MISKA'S STORY(concluded)
"Of course, I did not know that this was his name at the time; I only knew that a tall Chinaman had entered the room—and that his face was entirely covered by a green veil."
Stuart started, but did not interrupt Miska's story.
"This veil gave him in some way a frightfully malign and repellent appearance. As he stood in the doorway looking down I seemed tofeelhis gaze passing over me like a flame, although of course I could not see his eyes. For a moment he stood there looking at me; and much as his presence had affected me, its affect upon the slave-dealer and my purchaser was extraordinary. They seemed to be stricken dumb. Suddenly the Chinaman spoke, in perfect Arabic. 'Her price?' he said.
"Mohammed Abd-el-Bali, standing trembling before him, replied:
"'Miska is already sold, lord, but——"
"'Her price?' repeated the Chinaman, in the same hard metallic voice and without the slightest change of intonation.
"Theharemagent who had bought me now said, his voice shaking so that the words were barely audible:
"'I give her up, Mohammed—I give her up. Who am I to dispute with the Mandarin Fo-Hi;' and performing an abject obeisance he backed out of the room.
"At the same moment, Mohammed, whose knees were trembling so that they seemed no longer capable of supporting him, addressed the Chinaman.
"'Accept the maiden as an unworthy gift,' he began—
"'Her price?' repeated Fo-Hi.
"Mohammed, whose teeth had begun to chatter, asked him twice as much as he had agreed to accept from the other, Fo-Hi clapped his hands, and a fierce-eyed Hindu entered the room.
"Fo-Hi addressed him in a language which I did not understand, although I have since learned that it was Hindustani, and the Indian from a purse which he carried counted out the amount demanded by the dealer and placed the money upon a little inlaid table which stood in the room. Fo-Hi gave him some brief order, turned and walked out of the room. I did not see him again for four years—that is until my nineteenth birthday.
"I know that you are wondering about many things and I will try to make some of them clear to you. You are wondering, no doubt, how such a trade as I have described is carried on in the East to-day almost under the eyes of European Governments. Now I shall surprise you. When I was taken from the house of the slave-dealer, in charge of Chunda Lal—for this was the name of the Hindu—do you know where I was carried to? I will tell you: toCairo!"
"Cairo!" cried Stuart—then, perceiving that he had attracted attention by speaking so loudly, he lowered his voice. "Do you mean to tell me that you were taken as aslaveto Cairo?"
Miska smiled—and her smile was the taunting smile of the East, which is at once a caress and an invitation.
"You think, no doubt, that there are no slaves in Cairo!" she said. "So do most people, and so did I—once. I learned better. There are palaces in Cairo, I assure you, in which there are many slaves. I myself lived in such a palace for four years, and I was not the only slave there. What do British residents and French residents know of the inner domestic life of their Oriental neighbours? Are they ever admitted to theharem?And the slaves—are they ever admitted outside the walls of the palace? Sometimes, yes, but never alone!
"By slow stages, following the ancient caravan routes, and accompanied by an extensive retinue of servants in charge of Chunda Lal, we came to Cairo; and one night, approaching the city from the north-east and entering by the Bab en-Nasr, I was taken to the old palace which was to be my prison for four years. How I passed those four years has no bearing upon the matters which I have to tell you, but I lived the useless, luxurious life of some Arabian princess, my lightest wish anticipated and gratified; nothing was denied me, except freedom.
"Then, one day—it was actually my nineteenth birthday—Chunda Lal presented himself and told me that I was to have an interview with Fo-Hi. Hearing these words, I nearly swooned, for a hundred times during the years of my strange luxurious captivity I had awakened trembling in the night, thinking that the figure of the awful veiled Chinaman had entered the room.
"You must understand that having spent my childhood in aharem,the mode of life which I was compelled to follow in Cairo was not so insufferable as it must have been for a European woman. Neither was my captivity made unduly irksome. I often drove through the European quarters, always accompanied by Chunda Lal, and closely veiled, and I regularly went shopping in the bazaars—but never alone. The death of my mother—and later that of my father, of which Chunda Lal had told me—were griefs that time had dulled. But the horror of Fo-Hi was one which lived with me, day and night.
"To a wing of the palace kept closely locked, and which I had never seen opened, I was conducted by Chunda Lal. There, in a room of a kind with which was part library and partmandarah,part museum and part laboratory, I found the veiled man seated at a great littered table. As I stood trembling before him he raised a long yellow hand and waved to Chunda Lal to depart. When he obeyed and I heard the door close I could scarcely repress a shriek of terror.
"For what seemed an interminable time he sat watching me. I dared not look at him, but again I felt his gaze passing over me like a flame. Then he began to speak, in French, which he spoke without a trace of accent.
"He told me briefly that my life of idleness had ended and that a new life of activity in many parts of the world was about to commence. His manner was quite unemotional, neither harsh nor kindly, his metallic voice conveyed no more than the bare meaning of the words which he uttered. When, finally, he ceased speaking, he struck a gong which hung from a corner of the huge table, and Chunda Lal entered.
"Fo-Hi addressed a brief order to him in Hindustani—and a few moments later a second Chinaman walked slowly into the room."
Miska paused, as if to collect her ideas, but continued almost immediately.
"He wore a plain yellow robe and had a little black cap on his head.His face, his wonderful evil face I can never forget, and his eyes—Ifear you will think I exaggerate—but his eyes were green as emeralds!He fixed them upon me.
"'This,' said Fo-Hi, 'is Miska.'
"The other Chinaman continued to regard me with those dreadful eyes; then:
"'You have chosen well.' he said, turned and slowly went out again.
"I thank God that I have never seen him since, for his dreadful face haunted my dreams for long afterwards. But I have learned of him, and I know that next to Fo-Hi he is the most dangerous being in the known world. He has invented horrible things—poisons and instruments, which I cannot describe because I have never seen them; but I have seen … some of their effects."
She paused, overcome with the horror of her memories.
"What is the name of this other man?" asked Stuart eagerly. Miska glanced at him rapidly.
"Oh, do not ask me questions, please!" she pleaded. "I will tell you all I can, all I dare; what I do not tell you I cannot tell you—and this is one of the things I dare not tell. He is a Chinese scientist and, I have heard, the greatest genius in the whole world, but I can say no more—yet."
"Is he still alive—this man?"
"I do not know that. If he is alive, he is in China—at some secret palace in the province of Ho-Nan, which is the headquarters of what is called the 'Sublime Order.' I have never been there, but there are Europeans there, as well as Orientals."
"What! in the company of these fiends!"
"It is useless to ask me—oh! indeed, I would tell you if I could, but I cannot! Let me go on from the time when I saw Fo-Hi in Cairo. He told me that I was a member of an organization dating back to remote antiquity which was destined to rule all the races of mankind—the Celestial age he called their coming triumph. Something which they had lacked in order to achieve success had been supplied by the dreadful man who had entered the room and expressed his approval of me.
"For many years they had been at work in Europe, secretly, as well as in the East. I understood that they had acquired a quantity of valuable information of some kind by means of a system of opium-houses situated in the principal capitals of the world and directed by Fo-Hi and a number of Chinese assistants. Fo-Hi had remained in China most of the time, but had paid occasional visits to Europe. The other man—the monster with the black skull cap—had been responsible for the conduct of the European enterprises."
"Throughout this interview," interrupted Stuart, forgetful of the fact that Miska had warned him of the futility of asking questions, "and during others which you must have had with Fo-Hi, did you never obtain a glimpse of his face?"
"Never! No one has ever seen his face! I know that his eyes are a brilliant and unnatural yellow colour, but otherwise I should not know him if I saw him unveiled, to-morrow. Except," she added, "by a sense of loathing which his presence inspires in me. But I must hurry. If you interrupt me, I shall not have time.
"From that day in Cairo—oh! how can I tell you! I began the life of an adventuress! I do not deny it. I came here to confess it to you. I went to New York, to London, to Paris, to Petrograd; I went all over the world. I had beautiful dresses, jewels, admiration—all that women live for! And in the midst of it all mine was the life of the cloister; no nun could be more secluded!
"I see the question in your eyes—why did I do it? Why did I lure men into the clutches of Fo-Hi? For this is what I did; and when I have failed, I have been punished."
Stuart shrank from her.
"You confess," he said hoarsely, "that you knowing lured men todeath?"
"Ah, no!" she whispered, looking about her fearfully—"never! never!I swear it—never!"
"Then"—he stared at her blankly—"I do not understand you!"
"I dare not make it clearer—now: I dare not—dare not! Butbelieveme! Oh, please, please," she pleaded, her soft voice dropping to a whisper—"believe me! If you know what I risked to tell you so much, you would be more merciful. A horror which cannot be described"—again she shuddered—"will fall upon me ifheever suspects! You think me young and full of life, with all the world before me. You do not know. I am, literally,already dead!Oh! I have followed a strange career. I have danced in a Paris theatre and I have sold flowers in Rome; I have had my box at the Opera and I have filled opium pipes in a den at San Francisco! But never, never have I lured a man to his death. And through it all, from first to last, no man has so much as kissed my finger-tips!
"At a word, at a sign, I have been compelled to go from Monte Carlo to Buenos Ayres; at another sign from there to Tokio! Chunda Lal has guarded me as only the women of the East are guarded. Yet, in his fierce way, he has always tried to befriend me, he has always been faithful. But ah! I shrink from him many times, in horror, because I knowwhathe is! But I may not tell you. Look! Chunda Lal has never been out of sound of this whistle"—she drew a little silver whistle from her dress—"for a moment since that day when he came into the house of the slave-dealer in Mecca, except——"
And now, suddenly, a wave of glorious colour flooded her beautiful face and swiftly she lowered her eyes, replacing the little whistle. Stuart's rebellious heart leapt madly, for whatever he might think of her almost incredible story, that sweet blush was no subterfuge, no product of acting.
"You almost drive me mad," he said in low voice, resembling the tones of repressed savagery. "You tell me so much, but withhold so much that I am more bewildered than ever. I can understand your helplessness in an Eastern household, but why should you obey the behests of this veiled monster in London, in New York, in Paris?"
She did not raise her eyes.
"I dare not tell you. But I dare not disobey him."
"Who is he!"
"No one knows, because no one has ever seen his face! Ah! you are laughing! But I swear before heaven I speak the truth! Indoors he wears a Chinese dress and a green veil. In passing from place to place, which he always does at night, he is attired in a kind of cowl which only exposes his eyes——"
"But howcansuch a fantastic being travel?"
"By road, on land, and in a steam yacht, at sea. Why shouldyoudoubt my honesty?" She suddenly raises her glance to Stuart's face and he saw that she had grown pale. "I have risked what I cannot tell you, and more than once—for you! I tried to call you on the telephone on the night that he set out from the house near Hampton Court to kill you, but I could get no reply, and——"
"Stop!" said Stuart, almost too exited to note at the time that she had betrayed a secret. "It wasyouwho rang up that night?
"Yes. Why did you not answer?"
"Never mind. Your call saved my life. I shall not forget." He looked into her eyes. "But can you not tell me what it all means? What or whom is 'The Scorpion'?"
She flinched.
"The Scorpion is—a passport. See." From a little pocket in the coat of her costume she drew out a golden scorpion! "I have one." She replaced it hurriedly. "I dare not, dare not tell you more. But this much I had to tell you, because … I shall never see you again!"
"What!"
"A French detective, a very clever man, learned a lot about 'The Scorpion' and he followed one of the members to England. This man killed him. Oh, I know I belong to a horrible organization!" she cried bitterly. "But I tell you I am helpless andIhave never aided in such a thing. You should know that! But all he found out he left with you—and I do not know if I succeeded in destroying it. I do not ask you. I do not care. But I leave England to-night. Good-bye."
She suddenly stood up. Stuart rose also. He was about to speak when Miska's expression changed. A look of terror crept over her face, and hastily lowering her veil she walked rapidly away from the table and out of the room!
Many curious glances followed the elegant figure to the door. Then those glances were directed upon Stuart.
Flushing with embarrassment, he quickly settled the bill and hurried out of the hotel. Gaining the street, he looked eagerly right and left.
But Miska had disappeared!
Dusk had drawn a grey mantle over the East-End streets when Miska, discharging the cab in which she had come from Victoria, hurried furtively along a narrow alley tending Thamesward. Unconsciously she crossed a certain line—a line invisible except upon a map of London which lay upon the table of the Assistant Commissioner in New Scotland Yard—the line forming the "red circle" of M. Gaston Max. And, crossing this line, she became the focus upon which four pairs of watchful eyes were directed.
Arriving at the door of a mean house some little distance removed from that of Ah-Fang-Fu, Miska entered, for the door was open, and disappeared from the view of the four detectives who were watching the street. Her heart was beating rapidly. For she had thought, as she had stood up to leave the restaurant, that the fierce eyes of Chunda Lal had looked in through the glass panel of one of the doors.
This gloomy house seemed to swallow her up, and the men who watched wondered more and more what had become of the elegant figure, grotesque in such a setting, which had vanished into the narrow doorway—and which did not reappear. Even Inspector Kelly, who knew so much about Chinatown, did not know that the cellars of the three houses left and right of Ah-Fang-Fu's were connected by a series of doors planned and masked with Chinese cunning.
Half an hour after Miska had disappeared into the little house near the corner, the hidden door in the damp cellar below "The Pidgin House" opened and a bent old woman, a ragged, grey-haired and dirty figure, walked slowly up the rickety wooden stair and entered a bare room behind and below the shop and to the immediate left of the den of the opium-smoker. This room, which was windowless, was lighted by a tin paraffin lamp hung upon a nail in the dirty plaster wall. The floor presented a litter of straw, paper and broken packing-cases. Two steps led up to a second door, a square heavy door of great strength. The old woman, by means of a key which she carried, was about to open this door when it was opened from the other side.
Lowering his head as he came through, Chunda Lal descended. He wore European clothes and a white turban. Save for his ardent eyes and the handsome fanatical face of the man, he might have passed for a lascar. He turned and half closed the door. The woman shrank from him, but extending a lean brown hand he gripped her arm. His eyes glittered feverishly.
"So!" he said, "we are all leaving England? Five of the Chinese sail with the P. and O. boat to-night. Ali Khan goes to-morrow, and Rama Dass, with Miguel, and theAndaman. I meet them at Singapore. But you?"
The woman raised her finger to her lips, glancing fearfully towards the open door. But the Hindu, drawing her nearer, repeated with subdued fierceness:
"I ask it again—butyou?"
"I do not know," muttered the woman, keeping her head lowered and moving in the direction of the steps.
But Chunda Lal intercepted her.
"Stop!" he said—"not yet are you going. There is something I have to speak to you."
"Ssh!" she whispered, half turning and pointing up toward the door.
"Those!" said the Hindu contemptuously—"the poor slaves of the black smoke! Ah! they are floating in their dream paradise; they have no ears to hear, no eyes to see!" He grasped her wrist again. "They contest for shadow smiles and dream kisses, but Chunda Lal have eyes to see and ears to hear. He dream, too but of lips more sweet than honey, of a voice like the Song of the Daood!Inshalla!"
Suddenly he clutched the grey hair of the bent old woman and with one angry jerk snatched it from her head—for it was a cunning wig. Disordered, hair gleaming like bronze waves in the dim lamplight was revealed and the great dark eyes of Miska looked out from the artificially haggard face—eyes wide open and fearful.
"Bend not that beautiful body so," whispered Chunda Lal, "that is straight and supple as the willow branch. O, Miska"—his voice trembled emotionally and he that had been but a moment since so fierce stood abashed before her—"for you I become as the meanest and the lowest; for you I die!"
Miska started back from him as a muffled outcry sounded in the room beyond the half-open door. Chunda Las started also, but almost immediately smiled—and his smile was tender as a woman's.
"It is the voice of the black smoke that speaks, Miska. We are alone.Those are dead men speaking from their tombs."
"Ah-Fang-Fu is in the shop," whispered Miska.
"And there he remain."
"But what of …him!"
Miska pointed toward the eastern wall of the room in which they stood.
Chunda Lal clenched his hands convulsively and turned his eyes in the same direction.
"It is ofhim," he replied in a voice of suppressed vehemence, "it is ofhimI would speak." He bent close to Miska's ear. "In the creek, below the house, is lying the motor-boat. I go to-day to bring it down for him. He goes to-night to the other house up the river. To-morrow I am gone. Only you remaining."
"Yes, yes. He also leaves England to-morrow."
"And you?"
"I go with him," she whispered.
Chunda Lal glanced apprehensively toward the door. Then:
"Do not go with him!" he said, and sought to draw Miska into his arms."O, light of my eyes, do not go with him!"
Miska repulsed him, but not harshly.
"No, no, it is no good, Chunda Lal. I cannot hear you."
"You think"—the Hindu's voice was hoarse with emotion—"thathewill trace you—and kill you?"
"Trace me!"exclaimed Miska with sudden scorn. "Is it necessary for him to trace me? Am I not already dead except forhim!Would I be his servant, his lure, his slave for one little hour, for one short minute, if my life was my own!"
Beads of perspiration gleamed upon the brown forehead of the Hindu, and his eyes turned from the door to the eastern wall and back again to Miska. He was torn by conflicting desires, but suddenly came resolution.
"Listen, then." His voice was barely audible. "If I tell you that your lifeisyour own—if I reveal to you a secret which I learned in the house of Abdul Rozan in Cairo——"
Miska watched him with eyes in which a new, a wild expression was dawning.
"If I tell you that life and not death awaits you, will you come away to-night, and we sail for India to-morrow! Ah! I have money! Perhaps I am rich as well as—someone; perhaps I can buy you the robes of a princess"—he drew her swiftly to him—"and cover those white arms with jewels."
Miska shrank from him.
"All this means nothing," she said. "How can the secret of AbdulRozan help me to live! And you—you will be dead before I die!—yes!One little hour afterhefinds out that I go!"
"Listen again," hissed Chunda Lal intensely. "Promise me, and I will open for you a gate of life. For you, Miska, I will do it, and we shall be free.Hewill never find out. He shall not be living to find out!"
"No, no, Chunda Lal," she moaned. "You have been my only friend, andI have tried to forget …"
"I will forswear Kali forever," he said fervently, "and shed no blood for all my life! I will live for you alone and be your slave."
"It is no good. I cannot, Chunda Lal, I cannot."
"Miska!" he pleaded tenderly.
"No, no," she repeated, her voice quivering—"I cannot … Oh! do not ask it; I cannot!"
She picked up the hideous wig, moving towards the door. Chunda Lal watched her, clenching his hands; and his eyes, which had been so tender, grew fierce.
"Ah!" he cried—"and it may be I know a reason!"
She stopped, glancing back at him.
"It may be," he continued, and his repressed violence was terrible, "it may be that I, whose heart is never sleeping, have seen and heard! One night"—he crept towards her—"one night when I cry the warning that the Doctor Sahib returns to his house, you do not come! He goes in at the house and you remain. But at last you come, and I see in your eyes——"
"Oh!" breathed Miska, watching him fearfully.
"Do I not see it in your eyes now! Never before have I thought so until you go to that house, never before have you escaped from my care as here in London. Twice again I have doubted, and because there was other work to do I have been helpless to find out.To-night"—he stood before her, glaring madly into her face—"I think so again—that you have gone to him…."
"Oh, Chunda Lal!" cried Miska piteously and extended her hands towards him. "No, no—do not say it!"
"So!" he whispered—"I understand! You risk so much for him—for me you risk nothing! If he—the Doctor Sahib—say to you: 'Come with me, Miska——'"
"No, no! Can I never have one friend in all the world! I hear you call, Chunda Lal, but I am burning the envelope and—Doctor Stuart— finds me. I am trapped. You know it is so.
"I know you say so. And because he—Fo-Hi—is not sure and because of the piece of the scorpion which you find there, we go to that house—heand I—and we fail in what we go for." Chunda Lal's hand dropped limply to his sides. "Ah! I cannot understand, Miska. If we are not sure then, are we surenow?It may be"—he bent towards her—"we are trapped!"
"Oh, what do you mean?"
"We do not know how much they read of what he had written. Why do we wait?"
"Hehas some plan, Chunda Lal," replied Miska wearily. "Does he ever fail?"
Her words rekindled the Hindu's ardour; his eyes lighted up anew.
"I tell you his plan," he whispered tensely. "Oh! you shall hear me! He watch you grow from a little lovely child, as he watch his death-spiders and his grey scorpions grow! He tend you and care for you and make you perfect, and he plan for you as he plan for this other creatures. Then, he see what I see, that you are not only his servant but also a woman and that you have a woman's heart. He learn—who think he knows all—that he, too, is not yet a spirit but only a man, and have a man's heart, a man's blood, a man's longings! It is because of the Doctor Sahib that he learn it——"
He grasped Miska again, but she struggled to elude him. "Oh, let me go!" she pleaded. "It is madness you speak!"
"It is madness, yes—foryou!Always I have watched, always I have waited; and I also have seen you bloom like a rose in the desert. To-night I am here—watching … andheknows it! Tomorrow I am gone! Do you stay, for—him?
"Oh," she whispered fearfully, "it cannot be."
"You say true when you say I have been your only friend, Miska.To-morrowheplan that you have no friend."
He released her, and slowly, from the sleeve of his coat, slipped into view the curved blade of a native knife.
"Ali Khan Bhai Salam!"he muttered—by which formula he proclaimed himself aThug!
Rolling his eyes in the direction of the eastern wall, he concealed the knife.
"Chunda Lal!" Miska spoke wildly. "I am frightened! Please let me go, and tomorrow——"
"To-morrow!" Chunda Lal raised his eyes, which were alight with the awful light of fanaticism. "For me there may be no tomorrow!Jey Bhowani! Yah Allah!"
"Oh,hemay hear you!" whispered Miska pitifully. "Please go now.I shall know that you are near me, if——"
"And then?"
"I will ask your aid."
Her voice was very low.
"And if it is written that I succeed?"
Miska averted her head.
"Oh, Chunda Lal … I cannot."
She hid her face in her hands.
Chunda Lal stood watching her for a moment in silence, then he turned toward the cellar door, and then again to Miska. Suddenly he dropped upon one knee before her, took her hand and kissed it, gently.
"I am your slave," he said, his voice shaken with emotion. "For myselfI ask nothing—only your pity."
He rose, opened the door by which Miska had entered the room and went down into the cellars. She watched him silently, half fearfully, yet her eyes were filled with compassionate tears. Then, readjusting the hideous grey wig, she went up the steps and passed through the doorway into the den of the opium smokers.
Stuart read through a paper, consisting of six closely written pages, then he pinned the sheets together, folded them and placed them in one of those long envelopes associated in his memory with the opening phase of "The Scorpion" mystery. Smiling grimly, he descended to his dispensary and returned with the Chinese coin attached to the cork. With this he sealed the envelope.
He had volunteered that night for onerous service, and his offer had been accepted. Gaston Max's knowledge of Eastern languages was slight, whilst Stuart's was sound and extensive, and the Frenchman had cordially welcomed the doctor's proposal that he should accompany him to the house of Ah-Fang-Fu. Reviewing the facts gleaned from Miska during the earlier part of the evening, Stuart perceived that, apart from the additional light which they shed upon her own relations with the group, they could be of slight assistance to the immediate success of the inquiry—unless the raid failed. Therefore he had determined upon the course which now he was adopting.
As he completed the sealing of the envelope and laid it down upon the table, he heard a cab drawn up in front of the house, and presently Mrs. M'Gregor knocked and entered the study.
"Inspector Dunbar to see you, Mr. Keppel," she said—"and he has with him an awful-looking body, all cuts and bandages. A patient, no doubt."
Stuart stood up, wondering what this could mean.
"Will you please show them up, Mrs. M'Gregor," he replied.
A few moments later Dunbar entered, accompanied by a bearded man whose head was bandaged so as to partly cover one eye and who had an evil-looking scar running from his cheekbone, apparently—or at any rate from the edge of the bandage—to the corner of his mouth, so that the lip was drawn up in a fierce and permanent snarl.
At this person Stuart stared blankly, until Dunbar began to laugh.
"It's a wonderful make-up, isn't it?" he said. "I used to say that disguises were out of date, but M. Max has taught me I was wrong."
"Max!" cried Stuart.
"At your service," replied the apparition, "but for this evening onlyI am 'Le Belafre.' Yes,pardieu!I am a real dead man!"
The airy indifference which he proclaimed himself to represent one whose awful body had but that day been removed from a mortuary, and one whom in his own words he had "had the misfortune to strangle," was rather ghastly and at the same time admirable. For "Le Balafre" had deliberately tried to murder him, and false sentiment should form no part of the complement of a criminal investigator.
"It is a daring idea," said Stuart, "and relies for its success upon the chance that 'The Scorpion' remains ignorant of the fate of his agent and continues to believe that the body found off Hanover Hole was yours."
"The admirable precautions of my clever colleague," replied Max, laying his hand upon Dunbar's shoulder, "in closing the mortuary and publishing particulars of the identification disk, made it perfectly safe. 'Le Balafre' has been in hiding. He emerges!"
Stuart had secret reasons for knowing that Max's logic was not at fault, and this brought him to the matter of the sealed paper. He took up the envelope.
"I have here," he said slowly, "a statement. Examine the seal."
He held it out, and Max and Dunbar looked at it. The latter laughed shortly.
"Oh, it is a real statement," continued Stuart, "the nature of which I am not at liberty to divulge. But as to-night we take risks, I propose to leave it in your charge, Inspector."
He handed the envelope to Dunbar, whose face was blank with astonishment.
"In the event of failure to-night," added Stuart, "or catastrophe, I authorise you to read this statement—and act upon it. If, however, I escape safely, I ask you to return it to me, unread."
"Eh bien,"said Max, and fixed that eye the whole of which was visible upon Stuart. "Perhaps I understand, and certainly"—he removed his hand from Dunbar's shoulder and rested it upon that of Stuart— "but certainly, my friend, I sympathise!"
Stuart started guiltily, but Max immediately turned aside and began to speak about their plans.
"In a bag which Inspector Dunbar has thoughtfully left in the cab," he said——
Dunbar hastily retired and Max laughed.
"In that bag," he continued, "is a suit of clothes such as habitues of 'The Pidgin House' rejoice to wear. I, who have studied disguise almost as deeply as the great Willy Clarkson, will transform you into a perfect ruffian. It is important, you understand, that someone should be inside the house of Ah-Fang-Fu, as otherwise by means of some secret exit the man we seek may escape. I believe that he contemplates departing at any moment, and I believe that the visit of Miguel means that what I may term the masters of the minor lodges are coming to London for parting instructions—or, of course Miguel may have come about the disappearance of 'Le Balafre.'"
"Suppose you meet Miguel!"
"My dear friend, I must trust to the Kismet who pursues evil-doers! The only reason which has led me to adopt this daring disguise is a simple one. Although I believe 'The Pidgin House' to be open to ordinary opium-smokers, it may not be open on 'lodge nights.' Do you follow me? Very well. I have the golden scorpion—which I suppose to be a sort of passport."
Stuart wondered more and more at the reasoning powers of this remarkable man, which could lead him to such an accurate conclusion.
"The existence of such a passport," continued Max, "would seem to point to the fact that all the members of this organisation are not known personally to one another. At the same time those invited or expected at presentmaybe known to Ah-Fang-Fu or to whoever acts as concierge. You see? Expected or otherwise, I assume that 'Le Balafre' would be admitted—and at night I shall pass very well for 'Le Balafre'—somewhat damaged as a result of my encounter with the late Charles Malet, but still recognisable!"
"And I?"
"You will be 'franked' in. The word of 'Le Balafre' should be sufficient for that! Of course I may be conducted immediately into the presence of the Chief—'The Scorpion'—and he may prove to be none other than Miguel, for instance—or my Algerian acquaintance— or may even be a 'she'—the fascinating Zara el-Khala! We do not know. But Ithink—oh, decidedly I think—that the cowled one is a male creature, and his habits and habitat suggests to me that he is a Chinaman."
"And in that event how shall you act?"
"At once! I shall hold him, if I can, or shoot him if I cannot hold him! Both of us will blow police-whistles with which we shall be provided and Inspectors Dunbar and Kelly will raid the premises. But I am hoping for an interval. I do not like these inartistic scrimmages! The fact that these people foregather at an opium-house suggests to me that a certain procedure may be followed which I observed during the course of the celebrated 'Mr. Q' case in New York. 'Mr. Q.' also had an audience-chamber adjoining and opium den, and his visitors went there ostensibly to smoke opium. The opium-den was a sort of anteroom."
"Weymouth's big Chinese case had similar features," said Inspector Dunbar, who re-entered at that moment carrying a leathern grip. "If you are kept waiting and you keep your ears open, doctor, that's when your knowledge of the lingo will come in useful. We might rope in the whole gang and find we hadn't a scrap of evidence against them, for except the attempt on yourself, Dr. Stuart, there's nothing so far that I can see to connect 'The Scorpion' with Sir Frank Newcombe!"
"It is such a bungle that I fear!" cried Max. "Ah! how this looped-up lip annoys me!" He adjusted the bandage carefully.
"We've got the place comfortably surrounded," continued Dunbar, "and whoever may be inside is booked! A lady, answering to the description of Mlle. Dorian, went in this evening, so Sowerby reports."
Stuart felt that he was changing colour, and he stooped hastily to inspect the contents of the bag which Dunbar had opened.
"Eh bien!"said Gaston Max. "We shall not go empty-handed, then. And now to transfigure you, my friend!"
Interrupting a spell of warm, fine weather the night had set in wet and stormy. The squalid streets through which Stuart and Gaston Max made their way looked more than normally deserted and uninviting. The wind moaned and the rain accompanied with a dreary tattoo. Sometimes a siren wailed out upon the river.
"We are nearly there," said Max."Pardieu!they are well concealed, those fellows. I have not seen so much as an eyebrow."
"It would be encouraging to get a glimpse of some one!" replied Stuart.
"Ah, but bad—inartistic. It is the next door, I think … yes. I hope they have no special way of knocking."
Upon the door of a dark and apparently deserted shop he rapped.
Both had anticipated an interval of waiting, and both were astonished when the door opened almost at once, revealing a blackly cavernous interior.
"Go off! Too late! Shuttee shop!" chattered a voice out of the darkness.
Max thrust his way resolutely in, followed by Stuart. "Shut the door, Ah-Fang-Fu!" he said curtly, speaking with a laboured French accent."Scorpion!"
The door was closed by the invisible Chinaman, there was a sound of soft movements and a hurricane-lantern suddenly made its appearance. Its light revealed the interior of a nondescript untidy little shop and revealed the presence of an old and very wrinkled Chinaman who held the lantern. He wore a blue smock and a bowler hat and his face possessed the absolute impassivity of an image. As he leaned over the counter, scrutinising his visitors, Max thrust forward the golden scorpion held in the palm of his hand.
"Hoi, hoi"chattered the Chinaman. "Fo-Hi fellers, eh? You hab got plenty much late. Other fellers Fo-Hi pidgin plenty much sooner. You one time catchee allee same bhobbery, b'long number one joss-pidgin man!"
Being covertly nudged by Max:
"Cut the palaver, Pidgin," growled Stuart.
"Allee lightee," chattered Ah-Fang-Fu, for evidently this was he. "You play one piecee pipee till Fo-Hi got." Raising the lantern, he led the way through a door at the back of the shop. Descending four wooden steps, Stuart and Max found themselves in the opium-den.
"Full up. No loom," said the Chinaman.
It was a low-ceilinged apartment, the beams of the roof sloping slightly upward from west to east. The centre part of the wall at the back was covered with matting hung from the rough cornice supporting the beams. To the right of the matting was the door communicating with the shop, and to the left were bunks. Other bunks lined the southerly wall, except where, set in the thickness of the bare brick and plaster, a second strong door was partly hidden by a pile of empty packing-cases and an untidy litter of straw and matting.
Along the northern wall were more bunks, and an open wooden stair, with a handrail, ascended to a small landing or platform before a third door high up in the wall. A few mats were strewn about the floor. The place was dimly lighted by a red-shaded lamp swung from the centre of the ceiling and near the foot of the stairs another lamp (of the common tin variety) stood upon a box near which was a broken cane chair. Opium-pipes, tins, and a pack of cards were on this box.
All the bunks appeared to be occupied. Most of the occupants were lying motionless, but one or two were noisily sucking at the opium-pipes. These had not yet attained to the opium-smokers Nirvana. So much did Gaston Max, a trained observer, gather in one swift glance. Then Ah-Fang-Fu, leaving the lantern in the shop, descended the four steps and crossing the room began to arrange two mats with round head-cushions near to the empty packing-cases. Stuart and Max remained by the door.
"You see," whispered Max, "he has taken you on trust! And he did not appear to recognise me. It is as I thought. The place is 'open to the public' as usual, and Ah-Fang-Fu does a roaring trade, one would judge. For the benefit of patrons not affiliated to the order we have to pretend to smoke."
"Yes," replied Stuart with repressed excitement—"until someone called Fo-Hi is at home, or visible; the word 'got' may mean either of those things."
"Fo-Hi," whispered Max, "is 'The Scorpion!'
"I believe you are right," said Stuart—who had good reason to know it. "My God! what a foul den! The reek is suffocating. Look at that yellow lifeless face yonder, and see that other fellow whose hand hangs limply down upon the floor. Those bunks might be occupied by corpses for all the evidence of life that some of them show."
"Morbleu!do not raise your voice; for some of them are occupied by 'Scorpions.' You noted the words of Ah-Fang?Ssh!"
The old Chinaman returned with his curious shuffling walk, raising his hand to beckon to them.
"Number one piece bunk, lo!" he chattered.
"Good enough," growled Stuart.
The two crossed and reclined upon the uncleanly mats.
"Make special loom," explained Ah-Fang-Fu. "Velly special chop!"
He passed from bunk to bunk, and presently came to a comatose Chinaman from whose limp hand, which hung down upon the floor, the pipe had dropped. This pipe Ah-Fang-Fu took from the smoker's fingers and returning to the box upon which the tin lamp was standing began calmly to load it.
"Good heavens!" muttered Stuart—"he is short of pipes! Pah! how the place reeks!"
Ah-Fang-Fu busied himself with a tin of opium, the pipe which he had taken from the sleeper, and another pipe—apparently the last of his stock—which lay near the lamp. Igniting the two, he crossed and handed them to Stuart and Max.
"Velly soon-lo!" he said and made a curious sign, touching his brow, his lips and his breast in a manner resembling that of a Moslem.
Max repeated the gesture and then lay back upon his elbow, raising the mouthpiece of the little pipe to his lips—but carefully avoiding contact.
Ah-Fang-Fu shuffled back to the broken cane chair, from which he had evidently arisen to admit his late visitors.
Inarticulate sounds proceeded from the bunks, breaking the sinister silence which now descended upon the den. Ah-Fang-Fu began to play Patience, constantly muttering to himself. The occasional wash of tidal water became audible, and once there came a scampering and squealing of rates from beneath the floor.
"Do you notice the sound of lapping water" whispered Stuart. "The place is evidently built upon a foundation of piles and the cellars must actually be submerged at high-tide."
"Pardieu!it is a death trap. What is this!"
A loud knocking sounded upon the street door. Ah-Fang-Fu rose and shuffled up the steps into the shop. He could be heard unbarring the outer door. Then:
"Too late! shuttee shop, shuttee shop!" sounded.
"I don't want nothin' out of your blasted shop, Pidgin!" roared a loud and thick voice. "I'm old Bill Bean, I am, and I want a pipe, I do!"
"Hullo, Bill!" replied the invisible 'Pidgin.' "Allee samee dlunk again!"
A red-bearded ship's fireman, wearing sea-boots, a rough blue suit similar to that which Stuart wore, a muffler and a peaked cap, lurched into view at the head of the steps.
"Blimey!" he roared, over his shoulder. "Drunk!Medrunk! An' all the pubs in these parts sell barley-water coloured brown! Blimey! Chuck it, Pidgin!"
Ah-Fang-Fu reappeared behind him. "Catchee dlunk ev'ly time for comee here," he chattered.
"'Taint 'umanly possible," declared the new arrival, staggering down the steps, "fer a 'ealthy sailorman to git drunk on coloured water just 'cause the publican calls it beer! I ain't drunk; I'm only miserable. Gimmee a pipe, Pidgin."
Ah-Fang-Fu barred the door and ascended.
"Comee here," he muttered, "my placee, all full up and no other placee b'long open."
Bill Bean slapped him boisterously on the back.
"Cut the palaver, Pidgin, and gimme a pipe. Piecee pipe, Pidgin!"
He lurched across the floor, nearly falling over Stuart's legs, took up a mat and a cushion, lurched into the further corner and cast himself down.
"Ain't I one o' yer oldest customers, Pidgin?" he inquired. "One o' yer oldest, I am."
"Blight side twelve-time," muttered the Chinaman. "Getchee me in tlouble, Bill. Number one police chop."
"Not the first time it wouldn't be!" retorted the fireman. "Not the first time as you've been in trouble, Pidgin. An' unless they 'ung yer—which it ain't 'umanly possible to 'ang a Chink—it wouldn't be the last—an' not by a damn long way …an'not by a damn long way!"
Ah-Fang-Fu, shrugging resignedly, shuffled from bunk to bunk in quest of a disused pipe, found one, and returning to the extemporised table, began to load it, muttering to himself.
"Don't like to 'ear about your wicked past, do you?" continued Bill."Wicked old yellow-faced 'eathen! Remember the 'dive' in 'Frisco,Pidgin?Wota rough 'ouse! Remember when I come in—full up I was:me back teeth well under water—an' you tried to Shanghai me?"
"You cutee palaber. All damn lie," muttered the Chinaman.
"Ho! a lie is it?" roared the other. "Wot about me wakin' up all of a tremble aboard o' the oldNancy Lee—aboard of a blasted wind-jammer! Me—a fireman! Wot about it? Wasn't that Shanghaiin'? Blighter!An'not a 'oat' in me pocket—not a 'bean'! Broke to the wide an' aboard of a old wind-jammer wot was a coffin-ship—a coffin-ship she was; an' 'er old man was the devil's father-in-law. Ho! lies! Idon'tthink!"
"You cutee palaber!" chattered Ah-Fang-Fu, busy with the pipe. "You likee too much chin-chin. You make nice piece bhobbery."
"Not a 'bean'," continued Bill reminiscently—"not a 'oat.'" He sat up violently. "Even me pipe an' baccy was gone!" he shouted. "You'd even pinched me pipe an' baccy! You'd pinch the whiskers off a blind man,youwould, Pidgin! 'And over the dope. Thank Gawd somebody's still the right stuff!"
Suddenly, from a bunk on the left of Gaston Max came a faint cry.
"Ah! He has bitten me!"
"'Ullo!" said Bill—"wotcher bin given''im,Pidgin?Chanduor hydrerphobia?"
Ah-Fang-Fu crossed and handed him the pipe.
"One piecee pipee. No more hab."
Bill grasped the pipe eagerly and raised it to his lips. Ah-Fang-Fu returned unmoved to his Patience and silence reclaimed the den, only broken by the inarticulate murmuring and the lapping of the tide.
"A genuine customer!" whispered Max.
"Ah!" came again, more faintly—"he … has … bitten … me."
"Blimey!" said Bill in a drowsy voice—"'eave the chair at 'im,Pidgin."
Stuart was about to speak when Gaston Max furtively grasped his arm. "Ssh!" he whispered. "Do not move, but look … at the top of the stair!"
Stuart turned his eyes. On the platform at the head of the stairs aHindu was standing!
"Chunda Lal!" whispered Max. "Prepare for—anything!"
"Chunda Lal descended slowly. Ah-Fang-Fu continued to play Patience. The Hindu stood behind him and began to speak in a voice of subdued fervour and with soft Hindu modulations.
"Why do you allow them, strangers, coming here to-night!"
Ah-Fang-Fu continued complacently to arrange the cards.
"S'pose hab gotchee pidgin allee samee Chunda Lal hab got? Fo-Hi no catchee buy bled and cheese for Ah-Fang-Fu. He"—nodding casually in the direction of Bill Bean—"plitty soon all blissful."
"Be very careful, Ah-Fang-Fu," said Chunda Lal tensely. He lowered his voice. "Do you forget so soon what happen last week?"
"No sabby."
"Some one comes here—we do not know how close he comes; perhaps he comes in—and he is of thepolice."
Ah-Fang-Fu shuffled uneasily in his chair.
"No police chop for Pidgin!" he muttered. "Same feller tumble in liver?"
"He is killed—yes; but suppose they find the writing he has made!Suppose he has written that it isherepeople meet together?"
"Makee chit tell my name? Muchee hard luck! Number one police chop."
"You say Fo-Hi not buying you bread and cheese. Perhaps it is Fo-Hi that save you from hanging!"
Ah-Fang-Fu hugged himself.
"Yak pozee!"(Very good) he muttered.
Chunda Lal raised his finger.
"Be very careful, Ah-Fang-Fu!"
"Allee time velly careful."
"But admit no more of them to come in, these strangers."
"Tchee, tchee!Velly ploper. Sometime big feller come in if Pidgin palaber or not. Pidgin never lude to big feller."
"Your life may depend on it," said Chunda Lal impressively. "How many are here?"
Ah-Fang-Fu turned at last from his cards, pointing in three directions, and, finally, at Gaston Max.
"Four?" said the Hindu—"how can it be?"
He peered from bunk to bunk, muttering something—a name apparently— after scrutinizing each. When his gaze rested upon Max he started, stared hard, and meeting the gaze of the one visible eye, made the strange sign.
Max repeated it; and Chunda Lal turned again to the Chinaman. "Because of that drunken pig," he said, pointing at Bill Bean—"we must wait. See to it that he is the last."
He walked slowly up the stairs, opened the door at the top and disappeared.
Sinister silence reclaimed the house of Ah-Fang-Fu. And Ah-Fang-Fu resumed his solitary game.
"Herecognised 'Le Belafre'" whispered Max—"and was surprised to see him! So there are three of the gang here! Did you particularly observe in which bunks they lay, doctor.Ssh!"
A voice from a bunk had commenced to sing monotonously.
"Peyala peah,"it sang, weird above the murmured accompaniment of the other dreaming smokers and thewash-washof the tide—"To myn-na-peah-Phir Kysee ko kyah …"
"He is speaking from an opium-trance," said Stuart softly. "A native song: 'If a cup of wine is drunk, and I have drunk it, what of that?'"
"Mon Dieu!it is uncanny!" whispered Max."Brr!do you hear those rats? I am wondering in what order we shall be admitted to the 'Scorpion's' presence, or if we shall see him together."
"He may come in here."
"All the better."
"Gimme 'nother pipe, Pidgin," drawled a very drowsy voice from BillBean's corner.
Ah-Fang-Fu left his eternal arranging and rearranging of the cards and crossed the room. He took the opium-pipe from the fireman's limp fingers and returning to the box, refilled and lighted it. Max and Stuart watched him in silence until he had handed the second pipe to the man and returned to his chair.
"We must be very careful," said Stuart. "We do not know which are real smokers and which are not."
Again there was a weird interruption. A Chinaman lying in one of the bunks began to chant in a monotonous far-away voice:
"Chong-liou-chouayOm mani padme hum."
"The Buddhist formula," whispered Stuart."Heis a real smoker.Heavens! the reek is choking me!"
The chant was repeated, the words dying away into a long murmur. Ah-Fang-Fu continued to shuffle the cards. And presently Bill Bean's second pipe dropped from his fingers. His husky voice spoke almost inaudibly.
"I'm … old … Bill … Bean … I …"
A deep-noted siren hooted dimly.
"A steamer making for dock," whispered Max."Brr!it is a nightmare, this! I think in a minute something will happen.Ssh!"
Ah-Fang-Fu glanced slowly around. Then he stood up, raised the lamp from the table and made a tour of the bunks, shining the light in upon the faces of the occupants. Max watched him closely, hoping to learn in which bunks the members of 'The Scorpion's' group lay. But he was disappointed. Ah-Fang-Fu examinedallthe bunks and even shone the light down upon Stuart and Max. He muttered to himself constantly, but seemed to address no one.
Replacing the lamp on the box, he whistled softly; and:——
"Look!" breathed Max. "The stair again!"
Stuart cautiously turned his eyes toward the open stair.
On the platform above stood a bent old hag whose witch-eyes were searching the place keenly! With a curiously lithe step, for all her age, she descended, and standing behind Ah-Fang-Fu tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the outer door. He stood up and shuffled across, went up the four steps and unbarred the door.
"Tchee, tchee,"he chattered. "Pidgin make a look-out."
He went out and closed the door.
"Something happens!" whispered Max.
A gong sounded.
"Ah!"
The old woman approached the matting curtain hung over a portion of the wall, raised it slightly in the centre—where it opened—and disappeared beyond.
"You see!" said Stuart excitedly.
"Yes! it is the audience-chamber of 'The Scorpion'!"
The ancient hag came out again, crossed to a bunk and touched its occupant, a Chinaman, with her hand. He immediately shot up and followed her. The two disappeared beyond the curtain.
"What shall we do," said Stuart, "ifyouare summoned?"
"I shall throw open those curtains the moment I reach them, and present my pistol at the head of whoever is on the other side. You—ssh!"
The old woman reappeared, looked slowly around and then held the curtains slightly apart to allow of the Chinaman's coming out. He saluted her by touching his head, lips and breast with his right hand, then passed up to the door communicating with the shop, which he opened, and went out.
His voice came, muffled:
"Fo-Hi!"
"Fo-Hi," returned the high voice of Ah-Fang-Fu.
The outer door was opened and shut. The old woman went up and barred the inner door, then returned and stood by the matting curtain. The sound of the water below alone broke the silence. It was the hour of high tide.
"There goes the first fish into Dunbar's net!" whispered Max.
The gong sounded again.
Thereupon the old woman crossed to another bunk and conducted a brown-skinned Eastern into the hidden room. Immediately they had disappeared:
"As I pull the curtains aside," continued Max rapidly, "blow the whistle and run across and unbar the door…."
So engrossed was he in giving these directions, and so engrossed was Stuart in listening to them, that neither detected a faint creak which proceeded from almost immediately behind them. This sound was occasioned by the slow and cautious opening of that sunken, heavy door near to which they lay—the door which communicated with the labyrinth of cellars. Inch by inch from the opening protruded the head of Ah-Fang-Fu!
"If the Chinaman offers any resistance," Max went on, speaking very rapidly—"morbleu!you have the means to deal with him! In a word, admit the police.Sh!what is that!"
A moaning voice from one of the bunks came.
"Cheal kegur-men, mas ka dheer!"
"A native adage," whispered Stuart. "He is dreaming. 'There is always meat in a kite's nest.'"
"Eh bien!very true—and I think the kite is at home!"
The head of Ah-Fang-Fu vanished. A moment later the curtains opened again slightly and the old woman came out, ushering the brown man. He saluted her and unbarred the door, going out.
"Fo-Hi," came dimly.
There was no definite answer—only the sound of a muttered colloquy; and suddenly the brown man returned and spoke to the old woman in a voice so low that his words were inaudible to the two attentive listeners in the distant corner.
"Ah!" whispered Max—"what now?"
"Shall we rush the curtain!" said Stuart.
"No!" Max grasped his arm—"wait! wait! See! he is going out. He has perhaps forgotten something. A second fish in the net."
The Oriental went up the steps into the shop. The old woman closed and barred the door, then opened the matting curtain and disappeared within.
"I was right," said Max.
But for once in his career he was wrong.
She was out again almost immediately and bending over a bunk close to the left of the masked opening. The occupant concealed in its shadow did not rise and follow her, however. She seemed to be speaking to him. Stuart and Max watched intently.
The head of Ah-Fang-Fu reappeared in the doorway behind them.
"Now is our time!" whispered Max tensely. "As I rush for the curtains, you run to the shop door and get it unbolted, whistling for Dunbar——"
Ah-Fang-Fu, fully opening the door behind them, crept out stealthily.
"Have your pistol ready," continued Max, "and first put the whistle between your teeth——"
Ah-Fang-Fu silently placed his bowler hat upon the floor, shook down his long pigtail, and moving with catlike tread, stooping, drew nearer.
"Now, doctor!"cried Max.
Both sprang to their feet. Max leapt clear of the matting and other litter and dashed for the curtain. He reached it, seized it and tore bodily from its fastenings. Behind him the long flat note of a police whistle sounded—and ended abruptly.
"Ah! Nom d'un nom!"cried Max.
A cunningly devised door—looking like a section of solid brick and plaster wall—was closing slowly—heavily. Through the opening which yet remained he caught a glimpse of a small room, draped with Chinese dragon tapestry and having upon a raised, carpeted dais a number of cushions forming adiwanand an inlaid table bearing a silver snuff vase. A cowled figure was seated upon the dais. The door closed completely. Within a niche in its centre sat a yellow leering idol, green eyed and complacent.
Wild, gurgling cries brought Max sharply about.
An answering whistle sounded from the street outside … a second … a third.
Ah-Fang-Fu, stooping ever lower, at the instant that Stuart had sprung to his feet had seized his ankle from behind, pitching him on to his face. It was then that the note of the whistle had ceased. Now, the Chinaman had his long pigtail about Stuart's neck, at which Stuart, prone with the other kneeling upon his body, plucked vainly.
Max raised his pistol … and from the bunk almost at his elbow leaptMiguel the quadroon, a sand-bag raised. It descended upon theFrenchman's skull … and he crumbled up limply and collapsed uponthe floor. There came a crash of broken glass from the shop.
Uttering a piercing cry, the old woman staggered from the door near which she had been standing as if stricken helpless, during the lightning moments in which these things had happened—and advanced in the direction of Ah-Fang-Fu.
"Ah, God! You kill him! Youkillhim?" she moaned.
"Through the window, Sowerby! This way!" came Dunbar's voice. "Max!Max!"
The sustained note of a whistle, a confusion of voices and a sound of heavy steps proclaimed the entrance of the police into the shop and the summoning of reinforcements.
Ah-Fang-Fu rose. Stuart had ceased to struggle. The Chinaman replaced his hat and looked up at the woman, whose eyes glared madly into his own.
"Tche', tche'e,"he said sibilantly—"Tchon-dzee-ti Fan-Fu.*"
* "Yes, yes. It is the will of the Master."
"Down with the door!" roared Dunbar.
The woman threw herself, with a wild sob, upon the motionless body ofStuart.
Ensued a series of splintering crashes, and finally the head of an axe appeared through the panels of the door. Ah-Fang-Fu tried to drag the woman away, but she clung to Stuart desperately and was immovable. Thereupon the huge quadroon, running across the room, swept them both up into his giant embrace, man and woman together, and bore them down by the sunken doorway into the cellars below!
The shop door fell inwards, crashing down the four steps, and Dunbar sprang into the place, revolver in hand, followed by Inspector Kelly and four men of the River Police, one of whom carried a hurricane lantern. Ah-Fang-Fu had just descended after Miguel and closed the heavy door.
"Try this way, boys!" cried Kelly, and rushed up the stair. The four men followed him. The lantern was left on the floor. Dunbar stared about him. Sowerby and several other men entered. Suddenly Dunbar saw Gaston Max lying on the floor.
"My God!" he cried—"they have killed him!"
He ran across, knelt and examined Max, pressing his ear against his breast.
Inspector Kelly reaching the top of the stairs and finding the door locked, hurled his great bulk against it and burst it open.
"Follow me, boys!" he cried. "Take care! Bring the lantern, somebody."
The fourth man grasped the lantern and all followed the Inspector up the stair and out through the doorway. His voice came dimly:
"Mind the beam! Pass the light forward…."
Sowerby was struggling with the door by which Miguel and Ah-Fang-Fu unseen had made their escape and Dunbar, having rested Max's head upon a pillow, was glaring all about him, his square jaw set grimly and his eyes fierce with anger.
A voice droned from a bunk:
"Cheal kegur men ms ka-dheer!"
The police were moving from bunk to bunk, scrutinising the occupants.The uproar had penetrated to them even in their drugged slumbers.There were stirrings and mutterings and movements of yellow hands.