ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP
Down the center of the room came a girl carrying the only ornamental
object which thus far I had seen in the Joy-Shop; a large Oriental
brass tray. She was a figure which must have formed a center of
interest in any place, trebly so, then, in such a place as this. Her
costume consisted in a series of incongruities, whilst the entire
effect was barbaric and by no means unpicturesque. She wore high-heeled
red slippers, and, as her short gauzy skirt rendered amply evident,
black silk stockings. A brilliantly colored Oriental scarf was wound
around her waist and knotted in front, its tasseled ends swinging
girdle fashion. A sort of chemise--like the _'anteree_ of Egyptian
women--completed her costume, if I except a number of barbaric
ornaments, some of them of silver, with which her hands and arms
were bedecked.
But strange as was the girl's attire, it was to her face that my gaze
was drawn irresistibly. Evidently, like most of those around us, she
was some kind of half-caste; but, unlike them, she was wickedly
handsome. I use the adverb _wickedly_ with deliberation; for the
pallidly dusky, oval face, with the full red lips, between which rested
a large yellow cigarette, and the half-closed almond-shaped eyes,
possessed a beauty which might have appealed to an artist of one of
the modern perverted schools, but which filled me less with admiration
than horror. For I _knew_ her--I recognized her, from a past, brief
meeting; I knew her, beyond all possibility of doubt, to be one of
the Si-Fan group!
This strange creature, tossing back her jet-black, frizzy hair, which
was entirely innocent of any binding or ornament, advanced along the
room towards us, making unhesitatingly for our table, and carrying her
lithe body with the grace of a _Gházeeyeh_.
I glanced at Fletcher across the table.
"Zarmi!" he whispered.
Again I raised my eyes to the face which now was close to mine, and
became aware that I was trembling with excitement....
Heavens! why did enlightenment come too late! Either I was the victim
of an odd delusion, or Zarmi had been the driver of the cab in which
Nayland Smith had left the New Louvre Hotel!
Zarmi place the brass tray upon the table and bent down, resting her
elbows upon it, her hands upturned and her chin nestling in her palms.
The smoke from the cigarette, now held in her fingers, mingled with
her disheveled hair. She looked fully into my face, a long, searching
look; then her lips parted in the slow, voluptuous smile of the
Orient. Without moving her head she turned the wonderful eyes (rendered
doubly luminous by the _kohl_ with which her lashes and lids were
darkened) upon Fletcher.
"What you and your strong friend drinking?" she said softly.
Her voice possessed a faint husky note which betrayed her Eastern
parentage, yet it had in it the siren lure which is the ancient
heritage of the Eastern woman--a heritage more ancient than the tribe
of the _Ghâzeeyeh_, to one of whom I had mentally likened Zarmi.
"Same thing," replied Fletcher promptly; and raising his hand, he
idly toyed with a huge gold ear-ring which she wore.
Still resting her elbows upon the table and bending down between us,
Zarmi turned her slumbering, half-closed black eyes again upon me,
then slowly, languishingly, upon Fletcher. She replaced the yellow
cigarette between her lips. He continued to toy with the ear-ring.
Suddenly the girl sprang upright, and from its hiding-place within
the silken scarf, plucked out a Malay _krîs_ with a richly jeweled
hilt. Her eyes now widely opened and blazing, she struck at my
companion!
I half rose from my chair, stifling a cry of horror; but Fletcher,
regarding her fixedly, never moved ... and Zarmi stayed her hand just
as the point of the dagger had reached his throat!
"You see," she whispered softly but intensely, "how soon I can kill
you."
Ere I had overcome the amazement and horror with which her action
had filled me, she had suddenly clutched me by the shoulder, and,
turning from Fletcher, had the point of the _krîs_ at _my_ throat!
"You, too!" she whispered, "you too!"
Lower and lower she bent, the needle point of the weapon pricking my
skin, until her beautiful, evil face almost touched mine. Then,
miraculously, the fire died out of her eyes; they half closed again
and became languishing, luresome _Ghâzeeyeh_ eyes. She laughed softly,
wickedly, and puffed cigarette smoke into my face.
Thrusting her dagger into her waist-belt, and snatching up the brass
tray, she swayed down the room, chanting some barbaric song in her
husky Eastern voice.
I inhaled deeply and glanced across at my companion. Beneath the
make-up with which I had stained my skin, I knew that I had grown
more than a little pale.
"Fletcher!" I whispered, "we are on the eve of a great discovery--that
girl ..."
I broke off, and clutching the table with both hands, sat listening
intently. From the room behind me, the opium-room, whose entrance was
less than two paces from where we sat, came a sound of dragging and
tapping! Slowly, cautiously, I began to turn my head; when a sudden
outburst of simian chattering from the _fan-tan_ players drowned that
other sinister sound.
"You heard it, Doctor!" hissed Fletcher.
"The man with the limp!" I said hoarsely; "he is in there! Fletcher!
I am utterly confused. I believe this place to hold the key to the
whole mystery, I believe ..."
Fletcher gave me a warning glance--and, turning anew, I saw Zarmi
approaching with her sinuous gait, carrying two glasses and jug upon
the ornate tray. These she set down upon the table; then stood
spinning the salver cleverly upon the point of her index finger and
watching us through half-closed eyes.
My companion took out some loose coins, but the girl thrust the
proffered payment aside with her disengaged hand, the salver still
whirling upon the upraised finger of the other.
"Presently you pay for drink," she said. "You do something for me--eh?"
"Yep," replied Fletcher nonchalantly, watering the rum in the
tumblers. "What time?"
"Presently I tell you. You stay here. This one a strong feller?"--
indicating myself.
"Sure," drawled Fletcher; "strong as a mule he is."
"All right. I give him one little kiss if he good boy!"
Tossing the tray in the air she caught it, rested its edge upon her
hip, turned, and walked away down the room, puffing her cigarette.
"Listen," I said, bending across the table, "it was Zarmi who drove
the cab that came for Nayland Smith to-day!"
"My God!" whispered Fletcher, "then it was nothing less than the hand
of Providence that brought us here to-night. Yes! I know how you feel,
Doctor!--but we must play our cards as they're dealt to us. We must
wait--wait."
Out from the den of the opium-smokers came Zarmi, one hand resting
upon her hip and the other uplifted, a smoldering yellow cigarette
held between the first and second fingers. With a movement of her
eyes she summoned us to join her, then turned and disappeared again
through the low doorway.
The time for action was arrived--we were to see behind the scenes of
the Joy-Shop! Our chance to revenge poor Smith even if we could not
save him. I became conscious of an inward and suppressed excitement;
surreptitiously I felt the hilt of the Browning pistol in my pocket.
The shadow of the dead Fu-Manchu seemed to be upon me. God! how I
loathed and feared that memory!
"We can make no plans," I whispered to Fletcher, as together we rose
from the table; "we must be guided by circumstance."
In order to enter the little room laden with those sickly opium fumes
we had to lower our heads. Two steps led down into the place, which
was so dark that I hesitated, momentarily, peering about me.
Apparently some four of five persons squatted and lay in the darkness
about me. Some were couched upon rough wooden shelves ranged around
the walls, others sprawled upon the floor, in the center whereof, upon
a small tea-chest, stood a smoky brass lamp. The room and its
occupants alike were indeterminate, sketchy; its deadly atmosphere
seemed to be suffocating me. A sort of choking sound came from one of
the bunks; a vague, obscene murmuring filled the whole place
revoltingly.
Zarmi stood at the further end, her lithe figure silhouetted against
the vague light coming through an open doorway. I saw her raise her
hand, beckoning to us.
Circling around the chest supporting the lamp we crossed the foul
den and found ourselves in a narrow, dim passage-way, but in cleaner
air.
"Come," said Zarmi, extending her long, slim hand to me.
I took it, solely for guidance in the gloom, and she immediately drew
my arm about her waist, leant back against my shoulder and, raising
her pouted red lips, blew a cloud of tobacco smoke fully into my eyes!
Momentarily blinded, I drew back with a muttered exclamation.
Suspecting what I did of this tigerish half-caste, I could almost have
found it in my heart to return her savage pleasantries with interest.
As I raised my hands to my burning eyes, Fletcher uttered a sharp cry
of pain. I turned in time to see the girl touch him lightly on the
neck with the burning tip of her cigarette.
"You jealous, eh, Charlie?" she said. "But I love you, too--see! Come
along, you strong fellers...."
And away she went along the passage, swaying her hips lithely and
glancing back over her shoulders in smiling coquetry.
Tears were still streaming from my eyes when I found myself standing
in a sort of rough shed, stone-paved, and containing a variety of
nondescript rubbish. A lantern stood upon the floor; and beside it ...
The place seemed to be swimming around me, the stone floor to be
heaving beneath my feet....
Beside the lantern stood a wooden chest, some six feet long, and
having strong rope handles at either end. Evidently the chest had but
recently been nailed up. As Zarmi touched it lightly with the pointed
toe of her little red slipper I clutched at Fletcher for support.
Fletcher grasped my arm in a vice-like grip. To him, too, had come
the ghastly conviction--the gruesome thought that neither of us dared
to name.
It was Nayland Smith's coffin that we were to carry!
"Through here," came dimly to my ears, "and then I tell you what to
do...."
Coolness returned to me, suddenly, unaccountably. I doubted not for an
instant that the best friend I had in the world lay dead there at the
feet of the hellish girl who called herself Zarmi, and I knew since it
was she, disguised, who had driven him to his doom, that she must have
been actively concerned in his murder.
But, I argued, although the damp night air was pouring in through the
door which Zarmi now held open, although sound of Thames-side activity
came stealing to my ears, we were yet within the walls of the Joy-Shop,
with a score or more Asiatic ruffians at the woman's beck and call....
With perfect truth I can state that I retain not even a shadowy
recollection of aiding Fletcher to move the chest out on to the brink
of the cutting--for it was upon this that the door directly opened.
The mist had grown denser, and except a glimpse of slowly moving water
beneath me, I could discern little of our surrounding.
So much I saw by the light of a lantern which stood in the stern of a
boat. In the bows of this boat I was vaguely aware of the presence of
a crouched figure enveloped in rugs--vaguely aware that two filmy
eyes regarded me out of the darkness. A man who looked like a lascar
stood upright in the stern.
I must have been acting like a man in a stupor; for I was aroused to
the realities by the contact of a burning cigarette with the lobe of
my right ear!
"Hurry, quick, strong feller!" said Zarmi softly.
At that it seemed as though some fine nerve of my brain, already
strained to utmost tension, snapped. I turned, with a wild,
inarticulate cry, my fists raised frenziedly above my head.
"You fiend!" I shrieked at the mocking Eurasian, "you yellow fiend of
hell!"
I was beside myself, insane. Zarmi fell back a step, flashing a glance
from my own contorted face to that, now pale even beneath its artificial
tan, of Fletcher.
I snatched the pistol from my pocket, and for one fateful moment the
lust of slaying claimed my mind.... Then I turned towards the river,
and, raising the Browning, fired shot after shot in the air.
"Weymouth!" I cried. "Weymouth!"
A sharp hissing sound came from behind me; a short, muffled cry ...
and something descended, crushing, upon my skull. Like a wild cat
Zarmi hurled herself past me and leapt into the boat. One glimpse I
had of her pallidly dusky face, of her blazing black eyes, and the
boat was thrust off into the waterway ... was swallowed up in the mist.
I turned, dizzily, to see Fletcher sinking to his knees, one hand
clutching his breast.
"She got me ... with the knife," he whispered. "But ... don't worry ...
look to yourself, and ..._him_...."
He pointed, weakly--then collapsed at my feet. I threw myself upon
the wooden chest with a fierce, sobbing cry.
"Smith, Smith!" I babbled, and knew myself no better, in my sorrow,
than an hysterical woman. "Smith, dear old man! speak to me! speak
to me!..."
Outraged emotion overcame me utterly, and with my arms thrown across
the box, I slipped into unconsciousness.