into a turning, crooked and uninviting, which ran roughly at right
angles with the former, she hesitated, but only for an instant. Not
another pedestrian was visible in the street, which was very narrow and
ill-lighted, but she plainly saw Gianapolis passing under a street-lamp
some thirty yards along. Glancing back in quest of the cabman, but
failing to perceive him, she resumed the pursuit.
She was nearly come to the end of the street (Gianapolis already had
disappeared into an even narrower turning on the left) when a bright
light suddenly swept from behind and cast her shadow far out in front
of her upon the muddy road. She heard the faint thudding of a motor,
but did not look back, for she was confident that this was the taxi-man
following. She crept to the corner and peered around it; Gianapolis had
disappeared.
The light grew brighter--brighter yet; and, with the engine running very
silently, the car came up almost beside her. She considered this unwise
on the man's part, yet welcomed his presence, for in this place not a
soul was visible, and for the first time she began to feel afraid...
A shawl, or some kind of silken wrap, was suddenly thrown over her head!
She shrieked frenziedly, but the arm of her captor was now clasped
tightly about her mouth and head. She felt herself to be suffocating.
The silken thing which enveloped her was redolent of the perfume of
roses; it was stifling her. She fought furiously, but her arms were now
seized in an irresistible grasp, and she felt herself lifted--and placed
upon a cushioned seat.
Instantly there was a forward movement of the vehicle which she had
mistaken for a taxi-cab, and she knew that she was speeding through
those unknown east-end streets--God! to what destination?
She could not cry out, for she was fighting for air--she seemed to be
encircled by a swirling cloud of purplish mist. On--and on--and on, she
was borne; she knew that she must have been drugged in some way, for
consciousness was slipping--slipping...
Helpless as a child in that embrace which never faltered, she was lifted
again and carried down many steps. Insensibility was very near now, but
with all the will that was hers she struggled to fend it off. She felt
herself laid down upon soft cushions...
A guttural voice was speaking, from a vast distance away:
“What is this that you bwring us, Mahara?”
Answered a sweet, silvery voice:
“Does it matter to you what I bringing? It is one I hate--hate--HATE!
There will be TWO cases of 'ginger' to go away some day instead of
ONE--that is all! Said, yalla!”
“Your pwrimitive passions will wruin us”...
The silvery voice grew even more silvery:
“Do you quarrel with me, Ho-Pin, my friend?”
“This is England, not Burma! Gianapolis”...
“Ah! Whisper--WHISPER it to HIM, and”...
Oblivion closed in upon Helen Cumberly; she seemed to be sinking into
the heart of a giant rose.
XXXVI
IN DUNBAR'S ROOM
Dr. Cumberly, his face unusually pale, stood over by the window of
Inspector Dunbar's room, his hands locked behind him. In the chair
nearest to the window sat Henry Leroux, so muffled up in a fur-collared
motor-coat that little of his face was visible; but his eyes were tragic
as he leant forward resting his elbows upon his knees and twirling his
cap between his thin fingers. He was watching Inspector Dunbar intently;
only glancing from the gaunt face of the detective occasionally to look
at Denise Ryland, who sat close to the table. At such times his gaze was
pathetically reproachful, but always rather sorrowful than angry.
As for Miss Ryland, her habitual self-confidence seemed somewhat to
have deserted her, and it was almost with respectful interest that she
followed Dunbar's examination of a cabman who, standing cap in hand,
completed the party so strangely come together at that late hour.
“This is what you have said,” declared Dunbar, taking up an official
form, and, with a movement of his hand warning the taxi-man to pay
attention: “'I, Frederick Dean, motor-cab driver, was standing on the
rank in Little Abbey Street to-night at about a quarter to nine. My cab
was the second on the rank. A young lady who wore, I remember, a woolen
cap and jersey, with a blue serge skirt, ran out from the corner of the
Square and directed me to follow the cab in front of me, which had just
been chartered by a dark man wearing a black overcoat and silk hat. She
ordered me to keep him in sight; and as I drove off I heard her calling
from the window of my cab to another lady who seemed to be following
her. I was unable to see this other lady, but my fare addressed her as
'Denise.' I followed the first cab to Whitechapel Station; and as I
saw it stop there, I swung into Mount Street. The lady gave me
half-a-sovereign, and told me that she proposed to follow the man on
foot. She asked me if I could manage to keep her in sight, without
letting my cab be seen by the man she was following. I said I would
try, and I crept along at some distance behind her, going as slowly as
possible until she went into a turning branching off to the right of
Cambridge Road; I don't know the name of this street. She was some
distance ahead of me, for I had had trouble in crossing Whitechapel
Road.
“'A big limousine had passed me a moment before, but as an electric tram
was just going by on my off-side, between me and the limousine, I don't
know where the limousine went. When I was clear of the tram I could not
see it, and it may have gone down Cambridge Road and then down the same
turning as the lady. I pulled up at the end of this turning, and could
not see a sign of any one. It was quite deserted right to the end, and
although I drove down, bore around to the right and finally came out
near the top of Globe Road, I did not pass anyone. I waited about the
district for over a quarter-of-an-hour and then drove straight to the
police station, and they sent me on here to Scotland Yard to report what
had occurred.'
“Have you anything to add to that?” said Dunbar, fixing his tawny eyes
upon the cabman.
“Nothing at all,” replied the man--a very spruce and intelligent
specimen of his class and one who, although he had moved with the times,
yet retained a slightly horsey appearance, which indicated that he had
not always been a mechanical Jehu.
“It is quite satisfactory as far as it goes,” muttered Dunbar. “I'll get
you to sign it now and we need not detain you any longer.”
“There is not the slightest doubt,” said Dr. Cumberly, stepping forward
and speaking in an unusually harsh voice, “that Helen endeavored to
track this man Gianapolis, and was abducted by him or his associates.
The limousine was the car of which we have heard so much”...
“If my cabman had not been such a... fool,” broke in Denise Ryland,
clasping her hands, “we should have had a different... tale to tell.”
“I have no wish to reproach anybody,” said Dunbar, sternly; “but I feel
called upon to remark, madam, that you ought to have known better than
to interfere in a case like this; a case in which we are dealing with a
desperate and clever gang.”
For once in her life Denise Ryland found herself unable to retort
suitably. The mildly reproachful gaze of Leroux she could not meet; and
although Dr. Cumberly had spoken no word of complaint against her, from
his pale face she persistently turned away her eyes.
The cabman having departed, the door almost immediately reopened, and
Sergeant Sowerby came in.
“Ah! there you are, Sowerby!” cried Dunbar, standing up and leaning
eagerly across the table. “You have the particulars respecting the
limousine?”
Sergeant Sowerby, removing his hat and carefully placing it upon the
only vacant chair in the room, extracted a bulging notebook from a
pocket concealed beneath his raincoat, cleared his throat, and reported
as follows:
“There is only one car known to members of that division which answers
to the description of the one wanted. This is a high-power, French car
which seems to have been registered first in Paris, where it was made,
then in Cairo, and lastly in London. It is the property of the gentleman
whose telephone number is 18642 East--Mr. I. Gianapolis; and the reason
of its frequent presence in the neighborhood of the West India Dock
Road, is this: it is kept in a garage in Wharf-End Lane, off Limehouse
Causeway. I have interviewed two constables at present on that beat, and
they tell me that there is nothing mysterious about the car except that
the chauffeur is a foreigner who speaks no English. He is often to be
seen cleaning the car in the garage, and both the men are in the habit
of exchanging good evening with him when passing the end of the lane.
They rarely go that far, however, as it leads nowhere.”
“But if you have the telephone number of this man, Gianapolis,” cried
Dr. Cumberly, “you must also have his address”...
“We obtained both from the Eastern Exchange,” interrupted Inspector
Dunbar. “The instrument, number 18642 East, is installed in an office
in Globe Road. The office, which is situated in a converted private
dwelling, bears a brass plate simply inscribed, 'I. Gianapolis, London
and Smyrna.'”
“What is the man's reputed business?” jerked Cumberly.
“We have not quite got to the bottom of that, yet,” replied Sowerby;
“but he is an agent of some kind, and evidently in a large way of
business, as he runs a very fine car, and seems to live principally in
different hotels. I am told that he is an importer of Turkish cigarettes
and”...
“He is an importer and exporter of hashish!” snapped Dunbar irritably.
“If I could clap my eyes upon him I should know him at once! I tell you,
Sowerby, he is the man who was convicted last year of exporting
hashish to Egypt in faked packing cases which contained pottery ware,
ostensibly, but had false bottoms filled with cakes of hashish”...
“But,” began Dr. Cumberly...
“But because he came before a silly bench,” snapped Dunbar, his eyes
flashing angrily, “he got off with a fine--a heavy one, certainly, but
he could well afford to pay it. It is that kind of judicial folly which
ties the hands of Scotland Yard!”
“What makes you so confident that this is the man?” asked the physician.
“He was convicted under the name of G. Ionagis,” replied the detective;
“which I believe to be either his real name or his real name transposed.
Do you follow me? I. Gianapolis is Ionagis Gianapolis, and G. Ionagis
is Gianapolis Ionagis. I was not associated with the hashish case; he
stored the stuff in a china warehouse within the city precincts, and
at that time he did not come within my sphere. But I looked into it
privately, and I could see that the prosecution was merely skimming the
surface; we are only beginning to get down to the depths NOW.”
Dr. Cumberly raised his hand to his head in a distracted manner.
“Surely,” he said, and he was evidently exercising a great restraint
upon himself--“surely we're wasting time. The office in Globe Road
should be raided without delay. No stone should be left unturned to
effect the immediate arrest of this man Gianapolis or Ionagis. Why, God
almighty! while we are talking here, my daughter”...
“Morbleu! who talks of arresting Gianapolis?” inquired the voice of a
man who silently had entered the room.
All turned their heads; and there in the doorway stood M. Gaston Max.
“Thank God you've come!” said Dunbar with sincerity. He dropped back
into his chair, a strong man exhausted. “This case is getting beyond
me!”
Denise Ryland was staring at the Frenchman as if fascinated. He, for
his part, having glanced around the room, seemed called upon to give her
some explanation of his presence.
“Madame,” he said, bowing in his courtly way, “only because of very
great interests did I dare to conceal my true identity. My name is
Gaston, that is true, but only so far as it goes. My real name is Gaston
Max, and you who live in Paris will perhaps have heard it.”
“Gaston Max!” cried Denise Ryland, springing upright as though
galvanized; “you are M. Gaston Max! But you are not the least bit in the
world like”...
“Myself?” said the Frenchman, smiling. “Madame, it is only a man
fortunate enough to possess no enemies who can dare to be like himself.”
He bowed to her in an oddly conclusive manner, and turned again to
Inspector Dunbar.
“I am summoned in haste,” he said; “tell me quickly of this new
development.”
Sowerby snatched his hat from the vacant chair, and politely placed the
chair for M. Max to sit upon. The Frenchman, always courteous, gently
forced Sergeant Sowerby himself to occupy the chair, silencing his
muttered protests with upraised hand. The matter settled, he lowered his
hand, and, resting it fraternally upon the sergeant's shoulder, listened
to Inspector Dunbar's account of what had occurred that night. No one
interrupted the Inspector until he was come to the end of his narrative.
“Mille tonnerres!” then exclaimed M. Max; and, holding a finger of his
glove between his teeth, he tugged so sharply that a long rent appeared
in the suede.
His eyes were on fire; the whole man quivered with electric force.
In silence that group watched the celebrated Frenchman; instinctively
they looked to him for aid. It is at such times that personality
proclaims itself. Here was the last court of appeal, to which came Dr.
Cumberly and Inspector Dunbar alike; whose pronouncement they awaited,
not questioning that it would be final.
“To-morrow night,” began Max, speaking in a very low voice, “we raid
the headquarters of Ho-Pin. This disappearance of your daughter, Dr.
Cumberly, is frightful; it could not have been foreseen or it should
have been prevented. But the least mistake now, and”--he looked at Dr.
Cumberly as if apologizing for his barbed words--“she may never return!”
“My God!” groaned the physician, and momentarily dropped his face into
his hands.
But almost immediately he recovered himself and with his mouth drawn
into a grim straight line, looked again at M. Max, who continued:
“I do not think that this abduction was planned by the group; I think it
was an accident and that they were forced, in self-protection, to detain
your daughter, who unwisely--morbleu! how unwisely!--forced herself into
their secrets. To arrest Gianapolis (even if that were possible) would
be to close their doors to us permanently; and as we do not even know
the situation of those doors, that would be to ruin everything. Whether
Miss Cumberly is confined in the establishment of Ho-Pin or somewhere
else, I cannot say; whether she is a captive of Gianapolis or of
Mr. King, I do not know. But I know that the usual conduct of the
establishment is not being interrupted at present; for only half-an-hour
ago I telephoned to Mr. Gianapolis!”
“At Globe Road?” snapped Dunbar, with a flash of the tawny eyes.
“At Globe Road--yes (oh! they would not detain her there!). Mr.
Gianapolis was present to speak to me. He met me very agreeably in the
matter of occupying my old room in the delightful Chinese hotel of Mr.
Ho-Pin. Therefore”--he swept his left hand around forensically, as if to
include the whole of the company--“to-morrow night at eleven o'clock I
shall be meeting Mr. Gianapolis at Piccadilly Circus, and later we shall
join the limousine and be driven to the establishment of Ho-Pin.” He
turned to Inspector Dunbar. “Your arrangements for watching all the
approaches to the suspected area are no doubt complete?”
“Not a stray cat,” said Dunbar with emphasis, “can approach Limehouse
Causeway or Pennyfields, or any of the environs of the place, to-morrow
night after ten o'clock, without the fact being reported to me! You
will know at the moment that you step from the limousine that a cyclist
scout, carefully concealed, is close at your heels with a whole troup to
follow; and if, as you suspect, the den adjoins the river bank, a police
cutter will be lying at the nearest available point.”
“Eh bien!” said M. Max; then, turning to Denise Ryland and Dr. Cumberly,
and shrugging his shoulders: “you see, frightful as your suspense must
be, to make any foolish arrests to-night, to move in this matter at all
to-night--would be a case of more haste and less speed”...
“But,” groaned Cumberly, “is Helen to lie in that foul, unspeakable den
until the small hours of to-morrow morning? Good God! they may”...
“There is one little point,” interrupted M. Max with upraised hand,
“which makes it impossible that we should move to-night--quite apart
from the advisability of such a movement. We do not know exactly where
this place is situated. What can we do?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and, with raised eyebrows, stared at Dr.
Cumberly.
“It is fairly evident,” replied the other slowly, and with a repetition
of the weary upraising of his hand to his head, “it is fairly evident
that the garage used by the man Gianapolis must be very near to--most
probably adjoining--the entrance to this place of which you speak.”
“Quite true,” agreed the Frenchman. “But these are clever, these people
of Mr. King. They are Chinese, remember, and the Chinese--ah, I know
it!--are the most mysterious and most cunning people in the world.
The entrance to the cave of black and gold will not be as wide as a
cathedral door. A thousand men might search this garage, which, as
Detective Sowerby” (he clapped the latter on the shoulder) “informed me
this afternoon, is situated in Wharf-End Lane--all day and all night,
and become none the wiser. To-morrow evening”--he lowered his voice--“I
myself, shall be not outside, but inside that secret place; I shall
be the concierge for one night--Eh bien, that concierge will admit the
policeman!”
A groan issued from Dr. Cumberly's lips; and M. Max, with ready
sympathy, crossed the room and placed his hands upon the physician's
shoulders, looking steadfastly into his eyes.
“I understand, Dr. Cumberly,” he said, and his voice was caressing as
a woman's. “Pardieu! I understand. To wait is agony; but you, who are
a physician, know that to wait sometimes is necessary. Have courage, my
friend, have courage!”
XXXVII
THE WHISTLE
Luke Soames, buttoning up his black coat, stood in the darkness,
listening.
His constitutional distaste for leaping blindfolded had been over-ridden
by circumstance. He felt himself to be a puppet of Fate, and he drifted
with the tide because he lacked the strength to swim against it. That
will-o'-the-wisp sense of security which had cheered him when first he
had realized how much he owed to the protective wings of Mr. King had
been rudely extinguished upon the very day of its birth; he had learnt
that Mr. King was a sinister protector; and almost hourly he lived again
through the events of that night when, all unwittingly, he had become a
witness of strange happenings in the catacombs.
Soames had counted himself a lost man that night; the only point which
he had considered debatable was whether he should be strangled or
poisoned. That his employers were determined upon his death, he was
assured; yet he had lived through the night, had learnt from his watch
that the morning was arrived... and had seen the flecks at the roots of
his dyed hair, blanched by the terrors of that vigil--of that watching,
from moment to moment, for the second coming of Ho-Pin.
Yes, the morning had dawned, and with it a faint courage. He had shaved
and prepared himself for his singular duties, and Said had brought
him his breakfast as usual. The day had passed uneventfully, and once,
meeting Ho-Pin, he had found himself greeted with the same mirthless
smile but with no menace. Perhaps they had believed his story, or had
disbelieved it but realized that he was too closely bound to them to be
dangerous.
Then his mind had reverted to the conversation overheard in the
music-hall. Should he seek to curry favor with his employers by
acquainting them with the fact that, contrary to Gianapolis' assertion,
an important clue had fallen into the hands of the police? Did they
know this already? So profound was his belief in the omniscience of
the invisible Mr. King that he could not believe that Power ignorant of
anything appertaining to himself.
Yet it was possible that those in the catacombs were unaware how
Scotland Yard, night and day, quested for Mr. King. The papers made no
mention of it; but then the papers made no mention of another fact--the
absence of Mrs. Leroux. Now that he was no longer panic-ridden, he
could mentally reconstruct that scene of horror, could hear again,
imaginatively, the shrieks of the maltreated woman. Perhaps this same
active imagination of his was playing him tricks, but, her voice...
Always he preferred to dismiss these ideas.
He feared Ho-Pin in the same way that an average man fears a tarantula,
and he was only too happy to avoid the ever smiling Chinaman; so that
the days passed on, and, finding himself unmolested and the affairs of
the catacombs proceeding apparently as usual, he kept his information to
himself, uncertain if he shared it with his employers or otherwise, but
hesitating to put the matter to the test--always fearful to approach
Ho-Pin, the beetlesque.
But this could not continue indefinitely; at least he must speak
to Ho-Pin in order to obtain leave of absence. For, since that
unforgettable night, he had lived the life of a cave-man indeed, and
now began to pine for the wider vault of heaven. Meeting the impassive
Chinaman in the corridor one morning, on his way to valet one of the
living dead, Soames ventured to stop him.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, confusedly, “but would there be any objection
to my going out on Friday evening for an hour?”
“Not at all, Soames,” replied Ho-Pin, with his mirthless smile: “you may
go at six, wreturn at ten.”
Ho-Pin passed on.
Soames heaved a gentle sigh of relief. The painful incident was
forgotten, then. He hurried into the room, the door of which Said was
holding open, quite eager for his unsavory work.
In crossing its threshold, he crossed out of his new peace into a mental
turmoil greater in its complexities than any he yet had known; he met M.
Gaston Max, and his vague doubts respecting the omniscience of Mr. King
were suddenly reinforced.
Soames' perturbation was so great on that occasion that he feared it
must unfailingly be noticed. He realized that now he was definitely in
communication with the enemies of Mr. King! Ah; but Mr. King did not
know how formidable was the armament of those enemies! He (Soames) had
overrated Mr. King; and because that invisible being could inspire Fear
in an inconceivable degree, he had thought him all-powerful. Now, he
realized that Mr. King was unaware of the existence of at least one clue
held by the police; was unaware that his name was associated with the
Palace Mansions murder.
The catacombs of Ho-Pin were a sinking ship, and Soames was first of the
rats to leave.
He kept his appointment at the “Three Nuns” as has appeared; he accepted
the blood-money that was offered him, and he returned to the garage
adjoining Kan-Suh Concessions, that night, hugging in his bosom a
leather case containing implements by means whereof his new accomplice
designed to admit the police to the cave of the golden dragon.
Also, in the pocket of his overcoat, he had a neat Browning pistol; and
when the door at the back of the garage was opened for him by Said, he
found that the touch of this little weapon sent a thrill of assurance
through him, and he began to conceive a sentiment for the unknown
investigator to whom he was bound, akin to that which formerly he had
cherished for Mr. King!
Now the time was come.
The people of the catacombs acquired a super-sensitive power of hearing,
and Soames was able at this time to detect, as he sat or lay in his own
room, the movements of persons in the corridor outside and even in the
cave of the golden dragon. That mysterious trap in the wall gave him
many qualms, and to-night he had glanced at it a thousand times. He held
the pistol in his hand, and buttoned up within his coat was the leather
case. Only remained the opening of his door in order to learn if the
lights were extinguished in the corridor.