Works of Sax Rohmer

by Sax Rohmer

  “SOAMES!” exclaimed Inspector Dunbar, leaping to his feet, and bringing both his palms with a simultaneous bang upon the table before him— “Soames, by God!”

  M. Max, shrugging and smiling slightly, returned his notebook to his pocket, and, taking out a cigar-case, placed it, open, upon the table, inviting both his confreres, with a gesture, to avail themselves of its contents.

  “I thought so,” he said simply. “I am glad.”

  Sowerby selected a cigar in a dazed manner, but Dunbar, ignoring the presence of the cigar-case, leant forward across the table, his eyes blazing, and his small, even, lower teeth revealed in a sort of grim smile.

  “M. Max,” he said tensely— “you are a clever man! Where have you got him?”

  “I have not got him,” replied the Frenchman, selecting and lighting one of his own cigars. “He is much too useful to be locked up”...

  “But”...

  “But yes, my dear Inspector — he is safe; oh! he is quite safe. And on Tuesday night he is going to introduce us to Mr. King!”

  “MR. KING!” roared Dunbar; and in three strides of the long legs he was around the table and standing before the Frenchman.

  In passing he swept Sowerby’s hat on to the floor, and Sowerby, picking it up, began mechanically to brush it with his left sleeve, smoking furiously the while.

  “Soames,” continued M. Max, quietly— “he is now known as Lucas, by the way — is a man of very remarkable character; a fact indicated by his quite unusual skull. He has no more will than this cigar” — he held the cigar up between his fingers, illustratively— “but of stupid pig obstinacy, that canaille — saligaud! — has enough for all the cattle in Europe! He is like a man who knows that he stands upon a sinking ship, yet, who whilst promising to take the plunge every moment, hesitates and will continue to hesitate until someone pushes him in. Pardieu! I push! Because of his pig obstinacy I am compelled to take risks most unnecessary. He will not consent, that Soames, to open the door for us...”

  “What door?” snapped Dunbar.

  “The door of the establishment of Mr. King,” explained Max, blandly.

  “But where is it?”

  “It is somewhere between Limehouse Causeway — is it not called so? — and the riverside. But although I have been there, myself, I can tell you no more....”

  “What! you have been there yourself?”

  “But yes — most decidedly. I was there some nights ago. But they are ingenious, ah! they are so ingenious! — so Chinese! I should not have known even the little I do know if it were not for the inquiries which I made last week. I knew that the letters to Mr. Leroux which were supposed to come from Paris were handed by Soames to some one who posted them to Paris from Bow, East. You remember how I found the impression of the postmark?”

  Dunbar nodded, his eyes glistening; for that discovery of the Frenchman’s had filled him with a sort of envious admiration.

  “Well, then,” continued Max, “I knew that the inquiry would lead me to your east-end, and I suspected that I was dealing with Chinamen; therefore, suitably attired, of course, I wandered about in those interesting slums on more than one occasion; and I concluded that the only district in which a Chinaman could live without exciting curiosity was that which lies off the West India Dock Road.”...

  Dunbar nodded significantly at Sowerby, as who should say: “What did I tell you about this man?”

  “On one of these visits,” continued the Frenchman, and a smile struggled for expression upon his mobile lips, “I met you two gentlemen with a Mr. — I think he is called Stringer—”...

  “You met US!” exclaimed Sowerby.

  “My sense of humor quite overcoming me,” replied M. Max, “I even tried to swindle you. I think I did the trick very badly!”

  Dunbar and Sowerby were staring at one another amazedly.

  “It was in the corner of a public house billiard-room,” added the Frenchman, with twinkling eyes; “I adopted the ill-used name of Levinsky on that occasion.”...

  Dunbar began to punch his left palm and to stride up and down the floor; whilst Sowerby, his blue eyes opened quite roundly, watched M. Max as a schoolboy watches an illusionist.

  “Therefore,” continued M. Max, “I shall ask you to have a party ready on Tuesday night in Limehouse Causeway — suitably concealed, of course; and as I am almost sure that the haunt of Mr. King is actually upon the riverside (I heard one little river sound as I was coming away) a launch party might cooperate with you in affecting the raid.”

  “The raid!” said Dunbar, turning from a point by the window, and looking back at the Frenchman. “Do you seriously tell me that we are going to raid Mr. King’s on Tuesday night?”

  “Most certainly,” was the confident reply. “I had hoped to form one of the raiding party; but nom d’un nom!” — he shrugged, in his graceful fashion— “I must be one of the rescued!”

  “Of the rescued!”

  “You see I visited that establishment as a smoker of opium”...

  “You took that risk?”

  “It was no greater risk than is run by quite a number of people socially well known in London, my dear Inspector Dunbar! I was introduced by an habitue and a member of the best society; and since nobody knows that Gaston Max is in London — that Gaston Max has any business in hand likely to bring him to London — pardieu, what danger did I incur? But, excepting the lobby — the cave of the dragon (a stranger apartment even than that in the Rue St. Claude) and the Chinese cubiculum where I spent the night — mon dieu! what a night! — I saw nothing of the establishment”...

  “But you must know where it is!” cried Dunbar.

  “I was driven there in a closed limousine, and driven away in the same vehicle”...

  “You got the number?”

  “It was impossible. These are clever people! But it must be a simple matter, Inspector, to trace a fine car like that which regularly appears in those east-end streets?”

  “Every constable in the division must be acquainted with it,” replied Dunbar, confidently. “I’ll know all about that car inside the next hour!”

  “If on Tuesday night you could arrange to have it followed,” continued M. Max, “it would simplify matters. What I have done is this: I have bought the man, Soames — up to a point. But so deadly is his fear of the mysterious Mr. King that although he has agreed to assist me in my plans, he will not consent to divulge an atom of information until the raid is successfully performed.”

  “Then for heaven’s sake what IS he going to do?”

  “Visitors to the establishment (it is managed by a certain Mr. Ho-Pin; make a note of him, that Ho-Pin) having received the necessary dose of opium are locked in for the night. On Tuesday, Soames, who acts as valet to poor fools using the place, has agreed — for a price — to unlock the door of the room in which I shall be”...

  “What!” cried Dunbar, “you are going to risk yourself alone in that place AGAIN?”

  “I have paid a very heavy fee,” replied the Frenchman with his odd smile, “and it entitles me to a second visit; I shall pay that second visit on Tuesday night, and my danger will be no greater than on the first occasion.”

  “But Soames may betray you!”

  “Fear nothing; I have measured my Soames, not only anthropologically, but otherwise. I fear only his folly, not his knavery. He will not betray me. Morbleu! he is too much a frightened man. I do not know what has taken place; but I could see that, assured of escaping the police for complicity in the murder, he would turn King’s evidence immediately”...

  “And you gave him that assurance?”

  “At first I did not reveal myself. I weighed up my man very carefully; I measured that Soames-pig. I had several stories in readiness, but his character indicated which I should use. Therefore, suddenly I arrested him!”

  “Arrested him?”

  “Pardieu! I arrested him very quietly in a corner of the bar of ‘Three Nuns’ public house. My course was justified.
He saw that the reign of his mysterious Mr. King was nearing its close, and that I was his only hope”...

  “But still he refused”...

  “His refusal to reveal anything whatever under those circumstances impressed me more than all. It showed me that in Mr. King I had to deal with a really wonderful and powerful man; a man who ruled by means of FEAR; a man of gigantic force. I had taken the pattern of the key fitting the Yale lock of the door of my room, and I secured a duplicate immediately. Soames has not access to the keys, you understand. I must rely upon my diplomacy to secure the same room again — all turns upon that; and at an hour after midnight, or later if advisable, Soames has agreed to let me out. Beyond this, I could induce him to do nothing — nothing whatever. Cochon! Therefore, having got out of the locked room, I must rely upon my own wits — and the Browning pistol which I have presented to Soames together with the duplicate key”...

  “Why not go armed?” asked Dunbar.

  “One’s clothes are searched, my dear Inspector, by an expert! I have given the key, the pistol, and the implements of the house-breaker (a very neat set which fits easily into the breast-pocket) to Soames, to conceal in his private room at the establishment until Tuesday night. All turns upon my securing the same apartment. If I am unable to do so, the arrangements for the raid will have to be postponed. Opium smokers are faddists essentially, however, and I think I can manage to pretend that I have formed a strange penchant for this particular cubiculum”...

  “By whom were you introduced to the place?” asked Dunbar, leaning back against the table and facing the Frenchman.

  “That I cannot in honor divulge,” was the reply; “but the representative of Mr. King who actually admitted me to the establishment is one Gianapolis; address unknown, but telephone number 18642 East. Make a note of him, that Gianapolis.”

  “I’ll arrest him in the morning,” said Sowerby, writing furiously in his notebook.

  “Nom d’un p’tit bonhomme! M. Sowerby, you will do nothing of that foolish description, my dear friend,” said Max; and Dunbar glared at the unfortunate sergeant. “Nothing whatever must be done to arouse suspicion between now and the moment of the raid. You must be circumspect — ah, morbleu! so circumspect. By all means trace this Mr. Gianapolis; yes. But do not let him SUSPECT that he is being traced”...

  XXXV

  TRACKER TRACKED

  Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland peered from the window of the former’s room into the dusk of the Square, until their eyes ached with the strain of an exercise so unnatural.

  “I tell you,” said Denise with emphasis, “that... sooner or later... he will come prowling... around. The mere fact that he did not appear... last night... counts for nothing. His own crooked... plans no doubt detain him... very often... at night.”

  Helen sighed wearily. Denise Ryland’s scheme was extremely distasteful to her, but whenever she thought of the pathetic eyes of Leroux she found new determination. Several times she had essayed to analyze the motives which actuated her; always she feared to pursue such inquiries beyond a certain point. Now that she was beginning to share her friend’s views upon the matter, all social plans sank into insignificance, and she lived only in the hope of again meeting Gianapolis, of tracing out the opium group, and of finding Mrs. Leroux. In what state did she hope and expect to find her? This was a double question which kept her wakeful through the dreary watches of the night....

  “Look!”

  Denise Ryland grasped her by the arm, pointing out into the darkened Square. A furtive figure crossed from the northeast corner into the shade of some trees and might be vaguely detected coming nearer and nearer.

  “There he is!” whispered Denise Ryland, excitedly; “I told you he couldn’t... keep away. I know that kind of brute. There is nobody at home, so listen: I will watch... from the drawing-room, and you... light up here and move about... as if preparing to go out.”

  Helen, aware that she was flushed with excitement, fell in with the proposal readily; and having switched on the lights in her room and put on her hat so that her moving shadow was thrown upon the casement curtain, she turned out the light again and ran to rejoin her friend. She found the latter peering eagerly from the window of the drawing-room.

  “He thinks you are coming out!” gasped Denise. “He has slipped... around the corner. He will pretend to be... passing... this way... the cross-eyed... hypocrite. Do you feel capable ... of the task?”

  “Quite,” Helen declared, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “You will follow us as arranged; for heaven’s sake, don’t lose us!”

  “If the doctor knew of this,” breathed Denise, “he would never... forgive me. But no woman... no true woman... could refuse to undertake... so palpable... a duty”...

  Helen Cumberly, wearing a warm, golfing jersey over her dress, with a woolen cap to match, ran lightly down the stairs and out into the Square, carrying a letter. She walked along to the pillar-box, and having examined the address upon the envelope with great care, by the light of an adjacent lamp, posted the letter, turned — and there, radiant and bowing, stood Mr. Gianapolis!

  “Kismet is really most kind to me!” he cried. “My friend, who lives, as I think I mentioned once before, in Peer’s Chambers, evidently radiates good luck. I last had the good fortune to meet you when on my way to see him, and I now meet you again within five minutes of leaving him! My dear Miss Cumberly, I trust you are quite well?”

  “Quite,” said Helen, holding out her hand. “I am awfully glad to see you again, Mr. Gianapolis!”

  He was distinctly encouraged by her tone. He bent forward confidentially.

  “The night is young,” he said; and his smile was radiant. “May I hope that your expedition does not terminate at this post-box?”

  Helen glanced at him doubtfully, and then down at her jersey. Gianapolis was unfeignedly delighted with her naivete.

  “Surely you don’t want to be seen with me in this extraordinary costume!” she challenged.

  “My dear Miss Cumberly, it is simply enchanting! A girl with such a figure as yours never looks better than when she dresses sportily!”

  The latent vulgarity of the man was escaping from the bondage in which ordinarily he confined it. A real passion had him in its grip, and the real Gianapolis was speaking. Helen hesitated for one fateful moment; it was going to be even worse than she had anticipated. She glanced up at Palace Mansions.

  Across a curtained window moved a shadow, that of a man wearing a long gown and having his hands clasped behind him, whose head showed as an indistinct blur because the hair was wildly disordered. This shadow passed from side to side of the window and was lost from view. It was the shadow of Henry Leroux.

  “I am afraid I have a lot of work to do,” said Helen, with a little catch in her voice.

  “My dear Miss Cumberly,” cried Gianapolis, eagerly, placing his hand upon her arm, “it is precisely of your work that I wish to speak to you! Your work is familiar to me — I never miss a line of it; and knowing how you delight in the outre and how inimitably you can describe scenes of Bohemian life, I had hoped, since it was my privilege to meet you, that you would accept my services as cicerone to some of the lesser-known resorts of Bohemian London. Your article, ‘Dinner in Soho,’ was a delightful piece of observation, and the third — I think it was the third — of the same series: ‘Curiosities of the Cafe Royal,’ was equally good. But your powers of observation would be given greater play in any one of the three establishments to which I should be honored to escort you.”

  Helen Cumberly, though perfectly self-reliant, as only the modern girl journalist can be, was fully aware that, not being of the flat-haired, bespectacled type, she was called upon to exercise rather more care in her selection of companions for copy-hunting expeditions than was necessary in the case of certain fellow-members of the Scribes’ Club. No power on earth could have induced her to accept such an invitation from such a man, under ordinary circumstances; even now, with so definit
e and important an object in view, she hesitated. The scheme might lead to nothing; Denise Ryland (horrible thought!) might lose the track; the track might lead to no place of importance, so far as her real inquiry was concerned.

  In this hour of emergency, new and wiser ideas were flooding her brain. For instance, they might have admitted Inspector Dunbar to the plot. With Inspector Dunbar dogging her steps, she should have felt perfectly safe; but Denise — she had every respect for Denise’s reasoning powers, and force of character — yet Denise nevertheless might fail her.

  She glanced into the crooked eyes of Gianapolis, then up again at Palace Mansions.

  The shadow of Henry Leroux recrossed the cream-curtained window.

  “So early in the evening,” pursued the Greek, rapidly, “the more interesting types will hardly have arrived; nevertheless, at the Memphis Cafe”...

  “Memphis Cafe!” muttered Helen, glancing at him rapidly; “what an odd name.”

  “Ah! my dear Miss Cumberly!” cried Gianapolis, with triumph— “I knew that you had never heard of the true haunts of Bohemia! The Memphis Cafe — it is actually a club — was founded by Olaf van Noord two years ago, and at present has a membership including some of the most famous artistic folk of London; not only painters, but authors, composers, actors, actresses. I may add that the peerage, male and female, is represented.”

  “It is actually a gaming-house, I suppose?” said Helen, shrewdly.

  “A gaming-house? Not at all! If what you wish to see is play for high stakes, it is not to the Memphis Cafe you must go. I can show you Society losing its money in thousands, if the spectacle would amuse you. I only await your orders”...

  “You certainly interest me,” said Helen; and indeed this half-glimpse into phases of London life hidden from the world — even from the greater part of the ever-peering journalistic world — was not lacking in fascination.

  The planning of a scheme in its entirety constitutes a mental effort which not infrequently blinds us to the shortcomings of certain essential details. Denise’s plan, a good one in many respects, had the fault of being over-elaborate. Now, when it was too late to advise her friend of any amendment, Helen perceived that there was no occasion for her to suffer the society of Gianapolis.