CHAPTER II
SIR CRICHTON DAVEY'S study was a small one, and a glance sufficed toshow that, as the secretary had said, it offered no hiding-place. Itwas heavily carpeted, and over-full of Burmese and Chinese ornamentsand curios, and upon the mantelpiece stood several framed photographswhich showed this to be the sanctum of a wealthy bachelor who was nomisogynist. A map of the Indian Empire occupied the larger part of onewall. The grate was empty, for the weather was extremely warm, and agreen-shaded lamp on the littered writing-table afforded the onlylight. The air was stale, for both windows were closed and fastened.
Smith immediately pounced upon a large, square envelope that lay besidethe blotting-pad. Sir Crichton had not even troubled to open it, but myfriend did so. It contained a blank sheet of paper!
"Smell!" he directed, handing the letter to me. I raised it to mynostrils. It was scented with some pungent perfume.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It is a rather rare essential oil," was the reply, "which I have metwith before, though never in Europe. I begin to understand, Petrie."
He tilted the lamp-shade and made a close examination of the scraps ofpaper, matches, and other debris that lay in the grate and on thehearth. I took up a copper vase from the mantelpiece, and wasexamining it curiously, when he turned, a strange expression upon hisface.
"Put that back, old man," he said quietly.
Much surprised, I did as he directed.
"Don't touch anything in the room. It may be dangerous."
Something in the tone of his voice chilled me, and I hastily replacedthe vase, and stood by the door of the study, watching him search,methodically, every inch of the room--behind the books, in all theornaments, in table drawers, in cupboards, on shelves.
"That will do," he said at last. "There is nothing here and I have notime to search farther."
We returned to the library.
"Inspector Weymouth," said my friend, "I have a particular reason forasking that Sir Crichton's body be removed from this room at once andthe library locked. Let no one be admitted on any pretense whateveruntil you hear from me." It spoke volumes for the mysteriouscredentials borne by my friend that the man from Scotland Yard acceptedhis orders without demur, and, after a brief chat with Mr. Burboyne,Smith passed briskly downstairs. In the hall a man who looked like agroom out of livery was waiting.
"Are you Wills?" asked Smith.
"Yes, sir."
"It was you who heard a cry of some kind at the rear of the house aboutthe time of Sir Crichton's death?"
"Yes, sir. I was locking the garage door, and, happening to look up atthe window of Sir Crichton's study, I saw him jump out of his chair.Where he used to sit at his writing, sir, you could see his shadow onthe blind. Next minute I heard a call out in the lane."
"What kind of call?"
The man, whom the uncanny happening clearly had frightened, seemedpuzzled for a suitable description.
"A sort of wail, sir," he said at last. "I never heard anything likeit before, and don't want to again."
"Like this?" inquired Smith, and he uttered a low, wailing cry,impossible to describe. Wills perceptibly shuddered; and, indeed, itwas an eerie sound.
"The same, sir, I think," he said, "but much louder."
"That will do," said Smith, and I thought I detected a note of triumphin his voice. "But stay! Take us through to the back of the house."
The man bowed and led the way, so that shortly we found ourselves in asmall, paved courtyard. It was a perfect summer's night, and the deepblue vault above was jeweled with myriads of starry points. Howimpossible it seemed to reconcile that vast, eternal calm with thehideous passions and fiendish agencies which that night had loosed asoul upon the infinite.
"Up yonder are the study windows, sir. Over that wall on your left isthe back lane from which the cry came, and beyond is Regent's Park."
"Are the study windows visible from there?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Who occupies the adjoining house?"
"Major-General Platt-Houston, sir; but the family is out of town."
"Those iron stairs are a means of communication between the domesticoffices and the servants' quarters, I take it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then send someone to make my business known to the Major-General'shousekeeper; I want to examine those stairs."
Singular though my friend's proceedings appeared to me, I had ceased towonder at anything. Since Nayland Smith's arrival at my rooms I seemedto have been moving through the fitful phases of a nightmare. Myfriend's account of how he came by the wound in his arm; the scene onour arrival at the house of Sir Crichton Davey; the secretary's storyof the dying man's cry, "The red hand!"; the hidden perils of thestudy; the wail in the lane--all were fitter incidents of delirium thanof sane reality. So, when a white-faced butler made us known to anervous old lady who proved to be the housekeeper of the next-doorresidence, I was not surprised at Smith's saying:
"Lounge up and down outside, Petrie. Everyone has cleared off now. Itis getting late. Keep your eyes open and be on your guard. I thoughtI had the start, but he is here before me, and, what is worse, heprobably knows by now that I am here, too."
With which he entered the house and left me out in the square, withleisure to think, to try to understand.
The crowd which usually haunts the scene of a sensational crime hadbeen cleared away, and it had been circulated that Sir Crichton haddied from natural causes. The intense heat having driven most of theresidents out of town, practically I had the square to myself, and Igave myself up to a brief consideration of the mystery in which I sosuddenly had found myself involved.
By what agency had Sir Crichton met his death? Did Nayland Smith know?I rather suspected that he did. What was the hidden significance ofthe perfumed envelope? Who was that mysterious personage whom Smith soevidently dreaded, who had attempted his life, who, presumably, hadmurdered Sir Crichton? Sir Crichton Davey, during the time that he hadheld office in India, and during his long term of service at home, hadearned the good will of all, British and native alike. Who was hissecret enemy?
Something touched me lightly on the shoulder.
I turned, with my heart fluttering like a child's. This night's workhad imposed a severe strain even upon my callous nerves.
A girl wrapped in a hooded opera-cloak stood at my elbow, and, as sheglanced up at me, I thought that I never had seen a face so seductivelylovely nor of so unusual a type. With the skin of a perfect blonde,she had eyes and lashes as black as a Creole's, which, together withher full red lips, told me that this beautiful stranger, whose touchhad so startled me, was not a child of our northern shores.
"Forgive me," she said, speaking with an odd, pretty accent, and layinga slim hand, with jeweled fingers, confidingly upon my arm, "if Istartled you. But--is it true that Sir Crichton Davey hasbeen--murdered?"
I looked into her big, questioning eyes, a harsh suspicion laboring inmy mind, but could read nothing in their mysterious depths--only Iwondered anew at my questioner's beauty. The grotesque ideamomentarily possessed me that, were the bloom of her red lips due toart and not to nature, their kiss would leave--though notindelibly--just such a mark as I had seen upon the dead man's hand.But I dismissed the fantastic notion as bred of the night's horrors,and worthy only of a mediaeval legend. No doubt she was some friend oracquaintance of Sir Crichton who lived close by.
"I cannot say that he has been murdered," I replied, acting upon thelatter supposition, and seeking to tell her what she asked as gently aspossible.
"But he is--Dead?"
I nodded.
She closed her eyes and uttered a low, moaning sound, swaying dizzily.Thinking she was about to swoon, I threw my arm round her shoulder tosupport her, but she smiled sadly, and pushed me gently away.
"I am quite well, thank you," she said.
"You are certain? Let me walk with you until you feel quite sure ofyourself."
S
he shook her head, flashed a rapid glance at me with her beautifuleyes, and looked away in a sort of sorrowful embarrassment, for which Iwas entirely at a loss to account. Suddenly she resumed:
"I cannot let my name be mentioned in this dreadful matter, but--Ithink I have some information--for the police. Will you give thisto--whomever you think proper?"
She handed me a sealed envelope, again met my eyes with one of herdazzling glances, and hurried away. She had gone no more than ten ortwelve yards, and I still was standing bewildered, watching hergraceful, retreating figure, when she turned abruptly and came back.
Without looking directly at me, but alternately glancing towards adistant corner of the square and towards the house of Major-GeneralPlatt-Houston, she made the following extraordinary request:
"If you would do me a very great service, for which I always would begrateful,"--she glanced at me with passionate intentness--"when youhave given my message to the proper person, leave him and do not gonear him any more to-night!"
Before I could find words to reply she gathered up her cloak and ran.Before I could determine whether or not to follow her (for her wordshad aroused anew all my worst suspicions) she had disappeared! I heardthe whir of a restarted motor at no great distance, and, in the instantthat Nayland Smith came running down the steps, I knew that I hadnodded at my post.
"Smith!" I cried as he joined me, "tell me what we must do!" Andrapidly I acquainted him with the incident.
My friend looked very grave; then a grim smile crept round his lips.
"She was a big card to play," he said; "but he did not know that I heldone to beat it."
"What! You know this girl! Who is she?"
"She is one of the finest weapons in the enemy's armory, Petrie. But awoman is a two-edged sword, and treacherous. To our great goodfortune, she has formed a sudden predilection, characteristicallyOriental, for yourself. Oh, you may scoff, but it is evident. She wasemployed to get this letter placed in my hands. Give it to me."
I did so.
"She has succeeded. Smell."
He held the envelope under my nose, and, with a sudden sense of nausea,I recognized the strange perfume.
"You know what this presaged in Sir Crichton's case? Can you doubt anylonger? She did not want you to share my fate, Petrie."
"Smith," I said unsteadily, "I have followed your lead blindly in thishorrible business and have not pressed for an explanation, but I mustinsist before I go one step farther upon knowing what it all means."
"Just a few steps farther," he rejoined; "as far as a cab. We arehardly safe here. Oh, you need not fear shots or knives. The manwhose servants are watching us now scorns to employ such clumsy,tell-tale weapons."
Only three cabs were on the rank, and, as we entered the first,something hissed past my ear, missed both Smith and me by a miracle,and, passing over the roof of the taxi, presumably fell in the enclosedgarden occupying the center of the square.
"What was that?" I cried.
"Get in--quickly!" Smith rapped back. "It was attempt number one!More than that I cannot say. Don't let the man hear. He has noticednothing. Pull up the window on your side, Petrie, and look out behind.Good! We've started."
The cab moved off with a metallic jerk, and I turned and looked backthrough the little window in the rear.
"Someone has got into another cab. It is following ours, I think."
Nayland Smith lay back and laughed unmirthfully.
"Petrie," he said, "if I escape alive from this business I shall knowthat I bear a charmed life."
I made no reply, as he pulled out the dilapidated pouch and filled hispipe.
"You have asked me to explain matters," he continued, "and I will do soto the best of my ability. You no doubt wonder why a servant of theBritish Government, lately stationed in Burma, suddenly appears inLondon, in the character of a detective. I am here, Petrie--and I bearcredentials from the very highest sources--because, quite by accident,I came upon a clew. Following it up, in the ordinary course ofroutine, I obtained evidence of the existence and malignant activity ofa certain man. At the present stage of the case I should not bejustified in terming him the emissary of an Eastern Power, but I maysay that representations are shortly to be made to that Power'sambassador in London."
He paused and glanced back towards the pursuing cab.
"There is little to fear until we arrive home," he said calmly."Afterwards there is much. To continue: This man, whether a fanaticor a duly appointed agent, is, unquestionably, the most malign andformidable personality existing in the known world today. He is alinguist who speaks with almost equal facility in any of the civilizedlanguages, and in most of the barbaric. He is an adept in all the artsand sciences which a great university could teach him. He also is anadept in certain obscure arts and sciences which no university ofto-day can teach. He has the brains of any three men of genius.Petrie, he is a mental giant."
"You amaze me!" I said.
"As to his mission among men. Why did M. Jules Furneaux fall dead in aParis opera house? Because of heart failure? No! Because his lastspeech had shown that he held the key to the secret of Tongking. Whatbecame of the Grand Duke Stanislaus? Elopement? Suicide? Nothing ofthe kind. He alone was fully alive to Russia's growing peril. Healone knew the truth about Mongolia. Why was Sir Crichton Daveymurdered? Because, had the work he was engaged upon ever seen thelight it would have shown him to be the only living Englishman whounderstood the importance of the Tibetan frontiers. I say to yousolemnly, Petrie, that these are but a few. Is there a man who wouldarouse the West to a sense of the awakening of the East, who wouldteach the deaf to hear, the blind to see, that the millions only awaittheir leader? He will die. And this is only one phase of the devilishcampaign. The others I can merely surmise."
"But, Smith, this is almost incredible! What perverted genius controlsthis awful secret movement?"
"Imagine a person, tall, lean and feline, high-shouldered, with a browlike Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long,magnetic eyes of the true cat-green. Invest him with all the cruelcunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect,with all the resources of science past and present, with all theresources, if you will, of a wealthy government--which, however,already has denied all knowledge of his existence. Imagine that awfulbeing, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the yellow perilincarnate in one man."