by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXXI
THE MARMOSET
Half-past twelve was striking as I came out of the terminus, buttoningup my overcoat, and pulling my soft hat firmly down upon my head,started to walk to Hyde Park Corner.
I had declined the services of the several taxi-drivers who hadaccosted me and had determined to walk a part of the distance homeward,in order to check the fever of excitement which consumed me.
Already I was ashamed of the strange fears which had been mine duringthe journey, but I wanted to reflect, to conquer my mood, and themidnight solitude of the land of Squares which lay between me and HydePark appealed quite irresistibly.
There is a distinct pleasure to be derived from a solitary walk throughLondon, in the small hours of an April morning, provided one is sosituated as to be capable of enjoying it. To appreciate the solitudeand mystery of the sleeping city, a certain sense of prosperity--aknowledge that one is immune from the necessity of being abroad atthat hour--is requisite. The tramp, the night policeman and thecoffee-stall keeper know more of London by night than most people--butof the romance of the dark hours they know little. Romance succumbsbefore necessity.
I had good reason to be keenly alive to the aroma of mystery whichpervades the most commonplace thoroughfare after the hum of thetraffic has subsided--when the rare pedestrian and the rarer cab alonetraverse the deserted highway. With more intimate cares seeking toclaim my mind, it was good to tramp along the echoing, empty streetsand to indulge in imaginative speculation regarding the strangethings that night must shroud in every big city. I have known thesolitude of deserts, but the solitude of London is equally fascinating.
He whose business or pleasure had led him to traverse the route whichwas mine on this memorable night must have observed how each of thesquares composing that residential chain which links the outer withthe inner Society has a popular and an exclusive side. The angle usedby vehicular traffic in crossing the square from corner to cornerinvariably is rich in a crop of black board bearing house-agent'sannouncements.
In the shadow of such a board I paused, taking out my case anleisurely selecting a cigar. So many of the houses in the southwestangle were unoccupied, that I found myself taking quite an interestin one a little way ahead; from the hall door and from the longconservatory over the porch light streamed out.
Excepting these illuminations, there was no light elsewhere in thesquare to show which houses were inhabited and which vacant. I mighthave stood in a street of Pompeii or Thebes--a street of the dead past.I permitted my imagination to dwell upon this idea as I fumbled formatches and gazed about me. I wondered if a day would come when somesavant of a future land, in a future age, should stand where I stoodand endeavor to reconstruct, from the crumbling ruins, this typicalLondon square. A slight breeze set the hatchet-board creaking abovemy head, as I held my gloved hands about the pine-vesta.
At that moment some one or something whistled close beside me!
I turned, in a flash, dropping the match upon the pavement. There wasno lamp near the spot whereat I stood, and the gateway and porch ofthe deserted residence seemed to be empty. I stood there peering inthe direction from which the mysterious whistle had come.
The drone of a taxicab, approaching from the north, increased involume, as the vehicle came spinning around the angle of the square,passed me, and went droning on its way. I watched it swing aroundthe distant corner ... and, in the new stillness, the whistle wasrepeated!
This time the sound chilled me. The whistle was pitched in a curious,inhuman key, and it possessed a mocking note that was strangely uncanny.
Listening intently and peering towards the porch of the empty house,I struck a second match, pushed the iron gate open and made for thesteps, sheltering the feeble flame with upraised hand. As I did so,the whistle was again repeated, but from some spot further away, tothe left of the porch, and from low down upon the ground.
Just as I glimpsed something moving under the lee of the porch,the match was blown out, for I was hampered by the handbag which Icarried. Thus reminded of its presence, however, I recollected thatmy pocket-lamp was in it. Quickly opening the bag, I took out thelamp, and, passing around the corner of the steps, directed a ray oflight into the narrow passage which communicated with the rear ofthe building.
Half-way along the passage, looking back at me over its shoulder, andwhistling angrily, was a little marmoset!
I pulled up as sharply as though the point of a sword had been held atmy throat. One marmoset is sufficiently like another to deceive theordinary observer, but unless I was permitting a not unnaturalprejudice to influence my opinion, this particular specimen was thepet of Dr. Fu-Manchu!
Excitement, not untinged with fear, began to grow up within me. HydePark was no far cry, this was near to the heart of social London; yet,somewhere close at hand, it might be, watching me as I stood--lurked,perhaps, the great and evil being who dreamed of overthrowing theentire white race!
With a grotesque grimace and a final, chattering whistle, the littlecreature leapt away out of the beam of light cast by my lamp. Itssudden disappearance brought me to my senses and reminded me of myplain duty. I set off along the passage briskly, arrived at a small,square yard ... and was just in time to see the ape leap into awell-like opening before a basement window. I stepped to the brink,directing the light down into the well.
I saw a collection of rotten leaves, waste paper, and miscellaneousrubbish--but the marmoset was not visible. Then I perceived thatpractically all the glass in the window had been broken. A sound ofshrill chattering reached me from the blackness of the undergroundapartment.
Again I hesitated. What did the darkness mask?
The note of a distant motor-horn rose clearly above the vague throbbingwhich is the only silence known to the town-dweller.
Gripping the unlighted cigar between my teeth, I placed my bag uponthe ground and dropped into the well before the broken window. To raisethe sash was a simple matter, and, having accomplished it, I inspectedthe room within.
The light showed a large kitchen, with torn wall-paper and decorator'slitter strewn about the floor, a whitewash pail in one corner, andnothing else.
I climbed in, and, taking from my pocket the Browning pistol withoutwhich I had never traveled since the return of the dreadful Chinamanto England, I crossed to the door, which was ajar, and looked out intothe passage beyond.
Stifling an exclamation, I fell back a step. Two gleaming eyes staredstraightly into mine!
The next moment I had forced a laugh to my lips ... as the marmosetturned and went gamboling up the stairs. The house was profoundlysilent. I crossed the passage and followed the creature, which now wasproceeding, I thought, with more of a set purpose.
Out into a spacious and deserted hallway it led me, where my cautiousfootsteps echoed eerily, and ghostly faces seemed to peer down upon mefrom the galleries above. I should have liked to have unbarred thestreet door, in order to have opened a safe line of retreat in theevent of its being required, but the marmoset suddenly sprang up themain stairway at a great speed, and went racing around the galleryoverhead toward the front of the house.
Determined, if possible, to keep the creature in view, I started inpursuit. Up the uncarpeted stairs I went, and, from the rail of thelanding, looked down into the blackness of the hallway apprehensively.Nothing stirred below. The marmoset had disappeared between thehalf-opened leaves of a large folding door. Casting the beam of lightahead of me I followed. I found myself in a long, lofty apartment,evidently a drawing-room.
Of the quarry I could detect no sign; but the only other door of theroom was closed; therefore, since the creature had entered, it must,I argued, undoubtedly be concealed somewhere in the apartment.Flashing the light about to right and left, I presently perceived thata conservatory (no doubt facing on the square) ran parallel with oneside of the room. French windows gave access to either end of it; andit was through one of these, which was slightly open, that thequestioning ray had intruded.
Realizing that the ray of my lamp must be visible through the blindsfrom outside, I extinguished it ... and, a moving silhouette against afaintly luminous square, I could clearly distinguish the marmosetwatching me.
There was a light in the room beyond!
The marmoset disappeared--and I became aware of a faint, incense-likeperfume. Where had I met with it before? Nothing disturbed the silenceof the empty house wherein I stood; yet I hesitated for several secondsto pursue the chase further. The realization came to me that the holein the wall communicated with the conservatory of the corner house inthe square, the house with the lighted windows.
Determined to see the thing through, I discarded my overcoat--andcrawled through the gap. The smell of burning perfume became almostoverpowering, as I stood upright, to find myself almost touchingcurtains of some semi-transparent golden fabric draped in the doorbetween the conservatory and the drawing-room.
Cautiously, inch by inch, I approached my eyes to the slight gap inthe draperies, as, from somewhere in the house below, sounded theclangor of a brazen gong. Seven times its ominous note boomed out. Ishrank back into my sanctuary; the incense seemed to be stifling me.
