by Sax Rohmer
But because of his helpless, unselfish love, she hesitated even at the price of remaining alone again with Fo-Hi, to demand any further sacrifice of the Hindu. Furthermore — he might fail!
The lacquer door slid noiselessly open and Fo-Hi entered. He paused, watching her.
“Ah,” he said, in that low-pitched voice which was so terrifying— “a gaziyeh of Ancient Egypt! How beautiful you are, Miska! You transport me to the court of golden Pharaoh. Miska! daughter of the moon-magic of Isis — Zara el-Khala! At any hour my enemies may be clamoring at my doors. But this hour is mine!”
He moved at his customary slow gait to the table, took up the keys … and locked both doors!
Miska, perceiving in this her chance of aid from Chunda Lal utterly destroyed, sank slowly upon the diwan, her pale face expressing the utmost consternation. Suppose the police did not come!
Fo-Hi dropped the keys on the table again and approached her. She stood up, retreating before him. He inhaled sibilantly and paused.
“So your ‘acceptance’ was only a trick,” he said. “Your loathing of my presence is as strong as ever. Well!” At the word, as a volcano leaps into life, the hidden fires which burned within this terrible man leapt up consumingly— “if the gift of the flower is withheld, at least I will grasp the Dead Sea Fruit!”
He leapt toward Miska — and she fled shrieking before him. Running around a couch which stood near the centre of the room, she sprang to the door and beat upon it madly.
“Chunda Lal!” she cried— “Chunda Lal!”
Fo-Hi was close upon her, and she turned striving to elude him.
“Oh, merciful God! Chunda Lal!”
The name burst from her lips in a long frenzied scream. Fo-Hi had seized her!
Grasping her shoulders, he twisted her about so that he could look into her eyes. A low, shuddering cry, died away, and her gaze became set, hypnotically, upon Fo-Hi. He raised one hand, fingers outstretched before her. She swayed slightly.
“Forget!” he said in a deep, guttural voice of command— “forget. I will it. We stand in an empty world, you and I; you, Miska, and I, Fo-Hi, your master.”
“My master,” she whispered mechanically.
“Your lover.”
“My lover.”
“You give me your life, to do with as I will.”
“As you will.”
Fo-Hi momentarily raised the blazing eyes.
“Oh, empty shell of a vanished joy!” he cried.
Then, frenziedly grasping Miska by her arms, he glared into her impassive face.
“Your heart leaps wildly in your breast!” he whispered tenderly. “Look into my eyes….”
Miska sighed and opened her eyes yet more widely. She shuddered and a slow smile appeared upon her lips.
The lacquer screen making the window was pushed open and Chunda Lal leapt in over the edge. As Fo-Hi drew the yielding, hypnotised girl towards him, Chunda Lal, a gleaming kukri held aloft, ran with a silent panther step across the floor.
He reached Fo-Hi, drew himself upright; the glittering blade quivered … and Fo-Hi divined his presence.
Uttering a short, guttural exclamation, he thrust Miska aside. She staggered dazedly and fell prone upon the floor. The quivering blade did not descend.
Fo-Hi drew himself rigidly upright, extending his hands, palms downward, before him. He was exerting a superhuman effort. The breath whistled through his nostrils. Chunda Lal, knife upraised, endeavored to strike; but his arm seemed to have become incapable of movement and to be held, helpless, aloft.
Staring at the rigid figure before him, he began to pant like a man engaged in a wrestle for life.
Fo-Hi stretched his right arm outward, and with a gesture of hand and fingers beckoned to Chunda Lal to come before him.
And now, Miska, awakening as from a fevered dream, looked wildly about her, and then, serpentine, began to creep to the table upon which the keys were lying. Always watching the awful group of two, she rose slowly, snatched the keys and leapt across to the open window….
Chunda Lal, swollen veins standing out cord-like on his brow, his gaze set hypnotically upon the moving hand, dropped his knife and began to move in obedience to the will of Fo-Hi.
As he came finally face to face with the terrible Adept of Rache Churan, Miska disappeared into the shadow of the balcony. Fo-Hi by an imperious gesture commanded Chunda Lal to kneel and bow his head. The Hindu, gasping, obeyed.
Thereupon Fo-Hi momentarily relaxed his giant concentration and almost staggered as he glared down at the kneeling man. But never was that dreadful gaze removed from Chunda Lal. And now the veiled man drew himself rigidly upright again and stepped backward until the fallen kukri lay at his feet. He spoke, “Chunda Lal!”
The Hindu rose, gazing before him with unseeing eyes. His forehead was wet with perspiration.
Fo-Hi pointed to the knife.
Chunda Lal, without removing his sightless gaze from the veiled face, stooped, groped until he found the knife and rose with it in his hand.
Back stepped Fo-Hi, and back, until he could touch the big table. He moved a brass switch — and a trap opened in the floor behind Chunda Lal. Fo-Hi raised his right hand, having the fingers tightly closed as if grasping the hilt of a knife. With his left hand he pointed to the trap. Again he spoke.
“Tum samauhe ho?”
Mechanically Chunda La replied:
“Ah, Sahib, tumhara huken jaldi: kiya’ jaega’” (Yes, I hear and obey.)
As Fo-Hi raised his clenched right hand, so did Chunda Lal raise the kukri. Fo-Hi extended his left hand rigidly towards the Hindu and seemed to force him, step by step, back towards the open trap. Almost at the brink, Chunda Lal paused, swayed, and began to utter short, agonised cries. Froth appeared upon his lips.
Raising his right hand yet further aloft, Fo-Hi swiftly brought it down, performing the gesture of stabbing himself to the heart. His ghastly reserve deserted him.
“Jey Bhowana!” he screamed— “Yah Allah!”
Chunda Lal, uttering a loud groan, stabbed himself and fell backward into the opening. Ensued a monstrous crash of broken glass.
As he fell, Fo-Hi leapt to the brink of the trap, glaring down madly into the cellar below. His yellow fingers opened and closed spasmodically.
“Lie there,” he shrieked— “my ‘faithful’ servant! The ants shall pick your bones!”
He grasped the upstanding door of the trap and closed it. It descended with a reverberating boom. Fo-Hi raised his clenched fists and stepped to the door. Finding it locked, he stood looking toward the open screen before the window.
“Miska!” he whispered despairingly.
He crossed to the window and was about to look out, when a high-pitched electric bell began to ring in the room.
Instantly Fo-Hi closed the screen and turned, looking in the direction from whence the sound of ringing proceeded. As he did so, a second bell, in another key, began to ring — a third — a fourth.
Momentarily the veiled man exhibited evidence of indecision. Then, from beneath his robe he took a small key. Approaching an ornate cabinet set against the wall to the left of one of the lacquer doors, he inserted the key in a hidden lock, and slid the entire cabinet partly aside revealing an opening.
Fo-Hi bent, peering down into the darkness of the passage below. A muffled report came, a flash out of the blackness of the river tunnel, and a bullet passed through the end of the cabinet upon which his hand was resting, smashing an ivory statuette and shattering the glass.
Hurriedly he slid the cabinet into place again and stood with his back to it, arms outstretched.
“Miska!” he said — and a note of yet deeper despair had crept into the harsh voice.
Awhile he stood thus; then he drew himself up with dignity. The bells had ceased.
Methodically Fo-Hi began to take certain books from the shelves and to cast them into the great metal bowl which stood upon the tripod. Into the bowl he poured the contents of a
large glass jar. Flames and clouds of smoke arose. He paused, listening.
Confused voices were audible, seemingly from all around him, together with a sound of vague movements.
Fo-Hi took up vials and jars and dashed them to pieces upon the tiled hearth in which the furnace rested. Test-tubes, flasks and retorts he shattered, and finally, raising the large glass case of orchids he dashed it down amid the debris of the other nameless and priceless monstrosities unknown to Western science.
CHAPTER VII
THE WAY OF A SCORPION
A black cloud swept past the face of the moon and cold illumination flooded the narrow lane and patched with light the drive leading up to the front of the isolated mansion. Wrought-iron gates closed both entrances and a high wall, surmounted by broken glass and barbed wire, entirely surrounded the grounds.
“This one also is locked,” said Gaston Max, trying the gate and then peering through the bars in the direction of the gloomy house.
All the visible windows were shuttered. No ray of light showed anywhere. The house must have been pronounced deserted by anyone contemplating it.
“Upon which side do you suppose the big room to be?” asked Max.
“It is difficult to judge,” replied Stuart. “But I am disposed to believe that it is in the front of the house and on the first floor, for I traversed a long corridor, descended several stairs, turned to the right and emerged in a part of the garden bordering the lane in which Inspector Kelly is posted.”
“I was thinking of the window and the balcony which ‘The Scorpion’ informed you commanded a view of Hampton Court. Hampton Court,” he turned half-left, “lies about yonder. Therefore you are probably right, doctor; the room as you say should be in front of the house. Since we do not know how to disconnect the alarms, once we have entered the grounds it is important that we should gain access to the house immediately. Ah! morbleu! the moon disappears again!”
Darkness crept over the countryside.
“There is an iron balcony jutting out amongst the ivy just above and to the right of the porch!” cried Stuart, who had also been peering up the moon-patched drive. “I would wager that that is the room!”
“Ah!” replied Max, “I believe you are right. This, then is how we shall proceed: Inspector Kelly, with the aid of two men, can get over the wall near that garden door by which you came out. If they cannot force it from inside, you also must get over and lead the way to the entrance you know of. Sowerby and two more men will remain to watch the lane. The river front is well guarded. We will post a man here at this gate and one at the other. Dunbar and I will climb this one and rush straight for that balcony which we must hope to reach by climbing up the ivy. Ah! here comes Inspector Dunbar … and someone is with him!”
Dunbar appeared at the double around the corner of the lane which led riverward, and beside him ran a girl who presented a bizarre figure beside the gaunt Scotsman and a figure wildly out of place in that English riverside setting.
It was Miska, arrayed in her flimsy harem dress!
“Miska!” cried Stuart, and sprang towards her, sweeping her hungrily into his arms — forgetful of, indifferent to, the presence of Max and Dunbar.
“Ah!” sighed the Frenchman— “yes, she is beautiful!”
Trembling wildly, Miska clung to Stuart and began to speak, her English more broken than ever, because of her emotion.
“Listen — quick!” she panted. “Oh! do not hold me so tight. I have the house-keys — look!” — she held up a bunch of keys— “but not the keys of the gates. Two men have gone to the end of the tunnel where the boat is hid beside the river. Someone — he better climb this gate and by the ivy he can reach the room in which Fo-Hi is! I come down so. You do not see me because the moon goes out and I run to the side-door. It is open. You come with me!”
She clung to Stuart, looking up into his eyes.
“Yes, yes, Miska!”
“Oh! Chunda Lal” — she choked down a sob. “Be quick! be quick! He will kill him! he will kill him!”
“Off you go, doctor!” cried Max. “Come along, Dunbar!”
He began to climb the ironwork of the gate.
“This way!” said Miska, dragging Stuart by the arm. “Oh! I am wild with fear and sorrow and joy!”
“With joy, dear little Miska!” whispered Stuart, as he followed her.
They passed around the bend into the narrower lane which led toward the river and upon which the garden-door opened. Stuart detained her. If the fate of the whole world had hung in the balance — as indeed, perhaps it did — he could not have acted otherwise. He raised her bewitching face and kissed her ardently.
She trembled and clung to him rapturously.
“I live!” she whispered. “Oh! I am mad with happiness! It is Chunda Lal that gives me life — for he tells me the truth. It is not with the living-death that he touches me; it is a trick, it is all a trick to bind me to him! Oh, Chunda Lal! Hurry! he is going to kill him!”
But supreme above all the other truths in the world, the joyous truth that Miska was to live set Stuart’s heart on fire.
“Thank God!” he said fervently— “oh, thank God! Miska!”
At the garden-door a group of men awaited them. Sergeant Sowerby and two assistants remaining to watch the entrance and the lane, Miska led Stuart and the burly Inspector Kelly along that path beside the wall which Stuart so well remembered.
“Hurry!” she whispered urgently. “We must try to reach him before …”
“You fear for Chunda Lal?” said Stuart.
“Oh, yes! He has a terrible power — Fo-Hi — which he never employs with me, until to-night. Ah! it is only Chunda Lal, who saved me! But Chunda Lal he can command with his Will. From it, once he has made anyone a slave to it, there is no escape. I have seen one in the city of Quebec, in Canada, forget all else and begin to act in obedience to the will of Fo-Hi who is thousands of miles away!”
“My God!” murmured Stuart, “what a horrible monster!”
They had reached the open door beyond which showed the dimly lighted passage. Miska hesitated.
“Oh! I am afraid!” she whispered.
She thrust the keys into the hand of Inspector Kelly, pointing to one of them, and:
“That is the key!” she said. “Have your pistol ready. Do not touch anything in the room and do not go in if I tell you not to. Come!”
They pressed along the passage, came to the stair and were about to ascend, when there ensued a dull reverberating boom, and Miska shrank back into Stuart’s arms with a stifled shriek.
“Oh! Chunda Lal!” she moaned— “Chunda Lal! It is the trap!”
“The trap!” said Inspector Kelly.
“The cellar trap. He has thrown him down … to the ants!”
Inspector Kelly uttered a short laugh; but Stuart repressed a shudder. He was never likely to forget the skeleton of the Nubian mute which had been stripped by the ants in sixty-nine minutes!
“We are too late!” whispered Miska. “Oh! listen! listen!”
Bells began to ring somewhere above them.
“Max and Dunbar are in!” said Kelly. “Come on, sir! Follow closely, boys!”
He ran up the stairs and along the corridor to the door at the end.
A muffled shot sounded from somewhere in the depths of the house.
“That’s Harvey!” said one of the men who followed— “Our man must have tried to escape by the tunnel to the river bank!”
Inspector Kelly placed the key in the lock of the door.
It was at this moment that Gaston Max, climbing up to the front balcony by means of the natural ladder afforded by the ancient ivy, grasped the iron railing and drew himself up to the level of the room. By this same stairway Chunda Lal had ascended to death and Miska had climbed down to life.
“Mind the ironwork doesn’t give way, sir!” called Dunbar from below.
“It is strong,” replied Max. “Join me here, my friend.”
Max, taking
a magazine pistol from his pocket, stepped warily over the ledge into the mysterious half-light behind the great screen. As he did so, one of the lacquer doors was unlocked from the outside, and across the extraordinary, smoke-laden room he saw Inspector Kelly enter. He saw something else.
Seated in a strangely-shaped canopied chair was a figure wearing a rich mandarin robe, but having its face covered with a green veil.
“Mon Deiu! at last!” he cried, and leapt into the room. “‘The Scorpion’!”
Even as he leapt, and as the Scotland Yard men closed in upon the chair also, all of them armed and all half fearful, a thing happened which struck awe to every heart — for it seemed to be supernatural.
Raising a metal hammer which he held in his hand, Fo-Hi struck the bronze bell hung beside the chair. It emitted a deep, loud note….
There came a flash of blinding light, and intense crackling sound, the crash of broken glass, and a dense cloud of pungent fumes rose in the heated air.
Dunbar had just climbed in behind Gaston Max. Bother were all but hurled from their feet by the force of the explosion. Then:
“Oh, my God!” cried Dunbar, staggering, half blinded, “look — look!”
A deathly silence claimed them all. Just within the doorway Stuart appeared, having his arm about the shoulders of Miska.
The Throne of the Gods was empty! A thin coating of grey dust was settling upon it and upon the dais which supported it.
They had witnessed a scientific miracle … the complete and instantaneous disintegration of a human body. Gaston Max was the first to recover speech.
“We are defeated,” he said. “‘The Scorpion,’ surrounded, destroys himself. It is the way of a scorpion.”
THE GREEN EYES OF BST
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I I SEE THE EYES
CHAPTER II THE SIGN OF THE CAT
CHAPTER III THE GREEN IMAGE
CHAPTER IV ISOBEL
CHAPTER V THE INTERRUPTED SUPPER
