by Guy Thorne
Chapter 7
"It is a good deal to ask, Sir John," said Danjuro briskly, "but, for the moment, will you place yourself entirely in my hands?"
"I am perfectly content to do that."
"Then permit me to press the bell." He did so. "I left a black bag in the hall," Danjuro said politely when Thumbwood came in. "Would you please let me have it?"
The bag was brought. Danjuro placed it on the table and opened it. "You are very well known, Sir John," he remarked. "Major Helzephron and his friends have either seen you at some time or other, or have certainly seen the numerous pictures of you that have appeared in the newspapers during the last few days. It is imperative that you change your appearance immediately. I foresaw that and have brought materials."
I'm afraid I whistled with dismay. The idea didn't please me in the very least. "Is it really necessary?"
"Absolutely. But it will not inconvenience you. Will you go into your bedroom and clip off your moustache with scissors, afterwards shaving the upper lip clean? You see, the man who leaves London tonight must not in the least resemble the Chief Commissioner of Air Police."
I went and did it. I had to. When the operation was over I wouldn't have recognised myself, it made such a difference. I never knew I had such a grim and forbidding mouth!
I returned to the sitting room. Mr. Danjuro did not make the least comment, but he removed my collar and tie with the deftness of a barber and fastened a towel round my neck. Then he sponged my skin all over with some faintly pink stuff out of a bottle. When he had done that, he began on my hair with something else, and finally my eyebrows.
"May I ask what you are doing?" I said after a time.
"I am dyeing your hair black, Sir John. The dye can be removed at any time. The appearance is absolutely natural. The drug I am using is not generally known. I procure it from a friend in the Honcho Dori at Yokohama, and also the liquid which has already changed your skin from blond to swarthy. I will treat your hands in a minute."
I suppose I was three-quarters of an hour under his ministrations before he stepped back and looked at me critically. "Part your hair in the centre, instead of at the side, wear a low collar instead of a high one, and spectacles -- they can be of plain glass -- and you need not have the slightest fear of recognition. In fact, Sir John, as far as outward appearance goes, you have already ceased to exist!"
There was a mirror over the mantelshelf. I stood up and looked. It was marvellous! It was uncanny, too. A dark-haired, dark-skinned stranger stared out of the glass at me, and I turned away with mingled feelings of amazement and disgust.
"Do you drive an automobile?" Danjuro asked.
I jumped at the suddenness of the question, for my thoughts were far away. "Yes, I have a touring car of my own in a neighbouring garage."
"It will be better not to use it. We shall take one of Mr. Van Adams' cars. It is ready."
I laughed. "I've a lot to hear yet, you know, Mr. Danjuro, though I've placed myself in your hands without reserve. But you made very sure of me beforehand, didn't you?"
"It is Mr. Van Adams' command," he answered simply, and I reflected that here, indeed, was a man with a single soul.
"We will leave London at midnight," he went on, "and drive through the whole of the night. I, also, am an expert chauffeur, and we can relieve each other."
"Thumbwood can drive, too. Of course we take him with us?"
"He will be of the greatest assistance. Now, Sir John, if you want to take a little sleep, now is the time. I will consult with your servant, if I may, and have a chat with him. We shall have a good deal to do with one another."
Strangely enough, I did feel drowsy, despite my excitement. A couple of hours' sleep would refresh me wonderfully, and I knew it.
"Very well, I think it's a good suggestion. Say for two hours."
"By all means, Sir John. I will carry out some other arrangements meanwhile. You shall have full explanations later on, and I thank you sincerely for the confidence you have reposed in me."
While we were talking we left the room and crossed the hall.
"A pleasant sleep," Danjuro said, politely opening the door for me. "We will go and have a look at Major Helzephron later on."
"What?" I shouted.
"He is in London. I have never seen him and I must certainly do so."
"In London?" I cried, a dozen conflicting thoughts crowding and crushing into my mind.
"It is the reason that we leave London tonight."
Then he shut the door on me and was gone. I had known him less than two hours. I was a man accustomed to rule, whose whole life was spent in giving orders, and I lay down on my bed like a lamb without a further question. And, what is more, I did exactly as Mr. Danjuro said. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
At a little after eight, Mr. Danjuro and I sat at dinner at the Restaurant Mille Colonnes. Most people know the expensive and luxurious home of epicures, with Nicholas, its stout and arrogant proprietor, and M. Dulac, its famous chef.
We sat in the south gallery, at the extreme end, against the wall. The electric lights in the roof above us had been extinguished, and our table was lighted by candles in red shades. Indeed, we sat in a sort of darkness which must have made us almost invisible to the other diners, most of whom sat in the longer arm of the gallery at right angles to our own.
We, on the contrary, could see everything. We could look over the gilded rail into the hall of the restaurant below, and every detail of the gallery on our own level was clear and distinct, though there was such a towering display of flowers and ferns in the centre of our table that it obscured what would otherwise have been a perfect view.
I wore a low, turned-down collar and a dark flannel suit. Danjuro, also, had changed his clothes, and in some real but indefinite way, his appearance. He wore a flannel suit and a straw hat, and also a necktie which I suddenly spotted as that of my old college, Christ Church, Oxford. But the extraordinary thing about him was that he now seemed fifteen years younger.
"You are now Mr. Johns, an Oxford tutor, Sir John. I am a young Japanese gentleman, my own name will serve, whom you are coaching. We are going into the country with this disguise. It is one which will easily account for your being in the company of an Asian gentleman, and which you will have no difficulty in sustaining."
It was, indeed, a simple and excellent plan for avoiding undue curiosity. I said so, and then, "Now perhaps you will tell me where we are going. I have my ideas...."
"We are going west," he answered gravely. "To Cornwall."
My heart beat fast. It was what I wanted him to say. "To the home of Helzephron?"
"Yes, for it is there we shall be in the very centre of the web. In those far western solitudes, despite the recent opening up of the Duchy to tourists, there are still vast spaces of lonely moorland and unvisited coast where one may walk for half a day and meet no living soul. There is a great Hinterland between the little town of St. Ives and the Land's End that for all practical purposes is unknown and unexplored. Later on, I will show you certain maps. It is in one of the remotest spots of all that Major Helzephron has his house.
"I tell you, Sir John," he continued, with a sort of passion, "that in those lost and forgotten solitudes, where England stretches out her granite foot to spurn the Atlantic, strange secrets lie hid today! On those grey and lonely moors, where the last Druids practised their mysterious rites, and which are still covered with sinister memorials of the past, lies the explanation of the terror which is troubling the world. There, and only there, will we discover the secrets of the air, and -- if human skill and determination are of any avail -- Miss Constance Shepherd!"
A fawning waiter came with iced consommé. He was followed by the great Nicholas himself, bulging out of his buttoned frock-coat -- Nicholas never wore evening dress -- who bowed low and had a whispered confabulation with Danjuro.
I remarked on this unusual honour. "I do what I wish here," Danjuro replied. "It is, of course, through Mr
. Van Adams. I hold this place in the hollow of my hand -- as you will presently see!"
He gave one of his rare and weary smiles, and then said quietly: "Please do not get up or move. Major Helzephron has just come into the gallery!"
I could not have moved. His words turned me to stone.
"I felt sure," he went on, "that for a day or two Helzephron would show himself in London. Knowing what we know -- or at least suspect -- such a move was a certainty. He is in the habit of coming here. He booked his usual seat at this restaurant, and his usual box at the Parthenon Theatre -- and for reasons obvious to you and me, if to no one else in the world! I confess to an anxiety to look upon this man."
"You have had this corner darkened?" I said quickly. "No one can see us here?"
"Not see us clearly. And Helzephron would not know who we are if he did see us. But as he is sure to come upon us in Cornwall, it is better to take no risks. To that end I have had a little piece of drama arranged for us which proved of great service to me some time ago in Chicago."
He bent forward to the mass of ferns and flowers in the centre of the table, disarranging the greenery at its base. At once a green-painted tube became visible, and then a slanting mirror, the size of a postcard.
"What on earth is that?" I whispered.
"An adaptation of the periscope," he replied, taking a magnifying glass from his pocket, adjusting it, and bending over the mirror. "The lens is focused on Helzephron's table. With this magnifier I enlarge the image in the mirror. Ah! So that is the honourable gentleman!"
A faint hissing noise came from him. His face stiffened into fixed and horrible intentness as he stared through his magnifier at the little oblong of mirror.
"Shi-ban, Go-ban, hei!" he muttered. "There are two, then. I expect the younger man is the Honourable Herbert Gascoigne, of whom we have heard."
The hissing noise continued, the ecstasy of attention did not relax for two or three minutes.
At last Danjuro looked up. His face, which had seemed carved out of jade, relaxed. "Will you take my seat?" he said politely, handing me his reading glass. "A little drama will commence in a few minutes. It will interest you!"
I gave him a glance of interrogation as we exchanged chairs.
"We will be in Cornwall tomorrow, and in advance of our friends," he whispered. "But, in order that we may carry out our preliminary inquiries quite undisturbed, I have thought out a little plan by which, if all goes well, Major Helzephron will be detained in London for a day or two. You will see."
Trembling with eagerness I stared down at the mirror. The periscope was perfectly focused. The addition of the reading glass made everything perfectly clear.
Two men in evening clothes were seated at a table. Their heads were close together, and they were talking earnestly. One was a tall, handsome man in his early twenties, with a fair complexion and a reckless, dissipated cast of face. Young as he was, evil experience had marked him, and his smile was that of a much older man.
But I scarcely cast a glance on him as I stared at the coloured, moving miniature of "Hawk" Helzephron. The man's face was deeply tanned. Above the brows a magnificent dome of white forehead went up to a thatch of dark red hair -- the forehead of a thinker if ever I saw one. The face below was seamed and lined everywhere. The thin nose curved out and down like that of a bird of prey. The mouth was large, well-shaped, but compressed; the chin a wedge of resolution. As he talked I saw a pair of slightly protruding eyes, cold and fierce. The whole aspect of the man was ferocious and formidable to a degree.
"Watch!" whispered Danjuro.
I watched, and this is what I saw.
Into the picture came a thickset, brutal-looking man, with a blazing diamond in his shirt-front. He was passing Helzephron's table when his dinner jacket caught a wine glass and swept it to the floor.
The hawk-faced man looked up with a scowl and said something just as the portly Nicholas and a waiter appeared in the background, as if passing casually by.
The thickset man bent down till his face was close to Helzephron's. He said something also, with an unpleasant smile.
Instantly Helzephron leapt up and drove his fist full into the other's face.
The fight that followed ended very speedily. The thickset man took the blow calmly. Then, without heat, and in a fashion which instantly told me the truth of the matter, he set about Helzephron, hitting him where and when he chose, until a shouting crowd of guests and waiters separated the combatants and a policeman and commissionaire hurried them away from the gallery.
During all the tumult Mr. Danjuro sat quietly smoking a cigarette.
"That was Mr. Wag Ashton, the pugilist," he remarked. "Honourable Nicholas and the waiter saw that the honourable Helzephron struck him first. I think the Major will be resting for a day or two before Mr. Ashton summonses him for assault."
I felt faint with surprise and amazement. "So you, you arranged...."
He interrupted me. "Now let us finish our dinner in peace," he said. "Some river trout, meunier, are coming."
An hour afterwards, with myself at the wheel, a huge sixty horsepower limousine, loaded with luggage and with Danjuro and Thumbwood inside, was rolling down the Piccadilly slope.
To Penzance.
