CHAPTER XXII. A BREATH FROM THE EAST

Inspector Jacks was a man who had succeeded in his profession chiefly on account of an average amount of natural astuteness, and also because he was one of those favored persons whose nervous system was a whole and perfect thing. Yet, curiously enough, as he sat in this large, gloomy apartment into which he had been shown, a room filled with art treasures whose appearance and significance were entirely strange to him, he felt a certain uneasiness which he was absolutely unable to understand. He was somewhat instinctive in his likes and dislikes, and from the first he most heartily disliked the room itself,—its vague perfumes, its subdued violet coloring, the faces of the grinning idols, which seemed to meet his gaze in every direction, the pictures of those fierce-looking warriors who brandished two-edged swords at him from the walls. They belonged to the period when Japanese art was perhaps in its crudest state, and yet in this uncertain atmosphere they seemed to possess an extraordinary vitality, as though indeed they were prepared at a moment’s notice to leap from their frames and annihilate this mysterious product of modern days, who in black clothes and silk hat, unarmed and without physical strength, yet wielded the powers of life and death as surely as they in their time had done.

The detective rose from his seat and walked around the room. He made a show of examining the arms against the walls, the brocaded hangings with their wonderful design of faded gold, the ivory statuettes, the black god who sat on his haunches and into whose face seemed carved some dumb but eternal power. Movement was in some respects a solace, but the sound of a hansom bell tinkling outside was a much greater relief. He crossed to the windows and looked out over the somewhat silent square. A hurdy-gurdy was playing in the corner opposite the club, just visible from where he stood. The members were passing in and out. The commissionaire stood stolidly in his place, raising every now and then his cab whistle to his lips. A flickering sunlight fell upon the wind-shaken lilac trees in the square enclosure. Inspector Jacks found himself wishing that the perfume of those lilacs might reach even to where he stood, and help him to forget for a moment that subtler and to him curiously unpleasant odor which all the time became more and more apparent. So overpowering did he feel it that he tried even to open the window, but found it an impossible task. The atmosphere seemed to him to be becoming absolutely stifling.

He turned around and walked uneasily toward the door. He decided then that this was some sort of gruesome nightmare with which he was afflicted. He was quite certain that in a few minutes he would wake in his little iron bedstead with the sweat upon his forehead and a reproachful consciousness of having eaten an indiscreet supper. It could not possibly be a happening in real life! It could not be true that his knees were sinking beneath the weight of his body, that the clanging of iron hammers was really smiting the drums of his ears, that the purple of the room was growing red, and that his veins were strained to bursting! He threw out his arms in a momentary instinct of fiercely struggling consciousness. The idols on the walls jeered at him. Those strangely clad warriors seemed to him now to be looking down upon his discomfiture with a satanic smile, mocking the pygmy who had dared to raise his hand against one so jealously guarded. Clang once more went the blacksmith’s hammers, and then chaos!...

The end of the nightmare was not altogether according to Inspector Jacks’ expectations. He found himself in a small back room, stretched upon a sofa before the open French-windows, through which came a pleasant vision of waving green trees and a pleasanter stream of fresh air. His first instinct was to sniff, and a sense of relief crept through him when he realized that this room, at any rate, was free from abnormal odors. He sat up on the couch. A pale-faced Japanese servant stood by his side with a glass in his hand. A few feet away, the man whom he had come to visit was looking down upon him with an expression of grave concern in his kindly face.

“You are better, I trust, sir?” Prince Maiyo said.

“I am better,” Inspector Jacks muttered. “I don’t know—I can’t imagine what happened to me.”

“You were not feeling quite well, perhaps, this morning,” the Prince said soothingly. “A little run down, no doubt. Your profession—I gather from your card that you come from Scotland Yard—is an arduous one. I came into the room and found you lying upon your back, gasping for breath.”

Inspector Jacks was making a swift recovery. He noticed that the glass which the man-servant was holding was empty. He had a dim recollection of something having been forced through his lips. Already he was beginning to feel himself again.

“I was absolutely and entirely well,” he declared stoutly, “both when I left home this morning and when I entered that room to wait for you. I don’t know what it was that came over me,” he continued doubtfully, “but the atmosphere seemed suddenly to become unbearable.”

Prince Maiyo nodded understandingly.

“People often complain,” he admitted. “So many of my hangings in the room have been wrapped in spices to preserve them, and my people burn dead blossoms there occasionally. Some of us, too,” he concluded, “are very susceptible to strange odors. I should imagine, perhaps, that you are one of them.”

Inspector Jacks shook his head.

“I call myself a strong man,” he said, “and I couldn’t have believed that anything of the sort would have happened to me.”

“I shouldn’t worry about it,” the Prince said gently. “Go and see your doctor, if you like, but I have known many people, perfectly healthy, affected in the same way. I understood that you wished to have a word with me. Do you feel well enough to enter upon your business now, or would you prefer to make another appointment?”

“I am feeling quite well again, thank you,” the Inspector said slowly. “If you could spare me a few minutes, I should be glad to explain the matter which brought me here.”

The Prince merely glanced at his servant, who bowed and glided noiselessly from the room. Then he drew an easy chair to the side of the couch where Mr. Jacks was still sitting.

“I am very much interested to meet you, Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he remarked, with a glance at the card which he was still holding in his fingers. “I have studied very many of your English institutions during my stay over here with much interest, but it has not been my good fortune to have come into touch at all with your police system. Sir Goreham Briggs—your chief, I believe—has invited me several times to Scotland Yard, and I have always meant to avail myself of his kindness. You come to me, perhaps, from him?”

The Inspector shook his head.

“My business, Prince,” he said, “is a little more personal.”

Prince Maiyo raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed?” he said. “Well, whatever it is, let us hear it. I trust that I have not unconsciously transgressed against your laws?”

Inspector Jacks hesitated. After all, his was not so easy a task.

“Prince,” he said, “my errand is not in any way a pleasant one, and I should be very sorry indeed to find myself in the position of bringing any annoyance upon a stranger and a gentleman who is so highly esteemed. At the same time there are certain duties in connection with my every-day life which I cannot ignore. In England, as I dare say you know, sir, the law is a great leveller. I have heard that it is not quite so in your country, but over here we all stand equal in its sight.”

“That is excellent,” the Prince said. “Please believe, Mr. Inspector Jacks, that I do not wish to stand for a single moment between you and your duty, whatever it may be. Let me hear just what you have to say, as though I were an ordinary dweller here. While I am in England, at any rate,” he added with a smile, “I am subject to your laws, and I do my best to obey them.”

“It has fallen to my lot,” Inspector Jacks said, “to take charge of the investigations following upon the murder of a man named Hamilton Fynes, who was killed on his way from Liverpool to London about a fortnight ago.”

The Prince inclined his head.

“I believe,” he said amiably, “that I remember hearing the matter spoken of. It was the foundation of a debate, I recollect, at a recent dinner party, as to the extraordinarily exaggerated value people in your country seem to claim for human life, as compared to us Orientals. But pray proceed, Mr. Inspector Jacks,” the Prince continued courteously. “The investigation, I am sure, is in most able hands.”

“You are very kind, sir,” said the Inspector. “I do my best, but I might admit to you that I have never found a case so difficult to grasp. Our methods perhaps are slow, but they are, in a sense, sure. We are building up our case, and we hope before long to secure the criminal, but it is not an easy task.”

The Prince bowed. This time he made no remark.

“The evidence which I have collected from various sources,” Inspector Jacks continued, “leads me to believe that the person who committed this murder was a foreigner.”

“What you call an alien,” the Prince suggested. “There is much discussion, I gather, concerning their presence in this country nowadays.”

“The evidence which I possess,” the detective proceeded, “points to the murderer belonging to the same nationality as Your Highness.”

The Prince raised his eyebrows.

“A Japanese?” he asked.

The Inspector assented.

“I am sorry,” the Prince said, with a touch of added gravity in his manner, “that one of my race should have committed a misdemeanor in this country, but if that is so, your way, of course, is clear. You must arrest him and deal with him as an ordinary English criminal. He is here to live your life, and he must obey your laws.”

“In time, sir,” Inspector Jacks said slowly, “we hope to do so, but over here we may not arrest upon suspicion. We have to collect evidence, and build and build until we can satisfy any reasonable individual that the accused person is guilty.”

The Prince sighed sympathetically.

“It is not for me,” he said, “to criticize your methods.”

“I come now,” Inspector Jacks said slowly, “to the object of my call upon Your Highness. Following upon what I have just told you, certain other information has come into my possession to this effect—that not only was this murderer a Japanese, but we have evidence which seems to suggest that he was attached in some way to your household.”

“To my household!” the Prince repeated.

“To this household, Your Highness,” the detective repeated.

The Prince shook his head slowly.

“Mr. Jacks,” he said, “you are, I am sure, a very clever man. Let me ask you one question. Has it ever fallen to your lot to make a mistake?”

“Very often indeed,” the Inspector admitted frankly.

“Then I am afraid,” the Prince said, “that you are once more in that position. I have attached to my household fourteen Japanese servants, a secretary, a majordomo, and a butler. It may interest you, perhaps, to know that during my residence in this country not one of my retinue, with the exception of my secretary, who has been in Paris for some weeks, has left this house.”

The Inspector stared at the Prince incredulously.

“Never left the house?” he repeated. “Do you mean, sir, that they do not go out for holidays, for exercise, to the theatre?”

The Prince shook his head.

“Such things are not the custom with us,” he said. “They are my servants. The duty of their life is service. London is a world unknown to them—London and all these Western cities. They have no desire to be made mock of in your streets. Their life is given to my interests. They do not need distractions.”

Inspector Jacks was dumfounded. Such a state of affairs seemed to him impossible.

“Do you mean that they do not take exercise,” he asked, “that they never breathe the fresh air?”

The Prince smiled.

“Such fresh air as your city can afford them,” he said, “is to be found in the garden there, into which I never penetrate and which is for their use. I see that you look amazed, Mr. Inspector Jacks. This thing which I have told you seems strange, no doubt, but you must not confuse the servants of my country with the servants of yours. I make no comment upon the latter. You know quite well what they are; so do I. With us, service is a religion,—service to country and service to master. These men who perform the duties of my household would give their lives for me as cheerfully as they would for their country, should the occasion arise.”

“But their health?” the Inspector protested. “It is not, surely, well for them to be herded together like this?”

The Prince smiled.

“I am not what is called a sportsman in this country, Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he said, “but you shall go to the house of any nobleman you choose, and if you will bring me an equal number of your valets or footmen or chefs, who can compete with mine in running or jumping or wrestling, then I will give you a prize what you will—a hundred pounds, or more. You see, my servants have learned the secret of diet. They drink nothing save water. Sickness is unknown to them.”

The Inspector was silent for some time. Then he rose to his feet.

“Prince,” he said, “what should you declare, then, if I told you that a man of obvious Japanese extraction was seen to enter your house on the morning after the murder, and that he was a person to whom certain circumstances pointed as being concerned in that deed?”

“Mr. Inspector Jacks,” the Prince said calmly, “I was the only person of my race who entered my house that morning.”

The Inspector moved toward the door.

“Your Highness,” he said gravely, “I am exceedingly obliged to you for your courteous attention, and for your kindness after my unfortunate indisposition.”

The Prince smiled graciously.

“Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he said, “your visit has been of great interest to me. If I can be of any further assistance, pray do not hesitate to call upon me.”

Inspector Jacks studied the brass plate for a moment, and then rang the patients’ bell. The former, he noticed was very much in want of cleaning, and for a doctor’s residence there was a certain lack of smartness about the house and its appointments which betokened a limited practice. The railing in front was broken, and no pretence had been made at keeping the garden in order. Inspector Jacks had time to notice these things, for it was not until after his second summons that the door was opened by Dr. Whiles himself.

“Good morning!” the latter said tentatively. Then, with a slight air of disappointment, he recognized his visitor.

“Good morning, doctor!” Inspector Jacks replied. “You haven’t forgotten me, I hope? I came down to see you a short time ago, respecting the man who was knocked down by a motor car and treated by you on a certain evening.”

The doctor nodded.

“Will you come in?” he asked.

He led the way into a somewhat dingy waiting room. A copy ofThe Field, a month old, a dog-eared magazine, and a bound volume ofGood Wordswere spread upon the table. The room itself, except for a few chairs, was practically bare.

“I do not wish to take up too much of your time, Dr. Whiles,” the Inspector began,—

The doctor laughed shortly.

“You needn’t bother about that,” he said. “I’m tired of making a bluff. My time isn’t any too well occupied.”

The Inspector glanced at his watch,—it was a few minutes past twelve.

“If you are really not busy,” he said, “I was about to suggest to you that you should come back to town with me and lunch. I do not expect, of course, to take up your day for nothing,” he continued. “You will understand, as a professional man, that when your services are required by the authorities, they expect and are willing to pay for them.”

“But what use can I be to you?” the doctor asked. “You know all about the man whom I fixed up on the night of the murder. There’s nothing more to tell you about that. I’d as soon go up to town and lunch with you as not, but if you think that I’ve anything more to tell you, you’ll only be disappointed.”

The Inspector nodded.

“I’m quite content to run the risk of that,” he said. “Of course,” he continued, “it does not follow in the least that this person was in any way connected with the murder. In fact, so far as I can tell at present, the chances are very much against it. But at the same time it would interest my chief if you were able to identify him.”

The doctor nodded.

“I begin to understand,” he said.

“If you will consider a day spent up in town equivalent to the treatment of twenty-five patients at your ordinary scale,” Inspector Jacks said, “I shall be glad if you would accompany me there by the next train. We will lunch together first, and look for our friend later in the afternoon.”

The doctor did not attempt to conceal the fact that he found this suggestion entirely satisfactory. In less than half an hour, the two men were on their way to town.

Curiously enough, Penelope and Prince Maiyo met that morning for the first time in several days. They were both guests of the Duchess of Devenham at a large luncheon party at the Savoy Restaurant. Penelope felt a little shiver when she saw him coming down the stairs. Somehow or other, she had dreaded this meeting, yet when it came, she knew that it was a relief. There was no change in his manner, no trace of anxiety in his smooth, unruffled face. He seemed, if possible, to have grown younger, to walk more buoyantly. His eyes met hers frankly, his smile was wholly unembarrassed. It was not possible for a man to bear himself thus who stood beneath the great shadow!

So far from avoiding her, he came over to her side directly he had greeted his hostess.

“This morning,” he said, “I heard some good news. You are to be a fellow guest at Devenham.”

“I am afraid,” she admitted, “that of my two aunts I impose most frequently upon the one where my claims are the slightest. The Duchess is so good-natured.”

“She is charming,” the Prince declared. “I am looking forward to my visit immensely. I think I am a little weary of London. A visit to the country seems to me most delightful. They tell me, too, that your spring gardens are wonderful. What London suffers from, I think, at this time of the year, is a lack of flowers. We want something to remind us that the spring is coming, besides these occasional gleams of blue sky and very occasional bursts of sunshine.”

“You are a sentimentalist, Prince,” she declared, smiling.

“No, I think not,” he answered seriously. “I love all beautiful things. I think that there are many men as well as women who are like that. Shall I be very rude and say that in the matter of climate and flowers one grows, perhaps, to expect a little more in my own country.”

An uncontrollable impulse moved her. She leaned a little towards him.

“Climate and flowers only?” she murmured. “What about the third essential?”

“Miss Penelope,” he said under his breath, “I have to admit that one must travel further afield for Heaven’s greatest gift. Even then one can only worship. The stars are denied to us.”

The Duchess came sailing over to them.

“Every one is here,” she said. “I hope that you are all hungry. After lunch, Prince, I want you to speak to General Sherrif. He has been dying to meet you, to talk over your campaign together in Manchuria. There’s another man who is anxious to meet you, too,—Professor Spenlove. He has been to Japan for a month, and thinks about writing a book on your customs. I believe he looks to you to correct his impressions.”

“So long as he does not ask me to correct his proofs!” the Prince murmured.

“That is positively the most unkind thing I have ever heard you say,” the Duchess declared. “Come along, you good people. Jules has promised me a new omelet, on condition that we sit down at precisely half-past one. If we are five minutes late, he declines to send it up.”

They took their places at the round table which had been reserved for the Duchess of Devenham,—not very far, Penelope remembered, from the table at which they had sat for dinner a little more than a fortnight ago. The recollection of that evening brought her a sudden realization of the tragedy which seemed to have taken her life into its grip. Again the Prince sat by her side. She watched him with eyes in which there was a gleam sometimes almost of horror. Easy and natural as usual, with his pleasant smile and simple speech, he was making himself agreeable to one of the older ladies of the party, to whom, by chance, no one had addressed more than a word or so. It was always the same—always like this, she realized, with a sudden keen apprehension of this part of the man’s nature. If there was a kindness to be done, a thoughtful action, it was not only he who did it but it was he who first thought of it. The papers during the last few days had been making public an incident which he had done his best to keep secret. He had signalized his arrival in London, some months ago, by going overboard from a police boat into the Thames to rescue a half-drunken lighterman, and when the Humane Society had voted him their medal, he had accepted it only on condition that the presentation was private and kept out of the papers. It was not one but fifty kindly deeds which stood to his credit. Always with the manners of a Prince—gracious, courteous, and genial—never a word had passed his lips of evil towards any human being. The barriers today between the smoking room and the drawing room are shadowy things, and she knew very well that he was held in a somewhat curious respect by men, as a person to whom it was impossible to tell a story in which there was any shadow of indelicacy. The ways of the so-called man of world seemed in his presence as though they must be the ways of some creature of a different and a lower stage of existence. A young man whom he had once corrected had christened him, half jestingly, Sir Galahad, and certainly his life in London, a life which had to bear all the while the test of the limelight, had appeared to merit some such title. These thoughts chased one another through her mind as she looked at him and marvelled. Surely those other things must be part of a bad nightmare! It was not possible that such a man could be associated with wrong-doing—such manner of wrong-doing!

Even while these thoughts passed through her brain, he turned to talk to her, and she felt at once that little glow of pleasure which the sound of his voice nearly always evoked.

“I am looking forward so much,” he said, “to my stay at Devenham. You know, it will not be very much longer that I shall have the opportunity of accepting such invitations.”

“You mean that the time is really coming when we shall lose you?” she asked suddenly.

“When my work is finished, I return home,” he answered. “I fancy that it will not be very long now.”

“When you do leave England,” she asked after a moment’s pause, “do you go straight to Japan?”

He bowed.

“With the Continent I have finished,” he said. “The cruiser which His Majesty has sent to fetch me waits even now at Southampton.”

“You speak of your work,” she remarked, “as though you had been collecting material for a book.”

He smiled.

“I have been busy collecting information in many ways,” he said,—“trying to live your life and feel as you feel, trying to understand those things in your country, and in other countries too, which seem at first so strange to us who come from the other side of the East.”

“And the end of it all?” she asked.

His eyes gleamed for a moment with a light which she did not understand. His smile was tolerant, even genial, but his face remained like the face of a sphinx.

“It is for the good of Japan I came,” he said, “for her good that I have stayed here so long. At the same time it has been very pleasant. I have met with great kindness.”

She leaned a little forward so as to look into his face. The impassivity of his features was like a wall before her.

“After all,” she said, “I suppose it is a period of probation. You are like a schoolboy already who is looking forward to his holidays. You will be very happy when you return.”

“I shall be very happy indeed,” he admitted simply. “Why not? I am a true son of Japan, and, for every true son of his country, absence from her is as hard a thing to be borne as absence from one’s own family.”

Somerfield, who was sitting on her other side, insisted at last upon diverting her attention.

“Penelope,” he declared, lowering his voice a little, “it isn’t fair. You never have a word to say to me when the Prince is here.”

She smiled.

“You must remember that he is going away very soon, Charlie,” she reminded him.

“Good job, too!” Somerfield muttered, sotto voce.

“And then,” Penelope continued, with the air of not having heard her companion’s last remark, “he possesses also a very great attraction. He is absolutely unlike any other human being I ever met or heard of.”

Somerfield glanced across at his rival with lowering brows.

“I’ve nothing to say against the fellow,” he remarked, “except that it seems queer nowadays to run up against a man of his birth who is not a sportsman,—in the sense of being fond of sport, I mean,” he corrected himself quickly.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Penelope said thoughtfully, “whether such speeches as the one which you have just made do not indicate something totally wrong in our modern life. You, for instance, have no profession, Charlie, and you devote your life to a systematic course of what is nothing more or less than pleasure-seeking. You hunt or you shoot, you play polo or golf, you come to town or you live in the country, entirely according to the seasons. If any one asked you why you had not chosen a profession, you would as good as tell them that it was because you were a rich man and had no need to work for your living. That is practically what it comes to. You Englishmen work only if you need money. If you do not need money, you play. The Prince is wealthy, but his profession was ordained for him from the moment when he left the cradle. The end and aim of his life is to serve his country, and I believe that he would consider it sacrilege if he allowed any slighter things to divert at any time his mind from its main purpose. He would feel like a priest who has broken his ordination vows.”

“That’s all very well,” Somerfield said coolly, “but there’s nothing in life nowadays to make us quite so strenuous as that.”

“Isn’t there?” Penelope answered. “You are an Englishman, and you should know. Are you convinced, then, that your country today is at the height of her prosperity, safe and sound, bound to go on triumphant, prosperous, without the constant care of her men?”

Somerfield looked up at her in growing amazement.

“What on earth’s got hold of you, Penelope?” he asked. “Have you been reading the sensational papers, or stuffing yourself up with jingoism, or what?”

She laughed.

“None of those things, I can assure you,” she said. “A man like the Prince makes one think, because, you see, every standard of life we have is a standard of comparison. When one sees the sort of man he is, one wonders. When one sees how far apart he is from you Englishmen in his ideals and the way he spends his life, one wonders again.”

Somerfield shrugged his shoulders.

“We do well enough,” he said. “Japan is the youngest of the nations. She has a long way to go to catch us up.”

“We do well enough!” she repeated under her breath. “There was a great city once which adopted that as her motto,—people dig up mementoes of her sometimes from under the sands.”

Somerfield looked at her in an aggrieved fashion.

“Well,” he said, “I thought that this was to be an amusing luncheon party.”

“You should have talked more to Lady Grace,” she answered. “I am sure that she is quite ready to believe that you are perfection, and the English army the one invincible institution in the world. You mustn’t take me too seriously today, Charlie. I have a headache, and I think that it has made me dull.”...

They trooped out into the foyer in irregular fashion to take their coffee. The Prince and Penelope were side by side.

“What I like about your restaurant life,” the Prince said, “is the strange mixture of classes which it everywhere reveals.”

“Those two, for instance,” Penelope said, and then stopped short.

The Prince followed her slight gesture. Inspector Jacks and Dr. Spencer Whiles were certainly just a little out of accord with their surroundings. The detective’s clothes were too new and his companion’s too old. The doctor’s clothes indeed were as shabby as his waiting room, and he sat where the sunlight was merciless.

“How singular,” the Prince remarked with a smile, “that you should have pointed those two men out! One of them I know, and, if you will excuse me for a moment, I should like to speak to him.”

Penelope was not capable of any immediate answer. The Prince, with a kindly and yet gracious smile, walked over to Inspector Jacks, who rose at once to his feet.

“I hope you have quite recovered, Mr. Inspector,” the Prince said, holding out his hand in friendly fashion. “I have felt very guilty over your indisposition. I am sure that I keep my rooms too close for English people.”

“Thank you, Prince,” the Inspector answered, “I am perfectly well again. In fact, I have not felt anything of my little attack since.”

The Prince smiled.

“I am glad,” he said. “Next time you are good enough to pay me a visit, I will see that you do not suffer in the same way.”

He nodded kindly and rejoined his friends. The Inspector resumed his seat and busied himself with relighting his cigar. He purposely did not even glance at his companion.

“Who was that?” the doctor asked curiously. “Did you call him Prince?”

Inspector Jacks sighed. This was a disappointment to him!

“His name is Prince Maiyo,” he said slowly. “He is a Japanese.”

The doctor looked across the restaurant with puzzled face.

“It’s queer,” he said, “how all these Japanese seem to one to look so much alike, and yet—”

He broke off in the middle of his sentence.

“You are thinking of your friend of the other night?” the Inspector remarked.

“I was,” the doctor admitted. “For a moment it seemed to me like the same man with a different manner.”

Inspector Jacks was silent. He puffed steadily at his cigar.

“You don’t suppose,” he asked quietly, “that it could have been the same man?”

The doctor was still looking across the room.

“I could not tell,” he said. “I should like to see him again. I wasn’t prepared, and there was something so altered in his tone and the way he carried himself. And yet—”

The pause was expressive. Inspector Jacks’ eyes brightened. He hated to feel that his day had been altogether wasted.

Inspector Jacks was in luck at last. Eleven times he had called at St. Thomas’s Hospital and received the same reply. Today he was asked to wait. The patient was better—would be able to see him. Soon a nurse in neat uniform came quietly down the corridor and took charge of him.

“Ten minutes, no more,” she insisted good-humoredly.

The Inspector nodded.

“One question, if you please, nurse,” he asked. “Is the man going to live?”

“Not a doubt about it,” she declared. “Why?”

“A matter of depositions,” the Inspector exclaimed. “I’d rather let it go, though, if he’s sure to recover.”

“It’s a simple case,” she answered, “and his constitution is excellent. There isn’t the least need for your to think about depositions. Here he is. Don’t talk too long.”

The Inspector sat down by the bedside. The patient, a young man, welcomed him a little shyly.

“You have come to ask me about what I saw in Pall Mall and opposite the Hyde Park Hotel?” he said, speaking slowly and in a voice scarcely raised above a whisper. “I told them all before the operation, but they couldn’t send for you then. There wasn’t time.”

The Inspector nodded.

“Tell me your own way,” he said. “Don’t hurry. We can get the particulars later on. Glad you’re going to be mended.”

“It was touch and go,” the young man declared with a note of awe in his tone. “If the omnibus wheel had turned a foot more, I should have lost both my legs. It was all through watching that chap hop out of the taxicab, too.”

The Inspector inclined his head gravely.

“You saw him get in, didn’t you?” he asked.

“That’s so,” the patient admitted. “I was on my way—Charing Cross to the Kensington Palace Hotel, on a bicycle. There was a block—corner of Pall Mall and Haymarket. I caught hold—taxi in front—to steady me.”

The nurse bent over him with a glass in her hand. She raised him a little with the other arm.

“Not too much of this, you know, young man,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Here’s something to make you strong.”

“Right you are!”

He drained the contents of the glass and smacked his lips.

“Jolly good stuff,” he declared. “Where was I, Mr. Inspector?”

“Holding the back of a taxicab, corner of Regent Street and Haymarket,” Inspector Jacks reminded him.

The patient nodded.

“There was an electric brougham,” he continued, “drawn up alongside the taxi. While we were there, waiting, I saw a chap get out, speak to some one through the window of the taxi, open the door, and step in. When we moved on, he stayed in the taxi. Dark, slim chap he was,” the patient continued, “a regular howling swell,—silk hat, white muffler, white kid gloves,—all the rest of it.”

“And afterwards?” the Inspector asked.

“I kept behind the taxi,” the youth continued. “We got blocked again at Hyde Park Corner. I saw him step out of the taxi and disappear amongst the vehicles. A moment or two later, I passed the taxi and looked in—saw something had happened—the fellow was lying side-ways. It gave me a bit of a start. I skidded, and over I went. Sort of had an idea that every one in the world had started shouting to me, and felt that I was half underneath an omnibus. Woke up to find myself here.”

“Should you know the man again?” the Inspector asked. “I mean the man whom you saw enter and leave the taxi?”

“I think so—pretty sure!”

The nurse came up, shaking her head. Inspector Jacks rose from his seat.

“Right, nurse,” he said. “I’m off. Take care of our young friend. He is going to be very useful to us as soon as he can use his feet and get about. I’ll come and sit with you for half an hour next visiting day, if I may?” he added, turning to the patient.

“Glad to see you,” the youth answered. “My people live down in the country, and I haven’t many pals.”

Inspector Jacks left the hospital thoughtfully. The smell of anaesthetics somehow reminded him of the library in the house at the corner of St. James’ Square. It was not altogether by chance, perhaps, that he found himself walking in that direction. He was in Pall Mall, in fact, before he realized where he was, and at the corner of St. James’ Square and Pall Mall he came face to face with Prince Maiyo, walking slowly westwards.

The meeting between the two men was a characteristic one. The Inspector suffered no signs of surprise or even interest to creep into his expressionless face. The Prince, on the other hand, did not attempt to conceal his pleasure at this unexpected encounter. His lips parted in a delightful smile. He ignored the Inspector’s somewhat stiff salute, and insisted upon shaking him cordially by the hand.

“Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he said, “you are the one person whom I desired to see. You are not busy, I hope? You can talk with me for five minutes?”

The Inspector hesitated for a moment. He was versed in every form of duplicity, and yet he felt that in the presence of this young aristocrat, who was smiling upon him so delightfully, he was little more than a babe in wisdom, an amateur pure and simple. He was conscious, too, of a sentiment which rarely intruded itself into his affairs. He was conscious of a strong liking for this debonair, pleasant-faced young man, who treated him not only as an equal, but as an equal in whose society he found an especial pleasure.

“I have the time to spare, sir, certainly,” he admitted.

The Prince smiled gayly.

“Inspector Jacks,” he said, “you are a wonderful man. Even now you are asking yourself, ‘What does he want to say to me—Prince Maiyo? Is he going to ask me questions, or will he tell me things which I should like to hear?’ You know, Mr. Inspector Jacks, between ourselves, you are just a little interested in me, is it not so?”

The detective was dumb. He stood there patiently waiting. He had the air of a man who declines to commit himself.

“Just a little interested in me, I think,” the Prince murmured, smiling at his companion. “Ah, well, many of the things I do over here, perhaps, must seem very strange. And that reminds me. Only a short time ago you were asking questions about the man who travelled from Liverpool to London and reached his destination with a dagger through his heart. Tell me, Mr. Inspector Jacks, have you discovered the murderer yet?”

“Not yet,” the detective answered.

“I have heard you speak of this affair,” the Prince continued, “and before now I expected to read in the papers that you had put your hand upon the guilty one. If you have not done so, I am very sure that there is some explanation.”

“It is better sometimes to wait,” the detective said quietly.

The Prince bowed as one who understands.

“I think so,” he assented, “I think I follow you. On the very next day there was another tragedy which seemed to me even more terrible. I mean the murder of that young fellow Vanderpole, of the American Embassy. Mr. Inspector Jacks, has it ever occurred to you, I wonder, that it might be as well to let the solution of one await the solution of the other?”

Inspector Jacks shrugged his shoulders.

“Occasionally,” he admitted reluctantly, “when one is following up a clue, one discovers things.”

“You are wonderful!” the Prince declared. “You are, indeed! I know what is in your mind. You have said to yourself, ‘Between these two murders there is some connection. They were both done by the hand of a master criminal. The victims in both cases were Americans.’ You said to yourself, ‘First of all, I will discover the motive; then, perhaps, a clue which seems to belong to the one will lead me to the other, or both?’ You are not sure which way to turn. There is nothing there upon which you can lay your hand. You say to yourself, ‘I will make a bluff.’ That is the word, is it not? You come to me. You tell me gravely that you have reason to suspect some one in my household. That is because you believe that the crimes were perpetrated by some one of my country. You do not ask for information. You think, perhaps, that I would not give it. You confront me with a statement. It was very clever of you, Mr. Inspector Jacks.”

“I had reason for what I did, sir,” the detective said.

“No doubt,” the Prince agreed. “And now, tell me, when are you going to electrify us all? When is the great arrest to take place?”

The detective coughed discreetly.

“I am not yet in a position, sir,” he said, “to make any definite announcement.”

“Cautious, Mr. Jacks, cautious!” the Prince remarked smilingly. “It is a great quality,—a quality which I, too, have learned how to appreciate. And now for our five minutes’ talk. If I say to you, ‘Return home with me,’ I think you will remember that unpleasant room of mine, and you will recollect an important engagement at Scotland Yard. In the clubs one is always overheard. Walk with me a little way, Mr. Jacks, in St. James’ Park. We can speak there without fear of interruption. Come!”

He thrust his arm through the detective’s and led him across the street. Mr. Inspector Jacks was only human, and he yielded without protest. They passed St. James’ Palace and on to the broad promenade, where there were few passers-by and no listeners.

“You see, my dear Inspector,” the Prince said, “I am really a sojourner in your marvellous city not altogether for pleasure. My stay over here is more in the light of a mission. I have certain arrangements which I wish to effect for the good of my country. Amongst them is one concerning which I should like to speak to you.”

“To me, sir?” Inspector Jacks repeated.

The Prince twirled his cane and nodded his head.

“It is a very important matter, Mr. Jacks,” he said. “It is nothing less than a desire on the part of the city government of Tokio to perfect thoroughly their police system on the model of yours over here. We are a progressive nation, you know, Mr. Jacks, but we are also a young nation, and though I think that we advance all the time, we are still in many respects a long way behind you. We have no Scotland Yard in Tokio. To be frank with you, the necessity for such an institution has become a real thing with us only during the last few years. Do you read history, Mr. Jacks?”

The Inspector was doubtful.

“I can’t say, sir,” he admitted, “that I have done much reading since I left school, and that was many years ago.”

“Well,” the Prince said, “it is one of the axioms of history, Mr. Jacks, that as a country becomes civilized and consequently more prosperous, there is a corresponding growth in her criminal classes, a corresponding need for a different state of laws by which to judge them, a different machinery for checking their growth. We have arrived at that position in Japan, and in my latest despatches from home comes to me a request that I send them out a man who shall reorganize our entire police system. I am a judge of character, Mr. Jacks, and if I can get the man I want, I do not need to ask my friends at Downing Street to help me. I should like you to accept that post.”

The Inspector was scarcely prepared for this. He allowed himself to show some surprise.

“I am very much obliged to you, Prince, for the offer,” he said. “I am afraid, however, that I should not be competent.”

“That,” the Prince reminded him, “is a risk which we are willing to take.”

“I do not think, either,” the detective continued, “that at my time of life I should care to go so far from home to settle down in an altogether strange country.”

“It must be as you will, of course,” the Prince declared. “Only remember, Mr. Jacks, that a great nation like mine which wants a particular man for a particular purpose is not afraid to pay for him. Your work out there would certainly take you no more than three years. For that three years’ work you would receive the sum of thirty thousand pounds.”

The detective gasped.

“It is a great sum,” he said.

The Prince shrugged his shoulders.

“You could hardly call it that,” he said. “Still, it would enable you to live in comfort for the rest of your life.”

“And when should I be required to start, sir?” the Inspector asked.

“That, perhaps,” the Prince replied, “would seem the hardest part of all. You would be required to start tomorrow afternoon from Southampton at four o’clock.”

The Inspector started. Then a new light dawned suddenly in his face.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he murmured.

The Prince assented.

“So far as regards your position at Scotland Yard,” he said, “I have influential friends in your Government who will put that right for you. You need not be afraid of any unpleasantness in that direction. Remember, Mr. Inspector, thirty thousand pounds, and a free hand while you are in my country. You are a man, I should judge, of fifty-two or fifty-three years of age. You can spend your fifty-sixth birthday in England, then, and be a man of means for the remainder of your days.”

“And this sum of money,” the detective said, “is for my services in building up the police force of Tokio?”

“Broadly speaking, yes!” the Prince answered.

“And incidentally,” the detective continued, glancing cautiously at his companion, “it is the price of my leaving unsuspected the murderer of two innocent men!”

The Prince walked on in silence. Every line in his face seemed slowly to have hardened. His brows had contracted. He was looking steadfastly forward at the great front of Buckingham Palace.

“I am disappointed in you, Mr. Jacks,” he said a little stiffly. “I do not understand your allusion. The money I have mentioned is to be paid to you for certain well-defined services. The other matter you speak of does not interest me. It is no concern of mine whether this man of whom you are in search is brought to justice or not. All that I wish to hear from you is whether or not you accept my offer.”

The Inspector shook his head.

“Prince,” he said, “there can be no question about that. I thank you very much for it, but I must decline.”

“Your mind is quite made up?” the Prince asked regretfully.

“Quite,” the Inspector said firmly.

“Japan,” the Prince said thoughtfully, “is a pleasant country.”

“London suits me moderately well,” Inspector Jacks declared.

“Under certain conditions,” the Prince continued, “I should have imagined that the climate here might prove most unhealthy for you. You must remember that I was a witness of your slight indisposition the other day.”

“In my profession, sir,” the detective said, “we must take our risks.”

The Prince came to a standstill. They were at the parting of the ways.

“I am very sorry,” he said simply. “It was a great post, and it was one which you would have filled well. It is not for me, however, to press the matter.”

“It would make no difference, sir,” the detective answered.

The Prince was on the point of moving away.

“I shall not seek in any case to persuade you,” he said. “My offer remains open if you should change your mind. Think, too, over what I have said about our climate. At your time of life, Mr. Inspector Jacks, and particularly at this season of the year, one should be careful. A sea voyage now would, I am convinced, be the very thing for you. Good day, Mr. Jacks!”

The Prince turned towards Buckingham Palace, and the Inspector slowly retraced his steps.

“It is a bribe!” he muttered to himself slowly,—“a cleverly offered bribe! Thirty thousand pounds to forget the little I have learned! Thirty thousand pounds for silence!”

Back to IndexNext