CHAPTER XXII
FROM EAST TO WEST
There was something almost pathetic in the way in which Uzali uttered the few words which passed his lips. His face was devoid of all trace of anger, his dark eyes had grown very sad.
"I am afraid you will hardly understand me," he said. "It is almost impossible for Western people to enter into the thoughts and ambitions of the East. You would hardly suppose, to see me sitting here in the heart of London, surrounded by these evidences of civilization, that I am a man who has set his heart upon the remaking of a nation. And yet, up to a few moments ago, that ambition was as strong and keen as ever. And now it has been dispelled like a dream. But, perhaps, I had better not talk in this poetic strain. Three or four years ago I came to England to see if I could come to terms with the Government. You see, both my brother and myself had been educated here, and we thought it was just possible that the British Government would take our province under their protection. We had talked it over scores of times, and at last I came to England to see what I could do. It is about three years since the news of the catastrophe came to me, and even then I learnt it through the medium of one of the newspapers. I suppose the Press did not think it worth more than a paragraph, which merely told of the disaster of the lake and how the tribe to which it belonged had been swept out of existence. Mind you, I did not think there was anything wrong. It seemed not unnatural that some great storm might sweep the dam away, and then the rest would have been a mere matter of minutes. But I was not satisfied. I went to Borneo to make inquiries, and eventually I found two survivors of the disaster. Then it was I discovered what had taken place. I can assure you, from that time to this I have done nothing but investigate and investigate till, by slow degrees, I have hit upon the right track. But tell me, gentlemen, how did you find me out?"
"We didn't find you out at all," Mercer said. "The thing was pure accident. We discovered that some of your tribe were bent upon wreaking their vengeance on Samuel Flower, and as my friend Russell was so mixed up in the matter he determined to see the thing through. It was the merest coincidence that we met you at the theatre to-night."
"I see," Uzali said. "Well, gentlemen, if you will help me I will promise to help you. But even as yet you don't quite appreciate where the danger lies. Everything is in the hands of those two clansmen of mine. If they are here on their own responsibility and I can gain speech with them, I may prevent murder. But if, on the other hand, these men are here as the emissaries of our priests, then it is little heed they will pay to me. If I were to sit here talking to you all night I could not impress upon you the influence which our priests exercised over our people. But at any rate, I can try. If you will both come with me to a place in the East End of London – "
"Impossible so far as I am concerned," Russell said curtly. "I have other and much more important work to do. But there is no reason why Mercer should be home before Saturday evening, and I daresay he will be glad to keep you company."
"Anything where I can oblige," Mercer said.
Uzali rose hurriedly to his feet.
"Then there is no more to be said for the present," he exclaimed. "I suppose Dr. Mercer knows where to find you if necessary. Now, if you will give me a few moments I will change my dress."
Russell had gone by the time Uzali came back. The latter had changed into a thick pilot suit with a blue cap which came well below his ears. A short clay pipe in his mouth gave him the aspect of the foreign type of seaman generally to be found loitering about the docks, and along the wharves about Limehouse.
"We are going into some queer company," he explained. "I had better give you a cap like my own to wear and a shabby overcoat. If we have any luck we shall be on the track of our friends before daylight. We can take a cab as far as Upper Thames Street and walk the rest of the journey."
Uzali chuckled to himself as the first passing cabman looked at him keenly and demanded to know where his fare was to come from. The sight of half a sovereign seemed to allay the cab-man's fears and he set his horse going somewhat sulkily. When the cab was dismissed there was a good step yet to go before Uzali turned down a side street with the air of a man who appears to be sure of his ground, and knocked three times at a doorway which was so far underground as to be more like the entrance to a cellar than anything else. A grating in the doorway was pushed cautiously back and a yellow, skinny face peeped through. It was the face of an elderly Chinaman scored and creased with thousands of lines, each line having the dirt ground into it, and the whole resembling an engraving after Rembrandt. It was an old, cunning, wicked face, too, so that even Mercer, accustomed to all sorts and conditions of men, recoiled at the sight.
Apparently the guardian of the door was satisfied, for he mumbled something in response to Uzali's question and opened the door. For a moment the atmosphere was unbearable. It smote Mercer with the strength of a blow. He had had many adventures in various sinks of iniquity on the four continents. He knew San Francisco and New York, Port Said and Cairo, but never before had he encountered anything quite so bad as this. He reeled to and fro and then sat down on the filthy door-step. As to Uzali, it seemed natural to him.
He was speaking a kind of pidgin English which Mercer could understand. He chinked some coins in his pocket which seemed to Mercer rather an imprudent thing to do, for the yellow face lit up and the dark almond eyes gleamed with cupidity.
"They are not here, illustrious one," the Chinaman said. "On my soul be it if I do not speak the truth."
"But they have been here," Uzali persisted.
The Chinaman bowed till his forehead touched the filthy floor. Apparently he was placing his den and all it contained at the disposal of his visitor. Uzali took a step forward and shook him violently. It seemed rather a dangerous thing to do, for the damp, stagnant floor of the room was littered with prostrate forms either in the full ecstasy of their opium, or drugged to a dreamless sleep by it. The Chinaman shook his head again.
"One, two, three, four, five," said Uzali counting on his fingers, "six, seven, eight, nine, ten sovereigns if you find them for me this evening. I have the gold in my pocket. More money than you could make in a week. Now wake up, exert yourself. Surely you could find some one who can tell me where they have gone."
The Chinaman pondered a moment with his long fingers in his grey beard. Then, once more he bowed and excused himself a moment whilst he disappeared in the murky blackness at the back of the evil-smelling den.
"Dare you trust him?" Mercer asked.
"Bah, he would do anything for money," Uzali said contemptuously. "He could have told me in the first place if he liked."
"And your friends have been here to-night?"
"Yes, they have been here right enough, and I am rather glad of it for one thing. They would not be able to resist the opium, and when we do catch up with them they will be like children in our hands. We are not going to have our walk for nothing."
"I don't mind as long as we get outside this place," Wilfrid said. "It seems impossible that anybody could live in an atmosphere like this. I hope that Chinaman of yours isn't going to keep us here much longer."
After what seemed to be an interminable time the proprietor of the opium den returned, accompanied by a fellow-countryman almost as wrinkled and quite as dirty as himself. It was only from the alertness of his movements that the newcomer proclaimed the fact that he was much younger than the master of the ceremonies. His face was suspicious and sullen, and there was no sign of animation in his eyes till Uzali produced a sovereign from his pocket.
"Malays," he said curtly. "North Borneo men. There were two or three of them here this evening who have now gone. Show me where to find them and this piece of money is yours."
A transformation came over the cunning face of the listener. He held out a lean, yellow claw which trembled violently as the piece of gold was passed into it.
"You stay here, small piecie," he said, "and I go find. Maybe, small piecie be long piecie, and I find all le same."
"We had better go with him," Uzali suggested.
The Chinaman winked slightly and shook his head. Even the display of a second piece of money failed to shake his determination, though his eyes fairly watered at the sight of it.
"No, no, I not go at all," he said sulkily. "All same piecie gold, good thing, but life better still."
Uzali gave it up with a gesture of despair. There was nothing for it but to wait in that loathsome atmosphere till the messenger came back. The minutes dragged along; a quarter of an hour passed and then the messenger returned. He held up his hand as a sign for the others to follow.
CHAPTER XXIII
AN EXPECTED TROUBLE
It was good to be out in the open air, to breathe the pure atmosphere once more. For a long time the Chinaman stalked on ahead until the docks were passed and the Tower Bridge loomed high against the sky. It wanted little till daylight now, and already there was a red glow in the east. But the Chinaman went on and on till he came to the Strand and thence across into Leicester Square, to Oxford Street and behind Gower Street. There were gardens and trees looming ghostly in the morning mist, and before one of the gardens the Chinaman stopped and peered through the high gate. He stood for a moment or two as still as statue, then suddenly he grasped Uzali's arm.
"There," he whispered. "You see yourself."
Without another word he turned and sped silently down the road as if his feet were shod with india-rubber. On Uzali, peeping through the bars of the gate, this defection was lost. He was too intent upon some object which appeared to be creeping across the grass. In a low whisper he called Mercer's attention to it, but the latter could see nothing.
"I forgot you do not possess our eyesight," Uzali murmured. "But there is one of the men I am in search of. What they are doing here I don't know. That is what I mean to find out. Now give me a lift over this gate and stay till I come back. Oh, there is no danger."
In his heart of hearts Mercer did not feel so sure of it. But it was not for him to question Uzali's purpose. To lift the latter over the gate was easy, and a second or two later he was safe on the other side.
"One moment before I go," he said. "I am an utter stranger and have never seen this place before. So far as I can judge this is a fine square with a number of good houses round it. It is not difficult to guess that these fellow-countrymen of mine have their eye upon one of the residences. Now, do you think you could find out the names of some of the residents? Of course, I know it is rather a risky thing to try at this time of the morning, but you might hit upon some unsuspicious policeman who can give you all the information you want."
The request seemed ridiculous, almost farcical, but Mercer promised. Neither was he the less anxious to find out for himself, because a shrewd idea had come into his mind and he resolved to put it to the test. He strode off down the road as if on some important errand and presently he saw a policeman swinging silently along. There was an element of risk in what he was about to do, but Mercer did not hesitate.
"I have been looking for an officer for some time," he said. "I wonder if you could be of assistance to me."
The policeman pulled up hurriedly and flashed his lantern full on Mercer's face. He was not in the least disposed to be friendly. Evidently his suspicions were aroused.
"What can I do for you?" he asked curtly.
"Well, you see, I have just landed off a voyage," Mercer said, "and I have had the misfortune to mislay all my belongings. I could not think where to go until it struck me that I had, a friend who lived somewhere near here, a ship-owner by the name of Flower. Do you happen to know his name?"
The policeman shook his head slowly.
"I can't say as I do," he said. "You see, I haven't been on duty in these parts very long, and anyway, I don't suppose your friend would care to be knocked up at this time in the morning."
"Naturally enough," Wilfrid said coolly, "But, you see, I was not disposed to do that. If I can only find the house it will be easy to walk about till daylight."
Once more the policeman hesitated. His suspicions were not altogether lulled.
"You had better come with me and speak to my sergeant," he said. "I have got to meet him in five minutes at the top of Torrington Place. He will tell you about this Mr. Flower."
There was no help for it, so Mercer strode along carelessly by the side of the constable until the sergeant made his appearance. He seemed to be just as cold and suspicious as his colleague, but at the same time Wilfrid had the satisfaction of knowing that he had not drawn a bow at a venture altogether in vain, for at the mention of Samuel Flower's name the sergeant's face changed.
"Oh, yes, I know Mr. Flower well enough," he said. "He lives at number twenty-three on the other side of the square. For the most part he spends his time in the country. But the family is in town to-night, because I was passing the house when they came home from a party. But what do you want with Mr. Samuel Flower, young fellow? You don't look like the sort of company he generally keeps."
"Very likely not," Wilfrid said coldly. "But the fact remains that I was once in Mr. Flower's service as doctor on one of his boats. I am much obliged to you for your information, which will save me a great deal of trouble in the morning."
Wilfrid strolled away quite naturally and easily; indeed, he was so cool and collected that the sergeant allowed him to depart with a curt good-night. There was just the chance that the officer might change his mind, so that Mercer sped on rapidly back to Gower Street, nor did he breathe freely till he stood once more outside the gate over which he had helped Uzali to climb. It struck Wilfrid as being a good idea that he should climb the gate himself and stay till the square keeper came in the morning to unlock the gates. No sooner had this idea occurred to him than he proceeded to put it into operation. He dropped quietly on to the path on the other side and settled himself down to wait in patience for Uzali to reappear. Twice did he walk the circuit of the garden. Twice did he pass Samuel Flower's house; the brass numbers on the door shone so steadily under the street lamp that there was no mistaking it. The house appeared to be in darkness save one light in an upper room, which flickered every now and again as if a window had been opened and the draught had caused the gas to flare unsteadily. There was nothing for it but to wait with what patience he possessed, although Wilfrid was getting tired of his adventure. He was wondering if it would be safe to light a cigarette to pass the time away. He looked around him and saw in the centre of the garden a dense mass of bushes where he might conceal himself and smoke without the faintest chance of detection.
He made his way across the grass, and as he reached the shelter of the thicket he seemed to hear some one breathing stertorously. Shading the vesta in his hand he swept the shining blue flame over the grass. There was the outline of a figure lying on its back with a pale face turned up to the sky.
"Good Heavens!" Mercer cried, "why, it's Uzali!"
At the mention of his name the Malay opened his eyes and looked drearily about him. There was a nasty cut on the side of his head and a big black bruise under the left eye. It did not take Mercer long to discover that his companion was suffering from loss of blood, but so far as he could see no very great harm had come to him. A minute or two later Uzali staggered to his feet.
"How did it happen?" Wilfrid exclaimed.
Uzali put the question aside impatiently.
"Don't ask me now," he whispered. "Get me home as soon as you can. I will tell you about it in the morning. No, you are not to come home with me. You will put me in a cab and send me straight round to my flat. I can summon my own doctor by telephone and no one will be any the wiser. Now do you think you could manage to get me over that gate?"
There was something so imperious in Uzali's manner that Wilfrid asked no questions. By the great exertion of strength he managed to lift Uzali over the gate and deposit him on the coping-stones outside. A sleepy driver of a hansom cab came plodding along and Mercer summoned him without delay.
"My friend has had an accident," he said. "Here is his card and address. I want you to get him home as soon as possible and see him into his flat. You will have nothing more to do after that except to mind your own business and ask no questions. Come, my good man, I don't suppose you will mind earning a five-pound note like that. It isn't much for the money."
"I'll do it," the cabman said hoarsely. "I haven't earned ten shillings to-night. Now come on, sir."
Uzali was lifted bodily into the cab and as the driver reached the box the wounded man whispered a few, terse peremptory words to Wilfrid. A moment later the cab was out of sight. Wilfrid wondered what was going to happen next. He made his way back into the square again to the thicket of evergreens where he had dropped his cigarette case. He could see the houses opposite now. He could see that a flare of light had flashed upon the second floor in Samuel Flower's residence; quite plainly against the blinds were the shadows of two men struggling together. It was only for a moment, then all was thick darkness again. Wilfrid stood there rubbing his eyes in bewilderment.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE LONG DARK HOUR
Even had Wilfrid Mercer had a stronger head and a steadier nerve, he might still have been pardoned for a feeling of dread at that moment. He had been on the rack nearly an hour and was, besides, more worn out than he was aware. As the first faint glow of the dawn filled the eastern sky it was impossible to piece together the tangled puzzle. In the first place it was idle to imagine what had happened to Uzali, and who was responsible for the murderous attack upon him. And it seemed purposeless now to conjecture why he had been in such a hurry to get away without at least trying to explain the drift of events to Mercer.
He wondered if those strange kinsmen of Uzali's had had anything to do with it, but so far as they were concerned the victim had been so confident, so absolutely sure of them, that this theory appeared unlikely. There was nothing for it but to turn his attention to Samuel Flower's house and attempt to discover what had been going on there. Anything was better than standing still in the chilly dawn trying to solve a problem which was seemingly beyond human skill.
He must be up and doing. Mechanically he grabbed for the cigarette case and placed it in his pocket; then he crossed the grass and made his way over the railings of the square close to Samuel Flower's residence. The house was in pitch darkness. There was no sign of any trouble within. Wilfrid's first impulse had been to alarm the inhabitants and let them know what he had seen, but in cooler blood he dismissed this notion.
He stood in the uncertain shadow of the trees making up his mind what to do and letting precious moments slip, though, for all he knew, some terrible catastrophe might have taken place under his very nose. As he watched, doubting and hesitating, a figure crept along the other side of the square and entered Flower's house. The handle of the door was turned boldly and resolutely. It closed as firmly, but Wilfrid's ear caught not the slightest sound. Then he noticed that the light in the hall sprang up, followed by another light in one of the bedrooms at the top of the house.
"They are clever as they are daring," Wilfrid murmured. "Anybody passing would think the servants were up and about. I wonder what time it is."
At that moment an obliging clock struck the hour of five.
"Too early for town servants," Wilfrid muttered. "I have a good mind to try my own luck."
Wilfrid was by no means a timid man. He had gone through too many privations and dangers for that. With determined step, therefore, he crossed the road and laid his hand on the latch. He was not surprised to find that the catch was not down and that the door yielded to his pressure. A moment later and he was in the hall.
All the lights had been turned up. The place was flooded with a soft tender glow; pictures and flowers and statuary stood out and delighted the eye and pleased the senses. So far, whoever the intruders were, they had made hardly any attempt to disguise their presence. There was a festive air about the house, too, for the atmosphere was heavy with the smell of cigar smoke and the half-opened dining-room door showed that a snug supper party had recently met. It must have been within a few hours, for the dregs of the champagne still sparkled in the glasses. Wilfrid pressed on curious. He buttoned his overcoat about his throat in case of a surprise, and caught up an old-fashioned life-preserver from the hall table and slipped it into his pocket.
Yet nothing broke the silence; nothing indicated anything out of the common. No doubt, he surmised, there must be scores of similar scenes in the west end of London to-night, where people had come home and partaken of a hasty supper after the servants had gone to bed and then retired themselves, carelessly leaving the lights burning.
But in this particular case Wilfrid knew the lights had not been left burning. He had seen that sudden, mysterious gleam in the upper windows and the quick flash of the electrics as the whole turned to a sea of light. It was his plain duty to investigate the premises from top to bottom.
Wilfrid chose the basement, but nothing rewarded his search. All the rooms there were empty, as they were on the dining-room floor. Nor were there any strange coats or hats in the vestibule, excepting Flower's big fur wrap and soft hat, and some cloudy-looking material which Beatrice doubtless had discarded when she came in. He must look further afield and see what the next landing might reveal.
It was dangerous and difficult, but Wilfrid resolved to go through with it. He found the switches of the drawing-room lights and just turned them on long enough to enable him to see that the room was empty. He dared not try any strong illumination, for fear of arousing the suspicions of the police, who would know a great deal more about the servants' habits than he could. There appeared to be a large bedroom behind the drawing-room, looking out on the back of the house, and this Wilfrid tried cautiously. He felt sure some one was there because a long slit of light showed from under the door. The door was locked on the inside and no sound proceeded from the room save a gentle purring noise such as machinery will make when heard a long way off. Wilfrid likened it to the singing of a kettle rather than anything else. As he bent down and listened more intently he seemed to hear the murmur of voices and occasionally a suppressed groan as if from some one in pain, who was being quieted by the application of a powerful drug. A minute or two later Wilfrid knew that he was not mistaken, for from behind the locked door came a sound which was unmistakably a smothered laugh.
It was no business of his, of course, and he hesitated before he went farther. He might have paused until it was too late, had not his quickened hearing caught a sound overhead as if somebody had left the room on the next landing and was coming leisurely downstairs. Wilfrid crept back into the deep shadow of the drawing-room door and waited. It was somewhat difficult to see, for he had only the gleams of the light coming from the hall to guide him. Presently, as his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, he saw that he was not mistaken. A man drew near with step noiseless and agile as a cat's. A peculiar perfume preceded him, a perfume which Wilfrid had not the least trouble in recognizing. It was the same strange scent he had smelt during the eventful night he had spent at Maldon Grange. He saw the stranger try the door of the bedroom; then suddenly all his restraint deserted him. His right hand shot out and he caught the little man by the throat.
"Get them to open that door," he said hoarsely. "Get them to open it at once or I'll choke the life out of you. Do you hear?"
Whether the man heeded or not he gave no sign. Wilfrid's grip was as tenacious as that of a bulldog, all his fighting instincts aroused. He felt the exhilarating sense of superior power. For the moment the man was as clay in his hands.
But only for a moment. Then in some strange way the little man managed to jerk himself free and two arms of wire and whipcord were around Wilfrid's throat till he was fain to bend and give under the pressure lest his neck should break. In all his adventures he had never encountered such a force as this. Try as he would he could not shake those arms off. He felt himself gradually being borne backwards until his head touched the ground and one of those relentless grips was relaxed for an infinitesimal space of time. The struggle was none the less tenacious and deadly because it was being fought out almost entirely in the dark, and Wilfrid temporarily lost his self-possession. Then he knew that if he could not fling the man off him his end was near. With a desperate effort he struggled to his knees and grasping his antagonist by the waist literally threw himself down the stairs.
Over and over they rolled, first one above and then the other, but making little or no noise as they slid down the velvet pile of carpet. No sound came from either and the ferocious struggle went on till they landed at length in the hall and Wilfrid was conscious of the cold marble under his head.
The time for the final struggle had arrived. Driving his knee upwards Wilfrid caught his antagonist fairly in the chest with a force that made him groan again, and as he felt the tense, rigid limbs relax, he knew that now or never was the time to save his life. A mist swam before his eyes; he turned faint and unconscious for a second or two; then when he looked about him again he saw that his assailant was gone and that some one was bending over him with tender solicitude.
"Beatrice," he murmured. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Hush," the girl whispered, "not a word. Thank goodness I have managed to get here in time to save your life."