Something else he said, but I did not hear. I did not see, nor did I feel in the human sense of the word. I was writhing at his feet, screaming and gibbering in the flames of such hells as men have never dreamed of.
Aye, I knew now! He had simply given me a dope so much stronger that it drowned the hashish. My unnatural ability was explainable now — I had simply been acting under the stimulus of something which combined all the hells in its makeup, which stimulated, something like heroin, but whose effect was unnoticed by the victim. What it was, I had no idea, nor did I believe anyone knew save that hellish being who stood watching me with grim amusement. But it had held my brain together, instilling into my system a need for it, and now my frightful craving tore my soul asunder.
Never, in my moments of worst shell-shock or my moments of hashish-craving, have I ever experienced anything like that. I burned with the heat of a thousand hells and froze with an iciness that was colder than any ice, a hundred times. I swept down to the deepest pits of torture and up to the highest crags of torment — a million yelling devils hemmed me in, shrieking and stabbing. Bone by bone, vein by vein, cell by cell I felt my body disintegrate and fly in bloody atoms all over the universe — and each separate cell was an entire system of quivering, screaming nerves. And they gathered from far voids and reunited with a greater torment.
Through the fiery bloody mists I heard my own voice screaming, a monotonous yammering. Then with distended eyes I saw a golden goblet, held by a claw-like hand, swim into view — a goblet filled with an amber liquid.
With a bestial screech, I seized it with both hands, being dimly aware that the metal stem gave beneath my fingers, and brought the brim to my lips. I drank in frenzied haste, the liquid slopping down onto my breast.
9. Kathulos of Egypt
“Night shall be thrice night over you,
And Heaven an iron cope.”
— Chesterton
The Skull-faced One stood watching me critically as I sat panting on a couch, completely exhausted. He held in his hand the goblet and surveyed the golden stem, which was crushed out of all shape. This my maniac fingers had done in the instant of drinking.
“Superhuman strength, even for a man in your condition,” he said with a sort of creaky pedantry. “I doubt if even Hassim here could equal it. Are you ready for your instructions now?”
I nodded, wordless. Already the hellish strength of the elixir was flowing through my veins, renewing my burnt-out force. I wondered how long a man could live as I lived being constantly burned out and artificially rebuilt.
“You will be given a disguise and will go alone to the Frenton estate. No one suspects any design against Sir Haldred and your entrance into the estate and the house itself should be a matter of comparative ease. You will not don the disguise — which will be of unique nature — until you are ready to enter the estate. You will then proceed to Sir Haldred’s room and kill him, breaking his neck with your bare hands — this is essential —”
The voice droned on, giving the ghastly orders in a frightfully casual and matter-of-fact way. The cold sweat beaded my brow.
“You will then leave the estate, taking care to leave the imprint of your hand somewhere plainly visible, and the automobile, which will be waiting for you at some safe place nearby, will bring you back here, you having first removed the disguise. I have, in case of complications, any amount of men who will swear that you spent the entire night in the Temple of Dreams and never left it. But here must be no detection! Go warily and perform your task surely, for you know the alternative.”
I did not return to the opium house but was taken through winding corridors, hung with heavy tapestries, to a small room containing only an oriental couch. Hassim gave me to understand that I was to remain here until after nightfall and then left me. The door was closed but I made no effort to discover if it was locked. The Skull-faced Master held me with stronger shackles than locks and bolts.
Seated upon the couch in the bizarre setting of a chamber which might have been a room in an Indian zenana, I faced fact squarely and fought out my battle. There was still in me some trace of manhood left — more than the fiend had reckoned, and added to this were black despair and desperation. I chose and determined on my only course.
Suddenly the door opened softly. Some intuition told me whom to expect, nor was I disappointed. Zuleika stood, a glorious vision before me — a vision which mocked me, made blacker my despair and yet thrilled me with wild yearning and reasonless joy.
She bore a tray of food which she set beside me, and then she seated herself on the couch, her large eyes fixed upon my face. A flower in a serpent den she was, and the beauty of her took hold of my heart.
“Steephen!” she whispered, and I thrilled as she spoke my name for the first time.
Her luminous eyes suddenly shone with tears and she laid her little hand on my arm. I seized it in both my rough hands.
“They have set you a task which you fear and hate!” she faltered.
“Aye,” I almost laughed, “but I’ll fool them yet! Zuleika, tell me — what is the meaning of all this?”
She glanced fearfully around her.
“I do not know all” — she hesitated — “your plight is all my fault but I — I hoped — Steephen, I have watched you every time you came to Yun Shatu’s for months. You did not see me but I saw you, and I saw in you, not the broken sot your rags proclaimed, but a wounded soul, a soul bruised terribly on the ramparts of life. And from my heart I pitied you. Then when Hassim abused you that day” — again tears started to her eyes — “I could not bear it and I knew how you suffered for want of hashish. So I paid Yun Shatu, and going to the Master I — I — oh, you will hate me for this!” she sobbed.
“No — no — never —”
“I told him that you were a man who might be of use to him and begged him to have Yun Shatu supply you with what you needed. He had already noticed you, for his is the eye of the slaver and all the world is his slave market! So he bade Yun Shatu do as I asked; and now — better if you had remained as you were, my friend.”
“No! No!” I exclaimed. “I have known a few days of regeneration, even if it was false! I have stood before you as a man, and that is worth all else!”
And all that I felt for her must have looked forth from my eyes, for she dropped hers and flushed. Ask me not how love comes to a man; but I knew that I loved Zuleika — had loved this mysterious oriental girl since first I saw her — and somehow I felt that she, in a measure, returned my affection. This realization made blacker and more barren the road I had chosen; yet — for pure love must ever strengthen a man — it nerved me to what I must do.
“Zuleika,” I said, speaking hurriedly, “time flies and there are things I must learn; tell me — who are you and why do you remain in this den of Hades?”
“I am Zuleika — that is all I know. I am Circassian by blood and birth; when I was very little I was captured in a Turkish raid and raised in a Stamboul harem; while I was yet too young to marry, my master gave me as a present to — to Him.”
“And who is he — this skull-faced man?”
“He is Kathulos of Egypt — that is all I know. My master.”
“An Egyptian? Then what is he doing in London — why all this mystery?”
She intertwined her fingers nervously.
“Steephen, please speak lower; always there is someone listening everywhere. I do not know who the Master is or why he is here or why he does these things. I swear by Allah! If I knew I would tell you. Sometimes distinguished-looking men come here to the room where the Master receives them — not the room where you saw him — and he makes me dance before them and afterward flirt with them a little. And always I must repeat exactly what they say to me. That is what I must always do — in Turkey, in the Barbary States, in Egypt, in France and in England. The Master taught me French and English and educated me in many ways himself. He is the greatest sorcerer in all the world and knows all ancient magic and eve
rything.”
“Zuleika,” I said, “my race is soon run, but let me get you out of this — come with me and I swear I’ll get you away from this fiend!”
She shuddered and hid her face.
“No, no, I cannot!”
“Zuleika,” I asked gently, “what hold has he over you, child — dope also?”
“No, no!” she whimpered. “I do not know — I do not know — but I cannot — I never can escape him!”
I sat, baffled for a few moments; then I asked, “Zuleika, where are we right now?”
“This building is a deserted storehouse back of the Temple of Silence.”
“I thought so. What is in the chests in the tunnel?”
“I do not know.”
Then suddenly she began weeping softly. “You too, a slave, like me — you who are so strong and kind — oh Steephen, I cannot bear it!”
I smiled. “Lean closer, Zuleika, and I will tell you how I am going to fool this Kathulos.”
She glanced apprehensively at the door.
“You must speak low. I will lie in your arms and while you pretend to caress me, whisper your words to me.”
She glided into my embrace, and there on the dragon-worked couch in that house of horror I first knew the glory of Zuleika’s slender form nestling in my arms — of Zuleika’s soft cheek pressing my breast. The fragrance of her was in my nostrils, her hair in my eyes, and my senses reeled; then with my lips hidden by her silky hair I whispered, swiftly:
“I am going first to warn Sir Haldred Frenton — then to find John Gordon and tell him of this den. I will lead the police here and you must watch closely and be ready to hide from Him — until we can break through and kill or capture him. Then you will be free.”
“But you!” she gasped, paling. “You must have the elixir, and only he —”
“I have a way of outdoing him, child,” I answered.
She went pitifully white and her woman’s intuition sprang at the right conclusion.
“You are going to kill yourself!”
And much as it hurt me to see her emotion, I yet felt a torturing thrill that she should feel so on my account. Her arms tightened about my neck.
“Don’t, Steephen!” she begged. “It is better to live, even —”
“No, not at that price. Better to go out clean while I have the manhood left.”
She stared at me wildly for an instant; then, pressing her red lips suddenly to mine, she sprang up and fled from the room. Strange, strange are the ways of love. Two stranded ships on the shores of life, we had drifted inevitably together, and though no word of love had passed between us, we knew each other’s heart — through grime and rags, and through accouterments of the slave, we knew each other’s heart and from the first loved as naturally and as purely as it was intended from the beginning of Time.
The beginning of life now and the end for me, for as soon as I had completed my task, ere I felt again the torments of my curse, love and life and beauty and torture should be blotted out together in the stark finality of a pistol ball scattering my rotting brain. Better a clean death than —
The door opened again and Yussef Ali entered.
“The hour arrives for departure,” he said briefly. “Rise and follow.”
I had no idea, of course, as to the time. No window opened from the room I occupied — I had seen no outer window whatever. The rooms were lighted by tapers in censers swinging from the ceiling. As I rose the slim young Moor slanted a sinister glance in my direction.
“This lies between you and me,” he said sibilantly. “Servants of the same Master we — but this concerns ourselves alone. Keep your distance from Zuleika — the Master has promised her to me in the days of the empire.”
My eyes narrowed to slits as I looked into the frowning, handsome face of the Oriental, and such hate surged up in me as I have seldom known. My fingers involuntarily opened and closed, and the Moor, marking the action, stepped back, hand in his girdle.
“Not now — there is work for us both — later perhaps.” Then in a sudden cold gust of hatred, “Swine! Ape-man! When the Master is finished with you I shall quench my dagger in your heart!”
I laughed grimly.
“Make it soon, desert-snake, or I’ll crush your spine between my hands.”
10. The Dark House
“Against all man-made shackles and a man-made hell —
Alone—at last—unaided—I rebel!”
—Mundy
I followed Yussef Ali along the winding hallways, down the steps — Kathulos was not in the idol room — and along the tunnel, then through the rooms of the Temple of Dreams and out into the street, where the street lamps gleamed drearily through the fogs and a slight drizzle. Across the street stood an automobile, curtains closely drawn.
“That is yours,” said Hassim, who had joined us. “Saunter across natural-like. Don’t act suspicious. The place may be watched. The driver knows what to do.”
Then he and Yussef Ali drifted back into the bar and I took a single step toward the curb.
“Steephen!”
A voice that made my heart leap spoke my name! A white hand beckoned from the shadows of a doorway. I stepped quickly there.
“Zuleika!”
“Shhh!”
She clutched my arm, slipped something into my hand; I made out vaguely a small flask of gold.
“Hide this, quick!” came her urgent whisper. “Don’t come back but go away and hide. This is full of elixir — I will try to get you some more before that is all gone. You must find a way of communicating with me.”
“Yes, but how did you get this?” I asked amazedly.
“I stole it from the Master! Now please, I must go before he misses me.”
And she sprang back into the doorway and vanished. I stood undecided. I was sure that she had risked nothing less than her life in doing this and I was torn by the fear of what Kathulos might do to her, were the theft discovered. But to return to the house of mystery would certainly invite suspicion, and I might carry out my plan and strike back before the Skull-faced One learned of his slave’s duplicity.
So I crossed the street to the waiting automobile. The driver was a Negro whom I had never seen before, a lanky man of medium height. I stared hard at him, wondering how much he had seen. He gave no evidence of having seen anything, and I decided that even if he had noticed me step back into the shadows he could not have seen what passed there nor have been able to recognize the girl.
He merely nodded as I climbed in the back seat, and a moment later we were speeding away down the deserted and fog-haunted streets. A bundle beside me I concluded to be the disguise mentioned by the Egyptian.
To recapture the sensations I experienced as I rode through the rainy, misty night would be impossible. I felt as if I were already dead and the bare and dreary streets about me were the roads of death over which my ghost had been doomed to roam forever. A torturing joy was in my heart, and bleak despair — the despair of a doomed man. Not that death itself was so repellent — a dope victim dies too many deaths to shrink from the last — but it was hard to go out just as love had entered my barren life. And I was still young.
A sardonic smile crossed my lips — they were young, too, the men who died beside me in No Man’s Land. I drew back my sleeve and clenched my fists, tensing my muscles. There was no surplus weight on my frame, and much of the firm flesh had wasted away, but the cords of the great biceps still stood out like knots of iron, seeming to indicate massive strength. But I knew my might was false, that in reality I was a broken hulk of a man, animated only by the artificial fire of the elixir, without which a frail girl might topple me over.
The automobile came to a halt among some trees. We were on the outskirts of an exclusive suburb and the hour was past midnight. Through the trees I saw a large house looming darkly against the distant flares of nighttime London.
“This is where I wait,” said the Negro. “No one can see the automobile from the road or
from the house.”
Holding a match so that its light could not be detected outside the car, I examined the “disguise” and was hard put to restrain an insane laugh. The disguise was the complete hide of a gorilla! Gathering the bundle under my arm I trudged toward the wall which surrounded the Frenton estate. A few steps and the trees where the Negro hid with the car merged into one dark mass. I did not believe he could see me, but for safety’s sake I made, not for the high iron gate at the front, but for the wall at the side where there was no gate.
No light showed in the house. Sir Haldred was a bachelor and I was sure that the servants were all in bed long ago. I negotiated the wall with ease and stole across the dark lawn to a side door, still carrying the grisly “disguise” under my arm. The door was locked, as I had anticipated, and I did not wish to arouse anyone until I was safely in the house, where the sound of voices would not carry to one who might have followed me. I took hold of the knob with both hands, and, exerting slowly the inhuman strength that was mine, began to twist. The shaft turned in my hands and the lock within shattered suddenly, with a noise that was like the crash of a cannon in the stillness. An instant more and I was inside and had closed the door behind me.
I took a single stride in the darkness in the direction I believed the stair to be, then halted as a beam of light flashed into my face. At the side of the beam I caught the glimmer of a pistol muzzle. Beyond a lean shadowy face floated.
“Stand where you are and put up your hands!”
I lifted my hands, allowing the bundle to slip to the floor. I had heard that voice only once but I recognized it — knew instantly that the man who held that light was John Gordon.
“How many are with you?”
His voice was sharp, commanding.
“I am alone,” I answered. “Take me into a room where a light cannot be seen from the outside and I’ll tell you some things you want to know.”
He was silent; then, bidding me take up the bundle I had dropped, he stepped to one side and motioned me to precede him into the next room. There he directed me to a stairway and at the top landing opened a door and switched on lights.