THE HORUS STONE
An hour later Phadrig, the poor curio dealer, had disappeared, and Mr
Phadrig Amena, the wonder-working Adept, clad in evening clothes and a
light overcoat, alighted from a hansom at the great entrance to the
Royal Court Mansions. The huge, gorgeously uniformed guardian of the
Gilded Gates was saluting at his elbow in an instant, for a friend of
Princes is a very great man in the eyes of even such dignitaries as he.
"The Prince expects you, sir," he said, loud enough to make the title
heard by those who were standing by. "Will you be good enough to walk
in? I will discharge the cab."
He stood aside with a bow and another salute, and Phadrig walked lightly
up the broad steps. Peter Petroff opened the door of the flat, bowing
low, and conducted him to his master's sanctum. Evidently he was
expected, for the coffee apparatus stood ready on the Moorish table
beside the cosy chair which he was wont to occupy. The Prince, who was
standing on a white bear's skin by the mantel, motioned him to it,
saying:
"Ah, Phadrig, my friend, punctual, of course; and equally, of course,
you have something important to impart. Your wire just caught me in
time to put off an engagement which, happily, is of no great
consequence. There's the coffee, and you'll find the cigars you like in
the second drawer. Now, what is the news?"
His guest filled a cup of coffee and took a cigar and lit it before he
replied. Then, turning to the Prince, he said in his usual slow, even
tone:
"Highness, I regret to say that my news is both urgent and bad."
"It would naturally be urgent," said the Prince, turning quickly towards
him, "but bad I hardly expected. Well, all news cannot be good. What is
it?"
"I fear that my warning was even more urgent than I thought it myself--I
mean, in point of time. Your Highness is already being watched."
"What! A Prince of the Empire, the man whom they call the Modern
Skobeleff, an intimate of Nicholas! What should I be watched for?"
exclaimed the Prince, half angry and half astonished. "The thing is
ridiculous; another of your dreams!"
"Ridiculous it may be, Highness," replied Phadrig, quite unruffled, "but
it is no dream; and, moreover, the eyes which are watching you are keen
ones--and they are everywhere. You are under the surveillance of the
International Police."
These were not words which even a Prince of the Holy Russian Empire
cared to hear. Oscarovitch was silent for a few moments, for the
earnestness, and yet the calmness, with which they were spoken made it
impossible for him to doubt them. As he had asked, what could such a man
as he be watched for by this thousand-eyed organisation of which he
himself was one of the supreme Directors? It was impossible that
these people could suspect his great scheme of treachery and
self-aggrandisement. That was known to only three persons in the
world--himself, Phadrig, and the Princess Hermia; and the Princess, the
woman who had willingly sacrificed her brilliant young husband to her
guilty love and her boundless ambition--no, she could be no traitress.
It must be something else: and yet what?
He took two or three rapid turns up and down the room, chewing and
puffing at his cigar, until he stopped before Phadrig, and said quietly,
but with angry eyes:
"Very well, we will grant that I am watched by the International. Tell
me how you came to know it."
The Egyptian took a few sips of his coffee, and then related almost word
for word his interview with Josephus. He ended by saying:
"Your Highness may believe or not now as you please, but I presume you
will when you read in your paper to-morrow morning of the suicide of a
respectable Hebrew merchant named Isaac Josephus at the address which I
have mentioned."
Oscarovitch had pretty strong nerves, and he was well accustomed to
regard any kind of crime as a quite proper means of furthering
political ends: but there was something in this man's utter
soullessness and the weird horror of the crime which he had just
accomplished--for by this time his victim would be already lying
self-slain on the floor of his own spider's lair--that chilled him,
cold-blooded as he was. He looked at him lounging in his chair and
calmly puffing the smoke from his half-smiling lips as though he hadn't
a thought beyond the little blue rings that he was making.
"That was a devilish thing to do, Phadrig!" he said, a little above a
whisper.
"Devilish, possibly, Highness, but necessary, of a certainty," was the
quiet reply. "You will agree with me that Nicol Hendry is a dangerous
antagonist even for you, and as for me--no doubt he thinks that he can
crush me under his foot whenever he chooses to put it down. I should
like to know his feelings as he reads of his spy's suicide when he had
only just got to work."
"It will certainly be somewhat of a shock to him and his colleagues, and
for that reason I am inclined, on second thoughts, to agree that it was
necessary, and ghastly, as I confess; it seems to me, I think, that you
took the best means to give them a salutary warning. After all, the life
of an individual, and that individual a Jew, does not count for much
when the fate of empires is at stake. What puzzles me is how these
fellows came to suspect me, and what do they suspect me of. I suppose
you have no idea on the subject, have you?"
He looked at him keenly as he spoke, but he might as well have looked at
the face of a graven image. Then, like a flash of inspiration, the
Zastrow affair leapt into his mind. Had his connection with that, by any
extraordinary chance, come to the knowledge of the International? The
thought was distinctly disquieting. Phadrig had helped in this with his
strange arts. He would discuss this phase of the matter with him
afterwards.
Phadrig replied, returning his glance:
"Highness, I have only one explanation to offer, and that you have
already refused. Were I to speak of any other it would only be vain
invention."
"You mean about Professor Marmion and his mathematical miracles?" said
the Prince somewhat uneasily.
"I do," replied the Egyptian firmly. "I say now what I thought when I
saw him work them. I did not believe that any man could have done what
he did unless he had attained to what we styled in the ancient days the
Perfect Knowledge, or, as they term it to-day, passed the border between
the states of three and four dimensions. If Professor Marmion has
achieved that triumph of virtue and intelligence--and in the days that I
can remember there were more than one of the adepts who had done
so--then Your Highness's Imperial designs must be as well known to him
as to yourself: nay, better, for, while you can see only a part, the
beginning and a little way beyond, he can see the whole, even to the
end; for in that state, as we were taught, past, present, and future are
one. Now, only three persons know of the project, and treason among them
is not within the limits of reason, wherefore I would again ask Your
Highness to believe that such information as the International may have
has been given them directly or indirectly by Professor Marmion."
"But," said the Prince, who was now evidently wavering in his
scepticism, since Phadrig's explanation of the mystery really seemed to
be the only feasible one, impossible as it looked to him, "granted all
you say, what possible interest could Professor Marmion, whether he's
living in this world or the one of four dimensions, have in interfering
in such a project, even if he did know all about it, especially as every
educated Englishman admits that the state of affairs in Russia could
hardly be worse than it is? I cannot see what conceivable interest he
can have in the matter."
"But, Highness, his interest may be a private and not a public one."
"What do you mean by that, Phadrig?" asked the Prince sharply.
"As I have said," replied the Egyptian slowly, "it may be that his
daughter, who was once the Queen, has also attained to the Knowledge. In
that case the love which Your Highness so suddenly conceived for her
would instantly bring you within the sphere of his and her influence and
power. Now, she, as Nitocris Marmion, the mortal, is betrothed to the
English officer, Merrill. She loves him, and therefore, since you are
great and powerful in the earth-life, your ruin, or even your death,
might seem necessary to remove you from her path."
Oscarovitch shivered in spite of all his courage and self-control. The
idea of fearing anything human had never occurred to him after his first
battle; but this, if true, was a very different matter. To be threatened
with ruin or death by a power which he could not even see, to contend
against enemies who could read his very thoughts, and even be present in
a room with him without his knowing it--as Phadrig had assured him more
than once that they could be--was totally beyond the power of the
bravest or strongest of men. No, it was impossible: he could not, would
not, believe that, such a thing could be. His invincible materialism
came suddenly to his aid, and saved him from the reproach of fear in his
own eyes.
"No, Phadrig," he said, with a gesture of impatience, "that is not to be
credited. To you it may seem a reality: to me it can never be anything
more than a phantasy of intellect run mad on a single point--which, I
need hardly remind you, is a by no means uncommon failing of the
greatest of minds. Another reason has just occurred to me which would
need no such fantastic explanation."
"And that, Highness?" queried Phadrig, looking up with an almost
imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.
"The Zastrow affair. Unlikely as it seems, it is not impossible that
there has been treason there. I have many enemies in both Russia and
Germany, and it is well known that Zastrow and I were rivals once. Yes,
that is it: it must be so, and therefore we must prepare to fight the
International; and with such weapons as you are able to use there is not
much reason why we should fear them."
He dismissed the subject with an imperious wave of his hand, and
continued in an altered tone:
"And now, _àpropos_ of your weapons. Tell me something about this
wonderful gem with which you hypnotised the Jew."
"I will not only tell you about it, Highness, I will show it to you, if
you desire to see it," replied Phadrig, who now fully recognised the
hopelessness of overcoming the blind materialism which was, of course,
inevitable to the life-condition in which the Prince had his present
being.
"What! you have brought it with you! Excellent! Now I think we shall be
able to talk on pleasanter subjects than conspiracies and such phantasms
as the Fourth Dimension!" exclaimed Oscarovitch, who, like all Russians,
was almost passionately fond of gems. "Fancy asking a Russian if he
desires to see such a thing as that!"
"Your Excellency must be careful not to look at it too long or closely,"
said Phadrig, putting his hand down inside his waistcoat and drawing out
a wash-leather bag. "As I have told you, it possesses certain qualities
which are not to be trifled with. You are, of course, aware that many
Eastern gems are credited with hypnotic powers. This one undoubtedly has
them."
As he spoke he drew out the emerald, and held it by the clasp under a
cluster of electric lights.
"What a glorious gem!" exclaimed the Prince, starting forward to look at
it more closely. "There is nothing to compare with it even among the
Imperial jewels of Russia."
"Have a care, Highness," said the Egyptian, raising his left hand,
"unless you wish to fall under its influence. Once it seized your gaze
you could not withdraw it without the permission of its possessor, and
meanwhile he would have complete mastery of you. I am your faithful
servant, and therefore I warn you."
Was there just the faintest suspicion of a sneer in his voice as he said
this? If there was, Oscarovitch did not notice it. He was already too
much under the charm of the Horus Stone. Phadrig suddenly put his hand
over the gem and went on. "The story of this jewel, Highness, is that
many ages ago, before the beginning of the First Dynasty, a little raft
of a strange wood, as white as ivory and shaped like a river-lily, came
floating down the Nile at full flood-time and drifted to the shore in
front of the house of a wise and holy man who was reputed to hold
perpetual communion with the gods. On the raft was a cradle of white
wicker-work lined with down, upon which lay a man-child of such
exquisite beauty that he could scarce have been born of mortal parents.
His body was bare, but round his neck was a glistening chain of
marvellously wrought gold, fastened to which was this gem lying on his
breast. This was doubtless the origin of the Hebrew fable of the finding
of Moses, who, as all scholars know, was not a Hebrew, but an Egyptian
priest in the House of Ra.
"The holy man took him into his home, burying the chain and gem, lest it
might bring temptation to those who saw them; and as the boy grew to
manhood he taught him all his lore, until he, too, was wise enough to be
admitted into the communion of the gods, which afterwards was called by
the adepts the Perfect Knowledge. On the gem are engraved the three
symbols by which the Trinity--Osiris, Isis, and Horus; Father: Mother,
and Child, the antetype of Humanity--became known and worshipped. The
holy man divined that the boy was the incarnation of Horus sent thus to
earth to teach men the way of knowledge, which is the only
righteousness, since those who know all cannot sin. Where his house
stood was built the first Temple of the Divine Trinity, and of this
Horus became High Priest. He crowned the King in the land, and hung this
gem round his neck as the symbol of his kingship and the approval of the
gods.
"From the first king it was handed down from monarch to monarch through
all the changes of dynasties, until it hung from the royal chain of the
great Rameses; and by him it was given to his daughter Nitocris, thereby
making her Queen of Egypt after him; and she wore it on that fatal
night of the death-bridal when, rather than wed with you, who were then
Menkau-Ra, Lord of War, she flooded the banqueting hall of Pepi and
drowned herself and all her guests--which, Highness, is an omen that it
were well for you not to forget should you persist in your pursuit of
the daughter of Professor Marmion."
Oscarovitch was a man of vivid imagination, as all great soldiers and
statesmen must be, and so the story of the Horus Stone appealed strongly
to him; but what interested him perhaps even more was the spectacle of
this man, who had just been guilty of a peculiarly ghastly form of
murder, sitting there and telling with simple eloquence and evident
reverence the sacred Myth out of which what was perhaps the most ancient
religion in the world had evolved. He heard him with a silence of both
interest and respect until his last sentence. Then he got up and
stretched his arms out and said with a laugh:
"Omen, Phadrig! Your tale of the stone has interested me deeply, but I
believe no more in the omen than I do in the story. Ay, and even if I
did, I would dare all the omens that wizards ever invented for their own
profit in trying to make Nitocris Marmion what I want her to be, and
what she shall be unless she is the cause of my first failure to achieve
what I had set my heart upon. But you have not finished your story. Tell
me now how the stone came into your possession, seeing that it was swept
out into the Nile hanging on the breast of the Royal Nitocris."
"The next season of Flood, so the records ran, Highness, the skeleton of
a woman was washed up to the foot of the river stairs of the House of
Ptah, and the stone and chain were found among the weeds which filled
the cavity of the chest. They were taken with all reverence to the High
Priest, who bore them to the Pharaoh, and, amidst great rejoicing, hung
them round his neck. Then from Pharaoh to Pharaoh it came down through
the centuries until it fell into the possession of her who wrought the
ruin of the Ancient Land. She gave the stone to her lover, and from his
body it was taken by a priest of the Ancient Faith who once was
Anemen-Ha, and is now Phadrig Amena, the degenerate worker of mean
marvels which the ignorant of these days would call miracles did they
not take them for conjuring tricks.
"Since then it remained hidden, seen only by the successors of him who
rescued it from the plunderers of the body of Antony, until, seemingly
in the way of trade, yet doubtless for some deep reason which is not
revealed to me, it came back into my hands again. Such so far, Highness,
is the end of the story of the Stone of Horus."
"And doubtless more yet remains to be written or told," said the Prince
seriously, for he was really impressed in spite of his scepticism. Then,
after a little pause, he continued: "Phadrig, you have said that the
stone is dangerous to any but its possessor. I wish to possess it. Name
your price, and, to half my fortune, you shall have it."
"The stone, Highness," replied the Egyptian, with the shadow of a smile
flickering across his lips, "never has been, and never can be, sold for
money, so I could not sell it, even if money had value for me, which it
has not. There is only one price for it."
"And what is that?"
"A human life--perchance many lives--but all to be paid in succession by
him or her who buys it, unless he or she shall attain to the Perfect
Knowledge."
"Give it to me, then!" exclaimed Oscarovitch, holding out his hand. "The
life I have I will gladly pay for it in the hope of laying it on the
breast of the living Nitocris. As I do not believe in any others, I will
throw them in. Give it to me!"
"It is a perilous possession, Highness, for one who has not even
attained to the Greater Knowledge, as I have. Let me warn you to think
again, for once you take it from me the price must be paid to the
uttermost pang of the doom that it may bring with it."
"I care nothing about your knowledges, Phadrig," laughed the Prince,
still holding out his hand. "It is enough for me to know that it is the
most glorious gem on earth, and that it shall help me to win the
divinest woman on earth. So, once more, give it to me!"
"Take it, then, Highness," said the Egyptian, with a ring of solemnity
in his voice. "Take, and with it all that the High Gods may have in
store for you!"
He dropped the more than priceless gem into his hand with as little
reluctance as he would have given him a brass trinket. Then he turned
away to take another cigar, leaving Oscarovitch gazing in silent ecstasy
at, as he thought, his easily-come-by treasure. Then the Prince went to
a large panel picture fixed to the wall on the left-hand side of the
fireplace, touched it with his finger, and it swung aside, disclosing
the door of a small safe built into the wall. He unlocked this, placed
the stone in an inner drawer, closed the safe, and put the picture back
in its place.
When he sat down again, he said:
"My good friend, I know that it is useless for me to thank you, for even
if you wanted thanks I could not do justice to the occasion, as they say
in speeches: but I want to ask you just one more question, and then I
won't keep you any longer from that delightful Oriental Club of yours
which I suppose you are bound to. Now that I have got the stone I am, as
you may well believe, more than anxious to find the lady to whom it
shall belong--again, as I suppose you would say. To my great disgust,
the Professor and his daughter have disappeared from the sphere of
London society for a holiday _à deux_, and have, apparently with intent,
left all their friends in ignorance of their destination. Have you any
idea of it? I know that that Coptic woman whom you employ has been
ordered to keep a sharp watch on the movements of Miss Nitocris."
"Yes, Highness," replied Phadrig, "and she has obeyed her orders. The
day before they left she waylaid that pretty maid of Miss Marmion's on
the Common, and told her fortune. Of course, she talked the usual jargon
about lovers and letters and going on a journey, and the maid quite
innocently let out that she was going with her master and mistress by
steamer to Denmark and up the coast of Norway, and then over to Iceland
by the passenger steamers, and that she did not like the idea at all,
because she knew that she would be very seasick."
"Excellent! the very thing!" exclaimed the Prince. "It couldn't be
better if I had arranged it myself. My yacht is down in the Solent
waiting for Cowes Week. I'll be afloat to-morrow. Give that woman a
ten-pound note from me with my blessing. Now, I shall leave everything
else to you. Do what you think fit with regard to our friends of the
International. Kill as many of their spies as you can with safety, and
make the chiefs believe that they are fighting the Devil himself. And
now, good-night."
When Peter Petroff brought him the papers the next morning, the Prince
took up the _Telegraph_, and turned to the page devoted to the minor
events of the previous day. His eye was almost immediately caught by a
paragraph headed:
"SUICIDE IN THE WATERLOO ROAD
"Shortly after seven last evening the passers-by on the eastern
side of this thoroughfare were startled by hearing the report of a
firearm, apparently coming from the office of Mr Isaac Josephus at
138a. Constable 206 Q., who was on point-duty near the spot, had
seen Mr Josephus enter the office with his key only a few minutes
before, walking in a rather curious way, and staring straight
before him. As the door was locked, the officer thought it his duty
to force it. The door of the inner office was also locked, and when
this was opened, the unfortunate man was found lying across the
desk with a bullet wound in his temple. His right hand still
clutched a cheap revolver which was loaded in five chambers. There
appears at present to have been no reason for the rash act. Mr
Josephus was a broker dealing chiefly in curios and antique
jewellery. Although not in a large way of business, his affairs are
understood to have been in a prosperous condition. What makes the
tragedy all the more strange is the fact that suicide is almost
unknown among persons of the Jewish faith."
Oscarovitch felt a little shiver run down his back as he read the
commonplace lines. The man who had done this had been in this room with
him a few hours before, and one of the means of murder was now in his
safe. It would have been just as easy for Phadrig to have caused him to
look upon the fatal gem, left a bottle of poison with him, and told him
to take it as medicine on going to bed. The only difference would have
been that there would have been a very much greater sensation in the
papers.
Nicol Hendry was reading the paragraph about the same time. His eyes
contracted, and he stroked his beard with slow motions of his hand. The
hand was steady, but even his nerves quivered a little. He divined
instantly how the suicide-murder had been brought about, and this very
fact, coupled with the absolute impossibility of proving anything, made
the affair all the more disquieting.
"So that is the sort of thing we've got to fight, is it? I don't like
it. Still, it goes far to prove that the Professor was perfectly right
when he told me to keep a sharp eye on Mr Phadrig Amena."