It was just three weeks after the murder of Pu-Yi, and once more I sat
in my chambers in Piccadilly. The day had been cloudy, and now, late in
the afternoon, a heavy fog had descended upon the town through which
fell a cold and intermittent rain.
Up there, in the City in the Clouds, perhaps the sun was pouring down
upon its spires and cupolas, but London, Piccadilly, was lowering and
sad.
Lord Arthur Winstanley and Captain Pat Moore had just left me, both of
them glum and silent. It went to my heart not to take them into my full
confidence, but to do so was impossible. I had told them much of the
recent events in the City--I could not tell them everything, for they
would not have understood. Certainly I could have relied upon their
absolute discretion, but, in view of what was going to happen that very
night, I was compelled to keep my own counsel. They had not lived
through what I had recently. Their minds were not tuned, as mine was, to
the sublime disregard and aloofness from English law which obtained in
Morse's gigantic refuge. Certainly neither of them would have agreed to
what I proposed to do that night.
Preston came quietly into the library. He pulled the curtains and made
up the fire. The face of Preston was grim and disapproving. He looked
much as he looked when--what ages ago it seemed!--I departed his
comfortable care to become the landlord of the "Golden Swan."
"I'm not at home to any one, Preston," I said, "except to Mr. Sliddim,
who ought to be here in a few minutes. Of course, that doesn't apply to
Mr. Rolston."
"Very good, Sir Thomas, thank you, Sir Thomas," said Preston, scowling
at the mention of the name. Poor fellow, he didn't in the least
understand why I should be receiving the furtive and melancholy Sliddim
so often, and should sit with him in conference for long hours!
Afterwards, when it was all over, I interrogated my faithful servant,
and the state of his mind during that period proved to have been
startling.
This seems the place in which to explain exactly what had happened up to
date.
When Midwinter had escaped, we found the corpse of poor old Professor
Chang, and the whole plan was revealed to us. Pu-Yi had been shot
through the heart. His death must have been instantaneous. For several
days Morse was in a terrible state of depression and remorse. He said
that there was a curse upon him, and it was with the greatest difficulty
that Rolston and I could bring him into a more reasonable frame of mind.
The long strain had worn down even that iron resolution, but, for
Juanita's sake, I knew that I must stand by him to the end.
Accordingly, there was nothing else for it, Rolston and I took entire
charge of everything. I had never felt inclined to go back from the
very beginning. Now my resolution was firm to see it through to the end.
Rolston pursued his own plans, and London very shortly knew that Gideon
Mendoza Morse and his lovely daughter were about to reappear in the
world. It gave my little, red-haired friend intense pleasure to organize
this mild press campaign from the office of the _Evening Special_. I
placed him in complete control, to the intense joy of Miss Dewsbury and
the disgust of the older members of the staff. Be that as it may, the
thing was done, and every one knew that Birmingham House had been taken
by the millionaire.
It was then, having organized things as perfectly as I could at the
City, placing Kwang-Su, the gigantic gate-keeper of the ground
inclosure, in charge of the staff, that I myself descended into the
world as unobtrusively as possible. For a day or two I remained in
seclusion at the "Golden Swan," and during those two days saw no one but
the Honest Fool, Mrs. Abbs, my housekeeper, and--Sliddim, the private
inquiry agent.
Personally, while I quite appreciated the fellow's skill in his own
dirty work, and while indeed I owed him a considerable debt in the
matter of Bill Rolston's first disappearance, I disliked him too much
ever to have thought of him as a help in the very serious affair on
which I was engaged. It was Rolston, as usual, who changed my mind. He
saw farther than I did. He realized the essential secrecy and fidelity
of the odd creature whom chance had unearthed from among the creeping
things of London, and in the end he became an integral part of the
plot.
He was told, of course, no more than was necessary. He was not by any
means in our full confidence. But he was given a part to play, and
promised a reward, if he played it well, that would make him independent
for life. Let me say at once that he fulfilled his duty with admirable
skill, and, when he received his check from Mr. Morse, vanished forever
from our ken. I have no doubt that he is spying somewhere or other on
the globe at this moment, but I have no ambition to meet him again.
Mr. Sliddim, considerably furbished up in personal appearance, was made
caretaker at Birmingham House in Berkeley Square. He had not been in
that responsible position for more than ten days when our fish began to
nibble at the bait.
In a certain little public house by some mews at the back of Berkeley
Square, a little public house which Mr. Sliddim was instructed--and
needed no encouragement--to frequent, he was one day accosted by a tall,
middle-aged man with a full, handsome face and a head of curling, gray
hair. This man was dressed in a seedy, shabby-genteel style, and soon
became intimate with our lure.
Certainly, to give him his due, Sliddim must have been a supreme actor
in his way. He did the honest, but intensely stupid caretaker to the
life. Mark Antony Midwinter was completely taken in and pumped our human
conduit for all he was worth, until he was put in possession of an
entirely fictitious set of circumstances, arranged with the greatest
care to suit my plans.
I shall not easily forget the evening when Sliddim slunk into my
dining-room and described the scene which told us we had made absolutely
no mistake and that our fish was definitely hooked. It seems that the
good Sliddim had gradually succumbed to the repeated proffer of strong
waters on the part of "Mr. Smith," his new friend. He had bragged of his
position, only lamenting that some days hence it was to come to an end,
when, in the evening, Mr. Mendoza Morse, his daughter, and a staff of
servants were to enter the house simultaneously. Sliddim, the most
consistent whisky-nipper I have ever seen--and I had some curious
side-lights on that question when I was landlord of the "Golden
Swan"--was physically almost incapable of drunkenness, but he simulated
it so well in the little pub at the back of the Square that Mark Antony
Midwinter made no ado about taking the latchkey of Birmingham House area
door from his pocket and making a waxen impression of it.
Rolston and I knew that we were "getting very hot," as the children say
when they are playing Hunt-the-Slipper, and another visit from Sliddim
confirmed it. The plan of our enemy was perfectly clear to our minds. He
would enter the house by means of the key an hour or two before Morse
and the servants were due, conceal himself within it, and do what he had
to do in the silent hours of the night.
It was quite certain that he believed Morse now felt himself secure, and
no doubt Midwinter had arranged a plan for his escape from Berkeley
Square, when his vengeance was complete, as ingenious and thoroughgoing
as that prepared for his literal flight from the City in the Clouds.
And now, on this very evening, I was to throw the dice in a desperate
game with this human tiger.
"It is for to-night certain, sir," said Sliddim when he arrived. "I've
let him know that I am leaving the house for a couple of hours this
evening, between eight and ten, to see my old mother in Camden Town. At
eleven he supposes that the servants are arriving, and at midnight Mr.
and Miss Morse. A professional friend of mine is watching our gent very
carefully. He is at present staying at a small private hotel in Soho,
and I should think you had better come to the house about seven, on
foot, and directly you ring I'll let you in. I've promised to meet our
friend at the little public house in the mews at eight, for just one
drink--he wants to be certain that I am really out of the way--and I
should say that he would be inside Birmingham House within a quarter of
an hour afterwards."
Rolston came in before the fellow went, and a few more details were
discussed, which brought the time up to about six o'clock.
And then I had a most unpleasant and difficult few minutes. My faithful
little lieutenant defied me for the first time since I had known him.
"I can't tell what time I shall be back," I said, "but I shall want you
to be at the end of the telephone wire--there are plenty of telephones
in Birmingham House."
"But I am going too, Sir Thomas," he said quickly.