The Yellow Claw

by Sax Rohmer

  XXX

  MAHARA

  Utter silence had claimed again the cave of the golden dragon.Gianapolis sat alone in the place, smoking a cigarette, and gazingcrookedly at the image on the ivory pedestal. Then, glancing at hiswrist-watch, he stood up, and, stepping to the entrance door, was aboutto open it...

  "Ah, so! You go--already?"--

  Gianapolis started back as though he had put his foot upon a viper, andturned.

  The Eurasian, wearing her yellow, Chinese dress, and with a red poppy inher hair, stood watching him through half-shut eyes, slowly waving herlittle fan before her face. Gianapolis attempted the radiant smile, butits brilliancy was somewhat forced tonight.

  "Yes, I must be off," he said hurriedly; "I have to see someone--afuture client, I think!"

  "A future client--yes!"--the long black eyes were closed almost entirelynow. "Who is it--this future client, that you have to see?"

  "My dear Mahara! How odd of you to ask that"...

  "It is odd of me?--so!... It is odd of me that I thinking to wonder whyyou alway running away from me now?"

  "Run away from you! My dear little Mahara!"--He approached thedusky beauty with a certain timidity as one might seek to caress atiger-cat--"Surely you know"...

  She struck down his hand with a sharp blow of her closed fan, darting athim a look from the brilliant eyes which was a living flame.

  Resting one hand upon her hip, she stood with her right foot thrustforward from beneath the yellow robe and pivoting upon the heel of itslittle slipper. Her head tilted, she watched him through lowered lashes.

  "It was not so with you in Moulmein," she said, her silvery voicelowered caressingly. "Do you remember with me a night beside theIrawaddi?--where was that I wonder? Was it in Prome?--Perhaps, yes?...you threatened me to leap in, if... and I think to believe you!--Ibelieving you!"

  "Mahara!" cried Gianapolis, and sought to seize her in his arms.

  Again she struck down his hand with the little fan, watching himcontinuously and with no change of expression. But the smoldering firein those eyes told of a greater flame which consumed her slenderbody and was potent enough to consume many a victim upon its altar.Gianapolis' yellow skin assumed a faintly mottled appearance.

  "Whatever is the matter?" he inquired plaintively.

  "So you must be off--yes? I hear you say it; I asking you who to meet?"

  "Why do you speak in English?" said Gianapolis with a faint irritation."Let us talk..."

  She struck him lightly on the face with her fan; but he clenched histeeth and suppressed an ugly exclamation.

  "Who was it?" she asked, musically, "that say to me, 'to hear youspeaking English--like rippling water'?"

  "You are mad!" muttered Gianapolis, beginning to drill the points ofhis mustache as was his manner in moments of agitation. His crooked eyeswere fixed upon the face of the girl. "You go too far."

  "Be watching, my friend, that you also go not too far."

  The tones were silvery as ever, but the menace unmistakable. Gianapolisforced a harsh laugh and brushed up his mustache furiously.

  "What are you driving at?" he demanded, with some return ofself-confidence. "Am I to be treated to another exhibition of yourinsane jealousies?"...

  "AH!" The girl's eyes opened widely; she darted another venomous glanceat him. "I am sure now, I am SURE!"

  "My dear Mahara, you talk nonsense!"

  "Ah!"

  She glided sinuously toward him, still with one hand resting upon herhip, stood almost touching his shoulder and raised her beautiful wickedface to his, peering at him through half-closed eyes, and resting thehand which grasped the fan lightly upon his arm.

  "You think I do not see? You think I do not watch?"--softer and softergrew the silvery voice--"at Olaf van Noord's studio you think I do nothear? Perhaps you not thinking to care if I see and hear--for it seemyou not seeing nor hearing ME. I watch and I see. Is it her so softbrown hair? That color of hair is so more prettier than ugly black!Is it her English eyes? Eyes that born in the dark forests of Burma sohideous and so like the eyes of the apes! Is it her white skin and herred cheeks? A brown skin--though someone, there was, that say it issatin of heaven--is so tiresome; when no more it is a new toy it doesnot interest"...

  "Really," muttered Gianapolis, uneasily, "I think you must be mad! Idon't know what you are talking about."

  "LIAR!"

  One lithe step forward the Eurasian sprang, and, at the word, broughtdown the fan with all her strength across Gianapolis' eyes!

  He staggered away from her, uttering a hoarse cry and instinctivelyraising his arms to guard himself from further attack; but the girlstood poised again, her hand upon her hip; and swinging her right toe toand fro. Gianapolis, applying his handkerchief to his eyes, squinted ather furiously.

  "Liar!" she repeated, and her voice had something of a soothing whisper."I say to you, be so careful that you go not too far--with me! I do whatI do, not because I am a poor fool"...

  "It's funny," declared Gianapolis, an emotional catch in hisvoice--"it's damn funny for you--for YOU--to adopt these airs with me!Why, you went to Olaf van"...

  "Stop!" cried the girl furiously, and sprang at him panther-like so thathe fell back again in confusion, stumbled and collapsed upon a divan,with upraised, warding arms. "You Greek rat! you skinny Greek rat! Becareful what you think to say to me--to ME! to ME! Olaf van Noord--thepoor, white-faced corpse-man! He is only one of Said's mummies! Becareful what you think to say to me... Oh! be careful--be very careful!It is dangerous of any friend of--MR. KING"...

  Gianapolis glanced at her furtively.

  "It is dangerous of anyone in a house of--MR. KING to think to makeattachments,"--she hissed the words beneath her breath--"outside ofourselves. MR. KING would not be glad to hear of it... I do not like totell it to MR. KING"...

  Gianapolis rose to his feet, unsteadily, and stretched out his arms insupplication.

  "Mahara!" he said, "don't treat me like this! dear little Mahara! whathave I done to you? Tell me!--only tell me!"

  "Shall I tell it in English?" asked the Eurasian softly. Her eyes nowwere nearly closed; "or does it worry you that I speak so ugly"...

  "Mahara!"...

  "I only say, be so very careful."

  He made a final, bold attempt to throw his arms about her, but sheslipped from his grasp and ran lightly across the room.

  "Go! hurry off!" she said, bending forward and pointing at him with herfan, her eyes widely opened and blazing--"but remember--there is danger!There is Said, who creeps silently, like the jackal"...

  She opened the ebony door and darted into the corridor beyond, closingthe door behind her.

  Gianapolis looked about him in a dazed manner, and yet again applied hishandkerchief to his stinging eyes. Whoever could have seen him nowmust have failed to recognize the radiant Gianapolis so well-known inBohemian society, the Gianapolis about whom floated a halo of mystery,but who at all times was such a good fellow and so debonair. He took uphis hat and gloves, turned, and resolutely strode to the door. Oncehe glanced back over his shoulder, but shrugged with a sort ofself-contempt, and ascended to the top of the steps.

  With a key which he selected from a large bunch in his pocket, he openedthe door, and stepped out into the garage, carefully closing the doorbehind him. An electric pocket-lamp served him with sufficient light tofind his way out into the lane, and very shortly he was proceeding alongLimehouse Causeway. At the moment, indignation was the major emotionruling his mind; he resented the form which his anger assumed, for itwas a passion of rebellion, and rebellion is only possible in servants.It is the part of a slave resenting the lash. He was an unscrupulous,unmoral man, not lacking in courage of a sort; and upon the conquest ofMahara, the visible mouthpiece of Mr. King, he had entered in muchthe same spirit as that actuating a Kanaka who dives for pearls in ashark-infested lagoon. He had sought a slave, and lo! the slave wasbecome the master! Otherwise whence this spirit of rebellion... thisfear?

&n
bsp; He occupied himself with such profitless reflections up to the time thathe came to the electric trains; but, from thence onward, his mind becameotherwise engaged. On his way to Piccadilly Circus that same evening, hehad chanced to find himself upon a crowded pavement walking immediatelybehind Denise Ryland and Helen Cumberly. His esthetic, Greek soul hadbeen fired at first sight of the beauty of the latter; and now, hisheart had leaped ecstatically. His first impulse, of course, had been tojoin the two ladies; but Gianapolis had trained himself to suspect allimpulses.

  Therefore he had drawn near--near enough to overhear their conversationwithout proclaiming himself. What he had learned by this eavesdroppinghe counted of peculiar value.

  Helen Cumberly was arranging to dine with her friend at the latter'shotel that evening. "But I want to be home early," he had heard thegirl say, "so if I leave you at about ten o'clock I can walk to PalaceMansions. No! you need not come with me; I enjoy a lonely walk throughthe streets of London in the evening"...

  Gianapolis registered a mental vow that Helen's walk should not be alonely one. He did not flatter himself upon the possession of a pleasingexterior, but, from experience, he knew that with women he had a winningway.

  Now, his mind aglow with roseate possibilities, he stepped from the tramin the neighborhood of Shoreditch, and chartered a taxi-cab. From thishe descended at the corner of Arundel Street and strolled along westwardin the direction of the hotel patronized by Miss Ryland. At a cornerfrom which he could command a view of the entrance, he paused andconsulted his watch.

  It was nearly twenty minutes past ten. Mentally, he cursed Mahara, whoperhaps had caused him to let slip this golden opportunity. But his wasnot a character easily discouraged; he lighted a cigarette and preparedhimself to wait, in the hope that the girl had not yet left her friend.

  Gianapolis was a man capable of the uttermost sacrifices upon eitherof two shrines; that of Mammon, or that of Eros. His was a temperament(truly characteristic of his race) which can build up a structurepainfully, year by year, suffering unutterable privations in the causeof its growth, only to shatter it at a blow for a woman's smile. He wasa true member of that brotherhood, represented throughout the bazaars ofthe East, of those singular shopkeepers who live by commercial rapine,who, demanding a hundred piastres for an embroidered shawl from a plainwoman, will exchange it with a pretty one for a perfumed handkerchief.Externally of London, he was internally of the Levant.

  His vigil lasted but a quarter of an hour. At twenty-five minutes toeleven, Helen Cumberly came running down the steps of the hotel andhurried toward the Strand. Like a shadow, Gianapolis, throwing away ahalf-smoked cigarette, glided around the corner, paused and so timedhis return that he literally ran into the girl as she entered the mainthoroughfare.

  He started back.

  "Why!" he cried, "Miss Cumberly!"

  Helen checked a frown, and hastily substituted a smile.

  "How odd that I should meet you here, Mr. Gianapolis," she said.

  "Most extraordinary! I was on my way to visit a friend in VictoriaStreet upon a rather urgent matter. May I venture to hope that your pathlies in a similar direction?"

  Helen Cumberly, deceived by his suave manner (for how was she to knowthat the Greek had learnt her address from Crockett, the reporter?),found herself at a loss for an excuse. Her remarkably pretty mouth wasdrawn down to one corner, inducing a dimple of perplexity in her leftcheek. She had that breadth between the eyes which, whilst not anattribute of perfect beauty, indicates an active mind, and is oftenfound in Scotch women; now, by the slight raising of her eyebrows, thisspace was accentuated. But Helen's rapid thinking availed her not atall.

  "Had you proposed to walk?" inquired Gianapolis, bending deferentiallyand taking his place beside her with a confidence which showed that heropportunity for repelling his attentions was past.

  "Yes," she said, hesitatingly; "but--I fear I am detaining you"...

  Of two evils she was choosing the lesser; the idea of being confined ina cab with this ever-smiling Greek was unthinkable.

  "Oh, my dear Miss Cumberly!" cried Gianapolis, beaming radiantly, "it isa greater pleasure than I can express to you, and then for two friendswho are proceeding in the same direction to walk apart would be quiteabsurd, would it not?"

  The term "friend" was not pleasing to Helen's ears; Mr. Gianapolis wentfar too fast. But she recognized her helplessness, and accepted thiscavalier with as good a grace as possible.

  He immediately began to talk of Olaf van Noord and his pictures,whilst Helen hurried along as though her life depended upon her speed.Sometimes, on the pretense of piloting her at crossings, Gianapoliswould take her arm; and this contact she found most disagreeable; but onthe whole his conduct was respectful to the point of servility.

  A pretty woman who is not wholly obsessed by her personal charms, learnsmore of the ways of mankind than it is vouchsafed to her plainer sisterever to know; and in the crooked eyes of Gianapolis, Helen Cumberly reada world of unuttered things, and drew her own conclusions. These severalconclusions dictated a single course; avoidance of Gianapolis in future.

  Fortunately, Helen Cumberly's self-chosen path in life had taught herhow to handle the nascent and undesirable lover. She chatted uponthe subject of art, and fenced adroitly whenever the Greek soughtto introduce the slightest personal element into the conversation.Nevertheless, she was relieved when at last she found herself in thefamiliar Square with her foot upon the steps of Palace Mansions.

  "Good night, Mr. Gianapolis!" she said, and frankly offered her hand.

  The Greek raised it to his lips with exaggerated courtesy, and retainedit, looking into her eyes in his crooked fashion.

  "We both move in the world of art and letters; may I hope that thismeeting will not be our last?"

  "I am always wandering about between Fleet Street and Soho," laughedHelen. "It is quite certain we shall run into each other again beforelong. Good night, and thank you so much!"

  She darted into the hallway, and ran lightly up the stairs. Opening theflat door with her key, she entered and closed it behind her, sighingwith relief to be free of the over-attentive Greek. Some impulseprompted her to enter her own room, and, without turning up the light,to peer down into the Square.

  Gianapolis was descending the steps. On the pavement he stood and lookedup at the windows, lingeringly; then he turned and walked away.

  Helen Cumberly stifled an exclamation.

  As the Greek gained the corner of the Square and was lost from view, alithe figure--kin of the shadows which had masked it--became detachedfrom the other shadows beneath the trees of the central garden andstood, a vague silhouette seemingly looking up at her window asGianapolis had looked.

  Helen leaned her hands upon the ledge and peered intently down. Thefigure was a vague blur in the darkness, but it was moving away along bythe rails... following Gianapolis. No clear glimpse she had of it, forbat-like, it avoided the light, this sinister shape--and was gone.