by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXIV
CAFE DE L'EGYPTE
I could see that Nayland Smith counted the escape of the prisoner buta trivial matter by comparison with the discovery to which it had ledus. That the Soho cafe should prove to be, if not the headquarters atleast a regular resort of Dr. Fu-Manchu, was not too much to hope. Theusefulness of such a haunt was evident enough, since it mightconveniently be employed as a place of rendezvous for Orientals--andfurthermore enable the cunning Chinaman to establish relations withpersons likely to prove of service to him.
Formerly, he had used an East End opium den for this purpose, and,later, the resort known as the Joy-Shop. Soho, hitherto, had remainedoutside the radius of his activity, but that he should have embracedit at last was not surprising; for Soho is the Montmartre of Londonand a land of many secrets.
"Why," demanded Nayland Smith, "have I never been told of the existenceof this place?"
"That's simple enough," answered Inspector Weymouth. "Although we knewof this Cafe de l'Egypte, we have never had the slightest troublethere. It's a Bohemian resort, where members of the French Colony,some of the Chelsea art people, professional models, and others ofthat sort, foregather at night. I've been there myself as a matter offact, and I've seen people well known in the artistic world come in.It has much the same clientele as, say, the Cafe Royal, with a ratherheavier sprinkling of Hindu students, Japanese, and so forth. It'scelebrated for Turkish coffee."
"What do you know of this Ismail?"
"Nothing much. He's a Levantine Jew."
"And something more!" added Smith, surveying himself in the mirror,and turning to nod his satisfaction to the well-known perruquier whoseservices are sometimes requisitioned by the police authorities.
We were ready for our visit to the Cafe de l'Egypte, and Smith havingdeemed it inadvisable that we should appear there openly, we had beentransformed, under the adroit manipulation of Foster, into a pair ofFuturists oddly unlike our actual selves. No wigs, no false mustacheshad been employed; a change of costume and a few deft touches of somewater-color paint had rendered us unrecognizable by our most intimatefriends.
It was all very fantastic, very reminiscent of Christmas charades, butthe farce had a grim, murderous undercurrent; the life of one dearerto me than life itself hung upon our success; the swamping of the Whiteworld by Yellow hordes might well be the price of our failure.
Weymouth left us at the corner of Frith Street. This was no more thana reconnaissance, but--
"I shall be within hail if I'm wanted," said the burly detective; andalthough we stood not in Chinatown but in the heart of Bohemian London,with popular restaurants about us, I was glad to know that we had sostanch an ally in reserve.
The shadow of the great Chinaman was upon me. That strange,subconscious voice, with which I had become familiar in the past,awoke within me to-night. Not by logic, but by prescience, I knew thatthe Yellow doctor was near.
Two minutes walk brought us to the door of the cafe. The upper halfwas of glass, neatly curtained, as were the windows on either side ofit; and above the establishment appeared the words: "Cafe de l'Egypte."Between the second and third word was inserted a gilded devicerepresenting the crescent of Islam.
We entered. On our right was a room furnished with marble-toppedtables, cane-seated chairs and plush-covered lounges set against thewalls. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke; evidently the cafe wasfull, although the night was young.
Smith immediately made for the upper end of the room. It was not large,and at first glance I thought that there was no vacant place. Presently,however, I espied two unoccupied chairs; and these we took, findingourselves facing a pale, bespectacled young man, with long, fair hairand faded eyes, whose companion, a bold brunette, was smoking one ofthe largest cigarettes I had ever seen, in a gold and amber cigar-holder.
A very commonplace Swiss waiter took our orders for coffee, and webegan discreetly to survey our surroundings. The only touch of Orientalcolor thus far perceptible in the cafe de l'Egypte was provided by ared-capped Egyptian behind a narrow counter, who presided over thecoffee pots. The patrons of the establishment were in every way typicalof Soho, and in the bulk differed not at all from those of the betterknown cafe restaurants.
There were several Easterns present; but Smith, having given each ofthem a searching glance, turned to me with a slight shrug ofdisappointment. Coffee being placed before us, we sat sipping the thick,sugary beverage, smoking cigarettes and vainly seeking for some clueto guide us to the inner sanctuary consecrated to hashish. It wasmaddening to think that Karamaneh might be somewhere concealed inthe building, whilst I sat there, inert amongst this gathering whoseconversation was of abnormalities in art, music, and literature.
Then, suddenly, the pale young man seated opposite paid his bill, andwith a word of farewell to his companion, went out of the cafe. Hedid not make his exit by the door through which we entered, but passedup the crowded room to the counter whereat the Egyptian presided. Fromsome place hidden in the rear, emerged a black-haired, swarthy man,with whom the other exchanged a few words. The pale young artist raisedhis wide-brimmed hat, and was gone--through a curtained doorway on theleft of the counter.
As he opened it, I had a glimpse of a narrow court beyond; then thedoor was closed again ... and I found myself thinking of the peculiareyes of the departed visitor. Even through the thick pebbles of hisspectacles, although for some reason I had thought little of thematter at the time, his oddly contracted pupils were noticeable. Asthe girl, in turn, rose and left the cafe--but by the ordinarydoor--I turned to Smith.
"That man ..." I began, and paused.
Smith was watching covertly, a Hindu seated at a neighboring table,who was about to settle his bill. Standing up, the Hindu made for thecoffee counter, the swarthy man appeared out of the background--andthe Asiatic visitor went out by the door opening into the court.
One quick glance Smith gave me, and raised his hand for the waiter.A few minutes later we were out in the street again.
"We must find our way to that court!" snapped my friend. "Let us tryback, I noted a sort of alley-way which we passed just before reachingthe cafe."
"You think the hashish den is in some adjoining building?"
"I don't know where it is, Petrie, but I know the way to it!"
Into a narrow, gloomy court we plunged, hemmed in by high walls, andfollowed it for ten yards or more. An even narrower and less invitingturning revealed itself on the left. We pursued our way, and presentlyfound ourselves at the back of the Cafe de l'Egypte.
"There's the door," I said.
It opened into a tiny cul de sac, flanked by dilapidated hoardings,and no other door of any kind was visible in the vicinity. NaylandSmith stood tugging at the lobe of his ear almost savagely.
"Where the devil do they go?" he whispered.
Even as he spoke the words, came a gleam of light through the uppercurtained part of the door, and I distinctly saw the figure of a manin silhouette.
"Stand back!" snapped Smith.
We crouched back against the dirty wall of the court, and watched astrange thing happen. The back door of the Cafe de l'Egypte openedoutward, simultaneously a door, hitherto invisible, set at rightangles in the hoarding adjoining, opened _inward!_
A man emerged from the cafe and entered the secret doorway. As he didso, the cafe door swung back ... and closed the door in the hoarding!
"Very good!" muttered Nayland Smith. "Our friend Ismail, behind thecounter, moves some lever which causes the opening of one doorautomatically to open the other. Failing his kindly offices, the secondexit from the Cafe de l'Egypte is innocent enough. Now--what is thenext move?"
"I have an idea, Smith!" I cried. "According to Morrison, the place inwhich the hashish may be obtained has no windows but is lighted fromabove. No doubt it was built for a studio and has a glass roof.Therefore----"
"Come along!" snapped Smith, grasping my arm; "you have solved thedifficulty, Petrie."
