by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XIV
ZOE DREAMS
If you know the Astoria, you will remember that all around thenorth-west side of the arcade-like structure, which opens on the OldSupper Room, the Rajah Suite, the Louis Ballroom, the EdwardianBanqueting Hall, and the Persian Lounge, are tiny cosy-corners. In oneof these you may smoke your secluded cigar, cigarette or pipe, whollyaloof from the bustle, with its marked New Yorkist note, whichcharacterises the more public apartments of the giant _caravanserai_.
There is a nicely shaded light, if you wish to read, or to write, atnight. But you control this by a switch, conveniently placed, so thatthe darkness which aids reflection is also at your command. Then thereis the window, opening right down to the floor, from which, if it pleaseyou, you may study the activity of the roofless ant-hill beneath, therestless febrility of West End London.
To such a nook Zoe Oppner retired, after a dinner but little enjoyed insolitary splendour amid the gaiety of one of the public dining-rooms.Her father had been called away by some mysterious business, too late inthe evening for her to make other arrangements. So she had descended anddined, a charming, but lonely figure, at the little corner table.
In some strange way, she had more than half anticipated that SeveracBablon would be there. But, although there were a number of peoplepresent whom she knew, the audacious Mr. Sanrack was not one of them.
Zoe had nodded to a number of acquaintances, but had not encouraged anyof them to disturb her solitude. The long and tiresome meal dealt with,she had fled to the nook I have mentioned, and, with an Egyptiancigarette between her lips, lay back watching, from the perfumeddarkness, the lights of London below.
The idea of calling upon Mary Evershed had occurred to her. Then she hadremembered that Mary was at some semi-official function of her uncle's,Mr. Belford's. Sheila Vignoles would be at home, but Zoe began to feeltoo deliciously lazy to think seriously of driving even so short adistance.
In a big, cane lounge-chair packed with cushions she curled upluxuriously and began to reflect.
Her reflections, it is needless to say, centred around Severac Bablon.Why, she asked herself, despite his deeds, did she admire and respecthim? Her mind refused to face the problem, but she felt a hot blush riseto her cheeks. She was a traitor to her father; she could not deny it.But at any rate she was a frank traitor, if such a state be possible.Only that morning she had explained her position to him.
"Severac Bablon," she had maintained, "only makes you rich men do whatyou ought to do with some of your money! Even if the object weren't agood one, even were it a ridiculous one, like making Dutchmen andAmericans buy British airships, it does make you _spend_ something. Andthat's a change!"
Mr. Oppner was used to these outspoken critcisms from his daughter. Hehad smiled grimly, wryly.
"I guess," had been his comment, "you'd stand up for the Bablon man,then, if he ever came your way?"
"Sure!" Zoe had cried. "You spend too much on me, and on Pinkertons, andnot enough on people who really want it."
"You ought to join the staff of the _Gleaner_, Zoe! They specialise inthat brand of junk, and they're in the popular market at the moment,too. They'll win the next election hands down, I'm told."
"Why don't you start a fund for Canadian emigrants?" Zoe had proceeded."You've made a heap of money out of Canada. Then you wouldn't have tobuy any airships, maybe!"
"I don't have to! No Roman Emperor was watched closer'n me! If that guygets me held up he's earnin' his money! Zoe, you're a durned unnaturaldaughter!"
The thought of that conversation made her smile. To her it seemed soridiculous that her father should guard his expenditure like one who hasbut a few dollars between himself and starvation. The gold fever was anincomprehensible disease to the daughter of the man who was moresavagely bitten with it than almost any other living plutocrat.
Musing upon these matters, Zoe slept, and dreamed.
She dreamed that she stood in the gateway of an ancient city, amid athrong of people attired in the picturesque garb of the East. About her,the city was _en fete_. Before her stretched the desert, an undulatingocean of greyness, a dry ocean parched by a merciless sun.
Barbaric music sounded; the clashing of cymbals and quiver of strangeinstruments rendering it unlike any music she had ever heard. Aprocession was issuing from the gateway with much pomp. There werevenerable, white-bearded priests, and there were girls, too, arrayed infestive garb, their hair bedecked with flowers. Their gay ranks, amidwhich the slow-pacing patriarchs struck a sombre note, passed out acrossthe sands.
They were met by what seemed to be the advance guard of a great army. Aman whose golden armour glittered hotly in the blazing sun descendedfrom a chariot to receive them.
Then, amid music and shouting and the beating of drums, the processionreturned, surrounding the chariot in which the golden one rode. It wasfilled to the brim with flowers.
As it passed in at the gate, the occupant stooped, took up a huge lilyand threw it to Zoe. His eyes met hers. And, amid that panoply oflong-ago, she recognised Severac Bablon.
She dreamed on.
She lay in a huge temple, prone upon its marble floor, in the shadow ofa pillar curiously carven. The lily lay beside her. Two men stood uponthe other side of the pillar. She was invisible from where they were,and in low voices they spoke together, and Zoe listened.
"It overlooks the river," said one. "Two sides of the garden are onstreets as lonely as the middle of the Atlantic. A narrow lane joins andruns right down the back. We want six or eight men, as well as you andI."
"What," inquired the other (his voice seemed strangely familiar), "isthe matter with Scotland Yard?"
A moment's silence followed. Then:
"I didn't want to call them in. Largely, I'm out for reputation."
"Mostly," came a drawling reply, "I'm out for business!"
A veil seemed to have taken the place of the carven pillar, a thin,dream-veil. Although, in her curious mental state, Zoe could not knowit, this was the veil which separated dreamland from reality.
"Martin can come with us. The other two boys will have to hang on to thetails of Mr. Elschild and Sheard. We mustn't neglect the rest of theprogramme because this item looks like a top-liner. I asked Sullivan ifhe could draft me half-a-dozen smart boys for Wednesday evening, and hesaid yep."
"More expense! What do you want to go and get men from a privatedetective agency for, when there's official police whose business it isto do it for nothing?"
"I thought there'd be people there, maybe, with big names. If we're incharge we can hush up what we like. If Scotland Yard had the job in handthere'd be a big scandal."
"You weren't thinkin' of that so much as huggin' all the credit! Thisblame man'll ruin me anyway. I can see it. What have you found out aboutthis house?"
"It's called 'The Cedars' and it fronts on J---- Road. It's just beenleased to a Dr. Ignatius Phillips, who's supposed to be a brainspecialist. I've weighed up every inch of ground and my plan's this: Twoboys come along directly after dusk, and take up their posts behind thehedge of the back lane; ten minutes after, two more make themselvesscarce on the west side and two more on the towing-path. There's a thickclump of trees with some railings around, right opposite the door. Youand I will hide there with Martin. We'll see who goes in. There's just ashort, crescent-shaped drive, and only a low hedge. When everybody hasarrived, _we_ march up to the front door. As soon as it's opened, in wego, a whole crush of us! The house will be surrounded----"
"It sounds a bit on the dangerous side!"
"There'll be plenty of us--four or five."
"Make it six. He's got such a crowd of accomplices!"
"Six of us, then----"
"I wish you'd let Scotland Yard take it in hand."
"As you please. It's for you to say. But they have made so manyblunders----"
"You're right! Hang the expense! I'll see to this business myself!"
"Then we shall want rather more men than I'd arranged for. Sup
pose we goand ring up Sullivan's?"
Zoe was wide awake now. A door shut. She sat up with a start. Thedarkness was redolent of strong tobacco-smoke, the smoke of a cheroot.She realised, instantly, what had happened--
Her father and Alden had entered the little room for an undisturbed chatand had not troubled to switch the light on. Many people like to talk inthe dark; J.J. Oppner was one of them. Hidden amid the cushions of thebig chair, she had not been seen. Since they had found the room indarkness, her presence had not been suspected. And what had she thusoverheard?
A plot to capture Severac Bablon!
Now, indeed, she was face to face with the hard facts of her situation.What should she do? What _could_ she do?
He must be warned. It was impossible to think of seeing him aprisoner--seeing him in the dock like a common felon. It was impossibleto think of meeting his eyes, his grave, luminous eyes, and readingreproach there!
But how should she act? This was Tuesday, and they had spoken ofWednesday as the day when the attempt was to be made. If only she had aconfidant! It was so hard to come, unaided, to a decision respecting theright course to follow.
Laurel Cottage, Dulwich Village, that was the address which he hadconfided to her. But how should she get there? To go in the car wastantamount to taking the chauffeur into her confidence. She must go,then, in a cab.
Zoe was a member of that branch of American society which laughs at thetheory of chaperons. There was nothing to prevent her going where shepleased, when she pleased, and how she pleased. Her mind, then, was madeup very quickly.
She ran to her room, and without troubling her maid, quickly changedinto a dark tweed costume and put on one of those simple, apparentlyuntrimmed hats which the masculine mind values at about three-and-nine,but which actually cost as much as a masculine dress suit.
Fearful of meeting her father in the lifts, she went down by the stair,and slipped out of the hotel unnoticed.
"A cab, madam?"
She nodded. Then, just as the man raised his whistle, she shook herhead.
"No thanks," she said. "I think I'll walk."
She passed out across the courtyard and mingled with the stream ofpedestrians. Right at the beginning of her adventure she had nearlyblundered. She laughed, with a certain glee. It was novel andexhilarating, this conspiracy against the powers that be. There wassomething that appealed to the adventurous within her in thus beingunder the necessity of covering her tracks.
Certainly, she was a novice. It would never have done to lay a trailright from the hotel door to Laurel Cottage.
She walked into Charing Cross Station and approached the driver of thefirst vacant taxi that offered.
"I want to go to Dulwich Village."
The man pulled a wry face. If he undertook that journey it would meanthat he would in all probability have to run back empty, and then hewould miss the theatre people.
"Sorry, miss. But I don't think I've got enough petrol!"
"Oh, how tiresome."
The American accent, now suddenly pronounced, induced him to change hismind.
"Should you want me to bring you back, miss?"
"Sure! I don't want to be left there!"
"All right, miss. Jump in."
"But I thought you hadn't enough petrol?"
The man grinned.
"I didn't want to be stranded right out there with no chance of a fare,miss!" he confessed.
Zoe laughed, good-naturedly, and entered the cab.
The man set off, and soon Zoe found herself upon unfamiliar ground.Through slummish localities they passed, and through popular suburbs,where all the activity of the West End prevailed without itsfascinating, cosmopolitan glitter.
Dulwich Village was reached at last, and the cab was drawn up on acorner bearing a signpost.
"Which house did you want, miss?"
"I want Laurel Cottage."
The taxi-man scratched his head.
"You see, some of the houses in the village aren't numbered," he said;"and I don't know this part very well. I never heard of Laurel Cottage.Any idea which way it lies?"
"Not the slightest. Do you think you could find out for me?"
A policeman was standing on the opposite corner, and, crossing, thetaxi-man held some conversation with him. He returned very shortly.
"It's round at the back of the College buildings, miss," he reported.
Again the cab proceeded onward. This was a curiously lonely spot, morelonely than Zoe could have believed to exist within so short a distancefrom the ever-throbbing heart of London. She began to wish that she hadshared her secret with another; that she had a companion. After all, howlittle, how very little, she knew of Severac Bablon. With all herromantic and mystic qualities Zoe was at heart a shrewd American girl,and not one to be readily beguiled by any man, however fascinating. Shewas not afraid, but she admitted to herself that the expedition wascompromising, if not dangerous. If she ever had occasion to come again,she would confide in Mary and come in her company.
"This road isn't paved, miss. I don't think I can get any further."
The cab, after jolting horribly, had come to a stand-still. Zoe got out.
"Is Laurel Cottage much farther on?"
"It stands all alone, on the left, about a hundred yards along."
"Thank you. Please wait here."
Zoe walked ahead. It was a very lonely spot. The cab had stopped beforesome partially-constructed houses. Beyond that lay vacant lots, oneither side. In front, showed a clump of trees, and, at the back of themon a slight acclivity, a big house.
The night was fine but moonless. Save for the taxi-man and herself, itwould seem that nothing moved anywhere about. She came up level with thetrees. There was a kind of very small lodge among them, closely investedwith ragged shrubs and overshadowed by heavier foliage.
Beyond, farther along the road, showed nothing but uninviting darkness,solitude and vacancy. This then must be the place.
Zoe peered between the bars of the gate. No light was anywhere to beseen. The house appeared to be deserted. Could the cabman have made amistake or have been misinformed?
Zoe carried a little case, containing, amongst a number of other things,a tiny matchbox. She extracted and lighted a match. There was no breeze,or she must certainly have failed to accomplish the operation.
Shading the light with her gloved hands, she bent and examined somehalf-defaced white characters which adorned the top bar of the gate; bywhich means she made out the words:--
LAUREL COTTAGE
There had been no mistake, then. She opened the gate, and by a narrow,moss-grown path through the bushes, came to the door. All was still. Itwas impossible to suppose the place inhabited.
No bell was to be found, but an iron knocker hung upon the low door.
Zoe knocked.
The way in which the sound echoed through the little cottage almostfrightened her. It seemed to point to emptiness. Surely Laurel Cottagemust be unfurnished.
There was no reply, no sign of life.
She knocked again. She knocked a third time.
Then the stillness of the place, and the darkness of the long avenueaway up where the trees met in a verdant arch, became intolerable. Sheturned and walked quickly out on to the road again.