The City in the Clouds

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was just three weeks after the murder of Pu-Yi, and once more I satin my chambers in Piccadilly. The day had been cloudy, and now, late inthe afternoon, a heavy fog had descended upon the town through whichfell a cold and intermittent rain.

  Up there, in the City in the Clouds, perhaps the sun was pouring downupon its spires and cupolas, but London, Piccadilly, was lowering andsad.

  Lord Arthur Winstanley and Captain Pat Moore had just left me, both ofthem glum and silent. It went to my heart not to take them into my fullconfidence, but to do so was impossible. I had told them much of therecent events in the City--I could not tell them everything, for theywould not have understood. Certainly I could have relied upon theirabsolute discretion, but, in view of what was going to happen that verynight, I was compelled to keep my own counsel. They had not livedthrough what I had recently. Their minds were not tuned, as mine was, tothe sublime disregard and aloofness from English law which obtained inMorse's gigantic refuge. Certainly neither of them would have agreed towhat I proposed to do that night.

  Preston came quietly into the library. He pulled the curtains and madeup the fire. The face of Preston was grim and disapproving. He lookedmuch as he looked when--what ages ago it seemed!--I departed hiscomfortable care to become the landlord of the "Golden Swan."

  "I'm not at home to any one, Preston," I said, "except to Mr. Sliddim,who ought to be here in a few minutes. Of course, that doesn't apply toMr. Rolston."

  "Very good, Sir Thomas, thank you, Sir Thomas," said Preston, scowlingat the mention of the name. Poor fellow, he didn't in the leastunderstand why I should be receiving the furtive and melancholy Sliddimso often, and should sit with him in conference for long hours!Afterwards, when it was all over, I interrogated my faithful servant,and the state of his mind during that period proved to have beenstartling.

  This seems the place in which to explain exactly what had happened up todate.

  When Midwinter had escaped, we found the corpse of poor old ProfessorChang, and the whole plan was revealed to us. Pu-Yi had been shotthrough the heart. His death must have been instantaneous. For severaldays Morse was in a terrible state of depression and remorse. He saidthat there was a curse upon him, and it was with the greatest difficultythat Rolston and I could bring him into a more reasonable frame of mind.The long strain had worn down even that iron resolution, but, forJuanita's sake, I knew that I must stand by him to the end.

  Accordingly, there was nothing else for it, Rolston and I took entirecharge of everything. I had never felt inclined to go back from thevery beginning. Now my resolution was firm to see it through to the end.

  Rolston pursued his own plans, and London very shortly knew that GideonMendoza Morse and his lovely daughter were about to reappear in theworld. It gave my little, red-haired friend intense pleasure to organizethis mild press campaign from the office of the _Evening Special_. Iplaced him in complete control, to the intense joy of Miss Dewsbury andthe disgust of the older members of the staff. Be that as it may, thething was done, and every one knew that Birmingham House had been takenby the millionaire.

  It was then, having organized things as perfectly as I could at theCity, placing Kwang-Su, the gigantic gate-keeper of the groundinclosure, in charge of the staff, that I myself descended into theworld as unobtrusively as possible. For a day or two I remained inseclusion at the "Golden Swan," and during those two days saw no one butthe Honest Fool, Mrs. Abbs, my housekeeper, and--Sliddim, the privateinquiry agent.

  Personally, while I quite appreciated the fellow's skill in his owndirty work, and while indeed I owed him a considerable debt in thematter of Bill Rolston's first disappearance, I disliked him too muchever to have thought of him as a help in the very serious affair onwhich I was engaged. It was Rolston, as usual, who changed my mind. Hesaw farther than I did. He realized the essential secrecy and fidelityof the odd creature whom chance had unearthed from among the creepingthings of London, and in the end he became an integral part of theplot.

  He was told, of course, no more than was necessary. He was not by anymeans in our full confidence. But he was given a part to play, andpromised a reward, if he played it well, that would make him independentfor life. Let me say at once that he fulfilled his duty with admirableskill, and, when he received his check from Mr. Morse, vanished foreverfrom our ken. I have no doubt that he is spying somewhere or other onthe globe at this moment, but I have no ambition to meet him again.

  Mr. Sliddim, considerably furbished up in personal appearance, was madecaretaker at Birmingham House in Berkeley Square. He had not been inthat responsible position for more than ten days when our fish began tonibble at the bait.

  In a certain little public house by some mews at the back of BerkeleySquare, a little public house which Mr. Sliddim was instructed--andneeded no encouragement--to frequent, he was one day accosted by a tall,middle-aged man with a full, handsome face and a head of curling, grayhair. This man was dressed in a seedy, shabby-genteel style, and soonbecame intimate with our lure.

  Certainly, to give him his due, Sliddim must have been a supreme actorin his way. He did the honest, but intensely stupid caretaker to thelife. Mark Antony Midwinter was completely taken in and pumped our humanconduit for all he was worth, until he was put in possession of anentirely fictitious set of circumstances, arranged with the greatestcare to suit my plans.

  I shall not easily forget the evening when Sliddim slunk into mydining-room and described the scene which told us we had made absolutelyno mistake and that our fish was definitely hooked. It seems that thegood Sliddim had gradually succumbed to the repeated proffer of strongwaters on the part of "Mr. Smith," his new friend. He had bragged of hisposition, only lamenting that some days hence it was to come to an end,when, in the evening, Mr. Mendoza Morse, his daughter, and a staff ofservants were to enter the house simultaneously. Sliddim, the mostconsistent whisky-nipper I have ever seen--and I had some curiousside-lights on that question when I was landlord of the "GoldenSwan"--was physically almost incapable of drunkenness, but he simulatedit so well in the little pub at the back of the Square that Mark AntonyMidwinter made no ado about taking the latchkey of Birmingham House areadoor from his pocket and making a waxen impression of it.

  Rolston and I knew that we were "getting very hot," as the children saywhen they are playing Hunt-the-Slipper, and another visit from Sliddimconfirmed it. The plan of our enemy was perfectly clear to our minds. Hewould enter the house by means of the key an hour or two before Morseand the servants were due, conceal himself within it, and do what he hadto do in the silent hours of the night.

  It was quite certain that he believed Morse now felt himself secure, andno doubt Midwinter had arranged a plan for his escape from BerkeleySquare, when his vengeance was complete, as ingenious and thoroughgoingas that prepared for his literal flight from the City in the Clouds.

  And now, on this very evening, I was to throw the dice in a desperategame with this human tiger.

  "It is for to-night certain, sir," said Sliddim when he arrived. "I'velet him know that I am leaving the house for a couple of hours thisevening, between eight and ten, to see my old mother in Camden Town. Ateleven he supposes that the servants are arriving, and at midnight Mr.and Miss Morse. A professional friend of mine is watching our gent verycarefully. He is at present staying at a small private hotel in Soho,and I should think you had better come to the house about seven, onfoot, and directly you ring I'll let you in. I've promised to meet ourfriend at the little public house in the mews at eight, for just onedrink--he wants to be certain that I am really out of the way--and Ishould say that he would be inside Birmingham House within a quarter ofan hour afterwards."

  Rolston came in before the fellow went, and a few more details werediscussed, which brought the time up to about six o'clock.

  And then I had a most unpleasant and difficult few minutes. My faithfullittle lieutenant defied me for the first time since I had known him.

  "I can't tell what time
I shall be back," I said, "but I shall want youto be at the end of the telephone wire--there are plenty of telephonesin Birmingham House."

  "But I am going too, Sir Thomas," he said quickly.

  I shook my head. "No," I said, "I must go through this alone."

  "But it's impossible! You must have some one to help you, Sir Thomas! Itis madness to meet that devil alone in an empty house. It's absolutelyunnecessary, too. I _must_ go with you. I owe him one for the blow hegave me when he escaped from the Safety-room at the City, and,besides--"

  "Bill Rolston," I said, "the essence of fidelity is to obey orders. Iowe more to you than I can possibly say! Without you, I dread to thinkwhat might have happened to Miss Morse and her father. But on thisoccasion I am adamant. You will be far more use to me waiting here,ready to carry out any instructions that may come over the wire."

  "Please, Sir Thomas, if I ever _have_ done anything, as you say, let mecome with you to-night."

  His voice broke in a sob of entreaty, but I steeled myself and refusedhim.

  I must say he took it very well when he saw that there was no furtherchance of moving me.

  "Very well then, Sir Thomas," he said, "if it must be so, it must be. Iwill be back here at seven, and wait all night if necessary."

  With that, his face clouded with gloom, he went away and I was leftalone.

  Doubtless you will have gathered my motive? It would have been criminalto let Rolston, or any one else, have a share in this last adventure. Toput it in plain English, I determined, at whatever risk to myself, tokill Mark Antony Midwinter.

  There was nothing else for it. The law could not be invoked. While helived, my girl's life would be in terrible danger. The man had to bedestroyed, as one would destroy a mad dog, and it was my duty, and minealone, to destroy him. If I came off worst in the encounter, well, Morsestill had skilled defenders. The risk, I knew, was considerable, but itseemed that I held the winning cards, for within two hours Midwinterwould step into a trap.

  When I had killed him I had my own plans as to the disposal of the body.It was arranged that a considerable number of Chinese servants from theCity should arrive at eleven. If I knew those bland, yellow ruffians, itwould not be a difficult thing to dispose of Midwinter's remains, eitheron the spot or by conveyal to Richmond. Another alternative was that Ishould shoot him in self-defense, as an ordinary burglar. Certainly thelaw would come in here, but it would be justifiable homicide and bemerely a three days' sensation. I had to catch my hare first--the methodof cooking it could be left till afterwards.

  In a drawer in my writing-table were letters to various people,including my solicitor and my two friends, Pat Moore and ArthurWinstanley. There was a long one, also, to Juanita. Everything wasarranged and in order. I am not aware that I felt any fear or anyparticular emotion, save one of deep, abiding purpose. Nothing would nowhave turned me from what I proposed to do. I had spent long thought overit and I was perfectly convinced that it was an act of justice,irregular, dangerous to myself, but morally defendable by every canon ofequity and right. The man was a murderer over and over again. To-nighthe would receive the honor of a private execution. That was all.

  When I left my chambers, with an automatic pistol, a case of sandwiches,and a flask of whisky-and-water, the rain was descending in a torrent.The street was empty and dismal, and Berkeley Square itself a desert. Idon't think I saw a single person, except one police-constable inoilskins sheltering under an archway, till I arrived at BirminghamHouse. The well-known facade of the mansion was blank and cheerless. Allthe blinds were down; there was not a sign of occupation. I rang, thedoor opened immediately, and I slipped in.

  "I must be off, Sir Thomas," said Sliddim. "If you go through the dooron the far side of the inner hall beyond the grand staircase, you willfind yourself in a short passage with a baize door at the farther end.Push this open, and you will be in a small lobby. The door immediatelyto your left is that of the butler's pantry. It commands the servicestairs and lift to the kitchen and servants' rooms. Standing in thedoorway you will see the head of any one coming up the stairs, and--" hegave a sickly grin and something approaching a reptilian wink. Sliddimwas an unpleasant person, and I never liked him less than at thatmoment.

  With another whisper he opened the door a few inches and writhed out.

  I was left alone in Birmingham House.

  It was the queerest possible sensation, and as I crossed the great innerhall, with its tapestries and gleaming statuary, lit now by two singleelectric bulbs, I don't deny that my heart was beating a good dealfaster than was pleasant. There is always something ghostly about anempty house, more especially when it is fully furnished and ready foroccupation. The absence of all life is uncanny, and one seems to feelthat it is hidden, not absent, and that at any moment a door may openand some enigmatic stranger be standing there with an unpleasant welcomein his eyes.

  Well, I slunk through all the glories of the grand hall, passed down thepassage, and came out into the servants' quarters. The little lobby, thefloor of which was covered with cork matting, was well lit, and so werethe stairs. I peered over the rail, but could not see to the bottom;but, standing in the door of the room called the butler's pantry, I sawthat I could put a bullet through the head of any one appearing, beforehe could have the slightest inkling of my presence, before he could slewround, even, to face me.

  The butler's pantry itself was a fair-sized, comfortable room, with acarpet on the floor and a couple of worn, padded armchairs by thefireplace. The walls were hung with photographs; on one side was abusiness-like roll-top desk, and in a corner a large safe whichobviously contained the plate in daily use in the great household. Iknew that the bulk of the valuables were stored in a strong room inChancery Lane.

  Upon the table Mr. Sliddim had thoughtfully placed a heavy cut-glassdecanter half full of whisky, a siphon, and--_glasses_! The whisky wasall right, but did he expect me to hobnob with Antony Midwinter, tospeed the parting guest, as it were, with a stirrup-cup? It wasdifficult to suspect him of such grim humor.

  I looked at my watch. There was still a good half-hour before Midwinterand Sliddim were due to meet in the little public house behind theSquare. I saw that my pistol was handy, and sat down in one of thearmchairs by the fireside. A pipe of the incomparable "John Cotton"would not be amiss, I thought, wondering if I should ever taste itsfragrance again, and for some minutes I sat and smoked, placidly enough.Then, I suppose a quarter of an hour or so must have elapsed, I began tofidget in my chair.

  The house was so terribly still! Still, but not quite silent! Time, thatwas ticking away so rapidly, had a score of small voices. There was thefaint noise of taxicabs out in the Square, the drip of the rain, anoccasional stealthy creak from the furniture, the scurry of a mouse inthe wainscot; the more remote chambers of my brain began to fill withriot, and once my nerves jerked like a hooked fish.

  And even now I do not think it was fear. Terror, perhaps--there is asubtle distinction--but not craven fear. I think, perhaps, it was morethe sense of something coldly evil that might even now be approachingthrough the fog and rain, a lost soul inspired with cunning, hatred, andferocity, whom I must meet in deadly contact within a short, butunknown, space of time....

  "This won't do at all!" I thought, and then my eye fell on Mr. Sliddim'shospitable preparations. I got up, went round to the other side of thetable, put my pistol down upon it, and mixed a stiff peg.

  My back was now to the open door, and I was just lifting the glass to mylips, eagerly enough, I am afraid, when, very softly, somethingdescended upon each of my shoulders.

  I had not heard a sound of any sort, save the gurgle of the aeratedwater in the glass, but now a shriek like that of a frightened womanrang out into the room, and it came from me.

  I was gripped horribly by the back of the throat, whirled round withincredible speed and force, and flung heavily against the opposite wall,falling sideways into an armchair, gasping for breath and my eyesstaring out of my head.

  Then
I saw him. Mark Antony Midwinter was standing on the other side ofthe table, smiling at me. He wore a fashionable morning coat and a silkhat. Under his left arm was a gold-headed walking-cane, and he carriedhis gloves in his left hand. In the right was the gleaming blue-black ofan automatic pistol, pointed at my heart.

  At that, I pulled myself together. In an instant I knew that I hadfailed. The brute must already have been in the house when Sliddimadmitted me--he had outwitted all of us!

  "Ah!" he said, "Sir Thomas Kirby! You have crossed my path very manytimes of late, Sir Thomas, and I have long wished to make youracquaintance."

  His voice was suave and cultured. The rather full, clean-shaved face hadelements of fineness--many women would have called him a handsome man.But in his dull and opaque eyes there was such a glare of coldmalignity, such unutterable cruelty and hate, that the whole room grewlike an ice-house in a moment; for it is not often that any man sees averitable fiend of hell looking out of the eyes of another.

  "You have come a little earlier than I expected," I managed to say, butmy voice rang cracked and thin.

  "It is a precaution that I frequently take, Sir Thomas, and one verymuch justified in the present instance. To tell the truth, I had littleor no suspicion that I was walking into a trap--that much to you! But alife of shocks"--here he laughed pleasantly, but the little steel diskpointed at my heart never wavered a hair's breadth--"has taught mealways to have something in reserve. I see that I shall not have thepleasure of settling accounts with Mr. Gideon Morse and his daughterto-night. Well, that can wait. Meanwhile, I propose within a few secondsto remove another obstacle from my path--do you think the mandarin,Pu-Yi, will be waiting for you at the golden gates, Sir Thomas Kirby?"

  So this was the end! I braced myself to meet it.

  "How long?" I said.

  "I will count a hundred slowly," he answered.

  He began, and I stared dumbly at the pistol. I could not think--I couldnot commend my soul to my Maker even. The function of thought wasentirely arrested.

  "Thirty ... thirty-one ... thirty-two!"

  And then I suddenly burst out laughing.

  My laughter, I know, was perfectly natural, full of genuine merriment.Something had happened which seemed to me irresistibly comic. He stoppedand stared at me, his face changing ever so little.

  "May I ask," he said, "what tickled your sense of humor?"

  What had tickled my sense of humor was this. Stealing round from behindhim, right under his very nose, so to speak, but quite unseen, was anarm which with infinite care and slowness was removing the heavycut-glass decanter from the table. It vanished. It reappeared in the airbehind him in a flashing diamond and amber circle.

  "Have some whisky, Mr. Midwinter," I said, as it descended with a crashupon the side of his head.

  Without a sound he sank into a huddled heap out of my sight, hidden bythe table.

  "You little devil!" I said, staggering to my feet, for Bill Rolstonstood there, white-faced and grinning. "I had to come, Sir Thomas," hesaid, "it wasn't any use."

  "Have you killed him, Bill?"

  We bent down and made an examination. Midwinter's face was dark andsuffused with blood, but his pulses were all right.

  "What a pity!" said Rolston. "Help me to get him on to that chair, SirThomas, and we'll tie him up. If I had killed him, it would have been somuch simpler!"

  We dragged the unconscious man to the very armchair where I had satunder the menace of his pistol, and, tearing the tablecloth into strips,tied him securely.

  "Fortunately," said Bill, "I didn't break the decanter. The stopperdidn't even come out! You look pretty sick, Sir Thomas"--and indeed ahorrible feeling of nausea had come over me, and my hands wereshaking--"let's each have a drink and then I'll tell you what I think."

  We sat down on each side of the table, and I listened to him as if thewhole thing were some curious dream. For the second time I had beensnatched from the very brink of death, and though I suppose I ought tohave been getting used to it my only sensation was one of limpness andcollapse.

  "Can you do it?" my little friend said, pointing to the pistol betweenus.

  I took it up, weighed it in my hand, half-pointed it at the stiff,red-faced figure in the chair, and laid it down again.

  "No, I'm damned if I can!" I answered. And then--I must have been morethan half-dazed--I actually said: "You have a go, Bill."

  He looked at me in horror.

  "Murder him in cold blood! I should never know a moment's peace, SirThomas!"

  "Well, you nearly did it in hot, and you've just been tempting me--"

  "Let us bring him to, if we can," he said, tactfully changing theconversation and advancing upon our friend with the siphon ofsoda-water.

  There was a grotesque horror about the whole of our adventure thatnight. I laughed weakly as the soda hissed and the stream of aeratedwater splashed over Midwinter's face.

  Before the final gurgle he awoke. His eyes opened without speculation.Then his jaw dropped. For a moment his face was as vacant as a doll's,and then it flared up into a snarl of realization and hatred, only, inanother instant, to settle down into a dead calm.

  "My turn now," I said.

  He knew the game was up. I will do him the justice to say he did notflinch.

  "Very well, count a hundred," was his answer, and his eye fell to thetwo pistols on the table--his own and mine.

  I shook my head. "I can't do it--I wish I could!"

  "You'll find it quite easy--I speak from experience," he replied, with adesperate, evil grin.

  "No. I have talked the situation over with my friend. You are going todie, that is very certain, but not by my hand now, and not, Mr.Midwinter, by the hand of the English law."

  He was very quick. Even then he had an inkling of my meaning, for aperceptible shadow fell over his face and his eyes narrowed to slits.

  "You mean?"

  "We are going to telephone to the City in the Clouds. People will comefrom there and take you away--that will be easily managed. You will havesome form of trial, and then--execution."

  I never saw a change from red to white so sudden. That big face suddenlybecame a hideous, sickly white, toneless and opaque like the belly of asole.

  "You won't deliver me to the Chinese?" he gasped. "You can't know themas I do. They'd take a week killing me! They have horrible secrets--"

  His voice died away in a whimper, and if ever I saw a man in deadlyterror, it was that man then.

  But I hardened my heart. I remembered how Morse and Juanita had sufferedfor two years at this man's hands. I remembered four murders, to my ownknowledge, and I shrugged my shoulders.

  "I can't help that. You have made your bed, and you must lie upon it."

  "But such a bed!" he murmured, and his head fell forward on his chest.

  His arms were bound at the elbow, but he could move the lower portion,and he now brought his right hand to his face.

  "I'll telephone," said Bill, and went to the wall by the door where hungthe instrument.

  I sat gloomily watching the man in the chair.

  What was he doing? His jaw was moving up and down. He seemed biting athis wrist.

  Suddenly there was a slight, tearing, ripping noise, followed by a jerkbackwards of his head and a deep intake of the breath.

  "What is he doing?" Rolston said, turning round with the receiver of thetelephone at his ear.

  Midwinter held out his arm. I saw that the braid round the cuff of hismorning coat was hanging in a little strip.

  "I told you I always had something in reserve," he said, showing all histeeth as he grinned at me. "Always something up my sleeve--literally, inthis case. I have just swallowed a little capsule of prussic acidwhich--"

  If you want to learn of how a man dies who has swallowed hydrocyanicacid--the correct term, I believe--consult a medical dictionary. It isnot a pleasant thing to see in actual operation, but, thank heavens, itis speedy!

  The sweat was pouring down my face when
it was over, but Bill Rolstonhad not turned a hair.

  "Put something over his face, Sir Thomas," he said, "and I'll getthrough to Mr. Morse."