Without any hint or warning, there was a loud, roaring sound, like that
of some engine blowing off steam. With a "whoosh," a great column of
fire, like golden rain, rose up out of the dark aperture in the dome,
towering hundreds of feet in the sky, like the veritable comet for which
old Chang was searching, and burst high in the empyrean with a dull
explosion, followed by a swarm of brilliant, blue-white stars.
Some one inside the observatory had fired a gigantic rocket.
Morse gave a shout of surprise. He had a fresh cigar in his hand, and,
unknowingly, he dropped it and mechanically bit the end of his thumb
instead.
"What was that?" I cried, echoing his shout.
He didn't answer, but grew very white as he stepped up to the parapet,
placed his hand upon the stone, and leant forward.
I did the same, and for nearly a minute we stared at the white, circular
tower in silence.
Nothing happened. There was the black slit in the gold, enigmatic and
undisturbed.
"Some experiment," I stammered at length. "Professor Chang is at work
upon some problem."
Morse shook his head. "Not he! I'll swear that old Chang would never be
letting off fireworks without consulting or warning Pu-Yi. Kirby, there
is some black business stirring! We must look into this. I don't like it
at all--hark!"
He suddenly stopped speaking, and put his hand to his ear. His whole
face was strained in an ecstasy of listening, which cut deep gashes into
that stern, gnarled old countenance.
I listened also, and with dread in my heart. Instinctively and without
any process of reasoning, I knew that in some way or other the horror
was upon us again. My lips went dry and I moistened them with the tip
of my tongue; and, without conscious thought, my hand stole round to my
pistol pocket and touched the cold and roughened stock of an automatic
Webley.
Then I heard what Morse must have heard at first.
The air all around us was vibrating, and swiftly the vibration became a
throb, a rhythmic beat, and then a low, menacing roar which grew louder
and louder every second.
We had turned to each other, understanding at last, and the same word
was upon our lips when the thing came--it happened as rapidly as that.
Skimming over the top of the distant Palacete like some huge night-hawk,
and with a noise like a machine gun, came a venomous-looking,
fast-flying monoplane. It swept down into Grand Square like a living
thing, just as the noise ceased suddenly and echoed into silence. It
alighted at one end and on the side of the fountain nearest the
observatory, ran over the smooth wood-blocks for a few yards, and
stopped. It was as though the hawk had pounced down upon its prey, and
every detail was distinct and clear in the brilliant light of the lamps
in the Square below.
Both of us seemed frozen where we stood. I know, for my part, all power
of motion left me. A choking noise came from Morse's throat, and then we
heard a cry and from immediately below us came the figure of Pu-Yi,
hurrying down the library steps and running towards the aeroplane, which
was still a considerable distance from him.
The next thing happened very quickly. A door at the foot of the
observatory tower opened, and out came what we both thought was the
figure of the astronomer. He was a tall, bent, old man, habitually
clothed in a padded, saffron-colored robe with a hood, something like
that of a monk.
"Chang!" I said in a hoarse whisper, when Pu-Yi stopped short in his
tracks, lifted his arm, and there was the crack of a pistol.
The figure beyond, which was hurrying towards the monoplane, swerved
aside. The robe of padded silk fell from it and disclosed a tall man in
dark, European clothes. He dodged and writhed like an eel as Pu-Yi
emptied his automatic at him, apparently without the least result. Then
I saw that he was at the side of the aeroplane, scrambling up into the
fuselage assisted by the pilot in leather hood and goggles.
He was up the side of the boat-like structure in a second, and then,
with one leg thrown over the car he turned and took deliberate aim at
Pu-Yi. There was one crack, he waited for an instant to be sure, and saw
that it was enough. Then there was a chunk of machinery, two or three
loud explosions, a roar, and the wings of the venomous night-hawk moved
rapidly over the parquet, chased by a black shadow. It gathered speed,
lifted, tilted upwards, and, clearing the buildings at the far end of
the Square, hummed away into the night.
* * * * *
It was thus that Mark Antony Midwinter escaped from the City in the
Clouds. He had been there all the time. He had murdered poor old Chang
many hours before, and impersonated him with complete success. The food
of the recluse was brought to him by servants and placed in an outer
room so that he should never be disturbed during his calculations. He
had received it with his usual muttered acknowledgments through a little
_guichet_ in the wooden partition which separated the anteroom from the
telescope chamber itself. No one had ever thought of doubting that the
astronomer himself was there as usual. The whole thing was most
carefully planned beforehand with diabolic ingenuity and resource.