THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT
I was bringing my journal up to date one day at my Long Island hotel, when a page-boy brought me a card engraved with the very last name I should ever have guessed: "Lady Allendale."
"Is the lady downstairs?" I asked, dazed.
"The lady is here!" answered a once familiar voice at the half-open door of my sitting-room; and I jumped up to face a tall, slim figure in widow's weeds. "I hope you don't mind my surprising you?" went on the charming voice. "I wanted to see how you looked, when you saw my name."
"How do you do?" I greeted her, as we shook hands, and the page melted away and was forgotten. I tried to sound sincerely welcoming, for here she was, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. But I wasn't as glad as some men would have been to see a celebrated beauty and charmer.
She explained that she had found herself in need of rest after her war work (the last time I had seen her was the day when I fled from the private hospital in London of my sister-in-law, Lady Haslemere), and she had thought a sea voyage might be beneficial. She added, with an air of beautiful boldness, that perhaps she'd come partly to meet me again. "I read that you were at the Belmont in New York; so I went there. But they said you were staying on Long Island. Country air will be as good for a tired nurse of wounded officers as it is for the wounded officers themselves, n'est ce pas? And it will be nice hearing your news, for we were rather pals!"
"Don was my best friend," I reminded her. "Here's his picture." And I took from the flat top of the desk where I had been writing, one of several framed photographs. A flush sprang to her cheeks as the husband's eyes looked into hers, and snatching the frame she dashed it down so violently that the glass smashed on the parquet floor.
"How cruel of you!" she cried. "He was a thief! He threw away my love and made me hate him. I thank Heaven he died!"
An impulse of anger shook me. If she had been a man I should have struck her. I'm not sure I didn't want to, as it was, in spite of her beauty—or even because of it, so did it flaunt itself like an enemy flag.
"It's you who are cruel," I said. "Not to me, but to Don's memory. I could never believe he did what you thought. There may have been some horrible mistake. And his death has never been proved——"
"He's dead to me; and the proof's incontestable, or I shouldn't wear these things," she almost sobbed, indicating with a gesture her black dress and veil.
In my secret heart I had thought in London, and continued to think, that the motive for draping herself in black might be more complex than she admitted. Sir Donald Allendale had sailed for America on strange circumstances months ago; had disappeared, and a body found floating in the East River had been (superficially, I thought) identified as his. If widow's weeds hadn't been an effective frame for Irene Allendale's dazzling beauty, I wondered if she would have mourned in so many yards of crape for a husband she professed to hate?
"Oh, well," I said, controlling myself, and realising that she had some excuse to execrate Donald's memory, "let's not discuss Don now. There were faults on both sides. He was jealous, and you made him miserable. You were the greatest flirt as well as the greatest beauty in India that year, and—but come to think of it, we needn't discuss that either. The present's enough. You've arrived on this side, and——"
"You're not glad to see me. No use pretending. I know, and—here's the reason!" She darted forward and seized from the desk, close to my open journal, the greatest treasure I had in the world—Maida Odell's picture.
Roger had given it to me, knowing how I felt towards Maida. It was a miniature painted on ivory, and almost—though of course not quite—did Maida justice, as no photograph could do. I kept it in a gold, jewelled frame with doors like the doors of a shrine which could shut the angel face out of sight. Usually the doors of the frame were not only shut but locked. When I sat at the desk, however, and expected no visitors, I opened and put it where each time I glanced up from my writing I could look straight into Maida's eyes. Lady Allendale, however, had come as a bolt from the blue, and for once I neglected to shut the shrine.
If I had been angry before, I was doubly angry now; but I said not a word. Gently I took the frame, closed, and placed it in a drawer of the desk.
"Did you say you thought of spending a few days on Long Island?" I asked, when I could control my voice.
"I've engaged a suite at this hotel," Lady Allendale answered sharply. "My maid's putting my things in order now. I do think, Jack, you're being horrid to me, and if it weren't too late to change without making gossip I should give up the rooms and go somewhere else."
I didn't want a scene, so I reminded myself how sweet she had been when Don had brought her as a bride to India, and I had always been welcome at their bungalow. I soothed her as well as I could; refused to talk personalities, and when she decided that her visit to my sitting-room had better end, I took her to the door. At that moment a face almost as familiar as hers appeared at a door opposite—the face of Irene Allendale's French maid who had come with her to India four years ago. This woman (Pauline, I remembered hearing her called) was receiving big trunks with White Star labels on them; and I realised not only that the lady's new quarters were close to mine, but that she was provided for a long stay in them!
When she had gone, and the door of her sitting-room had been shut by Pauline (whose personality I disliked) I picked up Don's photograph, and sat down to look at it, reviewing old times.
Poor Don! Whatever his failings might have been, fate had been hard on him!
He was among the smartest officers my regiment ever had, one of the most popular—despite his hot temper—and the best looking. Everyone said when Irene Grey came to India to be married, chaperoned on the voyage by a dragon of a maid, that she and Donald were the handsomest couple ever seen. The trouble was—for trouble began at once—that Irene was too pretty. She was a flirt too; and her success as the beauty went to her head. She ought to have understood Don well enough to know that he was stupidly jealous. Perhaps she did know, and thought it "fun." But the fun soon turned to fighting. They quarrelled openly. She would do nothing that Don wanted her to do. In black rage, he told her to live her own life, and he would live his. Both were miserable, for she had loved him and he—had adored her. She flirted more than ever, and Don tried to forget his wretchedness by drinking too much and playing too high. So passed several years. I left the regiment and India, and took up flying. Then came the outbreak of war. Don was ordered to England. Irene sailed on the same ship, though by that time they were scarcely civil to each other. Don used influence and got ordered to America to buy horses for the army, he being a polo man and a judge of horseflesh.
I was in France then, but running over to England on leave, Irene sent for me to tell the astounding news that Don had taken with him all her jewellery. She had money of her own—not a great fortune; but her jewels, left her by a rich aunt, were magnificent and even famous. This scene between Irene and me, when she accused Don and I defended him, lingered in my memory as one of the most disagreeable of my life: and the maid Pauline was associated with it in my mind, as Irene had called her, to describe certain suspicious circumstances. Later I couldn't help admitting to myself, if not to Irene, that Don's disappearance on reaching New York, before he had begun to carry out his mission, did look queer. Search was made by the police of New York in vain, until a body past recognition, but wearing a watch and identification papers belonging to Captain Sir Donald Allendale, was found in the East River. I induced Irene to give Don the benefit of the doubt, not to blacken his memory by connecting him with the loss of her jewels; and she seemed to think that yielding to my persuasions was a proof of friendship for me.
"Well," I said to myself, extracting bits of broken glass from the frame of Don's portrait, "better let sleeping dogs lie. Irene'll get tired of this quiet place before long, and be off to New York—or home."
I felt that it would be a relief to have her go; but I had no idea that it was in her power, even if she wished it, to do me harm.
But while I was thinking of her presence in the hotel as a harmless bore, the lady had instructed Pauline to make inquiries concerning me. This I learned later: but had I guessed, I should have supposed there would be nothing to find out. I had no idea that gossip about me and my affairs was a dining-room amusement among the maids and valets of the hotel guests: that all Lady Allendale's femme de chambre need do was to ask "What's the name of the girl Lord John Hasle's in love with?" in order to have my heart bared to her eyes. That first day she heard all about Maida—with embellishments: the beautiful Miss Odell, adopted sister of a well-known millionaire who had lately married and gone abroad with his bride: girl not fond of society: pledged to the Grey Sisterhood for a year: the Sisterhood House being near Pine Cliff, Lord John's reason for living in the one hotel of the neighbourhood.
That was enough for Irene. Her anger having brought "to the scratch" all the cat in her nature, she made herself acquainted with the visiting days and hours of the Grey Sisterhood. Though men were not received, ladies interested in the alleged charitable work of the Sisterhood were welcomed twice a week, between three and five in the afternoon. Maida was a valuable asset to the Head Sister, as a young hostess on these reception days, for she believed in the genuineness of the mission, and was enthusiastic on the subject of "saving" women and children. In her innocence she could not have been aware that most of those "saved" were hardened thieves protected in the old house at Pine Cliff till their "services" should be needed in New York. It was a splendid advertisement for the Sisterhood that so important a girl as Miss Odell should be a member, and she was always bidden to show visitors about, even if the veiled Head Sister were able to receive them.
So it fell out, while I was assuring myself of Irene's harmlessness, that she was making acquaintance with the original of the portrait in the gold frame. She wore, it seems, an open-faced locket containing a photograph of me, painted to look like an ivory miniature: and seeing Maida glance at it she asked if Miss Odell had ever met Lord John Hasle.
The girl admitted that she had; whereupon Lady Allendale said, "We are very good friends," and purposely said it in such a way as to convey a false impression. I had told Maida that I loved her, but she had given me no answer except that, if I cared, I must care enough to wait. Many weeks had passed since then, and it was long since we had set eyes upon each other. Lady Allendale was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen; and the miniature in the locket, the meaning of the smile which went with the words, were too much for the girl's faith in my constancy. She thought, "Why should he go on loving me when I've given him no real hope? No wonder he forgets me for such a dream of beauty!"
Perhaps no girl as lovely as Maida ever thought less of her own charm. She believed that the one interest which had held her to the world and given her strength to resist the Head Sister's persuasions was a false star. It came into her mind that the best way to forget would be to promise, as her friend the grey lady had begged her to do, that she would become a life member of the Sisterhood.
Maida made no irrevocable decision that day: but when the Head Sister said next time (there were many of these times), "Dear child, how happy I should be if I could count upon you in the future!" she answered, "Perhaps you may. I don't feel the same wish to go out into the world that I have had."
She was praised for this concession: and it seems to me probable that the grey lady set her intelligence to work at discovering the motive for the change. She had seen Irene, and had without doubt noticed the locket. She was aware that the visitor and the youngest, sweetest member of the Sisterhood had talked in the garden. She must have put "two and two together": and the thing that happened later proves that she reported all she knew and all she guessed to that "great philanthropist" Doctor Rameses. It was certain that, soon after Lady Allendale arrived, he was informed of her presence at my hotel. There were ways in which he could ascertain that my friendship had been for Donald Allendale and not his wife: therefore the theatrical effect of the locket would have been lost upon him.
Irene and I were on friendly terms, but I manoeuvred to keep her out of the way. This was comparatively simple, as I had a lot of work to do; but I invented extra engagements, and was never free to go anywhere with her. I even tried to take such meals as I ate in my hotel, at hours when she wasn't likely to be in the restaurant: but one evening, as I stepped out of my sitting-room dressed for dinner, she appeared at her door. It was almost as if she had been on the watch!
It was early, and I intended motoring to New York, for Carr Price and his bride were there for a day or two. I had my overcoat on my arm, and a hat in my hand, which advertised the fact that I was not dining in the hotel. Lady Allendale also was dressed for the evening, and Pauline was giving her a sable cloak.
"How do you do, stranger?" Irene exclaimed, with a kind of spurious gaiety, more bitter than merry. "I've been here a week, and this is the fourth time we've met."
As she spoke, and I composed a suitable answer, two messengers came along the corridor. One was a seedy-looking individual who might, I thought, be a messenger from Teano, and the other was a boy employed by the Grey Sisterhood to run errands. My heart leaped at sight of an envelope in his hand. It was of the peculiar dove grey used by the Sisters: and I know now that it was recognised by Lady Allendale. She'd sent money for the Sisterhood's charities, and had received their thanks written on this paper.
"No answer, sir," said the boy, giving me the letter, pocketing a "tip," and passing out of the way to let the shabby man advance, directed by a page. He, too, put a letter in my hand, with a mumble of "This is pressing."
Irene could not hide her curiosity; but she dared not stand staring in the hall. She went on, as if to go to the lift: but I learned later that she took refuge in the maid's room, to see (without being seen) what I might do next.
What I did do was to return for a moment to my own room. And there, despite the alleged "pressing" importance of the second letter, I opened Maida's first.
"Please don't feel in any way bound to me," she wrote. "Indeed, there's no real reason why you should: but lest there should be the slightest shadow over your happiness, I wish to tell you that most probably I shall become a life member of the Sisterhood. I must write Roger before deciding, but when he knows that after these many weeks I have less longing than ever for the world, I think he will withdraw his objections.—Yours ever sincerely, M.O."
This was a blow over the heart. I had hoped so much, since the wonderful night when she had let me take her home to Roger! True, she had gone back next day to the Sisterhood House, but I had thought I might read between the lines of the message left for me, and other messages since then.
I did not think of any connection between Irene Allendale and Maida's change of mind, but attributed the adverse influence wholly to the Head Sister. I determined to see Maida somehow: and then remembered the letter which I had not yet opened. Envelope and paper were of the cheapest, and the handwriting was crude, most of the words being absurdly spelt.
"If yu haven't furgot yur old friend Donald Allendale and wud like to help him in grate truble cum at wuns with the messenger and dont wate a secund or it may be tu late."
Nothing else could have taken me out of myself in a moment of deep depression, as did this cry from the grave of a lost friend. I had said to Irene "we have no proof of his death," yet I had hardly doubted it: and it was now as if I heard the voice of a dead man. If I had stopped to reflect I might have reasoned that the letter was more than likely a trick of the "enemy," as I named the Egyptian doctor to myself and Teano: but even if I had, I should have chanced it, for the call was too urgent to admit of delays—such as telephoning Teano to meet me, for instance. I ought to have seen (and perhaps did sub-consciously see) that the appeal for haste was in itself suspicious, framed in the hope of inducing me to do precisely what I did do, rush off on the instant without taking any companion or leaving word in the hotel that I was bound for an errand that might be dangerous.
The man who had brought the letter had prudently gone to wait outside, where, if needful, he could make a quick "getaway." This detail seemed of small importance at the time, but its influence on the fate of two others besides myself was great. If Lady Allendale had seen me starting with the messenger, she would have known that I was not going out in answer to the letter written on grey paper—the letter she believed to be from Maida Odell. Pauline's window overlooked the noisy front entrance of the otherwise quiet hotel. From behind the curtains Irene could see anyone coming or going. If the messenger had waited outside my door, she would have seen us together: but as he stood close against the wall, she could see only that I stopped to speak with someone. She could not hear the man explaining that he had been directed to travel back to New York in the taxi which had brought him to Long Island, and that instead of accompanying, I was to trail him. "Somebody's afraid I might get something out of you—what?" said I. Since argument with such a person was useless, Irene must have heard me order a taxi, and have telephoned down for one herself. If I'd suspected the interest she still felt in my movements, I might have been more on the alert, and have noticed a taxi always pursuing mine: but my eyes were for the one ahead.
When my leader's taxi drew up at last, it was the signal agreed upon for me to do the same. The neighbourhood was unfamiliar, but as I followed the man on foot I soon saw that we were in the heart of Chinatown. It was agreed that I should not try to speak with him again, but simply to go where I saw him go. He entered a Chinese restaurant which made no pretence at picturesqueness for the attraction of sightseers. I, close upon his heels, entered also, and had scarcely an instant to take in the scene, so promptly did the man make for a row of doors at the back of a large, smoke-dimmed room. Determined not to be left behind, I too made for the little low-browed door he chose in the row, and saw a private dining-room just comfortably big enough for two.
"This is where you're to wait," my man announced, "and where my part of the business is done. Good night. I expect you won't be kept long."
I offered him money, which he refused. "I've been paid, thank you," he said; and touching his shabby cap with an attempt at a military salute, returned to the main restaurant. He shut the door behind him, but not quickly enough to prevent my recognising a face in the room outside: the face of Donald Allendale's valet.
"By Jove!" I heard myself say half aloud. I remembered now that the man—Hanson or some name like that—had left his master in England, not wishing, he explained, to go to America. Yet here he was; and I sprang to the rash conclusion that it was he who had sent for me with this mysterious ceremony.
The door was shut in my face before I could even jump up from the chair into which I had subsided; and when I threw the door open again to look out, the face had vanished. A number of Europeans of middle-class and a few Chinese, apparently respectable merchants, were dining at little tables. Some were already going: others were coming in: and I saw at the street door a tall woman in a long dark cloak and a kind of motor bonnet covered with a thick blue veil. She had the air of peering about through the veil, to find someone she expected to meet: and if I had ever happened to see Lady Allendale's maid Pauline in automobile get-up, when motoring with her mistress, my thoughts might possibly have flashed to Irene. They did not, however, and I should have passed the woman without remark if she had not darted at a man just making his exit. I didn't recall Don's valet well enough from Indian days to be as sure of his back as of his face, but I wondered if it were Hanson whom the veiled woman sought. I was half inclined to step out and accost him: but I knew by experience what errors arise from a change in the programme when an appointment has been planned. Possibly Hanson was not the person who should meet me here, and in following the valet I might miss my aim. After a few seconds' hesitation I went back into the tiny room and reluctantly closed the door.
It was a dull little hole, though clean. The walls or partitions which divided the place from others of its kind seemed to be of thin wood, papered with red and hung with cheap Chinese banners. Even the back wall was of wood, and boasted as decoration a large, ugly picture of a Chinese hunter, in a bamboo frame. The only furniture consisted of two chairs, and a small table laid for two persons. In one of these chairs I sat, staring at the door, hoping that it might soon open for Hanson or another.
Hanson, I learned afterwards, had never intended to meet me or be seen by me. His business in the restaurant concerned me, to be sure, but only indirectly: and catching sight of my face in the door of the private room, he had made a dash for the door of the street, to be stopped by the veiled woman on the threshold. The veil was impenetrable, but recognising the voice that spoke his name, he tried to shove her aside and escape. She seized his arms, however, obliging him to stop inside the restaurant or risk a street scene. She inquired why he had come to America, and if he had been with Sir Donald.
"No, your ladyship," the man stolidly answered to both questions, doubtless longing to ask some of his own in return. He mumbled that he had come to New York after his master died, for no object connected with Sir Donald—merely wishing to "find a good job with some rich American," a wish not yet realised. When asked if he had seen and recognised in the restaurant his master's old friend Lord John Hasle, at first he said, "No, he hadn't noticed anyone like him." But the next words, following swiftly and excitedly, for some reason quickened his memory as if by magic.
"Well, he is there. I saw him go in!" the veiled Lady Allendale insisted. "I believe you know he is there. I'm sure there's a woman in the case!"
On this, Hanson admitted that he had seen "a man who looked a bit like his lordship," and there was a woman with him, not the kind of woman her ladyship would want to know.
"I've got to get somewhere in a hurry," he added, "but if I might advise, the best thing for your ladyship is to do the same—go somewhere else, most anywhere else, in a hurry too."
With this, he took advantage of a relaxed hold on his arm, and was off like a frightened rabbit, old custom forcing him to touch his hat as he fled.
He doubtless hoped that Lady Allendale would be terrified into abandoning her project, whatever it might be: and intended to disclaim responsibility if she lingered. As it happened she did linger, summoning courage to enter the restaurant and take a table close to the door where, for an instant, she had seen me appear.
"He was looking for her!" Irene said to herself; and as no woman had passed in while she talked to Hanson in the street, she determined to wait close to the door. It was almost incredible that Maida Odell should come from the house of the Grey Sisterhood to such a place as this, but Lady Allendale was in a mood when anything seemed possible. Anyhow, if it were not Maida, it was some other—some other about whose existence she might let Maida know—since Maida continued to write letters to the guilty one! Irene ordered food as an excuse to keep the table; but when it came she did little more than pretend to eat. Alternately she consulted her wrist-watch and frowned at the closed door.
All this time she supposed me to be sitting alone, fuming with impatience for the arrival of an unexpected woman: but as a matter of fact while she questioned Hanson the door had quickly opened and shut. It had admitted a man: and that man was with me when Lady Allendale sat down at her table near by to watch.
In appearance he was a Chinaman, a very tall, respectably dressed Chinaman with a flat-brimmed hat shading his eyes, and a generous pigtail whipping his back. But his long dark eyes were not Chinese eyes, though Eastern they might be. He was magnificently made up, so well that my impression of his falseness came by instinct rather than by reason. I would have given much if my brain had carried away a clearer picture of the "man with the scar" from the theatre, on the first night of the play. If I could have got nearer to him then, the difficulty of identifying him with Doctor Rameses might have disappeared altogether, despite the Egyptian's genius for establishing an alibi whenever I clamoured to the police. Now, in trying to pierce the surface calm of the dark eyes I should have had certainty to go upon, one way or the other. As it was I could only ask myself, "Is this the everlasting enemy? Or—am I a monomaniac on that subject?"
If it were Rameses, I could hardly help admiring his impudence in sending for and meeting face to face—even in disguise—the man whose business in life it had become to ruin him.
"Good evening, sir," he began politely, with the accent of an educated man and a suggestion of Chinese lisp—or a good imitation. "I am part owner of this place. I have come to know through my partner a sad case of a client of his, a poor man who was a friend of yours in another country. My partner is a good man but he is hard. He would have put this fellow out and not cared; but I said, keep him and I will send word to that friend he talks about, that Lord John Hasle. Maybe something can be done to help. My partner did not wish me to do this thing, because there might be danger for him, from the police. If you go further, you will soon understand why. But I have been years in England. I know Englishmen. I said to my partner, if this lord is asked to come alone, in a hurry, for the sake of his friend, he will not be a traitor. That is why I had to do things in a prudent way. I was right. You are here. But this is not all you have to do. You give me your word you will make no noise if I show you the secret of our place?"
"As to that, I give you my word," I said, curious, but far from trustful. "The message I received hints that Sir Donald Allendale didn't die. Is he here?"
"He is downstairs," replied the alleged Asiatic.
As he spoke, he touched one of the big, brass-headed tacks which appeared crudely to keep in place the bamboo frame of the Chinese Hunter. Instantly the picture moved out of the frame, like a sliding panel, and showed an opening or door in the wooden wall at the back of the room.
I felt that the long eyes watched to see if I "funked," but I think my features remained as noncommittal as those of Buddha himself. As a matter of fact I was scarcely surprised to find myself in one of those secret rabbit warrens of which I had read. I guessed that each of the private dining-rooms in the row I had seen, possessed a concealed door leading down to a hidden "opium den" underneath. I guessed, too, that only certain trusted habitués of the restaurant were allowed to learn the secret. Whether my being let into it were a compliment, or a sign that I shouldn't get a chance to betray it, I was not sure. But I wished that I had looked to the loading of my revolver which, so far as I remembered, held no more than one cartridge. I fancied that my Chinese friend was Rameses himself, and that he might indeed be a financial "power behind the throne" in the business of this house. Deliberately I went to the table and selected a steel knife which lay beside one of the plates. The tall Chinaman watched me pocket it, with a benevolent smile, such as he might have bestowed upon a child arming itself with a tin sword to fight a shadow. As he stood statue-like beside the aperture in the wall, two men in Chinese costume, dressed like the waiters of the restaurant, came through the panel-door from the mysterious dusk on the other side. Each had a small tray in his hand, as if to serve at a meal. With a bow for my companion and an extra one for me they moved along the wall, one on either side of the room, passing behind us both, and ranging themselves to right and left of the exit to the restaurant.
It was obvious that they were ready to prevent my making a dash if I were inclined to do so. They were big fellows, regular "chuckers out" in size; and my host himself was more than my equal in height. All the same, if I'd wanted to escape, I thought I could have downed the three, unless they were experts in ju jitsu, where I was an amateur. No such intention, however, was in my mind. I determined to see the adventure to the end, in the hope of finding Allendale. He might have fallen into such hands as these, and be held for some reason which I hoped to learn.
"After you!" I said politely to my guide who would have let me go ahead. We bowed like Chinese mandarins, and then, as if to prove that he meant no harm, he passed before me through the panel-door. Whether the two men closed it again in case of a police raid (which must always be dreaded in such a place) I don't know; but I guessed that they were under orders to follow at a distance.
There was just enough light in a narrow passage behind the panel to prevent those who entered it from stumbling over each other. I saw that it was a long, straight corridor running between the wooden back wall of the row of private dining-rooms and the house wall. Such light as there was came from the end of the passage, and from below, where it could be turned off in case of danger. I followed my companion, our feet making no noise on the matting-covered floor: and voices of those in the private rooms were audible through the thin partition. I smiled rather grimly for my own benefit as my fancy pictured a raid: how an alarm would be sent to those below stairs: an electric bell, perhaps: and how those in a condition to move would swarm up from secret, forbidden regions underground, running like rats through this corridor to take their places in the row of dining-rooms. There they would be found, calmly eating and drinking: and unless the "sleuths" had certain information concerning the concealed doors, there would be no excuse to look further!
At the far end of the passage, as I expected, there was a steep stairway. My guide still went in advance, as a proof of good faith. Having opened a baize door which muffled sound, he held it open for me to pass into a large room lit by green-shaded electric lamps that hung from the low ceiling. There was gas also, which could be used if the electricity failed. Here, men were gambling, silent as gambling ghosts. They played fan tan and other games: Chinese and Europeans, both men and women. Nobody glanced up when we arrived. We might have been flies for all the interest we excited. I looked over my shoulder as we came to the head of a second staircase leading down another storey, to see if the supposed "waiters" were behind us. They were not to be seen: nevertheless I "felt in my bones" that they were not far off.
The floor below the gambling-room was devoted to the smoking of opium. There were several doors no doubt leading into private rooms for those who could pay high prices: and ranged along the two side walls were rows of berths protected by curtains. Two "cooks" were at work making the pills to fill the pipes, handed to customers by attendants. There was practically no furniture in the large, low room, which was filled with the peculiar, heady fragrance of cooking opium.
Yet even then we had not reached our destination. A third staircase led down to a deeper cellar; and I could but think as I continued the game of "follow my leader," what a neat trap the fly was allowing the spider to land him in! However, I went quietly on, consoling myself with the thought that it's a wise fly who is up to the spider's tricks and watching for the lid of the trap to fall.
This last cellar was evidently for the cheapest class of customers. There were berths here too, but the curtains were poor, or non-existent, and many Chinamen lay about the floor on strips of matting. The atmosphere was foetid, and thick with opium smoke. As we moved towards a rough partition at the further end, our figures tore the grey cloud as if it had been made of gauze.
"Your friend lies very sick in a room there," said my guide, speaking for the first time since he had stepped through the panel. "We have paid for his keep a long time now."
I made no answer, only following with my eyes the gesture he made, pointing at the unpainted wooden partition. In this partition were three doors, also of rough, unpainted wood. Two stood ajar, showing small rooms which I fancied were used by the attendants and opium "cooks." One door was closed. My companion opened it, indicating, with a smile, that it possessed no lock, only an old-fashioned latch. "You need not fear to go in and talk with your friend alone," he said, in his low, monotonous voice. "You see, he is not a prisoner! And we cannot make you one."
I shrugged my shoulders, and passed him without a word, shutting the door behind me as I entered the wretched den on the other side. It was lit by one paraffin lamp, supported by a bracket attached to the wall, and such light as existed brought out from the shadows the vague lumpish shape of a mattress on the floor. Two or three odds and ends of furniture lurked in corners, but I scarcely saw their squalor. My one thought was for a dark form stretched on the grey heap of bedding.
I bent over it, and a hand seemed to grip my heart. "My God, poor old Don! What have they done to you?" I broke out.
A skeleton in rags lay on the filthy mattress. The yellow light from the bracket lamp lit his great eyes as they suddenly opened, in deep hollows. Even his face looked fleshless. There were streaks of grey in the dark hair at his temples, and an unkempt beard mingled with the shadows under his cheekbones. This was what remained of Donald Allendale, one of the smartest and handsomest men in the army.
He stared at me dully for an instant, his eyes like windows of glass With no intelligence behind them. Then abruptly they seemed to come alive. "Jack!" he gasped. "Am I—dreaming you?"
"No, dear old chap, no," I assured him, down on one knee by the mattress, slipping an arm under his head. "It's Jack right enough, come to take you out of this and make you the man you were again."
As I spoke, slowly and distinctly, so that the comforting words might reach his sick soul, I heard a faint, stealthy noise outside. There was a slight squeak as of iron scraping against wood, and in a flash I guessed what had happened. My guide had made a point of showing that the door could not be locked; and I, like a fool—in my haste to see Don—hadn't sought other means of fastening it, more efficient than any lock. I guessed that a bar of wood or iron had now been placed across the door, the two ends in rungs or brackets which I had passed unnoticed.
"Well!" I said to myself, "the mischief's done. No use kicking against the pricks till I'm ready to kick. And I shan't be ready till I've seen what can be done for Allendale."
The worst of it was that as I'd allowed myself to be trapped, it was difficult to see how anything could be done. My theory that I'd been let into a secret, because I should never be in a position to betray it, seemed to be the true one. But my fury at Donald's state gave me a sense of superabundant strength. I felt like Samson, able to pull down the pillars of the Temple.
"You're—too late!" the man on the mattress sighed, his voice strange and weak, sounding almost like a voice speaking through a telephone at "long distance." "But I'm glad to see you, Jack! I've thought of you. I've longed for you. Tell me—about Irene. Does she—believe I'm dead?"
"She's in New York, dear old boy," I said, evading his question.
His eyes lighted. It seemed that a faint colour stained his ash-white cheeks. "She came—to look for me! Oh, Jack, she did love me, then!"
"Of course," I answered truly enough: for she had loved him before everything went wrong. Even if I hadn't been as sure of Don's loyalty as of my own, I should have known by the radiance of his face. If he had stolen her jewels, he would not be coming back from death to life in the illusion that love had brought her across the sea.
"Thank God!" he breathed. "I can die in peace—but no, not yet. There's a thing I must tell you first, It's the thing they've kept me here to get out of me. They've tried every way they knew—torture, starvation, bribes of freedom; everything. They'd have killed me long ago, only if they had they could never have got the secret. But—how is it you're here? Is it another trick of theirs?"
As soon as I heard the word "secret" the mystery was clear. I was the catspaw with which the chestnuts were to be pulled out of the fire. If Doctor Rameses was the man who held us both, his intention was evidently to kill two birds, two rare and valuable birds, with one stone. How he had got Donald Allendale into his clutches I didn't know yet, though I soon should: but having him, and learning that he and I had been friends, he saw how to trap me securely and through me learn Don's secret.
Almost without telling I knew that the secret must concern Irene's jewels, which were worth at least twenty thousand pounds; a haul not to be despised. Bending over Don, I lifted my head and looked around. I was sure that a knothole in the wooden wall had come into being within the last five minutes. If there'd been an aperture there, it had been stuffed with rags, now noiselessly withdrawn. It was distant not a yard from Donald's face as he lay on the mattress, and a person crouching on the floor outside could catch every word, unless we whispered. Somebody had deduced that the prisoner would open his heart to me. The "secret" would thus become the property of those who coveted it; and once it was in their possession Donald and I could be suppressed. Thus the two birds would be felled with that one cleverly directed stone—so cleverly directed that I was sure of the hand which had placed it in the sling.
It was a case of kill or cure, to startle poor Don; but there was no other way, and I took the one I saw. "Yes," I said, "they got me here by a trick, but I don't regret coming. On the contrary. They—whoever they are—want to hear what you tell me. But we can prevent that. Let me help you to the other side of the mattress farther from that knothole, and you'll whisper what you have to say. If that annoys anyone—I know there are people made nervous by whispering!—why, they can come in, and get a warm welcome. Put the story into few words; and then we'll be prepared for the next thing."
It was a tonic I had given him. He threw a look of disgust and rage at the knothole, which was dark because, no doubt, the lights had been turned down outside to make our cubicle seem lighter. Sitting up without my help, Don flung himself to the other side of the mattress; and as I knelt beside him, whispered. Unless they had a concealed dictaphone the secret was safe.
As I advised, this man raised from the dead, told his story in few words. On shipboard, coming to America, he had been taken over the ship one day, by the first officer. To his astonishment, he recognised Hanson, his valet, in a rather clumsy disguise, travelling second class. Controlling himself, he appeared not to notice: but as Hanson had refused to make the voyage in his service, there must be some curious motive for this ruse. Don could not guess it, but he had once overheard a conversation between Hanson and Pauline which told him that they were more than friends. Don didn't like Pauline, and believed that she had set her mistress against him. After a little thought, he determined to spring a surprise on Hanson. He learned the name under which the valet was travelling, found out that the man had a state-room to himself; and the night after his discovery opened the door and abruptly walked in. He expected to catch Hanson unawares and surprise a confession; but the room was empty. Don was amazed to see under the berth a dressing-bag which had belonged to Irene. He could not believe she had given it to Pauline or to Hanson, as it had been a present to her from a friend. It flashed into his head that the thing had been stolen, and that it might have valuable contents. Acting on impulse, he took the bag and returned to his own cabin. There he opened it with one of his own keys, and found most of his wife's jewellery.
This happened on the night when the ship docked. Don meant to telegraph Irene next day; and was debating whether to have Hanson arrested on board ship, or catechise him first. He determined upon the latter course, as he wished to learn if Pauline were involved in the theft. He wrote a note and sent it to Hanson, saying that his one chance lay in confession and that he—Sir Donald—would talk with him on the dock. The man kept the appointment, begged his ex-master's forgiveness, told a long story of temptation, exonerated Pauline, and promised to reform. Don, who had been fond of Hanson and valued him as a servant, decided that, as he now had the jewels in his own possession, he could afford to be generous. He bade the fellow "go and sin no more": and as far as Hanson was concerned, considered the episode closed. The dressing-bag he gave with other luggage to an express man to take to his hotel, but the jewels (a rope of pearls, a flexible tiara of diamonds, and a number of brooches, pendants and rings) he had put (congratulating himself on his own prudence) into a tobacco pouch in a pocket of his coat. He engaged a taxi, giving the name of a hotel; and had no suspicion that anything was wrong until he realised that, instead of leaving poor streets behind, he was being driven through a maze of slums. Not knowing New York, he still hoped that his chauffeur had chosen an unattractive short cut: but instinct cried loudly that he was the victim of a trick. Fancying that the taxi slowed down, he took the tobacco-pouch from his pocket and searched for a place to hide it, in case of trouble. He happened to find a curious repository. Lifting the leather cushion which formed the seat, he discovered an inconspicuous rip in the leather binding of the lower edge. He clawed out a piece of horsehair stuffing, threw it from the window, and tucked the tobacco-pouch into the hole that was left. Knowing the number of the taxi (Don was always great at remembering numbers) he could inform the police if necessary! Whereas, if all were well, and he found himself arriving safely at his destination he would take out the bag and laugh at his own suspicions.
No sooner had he hidden the valuables, however, than the taxi stopped. The chauffeur civilly informed him that a tyre was down, and apologised for having to stop in such a poor neighbourhood. The fellow seemed so frank, that Donald was ashamed of his own timidity. He stuck his head out of the window to speak with the man at work, and—remembered no more, till he came to himself in his present surroundings.
How long ago that was, he could not tell. He had waked to find severe wounds on his head, and fancied that he had been delirious. He had thought constantly of Irene, and bitterly regretted their quarrels. It occurred to him (as to me in hearing the story) that Hanson had crossed on Sir Donald Allendale's ship with the jewels, intending by the help of Pauline at home, to throw suspicion on his master.
My evasive answers and the news of Irene's presence in New York, gave Don new life and courage to fight for it, believing that through all she had kept her love and faith. I, alas, knew that this was not the case; but I hoped that Irene's heart would turn to him again if his innocence were proved. "You must get out of this for her sake," I urged. "Besides, I shan't try to escape without you. We stand or fall together."
"If I can find strength enough not to hinder instead of help!" he groaned. "But there's little chance for either of us. For heaven knows how long they've kept me chained to the wall. To-night, the Chinaman who takes care of me after a fashion unlocked the iron ring that was on my ankle. You can see the mark it's made! I wondered what was up, but thought as I was so weak, it was no longer worth while to waste the chain on me. Now I see they took it off because they didn't want you to see at first glance that I was a prisoner, not a pensionaire. The fact that they've left me free shows they've taken their precautions, though!"
"Perhaps they haven't taken enough," said I, still whispering as he did, that ears outside might strain in vain.
I rose from my knees, and began to look for the iron staple which I knew must exist. I soon found it in the solid wall at the back of the room; with the chain and the iron ankle-band attached. A heap of straw and rags had been used to cover these from sight. No effort of Don's wasted muscles could suffice to pull out the staple, as his gaolers knew: and as for my strength, it had not occurred to them that I might use it in that direction. Probably no one dreamed that blind Samson would pull down the pillars!
I made Don move to a position where his body blocked the knothole, and unless there was another, which I failed to see, I could work without being overlooked. Grasping the iron ring, with all my might I pulled and jerked at the staple till I loosened it in the wall. The rest was easy: and sooner than I'd dared hope I had in my hand a formidable weapon. If there were a chance of smashing the partition and breaking out on the other side, it lay in that. Also, it might be useful afterwards, for if we got into the main cellar, our troubles would be but just begun. Practically my one hope was that the men told off to deal with us might be cowards.
As for smashing the door, there was "nothing doing" there for us, because of the bar certainly securing it. On examination, however, the rough plank supporting the bracket lamp looked rotten. It had cracked when the bracket was nailed up, and had never been mended. This was good; and I had a plan too, in which the lamp itself was to play a part. I took it from the bracket, and set it carefully on a rickety stool which I propped against the back wall. Then I whispered to Don: "Now for it! If I break through, I'll try and get hold of that bar across the door. If I do, it will be another weapon: and besides, we can make a quick dash. Here's my revolver for you. There's only one cartridge in it; but nobody else knows that. And here's a knife I stole upstairs. I'll have the iron staple and chain which will make a good killing, and the bar too, if we're in luck."
"They may shoot through the partition when they find what we're up to," said Don.
"They haven't got their precious secret yet!" I reminded him. "They'll try and take us alive, and we'll give them a hot time doing it!"
To weaken the cracked plank, I wrenched off the bracket, and had the joy of hearing the wood tear as if a saw had bitten through. Then I dealt blow after blow on the wounded spot, and when the wood began to give I flung my weight against it. The noise drowned lesser sounds, but I was conscious of a babble of voices like the chatter of angry monkeys. Down went the upper half of the broken plank, and the one next it gave way. It was close to the door, and reaching out an arm I found the bar. Luckily it was held by a pair of wooden horns, for had it been slipped into rings I could not have succeeded. As it was a Chinaman jabbed at my hand with a knife: but I surprised him with a smashing blow over the eyes, and seized the bar before he came at me again. Instantly I had it out of the sockets, the door (which Don had unlatched) fell open, and I burst through like a whirlwind, with him behind me, carrying the lamp I'd yelled to him to bring.
Half a dozen Chinamen stood lined up to beat us back. Two with pistols, two armed with axes, and the one I had tackled brandishing his carving-knife. I went for the pair with the pistols. My iron bar cracked a shaved head like an egg-shell, and broke the hand of his mate. One dropped his weapon without a groan, the other let his fall with a yelp: and Don, unexpectedly darting forward, snatched up both the pistols. Thrusting one into my free hand he kept the other. We were thus doubly armed, and together made a rush for the stairs, I keeping my eyes open for a surprise attack from my late guide.
At the foot of the steps, I let Don lead with my revolver and the big pistol, while I backed up stair by stair, keeping off the four Chinamen who were still intact. It seemed too good to be true that we were to get away so easily. Perhaps, I thought, the tug-of-war would come on the floor above: but it was the enemy's game to finish us before we gained a higher level. Here, the sound of shots could not reach the street; and the witnesses of the fight were so besotted with their drug, so lost to decency, that even if they woke to see strange doings, all would be woven with their dreams. Above, there was more to fear; some of the clients were still alive to human feeling: they might take our part. An alarm might reach the police. Why then, if Rameses were the hidden enemy, did he let his best chance go by? Almost subconsciously I asked myself these questions, and half way up the stairs, my answer came. Men shielded with mattresses flung themselves upon us from above. They in turn were pushed forward by others and Don and I fell back. I tried to use the iron bar like a battering ram, but the weight I struggled against was too great. I stumbled, with Don on top of me; there was a sound of shouting, and suddenly the lights went out. I struggled in darkness with unseen enemies, as in a nightmare.
*****
Two storeys above, in the restaurant, Irene Allendale sat pretending to eat, and glancing at her watch until she lost patience. It occurred to her that she had been a fool—that the woman she waited for might have arrived before her, might already be in the little private room, dining with John Hasle. She sprang up and on a furious impulse flung open the door which she had so long watched in vain. To her astonishment the room was empty.
This seemed a miracle; for she knew that John Hasle had gone in and hadn't come out. As she stood staring at the empty room which seemed to have no second exit, the Chinese proprietor came to her with a threatening air. "You do what we no 'low this place," he said bullyingly. "That plivate loom. You no pay plivate loom. You no light look in. You give me five dolahs you' dinnah, and you go 'way. We no like spies. You go, if you no want I call p'lice."
Already hysterical, Irene lost her head. "How dare you talk of police!" she cried. "I will call the police! You've very likely murdered a friend of mine here and hidden his body."
The man had threatened her in a low voice. She threatened him at the top of her lungs. The diners at little tables jumped to their feet. The Chinaman tried to catch her by the veil as she darted to the door, but only pulled off her motor bonnet and loosened her hair, which tumbled over her shoulders. In an instant the place was in an uproar. An American in defence of a beautiful woman knocked the Chinaman down. A policeman passing the restaurant window blew his whistle, and had hardly dashed in before he had a couple of comrades at his heels.
Nobody knew quite what had happened, but Lady Allendale gasped the word "Murder!" and pointed to the open door of the private room. In jumped two of the policemen, while the third tried to restore order in the restaurant. A glance under the table in the little dining-room showed that no corpse lay hidden there, but the lovely lady's persistence put the idea of a secret entrance into their heads. One of them thumped with his fist on the picture of the Chinese hunter. The hollow sound suggested a space behind. An experienced hand passed over the bamboo frame found a spring, and the panel slid back. Somehow the cry of "Murder!" started by Irene flew from mouth to mouth. More policemen appeared, and Europeans who had been peacefully dining in the restaurant reinforced the courageous pair who had sprung through the opening behind the picture. So the rescue-party reached us in the nick of time, policemen's lanterns lighting up the darkness, revealing stealthy flitting forms that would escape at any price, and a mass of men struggling under and above a pile of mattresses.
My first thought (after I had seen that Don was safe) rushed to Rameses. But the tall Chinaman with the long dark eyes was not among the prisoners. That night (the police gleefully informed me later) Doctor Rameses was engaged in giving a lecture at his own house, and could not possibly have been in Chinatown. As usual, he had known how to save himself; and it was only long after that I learned the remarkable way in which he invariably established an alibi.
My hope for the reconciliation of Don and Irene was fulfilled even before the overwhelming proof of his truth was obtained by finding the tobacco-pouch intact, still hidden inside the seat of the ancient taxi whose number Don had never forgotten. The man who had driven it the night of the attack had been discharged, and could not be found. Hanson, too, contrived to elude the vigilance of the police, and Pauline passionately denied all knowledge of him. She was watched when Lady Allendale sent her away, but returned quietly to Europe, while Irene remained in New York to help nurse Donald back to health. With Hanson and his accomplice of the taxi missing, and the Master Mind past pursuit, it was impossible to clear up the mystery of the corpse found floating in the East River. But after all, that mattered only to the police, now that Captain Sir Donald Allendale was alive and safe, and happier than he had been for years.
The day that Irene and he made up their differences, she sent for me. "You won't tell Don that I said I hated him and threw his picture on the floor, will you?" she asked me piteously.
"Of course not!" I assured her.
"Ah, if I could atone!" she sighed.
"You have atoned. You saved our lives, and——"
"Oh, but you don't know all. If you did, you'd loathe me."
"I can think of nothing which would make me loath you, Lady Allendale."
"I—made Miss Odell believe—that—that—I can't tell you what! But—never mind. I've written to her now. I've confessed that it was a lie. If you wouldn't press me with questions, but just wait to hear from her, you'd be an angel, Lord John."
How long I could have remained an angel at that price I'm not sure. But a letter came to me from Maida next day to say that she had decided not to become a life member of the Grey Sisterhood.