“Alas for love and human hope and faith! The princess died, and the Pharaoh died and in time Horus and Osiris and all the gods of ancient Egypt died.
“But the beauty which that forgotten Cellini wrought in that necklace did not die. It could not. It was deathless. It lay for centuries with the mummy of that princess in her hidden coffin of stone. It has outlived her gods. It will outlive the gods of today and the gods of a thousand tomorrows. Undimmed, its beauty shines from it as it did three thousand years ago when the withered breast on which it was found throbbed with life and sobbed with love and had, it may be, its fleeting shadow of that same beauty which in the necklace is immortal.”
“The necklace of Senusert the Second!” I exclaimed. “I know that lovely thing, Satan.”
“I must have that necklace, James Kirkham!”
I looked at him, disconcerted. If this was what he thought an easy service, what would he consider a difficult one?
“It seems to me, Satan,” I hazarded, “that you could hardly have picked an object less likely to be yielded up by any—persuasion. It is guarded day and night. It lies in a cabinet in the center of a comparatively small room, in fact, and designedly, in the most conspicuous part of that room—constantly under observation—”
“I must have it,” he silenced me. “You shall get it for me. I answer now your second question. How? By obeying to the minute, to the second, without deviation, the instructions I am about to give you. Take your pencil, put down these o’clocks, fix them unalterably in your memory.”
He waited until I had obeyed the first part of his command.
“You will leave here,” he said, “at 10:30 tomorrow morning. Your journey will be so timed that you may drop out of the car and enter the museum at precisely one o’clock. You will be wearing a certain suit which your valet will give you. He will also pick out your overcoat, hat and other articles of dress. You must, as is the rule, check your coat at the cloak room.
“From there you must go straight to the Yunnan jades, the ostensible object of your visit. You may talk to whom you please, the more the better, in fact. But you must so manage that at precisely 1:45 you enter alone the north corridor of the Egyptian wing. You will interest yourself in its collections until 2:05, when you will enter, upon the minute, the room of the necklace. It has a guard for each of its two entrances. Do they know you?”
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “Probably so. At any rate, they know of me.”
“You will find an excuse to introduce yourself to one of the guards in the north corridor,” he continued, “provided he does not know you by sight. You will do the same with one of the guards in the necklace room. You will then go to one of the four corners of that room, it does not matter which, and become absorbed in whatever is in the case before you. Your object will be to keep as far from you as possible either of the two attendants who, conceivably, might think it his duty to remain close to such,” he raised his goblet to me, “a distinguished visitor.
“And, James Kirkham, at precisely 2:15 you will walk to the cabinet containing the necklace, open it with an instrument which will be provided for you, take out the necklace, drop it into the ingenious pocket which you will find in the inside left of your coat, close the case noiselessly and walk out.”
I looked at him, incredulously.
“Did you say—walk out?” I asked.
“Walk out,” he repeated.
“Carrying with me, I suppose,” I suggested satirically, “the two guards.”
“You will pay no attention to the guards,” he said.
“No?” I questioned. “But they will certainly be paying attention to me, Satan!”
“Do not interrupt me again,” he ordered, sternly enough. “You will do exactly as I am telling you. You will pay no attention to the guards. You will pay no attention to anything that may be happening around you. Remember, James Kirkham, this is vital. You will have but one thought—to open the case at exactly 2:15 and walk out of that room with Senusert’s necklace in your possession. You will see nothing, hear nothing, do nothing but that. It will take you two minutes to reach the cloak room. You will go from there straight to the outer doors. As you pass through them you will step to the right, bend down and tie a shoe. You will then walk down the steps to the street, still giving no attention to whatever may be occurring around you. You will see at the curb a blue limousine whose chauffeur will be polishing the right-hand headlight.
“You will enter that car and give the person you find inside it the necklace. The time should then be 2:20. It must not be later. You will drive with that person for one hour. At 3:20 you will find the car close to the obelisk behind the museum. You will descend from it there, walk to the Avenue, take a taxi and return to the Discoverers’ Club.”
“The Discoverers’ Club, you said?” I honestly thought in my astonishment that it had been a slip of his tongue.
“I repeat—the Discoverers’ Club,” he answered. “You will upon arriving there go straight to the desk and tell the clerk on duty that you have work to do that demands absolute concentration. You will instruct him not to disturb you with either telephone calls or visitors. You will say to him that it is more than likely reporters from the newspapers will try to get in touch with you. He will tell them that you left word that you would receive them at eight o’clock. You will impress it upon him that the work which you have to do is most important and that you must not be disturbed. You will further instruct him to send up to your room at seven o’clock all the late editions and extra editions of the afternoon newspapers.”
He paused.
“Is all clear?” he demanded.
“All except what I am to say to the reporters,” I said.
“You will know that,” he replied enigmatically, “after you have read the newspapers.”
He sipped from his goblet, regarding me appraisingly.
“Repeat my instructions,” he ordered.
Soberly, I did so.
“Good,” he nodded. “You understand, of course, that this small adventure is not the one that prompted my decision to acquire you. That will be a real adventure. This is in the nature of a test. And you must pass it. For your own sake, James Kirkham—you must pass it.”
His jewel-hard eyes held a snake-like glitter. Mad as the performance he had outlined seemed, he was in deadly earnest, no doubt about that. I did not answer him. He had left me nothing to say.
“And now,” he touched a bell, “no more excitement for you tonight. I am solicitous for the welfare of my subjects, even those on—probation. Go to your room and sleep well.”
A panel opened and Thomas stepped from the lift and stood waiting for me.
“Good night, Satan,” I said.
“Good night,” he answered, “and however good it be, may your night tomorrow be a better one.”
It was close to eleven o’clock. The dinner had lasted longer than I had realized. I found everything comfortable in my bedroom, told Thomas so and dismissed him. In about half an hour and two brandies and sodas I turned out the lights and went to bed hoping for Barker.
Waiting wide-eyed in the darkness I went over my amazing instructions. I was, it was plain, part of a more or less intricate jig-saw puzzle. I saw myself as a number of pieces that I must fit in at the exact moments to click the whole design. Or better, I was a living chessman in one of those games in which Satan delighted. I must make my moves at the designated times. But what would his other chessmen be doing? And suppose one of them moved a bit too soon or too late? Then where would I be in this unknown game?
The picture of the glittering-eyed, bald devil on the malachite slabs behind the two thrones came to me—Satan’s double directing the hands of the Fates. Oddly enough, it reassured me. The ethics of the matter did not bother me greatly. After all, the bulk of the treasures in any museum is loot; loot of graves, of tombs, of lost cities—and what is not, has been stolen, the most of it, time and again.
But aside from all tha
t—there was nothing else for me to do except obey Satan. If I did not, well—that was an end to me. I had no doubt of it. And Satan would go on. As for betraying him—why, I did not even know the place of my polite imprisonment.
No, if it was in the cards that I might beat Satan, I must play the game with him. There was no other way.
And what was any necklace beside—Eve!
I turned my mind to memorizing my instructions. It put me to sleep. Nor did Barker awaken me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Before the faithful Thomas could arrive next morning, I was up and in the bath. I accepted without question the suit he laid out for me. It was one I had never known I possessed. On the inner side of the coat, the left, was a wide pocket. It was deep and across the top ran a line of tiny, blunt-edged hooks. I examined them, carefully. The pendent fringes of Senusert’s necklace were about six inches long. Its upper strand could be dropped upon the hooks and the whole ornament would then hang from them freely without causing any betraying protuberance through the cloth. It was, as Satan had indicated, ingeniously made for holding that particular treasure.
He handed me, too, a superbly fitting gray overcoat entirely new to me, but I was interested to note, with my name on the inside pocket, my own soft hat and Malacca cane.
And at last he gave me a curiously shaped little instrument of dull gray steel and—a wrist watch!
“I have a watch, Thomas,” I said, studying the odd small instrument.
“Yes,” he answered, “but this keeps the Master’s time, sir.”
“Oh, I see.” Admiringly I reflected that Satan was taking no chances upon his pawns’ timepieces; all, evidently, were synchronized; I liked that. “But this other affair. How does it work?”
“I meant to show you, sir.”
He went to a wall and opened a closet. He carried out what appeared to be a section of a strong cabinet with a sash of glass covering it.
“Try to open it, sir,” he said.
I tried to lift the top. It resisted all my efforts. He took the steel tool from me. It was shaped like a chisel, its edge razor sharp, its length about four inches, broadening abruptly from the edge to an inch and a half wide handle. In this handle was a screw.
He thrust the razor edge between the top sash and bottom support and rapidly turned the screw. The tool seemed to melt into the almost invisible crack. There was a muffled snap, and he lifted the lid. He handed me back the instrument, smiling. I saw that the edge had opened like a pair of jaws and that through them had been thrust another blade like a tongue. The jaws had been raised and the tongue pushed forward by incredibly powerful levers. The combination had snapped the lock as though it had been made of brittle wood.
“Very easy to manage, sir,” said Thomas.
“Very,” I replied, drily. And again I felt a wave of admiration for Satan.
I breakfasted in my room and, escorted by Thomas, entered the waiting car at exactly 10:30. The curtains were down and fastened. I thought of using that irresistible little instrument in my pocket. It was an impulse my better judgment warned me not to obey.
At precisely one o’clock I walked through the doors of the museum, keenly conscious both of the empty pocket designed to hold old Senusert’s pectoral, and the tool that was to put it there.
I checked my overcoat and hat and cane, nodding to the attendant who had recognized me. I went straight to the jades and spent half an hour, looking them and some rare similar objects over in company with an assistant curator who had happened along. I rid myself of him and at 1:45 to the second strolled into the north corridor of the Egyptian wing. I did not have to introduce myself to the guards there. They knew me. By two o’clock I was close to the entrance of the necklace room.
At 2:05 by Satan’s watch I entered it. If my heart was beating somewhat more quickly, I did not show it. I looked casually about the room. A guard stood close to the opposite entrance, the second guard halfway between me and the central case that was my goal. Both of them scanned me carefully. Neither of them knew me.
I walked over to the second guard, gave him my card and asked him a few questions about a collection of scarabs I knew were to be exhibited. I saw his official suspicion drop away from him as he read my name, and his replies were in the tone that he would have taken to an official of the museum. I walked over to the southeast comer of the room and apparently lost myself in a study of the amulets there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two guards meet, whisper and look at me respectfully. They separated and resumed their places.
Satan’s watch showed 2:10. Five minutes to go!
Swift glances about the room revealed a dozen or more sightseers. There were three couples of manifest respectability, middle-aged outlanders. A girl who might have been an artist, a scholarly looking, white-haired man, a man with German professor written plain upon him, two well-dressed Englishmen discussing learnedly the mutations of the Tet hieroglyphic in well-bred, low, but carrying voices, and an untidy-looking woman who seemed to be uncertain what it was all about, and two or three others. The Englishmen and the girl were standing beside the cabinet that held the necklace. The others were scattered about the room.
Satan’s watch registered 2:14.
There was a scurrying of feet in the north corridor. A woman screamed, terrifyingly. I heard a shout:
“Stop him! Stop him!”
A figure flashed by the door. A woman running. Close after her darted another, a man. I caught the glint of steel in his hand.
The watch marked 2:15. I walked over to the cabinet of the necklace, my right hand clutching the opening tool.
The turmoil in the corridor was growing louder. Again the woman screamed. The people in the room were rushing toward the door. The guard from the far entrance ran past me.
I stood before the cabinet. I thrust the razor edge of the little chisel between the flange of the top and the side. I turned the screw. There was a click, and the lock had snapped.
The screaming ended in a dreadful gasping wail. There was another rush of feet by the door. I heard an oath and the fall of a heavy body.
I withdrew my hand from the cabinet, the necklace in it. I dropped it into my pocket, running its upper strand over the line of tiny hooks.
I walked to the entrance through which I had come. One of the guards was lying upon the threshold. The German was bending over him. The girl I had taken for an artist was crouched beside him, hands over her eyes, crying hysterically. From the armor room across the corridor came an agonized shrieking—a man’s voice this time.
I went on, between the two black sarcophagi at the entrance to the wing, out into the great hall where the Gobelin tapestries hang, and passed through the turnstile. The guard had his back turned, listening to the sounds which, both because of distance and the arrangement of rooms and corridors, were here barely audible.
I took my coat from the attendant, who, it was clear, had heard nothing.
Walking to the entrance, I stepped to the right as Satan had bade and, leaning over, fumbled with a shoe lace. Some one brushed past me, into the museum.
Straightening, I proceeded to the steps. Down on the sidewalk two men were fighting. A group had gathered around them, I saw a policeman running up. Those upon the steps beside myself were absorbed in watching the combatants.
I passed down. A dozen yards to my left was a blue limousine, the chauffeur paying no attention to the fighters, but polishing with a piece of chamois the right headlight of his car.
Strolling to it, I saw the chauffeur jump from his polishing, throw open the door and stand at attention beside it, his alert gaze upon me.
Satan’s watch registered 2:19.
I stepped into the car. The curtains were drawn and it was dark. The door closed behind me and it was darker still.
The car started. Some one moved. Some one spoke softly, tremulously eager.
“Are you all right, Mr. Kirkham?”
Eve’s voice!
SEVEN FOOTPRINTS TO S
ATAN [Part 2]
CHAPTER TWELVE
I struck a match. Eve turned her head quickly away, but not before I had seen the tears in her eyes and how pale was her face.
“I’m quite all right, thank you,” I said. “And everything, so far as I know, has gone exactly according to Satan’s schedule. I know that I have. The necklace is in my pocket.”
“I w-wasn’t worrying about th-that,” said Eve in a shaky little voice.
Her nerve was badly shattered, there was no mistaking that. Not for a moment did I think that any anxiety about me was the cause of it. That she had thoroughly understood Satan’s sinister implications the night before was certain. Probably she had had forebodings. But now she knew.
Nevertheless, for one reason or another, she had felt anxiety for me. I moved closer.
“Satan made it perfectly clear to me that my continued health and getting the necklace were closely tied up together,” I told her. “I am obeying his instructions to the letter, naturally. My next move is to give the necklace to you.”
I slipped it off the hooks in my pocket.
“How do you turn on the lights?” I asked her. “I want you to be sure that what I give you is what our Master is expecting to get.”
“D-don’t turn them on,” whispered Eve. “Give me the—d-damned thing!”
I laughed. Sorry for her as I was, I couldn’t help it. Her hands crept out and touched me. I caught them in mine and she did not withdraw them. And after a time she drew closer, pressing against me like a frightened child. She was crying, I knew, but I said nothing, only slipped an arm around her and let her cry. Yes, very much like a little frightened child was Eve, weeping there in the darkness and clutching my hands so tightly. And in my heart I cursed Satan in seven tongues, a cold, implacable hatred growing within me.
The A. Merritt Megapack Page 97