"It is my humble adoration for her which has sharpened all my wits," he
answered. "It seemed an accident--though the gods designed it without
doubt--that made you save my life to-night, but now I know you are the
lover of the Lily. And I am the servant--the happy messenger--of you
both."
"You can take a letter from me to her?"
"Indeed, yes."
"My friend, tell me, tell me all about her. Is she happy?--no, I know
she cannot be that--but--"
He lifted himself up in the bed, and there was something priest-like in
his attitude as he folded his thin hands upon his breast and spoke.
"Two thousand feet above London there is a Palace of all delights.
Immeasurable wealth, the genius of great artists have been combined to
make a City of Enchantment. And in every garden with its plashing
fountains, in its halls of pictures and delights, upon its aerial
towers, down its gilded galleries, lurking at the banquet, mingling with
the music, great shapes of terror squeak and gibber like the ghosts
Shakespeare speaks of in ancient Rome."
"Morse?"
"There is a noble intellect overdone and dissolved in terror. In all
other respects sane as you or I, my savior and benefactor, Gideon Morse
is a maniac whose one sole idea is to preserve himself and his daughter
from some horror, some vengeance which surely cannot threaten him."
Twice, thrice I strode the attic.
Then at last I stopped.
"Will you help me now, Pu-Yi, will you take a letter from me, will you
help me to meet Her, and soon?"
He bowed his head for answer, and then, as he looked up again his face
was suffused with a sort of bright eagerness that touched me to the
heart.
"I am yours," he said.
"Then quickly, and soon, Pu-Yi, for you are only half informed. Gideon
Morse may be driven mad by fear, no doubt he is. But it is _not_ an
imaginary fear. It is a thing so sinister, so real and terrible, that I
cannot tell you of it now. I am too exhausted by the events of this
night. I will say only this, that within the last hour a faithful friend
of mine has returned from the other side of the world and brings me
ominous news."
* * * * *
I believe that Pu-Yi, whose movements were, of course, not restricted
like those of the lower officials, returned to the towers in the early
morning. As for me, I caught a workmen's train from Richmond station,
slunk in an early taxi to Piccadilly with Arthur Winstanley, and slipped
into lavender-clean sheets and silence till past noon, when Captain
Patrick Moore arrived to an early lunch. Dressed again in proper
clothes, with dear old Preston fussing about me with tears in his eyes,
I felt a thousand times more confident than before. Old Pat had to be
informed of everything, and as a preliminary I told him my whole story,
from the starting-point of the "Golden Swan."
"And now," I said, "here's Arthur, who has traveled thousands of miles
and who has come back with information that fits in absolutely with
everything else. He gave me an epitome last night, under strange and
fantastic circumstances. Now then, Arthur, let's have it all clearly,
and then we shall know where we are."
Arthur, whose face was white and strained, began at once.
"I went straight to Rio," he said, "and of course I took care that I was
accredited to our Legation. As a matter of fact the Minister to the
Brazilian Government is my cousin. The news about the towers was all
over Brazil. Everybody there knows Gideon Mendoza Morse. He's been by a
long way the most picturesque figure in South America during the last
twenty years. He has been President of the Republic. Of course, I had
the freshest news. My mother had given a party to introduce Juanita to
London society. I had danced with her. I had talked to her father--I was
the young English society man who brought authentic news. I told all I
knew, and a good bit more, and I sucked in information like a
vacuum-cleaner. I learnt a tremendous lot as to the sources of Morse's
enormous wealth. I was glad to find that there were no allegations
against him of any trust methods, any financial tricks. He had got rich
like one of the old patriarchs, simply by shrewdness and long
accumulation and rising values. But I had to go a good deal farther back
than this, I had to dive into obscure politics of South America, and
then--it was almost like a punch on the jaw--I stumbled against the
Santa Hermandad."
Pat Moore and I cried out simultaneously.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Our League?"
"It's sheer coincidence," he answered. "I hope it's not a bad omen.
During the time when the last Emperor of Brazil, Pedro II, was reigning,
it was seen by all his supporters, both in Brazil and in Spain, that his
power was waning and a crash was sure to come. In order to preserve the
Principle of the Monarchy, a powerful Secret Society was started, under
the name of the Holy Brotherhood or Santa Hermandad. Gideon Morse, then
a young and very influential man, became a member of this Society. But,
after the Emperor was deposed, and a Republic declared, Morse threw in
his lot with the new regime. I have gathered that he did so out of pure
patriotism; he realized that a Republic was the best thing for his
country, and had no personal ax to grind whatever. He prospered
exceedingly. As you know he has, in his time, been President of the
Republica dos Estados Unidos de Brazil, and has contributed more to the
success of the country than any other man living."
"Fascinatin' study, history," said Captain Moore, "for those that like
it. Personally, I am no bookworm; cut the cackle, Arthur, old bean, and
come to the 'osses."
"Peace, fool!" said Arthur, "if you can't understand what I say, Tom
will explain to you later, though I'll be as short as I jolly-well can."
He turned to me.
"When this Secret Society failed, Tom--the Hermandad, I mean--it wasn't
dissolved. It was agreed by the Inner Circle that it was only suspended.
But as the years went by, nearly all the prominent members died, and the
Republic became an assured thing. But a few years ago the Society was
revived, not with any real hope of putting an Emperor on the throne
again but as a means to terrorism and blackmail. All the most lawless
elements of Spanish South America became affiliated into a new and
sinister confederation. You've heard of the power of the Camorra in
Italy--well, the Hermandad in Brazil is like that at the present time.
It has ramifications everywhere, the police are becoming powerless to
cope with it, and a secret reign of terror goes on at this hour.
"These people have made a dead shot for Gideon Morse. He has defied them
for a long time, but their power has grown and grown. I understand that
two years ago the Hermandad fished out of obscurity an old Spanish
nobleman, the Marquis da Silva, who was one of the original, chivalrous
monarchists. He was about the only surviving member of the old
Fraternity, and they got him to produce its constitutions. He came upon
the scene some two years ago and Morse was given just that time to fall
in with the plans of the modern Society, or be assassinated together
with his daughter."
He stopped, and it was dear old Pat Moore who shouted with
comprehension.
"Why, now," he bellowed, "sure and I see it all. That's why he built the
Tower of Babel and went to live on the top, and drag his daughter with
him--so that these Sinn Feiners should not get at 'm."
"Yes, Pat, you've seen through it at a glance," said Arthur, with a
private grin to me.
Pat was tremendously bucked up at the thought that he had solved a
problem which had been puzzling both of us.
"All the same," he said, "the place is too well guarded for any Spanish
murderer to get up. Besides, Tom here is makin' all his arrangements and
he'll have Miss Juanita out of it in no time."
"The circumstances," Arthur went on calmly, "are perfectly well known to
a few people at the head of the Government in Brazil. I had a long and
intimate conversation with Don Francisco Torrome, Minister of Police to
the Republic. He told me that the Hermandad is intensely revengeful,
wicked, and unscrupulous. Moreover, it's rich; and money wouldn't be
allowed to stand in the way of getting at Morse. What is lacking is
energy. These people make the most complete and fiendish plans, they
dream the most fantastic and devilish dreams, and then they say
'Manana'--which means, 'It will do very well to-morrow'--and go to sleep
in the sun."
"Then after all, Morse is in no danger!" I cried, immensely relieved.
"You said the danger was real, but you spoke figuratively."
"Sorry, old chap, not a bit of it. There's some one on the track with
energy enough to pull the lid off the infernal regions if necessary. In
short, the Hermandad have engaged the services of an international
scoundrel of the highest intellectual powers, a man without remorse, an
artist in crime--I should say, and most Chiefs of Police in the kingdoms
of the world would agree with me--the most dangerous ruffian at large.
You've seen him, Tom, I pointed him out to you at a little Soho
restaurant where we dined once together. His name is Mark Antony
Midwinter, and _he traveled from Brazil, together with a friend, by the
same boat that I did_."
"Then he must be in London now!" said Pat Moore, with the air of
announcing another great discovery.
"But look here!" I cried. "I told you, before you sailed for South
America, I told you what I saw at the Ritz Hotel that night. It was the
very same man, Mark Antony Midwinter, as you call him, running like a
hare from old Morse, who was shooting fireworks round him with a smile
on his face. _That's_ not the man you think he is. He may be a devil,
but that night he was a devil of a funk."
"Wait a bit, my son," said Arthur. "I have thought about that incident
rather carefully. Remember that Morse was given a certain time in which
to come in line and join the Hermandad. From what I have heard of the
punctilious, senile Marquis da Silva, he wouldn't have allowed the
campaign against Morse to be started a moment before the time of
immunity was up. Might not Midwinter at that time, quite ignorant that
the towers were being built as a refuge for Morse, have tried to go
behind his own employers and offer to betray them, and to drop the whole
business for a million or so? From what I know of the man's career I
should think it extremely probable."
I whistled. Arthur seemed to have penetrated to the center of that
night's mystery. There was nothing more likely. I could imagine the
whole scene, the panther man laying his cards on the table and offering
to save Morse and Juanita from certain death--Morse, already half
maddened by what hung over him, chuckling in the knowledge that he had
built an impregnable refuge, dismissing the scoundrel with utter
firmness and contempt.
"I believe you've hit it, Arthur," I said. "It fits in like the last bit
of a jig-saw puzzle."
"I'm pretty sure myself, but even now you don't know all. Quite early in
his life, when Midwinter--he's the last of the Staffordshire Midwinters,
an ancient and famous family--was expelled from Harrow, he went out to
South America. Morse was at that time in the wilds of Goyaz, where he
was developing his mines. There was a futile attempt to kidnap the
child, Juanita, who was then about two years old, and Midwinter was in
it. The young gentleman, I understand, was caught. Morse was then, as
doubtless he is now, a man of a grim and terrible humor. He took young
Midwinter and treated him with every possible contemptuous indignity.
They say his head was shaved; he was birched like a schoolboy by Morse's
peons; he was branded, tarred and feathered, and turned contemptuously
adrift. The fellow came back to Europe, married a celebrated actress in
Paris, who is now dead, and has been, as I say, one of the most
successful uncaught members of the higher criminal circles that ever
was. He made an attempt at the Ritz, swallowing his hatred. It failed.
His employers in Brazil know nothing of it. He is here in London--as Pat
so wonderfully discovered--supplied with unlimited money, burning with a
hatred of which a decent man can have no conception, and confronted with
his last chance in the world."
As he said this, Arthur got up, bit his lip savagely and left the room.
It was about two-thirty in the afternoon.
Though he closed the door after him, I heard voices in the corridor, and
the door reopened an inch or two as if some one was holding it before
coming in.
"You are not well, my lord?"
"Oh, I'm all right, Preston; just feeling a little faint, that's all.
Sorry to nearly have barged into you; I'll go and lie down for half an
hour."
The door opened and Preston came in with a telegram.
I opened it immediately and felt three or four flimsy sheets of
Government paper in my hand.
The telegram was in the special cipher of the _Evening Special_, and was
from Rolston.
* * * * *
"The tower top is connected with Richmond telephone exchange by private
wire. I have been rung up and in long conversation with Pu-Yi. Early in
the evening you will receive a letter from certain lady. Owing to
certain complication of circumstances your attempt at storming the
tower and seeing lady must be carried out to-night. Our friend is making
all possible arrangements to this end and urgently begs you to be
prepared. He implicitly urges me to warn you the attempt is not without
grave danger. Please return to 'Swan' at once. There is much to be
arranged, and at lunch time two strange-looking customers were in the
bar whose appearance I didn't like at all. Also Sliddim thinks he
recognized one of them as an exceedingly dangerous person."
* * * * *
For to-night! At last the patient months of waiting were over and it had
all narrowed down to this. To-night I should win or lose all that made
life worth living; and the fast taxi that took me back to Richmond
within twenty minutes of receiving the telegram, carried a man singing.