“The Great Dane bites.”
“His enemies will bite the dust.” The inspector gave the countersign.
Once again they moved forward and found themselves in a narrow passage running at right angles to the first. Here, instead of bareness, were softly carpeted floors and heavy hangings on the walls, and a sickly, sweet smell as of incense. The light, dim and flickering at first, grew stronger and more diffused. Steadman saw that the passage in which they stood served as an ante-chamber or vestibule to some larger room into which folding doors standing slightly ajar gave access. They were not alone, either. At a sign from the inspector Steadman had donned his yellow mask. In another moment shadowy hands had relieved him of his coat and were gently pushing him forward, and he saw faintly that there were other yellow-clad forms flitting backwards and forwards. Between the half-open doors he could glimpse more light, golden, dazzling, while over everything there brooded a sense of mystery, of evil unutterable. In that moment there came over John Steadman a certainty of the danger of this enterprise to which they stood committed, and brave man though he was he would have drawn back if he could. But it was too late. With one hand beneath his yellow domino clutching his automatic firmly he paced by the inspector's side into the Golden Room. As the first sight of it burst upon him he asked himself whether he could really be living in sober twentieth-century England, or whether he had not been translated into some scene of the “Arabian Nights.”
The room was oblong in shape; the ceiling, pale yellow in colour, was low, and across it sprawled great golden flowers. In the centre of each blazed, like some lovely exotic jewel, a radiant amber light. The walls of this extraordinary room were panelled in yellow too, and round about them were ranged twelve golden seats. Ten of them were occupied by figures, masked and dominoed as he and the inspector were. The two seats at the end of the room nearest to them were unoccupied, while at the opposite end stood a raised dais, also of gold; an empty golden chair, looking like a throne, stood upon it. Right in the middle of the room stood a great mimosa in full bloom, its powerful fragrance mingling with that other perfume that Steadman had sensed before. His feet sank into the pile of the carpet as he followed the inspector to the unoccupied chairs nearest to them. At the same moment the hangings at the back of the throne were parted and a tall figure came through, masked, and wearing the same kind of yellow domino as all the others. He seated himself upon the throne upon the dais. At the same moment a sweet-toned bell began to ring slowly.
Steadman had hardly realized that there was any sound to be heard, but now he became conscious by its sudden cessation that there had been a low incessant hum going on around. Then the bell ceased, and the silence grew deadly. The very immobility of those yellow figures began to get on John Steadman's nerves, though up to now he would have denied that he possessed any. His eyes were fixed upon that figure in the chair on the dais. Silent, immobile, it sat, hands joined together in front like those of every other figure in the room; but in these hands there was a curious defect—the thumb was extraordinarily long, the first finger short, so that they looked to be of the same length. And, as Steadman noticed this, his fingers clutched his revolver and felt the cool metal of the police whistle. Of what use was it, he asked himself, for surely no sound could reach the outside world from this terrible room. Suddenly he became conscious of a slight, a very slight movement close to him. Had the inspector moved, he wondered as he glanced round. And then the arms of his chair seemed to contract and lengthen; he felt himself gripped in a vice. Now he knew that the danger he had felt was upon him. He saw the inspector at his side begin to struggle violently. Desperately he tried to bring out his revolver—he was powerless, caught as in a vice. Some hidden mechanism in those chairs had been released, arms and legs were held more firmly than human hands could have held them.
An oath broke from the inspector's lips as he realized the nature of the trap in which they were caught. But there came no answering sound from those waiting, motionless, yellow figures on every side. Their very immobility seemed only to render the position more terrible. And then at last the silence was broken by a laugh, a wicked, malicious laugh, the very sound of which made Steadman's blood run cold in his veins.
Chapter XXII
The laughter ceased as suddenly as it had begun and, as if by a concerted signal, every light in the room went out. A voice rang out, Steadman fancied from the figure on the dais.
“Arms up! inspector. Arms up! Mr. Steadman.” Then another ripple of that horrible laughter. “Ah, I forgot! Our wonderful chairs make all such commands a superfluity! And so, inspector, you are going to have your wish—you are going to meet the Yellow Dog at last! But I fear, I greatly fear that when that interview is over you will not be in a position to make your discoveries known to that wonderful Scotland Yard, of which you have been so distinguished a member.” The emphasis on the “have been” was ominous.
But there was no fear in the inspector's voice as it rapped out: