THE HUNTING INSTINCT IS STIMULATED BY A PROCESSION
The big car rolled down Piccadilly. She was a beauty to handle, as I
discovered in the first two minutes. The very latest type of electric
starter, a magnificent lighting installation--every convenience was
ready to my hand. I was in an extraordinary state of mind as I steered
the car through the late theatre and restaurant traffic, purely
mechanically and without conscious thought about it.
The predominant sensation was one of immense overwhelming relief at the
prospect of _action_. Mere office activities, the planning of guard and
patrol ships, conferences with pilots and officials, had been quite
powerless to calm the terrible fever of unrest within me. It was
commanding other people to do things, not doing them myself. I knew all
the time that I should have been happier piloting one of the war-planes
over the Atlantic. Now, at any rate, I was doing something real. I was
actually setting out, in my own person, upon a definite quest. It might
be all moonshine. I was well aware that many hard-headed people would
have laughed at this expedition, considering the slender evidence I had.
They would have talked about "circumstantial evidence," the folly of
pure assumption, and so forth. "Behold this dreamer cometh!" would have
been their attitude.
And although I was driving the big car up Park Lane for Oxford Street
and the road to the West, I did feel as if I were in a dream. My whole
life had been altered by the events of the past few days, ruined for
ever it might be. To-night its stream was violently diverted from its
course. Everything with which I was familiar had flashed away, and I was
on the brink of the fantastic and unknown. There was not a man in London
setting out upon so strange an errand, under circumstances so
unprecedented, as I was this night. We slid by a huge white house, set
back from the railings, and with all its windows looking out over the
Park. It was the London palace that Mr. Van Adams had built for himself
during the last five years, and the strangeness of my affair was
intensified at the sight.
Only a few hours ago the great man had been sitting in my chambers, and
introducing the enigmatic figure that sat behind me in the car. Here
was a dream figure indeed! It was impossible to think of Danjuro as a
human being. He was just a brain, a specialized force, devoted to one
object, and probably, as Van Adams had hinted, the supreme force of its
kind in existence. Already I had placed myself in his hands, and not
only my personal interests, dear as those were to me, but my
responsibilities to the State as well, and that was no small thing for
him to have achieved in so short a space of time. The unique detachment
and concentration that was sitting behind me had an almost magical
effect upon one's mind and will. With such help, surely, I could not
fail?
I fell to thinking of what the Japanese had already achieved, the quiet
and masterly skill of his analysis, the cold audacity of his plot to
keep Helzephron in London, the neatness and finish of his operations as
witnessed by the periscope upon the dinner-table at the "Mille
Colonnes." Surely, Helzephron, or whoever was the master-criminal, was a
doomed man with Danjuro on his track?
We were running out of Ealing now, and traffic was almost gone in the
long, straight westward road among the acres of market gardens and
glass-houses that fringe the western approach to the metropolis. I let
out the powerful engines, and as the car leapt like a spurred horse, my
heart leapt up into anger at the name Helzephron.
Connie--poor, lost Connie--had told me herself how the man had pestered
her, and I had seen him at Paddington with my own eyes. The
investigations at the Parthenon Theatre by Thumbwood and Danjuro had put
the details in the picture, and an ugly one it was. The man, V.C. as he
was, had a bad reputation enough. I had watched him that very evening,
marked every line upon the hawk-like, cruel face, and thrilled when the
vulgar pugilist attacked him. It was the next best thing to thrashing
him myself! Yet--I record this as an interesting point of my psychology
at the beginning of the enterprise--I was disgusted with and loathed the
man only. I did not hate him, for I found it, even now, impossible to
believe that he was the abductor of my girl.
Understand me if you can. Danjuro had convinced my intellect, but not my
heart. My state was the reverse of the ordinary state in such a
situation. Plenty of people believe in anything--a religion for
example--by faith, and cannot justify their faith intellectually. Their
belief is always confident and strong. I believed intellectually, but
had no faith, which was why this quest seemed shadow-like and a thing in
a dream. No doubt, the long night drive and my curious companion--I was
always conscious of him--intensified the impression of unreality.
About three in the morning Danjuro spoke through the tube and insisted
on relieving me. I stopped the huge car in a dark, tree-bordered road,
where the moonlight lay in pools and patches of silver, and exchanged
seats with the little man. As I stood on the road and stamped with my
feet to restore the circulation, the night-breeze rustled in the leaves,
and far away I heard the nightjar spinning. Never was such a still and
solitary place. Danjuro's face in the moonlight seemed as immobile and
lifeless as one of those Japanese masks of wax with eyes of opalescent
glass that you can buy in the Oriental shops.
I got inside and, suddenly weary, sank back in the luxuriously cushioned
seat. The car started again, and Thumbwood switched on a light in the
roof. He produced a Thermos flask of hot soup, which I found delicious
and refreshing.
"How have you been getting on with Mr. Danjuro?" I inquired.
"Very well, thank you, Sir John. He knows everything, I do believe. If
there's one thing where I should detect a man who was talking through
'is 'at, it's 'osses. Stands to reason. But this gentleman knows 'osses
like a blooming trainer, sir. And as for the games of the crooks in the
ring and on the course, he's wide to every one of 'em. I generally
carries a pack of cards in my pocket, sir, and I've got one with me now.
The things 'e showed me passes belief. I've seen a good deal of that
sort of work, but Mr. Danjuro's an easy winner. I wouldn't play poker
with 'im, no, nor 'alfpenny nap, for a fistful o' thick 'uns!"
We breakfasted at Exeter, and I had the opportunity of a shave and a
bath. I remember that when I was half-way up the hotel stairs a horrid
thought struck me, and I hurried down again to consult Danjuro.
How would the stuff he had put on my skin stand hot water and soap?
He reassured me, however. Nothing would remove the beastly stuff but a
preparation he carried with him, and I bathed in peace.
It was a beautiful morning when we started again, and for many miles our
route lay close to the smiling Devon sea. The waves were sapphire blue,
framed in the red sandstone rocks, and the sky resembled a great hollow
turquoise. It was a bright morning, and one side of me rejoiced in it;
but the thought of my girl was always there, a constant sullen pain, for
which the morning held no anodyne.
Thumbwood drove on this stretch of the journey, and Danjuro sat inside
studying innumerable maps, and now and then making notes in a
pocket-book. I wondered what thoughts were seething and bubbling behind
that massive dome of skull.
Apart from the scenery, there was plenty to interest a Commissioner of
Air Police. The sky was speckled with small private planes, converging
upon Plymouth or Exeter from many a pleasant country residence. There
was no longer any need for the professional man or the prosperous
tradesman to live within a very few miles of his place of business. Men
flew to their day's work, and from considerable distances, and as a
matter of course. A mile or two out at sea one distinguished the large
steady-going passenger airships by which England was now ringed, and
occasionally the Royal Mail boats cut the sky like javelins. More than
once I spotted one of my police patrols. It was curious to remember that
I, who sat here with a stained face and shaven lip, bowling along the
Devon roads at a miserable forty miles an hour, had supreme control of
all those aerial argosies.
There were few cars upon the roads at this early hour. Contrary to
general opinion fifteen years ago, the popularity of flying had by no
means killed the automobile. It had lessened their numbers in an
appreciable degree, and made the roads more pleasant. I should, of
course, have preferred to reach our destination, or, at any rate, to
have travelled the greater part of the way towards it by airship. The
system of registration and the police regulations--framed by
myself--would have given too much away. My actual identity and purpose
might not have been discovered, but we should have been easily traced,
and Helzephron--if he was what we suspected--would be the first to hear
of a private aeroplane making its appearance in the solitudes where he
lived.
Towards midday we were approaching Plymouth, when I began to feel
uneasy. The agony I had endured there a day or two ago, when Thumbwood
burst into my bedroom with news of the _Atlantis_ disaster, clouded my
memory. I felt that I never wished to see the pride of Devon again.
This, though, was merely weakness which I crushed down. More practical
considerations occurred to me. I made Charles stop the car and got
inside with Danjuro.
"Look here," I said, "hadn't we better run straight through the town and
get on into Cornwall? We can lunch at St. Germans or somewhere."
"You have some special reason for avoiding Plymouth, Sir John?" Danjuro
asked politely.
"Well, it's the air-port for America. One of my largest stations is
there. Dozens and dozens of people know me. I've always been a familiar
figure in Plymouth, and never more so than lately, of course."
The Japanese gave his little weary smile. "I do not think you realize
the alteration in your appearance," he said. "I assure you, and I am an
expert in these matters, that no one at all would ever recognize you. I
had proposed to stop in Plymouth for at least a couple of hours."
"Why, exactly?"
"For several reasons. One is that I shall be able to purchase some local
Cornish maps and a directory or two, which I need, and found no
opportunity of procuring in London. But that is not all. Here we are in
the very centre of air matters, as far as the Atlantic is concerned. The
place is still seething with excitement. Nothing else but the piracies
is spoken of. The town is packed with correspondents of the principal
European newspapers. It is in a ferment. I much wish to go about with my
ears open for an hour or two. I do think, Sir John, that it would be
unwise to neglect this opportunity, for you as well as myself. There is
no knowing what we may pick up."
"You're certain about my disguise?"
"Perfectly certain. You will not, of course, enter into long
conversations with anyone who knows you well, as your voice would betray
you. Otherwise you may rest secure."
"Yes, that's the weak point," I replied. "I've always heard that,
however perfectly a man may be disguised, you cannot disguise his
voice."
He rolled a cigarette with the quick snatching movement of his fingers
that always struck me as a miracle of dexterity.
"It is not true," he remarked. "I have invented five methods, three
mechanical and two medical or chemical, whichever you like to call
them. When we have leisure I will show you. But there is no need for
anything of the sort in your case. It will give you confidence, Sir
John, to test the completeness of your new appearance. If you will go to
the Royal Hotel and lunch there--keeping awake to hear the general
talk--I will join you about three."
"Very well," I replied, though with some reluctance, "and the car?"
"Mr. Thumbwood has been with you at the 'Royal,' and he is not
disguised. It would be better that he should not approach the hotel. We
will put you down a short distance away. I will remain in the car and
direct Thumbwood where to go."
Nothing escaped this little man! He seemed to foresee and provide for
everything, and when I alighted five minutes afterwards, some two
hundred yards from the hotel, I felt fairly secure in my new character
as Mr. Johns, the don of Christ Church, Oxford.
Immediately I was in the street I became aware--you know how one
does?--that the Japanese was right, and Plymouth was in a ferment.
London is too vast for anything but a national calamity to make any
alteration in the outward appearance of things, and even then it takes a
sharp eye and a man well versed in the psychology of crowds to detect
anything unusual. Not so a big provincial town.
As I walked along the classic façade of the theatre and turned the
corner to the main entrance of the hotel, I saw one thought on every
face and heard one single topic of discussion. The streets, always so
gay and cheerful with military and naval uniforms, seemed more crowded
than their wont, and there was a definite electricity in the air. I know
that I felt stimulated, encouraged to persist, and as I ascended the
massive steps of the hotel, my clean-shaven lips smiled to think with
what interest I should be regarded if anyone had but an inkling of whom
I was and upon what mission.
And then I had a shock.
Standing in the big lounge-hall, and talking to a man in a black
morning-coat and a silk hat, was my second in command--Muir Lockhart,
Assistant Commissioner of Air Police! He was in uniform, a special
uniform that we both wore upon ceremonial occasions only.
"Yes," he was saying, "I'm down here representing the Chief."
I dared not stay to listen, but I walked towards them as slowly as I
could. Muir Lockhart has a somewhat high, penetrating voice.
"When did you come down?" asked the other man.
"Arrived half an hour ago, flew down from Whitehall this morning," said
Muir Lockhart.
"Then Sir John Custance isn't coming?"
My assistant shook his head. "Utterly impossible," he said. "Sir John
cannot leave town just now. He must be at the head of things; can't
possibly be spared. I saw him this morning before I left; he had been
working all night and was nearly dead. 'Explain my position to them,' he
said; 'nothing but strict duty would keep me away from Plymouth to-day.'
So, you see how it is, Mr. Mayor?"
"Oh, quite, quite! Well, I must be getting round to the Guildhall. You
will march up your men at half-past one? Thank you."
The man in the silk hat, who I realized must be the Mayor of Plymouth,
hurried away. I was left face to face with Muir Lockhart.
He stared at me, not offensively, but in such a way that he could not
have missed a detail of my appearance; he always was an observant
beggar. Then he passed by without a sign of recognition. Good! I
reflected, if my own colleague, who saw me for several hours each day,
did not know me, no one else would. It seemed a good omen, and I blessed
Danjuro in my heart.
And what a splendid liar Muir Lockhart was! He knew that I had gone away
on my own, and he hadn't the least idea in the world where I was! It
was a temptation to discover myself, but I refrained.
I was very puzzled. What on earth was he doing here in uniform, and
talking to the Mayor about? I hadn't a suspicion of the truth even then,
and I had a curious sense of being out of things, forgotten and on the
scrap-heap! The long drive had made me hungry and I thought about lunch.
Before going into the coffee-room I wished to remove the stains of
travel, so I went down the corridor to the lavatory.
When I entered a man in his shirt-sleeves was bending over one of the
basins and sluicing himself with many splashes. As I was washing my own
swarthy hands he emerged from a towel and gave me a casual glance.
It was Mr. Van Adams!
I could not repress a violent start, the thing was so sudden. What did
this gathering of the clans mean? He noticed my movement at once, and
looked at me with inquiry in his eyes. The lavatory was quite empty save
for our two selves, and my decision was taken at once.
"Mr. Van Adams?" I asked.
"Sure!" he replied. "You have the floor--shoot!"
"You don't know me?"
"Not from the great Lum-tum, though your voice is kind of homey."
"I'm Sir John Custance. Danjuro's been faking me up. He's down here
with me."
"Gee!" said Mr. Van Adams. "Aren't you the fresh thing now, Sir John? So
you're down for the obsequies incog.? That's what I've come for--matter
of respect. Flew down from Park Lane after breakfast."
"I'm on my way west. We only stopped here for an hour or two, as Danjuro
had some business."
"I've ordered lunch in a private room overlooking the square. Come right
up, Sir John, you'll be able to see everything from there."
"Thank you. But I'm still in the dark. I'm right away from the office
now, as you know. I saw Commander Muir Lockhart here just now, but I
couldn't speak to him...."
He took me by the arm and led me along the corridor to the lift.
"Captain Lashmar, of your force and the five men of the patrol boat are
being buried to-day," he said; "also Captain Swainson, of the
_Atlantis_, and the boys murdered on _his_ ship."
I flushed under my dye. I had never heard a word of it. I felt an
absolute beast as we entered the private room, and I tried to explain to
the millionaire.
"Think you callous and unfeeling?" he said in answer. "Guess I know
better than that, my friend. You're out to prevent just such a
spectacle as we're going to witness from ever happening again. You're
playing a better game than prancing along at the head of a procession.
You're getting busy at the heart of things. Now sit down and share the
pork bosom and beans, or whatever they've given us. And tell me all
about it."
We sat down to lunch, and after a glass of Burgundy, I told Van Adams of
all that had occurred, and also expressed my complete confidence in
Danjuro.
"You're right," he said. "There isn't an investigator on the globe
that'd carry a tune to him. He has his orders to stick to you right
through and he'll carry them out. That little man's got a brain like the
Mammoth Cave, and he's without human passions, save only one--he'd go to
hell in a paper suit for me! See here----" and the millionaire told me a
string of anecdotes about the uncanny little Jap that would make the
fortunes of a writer of Romance.
He was still on the same subject when he stopped in the middle of a
sentence.
The noise in the square outside was suddenly hushed, and we heard a
muffled chord of music. Rising from our chairs we went to the windows.
Everywhere, as far as eye could reach, was a black sea of heads, from
among which the slender clocktower on its island in the centre rose
like a sentinel.
The pavements were lined by troops, soldiers and sailors in equal
proportions, and there was a flutter as of falling leaves as every head
was bared and the piercing sweetness of Chopin's "Funeral March" filled
all the air.
Then they came, following the band: thirteen coffins covered with
flowers, thirteen brave heroes, who would never slant down the long
reaches of the upper air again.
After the hearses walked Paget and Fowles, the two heroic airmen who had
called the rescuing ship by wireless, and then came the chaplains and
Muir Lockhart.
For my part I saw the whole procession in a dream. The head of the
Transatlantic Air Line, the Mayor and Corporation in their robes--the
stately funereal pomp of it all seemed unsubstantial and unreal.
Mr. Van Adams was kneeling a yard or two away from the window. His head
was bent, he had a crucifix and a string of golden beads in his hands,
and was saying prayers. Who would have thought it of this master of
millions with the pike-like jaw? I suppose he was a Catholic.
But my mind was far away, above the heaving wastes of the Atlantic, and
I saw an unnamed, unknown ship rushing through the air, at a speed
undreamed of hitherto in the history of flight. And in the pilot's seat
I had a vision of a hawk-faced man with cruel eyes and a smile upon his
hard, thin lips....
I stood there for so long that the very tail of the procession was
passing by, and Mr. Van Adams rose from his prayers with the sign of the
Cross, and touched me on the arm.
"Look!" he said, pointing down into the street.
I followed his finger and saw Danjuro standing on the opposite kerb. He
was looking after the cortège, and his face, with the expression on it,
was quite clear to see....
In an instant I came out of my dream.