by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER VIII
ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP
Down the center of the room came a girl carrying the only ornamentalobject which thus far I had seen in the Joy-Shop; a large Orientalbrass tray. She was a figure which must have formed a center ofinterest in any place, trebly so, then, in such a place as this. Hercostume consisted in a series of incongruities, whilst the entireeffect was barbaric and by no means unpicturesque. She wore high-heeledred slippers, and, as her short gauzy skirt rendered amply evident,black silk stockings. A brilliantly colored Oriental scarf was woundaround her waist and knotted in front, its tasseled ends swinginggirdle fashion. A sort of chemise--like the _'anteree_ of Egyptianwomen--completed her costume, if I except a number of barbaricornaments, some of them of silver, with which her hands and armswere bedecked.
But strange as was the girl's attire, it was to her face that my gazewas drawn irresistibly. Evidently, like most of those around us, shewas some kind of half-caste; but, unlike them, she was wickedlyhandsome. I use the adverb _wickedly_ with deliberation; for thepallidly dusky, oval face, with the full red lips, between which resteda large yellow cigarette, and the half-closed almond-shaped eyes,possessed a beauty which might have appealed to an artist of one ofthe modern perverted schools, but which filled me less with admirationthan horror. For I _knew_ her--I recognized her, from a past, briefmeeting; I knew her, beyond all possibility of doubt, to be one ofthe Si-Fan group!
This strange creature, tossing back her jet-black, frizzy hair, whichwas entirely innocent of any binding or ornament, advanced along theroom towards us, making unhesitatingly for our table, and carrying herlithe body with the grace of a _Ghazeeyeh_.
I glanced at Fletcher across the table.
"Zarmi!" he whispered.
Again I raised my eyes to the face which now was close to mine, andbecame aware that I was trembling with excitement....
Heavens! why did enlightenment come too late! Either I was the victimof an odd delusion, or Zarmi had been the driver of the cab in whichNayland Smith had left the New Louvre Hotel!
Zarmi place the brass tray upon the table and bent down, resting herelbows upon it, her hands upturned and her chin nestling in her palms.The smoke from the cigarette, now held in her fingers, mingled withher disheveled hair. She looked fully into my face, a long, searchinglook; then her lips parted in the slow, voluptuous smile of theOrient. Without moving her head she turned the wonderful eyes (rendereddoubly luminous by the _kohl_ with which her lashes and lids weredarkened) upon Fletcher.
"What you and your strong friend drinking?" she said softly.
Her voice possessed a faint husky note which betrayed her Easternparentage, yet it had in it the siren lure which is the ancientheritage of the Eastern woman--a heritage more ancient than the tribeof the _Ghazeeyeh_, to one of whom I had mentally likened Zarmi.
"Same thing," replied Fletcher promptly; and raising his hand, heidly toyed with a huge gold ear-ring which she wore.
Still resting her elbows upon the table and bending down between us,Zarmi turned her slumbering, half-closed black eyes again upon me,then slowly, languishingly, upon Fletcher. She replaced the yellowcigarette between her lips. He continued to toy with the ear-ring.
Suddenly the girl sprang upright, and from its hiding-place withinthe silken scarf, plucked out a Malay _kris_ with a richly jeweledhilt. Her eyes now widely opened and blazing, she struck at mycompanion!
I half rose from my chair, stifling a cry of horror; but Fletcher,regarding her fixedly, never moved ... and Zarmi stayed her hand justas the point of the dagger had reached his throat!
"You see," she whispered softly but intensely, "how soon I can killyou."
Ere I had overcome the amazement and horror with which her actionhad filled me, she had suddenly clutched me by the shoulder, and,turning from Fletcher, had the point of the _kris_ at _my_ throat!
"You, too!" she whispered, "you too!"
Lower and lower she bent, the needle point of the weapon pricking myskin, until her beautiful, evil face almost touched mine. Then,miraculously, the fire died out of her eyes; they half closed againand became languishing, luresome _Ghazeeyeh_ eyes. She laughed softly,wickedly, and puffed cigarette smoke into my face.
Thrusting her dagger into her waist-belt, and snatching up the brasstray, she swayed down the room, chanting some barbaric song in herhusky Eastern voice.
I inhaled deeply and glanced across at my companion. Beneath themake-up with which I had stained my skin, I knew that I had grownmore than a little pale.
"Fletcher!" I whispered, "we are on the eve of a great discovery--thatgirl ..."
I broke off, and clutching the table with both hands, sat listeningintently. From the room behind me, the opium-room, whose entrance wasless than two paces from where we sat, came a sound of dragging andtapping! Slowly, cautiously, I began to turn my head; when a suddenoutburst of simian chattering from the _fan-tan_ players drowned thatother sinister sound.
"You heard it, Doctor!" hissed Fletcher.
"The man with the limp!" I said hoarsely; "he is in there! Fletcher!I am utterly confused. I believe this place to hold the key to thewhole mystery, I believe ..."
Fletcher gave me a warning glance--and, turning anew, I saw Zarmiapproaching with her sinuous gait, carrying two glasses and jug uponthe ornate tray. These she set down upon the table; then stoodspinning the salver cleverly upon the point of her index finger andwatching us through half-closed eyes.
My companion took out some loose coins, but the girl thrust theproffered payment aside with her disengaged hand, the salver stillwhirling upon the upraised finger of the other.
"Presently you pay for drink," she said. "You do something for me--eh?"
"Yep," replied Fletcher nonchalantly, watering the rum in thetumblers. "What time?"
"Presently I tell you. You stay here. This one a strong feller?"--indicating myself.
"Sure," drawled Fletcher; "strong as a mule he is."
"All right. I give him one little kiss if he good boy!"
Tossing the tray in the air she caught it, rested its edge upon herhip, turned, and walked away down the room, puffing her cigarette.
"Listen," I said, bending across the table, "it was Zarmi who drovethe cab that came for Nayland Smith to-day!"
"My God!" whispered Fletcher, "then it was nothing less than the handof Providence that brought us here to-night. Yes! I know how you feel,Doctor!--but we must play our cards as they're dealt to us. We mustwait--wait."
Out from the den of the opium-smokers came Zarmi, one hand restingupon her hip and the other uplifted, a smoldering yellow cigaretteheld between the first and second fingers. With a movement of hereyes she summoned us to join her, then turned and disappeared againthrough the low doorway.
The time for action was arrived--we were to see behind the scenes ofthe Joy-Shop! Our chance to revenge poor Smith even if we could notsave him. I became conscious of an inward and suppressed excitement;surreptitiously I felt the hilt of the Browning pistol in my pocket.The shadow of the dead Fu-Manchu seemed to be upon me. God! how Iloathed and feared that memory!
"We can make no plans," I whispered to Fletcher, as together we rosefrom the table; "we must be guided by circumstance."
In order to enter the little room laden with those sickly opium fumeswe had to lower our heads. Two steps led down into the place, whichwas so dark that I hesitated, momentarily, peering about me.
Apparently some four of five persons squatted and lay in the darknessabout me. Some were couched upon rough wooden shelves ranged aroundthe walls, others sprawled upon the floor, in the center whereof, upona small tea-chest, stood a smoky brass lamp. The room and itsoccupants alike were indeterminate, sketchy; its deadly atmosphereseemed to be suffocating me. A sort of choking sound came from one ofthe bunks; a vague, obscene murmuring filled the whole placerevoltingly.
Zarmi stood at the further end, her lithe figure silhouetted againstthe vague light coming through an open doorway. I saw her raise
herhand, beckoning to us.
Circling around the chest supporting the lamp we crossed the foulden and found ourselves in a narrow, dim passage-way, but in cleanerair.
"Come," said Zarmi, extending her long, slim hand to me.
I took it, solely for guidance in the gloom, and she immediately drewmy arm about her waist, leant back against my shoulder and, raisingher pouted red lips, blew a cloud of tobacco smoke fully into my eyes!
Momentarily blinded, I drew back with a muttered exclamation.Suspecting what I did of this tigerish half-caste, I could almost havefound it in my heart to return her savage pleasantries with interest.
As I raised my hands to my burning eyes, Fletcher uttered a sharp cryof pain. I turned in time to see the girl touch him lightly on theneck with the burning tip of her cigarette.
"You jealous, eh, Charlie?" she said. "But I love you, too--see! Comealong, you strong fellers...."
And away she went along the passage, swaying her hips lithely andglancing back over her shoulders in smiling coquetry.
Tears were still streaming from my eyes when I found myself standingin a sort of rough shed, stone-paved, and containing a variety ofnondescript rubbish. A lantern stood upon the floor; and beside it ...
The place seemed to be swimming around me, the stone floor to beheaving beneath my feet....
Beside the lantern stood a wooden chest, some six feet long, andhaving strong rope handles at either end. Evidently the chest had butrecently been nailed up. As Zarmi touched it lightly with the pointedtoe of her little red slipper I clutched at Fletcher for support.
Fletcher grasped my arm in a vice-like grip. To him, too, had comethe ghastly conviction--the gruesome thought that neither of us daredto name.
It was Nayland Smith's coffin that we were to carry!
"Through here," came dimly to my ears, "and then I tell you what todo...."
Coolness returned to me, suddenly, unaccountably. I doubted not for aninstant that the best friend I had in the world lay dead there at thefeet of the hellish girl who called herself Zarmi, and I knew since itwas she, disguised, who had driven him to his doom, that she must havebeen actively concerned in his murder.
But, I argued, although the damp night air was pouring in through thedoor which Zarmi now held open, although sound of Thames-side activitycame stealing to my ears, we were yet within the walls of the Joy-Shop,with a score or more Asiatic ruffians at the woman's beck and call....
With perfect truth I can state that I retain not even a shadowyrecollection of aiding Fletcher to move the chest out on to the brinkof the cutting--for it was upon this that the door directly opened.The mist had grown denser, and except a glimpse of slowly moving waterbeneath me, I could discern little of our surrounding.
So much I saw by the light of a lantern which stood in the stern of aboat. In the bows of this boat I was vaguely aware of the presence ofa crouched figure enveloped in rugs--vaguely aware that two filmyeyes regarded me out of the darkness. A man who looked like a lascarstood upright in the stern.
I must have been acting like a man in a stupor; for I was aroused tothe realities by the contact of a burning cigarette with the lobe ofmy right ear!
"Hurry, quick, strong feller!" said Zarmi softly.
At that it seemed as though some fine nerve of my brain, alreadystrained to utmost tension, snapped. I turned, with a wild,inarticulate cry, my fists raised frenziedly above my head.
"You fiend!" I shrieked at the mocking Eurasian, "you yellow fiend ofhell!"
I was beside myself, insane. Zarmi fell back a step, flashing a glancefrom my own contorted face to that, now pale even beneath its artificialtan, of Fletcher.
I snatched the pistol from my pocket, and for one fateful moment thelust of slaying claimed my mind.... Then I turned towards the river,and, raising the Browning, fired shot after shot in the air.
"Weymouth!" I cried. "Weymouth!"
A sharp hissing sound came from behind me; a short, muffled cry ...and something descended, crushing, upon my skull. Like a wild catZarmi hurled herself past me and leapt into the boat. One glimpse Ihad of her pallidly dusky face, of her blazing black eyes, and theboat was thrust off into the waterway ... was swallowed up in the mist.
I turned, dizzily, to see Fletcher sinking to his knees, one handclutching his breast.
"She got me ... with the knife," he whispered. "But ... don't worry ...look to yourself, and ..._him_...."
He pointed, weakly--then collapsed at my feet. I threw myself uponthe wooden chest with a fierce, sobbing cry.
"Smith, Smith!" I babbled, and knew myself no better, in my sorrow,than an hysterical woman. "Smith, dear old man! speak to me! speakto me!..."
Outraged emotion overcame me utterly, and with my arms thrown acrossthe box, I slipped into unconsciousness.
