Works of Sax Rohmer

by Sax Rohmer

  “H’m!” he grunted dryly. “I’ve got to see Alden, the Agency boy, upstairs. I’ll be pushing off.”

  He “pushed off.”

  Almost immediately afterwards, Zoe’s maid entered. There was a gentleman to see her. He would not give his card.

  “Show him into the next room,” said Zoe, full of excitement, “and if Mr. Oppner comes back, tell him I am engaged.”

  She entered the cosy reception-room, feeling that she was about to be admitted behind the scenes, and, woman-like, delightfully curious. A moment later, her visitor arrived.

  “I have kept my promise, Miss Oppner!”

  She turned, to greet him — and a little, quick cry escaped her.

  For this was not Detective-Inspector Pepys who stood, smiling, in the doorway!

  It was a man who was, or who seemed to be, taller than he; a slim man, having but one thing in common with the detective: his black morning-coat fitted him as perfectly as the dress-coat had fitted the inspector. An irreproachably attired man is a greater rarity than most people realise; and Zoe Oppner wondered why, even in that moment of amazement, she noted this fact.

  Her visitor was singularly handsome. She knew, instantly, that she had never seen one so handsome before. He was of a puzzling type, wholly unlike any European she had met, though no darker of complexion than many Americans. With his waving black hair, extraordinarily perfect features, and the light of conscious power in his large eyes, he awoke something within her that was half memory — yet not wholly so.

  She was vaguely afraid, but strongly attracted towards this mysterious stranger.

  “But,” she said, staring the while as one fascinated, “you — are not Inspector Pepys!”

  “True!” he answered smilingly. “I am not Inspector Pepys; nor is there any such person!”

  The voice was different, yet somehow reminiscent. Only now, a faint, indefinable accent had crept into it.

  “What do you mean?”

  Zoe, at the idea that she had been imposed upon, grew regally indignant. She was a lovely woman, and accustomed to the homage which mankind pays to beauty. Her naturally frank, laughter-loving nature made her a charming companion; but she could be distant, scornful — could crush the most presumptuous with a glance of her eyes.

  Now she looked at her strange visitor with frigid dignity, and he merely smiled amusedly, as one smiles at a pretty child.

  “Be good enough to explain yourself. If you dared to impose upon Lady Vignoles last night — if you are not really a detective — what are you?”

  “That question would take too long to answer, Miss Oppner!”

  “I demand an answer! Who are you?”

  “That is another question,” replied the stranger, in his soft, musical voice, “and I will try to answer it. At dinner last night I told you of a man whose fathers saw the Great Pyramid built, whose race was old when that pyramid was new. I told you of an unbroken line of kings — of kings who wore no crowns, whose throne was lost in the long ago.”

  She closed and re-opened her right hand nervously, and a new light came into her eyes. His words had touched again, as the night before, the hidden deeps of her nature, quickening into life the mysticism that lay there. She would have spoken, but he quietly motioned her to silence — and she was silent.

  “I said that the time approached when that ancient line again should claim place among the monarchies of the world. I said that millions of men and women, in every habitable quarter of the globe, owed allegiance to that man who was, by divine right, their king!”

  His face lighted up with a wild enthusiasm. To the beautiful girl who listened, spell-bound, he seemed as one inspired.

  “Upon his people lay a cloud — a tainting shadow grown black through the centuries. He must disperse it, proclaiming to the world that his was a noble people, a nation with a mighty soul! The evil came not from without but from within. The worst enemies of the Jews are the Jews. In attacking those enemies of his people, inevitably he would come into collision with many governments. But he would do them no wrong, save in showing them powerless to protect the traitors from his righteous wrath!”

  For a long moment she watched him, and no words came to her. That this splendid man was mad flashed through her mind as a possible thing; but that thought she dismissed, and remained bewildered.

  “Is it true?” she asked, in a pleading voice; “or are you jesting with me?”

  He smiled, having resumed his habitual calm.

  “It is true!” he answered. “Upon the word of a rogue — a thief — upon the honour of Séverac Bablon!”

  Zoe started, yet she was not afraid; for something had told her almost from his entrance that this was he — the man whose name at that very hour glared from countless placards, upon a great part of the civilised world; whose deeds at that moment were being babbled of in every tongue from Chinese to Italian.

  “But, if you are that man, and — —” She hesitated. “You are wrong, I am sure! Oh! indeed, truly, I think you are wrong! Not in your aims, but in making so many new enemies! You have placed yourself outside all laws! You may be arrested at any hour!”

  “That phase of my campaign will pass. I shall meet the Ministers of all the Powers upon equality — as the plenipotentiary of eight million people! All that I have done will be forgotten in the light of what I shall do!”

  “I cannot understand about last night. Your presence was an accident — —”

  He laughed softly.

  “I knew that Lady Vignoles’ party numbered fourteen. I caused your father to be detained. One of my friends — I will not name him — suggested a novel mode of seeking a guest: I caused Megger’s man to be absent whilst another of my friends, imitating his speech, sent the telephone message! Is that accident?”

  “It is — —”

  “Unworthy, you would say? The work of a common cracksman? But, by those lowly means I secured proof that Bernard Megger, director of the Uitland Rands Consolidated Mines Syndicate, and Isaac Jacobsen, the Kimberley mail robber, were one and the same! He has escaped the laws of England, but he cannot escape me!”

  She shrank involuntarily, her now frightened eyes fixed upon the face of this man, whose patriotism, whose zeal, whose incredibly lofty purpose she did not, could not, doubt, but whose methods she could, not condone — by whose will her own father had suffered. Then, in a quickly imperious yet kindly manner, he placed both his hands upon her shoulders, looking, with earnest, searching eyes, deep into her own.

  “What would you desire me to do that half a million pounds can compass?” he asked.

  “Return it to those it belongs to, if you can, and, with any that you cannot return, endow homes by the shore for sick slum children!”

  He moved his left hand, and she saw dully gleaming upon his finger, a great green stone, bearing a strange device. In some weird fashion it seemed to convey a message to her — intimate, convincing. Within those green depths there dwelt a mystery. She felt that the ring was incalculably old, and that its wearer must wield almost limitless power. It was an uncanny idea, but she lived to know that her instincts had not wholly misled her.

  “It shall be done!” said Séverac Bablon. “And you will be my friend?”

  “I will try!” whispered Zoe, “if you wish. But, oh, believe me! You are wrong! You are wrong! There is, there must be some better way!”

  As he removed his hands from her shoulders she turned aside and glanced through the open window, seeing nothing of the panorama of London below, but seeing only a great throne, and upon it a regal figure, his head crowned with the ancient crown of the Jewish kings. When she turned again her father stood behind her. But Séverac Bablon was gone!

  “Thought you had a visitor, Zoe?” said Mr. Oppner. “There’s a gentleman here would like to have a look at him!”

  He turned to a big, burly man, dressed in neat serge, who bowed awkwardly and immediately took a sharp look around the room. Mr. Oppner eyed his daughter with grim sus
picion.

  “Inspector Sheffield would like to ask you something!”

  “Sorry to trouble you, miss,” said the inspector, misinterpreting the sudden, strained look that had come into her eyes, and smiling in kindly fashion. “But I’ve been following a man all the morning, and I rather think he came into this hotel! Also — please excuse me if I’m wrong — I rather fancy he came up here!”

  “What is he like — this — man?” she asked mechanically, looking away from the detective.

  “This morning he was like the handsomest gentleman in Europe, miss! But he may have altered since I saw him last! He’s the latest thing in quick-change artists I’ve met to date!”

  “What do you want him for?”

  Sheffield raised his eyebrows.

  “He’s Séverac Bablon!” he said simply. “Does your late visitor answer to the description?”

  “My visitor was a gentleman who wanted funds for building a home for invalid children!”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t our man, miss?”

  (“And you will be my friend” he had asked. “I will try,” had been her promise.)

  “I am quite sure my visitor was not a criminal of any kind!” she answered. “You have made a strange mistake!”

  The inspector bowed and quitted the room immediately. Mr. Oppner stood for some moments watching his daughter — and then followed the officer. Zoe went to her room, and allowed her maid to dress her, without proposing a solitary alteration in the scheme. She was very preoccupied. In the lounge she found her father deep in conversation with a clean-shaven man who had the features and complexion of a Sioux, and wore a tweed suit which to British eyes must have appeared several sizes too large for him. His Stetson was tilted well to the rear of his skull, and he lay back smoking a black cheroot. This was Aloys X. Alden of Pinkerton’s. Zoe hesitated. The conversation clearly was a business one.

  And, at that moment, a tall figure appeared beside her.

  Zoe drew a sharp breath — almost a breath of pain. She glanced toward the group of two in the distant corner. They were discussing, as she knew quite well, various plans for the apprehension of the man who had become a nightmare to certain capitalists. They were devising, or seeking to devise, schemes for penetrating the secret of his real identity — for peering beneath the mask of the real man.

  And here, by her side, stood Séverac Bablon!

  “Pray, pray go!” she whispered tremulously. “I thought you had left the hotel. For your own sake, if not for mine, you should have done so.”

  “But if it happens that I am staying here?”

  “Please go! There — with my father — is a detective — —”

  “I know him well!” was the reply. Séverac Bablon’s melodious voice was calm. He smiled serenely. “But, fortunately, he does not know me! My name, then, for the present, is Mr. Sanrack; and I have taken this risk — though believe me it is not so great as you deem it — because I have something more to say. I was interrupted by the arrival of Inspector Sheffield.”

  “He may come in at any moment!”

  “Then, I shall go out! But first I wish to tell you that I consider it my duty to force your father’s hand in regard to a large sum of money!”

  Zoe’s little foot tapped the floor nervously.

  “How do you dare?” she said. “How do you dare to tell me such a thing?”

  “I dare, because what I do is right and just,” he resumed; “and because, although I know that its justice will be apparent to you, I am anxious to have your personal assurance upon that point.”

  “My assurance that I think you are right in robbing my father!”

  “I could scarcely expect that; I certainly should not ask for it. But you know that despite enormous benefactions, the Jews as a race bear the stigma of cupidity and meanness. It is wholly undeserved. The sums annually devoted to charitable purposes, by such a family as the Elschilds — my very good friends — are truly stupendous. But the Elschilds do not seek the limelight. Mr. Rohscheimer, Baron Hague, Sir Leopold Jesson, Mr. Hohsmann — and your father, are celebrated only for their unscrupulous commercial methods in the formation of combines. They do not distribute their wealth. Is it not true?”

  Zoe nodded. Vaguely, she felt indignant, but Séverac Bablon was entirely unanswerable. Then:

  “Heavens!” she whispered— “here comes my father!”

  It was true. Mr. Oppner and the detective were approaching.

  “I wish to meet your father,” whispered Séverac Bablon. “Remember, I am Mr. Sanrack!”

  As he spoke, he watched her keenly. It was a crucial test, and both knew it. Zoe was slightly pale. She fully realised that to conform now to Séverac Bablon’s wishes was tantamount to becoming a member of his organisation (which operated against her father!) — was to take a possibly irrevocable step in the dark.

  Whilst in many respects she disagreed with Séverac Bablon’s wildly unlawful methods, yet, knowing something of his exalted aims she could not — despite all — withhold her sympathy. In some strange fashion, the wishes of this fugitive from the law partook of the nature of commands. But she could have wished to be spared this trial.

  Oppner came up.

  “Oh, father,” began Zoe, striving to veil her confusion, “I don’t think you have met Mr. Sanrack before? This is my father, Mr. Sanrack — Mr. Alden.”

  The millionaire stared, ere nodding shortly. The detective showed no emotion whatever.

  “There is something which I am particularly anxious to explain to you, Mr. Oppner,” began Sanrack, having acknowledged the introductions with easy courtesy. “It has reference to Séverac Bablon!”

  Zoe held her breath. Alden moved his cheroot from the left corner of his mouth to the right. Mr. Oppner wrinkled up his eyes and scrutinised the speaker with a blank astonishment.

  “I hold no brief for Séverac Bablon,” continued the fascinating voice.

  “Nope?” drawled Oppner.

  “His deeds must speak for themselves. But on behalf of an important financial group I have a proposition to make.”

  Mr. Oppner took a step forward.

  “What group’s that?”

  “Shall I say, simply, the most influential in Europe?”

  “The Elschilds?”

  “If you consider them to be so, you may construe my words in that way.”

  “Mr. Antony Elschild has been pulling my leg with some fool proposition about whitewashing the millionaire, or something to that effect. It’s always seemed to me he’s got more money than sense. He’s passed out a cheque to this Gleaner fund big enough to build a soap factory!”

  “So has Mr. Rohscheimer, and so has Baron Hague!”

  “I’m not laughin’! They were held up! Why they don’t say so, straight out, is their business. Jesson and Hohsmann will part out next, I suppose, if it ain’t me. But if I subscribe it will be because I had a gun screwed in my ear while I wrote the cheque!”

  “That is what my friends so deeply lament!”

  “It is, eh? Yep? They’d like to see me paperin’ all the workhouses with ten-dollar bills, I reckon? Mr. Ransack, I’ve got better uses for my money. It ain’t my line of business buyin’ caviare for loafers, and I don’t consider it’s up to me to buy airships for Great Britain! When you see me start in buyin’ airships it’s time to smother me! It means I’m too old and silly to be trusted with money!”

  “My friends and myself — for I take a keen interest in everything appertaining to the Jewish nation — are anxious to save you from the ignominy of being compelled to subscribe!”

  “That’s thoughtful! Can your friends and yourself find any reason why a United States citizen should buy airships for England? If I got a rush of dollars to the head and was anxious to be bled of half a million, I might as well buy submarines for China, for all the good it’d do me!”

  “On the contrary! So far as my knowledge goes you derive no part of your income from China, whereas your interests throughout Greater
Britain are extensive. Thus, by becoming a subscriber, you would be indirectly protecting yourself, in addition to establishing a reputation which, speaking sordidly, would be of inestimable value to you throughout the British dominions.”

  Mr. Oppner nodded.

  “It’s good of you to drop in and deputise for my Dutch uncle!” he said. “Though no more than I might expect from a friend of my daughter’s. But your arguments strike me as the foolishest I ever heard out of any man’s mouth. As an old advertiser, I reckon your proposition ain’t worth a rat’s whiskers!”

  Mr. Sanrack smiled. Alden was closely observing him.

  “You are quite entitled to your opinion. My friends are anxious to learn if there be any purely philanthropic cause you would prefer to support. The mere interest on your capital, Mr. Oppner, is more than you can ever hope to spend, however lavish your mode of living.”

  “Thanks,” drawled Oppner. “For a brand-new acquaintance you’re nice and chatty and confidential. Your friends are such experts at spending their own money that it’s not surprisin’ they’d like to teach me a thing or two. But during the last forty years I haven’t found any cause better worthy of support than my own. Give my love to Mr. Elschild. Good morning!”

  He moved off, with the stoical Alden.

  “You see,” said Séverac Bablon to Zoe, who lingered, “your father is impervious to the demands of Charity!”

  “Is that why you did this? Were you anxious to bring out Pa’s meanness as a sort of excuse for what you contemplate?”

  “Partly, that was my motive. A demand upon an American citizen to found a British air fleet is extravagant — in a sense, absurd. But I was anxious to offer Mr. Oppner one more opportunity of distributing some of the vast sum which he has locked up for his own amusement — financial chess.”

  “You have placed me in an impossible situation.”

  “Why? If you consider me to be what I have been accused of being — a thief — an incendiary — an iconoclast — denounce me — to whom you will! At any time I will see you, and any friend you may care to bring, be it Inspector Sheffield of New Scotland Yard, at Laurel Cottage, Dulwich Village. I impose no yoke upon you that you cannot shake off!”