Moris Klaw; “I am with you.” And, oddly +enough, I was comforted by his presence; so, it was evident, were the +girl and the doctor; for Moris Klaw, beneath that shabby, ramshackle +exterior, Moris Klaw, the Wapping curio dealer, was a man of power—an +intellectual ark of refuge. +</p> + +<p> +In the Egyptologist’s study all appeared much the same as when last I +had set foot there. The cases filled with vases, scarabs, tablets, +weapons, and the hundred-and-one relics of the great dead age with +which the student had surrounded himself; the sarcophagi; the frames +of papyri—all seemed familiar. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley sat at the huge writing table, littered, as of yore, and in +picturesque confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“We must begin almost immediately!” he said, as we entered. +</p> + +<p> +A danger spot burned lividly upon either pale cheek. His eyes gleamed +brilliantly. The prolonged excitement of his strange experiment was +burning the man up. His nerve centres must be taxed abnormally, I +knew. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“I must be very brief,” he explained, hurriedly, “as it is vitally +important that I commence in time. Beyond the bookcase, there, you +will see that a part of the room has been walled off.” +</p> + +<p> +We looked in the direction indicated. Although it was not noticeable +at first glance I now saw that the apartment was, indeed, smaller than +formerly. The usual books covered the new wall, giving it much the +same aspect as the old; but, where hitherto there had been nothing but +shelves, a small, narrow door of black wood now broke the imposing +expanse of faded volumes. +</p> + +<p> +“In there,” Brearley resumed, “is the Secret Place described by +Khamus!” +</p> + +<p> +He placed his long, thin hand upon a yellow roll that lay partly +opened on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“No one but myself may enter there—until after to-night, at any +rate!” with a glance at Moris Klaw. “To the most minute +particular”—patting the papyrus—“it is equipped as Khamus describes. +For many months I have prepared myself, by fasting and meditation, as +<i>he</i> prepared! There was, as no doubt you know, a widespread belief in +ancient times that for any but the chosen to look upon the goddess was +death. As I admit the possibility of Isis existing, I must also admit +the possibility of this belief being true—the more so as it is +confirmed by Khamus! Therefore none may enter with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, Mr. Brearley,” interrupted Klaw; “in what form does +Khamus relate that the goddess appeared?” +</p> + +<p> +A cloud crossed Brearley’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the one point upon which he is not clear,” was the reply. “I do +not know, in the least, <i>what</i> to expect!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on!” I said, quickly. Although I seriously doubted my poor +friend’s sanity, I began to find the affair weirdly, uncannily +fascinating. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley continued: +</p> + +<p> +“The ritual opens with a chant, which I may broadly translate as ‘The +Hymn of Dedication.’ Its exact purport is not very clear to me. This +hymn is the only part of the ceremony in which I am assisted. It is to +be ‘sung by a virgin beyond the door.’ That is, directly I have +entered yonder it must be sung out here. Ailsa has composed a sort of +chant to the words, which, I think, is the proper kind of setting. +Have you not, Ailsa?” +</p> + +<p> +She bowed her graceful head, glancing, under her lashes, toward +Fairbank. +</p> + +<p> +“She has learned the words—for, of course, it must be sung in +Egyptian——” +</p> + +<p> +“But have no idea of their meaning,” said his sister, softly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is unnecessary,” he went on, quickly. “After this, I want you +all just to remain here in this room. I am afraid you will have to sit +in the dark! Any sounds which you detect, please note. I will not tell +you what to expect, then imagination cannot deceive you. I will be +back in a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +With another hasty glance at his watch, he went out in high +excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“Please,” began Ailsa Brearley, the moment he was gone, “do not think +that because I assist him I approve of this attempt! I think it is +horrible! But what am I to do? He is wrapped up in it! I <i>dare</i> not +try to check him!” +</p> + +<p> +“We understand that,” said Fairbank; “all of us. Do as he desires. +When he has made the attempt, and failed—as, of course, he must +do—the folly of the whole thing will become apparent to him. Do not +let it worry you, Miss Brearley. Your brother is not the first man to +succumb, temporarily, to the glamour of the Unknown.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is an unpleasant farce,” she said. “But there is something more in +it than that.” +</p> + +<p> +Her blue eyes were full of trouble. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, Miss Brearley?” asked Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly know, myself!” was the reply; “but for the past two months +an indefinable horror of some kind has been growing upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +With a deep sigh, she turned to a tall case and took from it a kind of +slender harp. The instrument, of which the frame, at any rate, was +evidently ancient Egyptian work, rested upon a claw-shaped pedestal. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you play this? Yes? No?” inquired Moris Klaw, with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, wearily. “It comes from the tomb of a priestess of +Isis and was played by her in the temple. It is scaled differently +from the modern harp, but any one with a slight knowledge of the +ordinary harp, or even of the piano, can perform upon it with ease. It +is sweet toned, but—creepy!” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled slightly at her own expression, and I was glad to see it. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley returned. +</p> + +<p> +He wore a single loose garment of white linen, and thin sandals were +upon his feet. Save for his long, fair hair, he looked a true pagan +priest, his eyes bright with the fire of research that consumed him, +his features gaunt, ascetic. +</p> + +<p> +Some ghost of his old humorous expression played, momentarily, about +his lips as he observed the astonishment depicted upon our faces. But +it was gone almost in the moment of its coming. +</p> + +<p> +“You wonder at me, no doubt,” he said; “and at times I have wondered +at myself! Do not think me fanatic. I scarcely hope for any result. +But remembering that the writing is authentic and that there prevails, +to this day, a widespread belief in the occult wisdom of the +Egyptians, <i>why</i> should not this problem in psychics receive the same +attention from me that one in physics would receive from you, +Fairbank?” +</p> + +<p> +There was reason in his argument and in his manner of advancing it. +Fairbank glanced from Brearley to the girl sitting with her white +hands listlessly caressing the harp strings. The silence of the great +empty house grew oppressive. Suppose the ancients indeed possessed the +strange lore attributed to them? Suppose in those Dark Continents, the +Past and the Future, somewhere in the vast unknown, there existed a +power, a being, a spirit, named by the Egyptians, Isis? +</p> + +<p> +Those were my thoughts, when Moris Klaw said suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Brearley, it is not yet too late to turn back! This sensitive +plate”—he tapped his forehead—“warns me that some evil thought thing +hovers about us! You are about to give form to that thought being. Be +wise, Mr. Brearley—abandon your experiment!” +</p> + +<p> +His tone surprised everyone. Otter Brearley looked at him with an odd +expression and then glanced at the watch upon the writing table. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Klaw,” he said, quietly, “I had hoped for a different attitude in +you; but if you really disapprove of what I am about to attempt, I can +only ask you to withdraw; it is too late for further arguments.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remain, my friend! I spoke not for myself—my life has been passed +in this coping with evil things; I spoke for others.” +</p> + +<p> +None of us entirely understood his words, but Brearley went on, +impatiently: +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, please. I rely upon your coöperation. From now onward I +require absolute silence. Whatever happens make no noise.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not be noisy, I, my friend!” rumbled Moris Klaw. “I am the +old silent; I watch and wait—until I am wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said Brearley, and his voice quivered with excitement; “then +the experiment, the final experiment, has begun!” +</p> + +<h4> +III +</h4> + +<p> +He suddenly extinguished the light. +</p> + +<p> +Passing to a window, he looked up to the moon, and, a moment later, +lowered the blind. Dimly visible in his white garment, he crossed the +room. He might be heard unfastening the door of the inner chamber, and +a faint, church-like smell crept to our nostrils. The door closed. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately the harp sounded. +</p> + +<p> +Its tone was peculiar—uncomfortable. The strain which Ailsa played +was a mere repetition of three notes. Then she began to sing. +</p> + +<p> +Our eyes becoming more accustomed to the gloom, we could vaguely +discern her now; the soft outlines of her figure; the white, +ghost-like fingers straying over the strings of the instrument. The +music of the chant was very monotonous, and weird to a marked degree. +The sound of that ancient tongue, dead for many ages, chanted softly +by Ailsa Brearley’s beautiful voice, was almost incredibly eerie. I +found myself gripped hard by a powerful sense of the uncanny. +</p> + +<p> +No other sound was audible. Throughout the rambling old house intense +silence prevailed. A slight breeze stirred the cedars outside. Every +now and again it came—like a series of broken sighs. +</p> + +<p> +How long the chant lasted I cannot pretend to state. It seemed +interminable. I became aware of a curious sense of physical loss. I +found myself drawn to high tension, as though the continuance of the +chant demanded a vast effort on my part. Though I told myself that +imagination was tricking me, the music seemed to be draining my nerve +force! +</p> + +<p> +Ailsa’s voice grew louder and clearer, until the queer words, of +unknown purport, rang out passionately, imperatively. +</p> + +<p> +She ceased. +</p> + +<p> +In the ensuing silence I could hear distinctly Moris Klaw’s heavy +breathing. A compelling atmosphere of mystery had grown up about us. +Repel it how we might, it was there—commanding acknowledgment. +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank, who sat nearest, was the first to see Ailsa Brearley rise, +unsteadily, and move in the direction of the study door. +</p> + +<p> +Something in her manner alarmed us all, and the doctor quietly left +his seat and followed her. As she quitted the room, he came out behind +her; and in the better light on the landing, as he told us later, saw +that she was deathly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brearley!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She turned. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ssh!</i>” she whispered, anxiously, “it is nothing—Doctor Fairbank. +The excitement has made me rather faint, that is all. I shall go to my +room and lie down. Believe me, I am quite well!” +</p> + +<p> +“But there is no servant in the house,” he whispered, “if you should +become worse——” +</p> + +<p> +“If I need anything I shall not hesitate to ring,” she answered. “It +is so still, you will hear the bell. Please go back! He has hoped for +so much from this.” +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank was nonplussed. But the appeal was so obviously sincere, and +the situation so difficult, that he saw no alternative. Ailsa Brearley +passed along the corridor. Fairbank slipped back into the study, where +Moris Klaw and I anxiously awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +From the inner room came Brearley’s voice, muffled. +</p> + +<p> +The long vigil began. +</p> + +<p> +I found myself claimed by the all-pervading spirit of mystery. For +some little time I listened in expectation of hearing Ailsa Brearley +returning. But soon the strange business of the night claimed my mind, +to the exclusion of every other idea. I found myself listening only +for Brearley’s muffled voice. Although the half-audible words were +meaningless, their sound assumed, as time wore on, a curious +significance. They seemed potent with a strange power proceeding not +<i>from</i> them, but <i>to</i> them. +</p> + +<p> +Then I heard a new sound. +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank heard it—for I saw him start, and Moris Klaw muttered +something. +</p> + +<p> +It did not come from the trees outside, nor from the inner room. It +was somewhere in the house. +</p> + +<p> +A faint rattling it was, bell-like but toneless. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley’s voice had ceased. +</p> + +<p> +Again the sound rose—nearer. +</p> + +<p> +I turned my head toward Fairbank, and seemed to perceive him more +clearly. I had less difficulty in distinguishing the objects about. +</p> + +<p> +Again it came—the shivering, bell-like sound. +</p> + +<p> +Even the strings of the harp were visible now. +</p> + +<p> +“Curse me!” came Moris Klaw’s hoarse whisper; “it seems to grow light! +That is a delusion of the mind, my friends—repel it—repel it!” +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank drew a quick, sibilant breath. A half-suppressed exclamation +from Klaw followed; for the high-pitched rattle came from close at +hand! The sense of the supernormal had grown unbearable. Fairbank’s +science and my own semi-scepticism were but weapons of sand against +it. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened silently, admitting a flood of the soft moon-like +radiance. And Ailsa Brearley entered! +</p> + +<p> +Her slim figure was bathed in light; her fair hair, unbound, swept +like a gleaming torrent about her shoulders. She looked magnificently, +unnaturally beautiful. A diaphanous veil was draped over her face. +From her radiant figure I turned away my head in sudden, stark <i>fear!</i> +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank, clutching the arms of his chair, seemed to strive to look +away, too. +</p> + +<p> +Her widely opened eyes, visible even through the veil, were awful in +their supernormal, significant beauty. <i>Was</i> it Ailsa Brearley? I +clenched my fists convulsively; I felt my reason tottering. As the +luminous figure, so terrible in its perfect loveliness, moved slowly +toward the inner door, with set gaze that was not for any about her, +Doctor Fairbank wrenched himself from his chair and leapt forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Ailsa!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice came in a hoarse shriek. But it was drowned by a rumbling +roar from Moris Klaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Look away! Look away!” he shouted. “The good God! Do not look at her! +<i>Look away!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The warning came too late. Fairbank had all but reached her side, when +she turned her eyes upon him—looking fully in his face. +</p> + +<p> +With no sound or cry he went down as though felled with a mighty blow! +</p> + +<p> +She passed to the door of the inner room. It swung open noiselessly. A +stifling cloud of some pungent perfume swept into the study; and the +door reclosed. +</p> + +<p> +“Fairbank!” I whispered, huskily. “My God! he’s dead!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw sprang forward to where Fairbank, clearly visible in the +soft light, lay huddled upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Lift him!” he hissed. “We must get him out—before she returns—you +understand?—before she returns!” +</p> + +<p> +Bending together, we raised the doctor’s inanimate body and half +dragged, half carried him from the room. On the landing we laid him +down and stood panting. A voice, clear and sweet, was speaking. I +recognized neither the language nor the voice. But each liquid +syllable thrilled me like an icy shock. I met Moris Klaw’s gaze, set +upon me through the pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not listen, my friend!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Raising Fairbank, we dragged him into the first room we came to—and +Klaw locked the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Here we remain,” he rumbled, “until something has gone back where it +came from!” +</p> + +<p> +Fairbank lay motionless at our feet. +</p> + +<p> +Presently came the rattling. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the sistrum,” whispered Moris Klaw, “the sacred instrument of +the Isis temples.” +</p> + +<p> +The sound passed—and faded. +</p> + +<p> +“Searles! Fairbank!”—it was Brearley’s voice, sobbingly intense—“do +not <i>touch</i> her! Do not <i>look</i> at her!” +</p> + +<p> +The study door crashed open and I heard his sandals pattering on the +landing. +</p> + +<p> +“Fairbank! Mr. Klaw! Good God! Answer me! Tell me you are safe!” +</p> + +<p> +Moris Klaw unlocked the door. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley, his face white as death and bathed in perspiration, stood +outside. As Klaw appeared, he leapt forward, wild-eyed. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick! Did any one——” +</p> + +<p> +“Fairbank!” I said, huskily. +</p> + +<p> +Brearley pushed into the room and turned on the light. Fairbank, very +pale, lay propped against an armchair. Moris Klaw immediately dropped +on his knee beside him and felt his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, the good God! He is alive!” he whispered. “Get some water—no +brandy, my friend—water. Then look to your sister!” +</p> + +<p> +Brearley plunged his trembling hands into his hair and tugged at it +distractedly. +</p> + +<p> +“How was I to know!” he moaned, “how was I to know! There is water in +the bottle, Mr. Klaw. Searles will come with me. I must look for +Ailsa!” +</p> + +<p> +A bizarre figure, in his linen robe, he ran off. Moris Klaw waved me +to follow him. +</p> + +<p> +The door of his sister’s room was closed. +</p> + +<p> +He knocked, but there was no reply. He turned the knob and went in, +whilst I waited in the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“Ailsa!” I heard him call, and again, “Ailsa!” then, following an +interval, “Are you all right, dear?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thank Heaven it is finished!” came a murmur in Ailsa Brearley’s +soft voice. “It <i>is</i> finished, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite finished,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Just look at my hair!” she went on, with returning animation. “My +head was so bad—I think that was why I took it down. Then I must have +dropped off to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, dear,” said Brearley. “I want you to come downstairs; be +as quick as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +He rejoined me in the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“She was lying with her hair strewn all over the pillow!” he +whispered, “and she had been burning something—ashes in the +hearth——” +</p> + +<p> +Ailsa came out. She seemed suddenly to observe her brother’s haggard +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anything the matter?” she said, quickly. “Oh! has something +dreadful happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear,” he answered, reassuringly. “Only Doctor Fairbank was +overcome——” +</p> + +<p> +She turned very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“He is not ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He became faint. You can come and see for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Very quickly we all hurried downstairs. Moris Klaw, on his knees +beside the doctor, was trying to force something between his clenched +teeth. Ailsa, with a little cry, ran forward and knelt upon the other +side of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ralph!” she whispered; “Ralph!”—and smoothed the hair back from his +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +He sighed deeply, and with an effort swallowed the draught which Klaw +held to his lips. A moment later he opened his eyes, glaring wildly +into Ailsa’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Ralph!” she said, brokenly. +</p> + +<p> +Then, realizing how tenderly she had spoken—using his Christian +name—she hung her graceful head in hot confusion. But he had heard +her. And the wild light died from his eyes. He took both her hands in +his own and held them fast; then, rather unsteadily, he stood up. +</p> + +<p> +As his features came more fully into the light, we all saw that a +small bruise discoloured his forehead, squarely between the brows. +</p> + +<p> +Then Brearley, who had been back into the study, came running, crying: +</p> + +<p> +“The papyrus! And my translation! Gone!” +</p> + +<p> +I thought of the ashes in Ailsa Brearley’s room. +</p> + +<h4> +IV +</h4> + +<p> +“My friends,” rumbled Moris Klaw, impressively, “we are fortunate. We +have passed through scorching fires unscathed!” +</p> + +<p> +He applied himself with vigour to the operating of the scent spray. +</p> + +<p> +“God forgive me!” said Brearley. “What did I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you, my friend,” replied Klaw; “you clothed a thought in +the beautiful form which you knew as your sister! Ah! You stare! +Ritual, my friends, is the soul of what the ignorant call magic. With +the sacred incense, <i>kyphi</i> (yes, I detected it!), you invoked secret +powers. Those powers, Mr. Brearley, were but <i>thoughts</i>. All such +forces are thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“Thoughts are things—and you gathered together in this house, by that +ancient formula, a thought thing created by generations of worshippers +who have worshipped the moon! +</p> + +<p> +“The light that we saw was only the moonlight, the sounds that we +heard were thought-sounds. But so powerful was this mighty +thought-force, this centuries-old power which you loosed upon us, that +it drove out Miss Ailsa’s own thoughts from her mind, bringing what +she mistook for sleep; and it implanted itself there! +</p> + +<p> +“She was transformed by that mighty power which for a time dwelled +within her. She was as powerful, as awful, as a goddess! None might +look upon her and be sane. Hypnotism has similarities with the ancient +science of thought—yes! <i>Suggestion</i> is the secret of all so-called +occult phenomena!” +</p> + +<p> +With his eyes gleaming oddly, he stepped forward, resting his long +white hands upon Fairbank’s shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” he rumbled, “you have a bruise on your forehead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I?” said Fairbank, in surprise. “I hadn’t noticed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it is not a physical bruise; it is a mental bruise, +physically reflected! Nearly were you slain, my friend—oh, so nearly! +But another force—as great as the force of ancient thought—weakened +the blow. Doctor Fairbank, it is fortunate that Miss Ailsa loves you!” +</p> + +<p> +His frank words startled us all. +</p> + +<p> +“Look well at the shape of this little bruise, my friends,” continued +Moris Klaw. “Mr. Brearley—it is a shape that will be familiar to you. +See! it is thus.” He drew an imaginary outline with his long +forefinger— +</p> + +<figure> +<img alt="img_309.jpg" src="images/img_309.jpg"> +</figure> + +<p> +“And that is the sign of Isis!” +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +THE END +</p> + + +<h2> +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES +</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p> +Abandon the use of drop-caps. +</p> + +<p> +Punctuation: fix a few quotation mark pairings/nestings and missing +periods. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[First Episode] +</p> + +<p> +Change “I waited for no further <i>explanatians</i>, but, hastily” to +<i>explanations</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“her voice, her entire person, <i>as</i> certainly charming—to” to +<i>was</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Third Episode] +</p> + +<p> +“tell him all we know about the ax of ‘Black <i>Goeffrey</i>.’ ” to +<i>Geoffrey</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“In the <i>blidness</i> of his anger, Heidelberger failed” to <i>blindness</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Fourth Episode] +</p> + +<p> +“We were all <i>star ng</i> at Moris Klaw, spellbound with” to <i>staring</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Fifth Episode] +</p> + +<p> +“He was accompanied by Sir John Carron, Mr. Gautami <i>Chini</i>” to +<i>Chinje</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“he removed his coat and <i>waitscoat</i> and threw them upon the table” to +<i>waistcoat</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Sixth Episode] +</p> + +<p> +“Having <i>re-fastened</i> the door, we laid him on a sofa” to +<i>refastened</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“the pistol he <i>carred</i> as he rose slowly to his feet” to <i>carried</i>. +</p> + +<p> +(“<i>Curari!</i>” he said, <i>horasely</i>, “the ancient arrow poison) to +<i>hoarsely</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Tenth Episode] +</p> + +<p> +“that one in physics would receive <i>f om</i> you, Fairbank?” to <i>from</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Whatver</i> happens make no noise.” to <i>Whatever</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“As Klaw appeared, he leapt forward, <i>wild eyed</i>” to <i>wild-eyed</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77056 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/77056-h/images/cover.jpg b/77056-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..afb66ad --- /dev/null +++ b/77056-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/77056-h/images/img_000.jpg b/77056-h/images/img_000.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..205768e --- /dev/null +++ b/77056-h/images/img_000.jpg diff --git a/77056-h/images/img_000_th.jpg b/77056-h/images/img_000_th.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf65d84 --- /dev/null +++ b/77056-h/images/img_000_th.jpg diff --git a/77056-h/images/img_309.jpg b/77056-h/images/img_309.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ead277 --- /dev/null +++ b/77056-h/images/img_309.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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