IN THE DARK
Though Ashton-Kirk was as sure Sorakicha stood behind him as he would
have been had his eyes rested upon him, he did not turn his head. The
man's entrance had been effected almost without sound; the rustling of
the curtains had been no louder than a lightly drawn breath.
"And now," reflected the secret agent, calmly, "he is waiting behind me
until he is told what to do. I trust that I shall be sufficiently
fortunate as to catch the signal."
But he continued to lounge back in his chair with crossed legs,
balancing the stick lightly between his fingers. Okiu stood regarding
him with careful attention.
"Yes," he continued, "I now see that it is probable that you are what I
have always understood you to be--a man of exceptional talents. No one,"
with a slow smile, "cares to admit that he is dull of perception, but I
confess, sir, that in this matter, in which I have been judging you, you
may have been more successful than I have imagined."
"It is more or less difficult to follow the workings of a mind, the
owner of which is not under one's immediate observation," returned
Ashton-Kirk, philosophically. "So, looking at the matter from that point
of view, you have nothing to chide yourself for."
But Okiu paid no attention to this; apparently he was grappling with a
more concrete matter.
"What you have said interests me," he said. "And so," putting his hands
upon the table, and leaning across to the other, "the paper has been
found?"
"You might call it finding it, if you were at loss for an expression,"
replied Ashton-Kirk. "Though on second thought, I confess I should apply
another term, myself."
"We will not discuss terms," said Okiu gently. "Let us call the matter
of getting the desired thing what you please; there are more important
matters to think about just now." He still bent forward, his hands
resting upon the table; his expressionless face was held close to that
of the secret agent. "And so," said he, "you could place your hand upon
the person who now has the paper, could you? That is interesting. And
still more interesting is the fact that you could do it in a very few
moments."
Ashton-Kirk nodded and smiled.
"It gives us all a certain satisfaction to learn that we are
interesting," said he. "This is so almost at any time. But at a moment
like this--when interest is created in a person who had utterly lost
confidence--it is doubly pleasing."
"Perhaps," said Okiu, and the purr in his low-pitched voice was more
pronounced than the secret agent had ever heard it before, "you have
occasion for satisfaction; and then perhaps you have not."
Ashton-Kirk met the black, heavy-lidded eyes squarely.
"Will you be more explicit?" he said.
"I can see no harm that it will do _now_," said the other, and the
secret agent quietly noted the emphasis which he laid upon the last
word. "So the facts are these. Though I regard you as a sort of fellow
workman, and though I have a very definite admiration for your talents,
still your interests are arrayed, so to speak, against mine; and this
being the case----"
[Illustration: THE GLITTERING EYES LIFTED]
Here he paused. The glittering eyes lifted and darted a look over
Ashton-Kirk's shoulder to the waiting Sorakicha. But even then the other
maintained his lounging attitude and his manner remained unruffled.
"Well?" said he, inquiringly.
"This being the case," said Okiu, smoothly, "I have thought it best
to----"
One of the supple hands began to rise; as it stirred, Ashton-Kirk
launched a kick at the table which threw it against the Oriental and
drove him back several steps. At the same instant as he delivered the
kick, the secret agent bent low and leaped forward. The great arms of
the wrestler closed above the chair upon empty space; then the light
cane swished through the air; the globes of the cluster of lights which
had hung over the table fell in a shower of fragments, and instantly the
room was plunged into darkness.
Softly, and with the catlike quickness of Sorakicha himself, the secret
agent gained the door. He had fixed its location in his mind, and so had
no trouble finding it in the dark. It opened as he turned the knob; the
hall too was dark, and he slipped into it, closing the door behind him.
Carefully, but with some speed, he passed along the hall, his hands
outstretched like the antennae of an insect. From the room which he had
just left came the sounds of stumbling feet and the confused outcries of
angry men.
Just as the door was thrown open, Ashton-Kirk felt his hand touch the
stair-rail; and he softly descended as the feet of the two Japanese
sounded in the hall behind him. The lower hall was also dark; but
through a fanlight he caught the gleam of a street lamp.
"The front door," he told himself, as he carefully made his way toward
it. But it was fast. Up and down its edges ran his fingers; but there
was no bar, chain nor catch; the bolt of the lock was shot, and the key
had been removed. He turned with his back to the door and listened; the
Orientals were stealing down the stairs.
For the second time that night his hand went into the outside coat
pocket in search of the pistol. But, this time, when the hand slipped
from the pocket, the weapon came with it. Silently he stood there in the
shadows that lurked beneath the fanlight; the creeping sounds from the
staircase continued and then paused. There was complete silence.
"They are listening," was Ashton-Kirk's thought. "They think that the
fanlight may have attracted me, and desire to make sure."
At any moment he expected a flare of light, but none came; neither did
he hear any further sounds. He held the pistol hand close to his body,
the muzzle commanding the hall; the fact that ten grim, copper-clad
servants of death stood between him and his foes was reassuring, and he
continued to await the development of the situation.
For a long time there was silence; then he heard the creeping resumed;
his jaw tightened and his grip upon the pistol butt grew more rigid. But
another instant told him something else. The Japanese were not advancing
as he had expected; instead they were retreating along the upper hall.
"They have made up their minds to the situation," was Ashton-Kirk's
explanation. "And as facing a stream of bullets does not enter into
their calculations, they are about to try something else."
This latter, of course, would be based upon his remaining where he was;
and at once he took steps toward the confusion of things by also moving
along the hall in the same direction as the others. He had noticed upon
his entrance to the house that the hall was almost bare of furniture, so
there was small danger of his colliding with anything. Little by little
he went on; now and then he paused and listened intently. But there was
no sound, however slight. At length his hands touched a smooth surface.
It was a door; cautiously he turned the knob and opened it. The room
before him was as dark as the hall; and he halted with the door only a
few inches ajar, peering within.
"It's a room on the north side, and well toward the rear," passed
through his mind, "and it's only natural to suppose that there are
windows in it. The blinds must be tightly drawn, for I can't make out
even a glimmer of light."
He waited a little, his pistol held ready, then he stepped into the
room. The first thing that attracted him was a thin, bright line which
apparently lay upon the floor at his right. He studied this for a moment
and then it occurred to him what it was. There was a light in an
adjoining room, and the rays were seeping under the door. Again he
waited, and listened. It had been his purpose to locate a window,
unfasten it, and so make his way to the open air; but the light in the
room beyond indicated the presence of someone so close at hand as to
make this proceeding perilous.
But as no sound came from the lighted room, he made up his mind to
venture nearer. He had taken but one step, however, when a board creaked
behind him in the darkness. Poised for the next step he halted and again
stood listening. Nothing followed, and the breath slowly exhaled from
his lungs, his flexed muscles relaxed, and he settled back upon his feet
for another spell of silence. He had just about made up his mind that
the creak had been caused by himself, when he became aware of another
and barely discernible sound. It was soft and hissing, a sort of
rubbing, as though one smoothly-surfaced thing were drawn across
another. Like a flash the secret agent realized what it was. Some one
stood in the doorway with his hands outstretched, as his own had been,
and it was their contact with the door frame that made the sound.
Then there came a step, slow, careful, light; a pause followed and then
the unknown's breathing could be distinctly heard. Another step
followed, cautious, muffled, secret; and again came the pause.
The grip of the secret agent tightened upon the pistol; he faced about
softly to meet the newcomer, whom a few steps would bring to his side.
But now the steps ceased, and though he listened with eager ears,
Ashton-Kirk failed to note their resumption. This struck him as odd;
there had been no sound, nothing that could have startled the other into
a longer pause than formerly; and yet that he was standing stock-still
somewhere in the darkness was unquestionable. Then like lightning it
occurred to Ashton-Kirk why this was. Judging from the footfalls, he
stood between the unknown and the door under which crept the line of
light; and the break in this line, caused by his intervening feet, had
caught the other's attention.
Gradually the secret agent became aware of the unknown's breathing; at
first it was scarcely discernible, but little by little it grew in
rapidity and harshness; it became labored, straining and drawn with
increasing difficulty; as plainly as words could have done it, it spoke
of mounting excitement and a quickly forming purpose.
The automatic pistol began to lift--but too late. Like a wild beast the
unknown leaped through the darkness, and a pair of long powerful arms
enwrapped the secret agent. The pistol fell to the floor, and there
began a desperate struggle for the mastery. By a few swift twists and
the free use of his knee, Ashton-Kirk managed to free his arms which
had been pinioned at his sides; then he drove one elbow into his
opponent's neck, and they went reeling blindly about.
There was a moment of this, then the attack of the unknown abated; it
were as though he had felt his adversary out and found him rather more
than a match. And with this discovery came new tactics. Ashton-Kirk felt
the rugged grasp grow still slacker; one hand slipped away altogether.
This could mean only that it was feeling in unseen pockets for a weapon;
and upon this the secret agent began to fight silently, swiftly,
desperately.
A series of short jarring blows drove the other back; a short powerful
lock lifted him from his feet. But with a frenzied wrench the man broke
the hold, and as he did so they both fell with their full weight against
the door under which the light was shining. It gave way with a crash,
and a flood of illumination poured upon them.
And with the first flash of it, Ashton-Kirk saw a hand armed with a
"billy" lifted to strike him; and behind it was the white, desperate
face of the man who had followed him into the room--the face of Philip
Warwick. And as recognition came, the wrist bent with a quick practised
jerk, the leather-covered lead descended, and Ashton-Kirk fell prone
upon the floor.