MAX’S EXPLANATION CONCLUDED
1
In the pockets of this unhappy’s garments, I found several
significant things. In order of interest they were:
A very neat and unusual folding headpiece, having tiny caps to fit the
ears. (The purpose of this was apparent.) A case of good cigars--quite
full. In the case a photograph of Mme. Yburg. A visiting card of one
Dr. Schreiber, upon it pencilled: “9:30 Regal garden.” And, as I have
already stated, a packet of chewing gum.
In a little lobby I discovered a light overcoat and soft gray hat,
also a gold-mounted malacca cane. Upon a side table lay a pair of
gloves.
It is at such moments, my friend, that one calls upon one’s
experience. I had no clue to the hour. But it was safe to assume that,
as M. Nestor had worn evening dress, it was night. Nevertheless, the
appointment with Dr. Schreiber might not be for _this_ night.
I was in a quandary--and for more reasons than one. The poor Nestor’s
spectacles not only fitted me badly but contained such powerful lenses
that, wearing them, I saw everything through a fog! Supreme problem:
how did I get out of the laboratory--and what was M. Nestor’s
behaviour in departing?
The anteroom, as well as the room containing my glass coffin, was
dimly lighted. This, by heaven, was fortunate!
As I stood before the little mirror, endeavouring to adjust those
spectacles, I heard footsteps! I turned.
A stout man, a German, in white overalls--and who also wore
spectacles--was approaching. He was blond, half blind, and
good-humoured.…
He smiled.
“Forgive me, Doctor,” he said, speaking in English, “if I have
detained you. But you know how particular _he_ is at his rest hours.
He insisted upon a last word with the English journalist before
retiring. Then, ‘Herr Richter,’ he said, ‘it is death for anyone to
wake me before midnight.’ Thank God, he is asleep now! The Chief stood
by. She is a darling. I know you agree with me?”
Swiftly, I became M. Nestor. This was leg pulling! Silence was
indicated.
Herr Richter glanced at the crystal coffin.
“Another injection at midnight--is it so?” he asked.
I nodded. I recalled perfectly the speech of M. Nestor, and:
“Sure,” I replied--“right arm. Don’t move him.”
Herr Richter nodded comprehendingly.
“A and B Zones are down,” he said, turning away. “You will require
your crown.”
I understood. “Crown” was their name for the headpiece!
At what point of the journey was it usual to attach one’s “crown”?
More urgent--in which direction should I proceed? This Richter was
half blind, but I might meet others who could see too well.… Name of a
good little man, it was nervous work!
“Elevator waiting!” the German called over his shoulder as he passed
from the room.
I followed him.
At the farther end of the great laboratory, I saw a gap in the
wall--the car of an elevator! My unsuspecting confrère was bending
over a table on which were a number of books and papers. I hoped he
would not ask me to explain anything; I hoped I should not meet Mme.
Yburg. As I passed Richter and had nearly reached the elevator:
“Doctor!” he called.
I paused--afraid to look back!
“Well?” I spoke over my shoulder.
“Crown!” he said. “Always put it on before you leave, Doctor, when the
zones are down. You know what happened last week!”
Relief drew a great sigh from me.
“Sure!” I replied. “Thanks. Good-night!”
I stepped into the lift. Immediately, it descended. It stopped. I saw
before me a great hall supported by square pillars and having in the
middle a monstrous statue. In a corner, beside an open doorway, stood
a giant figure, black-armoured, a mace upon its shoulder!
No other opening was visible. My heart in my mouth, I advanced in the
direction of this one.…
I was some ten paces off, when the figure in mail lowered his mace to
the floor with a crash! I nearly choked. But he remained motionless. I
continued to advance. I passed through the doorway, glancing back as I
did so. The man at arms had replaced his mace upon his shoulder.
It was a salute!
Now I found myself upon a winding stair of ancient stonework. Above,
it was in shadow; below, illuminated with what seemed to be bright
moonlight. But there were no windows! I descended.
Presently I reached a great iron gate. Everything was silent--deathly
silent! Here at this gate stood another of the gigantic black
figures--dreadful to contemplate in that artificial moonlight. I was
six steps above the gate; but the figure reached out a mailed black
arm and opened it. I passed through and continued to descend. The gate
closed with a clang behind me.
Down I went, at last reaching a low, arched doorway. I stepped
through, and found myself… where do you think?
Clearly, in the ancient guard room of the castle! It retained many of
its original features. But new and strange ones had been added. Behind
a table near the great open fireplace, a table which contained a
number of extraordinary-looking switchboards and other paraphernalia,
a man was seated.
This room, alas! was more brightly lighted--as I had observed from the
stairs. I now wore the headpiece and carried the hat, coat, and cane
of M. Nestor.
The man at the table, an ascetic-looking creature who might have been
a monk except that he wore quite ordinary and shabby clothes, stared
at me hard with light blue eyes. He was, I think, a Swede. I did not
care for his appearance, until:
“I am glad to see, Doctor,” he said, speaking in English, but now his
Swedish accent was unmistakable, “that your experience of last week
has taught you wisdom.”
He tapped his ear.
I nodded. That stare had been harmless. He had merely wished to learn
if I wore the protective “crown”! Evidently M. Nestor was notoriously
absent-minded.
So far, very good.
The Swede took up a bunch of keys, crossed, and opened a heavily
iron-studded door--part, one could see at a glance, of the old
fortress. He stood aside as I went through, and:
“If you return by road,” he advised, “use the zone path after
midnight. But go out by the main gate. The Watch will open.
Good-night.”
“Good-night,” I replied.
I walked out to find myself in an ancient courtyard.
Before me, at the foot of a declivity, were twin towers joined by a
gateway above which projected the teeth of a portcullis. The night was
perfect. I proceeded.
Clear of the castle and before trees obtruded, I turned, looking back.
My friend, Felsenweir from that point presents a wonderful spectacle
in the moonlight! Its silhouette against the sky took me back into the
Middle Ages. From that point of view, nothing seemed to have changed.
This road upon which I found myself presently plunged into a perfect
tunnel of pines. I pulled up, unable to proceed. Moonlight failed to
penetrate; and I wondered why the lamented M. Nestor carried no torch.
Then my stupidity became apparent.
Some heavy object contained in the pocket of that light overcoat I
carried, and which had been bumping against my leg, proved to be just
the torch which I required!
I continued my journey.
It was a longer journey than I had anticipated. But at last it brought
me to the foot of the slope. Ahead, I saw an iron gate. As I moved the
ray of the torch right to left, presently it rested upon another of
those gigantic black figures.…
I doubted. I wondered.… Name of a little dog! Since I had left,
_everything_ might have been discovered!
This one’s orders were perhaps to dash out my brains with that great
mace which he carried! My torchlight touched his figure.… He lowered
the mace, reached out one black arm--and opened a wicket gate!
Teeth very tightly clenched, I passed through to the road. I was in
sight of the spot where I had been captured! The gate was closed
behind me. I switched off my torch.
A smart two-seater stood by the roadside, no lights showing. I opened
the door, removed the headpiece, threw in coat and cane, put up the
lamps, and lighted one of M. Nestor’s cigars.…
This was an exercise; but exercises are useful at times, Woodville.
The road I knew well. I seated myself at the wheel and drove off. No
one checked me! I left the castle of Felsenweir unchallenged. Your
fate, my friend, and the fate of many millions, I held in my hands.
Upon me rested the mighty task of saving the world!
2
My first problem was where I should park the car. I had now no key to
my private garage. I sank myself into the personality of Nestor, the
chemist. I determined that he would park his car north of the church,
behind the Regal.
This guess was good, for the man there seemed to know me. He hailed me
as “Herr Doktor.” Some trifling formalities being completed, I now
faced the greater problem. The time, I learned, was nine o’clock, and
I was uncertain of myself, you understand--particularly of my
moustache! Nevertheless, since no dressing room was available, I
entered the Regal.
The hall porter and the clerk on duty both greeted me as “Herr
Doktor”! _Bien._
“I wish to see M. Gaston Max,” I said. “Can you tell me if he is in?”
“Why! he left three days ago,” the clerk exclaimed.
“What!” I cried.
And truly I was astounded. _Three days_ had elapsed since we had been
kidnapped on the road below Felsenweir!
“He left hurriedly with his friend Mr. Woodville,” the clerk went on
to say. “Someone from Cook’s came, settled their accounts, and
collected their baggage. Unfortunately, I have no address, Herr
Doktor. These French people are nearly as mad as the English!”
How thorough were the methods of our enemies! “Someone from Cook’s.”
No loose end had been left! But I wondered what had become of my car!
To use the name of the great Cook was audacious, and, I thought,
significant. Things must be coming to a head or so great a risk would
never have been taken.
I left the Regal and hurried to a quiet café. Desperately, I needed
nourishment. I devoured sandwiches and drank beer. Certainly the
Germans can brew beer!
Then I called at the headquarters of police and made myself known.
It was a sensation! It covers me with embarrassment this, but it is a
fact--my name was famous even in Baden-Baden! The German authorities,
little as I have cause to love them, are efficient!
I left that office certain that all I had suggested would be carried
out; that Paris, London, Washington, and Berlin from now onward would
be actively behind me. I hurried back to the Regal. It might be that
my appointment was for to-night; that in Dr. Schreiber I should find a
link with Felsenweir which should enable me to get in touch with those
I had left behind, and to return as an advance guard of reinforcements
to the post I had deserted--or so I felt.…
Along that path beside the little singing stream I walked. Your room,
Woodville, was dark--no one else had occupied it. Moonlight aided me.
Since I could not recognize Dr. Schreiber, I could only trust that he
would recognize _me_. And, sure enough, presently a portly figure rose
from a chair.
“Dr. Nestor!” I heard.
I paused. I was unaware of the exact intimacy which existed between
us. I must be tactful; and so:
“Surely Dr. Schreiber!” I replied.
“My dear Dr. Nestor!” He grasped my hand. “It is a long time since we
have met!” (I was glad of this.) “But it appears to me that you have
not changed in the slightest.”
Always, I discovered, this Dr. Nestor was addressed in English. It was
fortunate, since I have a good knowledge of the language. If I had
been compelled to speak in German I might have betrayed myself. In
Greek, I should have been lost!
“I return the compliment with pleasure!” I said. “Perhaps we have time
to celebrate our meeting?”
“Why,” the doctor replied, “I think we might venture so far.”
“The Regal?”
“No, no! It is too public. I mean, one is noticed in hotels. Let us
walk along to the Kurhaus and sit at a quiet table.”
We did as he suggested. And the table selected was not only quiet but
in deep shadow. There we talked.
He was, or so it appeared, this worthy Dr. Schreiber, a high official
of the brotherhood from the United States. Much of his conversation
was unintelligible to me, although I contrived to pretend otherwise.
But some of it was illuminating! The affiliated brethren on that
continent, I gathered, had been broken up by the authorities. This had
been a great disappointment, but it did not disturb their ultimate
plans.
“I was told,” Dr. Schreiber continued, “that you would introduce me
this evening, before visiting headquarters, to my British colleague,
Sir Rathbone Edwardes, to Kluen Yung, of Hankow, and last but not
least to that very remarkable man, Professor Dimes, of Melbourne.
Where are we to meet them?”
You can imagine, my friend, the state of mind to which this remark
reduced me! What I had learned was useless.
That there was a Kluen Yung, a Sir Rathbone Edwardes, and a Professor
Dimes associated in this gigantic conspiracy would have been priceless
information, if only I could have imparted it to the prefect of
police! Now, it was too late!
I realized that I was getting out of my depth! But my experience with
“Mr. King” of London, with “Diamond Ned” of New York, and at least one
other super-criminal with whom I had come in contact, in this crisis
served me well. “By the beard of the Prophet!” I exclaimed to
myself--“now it is _wit_, for you have no data to act upon!”
“The Master has not advised you of the change of plan?” I asked.
“No!”
“We are meeting these gentlemen at Felsenweir. There is a certain
urgency, you understand? Therefore we do not remain unduly long in
Baden.”
Dr. Schreiber nodded.
“I understand,” he replied. “The hour draws near. And perhaps, as
happened in America, interference threatens?”
“Serious interference,” I assured him. “John Lonergan of the United
States Secret Service is here, in Baden.”
It is a compliment to Lonergan: Dr. Schreiber was staggered.
“What!” he exclaimed--“_Lonergan!_ Then most certainly there is
urgency!”
“I agree,” said I. “There is a famous English journalist here also,
hot upon the scent, and worse, an agent of the Sûreté Générale!”
“Which agent?” Dr. Schreiber demanded.
“Gaston Max!”
“_The_ Gaston Max?”
“There is only one Gaston Max,” I assured him.
He leaned across the table and pressed my arm.
“More and more I understand!” he declared. “What then are our orders?”
Again I found myself at a deadlock!
I must return. So much was evident. In the short time at my disposal I
had done all that lay in my power. Now, my place was beside you. I
must return! I must return!
But once I had done so, what were our chances?
Even now, the substitution might have been discovered! Certainly, it
must be discovered within a very few minutes of my reëntering
Felsenweir. The action I had requested of the German police
authorities--no! name of a good little man! had _demanded_ of
them--could result in what?…
Felsenweir was impregnable! Those gallant troops formerly commanded by
Foch could never have stormed it! Only by destruction with heavy
artillery could access be obtained! Cunning--some treachery of the
inhabitants--alone could aid us! Or, if the gun should arrive. This, I
will explain later.
And it was then, my dear Woodville, that I thought of _you_!
Forgive me if I am obscure! This grotesque creature Anubis had said to
me: “Your friend Woodville will join us. Because he is interested in
the little Marusa and I will give her to him!”
How slender a thread! How hollow a hope! Yet I must hope for
something. And above all, at the moment, I had to reply to Dr.
Schreiber’s inquiry.
“It would be best,” I said, “if we returned immediately by road. My
car is waiting.”
“Very good,” he agreed. “Let us go.”
You can imagine with what feelings I drove back! My chances were a
thousand to one. I had no knowledge of the routine--how to demand that
the gates should be opened--how to proceed when they _were_ opened!
Dr. Schreiber unconsciously aided me. For, as we drew up:
“At last!” he cried, “I am to meet the Master face to face!”
He leaped out upon the road. Rushing to the gates, he beat upon them
with clenched fists.
“Anubis!” he cried.
There was an interval.
“Anubis!”
The wicket opened.
I switched off the car lights and followed Dr. Schreiber into
Felsenweir.…
When, at the end of that tedious climb, as we passed between those
twin towers, under the teeth of the portcullis, and I saw light
streaming out from Felsenweir’s ancient guardroom, I said good-bye to
myself.
It was too much to suppose that Herr Richter, or Mme. Yburg, had
failed to discover who lay in the crystal coffin! Of Madame I was
uncertain. I dared not to believe what I longed to believe.… How far
was she to be trusted? Already, perhaps, she had betrayed me! For she
_knew_ I had tricked Anubis!…
The ascetic Swede was not on duty. The door stood open. A very genial
Dutchman greeted us. He welcomed Schreiber with enthusiasm. He was
second Watch master, I learned. I kept my hat on--the brim pulled
down.
“Your baggage is already in your room, Doctor,” he said. “Directly
Anubis awakes he will see you. If you will be good enough to follow
Yamamata…”
A Japanese manservant had appeared.
Presently, having made certain arrangements for a later meeting with
Dr. Schreiber:
“I’ve got to see the Englishman,” I explained. “What room is he in?”
I remembered that M. Nestor was absent-minded. The second Watch master
was genial… Is it sufficient? Here I am. And here--name of a good
little man!--it appears to me I remain!
Three hopes we have, Woodville: First--Lonergan. Where _is_ he?
Second--myself. It is not known yet that I have left the crystal
coffin! Third--Anubis. He is sleeping!