The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XXVII

  OPENS A DEATH-TRAP

  The Villa Beni Hassan, a great red-and-white house of Moorisharchitecture, with three large domes, and many minarets, and long-archedwindows of stained glass, I found standing high up, facing the azuresea, amid a wonderful tropical garden full of tall, feathery palms, darkoleanders, fiery pointsettias, and a perfect tangle of aloes, roses,giant geraniums and other brilliant flowers.

  A high white wall hid it from the dusty highway, its position beingbetween the road and the sea with spacious, well-kept grounds slopingaway down to the golden beach. Truly it was a princely residence, one ofthe finest in the picturesque suburbs of Algiers. That afternoon beneaththe blazing African sun, shining like burnished copper, all was still inthe fiery heat, which, after the coolness of autumn in England, seemedoverpowering.

  At length the ricketty fiacre pulled up before great gates of ornamentaliron-work, the tops of which were gilded, and on ringing, a giganticArab janitor in blue and gold livery appeared from the concierge'slodge, and salaamed.

  In Arabic my companion explained that we wished to see the Comte,whereupon he opened the gates, and on foot we proceeded up the winding,well-kept drive, bordered by flowers, and shaded by palms of variousspecies. On our left, across a sun-baked lawn, in the centre of which abig handsome fountain was playing, I caught sight of an aerial mast ofiron lattice nearly a hundred feet high, and across from it to anothersimilar mast were suspended four thin wires, kept apart by woodencrosses.

  I held my breath. I was actually upon the domain of the most daringcriminal known to the European police.

  "There are the wires of the wireless station," the detective exclaimed."But why, M'sieur, do you wish to see the Comte?" he asked with suddencuriosity.

  "To ask him a plain question," was my brief and, I fear, rather snappishreply. "But tell me," I added, "have you ever seen his niece herevisiting him?"

  "Mademoiselle Sorel, M'sieur means. Yes, certainly. She has often beenhere--young, about nineteen--_tres petite_, and very pretty. She livesin Paris."

  "Yes. When was she here last?"

  "Ah! I have not seen her here for several months," replied the man inthe shabby straw hat. "I saw the Comte only yesterday. I was in MustaphaPasha when he went past in his grey automobile. He had with him thetall elderly Englishman who sometimes visits here, a M'sieur Vernon, Ithink, is his name."

  "Vernon!" I exclaimed with quick satisfaction. "Is he here?"

  "I believe so, M'sieur. He was here yesterday."

  As he uttered the words we turned the corner, and the great whiteMoorish house, with the broad dark-red bands upon the walls, anddark-red decorations over the arched corridors, came into view.

  Boldly we approached the front door, before which was a great archedportico lined with dark-blue tiles, delightfully cool after the sunwithout. Yet scarcely had we placed our feet upon the threshold when atall servant, with face jet-black and three scars upon his cheeks, histribal marks, stood before us with a look of inquiry, silently barringour further passage.

  Beyond we saw a cool courtyard, where vine were trailing overhead, andwater plashed pleasantly into a marble basin.

  Again the detective explained that we wished to see the Comte d'Esneux,whereupon the silent servant, bowing, motioned us to enter a smallelegantly furnished room on the left of the courtyard, and thendisappeared, closing the door after him.

  The room, panelled in cedar-wood, was Moorish in character, the lightfiltering in through long windows of stained glass. Around the vaultedceiling was a symmetrical device in Arabesque in gold, red and blue,while about the place were soft Moorish divans and silken cushions, withrich rugs on the floor, and a heavy brass arabesque lamp suspended fromthe centre of the ornamented ceiling. The place was full of the subtlestperfume of burning pastilles, and, in a cabinet, I noted a collection ofrare Arab gold and silver jewellery.

  And this was the home of the motor-bandit of the Forest ofFontainebleau--the man who had shot dead the Paris jeweller, Benoy, withas little compunction as he killed a fly.

  I strode around the room, bewildered by its Arabian Nights aspect.Truly Jules Jeanjean lived in a style befitting an Eastern Prince.

  "Hush!" I exclaimed, and we both listened to a loud crackling. "That," Isaid, "is the sound of wireless telegraphy. A message is being sent outacross the sea."

  Jeanjean was evidently in a room in the vicinity.

  Suddenly the noise ceased. The door-keeper, who had not asked our names,had evidently sent in the message that two strangers desired to see hismaster.

  But it was only a pause, for in a few seconds the message was resumed. Icould easily distinguish the long and short cracks of the spark acrossthe gap, as the electric waves were sent into the ether over theMediterranean to Europe.

  I happen to know the Continental Morse code, for I had dabbled inwireless telegraphy two years before. So I stood with strained earstrying to decipher the tapped-out message. I heard that it was directedto some station the call-letters of which were "B. X." But the messagewas a mere jumble of letters and numerals of some pre-arranged code.

  I listened attentively till I heard the rapid short sound followed byfour long sounds, and another short one, which indicated the conclusionof the message.

  Then we both waited breathlessly. Who was B. X., I wondered?

  I felt myself upon the verge of a great and effective triumph. I wouldgive Jeanjean into custody upon a charge of murder, and if Vernon werestill there, he should also be captured at the point of the revolver.

  Those seconds seemed hours.

  In a whisper I urged my companion to hold himself in readiness for agreat surprise, and to have his revolver handy--which he had.

  I laughed within myself at the great surprise the pair would have.

  The heavy atmosphere of the room where, from a big old bowl of brasswith a pierced cover, ascended the blue smoke of perfume being burntupon charcoal ashes, became almost unbearable. The pastilles as burnt bythe Orientals is pleasing to the nostrils unless some foreign matter bemixed with them, or the smoke is not allowed to escape. In this case theround-headed stained glass windows were fully twelve feet from theground, had wire-work in front of them, and apparently did not open. Thedesigns of dark-blue, purple, red and yellow were very elegant, and theywere probably very ancient windows brought from some fairy-like palaceof the days before the occupation of Algeria by the French.

  Again I gazed around the delightfully luxurious apartment, soessentially Moorish and artistic. Amid such surroundings had livedLola--the girl who had fled from me and disappeared.

  What would the world say when it became known that that magnificenthouse, almost indeed a palace, was the home of the man of a hundredcrimes, the daring and unscrupulous criminal, Jules Jeanjean?

  I was listening for a repetition of the wireless signals to B.X., butcould distinguish nothing. Probably he was receiving their reply, inwhich case there would be no sounds except in the head-telephones.

  "_Mon Dieu!_" gasped my companion, whose name he had told me wasFournier. "This atmosphere is becoming suffocating!"

  I agreed, and tried to extinguish the fire within the brazier.Unfortunately I failed to open the lid, which was held down by somespring the catch of which I could not detect.

  Indeed, the thin column of blue smoke grew darker and denser, as wewatched. The room became full of a perfume which gradually changed to acurious odour which suffocated us.

  We both coughed violently, and upon me grew the feeling that I was beingasphyxiated. My throat became contracted, my eyes smarted, and I couldonly take short, quick gasps.

  "Let's get out of this," I exclaimed, reaching to open the door.

  But it was locked.

  We were caught like rats in a trap.

  In an instant we both realized that we were imprisoned, and began tobang violently upon the heavy doors of iron-bound and unpolished oak,shouting to be let out. The fool of an Arab had secured us there whilehe went to announce
our visit to his master.

  I took up a small ebony and pearl coffee-table inlaid with a verse fromthe Koran, and raising it frantically above my head, attacked the lockeddoor. But when it struck the oak it flew into a dozen pieces. Fourniertook up a small chair with equally futile result, and then in silence weexchanged glances.

  Could it be, that on our approach to the house, we had been recognizedby the owner and invited into that room which, with its rising fumes,was nothing less than an ingenious death-trap.

  I remembered the sinister grin upon the villainous black face of thesilent servant.

  Again and again we attacked the door, for we knew that our livesdepended upon our escape. We shouted, yelled and banged, but attractedno attention. We threw things at the windows, but they were protected bythe wire-work.

  Then a sudden thought occurred to me.

  Swiftly I bent down and examined the large keyhole. The key had beentaken and, it seemed to me, the heavy bolt of the lock had been shotinto a deep socket in the framework of the door.

  Without a word I motioned Fournier to stand back, and finding that thebarrel of my revolver was, fortunately, small enough to insert into thekeyhole, I pushed it in and pulled the trigger.

  A loud explosion followed, and splinters of wood and iron flew in alldirections. The bolt of the lock was blown away and the door forcedopen.

  Next second, with revolvers in our hands, we stood facing two blackfaced servants, who drew back in alarm as we rushed from that lethalchamber.

  Fournier, excited as a Frenchman naturally would be in suchcircumstances, raised his weapon and shouted in Arabic that he was apolice-officer, and that all persons in that house were to considerthemselves under arrest. Whereupon both men, Moors they were mostprobably, fell upon their knees begging for mercy.

  My companion exchanged some quick words with them, and they entered intoa conversation, while at the same moment, casting my eyes across thebeautiful, blue-tiled, vaulted hall, I looked through an open door intothe room which the Count d'Esneux used for his experiments in wireless.

  At a glance I recognized, by the variety of the apparatus, the size ofthe great spiral transmitting helix, by the pattern of the loose-coupledtuning inductance, the big variable condensers, those strange-lookingcircular instruments of zinc vanes enclosed in a round glass, used forreceiving, the electrolytic detector, and the big crystal detector, agold point working over silicon, carborundum, galena, and copperpyrites--that the station must have a very wide range. The spark-gap wasbigger than any I had ever before seen, while there was a long loadingcoil enabling any distant station using long wave-lengths to be pickedup, as well as the latest type of potentiometer, used to regulate thevoltage and current supplied to the detectors.

  At a glance I took in the whole arrangement, placed as it was, upon along table beneath a window of stained glass at the further end of thatluxurious little Moorish chamber. Apparently no cost had been spared inits installation, and I fully believed that with it the notoriouscriminal could communicate with any station within a radius of, perhaps,two thousand miles.

  Fournier had questioned the native servants rapidly, and received theirreplies, which were at first unsatisfactory. I saw by the fear in theirfaces that he had threatened them, when suddenly one of them excitedlymade a statement.

  "_Diable!_" cried the detective in French, turning to me. "The Countrecognized us, and had us locked in that death-chamber while he and theEnglishman, M'sieur Vernon, got away!"

  "Escaped!" I gasped in dismay. "Then let us follow."

  A quick word in Arabic, and the two servants, without furtherreluctance, dashed away along the big hall, through severalluxuriously-furnished rooms full of soft divans, where the air was heavywith Eastern perfumes and the decorations were mostly in dark red andblue. Then across a small cool courtyard paved with polished marble,where another fountain plashed, and out to the sun-baked palm-grovewhich sloped from the front of the house away to the calm sapphire sea.

  Excitedly the men pointed, as we stood upon the marble terrace, to awhite speck far away along the broken coast of pale brown rocks, a speckfast receding around the next point, behind which was hidden the harbourof Algiers.

  "By Gad!" I cried, gazing eagerly after it, "that's a motor-boat, andthey are making for the town! We mustn't lose an instant or they willget away to some place of safety."

  So together we dashed back to the road as fast as our legs could carryus, and drove with all possible speed back to the town, in order toreach the harbour before the fugitives could land.