The Yellow Claw

by Sax Rohmer

  XXXV

  TRACKER TRACKED

  Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland peered from the window of the former'sroom into the dusk of the Square, until their eyes ached with the strainof an exercise so unnatural.

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

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

  "Look!"

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

  "There he is!" whispered Denise Ryland, excitedly; "I told you hecouldn't... keep away. I know that kind of brute. There is nobody athome, so listen: I will watch... from the drawing-room, and you... lightup here and move about... as if preparing to go out."

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

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

  "Quite," Helen declared, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. "Youwill 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 toundertake... so palpable... a duty"...

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

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

  "Quite," said Helen, holding out her hand. "I am awfully glad to see youagain, Mr. Gianapolis!"

  He was distinctly encouraged by her tone. He bent forwardconfidentially.

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

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

  "Surely you don't want to be seen with me in this extraordinarycostume!" she challenged.

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

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

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

  "I am afraid I have a lot of work to do," said Helen, with a littlecatch in her voice.

  "My dear Miss Cumberly," cried Gianapolis, eagerly, placing his handupon 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 howyou delight in the outre and how inimitably you can describe scenes ofBohemian life, I had hoped, since it was my privilege to meet you, thatyou would accept my services as cicerone to some of the lesser-knownresorts of Bohemian London. Your article, 'Dinner in Soho,' was adelightful piece of observation, and the third--I think it was thethird--of the same series: 'Curiosities of the Cafe Royal,' was equallygood. But your powers of observation would be given greater play in anyone of the three establishments to which I should be honored to escortyou."

  Helen Cumberly, though perfectly self-reliant, as only the modern girljournalist can be, was fully aware that, not being of the flat-haired,bespectacled type, she was called upon to exercise rather more carein her selection of companions for copy-hunting expeditions than wasnecessary in the case of certain fellow-members of the Scribes' Club. Nopower on earth could have induced her to accept such an invitation fromsuch a man, under ordinary circumstances; even now, with so definiteand important an object in view, she hesitated. The scheme might leadto nothing; Denise Ryland (horrible thought!) might lose the track; thetrack might lead to no place of importance, so far as her real inquirywas 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 perfectlysafe; 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 PalaceMansions.

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

  "So early in the evening," pursued the Greek, rapidly, "the moreinteresting types will hardly have arrived; nevertheless, at the MemphisCafe"...

  "Memphis Cafe!" muttered Helen, glancing at him rapidly; "what an oddname."

  "Ah! my dear Miss Cumberly!" cried Gianapolis, with triumph--"I knewthat you had never heard of the true haunts of Bohemia! The MemphisCafe--it is actually a club--was founded by Olaf van Noord two yearsago, and at present has a membership including some of the most famousartistic folk of London; not only painters, but authors, composers,actors, actresses. I may add that the peerage, male and female, isrepresented."

  "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 highstakes, it is not to the Memphis Cafe you must go. I can show youSociety 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-glimpseinto phases of London life hidden from the world--even from thegreater part of the ever-peering journalistic world--was not lacking infascination.

  The planning of a scheme in its entirety constitutes a mental effortwhich not infrequently blinds us to the shortcomings of certainessential details. Denise's plan, a good one in many respects, had thefault of being over-elaborate. Now, when it was too late to advise herfriend of any amendment, Helen perceived that there was no occasion forher to suffer the society of Gianapolis.

  To bid him good evening, and then to follow him, herself, was a planmuch superior to that of keeping him company whilst Denise followedboth!

  Moreover, he would then be much more likely to go home, or to someaddress which it would be useful to know. What a VERY womanish schemetheirs had been, after all; Helen told hers
elf that the most stupid manimaginable could have placed his finger upon its weak spot immediately.

  But her mind was made up. If it were possible, she would warn Denise ofthe change of plan; if it were not, then she must rely upon her friendto see through the ruse which she was about to practise upon the Greek.

  "Good night, Mr. Gianapolis!" she said abruptly, and held out her handto the smiling man. His smile faded. "I should love to join you, butreally you must know that it's impossible. I will arrange to make up aparty, with pleasure, if you will let me know where I can 'phone you?"

  "But," he began...

  "Many thanks, it's really impossible; there are limits even to theescapades allowed under the cloak of 'Copy'! Where can I communicatewith you?"

  "Oh! how disappointed I am! But I must permit you to know yourown wishes better than I can hope to know them, Miss Cumberly.Therefore"--Helen was persistently holding out her hand--"good night!Might I venture to telephone to YOU in the morning? We could then cometo some arrangement, no doubt"...

  "You might not find me at home"...

  "But at nine o'clock!"

  "It allows me no time to make up my party!"

  "But such a party must not exceed three: yourself and two others"...

  "Nevertheless, it has to be arranged."

  "I shall ring up to-morrow evening, and if you are not at home, yourmaid will tell me when you are expected to return."

  Helen quite clearly perceived that no address and no telephone numberwere forthcoming.

  "You are committing yourself to endless and unnecessary trouble, Mr.Gianapolis, but if you really wish to do as you suggest, let it be so.Good night!"

  She barely touched his extended hand, turned, and ran fleetly backtoward the door of Palace Mansions. Ere reaching the entrance, however,she dropped a handkerchief, stooped to recover it, and glanced backrapidly.

  Gianapolis was just turning the corner.

  Helen perceived the unmistakable form of Denise Ryland lurking in thePalace Mansions doorway, and, waving frantically to her friend, whowas nonplussed at this change of tactics, she hurried back again to thecorner and peeped cautiously after the retreating Greek.

  There was a cab rank some fifty paces beyond, with three taxis stationedthere. If Gianapolis chartered a cab, and she were compelled to followin another, would Denise come upon the scene in time to take up theprearranged role of sleuth-hound?

  Gianapolis hesitated only for a few seconds; then, shrugging hisshoulders, he stepped out into the road and into the first cab on therank. The man cranked his engine, leapt into his seat and drove off.Helen Cumberly, ignoring the curious stares of the two remainingtaxi-men, ran out from the shelter of the corner and jumped into thenext cab, crying breathlessly:

  "Follow that cab! Don't let the man in it suspect, but follow, and don'tlose sight of it!"

  They were off!

  Helen glanced ahead quickly, and was just in time to see Gianapolis'cab disappear; then, leaning out of the window, she indulged in anextravagant pantomime for the benefit of Denise Ryland, who was hurryingafter her.

  "Take the next cab and follow ME!" she cried, whilst her friend raisedher hand to her ear the better to detect the words. "I cannot wait foryou or the track will be lost"...

  Helen's cab swung around the corner--and she was not by any meanscertain that Denise Ryland had understood her; but to have delayedwould have been fatal, and she must rely upon her friend's powers ofpenetration to form a third in this singular procession.

  Whilst these thoughts were passing in the pursuer's mind, Gianapolis,lighting a cigarette, had thrown himself back in a corner of the cab andwas mentally reviewing the events of the evening--that is, those eventswhich were associated with Helen Cumberly. He was disappointed buthopeful: at any rate he had suffered no definite repulse. Without doubt,his reflections had been less roseate had he known that he was followed,not only by two, but by THREE trackers.

  He had suspected for some time now, and the suspicion had made himuneasy, that his movements were being watched. Police surveillancehe did not fear; his arrangements were too complete, he believed,to occasion him any ground for anxiety even though half the CriminalInvestigation Department were engaged in dogging his every movement. Heunderstood police methods very thoroughly, and all his experience toldhim that this elusive shadow which latterly had joined him unbidden,and of whose presence he was specially conscious whenever his steps ledtoward Palace Mansions, was no police officer.

  He had two theories respecting the shadow--or, more properly, one theorywhich was divisible into two parts; and neither part was conducive topeace of mind. Many years, crowded with many happenings, some of whichhe would fain forget, had passed since the day when he had entered theservice of Mr. King, in Pekin. The enterprises of Mr. King were alwaysof a secret nature, and he well remembered the fate of a certain Burmesegentleman of Rangoon who had attempted to throw the light of publicityinto the dark places of these affairs.

  From a confidant of the doomed man, Gianapolias had learned, fully amonth before a mysterious end had come to the Burman, how the latter (byprofession a money-lender) had complained of being shadowed night andday by someone or something, of whom or of which he could never succeedin obtaining so much as a glimpse.

  Gianapolis shuddered. These were morbid reflections, for, since he hadno thought of betraying Mr. King, he had no occasion to apprehend a fatesimilar to that of the unfortunate money-lender of Rangoon. It was avery profitable service, that of Mr. King, yet there were times when thefear of his employer struck a chill to his heart; there were times whenalmost he wished to be done with it all...

  By Whitechapel Station he discharged the cab, and, standing on thepavement, lighted a new cigarette from the glowing stump of the oldone. A fair amount of traffic passed along the Whitechapel Road, for thenight was yet young; therefore Gianapolis attached no importance to thefact that almost at the moment when his own cab turned and wasdriven away, a second cab swung around the corner of Mount Street anddisappeared.

  But, could he have seen the big limousine drawn up to the pavement somefifty yards west of London Hospital, his reflections must have beenterrible, indeed.

  Fate willed that he should know nothing of this matter, and, histhoughts automatically reverting again to Helen Cumberly, he enjoyedthat imaginary companionship throughout the remainder of his walk, whichled him along Cambridge Road, and from thence, by a devious route, tothe northern end of Globe Road.

  It may be enlightening to leave Gianapolis for a moment and to return toMount Street.

  Helen Cumberly's cabman, seeing the cab ahead pull up outside therailway station, turned around the nearest corner on the right (as hasalready appeared), and there stopped. Helen, who also had observedthe maneuver of the taxi ahead, hastily descended, and giving the manhalf-a-sovereign, said rapidly:

  "I must follow on foot now, I am afraid! but as I don't know thisdistrict at all, could you bring the cab along without attractingattention, and manage to keep me in sight?"

  "I'll try, miss," replied the man, with alacrity; "but it won't be aneasy job."

  "Do your best," cried Helen, and ran off rapidly around the corner, andinto Whitechapel Road.

  She was just in time to see Gianapolis throw away the stump of his firstcigarette and stroll off, smoking a second. She rejoiced that she wasinconspicuously dressed, but, simple as was her attire, it did not failto attract coarse comment from some whom she jostled on her way. Sheignored all this, however, and, at a discreet distance followed theGreek, never losing sight of him for more than a moment.

  When, leaving Cambridge Road--a considerable thoroughfare--he plungedinto a turning, crooked and uninviting, which ran roughly at rightangles with the former, she hesitated, but only for an instant. Notanother pedestrian was visible in the street, which was very narrow andill-lighted, but she plainly saw Gianapolis passing under a street-lampsome thirty yards along. Glancing back in quest of the cabman, butfailing to perceive him, she resumed the pursuit. />
  She was nearly come to the end of the street (Gianapolis already haddisappeared into an even narrower turning on the left) when a brightlight suddenly swept from behind and cast her shadow far out in frontof her upon the muddy road. She heard the faint thudding of a motor,but did not look back, for she was confident that this was the taxi-manfollowing. She crept to the corner and peered around it; Gianapolis haddisappeared.

  The light grew brighter--brighter yet; and, with the engine running verysilently, the car came up almost beside her. She considered this unwiseon the man's part, yet welcomed his presence, for in this place not asoul was visible, and for the first time she began to feel afraid...

  A shawl, or some kind of silken wrap, was suddenly thrown over her head!

  She shrieked frenziedly, but the arm of her captor was now claspedtightly about her mouth and head. She felt herself to be suffocating.The silken thing which enveloped her was redolent of the perfume ofroses; it was stifling her. She fought furiously, but her arms were nowseized in an irresistible grasp, and she felt herself lifted--and placedupon a cushioned seat.

  Instantly there was a forward movement of the vehicle which she hadmistaken for a taxi-cab, and she knew that she was speeding throughthose unknown east-end streets--God! to what destination?

  She could not cry out, for she was fighting for air--she seemed to beencircled by a swirling cloud of purplish mist. On--and on--and on, shewas borne; she knew that she must have been drugged in some way, forconsciousness was slipping--slipping...

  Helpless as a child in that embrace which never faltered, she was liftedagain and carried down many steps. Insensibility was very near now, butwith all the will that was hers she struggled to fend it off. She feltherself laid down upon soft cushions...

  A guttural voice was speaking, from a vast distance away:

  "What is this that you bwring us, Mahara?"

  Answered a sweet, silvery voice:

  "Does it matter to you what I bringing? It is one I hate--hate--HATE!There will be TWO cases of 'ginger' to go away some day instead ofONE--that is all! Said, yalla!"

  "Your pwrimitive passions will wruin us"...

  The silvery voice grew even more silvery:

  "Do you quarrel with me, Ho-Pin, my friend?"

  "This is England, not Burma! Gianapolis"...

  "Ah! Whisper--WHISPER it to HIM, and"...

  Oblivion closed in upon Helen Cumberly; she seemed to be sinking intothe heart of a giant rose.