"A very real, a very moving thing, Mr. Narkom," he replied. "The cry of
a human heart in deep distress; the agonised appeal of a man so wrought
up by the horrors of his position that he forgets to offer a temptation
in the way of reward, and speaks of outlandish things as though they
must be understood of all. As witness his allusion to something which he
calls 'The Red Crawl,' without attempting to explain the meaningless
phrase. Whatever it is, it is so real to him that it seems as if
everybody must understand."
"You think, then, that the thing is genuine?"
"So genuine that I shall answer its call, Mr. Narkom, and be alone in
the dark on the top floor of No. 7, Rue Toison d'Or, to-morrow night as
surely as the clock strikes nine."
And that was how the few persons who happened to be in the quiet upper
reaches of the Rue Bienfaisance at half-past eight o'clock the next
evening came to see a fat, fussing, red-faced Englishman in a grey
frock-coat, white spats, and a shining topper, followed by a liveried
servant with a hat-box in one hand and a portmanteau in the other--so
conspicuous, the pair of them, that they couldn't have any desire to
conceal themselves--cross over the square before the Church of St.
Augustine, fare forth into the darker side passages, and move in the
direction of the street of the Golden Fleece.
They were, of course, Cleek and the boy Dollops.
"Lumme, Gov'nor," whispered he, as they turned at last into the utter
darkness and desertion of the narrow Rue Toison d'Or, "if this is wot
yer calls Gay Paree--this precious black slit between two rows of
houses--I'll take a slice of the Old Kent Road with thanks. Not even so
much as a winkle-stall in sight, and me that empty my shirt-bosom's
a-chafing my blessed shoulder-blades!"
"You'll see plenty of life before the game's over, I warrant you,
Dollops. Now then, my lad, here's a safe spot. Sit down on the hat-box
and wait. That's No. 7, that empty house with the open door, just across
the way. Keep your eye on it. I don't know how long I'll be, but if
anybody comes out before I do, mind you don't let him get away."
"No fear!" said Dollops sententiously. "I'll be after him as if he was a
ham sandwich, sir. Look out for my patent 'Tickle Tootsies' when you
come out, Gov'nor. I'll sneak over and put 'em round the door as soon as
you've gone in." For Dollops, who was of an inventive turn of mind, had
an especial "man-trap" of his own, which consisted of heavy brown paper,
cut into squares, and thickly smeared over with a viscid varnish-like
substance that would adhere to the feet of anybody incautiously stepping
upon it, and so interfere with flight that it was an absolute necessity
to stop and tear the papers away before running with any sort of ease
and swiftness was possible. This was the "invention" to which Cleek had
alluded. Dollops, who was rather proud of the achievement, carried with
him a full supply of ready-cut papers and a big collapsible tube of the
viscid, ropy, varnish-like glue.
Meantime, Cleek, having left the boy sitting on the hat-box in the
darkness, crossed the narrow street to the open doorway of No. 7, and,
without hesitation, stepped in. The place was as black as a pocket, and
had that peculiar smell which belongs to houses that have long stood
vacant. The house, nevertheless, was a respectable one, and, like all
the others, fronted on another street--this dark Toison d'Or being
merely a back passage used principally by the tradespeople for the
delivery of supplies. Feeling his way to the first of the three flights
of stairs which led upward into the stillness and gloom above, Cleek
mounted steadily until he found himself at length in a sort of
attic--quite windowless, and lit only by a skylight through which shone
the ineffectual light of the stars. It was the top at last. Bracing his
back against the wall, so that nobody could get behind him, and holding
himself ready for any emergency, he called out in a clear, calm voice:
"Cleek!"
Almost simultaneously there was a sharp metallic "snick," an electric
bulb hanging from the ceiling flamed out luminously, a cupboard door
flashed open, a voice cried out in joyous, perfect English: "Thank God
for a man!" And, switching round with a cry of amazement, he found
himself looking into the face and eyes of a woman.
And of all women in the world--Ailsa Lorne!
He sucked in his breath and his heart began to hammer.
"Miss Lorne!" he exclaimed, so carried out of himself that he scarcely
knew what he did. "It was the French position that you chose, then? It
is you--_you_--that calls upon me?"
"No, it is not," she made reply, a rush of colour reddening her cheeks,
a feeling of embarrassment and of a natural restraint making her shake
visibly. "I am merely the envoy of another. I should not know you,
disguised as you are, but for that. Yes, I chose the French position, as
you see, Mr. Cleek. I am now the companion to Mademoiselle Athalie,
daughter of the Baron de Carjorac."
"Baron de Carjorac? Do you mean the French Minister of the Interior, the
President of the Board of National Defences, Miss Lorne--that
enthusiastic old patriot, that rabid old spitfire, whose one dream is
the wresting back of Alsace-Lorraine, the driving of the hated Germans
into the sea? Do you mean that ripping old firebrand?"
"Yes. But you'd not call him that if you were to see him now; if you
could see the wreck, the broken and despairing wreck, that six weeks of
the Château Larouge, six weeks of that horrible 'Red Crawl' have made of
him."
"'The Red Crawl'! Good heavens! then that letter, that appeal for
help--"
"Came from him!" she finished excitedly. "It was he who was to have met
you here to-night, Mr. Cleek. This house is one he owns; he thought he
might with safety risk coming here, but--he can't! he can't! He knows
now that there is danger for him everywhere; that his every step is
tracked; that the snare which is about him has been about him,
unsuspected, for almost a year; that he dare not, absolutely dare not,
appeal to the French police, and that if it were known he had appealed
to you, he would be a dead man inside of twenty-four hours, and not only
dead, but--disgraced. Oh, Mr. Cleek!"--she stretched out two shaking
hands and laid them on his arm, lifted a white, imploring face to
his--"save him! save that dear broken old man! Ah, think! think! They
are our friends, our dear country's friends, these French people. Their
welfare is our welfare, ours is theirs. Oh, help him, save him, Mr.
Cleek--for his own sake--for mine--for France. Save him, and win my
gratitude for ever!"
"That is a temptation that would carry me to the ends of the earth, Miss
Lorne. Tell me what the work is, and I will carry it through. What is
this incomprehensible thing of which both you and Baron de Carjorac have
spoken--this thing you allude to as 'The Red Crawl'?"
She gave a little shuddering cry and fell back a step, covering her face
with both hands.
"Oh!" she said, with a shiver of repulsion. "It is loathly--it is
horrible--it is necromancy--beyond belief! Why, oh, why were we ever
driven to that horrible Château Larouge! Why could not fate have spared
the Villa de Carjorac? It could not have happened then!"
"Villa de Carjorac? That was the name of the baron's residence, I
believe. I remember reading in the newspapers some five or six weeks ago
that it was destroyed by fire, which originated--nobody knew how--in the
apartments of the late baroness in the very dead of the night. I thought
at the time it read suspiciously like the work of an incendiary,
although nobody hinted at such a thing. The Château Larouge I also have
a distinct memory of, as an old historic property in the neighbourhood
of St. Cloud. Speaking from past experience, I know that, although it is
in such a state of decay, and supposed to be uninhabitable, it has, in
fact, often been occupied at a period when the police and the public
believed it to be quite empty. Gentlemen of the Apache persuasion have
frequently made it a place of retreat. There is also an underground
passage--executed by those same individuals--which connects with the
Paris sewers. That, too, the police are unaware of. What can the ruined
Château Larouge possibly have to do with the affairs of the Baron de
Carjorac, Miss Lorne, that you connect them like this?"
"They have everything to do with them--everything. The Château is no
longer a ruin, however. It was purchased, rebuilt, refitted by the
Comtesse Susanne de la Tour, Mr. Cleek, and she and her brother live
there. So do we--Athalie, Baron de Carjorac, and I. So, also, does the
creature--the thing--the abominable horror known as 'The Red Crawl.'"
"My dear Miss Lorne, what are you saying?"
"The truth, nothing but the truth!" she answered hysterically. "Oh, let
me begin at the beginning--you'll never understand unless I do. I'll
tell you in as few words as possible--as quickly as I can. It all began
last winter, when Athalie and her father were at Monte Carlo. There they
met Madame la Comtesse de la Tour and her brother, Monsieur Gaston
Merode. The baron has position but he has not wealth, Mr. Cleek. Athalie
is ambitious. She loves luxury, riches, a life of fashion--all the
things that boundless money can give; and when Monsieur Merode--who is
young, handsome, and said to be fabulously wealthy--showed a distinct
preference for her over all the other marriageable girls he met, she was
flattered out of her silly wits. Before they left Monte Carlo for Paris
everybody could see that he had only to ask her hand, to have it
bestowed upon him. For although the baron never has cared for the man,
Athalie rules him, and her every caprice is humoured.
"But for all he was so ardent a lover, Monsieur Merode was slow in
coming to the important point. Perhaps his plans were not matured. At
any rate, he did not propose to Athalie at Monte Carlo; and, although he
and his sister returned to Paris at the same time as the baron and his
daughter, he still deferred the proposal."
"Has he not made it yet?"
"Yes, Mr. Cleek. He made it six weeks ago--to be exact, two nights
before the Villa de Carjorac was fired."
"You think it was fired, then?"
"I do now, although I had no suspicion of it at the time. Athalie
received her proposal on the Saturday, the baron gave his consent on the
Sunday, and on Monday night the villa was mysteriously burnt, leaving
all three of us without an immediate refuge. In the meantime, Madame la
Comtesse had purchased the ruin of the Château Larouge, and during the
period of her brother's deferred proposal was engaged in fitting it up
as an abode for herself and him. On the very day it was finished,
Monsieur Merode asked for Athalie's hand."
"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong rising inflection. "I think I begin to
smell the toasting of the cheese. Of course, when the villa was burnt
out, Madame la Comtesse insisted that, as the _fiancée_ of her brother,
Mlle. de Carjorac must make her home at the Château until the necessary
repairs could be completed; and, of course, the baron had to go with
her?"
"Yes," admitted Ailsa. "The baron accepted--Athalie would not have
allowed him to decline had he wished to--so we all three went there and
have been residing there ever since. On the night after our arrival an
alarming, a horrifying thing occurred. It was while we were at dinner
that the conversation turned upon the supernatural--upon houses and
places that were reputed to be haunted--and then Madame la Comtesse made
a remarkable statement. She laughingly asserted that she had just
learned that, in purchasing the Château Larouge, she had also become the
possessor of a sort of family ghost. She said that she had only just
heard--from an outside source--that there was a horrible legend
connected with the place; in short, that for centuries it had been
reputed to be under a sort of spell of evil and to be cursed by a
dreadful visitant known as 'The Red Crawl'--a hideous and loathsome
creature, neither spider nor octopus, but horribly resembling
both--which was supposed to 'appear' at intervals in the middle of the
night, and, like the fabled giants of fairy tales, carry off 'lovely
maidens and devour them.'"
"Who is responsible for that ridiculous assertion, I wonder? I think I
may say that I know as much about the Château Larouge and its history as
anybody, Miss Lorne, but I never heard of this supposed 'legend' before
in all my life."
"So the baron, too, declared, laughing as derisively as any of us over
the story, although it is well known that he has a natural antipathy to
all crawling things--an abhorrence inherited from his mother--and has
been known to run like a frightened child from the appearance of a mere
garden spider."
"Oho!" said Cleek again. "I see! I see! The toasted cheese smells
stronger, and there's a distinct suggestion of the Rhine about it this
time. There's something decidedly German about that fabulous 'monster'
and that haunted château, Miss Lorne. They are clever and careful
schemers, those German Johnnies. Of course, this amazing 'Red Crawl' was
proved to have an absolute foundation in fact, and equally, of course,
it 'appeared' to the Baron de Carjorac?"
"Yes--that very night. After we had all gone to bed, the house was
roused by his screams. Everybody rushed to his chamber, only to find him
lying on the floor in a state of collapse. The thing had been in his
room, he said. He had seen it--it had even touched him--a horrible,
hideous red reptile, with squirming tentacles, a huge, glowing body, and
eyes like flame. It had crept upon him out of the darkness--he knew not
from where. It had seized him, resisted all his wild efforts to tear
loose from it, and when he finally sank, overcome and fainting, upon the
floor, his last conscious recollection was of the loathsome thing
settling down upon his breast and running its squirming 'feelers' up and
down his body."
"Of course! Of course! That was part of the game. It was after
something. Something of the utmost importance to German interests.
That's why the Château Larouge was refitted, why the Villa de Carjorac
was burnt down, and why this Monsieur Gaston Merode became engaged to
Mademoiselle Athalie."
"Oh, how could you know that, Mr. Cleek? Nobody ever suspected. The
baron never confessed to any living soul until he did so to me,
to-day--and then only because he had to tell somebody, in order that the
appointment with you might be kept. How, then, could you guess?"
"By putting two and two together, Miss Lorne, and discovering that they
do not make five. The inference is very clear: Baron de Carjorac is
President of the Board of National Defences; Germany, in spite of its
public assurances to the contrary, is known by those who are 'on the
inside' to harbour a very determined intention of making a secret
attack, an unwarned invasion, upon England. France is the key to the
situation. If, without the warning that must come through the delay of
picking a quarrel and entering into an open war with the Republic, the
German army can swoop down in the night, cross the frontier, and gain
immediate possession of the ports of France, in five hours' time it can
be across the English Channel, and its hordes pouring down upon a
sleeping people. To carry out this programme, the first step would, of
course, be to secure knowledge of the number, location, manner of the
secret defences of France--the plans of fortification, the maps of the
'danger zone,' the documentary evidence of her strongest and weakest
points--and who so likely to be the guardian of these as the Baron de
Carjorac? That is how I know that 'The Red Crawl' was after something of
vital importance to German interests, Miss Lorne. That he got it, I know
from the fact that the baron, while hinting at disgrace and speaking of
peril to his own life, dared not confide in the French authorities and
ask the assistance of the French police. Moreover, if 'The Red Crawl'
had failed to secure anything, the baron, with his congenital loathing
of all crawling things, would have left the Château Larouge
immediately."
"Oh, to think that you guessed it so easily--and it was all such a
puzzle to me. I could not think, Mr. Cleek, why he did remain--why he
would not be persuaded to go, although every night was adding to the
horror of the thing and it seemed clear to me that he was going mad. Of
course, Madame la Comtesse and her brother tried to reason him out of
what he declared, tried to make him believe that it was all fancy--that
he did not really see the fearful thing; it was equally in vain that I
myself tried to persuade him to leave the place before his reason became
unsettled. Last night"--she paused, shuddered, put both hands over her
face, and drew in a deep breath--"last night, I, too, saw 'The Red
Crawl,' Mr. Cleek--I, too!"
"You, Miss Lorne?"
"Yes. I made up my mind that I would--that, if it existed, I would have
absolute proof of it. The countess and her brother had scoffed so
frequently, had promised the baron so often that they would set a
servant on guard in the corridor to watch, and then had said so often to
poor, foolish, easily persuaded Athalie that it was useless doing
anything so silly, as it was absolutely certain that her father only
imagined the thing, that I--I determined to take the step myself,
unknown to any of them. After everybody had gone to bed, I threw on a
loose, dark gown, crept into the corridor, and hid in a niche from which
I could see the door of the baron's room. I waited until after
midnight--long after--and then--and then--"
"Calm yourself, Miss Lorne. Then the thing appeared, I suppose?"
"Yes; but not before something equally terrible had happened. I saw the
door of the countess's room open; I saw the countess herself come out,
accompanied by the man who up till then I had believed, like everybody
else, was her brother."
"And who is not her brother, after all?"
"No, he is not. Theirs is a closer tie. I saw her kiss him. I saw her go
with him to an angle of the corridor, lift a rug, and raise a trap in
the floor."
"Hullo! Hullo!" ejaculated Cleek. "Then she, too; knows of the passage
which leads to the sewers. Clearly, then, this Countess de la Tour is
not what she seems, when she knows secrets that are known only to the
followers of--well, never mind. Go on, Miss Lorne, go on. You saw her
lift that trap; and--what then?"
"Then there came up out of it--oh, the most loathsome-looking creature I
ever saw; a huge, crawling, red shape that was like a blood-red spider,
with the eyes, the hooked beak, and the writhing tentacles of an
octopus. It made no sound, but it seemed to know her, to understand her,
for when she waved her hand toward the open door of her own room it
crawled away and, obeying that gesture, dragged its huge bulk over the
threshold, and passed from sight. Then the man she called her brother
kissed her again, and as he descended into the darkness below the trap I
heard her say quite distinctly: 'Tell Marise that I will come as soon as
I can; but not to delay the revel. If I am compelled to forego it
to-night, there shall be a wilder one to-morrow, when Clodoche
arrives.'"
"Clodoche! By Jupiter!" Cleek almost jumped as he spoke. "Now I know the
'lay'! No; don't ask me anything yet. Go on with the story, please. What
then, Miss Lorne, what then?"
"Then the man below said something which I could not hear--something to
which she answered in these words: 'No, no; there is no danger. I will
guard it safely, and it shall go into no hands but Clodoche's. He and
Count von Hetzler will be there about midnight to-morrow to complete the
deal and pay over the money. Clodoche will want the fragment, of course,
to show to the count as a proof that it is the right one, as "an
earnest" of what the remainder is worth. And you must bring me that
"remainder" without fail, Gaston--you hear me?--without fail! I shall be
there, at the rendezvous, awaiting you, and the thing must be in our
hands when von Hetzler comes. The thing must be finished to-morrow
night, even if you and Serpice have to throw all caution to the winds
and throttle the old fool.' Then, as if answering a further question,
she laughingly added: 'Oh, get that fear out of your head. I'm not a
bat, to be caught napping. I'll give it to no one but Clodoche--and not
even to him until he gives the secret sign.' And then, Mr. Cleek, as she
closed the trap I heard the man call back to her 'Good night' and give
her a name I had not heard before. We had always supposed that she had
been christened 'Suzanne,' but as that man left he called her--"
"I know before you tell me--'Margot'!" interjected Cleek. "I guessed the
identity of this 'Countess de la Tour' from the moment you spoke of
Clodoche and that secret trap. Her knowledge of those two betrayed her
to me. Clodoche is a renegade Alsatian, a spy in the pay of the German
Government, and an old _habitué_ of 'The Inn of the Twisted Arm,' where
the Queen of the Apaches and her pals hold their frequent revels. I can
guess the remainder of your story now. You carried this news to the
Baron de Carjorac, and he, breaking down, confessed to you that he had
lost something."
"Yes, yes--a dreadful 'something,' Mr. Cleek: the horrible thing that
has been making life an agony to him ever since. On the night when that
abominable 'Red Crawl' first overcame him, there was upon his person a
most important document--a rough draft of the maps of fortification and
the plan of the secret defences of France, the identical document from
which was afterwards transcribed the parchment now deposited in the
secret archives of the Republic. When Baron de Carjorac recovered his
senses after his horrifying experience--"
"That document was gone?"
"Part of it, Mr. Cleek--thank God, only a part! If it had been the
parchment itself, no such merciful thing could possibly have happened.
But the paper was old, much folding and handling had worn the creases
through, and when, in his haste, the secret robber grabbed it, whilst
that loathsome creature held the old man down, it parted directly down
the middle, and he got only a vertical section of each of its many
pages."
"Victoria! 'And the fool hath said in his heart, There is no God,'"
quoted Cleek. "So, then, the hirelings of the enemy have only got half
what they are after; and, as no single sentence can be complete upon a
paper torn like that, nothing can be made of it until the other half is
secured, and--our German friends are still 'up a gum-tree.' I know now
why the baron stayed on at the Château Larouge, and why 'The Red Crawl'
is preparing to pay him another visit to-night: he hoped, poor chap, to
find a clue to the whereabouts of the fragment he had lost; and that
thing is after the fragment he still retains. Well, it will be a long,
long day before either of those two fragments fall into German hands."
"Oh, Mr. Cleek, you think you can get the stolen paper back? You believe
you can outwit those dreadful people and save the Baron de Carjorac's
honour and his life?"
"Miss Lorne"--he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips--"Miss
Lorne, I thank you for giving me the chance! If you will do what I ask
you, be where I ask you in two hours' time, so surely as we two stand
here this minute, I will put back the German calendar by ten years at
least. They drink 'To the day,' those German Johnnies, but by to-morrow
morning the English hand you are holding will have given them reason to
groan over the night!"