WHEREIN MR. FORBES EXPLAINS HIMSELF
Even the boldest may flinch when confronted with that which is
apparently a manifestation of the supernatural. Theydon and Forbes were
standing in a chamber of death. To the best of their belief they were
alone in an otherwise empty flat, and those ominous words coming from
some one unknown and unseen blanched their faces with terror.
But Theydon was a healthy and athletic young Englishman, and Forbes was
of the rare order which combines a frame of exceptional physique with a
mind accustomed to think imperially; two such men might be trusted to
display real grit if surrounded by a horde of veritable spooks.
The door was thrown wide as they turned at the sound of the words, and
Theydon recognized in a strange little figure--wearing a blue serge
suit, a straw hat and brown boots--Furneaux, the man whom he had looked
on as somewhat of a crank and visionary during their talk of the
previous night.
"You?" he gasped, and the note of recognition was sharpened by a sudden
sense of dismay, almost of alarm, because of the overwhelming knowledge
that now all his scheming had collapsed, while the representatives of
Scotland Yard would regard him as nothing more than a poor sort of
trickster.
But Forbes was not in the habit of yielding to any man, no matter what
his status, or howsoever awe-inspiring might be the department of state
which he represented.
"Who the devil are you, at any rate?" he cried angrily. "And what right
have you to spy on gentlemen in this manner, listening to their
conversation, and breaking in with a cheap stage effect obviously
intended to startle?"
Furneaux remained motionless, his feet set well apart and his hands
thrust into his trousers pockets. The trim, natty figure, the spruce and
Summer-like attire, the small, wizened face with its cynically humorous
and wide-awake aspect--above all, a certain jauntiness of air and
cocksure expression--certainly did not suggest a comedian fresh from the
boards.
"You tell," he said, nodding to Theydon.
"This is Mr. Furneaux of Scotland Yard," said the latter nervously. He
imagined he could detect in Furneaux's glance a mixture of amusement and
contempt, amusement at the notion that any amateur should harbor the
belief that the two best men in the "Yard" could be egregiously
hoodwinked, and contempt of one who so far forgot himself as even to
dare attempt such a thing in relation to a police inquiry into a murder.
"I don't know, and care less, who Mr. Furneaux of Scotland Yard may be,"
went on Forbes hotly. "I resent his intrusion, and wish to be relieved
of his presence."
"Why?" said Furneaux.
"I have given my reasons to the Home Secretary. That mere statement must
suffice for you."
"Really, I must ask you to be more explicit."
"I visited the Home Office this morning, and placed such evidence in the
hands of the Home Secretary that Scotland Yard will be requested to
suspend all further investigation into the death of Mrs. Lester."
"Do you mean that the Home Secretary has sanctioned the breaking off of
this inquiry."
"In the conditions--"
"Because, if that is what your words imply, Mr. Forbes, I may tell you
at once that I don't believe you. It is more than any Home Secretary
dare do, and if you harbor any lingering doubts on the point, go to Mr.
Theydon's telephone, ring up the Home Office, and tell the gentleman at
the other end of the wire exactly what I have said. Of course you really
don't mean anything of the sort. By virtue of some special and inside
knowledge of certain facts communicated to the Home Secretary, you may
have persuaded him to promise that, provided the ends of justice are not
defeated thereby, every precaution will be taken to keep the main lines
of the inquiry secret until the whole position can be laid before the
law officers of the Crown. The Home Secretary may have gone that far,
Mr. Forbes, but not one inch farther, and you know it."
The two antagonists, so singularly disproportionate in size, were yet so
perfectly matched in the vastly more important qualities of brain and
nerve that the contest lost all sense of inequality. Theydon felt
himself of no account in this duel. He was like an urchin watching
open-mouthed a combat of gladiators.
Forbes, not without a perceptible effort, choked down his wrath and
recovered his poise.
"You have gaged the state of affairs accurately enough," he said,
speaking more calmly. "May I, then, recommend you to consult your direct
superiors before carrying your investigations any furthur, Mr.--"
"Furneaux--Charles Francois Furneaux."
"Just so, Mr. Charles Francois Furneaux."
"I give you my full name, because one of the peculiar features of this
case is the inability of some persons mixed up in it to recall names, or
even the mere salient facts," and the detective's glance dwelt for an
instant on Theydon, who, again, in his own estimation, shrank into the
boots of a fourth-form boy detected by a master in an overt breach of
college rules.
But the little man was speaking impressively, and, Theydon compelled his
wandering wits to pay attention.
"It will clear the air, perhaps," went on Furneaux, "if I point out that
if any one here is playing the spy--carrying on some underhanded game,
that is--it is not I. These apartments are in charge of the police. The
manager of the whole block of flats and the porter of this particular
section have been warned that no one can be allowed to enter No. 17, on
any pretext, until our inquiry is closed. Now, Mr. Forbes, kindly
explain how you contrived to get possession of a key."
An experienced man of the world like Forbes could hardly fail to see
that he was in a false position, and that any persistent attempt to
browbeat the detective would not only meet with utter failure but might
possibly compromise him gravely.
"That was a simple matter," he said. "Mrs. Lester's servant left her key
in Mr. Theydon's establishment. Bates surprised both his master and me
by producing it when I expressed a wish to examine the place."
"But why adopt such a clandestine method?"
Forbes's face, usually so classic in outline, assumed a certain
rigidity, and his firm chin grew markedly aggressive.
"I don't answer questions put in that way," he said.
Furneaux laughed sardonically.
"You meet with greater respect in Capel Court, I have no doubt," he
snapped. "There you stand on a pedestal, with one hand flourishing a
check-book and the other resting gracefully on the neck of a golden
calf. Here, you are simply an ordinary citizen behaving in a suspicious
manner. If the uniformed policeman on the neighboring beat knew what I
know of your recent movements he would arrest you without ceremony, and
charge you with being concerned in the murder of Mrs. Lester. Between
you and Mr. Theydon, the work of my department has been hindered and
burked most scandalously. Don't glare at me like that! I don't care
tuppence for your millions and your social position. What I do care
about is the horrible risk you and each member of your family are
incurring. You know why, and while you are still alive I mean to force
you to speak. Tell me now why Mrs. Lester was killed. Tell me, too, why
the same hand which thrust a little ivory skull into the dead woman's
underbodice caused a similar token to be delivered to you by this
morning's post. Ah, that touches you, does it? Now, my worthy financier
and philanthropist, step down from your pedestal and behave like a being
of flesh and blood!"
Forbes positively wilted under that extraordinary attack. His white face
grew wan, and his eyes dilated with surprise and terror. The detective's
words seemed to have the effect of a paralytic shock. Thenceforth he was
under dog in the fight.
"How do you know," he gasped, "that I received an ivory skull this
morning? Have you been to my house? Did my daughter tell you?"
Furneaux chuckled.
"You're ready to listen, eh? Well, I don't mind telling you that I have
not stirred out of this flat since seven o'clock this morning, and I
question if your letters were delivered in Fortescue Square at that
hour."
"I give in," said Forbes curtly. "Need we remain here? The smell of that
cursed joss stick oppresses me."
Then Theydon found his tongue.
"If Mr. Furneaux cares to abandon his vigil, my flat is entirely at your
disposal," he said.
"My vigil, as you accurately describe it, has ended for the time being,"
said Furneaux, apparently mollified by the millionaire's surrender. "I
was sure that if I remained here long enough I would clear away some of
the fog attached to a case which promises to be one of the most
remarkable I have ever investigated. Come, gentlemen, let us be amiable
to one another. I'm sorry if I lost my temper just now, but I regard
myself as being the only detective in existence who uses other sections
of his brain than those governed by statutes made and provided, and it
riles me when men of superior intelligence like yourselves treat me as
though my mission in life was to direct the traffic and keep a sharp eye
on mischievous juveniles.... Mr. Theydon, can that soldier-servant of
yours make coffee?"
"His wife can," said Theydon.
"Will you be good enough, then, to set her to work? Thus far, since the
sun rose, I have stayed the pangs of hunger with an apple and a glass of
water."
By this time, Theydon had thoroughly revised his first estimate of the
diminutive detective. Indeed, he was beginning to look on him as a quite
noteworthy person, a man whose mental equipment it was most unwise to
assess at any lower valuation than the somewhat exalted one which
Furneaux himself had set forth with such refreshing candor.
As for Forbes, the millionaire seemed to have sunk into a species of
stupor since Furneaux spoke of the ivory skull. He uttered no word until
the three were seated in Theydon's room, and his expression was so
woebegone that it stirred even the mercurial Jerseyite to pity.
"I imagine that a cup of coffee will do you also a world of good," he
said. Then, whirling round on Theydon, he stuck a question into him as
if each word was a stiletto.
"Where do you get your coffee?"
"At the grocer's," was the surprised answer.
"Is that all you know about it?"
"Yes."
"Singular thing, isn't it?" mused the detective aloud, "how idiotic men
and women can be in their attitude to the supreme things of life. What
is of greater importance than the food we eat and the liquors we drink?
Through them the body reconstitutes itself hourly and daily. Providence
gives us a perfect engine, yet we clog and choke its shafts and
cylinders by supplying it haphazard with any sort of fuel and lubricant,
no matter how unsuited either may be to its purpose. Take coffee, for
instance. The physiological action of coffee depends on the presence of
the alkaloid caffeine, which varies from 0.6 percent in the Arabian
berry to 2 percent in that of Sierra Leone. Again, the aromatic oil,
caffeine, which is developed by roasting, increases in quantity the
longer the seeds are kept. Unfortunately, coffee beans lose weight
during storage, so you have a clear commercial reason why grocers should
not sell the best coffee, unless under compulsion of an enlightened
public opinion. Now you, Mr. Forbes, would never dream of putting your
money into a investment without full and careful inquiry into the
history and scope of the proposed undertaking, while our young friend
here would snort furiously at a split infinitive or a false rhyme, yet,
when I submit the vital problem of the sort of coffee you imbibe--the
very essence and nutriment of your brains and bodies--you hear the kind
of answer I receive."
All this, of course, was excellent fooling, intended to dispel the
brooding horror which had suddenly descended upon Forbes since it was
borne in on him that the demoniac wrath wreaked on Mrs. Lester was now
directed with equal ferocity against his family and himself.
To an extent, Furneaux's scheme succeeded. A gleam of interest shot from
the millionaire's eyes. They lost their introspective look. He even
smiled wistfully.
"You are a man after my own heart, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "I had no
idea that the Criminal Investigation Department employed philosophers of
your caliber. I suppose that you and I are about to swallow coffee
containing indeterminate percentages of the chief constituents you
named."
"One does not look at gift coffee in the cup," grinned the little man,
obviously well pleased with himself. "But, if ever you two gentlemen
favor my obscure dwelling with a visit, and partake of a meal, you will
have a strict analysis with every bite and sup. There is a grocer in
Battersea who used to tremble at sight of me. Now he has learned wisdom,
and has quadrupled his trade by publishing learned disquisitions on the
nature and quality of each principal article he sells. You ought to read
his treatise on butter. He is an authority on the dietetic value of jam.
The nutritive properties of his cheese are ruining the local butchers."
Furneaux's efforts were rewarded when the really excellent beverage
provided by Mrs. Bates was disposed of. Forbes seemingly atoned for his
earlier secretiveness by placing every fact in his possession fully and
fairly before his auditors.
"Nearly seven years ago," he said, "I made a very large sum of money by
amalgamating certain shipping interests at a favorable moment. Thus, as
it happened, I had at command practically unlimited resources when I was
asked to finance the cause of reform in China. The wretched lot of the
Chinese Nation had always appealed to my sympathies. Some hundreds of
millions of the most industrious and peace-loving people in the world
have been exploited for centuries by a predatory caste. Given a chance
to expand, freed from the shackles of the Manchus, the Chinese, in my
opinion, contain the elements which go to form a great race. But the
Manchus held them in bondage, body and soul, and, so powerful is
self-interest, there has never been an Emperor or statesman who strove
to elevate the masses who was not mercilessly assassinated as soon as he
allowed his intent to become known. The only path to freedom lay through
revolution, and I had reason to believe that the ruling faction could be
overthrown by a well-organized and properly financed movement without
the appalling bloodshed which often accompanies such dynastic changes.
At any rate, I entered the conspiracy, heart and soul. But I met with
two difficulties at the outset. I could not exercise efficient financial
control in London, and I could neither go and live in the Far East nor
transact my business through ordinary banking channels. So I had to find
a substitute, and my choice fell on a rising young barrister named
Arthur Lester, whom I had known since he was a boy who had married the
daughter of an old friend. He had a taste for adventure, and was alive
to the magnificent career which lay before one who helped materially in
the rebirth of China. In a word, he went to Shanghai as my agent, and
the outcome of his work there is the present Chinese constitution. Of
course, as holds good in all human affairs, events did not follow the
precise track mapped out for them. But, on the whole, he and I were
satisfied. China is awake at last. The giant has stirred, and, if his
first uncertain steps have deviated from the open road of reform, he
will never again sink into the torpor of the past centuries. Manchu
arrogance and domination, at any rate, are shadows of the past, but
unhappily, the conquerors who have been so effectually thrust aside have
now embarked on a secret campaign of vengeance and reaction. A society
which calls itself the 'Young Manchus' is inspired by one principle, and
one only, and that is 'death to the reformers.' I don't suppose you
gentlemen follow closely the trend of affairs in China, but you must
have read of the assassinations of prominent men reported occasionally
in the newspapers."
Furneaux clicked his tongue so loudly that Forbes stopped speaking and
looked at him, thinking, apparently, that the little detective meant to
say something. He did, but it was Theydon whom he addressed.
"I'd give a week's pay if Winter was here now, and I could see those big
eyes of his bulging out of his head," he cackled.
Theydon nodded. He understood perfectly. Then he caught Forbes's
inquiring glance, and explained matters.
"Mr. Furneaux hinted last night at some such development as that which
your present statement conveys, and his colleague, Mr. Winter, pretended
to scout it," he said.
"Pretended!" shrieked Furneaux, instantly in a rage.
"That was how it struck me," said Theydon coolly.
"Didn't I drag the Chinese aspect of the crime out of him with pincers?"
came the indignant demand.
"Unquestionably. I only remark that your large-sized friend had it
tucked away all the time at the back of his head."
Furneaux pounded the table so viciously that the cups rattled.
"Of course, he has a nose to smell joss sticks, and eyes to see an ivory
skull, but didn't he say I was talking nonsense when I spoke about Shang
Ti scowling from a porcelain vase?" he shrilled.
"Yes. For all that, I don't think he missed the least hint of your
meaning."
Furneaux gazed at Theydon fixedly.
"Sorry," he said, with an acid tone that was almost malicious. "I
imagined you were so busy throwing dust in our eyes that you wouldn't
have noticed such fine shades of perception on Winter's part."
But Theydon was now able to measure this strange little man with some
degree of accuracy; he only smiled.
"As a thrower of dust I was a most abject failure," he said.
Furneaux smiled and turned to the millionaire.
"Pardon the interruption," he said. "Like every artist, I am pained when
my best efforts are scoffed at by heedless mediocrity. You, at least,
will understand what a big thing it was to deduce even the vaguest
outline of the truth from the facts at my command."
"I certainly do," agreed Forbes. "Until this morning I was convinced
that Mrs. Lester's death removed the one person in England who knew of
my connection with the revolution in China. To revert to the Young
Manchus--they have secured far more victims than the world at large is
aware of. I am sure that they poisoned Arthur Lester, and his wife held
the same view. They aim at nothing less than the extinction of the
democratic cause by the murder of every prominent man connected with it.
But they never yet have been able to obtain a full and authentic list of
the reform leaders. They suspected poor Lester of complicity in the
movement, and killed him. It was through Mrs. Lester that I first became
aware of their existence as an active organization, and I hoped that
when she had returned to England, and was living quietly in London, she
would be lost sight of--ignored, in fact. Nevertheless, both she and I
thought it prudent that our acquaintance should cease until the turmoil
in China had subsided. For that reason I never visited her, nor did I
permit the growth of friendship between her and my wife and daughter--a
friendship which, in happier conditions, would have been natural and
inevitable. But we were woefully mistaken. An Oriental vendetta neither
slackens nor dies. By some means wholly unknown to me, the Young Manchus
must have discovered, or guessed, that in leaving Lester's widow out of
their reckoning they had lost a promising clew. Be that as it may, they
followed her to London, and, by a singular fatality, I was the first to
know of it. Last Monday, while driving home from the city, my car was
held up in Piccadilly for a few seconds. Looking idly out at the passing
crowd, I saw a Chinaman in European clothes. He was waiting to cross the
road, so I was able to scrutinize him carefully, and, owing to a scar on
the left side of his face, recognized him. His name is Wong Li Fu, a
Manchu of the Manchus, a mandarin of almost imperial lineage. Some years
ago he was a young attache at the Chinese Embassy here. Suddenly, while
on the way to my house, I recollected that certain members of the
Revolutionary Committee had spoken of this very man as being one of the
ablest and most unscrupulous adherents of the Manchu faction in Pekin.
Somehow, his presence in London was disconcerting and menacing. Who more
likely than he, I argued, to be a leading spirit among the Young
Manchus? In any event, London was not big enough to hold both Mrs.
Lester and him, and I decided to visit her that very night, tell her I
had seen Wong Li Fu, and advise her to go away into the country, leaving
no record of her whereabouts. I happened to be taking my daughter to
Daly's Theater, and contrived to slip away on some pretext after the
performance. I found Mrs. Lester alone in her flat, and she fell in with
my views at once, because she, too, had heard of this very man, and the
mere sound of his name terrified her. I was half inclined to urge that
she should go to an hotel for the night, but the lateness of the hour
and the seeming fact that if danger threatened she was safe at least
till the morrow, prevented me."
Furneaux, sitting on the edge of a chair, his head bent forward, his
piercing black eyes intent as those of a hawk, a hand resting on each
knee, his attitude curiously suggestive of a readiness to spring forward
at any instant, now leaned over and tapped the millionaire decisively on
the shoulder.
"You couldn't have saved her, Mr. Forbes," he said gravely. "She was
marked down as the first warning. Didn't the letter you received this
morning tell you something of the sort?"
Agitation gave place to utter astonishment in Forbes's face.
"In Heaven's name, how do you know anything of any letter?" he cried.
"I will tell you later. But am I not right?"
"Yes, you are."
"Where is it? May I see it?"
Forbes took a creased and soiled document from a small, flat cardboard
box which he carried in the breast pocket of his coat. But first he
withdrew from the box a little object, and placed it on the table. It
was an ivory skull, and the very presence of such a sinister token
brought some hint of the charnel-house into the cozy and sunlit room.
Furneaux, a creature oddly constituted either of all nerves or of no
nerves, disregarded the skull. He had eyes only for the few words typed
on a single sheet of note-paper. They ran:
"James Creighton Forbes: If you are willing to come to terms, announce
the fact by advertisement in Thursday's Times. Address your reply to Y.
M., and sign it 'J. C. F.' Yield, and you will hear further. Refuse, and
no other warning will be given."