The Sins of Séverac Bablon

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER IV

  THE HEAD OF CAESAR

  The voices died away. A door banged somewhere.

  Then Sheard all but cried out; for a hand was laid upon his arm.

  "_Ssh!_" came Severac Bablon's voice from the next mummy-case; and acreak told of the cabinet door swinging open. "This way!"

  Sheard followed immediately, and was guided along the whole length ofthe room. A door was unlocked and re-locked behind them. Downstairs theypassed, and along a narrow corridor lined with cases, as he could dimlysee. Through another door they went, and came upon stone steps.

  "Your boots!" said his companion, and put them into his hands.

  Rapidly enough he fastened them. A faint creak was followed by a draughtof cool air; and, being gently pushed forward, Sheard found himselfoutside the Museum and somewhere in the rear of the building. The placelay in deep shadow.

  "_Sss! Sss!_" came in his ear. "Quiet!"

  Whilst he all but held his breath, a policeman tramped past slowlyoutside the railings. As the sound of his solid tread died away, SeveracBablon raised something to his lips and blew a long-sustained, minornote--shrill, eerie.

  A motor-car appeared, as if by magic, stopped before them, and wasbacked right on to the pavement. The chauffeur, mounting on the roof,threw a short rope ladder across the railings.

  "Up!" Sheard was directed, and, nothing loath, climbed over.

  He was joined immediately by his companion in this night's bizarreadventures; and, almost before he realised that they were safe, he foundhimself seated once more in the swiftly moving car.

  "What's the meaning of it?" he demanded rapidly.

  "Fear nothing!" was the reply. "You have my word!"

  "But to what are you committing me?"

  "To nothing that shall lie very heavily upon your conscience! You haveseen, to-night, something of my opportunities. With the treasures of thenation thus at my mercy, am I a common cracksman? If I were, should Inot ere this have removed the portable gems of the collection? I say toyou again, that no door is closed to me; yet never have I sought toenrich myself. But why should these things lie idle, when they are suchall-powerful instruments?"

  "I don't follow you."

  "To-morrow all will be clear!"

  "Why did you blindfold me?"

  "Should you have followed had you seen where I led? I wish to number youamong my friends. You are not of my people, and I can claim no fealty ofyou; but I desire your friendship. Can I count upon it?"

  The light of a street-lamp flashed momentarily into the car, striking adull, venomous green spark from a curious ring which Severac Bablonwore. In some strange fashion it startled Sheard, but, in the ensuingdarkness, he sought out the handsome face of his companion and found thebig, luminous eyes fixed upon him. Something about the man--his daring,perhaps, his enthusiasm, his utterly mysterious purpose--appealed,suddenly, all but irresistibly.

  Sheard held out his hand. And withdrew it again.

  "To-morrow----" he began.

  "To-morrow you will have no choice!"

  "How so? You have placed yourself in my hands. I can now, if I desire,publish your description!--report all that you have told me--all that Ihave seen!"

  "You will not do so! You will be my friend, my defender in the Press. Ofwhat you have seen to-night you will say nothing!"

  "Why?"

  "No matter! It will be so!"

  A silence fell between them that endured until the car pulled up beforeSheard's gate.

  With ironic courtesy, he invited Severac Bablon to enter and partake ofsome refreshment after the night's excitement. With a grace that madethe journalist slightly ashamed of his irony, that incomprehensible manaccepted.

  Leaving him in the same arm-chair which he had occupied when first heset eyes upon him, Sheard went to the dining-room and returned with asiphon, a decanter, and glasses. He found Severac Bablon glancingthrough an edition of Brugsch's "Egypt Under the Pharaohs." He replacedthe book on the shelf as Sheard entered.

  "These Egyptologists," he said, "they amuse me! Dissolve them all in agiant test-tube, and the keenest analysis must fail to detect one singlegrain of imagination!"

  His words aroused Sheard's curiosity, but the lateness of the hourprecluded the possibility of any discussion upon the subject.

  When, shortly, Severac Bablon made his departure, he paused at the gateand proffered his hand, which Sheard took without hesitation.

  "Good-night--or, rather, good-morning!" he said smilingly. "We shallmeet again very soon!"

  The other, too tired to wonder what his words might portend, returned tothe house, and, lingering only to scrawl a note that he was not to beawakened at the usual time, hastened to bed. As he laid his weary headupon the pillow the cold grey of dawn was stealing in at the windows andbrushing out the depths of night's blacker shadows.

  It was noon when Sheard awoke--to find his wife gently shaking him.

  He sat up with a start.

  "What is it, dear?"

  "A messenger boy. Will you sign for the letter?"

  But half awake, he took the pencil and signed. Then, sleepily, he toreopen the envelope and read as follows.

  "DEAR MR. SHEARD,--

  "You were tired last night, so I did not further weary you with a discourse upon Egyptology; moreover, I had a matter of urgency to attend to; but you may remember I hinted that the initiated look beyond Brugsch.

  "I should be indebted if you could possibly arrange to call upon Sir Leopold Jesson in Hamilton Place at half-past four. You will find him at home. It is important that you take a friend with you. In your Press capacity, desire him to show you his celebrated collection of pottery. Seize the opportunity to ask him for a subscription (not less than L10,000) towards the re-opening of the closed ward of Sladen Hospital. He will decline. Offer to accept, instead, the mahogany case which he has in his smaller Etruscan urn. When you have secured this, decide to accept a cheque also. Arrange to be alone in your study at 12.40 to-night.

  "By the way, although Brugsch's book is elementary, there is something more behind it. Look into the matter.--S.B."

  This singular communication served fully to arouse Sheard, and,refreshed by his bath, he sat down to a late breakfast. Propping theletter against the coffee-pot, he read and re-read every line of thesmall, neat, and oddly square writing.

  The more he reflected upon it the more puzzled he grew. It was a linkwith the fantastic happenings of the night, and, as such, not whollywelcome.

  Why Severac Bablon desired him to inspect the famous Jesson collectionhe could not imagine; and that part of his instructions: "Decide toaccept a cheque," seemed to presume somewhat generously upon Sheard'spersuasive eloquence. The re-opening of the closed ward was a good andworthy object, and the sum of ten, or even twenty thousand pounds, onewhich Sir Leopold Jesson well could afford. But he did not remember tohave heard that the salving of derelict hospitals was one of SirLeopold's hobbies.

  Moreover, he considered the whole thing a piece of presumption upon thepart of his extraordinary acquaintance. Why should he run about Londonat the behest of Severac Bablon?

  "Eleven-thirty results!" came the sing-song of a newsboy. And Sheardslipped his hand in his pocket for a coin. As he did so, the boy pauseddirectly outside the house.

  "Robbery at the British Museum! Eleven-thirty!"

  His heart gave a sudden leap, and he cast a covert glance towards hiswife. She was deep in a new novel.

  Without a word, Sheard went to the door, and walking down to the gate,bought a paper. The late news was very brief.

  BRITISH MUSEUM MYSTERY

  "An incredibly mysterious burglary was carried out last night at the British Museum. By some means at present unexplained the Head of Caesar has been removed from its pedestal and stolen, and the world-famous Hamilton Vase (valued at L30,000) is also missing. The burglar has left no trace behind him, but as we go to p
ress the police report an important clue."

  Sheard returned to the house.

  Seated in his study with the newspaper and Severac Bablon's letterbefore him, he strove to arrange his ideas in order, to settle upon aplan of action--to understand.

  That the "important clue" would lead to the apprehension of the realculprit he did not believe for a moment. Severac Bablon, unless Sheardwere greatly mistaken, stood beyond the reach of the police measures.But what was the meaning of this crass misuse of his mysterious power?How could it be reconciled with his assurances of the previous night?Finally, what was the meaning of his letter?

  He wished him to interview Sir Leopold Jesson, for some obscure reason.So much was evident. But by what right did he impose that task upon him?Sheard was nonplussed, and had all but decided not to go, when theclosing lines of the letter again caught his eye. "Although Brugsch'sbook is elementary, there is something more behind it----"

  A sudden idea came into his head, an unpleasant idea, and with it, amemory.

  His visitor of the night before had brought a mysterious bag (whichSheard first had observed in his hand as they fled from the Museum) intothe house with him. It was evidently heavy; but to questions regardingit he had shaken his head, smilingly replying that he would know in goodtime why it called for such special attention. He remembered, too, thatthe midnight caller carried it when he departed, for he had rested itupon the gravel path whilst bidding him good-night.

  Frowning uneasily, he stepped to the bookcase.

  It was a very deep one, occupying a recess. With nervous haste heremoved "Egypt Under the Pharaohs," and his painful suspicion became acertainty.

  Why, he had asked himself, should he run about London at the behest ofSeverac Bablon? And here was the answer.

  Placed between the books and the wall at the back, and seeming to frownupon him through the gap, was the stolen Head of Caesar!

  Sheard hastily replaced the volume, and with fingers that were none toosteady filled and lighted his pipe.

  His reflections brought him little solace. He was in the toils. Theintervening hours with their divers happenings passed all but unnoticed.That day had space for but one event, and its coming overshadowed allothers. The hour came, then, all too soon, and punctually at four-thirtySheard presented himself in Hamilton Place.

  Sir Leopold Jesson's collection of china and pottery is one of the threefinest in Europe, and Sheard, under happier auspices, would have enjoyedexamining it. Ralph Crofter, the popular black-and-white artist whoaccompanied him, was lost in admiration of the pure lines and exquisitecolouring of the old Chinese ware in particular.

  "This piece would be hard to replace, Sir Leopold?" he said, resting hishand upon a magnificent jar of delicate rose tint, that seemed to blushin the soft light.

  The owner nodded complacently. He was a small man, sparely built, andhad contracted, during forty years' labour in the money market, apronounced stoop. His neat moustache was wonderfully black, blacker thanNature had designed it, and the entire absence of hair upon his high,gleaming crown enabled the craniologist to detect, without difficulty,Sir Leopold's abnormal aptitude for finance.

  "Two thousand would not buy it, sir!" he answered.

  Crofton whistled softly and then passed along the room.

  "This is very beautiful!" he said suddenly, and bent over a small vasewith figures in relief. "The design and sculpture are amazingly fine!"

  "That piece," replied Sir Leopold, clearing his throat, "is almostunique. There is only one other example known--the Hamilton Vase!"

  "The stolen one?"

  "Yes. They are of the same period, and both from the Barberini Palace."

  "Of course you have read the latest particulars of that extraordinaryaffair? What do you make of it?"

  Jesson shrugged his shoulders.

  "The vase is known to every connoisseur in Europe," he said. "No onedare buy it--though," he added smiling, "many would like to!"

  Sheard coughed uneasily. He had a task to perform.

  "Your collection represents a huge fortune, Sir Leopold," he said.

  "Say four hundred thousand pounds!" answered the collector comfortably.

  "A large sum. Think of the thousands whom that amount would make happy!"

  Having broken the ice, Sheard found his enforced task not altogetherdistasteful. It seemed wrong to him, unjust, and in strict disaccordancewith the views of the _Gleaner_, that these thousands should be lockedup for one man's pleasure, while starvation levied its toll upon themany. Moreover, he nurtured a temperamental distaste for the wholeSemitic race--a Western resentment of that insidious Eastern power.

  Crofter looked surprised, and clearly thought his friend's remark inrather bad taste. Sir Leopold faced round abruptly, and a hard lookcrept into his small bright eyes.

  "Mr. Sheard," he said harshly. "I began life as a pauper. What I have, Ihave worked for."

  "You have enjoyed excellent health."

  "I admit it."

  "Had you, in those days of early poverty, been smitten down withsickness, of what use to you would your admittedly fine commercialcapacity have been? You would then, only too gladly, have availedyourself of such an institution as the Sladen Hospital, for instance."

  Sir Leopold started.

  "What have you to do with the Sladen Hospital?"

  "Nothing. It has accomplished great work in the past."

  "Do you know anything of _this_?"

  Jesson's manner became truculent. He pulled some papers from his pocket,and selecting a plain correspondence card, handed it to Sheard.

  The card bore no address, being headed simply: "Final appeal." It read:

  "Your cheque toward the re-opening of the Out-Patient's Wing of Sladen Hospital has not been forwarded."

  Sheard failed to recognise the writing, and handed the card back,shaking his head.

  "Oh!" said Jesson suspiciously; "because I've had three of theseanonymous applications--and they don't come from the hospitalauthorities."

  "Why not comply?" asked Sheard. "Let me announce in the _Gleaner_ thatyou have generously subscribed ten thousand pounds."

  "_What!_" rapped Sir Leopold. "Do you take me for a fool?" He glaredangrily. "Before we go any farther, sir--is this touting business thereal object of your visit?"

  The pressman flushed. His conduct, he knew well, was irreconcilable withgood form; but Jesson's tone had become grossly offensive. Somethingabout the man repelled Sheard's naturally generous instincts, and noshade of compunction remained. A score of times, during the past quarterof an hour, he had all but determined to throw up this unsavoury affairand to let Severac Bablon do with him as he would. Now, he stifled allscruples and was glad that the task had been required of him. He wouldshirk no more, but would go through with the part allotted him in thisstrange comedy, lead him where it might.

  "Yes, and no!" he answered evasively. "Really I have come to ask you forsomething--the mahogany case which is in your smaller Etruscan urn!"

  Jesson stared; first at Sheard, and then, significantly, at Crofter.

  "I begin to suspect that you have lunched unwisely!" he sneered.

  Sheard repressed a hot retort, and Crofter, to cover the embarrassmentwhich he felt at this seeming contretemps, hummed softly and instituteda painstaking search for the vessel referred to. He experienced littledifficulty in finding it, for it was one of two huge urns standing uponebony pedestals.

  "The smaller, you say?" he called with affected cheeriness.

  Sheard nodded. It was a crucial moment. Did the pot contain anything? Ifnot, he had made a fool of himself. And if it did, in what way could itscontents assist him in his campaign of extortion?

  The artist, standing on tiptoe, reached into the urn--and produced amahogany case, such as is used for packing silver ware.

  "What's that?" rapped Jesson excitedly. "I know nothing of it!"

  "You might open it, Crofter!" directed Sheard with enforced calm.

  Crofter did
so--and revealed, in a nest of black velvet, a small pieceof exquisite pottery.

  A passage hitherto obscure in Severac Bablon's letter instantlyexplained itself in Sheard's mind. "I did not further weary you with adiscourse upon Egyptology; moreover, _I had a matter of urgency toattend to_!"

  Sir Leopold Jesson took one step forward, and then, with staring eyes,and face unusually pale, turned on the journalist.

  "The Hamilton Vase! You villain!"

  "Sir Leopold!" cried Sheard with sudden asperity, "be good enough tomoderate your language! If you can offer any explanation of how thisvase, stolen only last night from the national collection, comes to beconcealed in your house, I shall be interested to hear it!"

  Jesson looked at Crofter, who still held the case in his hands; theartist's face expressed nothing but blank amazement. He looked atSheard, who met his eyes calmly.

  "There is roguery here!" he said. "I don't know if there are two ofyou----"

  "Sir Leopold Jesson!" cried Crofter angrily, "you have said more thanenough! Your hobby has become a mania, sir! How you obtained possessionof the vase I do not know, nor do I know how my friend has traced thetheft to you; least of all how this scandal is to be hushed up. But havethe decency to admit facts! There is no defence, absolutely!"

  "What do you want?" said Jesson tersely. "This is a cunning trap--andI've fallen right into it!"

  "You have!" said Crofter grimly. "I must congratulate my friend on avery smart piece of detective work!"

  "What do you want?" repeated Jesson, moistening his dry lips.

  His quick mind had been at work since the stolen vase was discovered inhis possession, and although he knew himself the victim of an amazingplot, he also recognised that rebellion was out of the question. AsCrofter had said, there was no defence.

  "Suppose," suggested Sheard, "you authorise the announcement in the_Gleaner_ to which I have already referred? I, for my part, willundertake to return the vase to the proper authorities and to keep yourname out of the matter entirely. Would you agree to keep silent,Crofter?"

  "Can you manage what you propose?"

  "I can!" answered Sheard, confidently.

  "All right!" said Crofter slowly. "It's connivance, but in a goodcause!"

  "I shall make the cheque payable to the hospital!" said Jesson,significantly.

  Sheard stared for a moment, then, as the insinuation came home to hismind: "How dare you!" he cried hotly. "Do you take us for thieves?"

  "I hardly know what to take you for," replied the other. "Yourproceedings are unique."