disappeared.
CHAPTER VIII
THE GREEN-EYED JOSS
Sinister silence reclaimed the house of Ah-Fang-Fu. And Ah-Fang-Fu
resumed his solitary game.
_"He_ recognised 'Le Belafre'" whispered Max--"and was surprised to
see him! So there are three of the gang here! Did you particularly
observe in which bunks they lay, doctor. _Ssh!"_
A voice from a bunk had commenced to sing monotonously.
_"Peyala peah,"_ it sang, weird above the murmured accompaniment of
the other dreaming smokers and the _wash-wash_ of the tide--_"To
myn-na-peah-Phir Kysee ko kyah ..."_
"He is speaking from an opium-trance," said Stuart softly. "A native
song: 'If a cup of wine is drunk, and I have drunk it, what of that?'"
_"Mon Dieu!_ it is uncanny!" whispered Max. _"Brr!_ do you hear those
rats? I am wondering in what order we shall be admitted to the
'Scorpion's' presence, or if we shall see him together."
"He may come in here."
"All the better."
"Gimme 'nother pipe, Pidgin," drawled a very drowsy voice from Bill
Bean's corner.
Ah-Fang-Fu left his eternal arranging and rearranging of the cards and
crossed the room. He took the opium-pipe from the fireman's limp
fingers and returning to the box, refilled and lighted it. Max and
Stuart watched him in silence until he had handed the second pipe to
the man and returned to his chair.
"We must be very careful," said Stuart. "We do not know which are real
smokers and which are not."
Again there was a weird interruption. A Chinaman lying in one of the
bunks began to chant in a monotonous far-away voice:
_"Chong-liou-chouay
Om mani padme hum."_
"The Buddhist formula," whispered Stuart. _"He_ is a real smoker.
Heavens! the reek is choking me!"
The chant was repeated, the words dying away into a long murmur.
Ah-Fang-Fu continued to shuffle the cards. And presently Bill Bean's
second pipe dropped from his fingers. His husky voice spoke almost
inaudibly.
"I'm ... old ... Bill ... Bean ... I ..."
A deep-noted siren hooted dimly.
"A steamer making for dock," whispered Max. _"Brr!_ it is a nightmare,
this! I think in a minute something will happen. _Ssh!"_
Ah-Fang-Fu glanced slowly around. Then he stood up, raised the lamp
from the table and made a tour of the bunks, shining the light in upon
the faces of the occupants. Max watched him closely, hoping to learn
in which bunks the members of 'The Scorpion's' group lay. But he was
disappointed. Ah-Fang-Fu examined _all_ the bunks and even shone the
light down upon Stuart and Max. He muttered to himself constantly, but
seemed to address no one.
Replacing the lamp on the box, he whistled softly; and:----
"Look!" breathed Max. "The stair again!"
Stuart cautiously turned his eyes toward the open stair.
On the platform above stood a bent old hag whose witch-eyes were
searching the place keenly! With a curiously lithe step, for all her
age, she descended, and standing behind Ah-Fang-Fu tapped him on the
shoulder and pointed to the outer door. He stood up and shuffled
across, went up the four steps and unbarred the door.
_"Tchee, tchee,"_ he chattered. "Pidgin make a look-out."
He went out and closed the door.
"Something happens!" whispered Max.
A gong sounded.
"Ah!"
The old woman approached the matting curtain hung over a portion of
the wall, raised it slightly in the centre--where it opened--and
disappeared beyond.
"You see!" said Stuart excitedly.
"Yes! it is the audience-chamber of 'The Scorpion'!"
The ancient hag came out again, crossed to a bunk and touched its
occupant, a Chinaman, with her hand. He immediately shot up and
followed her. The two disappeared beyond the curtain.
"What shall we do," said Stuart, "if _you_ are summoned?"
"I shall throw open those curtains the moment I reach them, and
present my pistol at the head of whoever is on the other side.
You--_ssh!"_
The old woman reappeared, looked slowly around and then held the
curtains slightly apart to allow of the Chinaman's coming out. He
saluted her by touching his head, lips and breast with his right hand,
then passed up to the door communicating with the shop, which he
opened, and went out.
His voice came, muffled:
"Fo-Hi!"
"Fo-Hi," returned the high voice of Ah-Fang-Fu.
The outer door was opened and shut. The old woman went up and barred
the inner door, then returned and stood by the matting curtain. The
sound of the water below alone broke the silence. It was the hour of
high tide.
"There goes the first fish into Dunbar's net!" whispered Max.
The gong sounded again.
Thereupon the old woman crossed to another bunk and conducted a
brown-skinned Eastern into the hidden room. Immediately they had
disappeared:
"As I pull the curtains aside," continued Max rapidly, "blow the
whistle and run across and unbar the door...."
So engrossed was he in giving these directions, and so engrossed was
Stuart in listening to them, that neither detected a faint creak which
proceeded from almost immediately behind them. This sound was
occasioned by the slow and cautious opening of that sunken, heavy door
near to which they lay--the door which communicated with the labyrinth
of cellars. Inch by inch from the opening protruded the head of
Ah-Fang-Fu!
"If the Chinaman offers any resistance," Max went on, speaking very
rapidly--_"morbleu!_ you have the means to deal with him! In a word,
admit the police. _Sh!_ what is that!"
A moaning voice from one of the bunks came.
_"Cheal kegur-men, mas ka dheer!"_
"A native adage," whispered Stuart. "He is dreaming. 'There is always
meat in a kite's nest.'"
_"Eh bien!_ very true--and I think the kite is at home!"
The head of Ah-Fang-Fu vanished. A moment later the curtains opened
again slightly and the old woman came out, ushering the brown man. He
saluted her and unbarred the door, going out.
"Fo-Hi," came dimly.
There was no definite answer--only the sound of a muttered colloquy;
and suddenly the brown man returned and spoke to the old woman in a
voice so low that his words were inaudible to the two attentive
listeners in the distant corner.
"Ah!" whispered Max--"what now?"
"Shall we rush the curtain!" said Stuart.
"No!" Max grasped his arm--"wait! wait! See! he is going out. He has
perhaps forgotten something. A second fish in the net."
The Oriental went up the steps into the shop. The old woman closed
and barred the door, then opened the matting curtain and disappeared
within.
"I was right," said Max.
But for once in his career he was wrong.
She was out again almost immediately and bending over a bunk close to
the left of the masked opening. The occupant concealed in its shadow
did not rise and follow her, however. She seemed to be speaking to
him. Stuart and Max watched intently.
The head of Ah-Fang-Fu reappeared in the doorway behind them.
"Now is our time!" whispered Max tensely. "As I rush for the curtains,
you run to the shop door and get it unbolted, whistling for Dunbar----"
Ah-Fang-Fu, fully opening the door behind them, crept out stealthily.
"Have your pistol ready," continued Max, "and first put the whistle
between your teeth----"
Ah-Fang-Fu silently placed his bowler hat upon the floor, shook down
his long pigtail, and moving with catlike tread, stooping, drew nearer.
_"Now, doctor!"_ cried Max.
Both sprang to their feet. Max leapt clear of the matting and other
litter and dashed for the curtain. He reached it, seized it and tore
bodily from its fastenings. Behind him the long flat note of a police
whistle sounded--and ended abruptly.
_"Ah! Nom d'un nom!"_ cried Max.
A cunningly devised door--looking like a section of solid brick and
plaster wall--was closing slowly--heavily. Through the opening which
yet remained he caught a glimpse of a small room, draped with Chinese
dragon tapestry and having upon a raised, carpeted dais a number of
cushions forming a _diwan_ and an inlaid table bearing a silver snuff
vase. A cowled figure was seated upon the dais. The door closed
completely. Within a niche in its centre sat a yellow leering idol,
green eyed and complacent.
Wild, gurgling cries brought Max sharply about.
An answering whistle sounded from the street outside ... a second ...
a third.
Ah-Fang-Fu, stooping ever lower, at the instant that Stuart had sprung
to his feet had seized his ankle from behind, pitching him on to his
face. It was then that the note of the whistle had ceased. Now, the
Chinaman had his long pigtail about Stuart's neck, at which Stuart,
prone with the other kneeling upon his body, plucked vainly.
Max raised his pistol ... and from the bunk almost at his elbow leapt
Miguel the quadroon, a sand-bag raised. It descended upon the
Frenchman's skull ... and he crumbled up limply and collapsed upon
the floor. There came a crash of broken glass from the shop.
Uttering a piercing cry, the old woman staggered from the door near
which she had been standing as if stricken helpless, during the
lightning moments in which these things had happened--and advanced in
the direction of Ah-Fang-Fu.
"Ah, God! You kill him! You _kill_ him?" she moaned.
"Through the window, Sowerby! This way!" came Dunbar's voice. "Max!
Max!"
The sustained note of a whistle, a confusion of voices and a sound of
heavy steps proclaimed the entrance of the police into the shop and
the summoning of reinforcements.
Ah-Fang-Fu rose. Stuart had ceased to struggle. The Chinaman replaced
his hat and looked up at the woman, whose eyes glared madly into his
own.
_"Tche', tche'e,"_ he said sibilantly--_"Tchon-dzee-ti Fan-Fu.*"_
* "Yes, yes. It is the will of the Master."
"Down with the door!" roared Dunbar.
The woman threw herself, with a wild sob, upon the motionless body of
Stuart.
Ensued a series of splintering crashes, and finally the head of an
axe appeared through the panels of the door. Ah-Fang-Fu tried to
drag the woman away, but she clung to Stuart desperately and was
immovable. Thereupon the huge quadroon, running across the room,
swept them both up into his giant embrace, man and woman together,
and bore them down by the sunken doorway into the cellars below!
The shop door fell inwards, crashing down the four steps, and Dunbar
sprang into the place, revolver in hand, followed by Inspector Kelly
and four men of the River Police, one of whom carried a hurricane
lantern. Ah-Fang-Fu had just descended after Miguel and closed the
heavy door.
"Try this way, boys!" cried Kelly, and rushed up the stair. The four
men followed him. The lantern was left on the floor. Dunbar stared
about him. Sowerby and several other men entered. Suddenly Dunbar saw
Gaston Max lying on the floor.
"My God!" he cried--"they have killed him!"
He ran across, knelt and examined Max, pressing his ear against his
breast.
Inspector Kelly reaching the top of the stairs and finding the door
locked, hurled his great bulk against it and burst it open.
"Follow me, boys!" he cried. "Take care! Bring the lantern, somebody."
The fourth man grasped the lantern and all followed the Inspector up
the stair and out through the doorway. His voice came dimly:
"Mind the beam! Pass the light forward...."
Sowerby was struggling with the door by which Miguel and Ah-Fang-Fu
unseen had made their escape and Dunbar, having rested Max's head upon
a pillow, was glaring all about him, his square jaw set grimly and his
eyes fierce with anger.
A voice droned from a bunk:
_"Cheal kegur men ms ka-dheer!"_
The police were moving from bunk to bunk, scrutinising the occupants.
The uproar had penetrated to them even in their drugged slumbers.
There were stirrings and mutterings and movements of yellow hands.
"But where is 'The Scorpion'?"
He turned and stared at the wall from which the matting had been
torn. And out of the little niche in the cunningly masked door the
green-eyed joss leered at him complacently.
PART IV
THE LAIR OF THE SCORPION
CHAPTER I
THE SUBLIME ORDER
Stuart awoke to a discovery so strange that for some time he found
himself unable to accept its reality. He passed his hands over his
face and eyes and looked about him dazedly. He experienced great
pain in his throat, and he could feel that his neck was swollen. He
stared down at his ankles, which also were throbbing agonisingly--to
learn that they were confined in gyves attached by a short chain to
a ring in the floor!
He was lying upon a deep _diwan,_ which was covered with leopard-skins
and which occupied one corner of the most extraordinary room he had
ever seen or ever could have imagined. He sat up, but was immediately
overcome with faintness which he conquered with difficulty.
The apartment, then, was one of extraordinary Oriental elegance,
having two entrances closed with lacquer sliding doors. Chinese lamps
swung from the ceiling, illuminated it warmly, and a great number of
large and bright silk cushions were strewn about the floor. There
were tapestries in black and gold, rich carpets and couches, several
handsome cabinets and a number of tall cases of Oriental workmanship
containing large and strangely bound books, scientific paraphernalia,
curios and ornaments.
At the further end of the room was a deep tiled hearth in which stood
a kind of chemical furnace which hissed constantly. Upon ornate small
tables and pedestals were vases and cases--one of the latter
containing a number or orchids, in flower.
Preserved lizards, snakes, and other creatures were in a row of jars
upon a shelf, together with small skeletons of animals in frames.
There was also a perfect human skeleton. Near the centre of the room
was a canopied chair, of grotesque Chinese design, upon a dais, a big
bronze bell hanging from it; and near to the _diwan_ upon which Stuart
was lying stood a large, very finely carved table upon which were some
open faded volumes and a litter of scientific implements. Near the
table stood a very large bowl of what looked like platinum, upon a
tripod, and several volumes lay scattered near it upon the carpet.
From a silver incense-burner arose a pencilling of blue smoke.
One of the lacquer doors slid noiselessly open and a man entered,
Stuart inhaled sibilantly and clenched his fists.
The new-comer wore a cowled garment of some dark blue material which
enveloped him from head to feet. It possessed oval eye-holes, and
through these apertures gleamed two eyes which looked scarcely like
the eyes of a human being. They were of that brilliant yellow color
sometimes seen in the eyes of tigers, and their most marked and awful
peculiarity was their unblinking regard. They seemed always to be open
to their fullest extent, and Stuart realized with anger that it was
impossible to sustain for long the piercing gaze of Fo-Hi ... for he
knew that he was in the presence of "The Scorpion"!
Walking with a slow and curious dignity, the cowled figure came across
to the table, first closing the lacquer door. Stuart's hands
convulsively clutched the covering of the _diwan_ as the sinister
figure approached. The intolerable gaze of those weird eyes had
awakened a horror, a loathing horror, within him, such as he never
remembered to have experienced in regard to any human being. It was
the sort of horror which the proximity of a poisonous serpent
occasions--or the nearness of a scorpion....
Fo-Hi seated himself at the table.
Absolute silence reigned in the big room, except for the hissing of
the furnace. No sound penetrated from the outer world. Having no means
of judging how long he had been insensible, Stuart found himself
wondering if the raid on the den of Ah-Fang-Fu had taken place hours
before, days earlier, or weeks ago.
Taking up a test-tube from a rack on the table, Fo-Hi held it near a
lamp and examined the contents--a few drops of colourless fluid. These
he poured into a curious long-necked yellow bottle. He began to speak,
but without looking at Stuart.
His diction was characteristic, resembling his carriage in that it was
slow and distinctive. He seemed deliberately to choose each word and
to give to it all its value, syllable by syllable. His English was
perfect to the verge of the pedantic; and his voice was metallic and
harsh, touching at time, when his words were vested with some subtle
or hidden significance, guttural depths which betrayed the Chinaman.
He possessed uncanny dignity as of tremendous intellect and conscious
power.
"I regret that you were so rash as to take part in last night's
abortive raid, Dr. Stuart," he said.
Stuart started. So he had been unconscious for many hours!
"Because of your professional acquirements at one time I had
contemplated removing you," continued the unemotional voice. "But I
rejoice to think that I failed. It would have been an error of
judgement. I have useful work for such men. You shall assist in the
extensive laboratories of my distinguished predecessor."
"Never!" snapped Stuart.
The man's callousness was so purposeful and deliberate that it awed.
He seemed like one who stands above all ordinary human frailties and
emotions.
"Your prejudice is natural," rejoined Fo-Hi calmly. "You are ignorant
of our sublime motives, but you shall nevertheless assist us to
establish that intellectual control which is destined to be the new
World Force. No doubt you are conscious of a mental hiatus extending
from the moment when you found the pigtail of the worthy Ah-Fang-Fu
about your throat until that when you recovered consciousness in this
room. It has covered a period roughly of twenty-four hours, Dr. Stuart."
"I don't believe it," muttered Stuart--and found his own voice to
seem as unreal as everything else in the nightmare apartment. "If I
had not revived earlier, I should never have revived at all."
He raised his hand to his swollen throat, touching it gingerly.
"Your unconsciousness was prolonged," explained Fo-Hi, consulting an
open book written in Chinese characters, "by an injection which I
found it necessary to make. Otherwise, as you remark, it would have
been prolonged indefinitely. Your clever but rash companion was less
happy."
"What!" cried Stuart--"he is dead? You fiend! You damned yellow
fiend!" Emotion shook him and he sat clutching the leopard-skins and
glaring madly at the cowled figure.
"Fortunately," resumed Fo-Hi, "my people--with one exception--
succeeded in making their escape. I may add that the needless scuffling
attendant upon arresting this unfortunate follower of mine,
immediately outside the door of the house, led to the discovery of
your own presence. Nevertheless, the others departed safely. My own
departure is imminent; it has been because of certain domestic details
and by the necessity of awaiting nightfall. You see, I am frank with
you."
"Because the grave is silent!"
"The grave, and ... China. There is no other alternative in your
case."
"Are you sure that there is no other in your own?" asked Stuart
huskily.
"An alternative to my returning to China? Can you suggest one?"
"The scaffold!" cried Stuart furiously, "for you and the scum who
follow you!"
Fo-Hi lighted a Bunsen burner.
"I trust not," he rejoined placidly. "With two exceptions, all my
people are out of England."
Stuart's heart began to throb painfully. With two exceptions! Did
Miska still remain? He conquered his anger and tried to speak calmly,
recognising how he lay utterly in the power of this uncanny being and
how closely his happiness was involved even if he escaped with life.
"And you?" he said.
"In these matters, Dr. Stuart," replied Fo-Hi, "I have always
modelled my behavior upon that of the brilliant scientist who
preceded me as European representative of our movement. Your
beautiful Thames is my highway as it was his highway. No one of my
immediate neighbours has ever seen me or my once extensive following
enter this house." He selected an empty test-tube. "No one shall see
me leave."
The unreality of it all threatened to swamp Stuart's mind again, but
he forced himself to speak calmly.
"Your own escape is just possible, if some vessel awaits you; but do
you imagine for a moment that you can carry me to China and elude
pursuit?"
Fo-Hi, again consulting the huge book with its yellow faded characters,
answered him absently.
"Do you recall the death of the Grand Duke Ivan?" he said. "Does your
memory retain the name of Van Rembold and has your Scotland Yard yet
satisfied itself that Sir Frank Narcombe died from 'natural causes'?
Then, there was Ericksen, the most brilliant European electrical
expert of the century, who died quite suddenly last year. I honor
you, Dr. Stuart, by inviting you to join a company so distinguished."
"You are raving! What have these men in common with me?"
Stuart found himself holding his breath as he awaited a reply--for he
knew that he was on the verge of learning that which poor Gaston Max
had given his life to learn. A moment Fo-Hi hesitated--and in that
moment his captive recognised, and shuddered to recognise, that he
won this secret too late. Then:
"The Grand Duke is a tactician who, had he remained in Europe, might
well have readjusted the frontiers of his country. Van Rembold, as a
mining engineer, stands alone, as does Henrik Ericksen in the
electrical world. As for Sir Frank Narcombe, he is beyond doubt the
most brilliant surgeon of today, and I, a judge of men, count you his
peer in the realm of pure therapeutics. Whilst your studies in
snake-poisons (which were narrowly watched for us in India) give you
an unique place in toxicology. These great men will be some of your
companions in China."
"In China!"
"In China, Dr. Stuart, where I hope you will join them. You
misapprehend the purpose of my mission. It is not destructive,
although neither I nor my enlightened predecessor have ever scrupled
to remove any obstacle from the path of that world-change which no
human power can check or hinder; it is primarily constructive. No
state or group of states can hope to resist the progress of a movement
guided and upheld by a monopoly of the world's genius. The Sublime
Order, of which I am an unworthy member, stands for such a movement."
"Rest assured it will be crushed."
"Van Rembold is preparing radium in quantities hitherto unknown from
the vast pitchblend deposits of Ho-Nan--which industry we control. He
visited China arrayed in his shroud, and he travelled in a handsome
Egyptian sarcophagus purchased at Sotherby's on behalf of a Chinese
collector."
Fo-Hi stood up and crossed to the hissing furnace. He busied himself
with some obscure experiment which proceeded there, and:
"Your own state-room will be less romantic, Dr. Stuart," he said,
speaking without turning his head; "possibly a packing-case. In brief,
that intellectual giant who achieved to much for the Sublime Order--my
immediate predecessor in office--devised a means of inducing
artificial catalepsy----"
"My God!" muttered Stuart, as the incredible, the appalling truth
burst upon his mind.
"My own rather hazardous delay," continued Fo-Hi, "is occasioned in
some measure by my anxiety to complete the present experiment. Its
product will be your passport to China."
Carrying a tiny crucible, he returned to the table.
Stuart felt that his self-possession was deserting him. Madness
threatened ... If he was not already mad. He forced himself to speak.
"You taunt me because I am helpless. I do not believe that those men
have been spirited into China. Even if it were so, they would die, as
I would die, rather than prostitute their talents to such mad infamy."
Fo-Hi carefully poured the contents of the crucible into a flat
platinum pan.
"In China, Dr. Stuart," he said, "we know how to _make_ men work! I
myself am the deviser of a variant of the unduly notorious _kite_
device and the scarcely less celebrated 'Six Gates of Wisdom.' I term
it The Feast of a Thousand Ants. It is performed with the aid of
African driver ant, a pair of surgical scissors and a pot of honey.
I have observed you studying with interest the human skeleton yonder.
It is that of one of my followers--a Nubian mute--who met with an
untimely end quite recently. You are wondering, no doubt, how I
obtained the frame in so short a time? My African driver ants, Dr.
Stuart, of which I have three large cases in a cellar below this room,
performed the task for me in exactly sixty-nine minutes."
Stuart strained frenziedly at his gyves.
"My God!" he groaned. "All I have heard of you was the merest
flattery. You are either a fiend or a madman!"
"When you are enlisted as a member of the Sublime Order," said Fo-Hi
softly, "and you awaken in China, Dr. Stuart--you will work. We have
no unwilling recruits."
"Stop your accursed talk. I have heard enough."
But the metallic voice continued smoothly:
"I appreciate the difficulty which you must experience in grasping the
true significance of this movement. You have seen mighty nations,
armed with every known resource of science, at a deadlock on the
battlefield. You naturally fail to perceive how a group of Oriental
philosophers can achieve what the might of Europe failed to achieve.
You will remember, in favour of my claims, that we command the
service of the world's genius, and have a financial backing which
could settle the national loans of the world! In other words,
exhumation of a large percentage of the great men who have died in
recent years would be impossible. Their tombs are empty."
"I have heard enough. Drug me, kill me; but spare me your confidences."
"In the crowded foyer of a hotel," continued Fo-Hi imperturbably, "of
a theatre, of a concert-room; in the privacy of their home, of their
office; wherever opportunity offered, I caused them to be touched
with the point of a hypodermic needle such as this." He held up a
small hypodermic syringe.
"It contained a minute quantity of the serum which I am now
preparing--the serum whose discovery was the crowning achievement of
a great scientist's career (I refer, Dr. Stuart, to my brilliant
predecessor). They were buried alive; but no surgeon in Europe or
America would have hesitated to certify them dead. Aided by a group
of six Hindu fanatics, trained as _Lughais_ (grave-diggers), it was
easy to gain access to their resting-places. One had the misfortune to
be cremated by his family--a great loss to my Council. But the others
are now in China, at our headquarters. They are labouring day and
night to bring this war-scarred world under the sceptre of an Eastern
Emperor."
"Faugh!" cried Stuart. "The whole of that war-scarred world will stand
armed before you!"
"We realise that, doctor; therefore we are prepared for it. We spoke
of the Norwegian Henrick Ericksen. This is his most recent
contribution to our armament."
Fo-Hi rested on long yellow hand upon a kind of model searchlight.
"I nearly committed the clumsy indiscretion of removing you with this
little instrument," he said. "You recall the episode? Ericksen's
Disintegrating Ray, Dr. Stuart. The model, here, possesses a limited
range, of course, but the actual instrument has a compass of seven and
a half miles. It can readily be carried by a heavy plane! One such
plane in a flight from Suez to Port Said, could destroy all the
shipping in the Canal and explode every grain of ammunition on either
shore! Since I must leave England to-night, the model must be
destroyed, and unfortunately a good collection of bacilli has already
suffered the same fate."
Placidly, slowly, and unmoved from his habit of unruffled dignity,
Fo-Hi placed the model in a deep mortar, whilst Stuart watched him
speechless and aghast. He poured the contents of a large pan into the
mortar, whereupon a loud hissing sound broke the awesome silence of
the room and a cloud of fumes arose.
"Not a trace, doctor!" said the cowled man. "A little preparation of
my own. It destroys the hardest known substance--with the solitary
exception of a certain clay--in the same way that nitric acid would
destroy tissue paper. You see I might have aspired to become famous
among safe-breakers."
"You have preferred to become infamous among murderers!" snapped
Stuart.
"To murder, Dr. Stuart, I have never stooped. I am a specialist in
selective warfare. When you visit the laboratory of our chief chemist
in Kiangsu you will be shown the whole of the armory of the Sublime
Order. I regret that the activities of your zealous and painfully
inquisitive friend, M. Gaston Max, have forced me to depart from
England before I had completed my work here."
"I pray you may never depart," murmured Stuart.
Fo-Hi having added some bright green fluid to that in the flat pan,
had now poured the whole into a large test-tube, and was holding it
in the flame of the burner. At the moment that it reached the boiling
point it became colourless. He carefully placed the whole of the
liquid in a retort to which he attached a condensor. He stood up.
Crossing to a glass case which rested upon a table near the _diwan_
he struck it lightly with his hand. The case contained sand and
fragments of rock, but as Fo-Hi struck it, out from beneath the pieces
of rock darted black active creatures.
"The common black scorpion of Southern India," he said softly. "Its
venom is the basis of the priceless formula, _F. Katalepsis,_ upon
which the structure of our Sublime Order rests, Dr. Stuart; hence the
adoption of a scorpion as our device."
He took up a long slender flask.
"This virus prepared from a glandular secretion of the Chinese
swamp-adder is also beyond price. Again-the case upon the pedestal
yonder contains five perfect bulbs, three already in flower, as you
observe, of an orchid discovered by our chief chemist in certain
forests of Burma. It only occurs at extremely rare intervals--eighty
years or more--and under highly special conditions. If the other two
bulbs flower, I shall be enabled to obtain from the blooms a minimum
quantity of an essential oil for which the nations of the earth, if
they knew its properties, would gladly empty their treasuries. This
case must at all costs accompany me."
"Yet because you are still in England," said Stuart huskily, "I
venture to hope that your devil dreams may end on the scaffold."
"That can never be, Dr. Stuart," returned Fo-Hi placidly. "The
scaffold is not for such as I. Moreover, it is a crude and barbaric
institution which I deplore. Do you see that somewhat peculiarly
constructed chair, yonder? It is an adaptation, by a brilliant young
chemist of Canton, of Ericksen's Disintegrating Ray. A bell hangs
beside it. If you were seated in that chair and I desire to dismiss
you, it would merely be necessary fro me to strike the bell once with
the hammer. Before the vibration of the note had become inaudible you
would be seeking your ancestors among the shades. It is the throne of
the gods. Such a death is poetic."
He returned to the table and, observing meticulous care, emptied the
few drops of colourless liquid from the condenser into a test-tube.
Holding the tube near a lamp, he examined the contents, then poured
the liquid into the curious yellow bottle. A faint vapour arose from it.
"You would scarcely suppose," he said, "that yonder window opens upon
an ivy-grown balcony commanding an excellent view of that picturesque
Tudor survival, Hampton Court? I apprehend, however, that the researches
of your late friend, M. Gaston Max, may ere long lead Scotland Yard to
my doors, although there has been nothing in the outward seeming of
this house, in the circumstances of my tenancy, or in my behaviour
since I have--secretly--resided here, to excite local suspicion."
"Scotland Yard men may surround the house now!" said Stuart viciously.
"One of the two followers I have retained here with me, watches at
the gate," replied Fo-Hi. "An intruder seeking to enter by any other
route, through the hedge, over the wall, or from the river, would
cause electric bells to ring loudly in this room, the note of the bell
signifying the point of entry. Finally, in the event of such a
surprise, I have an exit whereby one emerges at a secret spot on the
river bank. A motor-boat, suitably concealed, awaits me there."
He placed a thermometer in the neck of the yellow bottle and the
bottle in a rack. He directed the intolerable gaze of his awful eyes
upon the man who sat, teeth tightly clenched, watching him from the
_diwan._
"Ten minutes of life--in England--yet remain to you, Dr. Stuart. In
ten minutes this fluid will have cooled to a temperature of 99 degrees,
when I shall be enabled safely make an injection. You will be reborn
in Kiangsu."
Fo-Hi walked slowly to the door whereby he had entered, opened it and
went out. The door closed.
CHAPTER II
THE LIVING DEATH
The little furnace hissed continuously. A wisp of smoke floated up
from the incense-burner.
Stuart sat with his hands locked between his knees, and his gaze set
upon the yellow flask.
Even now he found it difficult to credit the verity of his case. He
found it almost impossible to believe that such a being as Fo-Hi
existed, that such deeds had been done, were being done, in England,
as those of which he had heard from the sinister cowled man. Save for
the hissing of the furnace and the clanking of the chain as he strove
with all his strength to win freedom, that wonderful evil room was
silent as the King's Chamber at the heart of the Great Pyramid.
His gaze reverted to the yellow flask.
"Oh, my God!" he groaned.
Terror claimed him--the terror which he had with difficulty been
fending off throughout that nightmare interview with Fo-Hi. Madness
threatened him, and he was seized by an almost incontrollable desire
to shout execrations--prayers--he knew not what. He clenched his teeth
grimly and tried to think, to plan.
He had two chances:
The statement left with Inspector Dunbar, in which he had mentioned
the existence of a house "near Hampton Court," and ... Miska.
That she was one of the two exceptions mentioned by Fo-Hi he felt
assured. But was she in this house, and did she know of his presence
there? Even so, had she access to that room of mysteries--of horrors?
And who was the other who remained? Almost certainly it was the
fanatical Hindu, Chunda Lal, of whom she had spoken with such palpable
terror and who watched her unceasingly, untiringly. _He_ would prevent
her intervening even if she had power to intervene.
His great hope, then, was in Dunbar ... for Gaston Max was dead.
At the coming of that thought, the foul doing to death of the fearless
Frenchman, he gnashed his teeth savagely and strained at the gyves
until the pain in his ankles brought out beads of perspiration upon
his forehead.
He dropped his head into his hands and frenziedly clutched at his
hair with twitching fingers.
The faint sound occasioned by the opening of one of the sliding doors
brought him sharply upright.
Miska entered!
She looked so bewilderingly beautiful that terror and sorrow fled,
leaving Stuart filled only with passionate admiration. She wore an
Eastern dress of gauzy shimmering silk and high-heeled gilt Turkish
slippers upon her stockingless feet. About her left ankle was a gold
bangle, and there was barbaric jewellery upon her arms. She was a
figure unreal as all those in that house of dreams, but a figure so
lovely that Stuart forgot the yellow flask ... forgot that less than
ten minutes of life remained to him.
"Miska!" he whispered--"Miska!"
She exhibited intense but repressed excitement and fear. Creeping to
the second door--that by which Fo-Hi had gone out--she pressed her
ear to the lacquered panel and listened intently. Then, coming swiftly
to the table, she took up a bunch of keys, approached Stuart and,
kneeling, unlocked the gyves. The scent of jasmine stole to his
nostrils.
"God bless you!" he said with stifled ardour.
She rose quickly to her feet, standing before him with head downcast.
Stuart rose with difficulty. His legs were cramped and aching. He
grasped Miska's hand and endeavoured to induce her to look up. One
swift glance she gave him and looked away again.
"You must go--this instant," she said. "I show you the way. There is
not a moment to lose...."
"Miska!"
She glanced at him again.
"You must come with me!"
"Ah!" she whispered--"that is impossible! Have I not told you so?"
"You have told me, but I cannot understand. Here, in England, you are
free. Why should you remain with that cowled monster?"
"Shall I tell you?" she asked, and he could feel how she trembled. "If
I tell you, will you promise to believe me--and to go?"
"Not without you!"
"Ah! no, no! If I tell you that my only chance of life--such a
little, little chance--is to stay, will you go?"
Stuart secured her other hand and drew her toward him, half resisting.
"Tell me," he said softly. "I will believe you--and if it can spare
you one moment of pain or sorrow, I will go as you ask me."
"Listen," she whispered, glancing fearfully back toward the closed
door--"Fo-Hi has something that make people to die; and only he can
bring them to life again. Do you believe this?"
She looked up at him rapidly, her wonderful eyes wide and fearful. He
nodded.
"Ah! you know! Very well. On that day in Cairo, which I am taken
before him--you remember, I tell you?--he ... oh!"
She shuddered wildly and hid her beautiful face against Stuart's
breast. He threw his arms about her.
"Tell me," he said.
"With the needle, he ... inject ..."
"Miska!"
Stuart felt the blood rushing to his heart and knew that he had paled.
"There is something else," she went on, almost inaudibly, "with which
he gives life again to those he had made dead with the needle. It is
a light green liquid tasting like bitter apples; and once each week
for six months it must be drunk or else ... the living death comes.
Sometimes I have not seen Fo-Hi for six months at a time, but a tiny
flask, one draught, of the green liquid, always comes to me wherever
I am, every week ... and twice each year I see him--Fo-Hi ... and
he ..."
Her voice quivered and ceased. Moving back, she slipped a soft
shoulder free of it s flimsy covering.
Stuart looked--and suppressed a groan.
Her arm was dotted with the tiny marks made by a hypodermic syringe!
"You see!" she whispered tremulously. "If I go, I die, and I am
buried alive ... or else I live until my body ..."
"Oh, God!" moaned Stuart--"the fiend! the merciless, cunning fiend!
Is there _nothing_ ..."
"Yes, yes!" said Miska, looking up. "If I can get enough of the green
fluid and escape. But he tell me once--it was in America--that he
only prepares one tiny draught at a time! Listen! I must stay, and if
he can be captured he must be forced to make this antidote ... Ah!
go! go!"
Her words ended in a sob, and Stuart held her to him convulsively,
his heart filled with such helpless, fierce misery and bitterness as
he had never known.
"Go, please go!" she whispered. "It is my only chance--there is no
other. There is not a moment to wait. Listen to me! You will go by
that door by which I come in. There is a better way, through a tunnel
he has made to the river bank; but I cannot open the door. Only _he_
has the key. At the end of the passage some one is waiting----"
"Chunda Lal!" Miska glanced up rapidly and then dropped her eyes again.
"Yes--poor Chunda Lal. He is my only friend. Give him this."
She removed an amulet upon a gold chain from about her neck and thrust
it into Stuart's hand.
"It seems to you silly, but Chunda Lal is of the East; and he has
promised. Oh! be quick! I am afraid. I tell you something. Fo-Hi
does not know, but the police Inspector and many men search the
river bank for the house! I see them from a window----"
"What!" cried Stuart--"Dunbar is here!"
_"Ssh! ssh!"_ Miska clutched him wildly. _"He_ is not far away. You
will go and bring him here. No! for me do not fear. I put the keys
back and he will think you have opened the lock by some trick----"
"Miska!"
"Oh, no more!"
She slipped from his arms, crossed and reopened the lacquered door,
revealing a corridor dimly lighted. Stuart followed and looked along
the corridor.
"Right to the end," she whispered, "and down the steps. You know"--
touching the amulet which Stuart carried--"how to deal with--Chunda Lal."
But still he hesitated; until she seized his hand and urged him.
Thereupon he swept her wildly into his arms.
"Miska! how can I leave you! It is maddening!"
"You must! you must!"
He looked into her eyes, stooped and kissed her upon the lips. Then,
with no other word, he tore himself away and walked quickly along the
corridor. Miska watched him until he was out of sight, then
re-entered the great room and closed the door. She turned, and:
"Oh, God of mercy," she whispered.
Just within the second doorway stood Fo-Hi watching her.
CHAPTER III
THE FIFTH SECRET OF RACHE CHURAN
Stricken silent with fear, Miska staggered back against the lacquered
door, dropping the keys which she held in her hand. Fo-Hi had removed
the cowled garment and was now arrayed in a rich mandarin robe.
Through the grotesque green veil which obscured his features the
brilliant eyes shone catlike.
"So," he said softly, "you speed the parting guest. And did I not
hear the sound of a chaste salute?"
Miska watched him, wild-eyed.
"And he knows," continued the metallic voice, "'how to deal with
Chunda Lal'? But it may be that Chunda Lal will know how to deal with
_him!_ I had suspected that Dr. Keppel Stuart entertained an
unprofessional interest in his charming patient. Your failure to
force the bureau drawer in his study excited my suspicion--unjustly,
I admit; for did not I fail also when I paid the doctor a personal
visit? True, I was disturbed. But this suspicion later returned. It
was in order that some lingering doubt might be removed that I
afforded you the opportunity of interviewing my guest. But whatever
surprise his ingenuity, aided by your woman's wit, has planned for
Chunda Lal, I dare to believe that Chunda Lal, being forewarned, will
meet successfully. He is expecting an attempt, by Dr. Stuart, to leave
this house. He has my orders to detain him."
At that, anger conquered terror in the heart of Miska, and:
"You mean he has your orders to kill him!" she cried desperately.
Fo-Hi closed the door.
"On the contrary, he has my orders to take every possible care of him.
Those blind, tempestuous passions which merely make a woman more
desirable find no place in the trained mind of the scientist. That
Dr. Stuart covets my choicest possession in no way detracts from his
value to my Council."
Miska had never moved from the doorway by which Stuart had gone out;
and now, having listened covertly and heard no outcry, her faith in
Chunda Lal was restored. Her wonderful eyes narrowed momentarily, and
she spoke with the guile, which seems so naive, of the Oriental woman.
"I care nothing for him--this Dr. Stuart. But he had done you no
wrong----"
"Beyond seeking my death--none. I have already said"--the eyes of
Fo-Hi gleamed through the hideous veil--"that I bear him no ill will."
"But you plan to carry him to China--like those others."
"I assign him a part in the New Renaissance--yes. In the Deluge that
shall engulf the world, his place is in the Ark. I honor him."
"Perhaps he rather remain a--nobody--than be so honored."
"In his present state of imperfect understanding it is quite
possible," said Fo-Hi smoothly. "But if he refuses to achieve
greatness he must have greatness thrust upon him. Van Rembold, I seem
to recall, hesitated for some time to direct his genius to the problem
of producing radium in workable quantities from the pitchblend
deposits of Ho-Nan. But the _split rod_ had not been applied to the
soles of his feet more than five times ere he reviewed his prejudices
and found them to be surmountable."
Miska, knowing well the moods of the monstrous being whose unveiled
face she had never seen, was not deceived by the suavity of his
manner. Nevertheless, she fought down her terror, knowing how much
might depend upon her retaining her presence of mind. How much of her
interview with Stuart he had overheard she did not know, nor how much
he had witnessed.
"But," she said, moving away from him, "he does not matter--this one.
Forgive me if I think to let him go; but I am afraid----"
Fo-Hi crossed slowly, intercepting her.
"Ah!" said Miska, her eyes opening widely--"you are going to punish
me again! For why? Because I am a woman and cannot always be cruel?"
From its place on the wall Fo-Hi took a whip. At that:
"Ah! no, no!" she cried. "You drive me mad! I am only in part of the
East and I cannot bear it--I cannot bear it! You teach me to be like
the women of England, who are free, and you treat me like the women of
China, who are slaves. Once, it did not matter. I thought it was a
part of a woman's life to be treated so. But now I cannot bear it!"
She stamped her foot fiercely upon the floor. "I tell you I cannot
bear it!"
Whip in hand, Fo-Hi stood watching her.
"You release that man--for whom you 'care nothing'--in order that he
may bring my enemies about me, in order that he may hand me over to
the barbarous law of England. Now, you 'cannot bear' so light a
rebuke as the whip. Here, I perceive, is some deep psychological
change. Such protests do not belong to the women of my country; they
are never heard in the _zenana,_ and would provoke derision in the
_harems_ of Stambul.
"You have trained me to know that life in a _harem_ is not life, but
only the existence of an animal."
"I have trained you--yes. What fate was before you when I intervened
in that Mecca slave-market? You who are 'only in part of the East.'
Do you forget so soon how you cowered there amongst the others, Arabs,
Circassians, Georgians, Nubians, striving to veil your beauty from
those ravenous eyes? From _what_ did I rescue you?"
"And _for_ what?" cried Miska bitterly. "To use me as a lure--and beat
me if I failed."
Fo-Hi stood watching her, and slowly, as he watched, terror grew upon
her and she retreated before him, step by step. He made no attempt to
follow her, but continued to watch. Then, raising the whip he broke
it across his knee and dropped the pieces on the floor.
At that she extended her hands towards him pitifully.
"Oh! what are you going to do to me!" she said. "Let me go! let me go!
I can no more be of use to you. Give me back my life and let me go--
et me go and hide away from them all--from all ... the world...."
Her words died away and ceased upon a suppressed hysterical sob. For,
in silence, Fo-Hi stood watching her, unmoved.
"Oh!" she moaned, and sank cowering upon a _diwan--_ "why do you watch
me so!"
"Because," came the metallic voice, softly--"you are beautiful with a
beauty given but rarely to the daughters of men. The Sublime Order
has acquired many pretty women--for they are potent weapons--but none
so fair as you. Miska, I would make life sweet for you."
"Ah! you do not mean that!" she whispered fearfully.
"Have I not clothed you in the raiment of a princess!" continued
Fo-Hi. "To-night, at my urgent request, you wear the charming national
costume in which I delight to see you. But is there a woman of Paris,
of London, of New York, who has such robes, such jewels, such
apartments as you possess? Perhaps the peculiar duties which I have
required you to perform, the hideous disguises, which you have
sometimes been called upon to adopt, have disgusted you."
Her heart beating wildly, for she did not know this mood but divined
it to portend some unique horror, Miska crouched, head averted.
"To-night the hour has come to break the whip. To-night the master in
me dies. My cloak of wise authority has fallen from me and I offer
myself in bondage to _you_, my slave!"
"This is some trap you set for me!" she whispered.
But Fo-Hi, paying no heed to her words, continued in the same rapt
voice:
"Truly have you observed that the Chinese wife is but a slave to her
lord. I have said that the relation of master and slave is ended
between us. I offer you a companionship that signifies absolute
freedom and perfect understanding. Half of all I have--and the world
lies in my grasp--is yours. I offer a throne set upon the Seven
Mountains of the Universe. Look into my eyes and read the truth."
But lower and lower she cowered upon the _diwan._
"No, no! I am afraid!"
Fo-Hi approached her closely and abject terror now had robbed her of
strength. Her limbs seemed to have become numbed, her tongue clave to
the roof of her mouth.
"Fear me no more, Miska," said Fo-Hi. "I _will_ you nothing but joy.
The man who has learned the Fifth Secret of Rache Churan--who has
learned how to control his will--holds a power absolute and beyond
perfectability. You know, who have dwelt beneath my roof, that there
is no escape from my will." His calm was terrible, and his glance,
through the green veil, was like a ray of scorching heat. His voice
sank lower and lower.
"There is one frailty, Miska, that even the Adept cannot conquer. It
is inherent in every man. Miska, I would not _force_ you to grasp the
joy I offer; I would have you _accept_ it willingly. No! do not turn
from me! No woman in all the world has ever heard me plead, as I
plead to you. Never before have I _sued_ for favours. Do not turn from
me, Miska."
Slightly, the metallic voice vibrated, and the ruffling of that giant
calm was a thing horrible to witness. Fo-Hi extended his long yellow
hands, advancing step by step until he stood over the cowering girl.
Irresistibly her glance was drawn to those blazing eyes which the veil
could not hide, and as she met that unblinking gaze her own eyes
dilated and grew fixed as those of a sleep-walker. A moment Fo-Hi
stood so. Then passion swept him from his feet and he seized her
fiercely.
"Your eyes drive me mad!" he hissed. "Your lips taunt me, and I know
all earthly greatness to be a mirage, its conquests visions, and its
fairness dust. I would rather be a captive in your white arms than
the emperor of heaven! Your sweetness intoxicates me, Miska. A fever
burns me up!"
Helpless, enmeshed in the toils of that mighty will, Miska raised her
head; and gradually her expression changed. Fear was smoothed away
from her lovely face as by some magic brush. She grew placid; and
finally she smiled--the luresome, caressing smile of the East. Nearer
and nearer drew the green veil. Then, uttering a sudden fierce
exclamation, Fo-Hi thrust her from him.
"That smile is not for _me,_ the man!" he cried gutterally. "Ah! I
could curse the power that I coveted and set above all earthly joys!
I who boasted that he could control his will--I read in your eyes that
I am _willing_ you to love me! I seek a gift and can obtain but a
tribute!"
Miska, with a sobbing moan, sank upon the _diwan._ Fo-Hi stood
motionless, looking straight before him. His terrible calm was
restored.
"It is the bitter truth," he said--"that to win the world I have
bartered the birthright of men; the art of winning a woman's heart.
There is much in our Chinese wisdom. I erred in breaking the whip.
I erred in doubting my own prescience, which told me that the smiles
I could not woo were given freely to another ... and perhaps the
kisses. At least I can set these poor frail human doubts at rest."
He crossed and struck a gong which hung midway between the two doors.
CHAPTER IV
THE GUILE OF THE EAST
Her beautiful face a mask of anguish, Miska cowered upon the _diwan,_
watching the closed doors. Fo-Hi stood in the centre of the great
room with his back to the entrance. Silently one of the lacquered
panels slid open and Chunda Lal entered. He saluted the figure of
the veiled Chinaman but never once glanced in the direction of the
_diwan_ from which Miska wildly was watching him.
Without turning his head, Fo-Hi, who seemed to detect the presence
of the silent Hindu by means of some fifth sense, pointed to a bundle
of long rods stacked in a corner of the room.
His brown face expressionless as that of a bronze statue, Chunda Lal
crossed and took the rods from their place.
_"Tum samajhte ho?"_ (Do you understand?) said Fo-Hi. Chunda Lal
inclined his head.
_"Main tumhari bat manunga"_ (Your orders shall be obeyed), he
replied.
"Ah, God! no!" whispered Miska--"what are you going to do?"
"Your Hindustani was ever poor, Miska," said Fo-Hi.
He turned to Chunda Lal.
"Until you hear the gong," he said in English.
Miska leapt to her feet, as Chunda Lal, never once glancing at her,
went out bearing the rods, and closed the door behind him. Fo-Hi
turned and confronted her.
_"Ta'ala hina_ (come hither), Miska!" he said softly. "Shall I speak
to you in the soft Arab tongue? Come to me, lovely Miska. Let me feel
how that sorrowful heart will leap like a captive gazelle."
But Miska shrank back from him, pale to the lips.
"Very well." His metallic voice sank to a hiss. "I employ no force.
You shall yield to me your heart as a love offering. Of such motives
as jealousy and revenge you know me incapable. What I do, I do with a
purpose. That compassion of yours shall be a lever to cast you into
my arms. Your hatred you shall conquer."
"Oh, have you no mercy? Is there _nothing_ human in your heart? Did I
say I hate you!"
"Your eyes are eloquent, Miska. I cherish two memories of those
beautiful eyes. One is of their fear and loathing--of _me;_ the other
is of their sweet softness when they watched the departure of my guest.
Listen! Do you hear nothing?"
In an attitude of alert and fearful attention Miska stood listening.
Fo-Hi watched her through the veil with those remorseless blazing eyes.
"I will open the door," he said smoothly, "that we may more fully
enjoy the protests of one for whom you 'care nothing'--of one whose
lips have pressed--your hand."
He opened the door by which Chunda Lal had gone out and turned again
to Miska. Her eyes looked unnaturally dark by contrast with the pallor
of her face.
Chunda Lal had betrayed her. She no longer doubted it. For he had not
dared to meet her glance. His fear of Fo-Hi had overcome his love for
her ... and Stuart had been treacherously seized somewhere in the
corridors and rendered helpless by the awful art of the thug.
"There is a brief interval," hissed the evil voice. "Chunda Lal is
securing him to the frame and baring the soles of his feet for the
caresses of the rod."
Suddenly, from somewhere outside the room, came the sound of dull,
regular blows ... then, a smothered moan!
Miska sprang forward and threw herself upon her knees before Fo-Hi,
clutching at his robe frantically.
"Ah! merciful God! he is there! Spare him! spare him! No more--no
more!"
"He is there?" repeated Fo-Hi suavely. "Assuredly he is there, Miska.
I know not by what trick he hoped to 'deal with' Chunda Lal. But, as
I informed you, Chunda Lal was forewarned."
The sound of blows continued, followed by that of another, louder
groan.
"Stop him! Stop him!" shrieked Miska.
"You 'care nothing' for this man. Why do you tremble?"
"Oh!" she wailed piteously. "I cannot bear it ... oh, I cannot bear
it! Do what you like with me, but spare him. Ah! you have no mercy."
Fo-Hi handed her the hammer for striking the gong.
"It is _you_ who have no mercy," he replied. "I have asked but one
gift. The sound of the gong will end Dr. Stuart's discomfort ... and
will mean that you _voluntarily_ accept my offer. What! you hesitate?"
A stifled scream rang out sharply.
"Ah, yes! yes!"
Miska ran and struck the gong, then staggered back to the _diwan_ and
fell upon it, hiding her face in her hands. The sounds of torture
ceased.
Fo-Hi closed the door and stood looking at her where she lay.
"I permit you some moments of reflection," he said, "in order that you
may compose yourself to receive the addresses which I shall presently
have the honour, and joy, of making to you. Yes--this door is
unlocked." He threw the keys on the table. "I respect your promise ...
and Chunda Lal guards the _outer_ exits."
He opened the further door, by which he had entered, and went out.
Miska, through the fingers of her shielding hands, watched him go.
When he had disappeared she sprang up, clenching her teeth, and her
face was contorted with anguish. She began to move aimlessly about the
room, glancing at the many strange objects on the big table and
fearfully at the canopied chair beside which hung the bronze bell.
Finally:
"Oh, Chunda Lal! Chunda Lal!" she moaned, and threw herself face
downward on the _diwan,_ sobbing wildly.
So she lay, her whole body quivering with the frenzy of her emotions,
and as she lay there, inch by inch, cautiously, the nearer door began
to open. Chunda Lal looked in.
Finding the room to be occupied only by Miska, he crossed rapidly to
the _diwan,_ bending over her with infinite pity and tenderness.
"Miska!" he whispered softly.
As though an adder had touched her, Miska sprang to her feet--and
back from the Hindu. Her eyes flashed fiercely.
"Ah! _you! you!"_ she cried at him, with a repressed savagery that
spoke of the Oriental blood in her veins. "Do not speak to me--look
at me! Do not come near me! I hate you! God! how I hate you!"
"Miska! Miska!" he said beseechingly--"you pierce my heart! you kill
me! Can you not understand----"
"Go! go!"
She drew back from him, clenching and unclenching her jewelled fingers
and glaring madly into his eyes.
"Look, Miska!" He took the gold chain and amulet from his bosom. "Your
token! Can you not understand! _Yah Allah!_ how little you trust me--
and I would die for one glance of your eyes!
"_He_--Stuart Sahib--has gone, gone long since!"
"Ah! Chunda Lal!"
Miska swayed dizzily and extended her hands towards him. Chunda Lal
glanced fearfully about him.
"Did I not," he whispered, with an intense ardour in his soft voice,--
"did I not lay my life, my service, all I have, at your feet? Did I not
vow to serve you in the name of _Bhowani!_ He is long since gone to
bring his friends--who are searching from house to house along the
river. At any moment they may be here!"
Miska dropped weakly upon her knees before him and clasped his hand.
"Chunda Lal, my friend! Oh, forgive me!" Her voice broke. "Forgive ..."
Chunda Lal raised her gently.
"Not upon your knees to _me,_ Miska. It was a little thing to do--for
you. Did I not tell you that _he_ had cast his eyes upon you? Mine was
the voice you heard to cry out. Ah! you do not know; it is to gain
_time_ that I seem to serve _him!_ Only this, Miska"--he revealed the
blade of a concealed knife--"stand between Fo-Hi and--you! Had I not
read it in his eyes!"
He raised his glance upward frantically.
_"Jey Bhowani!_ give me strength, give me courage! For if I fail ..."
He glared at her passionately, clutching his bosom; then, pressing the
necklet to his lips, he concealed it again, and bent, whispering
urgently:
"Listen again--I reveal it to you without price or hope of reward, for
I know there is no love in your heart to give, Miska; I know that it
takes you out of my sight for always. But I tell you what I learn in
the house of Abdul Rozan. Your life is your own, Miska! With the
needle"--yet closer he bent to her ear and even softer he spoke--"he
pricks your white skin--no more! The vial he sends contains a harmless
cordial!"
"Chunda Lal!"
Miska swayed again dizzily, clutching at the Hindu for support.
"Quick! fly!" he said, leading her to the door. "I will see _he_ does
not pursue!"
"No, no! you shall shed no blood for me! Not even _his_. You come
also!"
"And if he escape, and know that I was false to him, he will _call me
back,_ and I shall be dragged to those yellow eyes, though I am a
thousand miles away! _Inshalla!_ those eyes! No--I must strike swift,
or he robs me of my strength."
For a long moment Miska hesitated.
"Then, I also remain, Chunda Lal, my friend! We will wait--and watch
-and listen for the bells--here--that tell they are in the grounds of
the house."
"Ah, Miska!" the glance of the Hindu grew fearful--"you are
clever--but _he_ is the Evil One! I fear for you. Fly now. There is
yet time ..."
A faint sound attracted Miska's attention. Placing a quivering finger
to her lips, she gently thrust Chunda Lal out into the corridor.
"He returns!" she whispered: "If I call--come to me, my friend. But we
have not long to wait!"
She closed the door.
CHAPTER V
WHAT HAPPENED TO STUART
Stuart had gained the end of the corridor, unmolested. There he found
a short flight of steps, which he descended and came to a second
corridor forming a right angle with the first. A lamp was hung at the
foot of the steps, and by its light he discerned a shadowy figure
standing at the further end of this second passage.
A moment he hesitated, peering eagerly along the corridor. The man
who waited was Chunda Lal. Stuart approached him and silently placed
in his hand the gold amulet.
Chunda Lal took it as one touching something holy, and raising it he
kissed it with reverence. His dark eyes were sorrowful. Long and
ardently he pressed the little trinket to his lips, then concealed it
under the white robe which he wore and turned to Stuart. His eyes were
sorrowful no more, but fierce as the eyes of a tiger.
"Follow!" he said.
He unlocked a door and stepped out into a neglected garden, Stuart
close at his heels. The sky was cloudy, and the moon obscured. Never
glancing back, Chunda Lal led the way along a path skirting a high
wall upon which climbing fruit trees were growing until they came to a
second door and this also the Hindu unlocked. He stood aside.
"To the end of this lane," he said, in his soft queerly modulated
voice, "and along the turning to the left to the river bank. Follow
the bank towards the palace and you will meet them."
"I owe you my life," said Stuart.
"Go! you owe me nothing," returned the Hindu fiercely.
Stuart turned and walked rapidly along the lane. Once he glanced back.
Chunda Lal was looking after him ... and he detected something that
gleamed in his hand, gleamed not like gold but like the blade of a
knife!
Turning the corner, Stuart began to run. For he was unarmed and still
weak, and there had been that in the fierce black eyes of the Hindu
when he had scorned Stuart's thanks which had bred suspicion and
distrust.
From the position of the moon, Stuart judged the hour to be something
after midnight. No living thing stirred about him. The lane in which
now he found himself was skirted on one side by a hedge beyond which
was open country and on the other by a continuation of the high wall
which evidently enclosed the grounds of the house that he had just
quitted. A cool breeze fanned his face, and he knew that he was
approaching the Thames. Ten more paces and he came to the bank.
In his weak condition the short run had exhausted him. His bruised
throat was throbbing painfully, and he experienced some difficulty in
breathing. He leaned up against the moss-grown wall, looking back into
the darkness of the lane.
No one was in sight. There was no sound save the gently lapping of the
water upon the bank.
He would have liked to bathe his throat and to quench his feverish
thirst, but a mingled hope and despair spurred him and he set off
along the narrow path towards where dimly above some trees he could
discern in the distance a group of red-roofed buildings. Having
proceeded for a considerable distance, he stood still, listening for
any sound that might guide him to the search-party--or warn him that
he was followed. But he could hear nothing.
Onward he pressed, not daring to think of what the future held for
him, not daring to dwell upon the memory, the maddening sweetness, of
that parting kiss. His eyes grew misty, he stumbled as he walked, and
became oblivious of his surrounding. His awakening was a rude one.
Suddenly a man, concealed behind a bush, sprang out upon him and bore
him irresistibly to the ground!
"Not a word!" rapped his assailant, "or I'll knock you out!"
Stuart glared into the red face lowered so threateningly over his own,
and:
"Sergeant Sowerby!" he gasped.
The grip upon his shoulders relaxed.
"Damn!" cried Sowerby--"if it isn't Dr. Stuart?"
"What is that!" cried another voice from the shelter of the bush.
_"Pardieu!_ say it again! ... Dr. Stuart!"
And Gaston Max sprang out!
"Max!" murmured Stuart, staggering to his feet--"Max!"
_"Nom d'un nom!_ Two dead men meet!" exclaimed Gaston Max. "But
indeed"--he grasped Stuart by both hands and his voice shook with
emotion--"I thank God that I see you!"
Stuart was dazed. Words failed him, and he swayed dizzily.
"I thought _you_ were murdered," said Max, still grasping his hand,
"and I perceive that you had made the same mistake about me! Do you
know what saved me, my friend, from the consequences of that frightful
blow? It was the bandage of 'Le Balafre'!"
"You must possess a skull like a negro's!" said Stuart feebly.
"I believe I have a skull like a baboon!" returned Max, laughing with
joyous excitement. "And you, doctor, you must possess a steel
wind-pipe; for flesh and blood could never have survived the pressure
of that horrible pigtail. You will rejoice to learn that Miguel was
arrested on the Dover boat-train this morning and Ah-Fang-Fu at
Tilbury Dock some four hours ago. So we are both avenged! But we
waste time!"
He unscrewed a flask and handed it to Stuart.
"A terrible experience has befallen you," he said. "But tell me--do
you know where it is--the lair of 'The Scorpion'?"
"I do!" replied Stuart, having taken a welcome draught from the flask.
"Where is Dunbar? We must carefully surround the place or he will
elude us."
"Ah! as he eluded us at 'The Pidgin House'!" cried Max. "Do you know
what happened? They had a motorboat in the very cellar of that warren.
At high tide they could creep out into the cutting, drawing their
craft along from pile to pile, and reach the open river at a point
fifty yards above the house! In the damnable darkness they escaped.
But we have two of them."
"It was all my fault," said Sowerby guiltily. "I missed my spring when
I went for the Chinaman who came out first, and he gave one yell. The
old fox in the shop heard it and the fat was in the fire."
"You didn't miss your spring at me!" retort Stuart ruefully.
"No," agreed Sowerby. "I didn't mean to miss a second time!"
"What's all this row," came a gruff voice.
"Ah! Inspector Dunbar!" said Max.
Dunbar walked up the path, followed by a number of men. At first he
did not observe Stuart, and:
"You'll be waking all the neighborhood," he said. "It's the next big
house, Sowerby, the one we thought, surrounded by the brick wall.
There's no doubt, I think ... Why!"
He had seen Stuart, and he sprang forward with outstretched hand.
"Thank God!" he cried, disregarding his own counsel about creating a
disturbance. "This is fine! Eh, man! but I'm glad to see you!"
"And _I_ am glad to be here!" Stuart assured him.
They shook hands warmly.
"You have read my statement, of course?" asked Stuart.
"I have," replied the Inspector, and gave him a swift glance of the
tawny eyes. "And considering that you've nearly been strangled, I'll
forgive you! But I wish we'd known about this house----"
"Ah! Inspector," interrupted Gaston Max, "but you have never seen
Zara el-Khala! I have seen her--and _I_ forgive him, also!"
Stuart continued rapidly:
"We have little time to waste. There are only three people in the
house, so far as I am aware: Miska--known to you, M. Max, as Zara
el-Khala--the Hindu, Chunda Lal, and--Fo-Hi----"
"Ah!" cried Max--"'The Scorpion.' Chunda Lal, for some obscure personal
reason, not entirely unconnected with Miska, enabled me to make my
escape in order that I might lead you to the house. Therefore we may
look upon Chunda Lal, as well as Miska, in the light of an
accomplice----"
_"Eh, bien!_ a spy in the camp! This is where we see how fatal to the
success of any enterprise, criminal or otherwise, is the presence of
a pretty woman! Proceed, my friend!"
"There are three entrances to the apartment in which Fo-Hi apparently
spends the greater part of his time. Two of these I know, although I
am unaware where one of them leads to. But the third, of which he
alone holds the key, communicates with a tunnel leading to the river
bank, where a motorboat is concealed."
"Ah, that motor-boat!" cried Max. "He travels at night, you
understand----"
"Always, I am told."
"Yes, always. Therefore, once he is out on the river, he is moderately
secure between the first lock and the Nore! When a police patrol is
near he can shut off his engine and lie under the bank. Last night he
crept away from us in that fashion. Tonight is not so dark, and the
River Police are watching all the way down."
"Furthermore," replied Stuart, "Chunda Lal, who acts as engineer, has
it in his power to prevent Fo-Hi's escape by that route! But we must
count upon the possibility of his attempting to leave by water.
Therefore, in disposing your forces, place a certain number of men
along the bank and below the house. Is there a River Police boat near?"
"Not nearer than Putney Bridge," answered Dunbar. "We shall have to
try and block that exit."
"There's no time to waste," continued Stuart excitedly--"and I have a
very particular request to make: that you will take Fo-Hi _alive."_
"But of course," said Gaston Max, "if it is humanly possible."
Stuart repressed a groan; for even so he had little hope of inducing
the awful veiled man to give back life to the woman who would have
been instrumental in bringing him to the scaffold ... and no
compromise was possible!
"If you will muster your men, Inspector," he said, "I will lead you
to the spot. Once we have affected an entrance we must proceed with
dispatch. He has alarm-bells connected with every possible point of
entry."
"Lead on, my friend," cried Gaston Max. "I perceive that time is
precious."
CHAPTER VI
"JEY BHOWANI!"
As the door closed upon Chunda Lal, Miska stepped back from it and
stood, unconsciously, in a curiously rigid and statuesque attitude,
her arms pressed to her sides and her hands directed outward. It was
the physical expression of an intense mental effort to gain control
of herself. Her heart was leaping wildly in her breast--for the
future that had held only horror and a living tomb, now opened out
sweetly before her. She had only to ply her native wiles for a few
precious moments ... and _someone_ would have her in his arms, to
hold her safe from harm! If the will of the awful Chinaman threatened
to swamp her individuality, then--there was Chunda Lal!
But because of his helpless, unselfish love, she hesitated even at the
price of remaining alone again with Fo-Hi, to demand any further
sacrifice of the Hindu. Furthermore--he might fail!
The lacquer door slid noiselessly open and Fo-Hi entered. He paused,
watching her.
"Ah," he said, in that low-pitched voice which was so terrifying--"a
_gaziyeh_ of Ancient Egypt! How beautiful you are, Miska! You
transport me to the court of golden Pharaoh. Miska! daughter of the
moon-magic of Isis--Zara el-Khala! At any hour my enemies may be
clamoring at my doors. But _this_ hour is mine!"
He moved at his customary slow gait to the table, took up the keys ...
and locked both doors!
Miska, perceiving in this her chance of aid from Chunda Lal utterly
destroyed, sank slowly upon the _diwan,_ her pale face expressing the
utmost consternation. Suppose the police did not come!
Fo-Hi dropped the keys on the table again and approached her. She
stood up, retreating before him. He inhaled sibilantly and paused.
"So your 'acceptance' was only a trick," he said. "Your loathing of
my presence is as strong as ever. Well!" At the word, as a volcano
leaps into life, the hidden fires which burned within this terrible
man leapt up consumingly--"if the gift of the flower is withheld, at
least I will grasp the Dead Sea Fruit!"
He leapt toward Miska--and she fled shrieking before him. Running
around a couch which stood near the centre of the room, she sprang to
the door and beat upon it madly.
"Chunda Lal!" she cried--"Chunda Lal!"
Fo-Hi was close upon her, and she turned striving to elude him.
"Oh, merciful God! _Chunda Lal!"_
The name burst from her lips in a long frenzied scream. Fo-Hi had
seized her!
Grasping her shoulders, he twisted her about so that he could look
into her eyes. A low, shuddering cry, died away, and her gaze became
set, hypnotically, upon Fo-Hi. He raised one hand, fingers
outstretched before her. She swayed slightly.
"Forget!" he said in a deep, guttural voice of command--"forget. I
_will_ it. We stand in an empty world, you and I; you, Miska, and I,
Fo-Hi, your master."
"My master," she whispered mechanically.
"Your lover."
"My lover."
"You give me your life, to do with as I will."
"As you will."
Fo-Hi momentarily raised the blazing eyes.
"Oh, empty shell of a vanished joy!" he cried.
Then, frenziedly grasping Miska by her arms, he glared into her
impassive face.
"Your heart leaps wildly in your breast!" he whispered tenderly.
"Look into my eyes...."
Miska sighed and opened her eyes yet more widely. She shuddered and a
slow smile appeared upon her lips.
The lacquer screen making the window was pushed open and Chunda Lal
leapt in over the edge. As Fo-Hi drew the yielding, hypnotised girl
towards him, Chunda Lal, a gleaming _kukri_ held aloft, ran with a
silent panther step across the floor.
He reached Fo-Hi, drew himself upright; the glittering blade
quivered ... and Fo-Hi divined his presence.
Uttering a short, guttural exclamation, he thrust Miska aside. She
staggered dazedly and fell prone upon the floor. The quivering blade
did not descend.
Fo-Hi drew himself rigidly upright, extending his hands, palms
downward, before him. He was exerting a superhuman effort. The breath
whistled through his nostrils. Chunda Lal, knife upraised, endeavored
to strike; but his arm seemed to have become incapable of movement
and to be held, helpless, aloft.
Staring at the rigid figure before him, he began to pant like a man
engaged in a wrestle for life.
Fo-Hi stretched his right arm outward, and with a gesture of hand and
fingers beckoned to Chunda Lal to come before him.
And now, Miska, awakening as from a fevered dream, looked wildly about
her, and then, serpentine, began to creep to the table upon which the
keys were lying. Always watching the awful group of two, she rose
slowly, snatched the keys and leapt across to the open window....
Chunda Lal, swollen veins standing out cord-like on his brow, his
gaze set hypnotically upon the moving hand, dropped his knife and
began to move in obedience to the will of Fo-Hi.
As he came finally face to face with the terrible Adept of Rache
Churan, Miska disappeared into the shadow of the balcony. Fo-Hi by
an imperious gesture commanded Chunda Lal to kneel and bow his head.
The Hindu, gasping, obeyed.
Thereupon Fo-Hi momentarily relaxed his giant concentration and almost
staggered as he glared down at the kneeling man. But never was that
dreadful gaze removed from Chunda Lal. And now the veiled man drew
himself rigidly upright again and stepped backward until the fallen
_kukri_ lay at his feet. He spoke, "Chunda Lal!"
The Hindu rose, gazing before him with unseeing eyes. His forehead
was wet with perspiration.
Fo-Hi pointed to the knife.
Chunda Lal, without removing his sightless gaze from the veiled
face, stooped, groped until he found the knife and rose with it in
his hand.
Back stepped Fo-Hi, and back, until he could touch the big table. He
moved a brass switch--and a trap opened in the floor behind Chunda
Lal. Fo-Hi raised his right hand, having the fingers tightly closed
as if grasping the hilt of a knife. With his left hand he pointed to
the trap. Again he spoke.
_"Tum samauhe ho?"_
Mechanically Chunda La replied:
_"Ah, Sahib, tumhara huken jaldi: kiya' jaega'"_ (Yes, I hear and
obey.)
As Fo-Hi raised his clenched right hand, so did Chunda Lal raise the
_kukri._ Fo-Hi extended his left hand rigidly towards the Hindu and
seemed to force him, step by step, back towards the open trap. Almost
at the brink, Chunda Lal paused, swayed, and began to utter short,
agonised cries. Froth appeared upon his lips.
Raising his right hand yet further aloft, Fo-Hi swiftly brought it
down, performing the gesture of stabbing himself to the heart. His
ghastly reserve deserted him.
_"Jey Bhowana!"_ he screamed--"Yah Allah!"
Chunda Lal, uttering a loud groan, stabbed himself and fell backward
into the opening. Ensued a monstrous crash of broken glass.
As he fell, Fo-Hi leapt to the brink of the trap, glaring down madly
into the cellar below. His yellow fingers opened and closed
spasmodically.
"Lie there," he shrieked--"my 'faithful' servant! The ants shall pick
your bones!"
He grasped the upstanding door of the trap and closed it. It
descended with a reverberating boom. Fo-Hi raised his clenched fists
and stepped to the door. Finding it locked, he stood looking toward
the open screen before the window.
"Miska!" he whispered despairingly.
He crossed to the window and was about to look out, when a
high-pitched electric bell began to ring in the room.
Instantly Fo-Hi closed the screen and turned, looking in the direction
from whence the sound of ringing proceeded. As he did so, a second
bell, in another key, began to ring--a third--a fourth.
Momentarily the veiled man exhibited evidence of indecision. Then,
from beneath his robe he took a small key. Approaching an ornate
cabinet set against the wall to the left of one of the lacquer doors,
he inserted the key in a hidden lock, and slid the entire cabinet
partly aside revealing an opening.
Fo-Hi bent, peering down into the darkness of the passage below. A
muffled report came, a flash out of the blackness of the river tunnel,
and a bullet passed through the end of the cabinet upon which his
hand was resting, smashing an ivory statuette and shattering the glass.
Hurriedly he slid the cabinet into place again and stood with his back
to it, arms outstretched.
"Miska!" he said--and a note of yet deeper despair had crept into the
harsh voice.
Awhile he stood thus; then he drew himself up with dignity. The bells
had ceased.
Methodically Fo-Hi began to take certain books from the shelves and to
cast them into the great metal bowl which stood upon the tripod. Into
the bowl he poured the contents of a large glass jar. Flames and
clouds of smoke arose. He paused, listening.
Confused voices were audible, seemingly from all around him, together
with a sound of vague movements.
Fo-Hi took up vials and jars and dashed them to pieces upon the tiled
hearth in which the furnace rested. Test-tubes, flasks and retorts he
shattered, and finally, raising the large glass case of orchids he
dashed it down amid the debris of the other nameless and priceless
monstrosities unknown to Western science.
CHAPTER VII
THE WAY OF A SCORPION
A black cloud swept past the face of the moon and cold illumination
flooded the narrow lane and patched with light the drive leading up
to the front of the isolated mansion. Wrought-iron gates closed both
entrances and a high wall, surmounted by broken glass and barbed
wire, entirely surrounded the grounds.
"This one also is locked," said Gaston Max, trying the gate and then
peering through the bars in the direction of the gloomy house.
All the visible windows were shuttered. No ray of light showed
anywhere. The house must have been pronounced deserted by anyone
contemplating it.
"Upon which side do you suppose the big room to be?" asked Max.
"It is difficult to judge," replied Stuart. "But I am disposed to
believe that it is in the front of the house and on the first floor,
for I traversed a long corridor, descended several stairs, turned to
the right and emerged in a part of the garden bordering the lane in
which Inspector Kelly is posted."
"I was thinking of the window and the balcony which 'The Scorpion'
informed you commanded a view of Hampton Court. Hampton Court," he
turned half-left, "lies about yonder. Therefore you are probably
right, doctor; the room as you say should be in front of the house.
Since we do not know how to disconnect the alarms, once we have
entered the grounds it is important that we should gain access to the
house immediately. Ah! _morbleu!_ the moon disappears again!"
Darkness crept over the countryside.
"There is an iron balcony jutting out amongst the ivy just above and
to the right of the porch!" cried Stuart, who had also been peering
up the moon-patched drive. "I would wager that that is the room!"
"Ah!" replied Max, "I believe you are right. This, then is how we
shall proceed: Inspector Kelly, with the aid of two men, can get over
the wall near that garden door by which you came out. If they cannot
force it from inside, you also must get over and lead the way to the
entrance you know of. Sowerby and two more men will remain to watch
the lane. The river front is well guarded. We will post a man here
at this gate and one at the other. Dunbar and I will climb this one
and rush straight for that balcony which we must hope to reach by
climbing up the ivy. Ah! here comes Inspector Dunbar ... and
_someone_ is with him!"
Dunbar appeared at the double around the corner of the lane which
led riverward, and beside him ran a girl who presented a bizarre
figure beside the gaunt Scotsman and a figure wildly out of place
in that English riverside setting.
It was Miska, arrayed in her flimsy _harem_ dress!
"Miska!" cried Stuart, and sprang towards her, sweeping her hungrily
into his arms--forgetful of, indifferent to, the presence of Max and
Dunbar.
"Ah!" sighed the Frenchman--"yes, she is beautiful!"
Trembling wildly, Miska clung to Stuart and began to speak, her
English more broken than ever, because of her emotion.
"Listen--quick!" she panted. "Oh! do not hold me so tight. I have the
house-keys--look!"--she held up a bunch of keys--"but not the keys of
the gates. Two men have gone to the end of the tunnel where the boat
is hid beside the river. Someone--he better climb this gate and by the
ivy he can reach the room in which Fo-Hi is! I come down so. You do
not see me because the moon goes out and I run to the side-door. It
is open. _You_ come with me!"
She clung to Stuart, looking up into his eyes.
"Yes, yes, Miska!"
"Oh! Chunda Lal"--she choked down a sob. "Be quick! be quick! _He_
will kill him! he will kill him!"
"Off you go, doctor!" cried Max. "Come along, Dunbar!"
He began to climb the ironwork of the gate.
"This way!" said Miska, dragging Stuart by the arm. "Oh! I am wild
with fear and sorrow and joy!"
"With joy, dear little Miska!" whispered Stuart, as he followed her.
They passed around the bend into the narrower lane which led toward
the river and upon which the garden-door opened. Stuart detained her.
If the fate of the whole world had hung in the balance--as indeed,
perhaps it did--he could not have acted otherwise. He raised her
bewitching face and kissed her ardently.
She trembled and clung to him rapturously.
"I _live_!" she whispered. "Oh! I am mad with happiness! It is Chunda
Lal that gives me life--for he tells me the truth. It is not with the
living-death that _he_ touches me; it is a trick, it is all a trick
to bind me to him! Oh, Chunda Lal! Hurry! he is going to kill him!"
But supreme above all the other truths in the world, the joyous truth
that Miska was to live set Stuart's heart on fire.
"Thank God!" he said fervently--"oh, thank God! Miska!"
At the garden-door a group of men awaited them. Sergeant Sowerby and
two assistants remaining to watch the entrance and the lane, Miska
led Stuart and the burly Inspector Kelly along that path beside the
wall which Stuart so well remembered.
"Hurry!" she whispered urgently. "We must try to reach him before ..."
"You fear for Chunda Lal?" said Stuart.
"Oh, yes! He has a terrible power--Fo-Hi--which he never employs with
me, until to-night. Ah! it is only Chunda Lal, who saved me! But
Chunda Lal he can command with his _Will._ From it, once he has made
anyone a slave to it, there is no escape. I have seen one in the city
of Quebec, in Canada, forget all else and begin to act in obedience
to the will of Fo-Hi who is thousands of miles away!"
"My God!" murmured Stuart, "what a horrible monster!"
They had reached the open door beyond which showed the dimly lighted
passage. Miska hesitated.
"Oh! I am afraid!" she whispered.
She thrust the keys into the hand of Inspector Kelly, pointing to one
of them, and:
"That is the key!" she said. "Have your pistol ready. Do not touch
anything in the room and do not go in if I tell you not to. Come!"
They pressed along the passage, came to the stair and were about to
ascend, when there ensued a dull reverberating boom, and Miska shrank
back into Stuart's arms with a stifled shriek.
"Oh! Chunda Lal!" she moaned--"Chunda Lal! It is the trap!"
"The trap!" said Inspector Kelly.
"The cellar trap. He has thrown him down ... to the ants!"
Inspector Kelly uttered a short laugh; but Stuart repressed a shudder.
He was never likely to forget the skeleton of the Nubian mute which
had been stripped by the ants in sixty-nine minutes!
"We are too late!" whispered Miska. "Oh! listen! listen!"
Bells began to ring somewhere above them.
"Max and Dunbar are in!" said Kelly. "Come on, sir! Follow closely,
boys!"
He ran up the stairs and along the corridor to the door at the end.
A muffled shot sounded from somewhere in the depths of the house.
"That's Harvey!" said one of the men who followed--"Our man must have
tried to escape by the tunnel to the river bank!"
Inspector Kelly placed the key in the lock of the door.
It was at this moment that Gaston Max, climbing up to the front
balcony by means of the natural ladder afforded by the ancient ivy,
grasped the iron railing and drew himself up to the level of the
room. By this same stairway Chunda Lal had ascended to death and
Miska had climbed down to life.
"Mind the ironwork doesn't give way, sir!" called Dunbar from below.
"It is strong," replied Max. "Join me here, my friend."
Max, taking a magazine pistol from his pocket, stepped warily over
the ledge into the mysterious half-light behind the great screen. As
he did so, one of the lacquer doors was unlocked from the outside,
and across the extraordinary, smoke-laden room he saw Inspector Kelly
enter. He saw something else.
Seated in a strangely-shaped canopied chair was a figure wearing a
rich mandarin robe, but having its face covered with a green veil.
_"Mon Deiu!_ at last!" he cried, and leapt into the room. "'The
Scorpion'!"
Even as he leapt, and as the Scotland Yard men closed in upon the
chair also, all of them armed and all half fearful, a thing happened
which struck awe to every heart--for it seemed to be supernatural.
Raising a metal hammer which he held in his hand, Fo-Hi struck the
bronze bell hung beside the chair. It emitted a deep, loud note....
There came a flash of blinding light, and intense crackling sound,
the crash of broken glass, and a dense cloud of pungent fumes rose
in the heated air.
Dunbar had just climbed in behind Gaston Max. Bother were all but
hurled from their feet by the force of the explosion. Then:
"Oh, my God!" cried Dunbar, staggering, half blinded, _"look--look!"_
A deathly silence claimed them all. Just within the doorway Stuart
appeared, having his arm about the shoulders of Miska.
The Throne of the Gods was empty! A thin coating of grey dust was
settling upon it and upon the dais which supported it.
They had witnessed a scientific miracle ... the complete and
instantaneous disintegration of a human body. Gaston Max was the
first to recover speech.
"We are defeated," he said. "'The Scorpion,' surrounded, destroys
himself. It is the way of a scorpion."