by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER IV. THE CLOSED DOOR
Rather less than five minutes later a taxicab drew up in old BondStreet, and from it Quentin Gray leapt out impetuously and ran in at thedoorway leading to Kazmah's stairs. So hurried was his progress thathe collided violently with a little man who, carrying himself with apronounced stoop, was slinking furtively out.
The little man reeled at the impact and almost fell, but:
"Hang it all!" cried Gray irritably. "Why the devil don't you look whereyou're going!"
He glared angrily into the face of the other. It was a peculiar andrememberable face, notable because of a long, sharp, hooked noseand very little, foxy, brown eyes; a sly face to which a small, fairmoustache only added insignificance. It was crowned by a wide-brimmedbowler hat which the man wore pressed down upon his ears like a Jewpedlar.
"Why!" cried Gray, "this is the second time tonight you have jostledme!"
He thought he had recognized the man for the same who had been followinghimself, Mrs. Irvin and Sir Lucien Pyne along old Bond Street.
A smile, intended to be propitiatory, appeared upon the pale face.
"No, sir, excuse me, sir--"
"Don't deny it!" said Gray angrily. "If I had the time I should give youin charge as a suspicious loiterer."
Calling to the cabman to wait, he ran up the stairs to the second floorlanding. Before the painted door bearing the name of Kazmah he halted,and as the door did not open, stamped impatiently, but with no betterresult.
At that, since there was neither bell nor knocker, he raised his fistand banged loudly.
No one responded to the summons.
"Hi, there!" he shouted. "Open the door! Pyne! Rita!"
Again he banged--and yet again. Then he paused, listening, his earpressed to the panel.
He could detect no sound of movement within. Fists clenched, he stoodstaring at the closed door, and his fresh color slowly deserted him andleft him pale.
"Damn him!" he muttered savagely. "Damn him! he has fooled me!"
Passionate and self-willed, he was shaken by a storm of murderous anger.That Pyne had planned this trick, with Rita Irvin's consent, he did notdoubt, and his passive dislike of the man became active hatred of thewoman he dared not think. He had for long looked upon Sir Lucien inthe light of a rival, and the irregularity of his own infatuation foranother's wife in no degree lessened his resentment.
Again he pressed his ear to the door, and listened intently. Perhapsthey were hiding within. Perhaps this charlatan, Kazmah, was anaccomplice in the pay of Sir Lucien. Perhaps this was a secret place ofrendezvous.
To the manifest absurdity of such a conjecture he was blind in hisanger. But that he was helpless, befooled, he recognized; and with afinal muttered imprecation he turned and slowly descended the stair.A lingering hope was dispelled when, looking right and left along BondStreet, he failed to perceive the missing pair.
The cabman glanced at him interrogatively. "I shall not require you,"said Gray, and gave the man half-a-crown.
Busy with his poisonous conjectures, he remained all unaware of thepresence of a furtive, stooping figure which lurked behind the railingsof the arcade at this point linking old Bond Street to Albemarle Street.Nor had the stooping stranger any wish to attract Gray's attention.Most of the shops in the narrow lane were already closed, although theflorist's at the corner remained open, but of the shadow which lay alongthe greater part of the arcade this alert watcher took every advantage.From the recess formed by a shop door he peered out at Gray, where thelight of a street lamp fell upon him, studying his face, his movements,with unrelaxing vigilance.
Gray, following some moments of indecision, strode off towardsPiccadilly. The little man came out cautiously from his hiding-placeand looked after him. Out of a dark porch, ten paces along Bond Street,appeared a burly figure to fall into step a few yards behind Gray. Thelittle man licked his lips appreciatively and returned to the doorwaybelow the premises of Kazmah.
Reaching Piccadilly, Gray stood for a time on the corner, indifferentto the jostling of passers-by. Finally he crossed, walked along tothe Prince's Restaurant, and entered the lobby. He glanced at hiswrist-watch. It registered the hour of seven-twenty-five.
He cancelled his order for a table and was standing staring moodilytowards the entrance when the doors swung open and a man entered whostepped straight up to him, hand extended, and:
"Glad to see you, Gray," he said. "What's the trouble?"
Quentin Gray stared as if incredulous at the speaker, and it was with anunmistakable note of welcome in his voice that he replied:
"Seton! Seton Pasha!"
The frown disappeared from Gray's forehead, and he gripped the other'shand in hearty greeting. But:
"Stick to plain Seton!" said the new-comer, glancing rapidly about him."Ottoman titles are not fashionable."
The speaker was a man of arresting personality. Above medium height,well but leanly built, the face of Seton "Pasha" was burned to a deepershade than England's wintry sun is capable of producing. He wore aclose-trimmed beard and moustache, and the bronze on his cheeks enhancedthe brightness of his grey eyes and rendered very noticeable a slightfrosting of the dark hair above his temples. He had the indescribableair of a "sure" man, a sound man to have beside one in a tight place;and looking into the rather grim face, Quentin Gray felt suddenlyashamed of himself. From Seton Pasha he knew that he could keep nothingback. He knew that presently he should find himself telling this quiet,brown-skinned man the whole story of his humiliation--and he knew thatSeton would not spare his feelings.
"My dear fellow," he said, "you must pardon me if I sometimes fail torespect your wishes in this matter. When I left the East the name ofSeton Pasha was on everybody's tongue. But are you alone?"
"I am. I only arrived in London tonight and in England this morning."
"Were you thinking of dining here?"
"No; I saw you through the doorway as I was passing. But this will doas well as another place. I gather that you are disengaged. Perhaps youwill dine with me?"
"Splendid!" cried Gray. "Wait a moment. Perhaps my table hasn't gone!"
He ran off in his boyish, impetuous fashion, and Seton watched him,smiling quietly.
The table proved to be available, and ere long the two were discussingan excellent dinner. Gray lost much of his irritability and began totalk coherently upon topics of general interest. Presently, following aninterval during which he had been covertly watching his companion:
"Do you know, Seton," he said, "you are the one man in London whosecompany I could have tolerated tonight."
"My arrival was peculiarly opportune."
"Your arrivals are always peculiarly opportune." Gray stared at Setonwith an expression of puzzled admiration. "I don't think I shall everunderstand your turning up immediately before the Senussi raid in Egypt.Do you remember? I was with the armored cars."
"I remember perfectly."
"Then you vanished in the same mysterious fashion, and the C. O. wasa sphinx on the subject. I next saw you strolling out of the gate atBaghdad. How the devil you'd got to Baghdad, considering that you didn'tcome with us and that you weren't with the cavalry, heaven only knows!"
"No," said Seton judicially, gazing through his uplifted wine-glass;"when one comes to consider the matter without prejudice it is certainlyodd. But do I know the lady to whose non-appearance I owe the pleasureof your company tonight?"
Quentin Gray stared at him blankly.
"Really, Seton, you amaze me. Did I say that I had an appointment with alady?"
"My dear Gray, when I see a man standing biting his nails and glaringout into Piccadilly from a restaurant entrance I ask myself a question.When I learn that he has just cancelled an order for a table for two Ianswer it."
Gray laughed. "You always make me feel so infernally young, Seton."
"Good!"
"Yes, it's good to feel young, but bad to feel a young fool; and that'swhat I feel--and what I am. Listen!"
&
nbsp; Leaning across the table so that the light of the shaded lamp fell fullyupon his flushed, eager face, Gray, not without embarrassment, told hiscompanion of the "dirty trick"--so he phrased it--which Sir Lucien Pynehad played upon him. In conclusion:
"What would you do, Seton?" he asked.
Seton sat regarding him in silence with a cool, calculating stare whichsome men had termed insolent, absently tapping his teeth with the goldrim of a monocle which he carried but apparently never used for anyother purpose; and it was at about this time that a long low carpassed near the door of the restaurant, crossing the traffic stream ofPiccadilly to draw up at the corner of old Bond Street.
From the car Monte Irvin alighted and, telling the man to wait, set outon foot. Ten paces along Bond Street he encountered a small, stoopingfigure which became detached from the shadows of a shop door. The lightof a street lamp shone down upon the sharp, hooked nose and into thecunning little brown eyes of Brisley, of Spinker's Detective Agency.Monte Irvin started.
"Ah, Brisley!" he said, "I was looking for you. Are they still there?"
"Probably, sir." Brisley licked his lips. "My colleague, Gunn, reportsno one came out whilst I was away 'phoning."
"But the whole thing seems preposterous. Are there no other offices inthe block where they might be?"
"I personally saw Mr. Gray, Sir Lucien Pyne and the lady go intoKazmah's. At that time--roughly, ten to seven--all the other offices hadbeen closed, approximately, one hour."
"There is absolutely no possibility that they might have come out unseenby you?"
"None, sir. I should not have troubled a client if in doubt. Here'sGunn."
Old Bond Street now was darkened and deserted; the yellow mist hadturned to fine rain, and Gunn, his hands thrust in his pockets, wassheltering under the porch of the arcade. Gunn possessed a purplecomplexion which attained to full vigor of coloring in the nasal region.His moustache of dirty grey was stained brown in the centre as if byfrequent potations of stout, and his bulky figure was artificiallyenlarged by the presence of two overcoats, the outer of which was awaterproof and the inner a blue garment appreciably longer both insleeve and skirt than the former. The effect produced was one of greatnovelty. Gunn touched the brim of his soft felt hat, which he woreturned down all round apparently in imitation of a flower-pot.
"All snug, sir," he said, hoarsely and confidentially, bending forwardand breathing the words into Irvin's ear. "Snug as a bee in a hive.You're as good as a bachelor again."
Monte Irvin mentally recoiled.
"Lead the way to the door of this place," he said tersely.
"Yes, sir, this way, sir. Be careful of the step there. You may remarkthat the outer door is not yet closed. I am informed upon reliableauthority as the last to go locks the door. Hence we perceive that thelast has not yet gone. It is likewise opened by the first to come of amornin'. Here we are, sir; door on the right."
The landing was in darkness, but as Gunn spoke he directed the ray of apocket lamp upon a bronze plate bearing the name "Kazmah." He rested onehand upon his hip.
"All snug," he repeated; "as snug as a eel in mud. The decree nisi isyours, sir. As an alderman of the City of London and a Justice of thePeace you are entitled to call a police officer--"
"Hold your tongue!" rapped Irvin. "You've been drinking: and I place noreliance whatever in your evidence. I do not believe that my wife or anyone else but ourselves is upon these premises."
The watery eyes of the insulted man protruded unnaturally. "Drinkin'!"he whispered, "drink--"
But indignation now deprived Gunn of speech and:
"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the nasal voice of Brisley, "but I canabsolutely answer for Gunn. Reputation of the Agency at stake. Workedwith us for three years. Parties undoubtedly on the premises asreported."
"Drink--" whispered Gunn.
"I shall be glad," said Monte Irvin, and his voice shook emotionally,"if you will lend me your pocket lamp. I am naturally upset. Will youkindly both go downstairs. I will call if I want you."
The two men obeyed, Gunn muttering hoarsely to Brisley; and Monte Irvinwas left standing on the landing, the lamp in his hand. He waited untilhe knew from the sound of their footsteps that the pair had regained thestreet, then, resting his arm against the closed door, and pressinghis forehead to the damp sleeve of his coat, he stood awhile, the lamp,which he held limply, shining down upon the floor.
His lips moved, and almost inaudibly he murmured his wife's name.
