by Sax Rohmer
“Of course, you must remember that at the time of which I am speaking the scandal respecting the mandarin had not yet come to light. Consequently I had no idea who the girl could be. I saw she was a Eurasian. But of her striking beauty there could be no doubt whatever. She was dressed in magnificent robes, and she literally glittered with jewels. She even wore jewels upon the toes of her little bare feet. But the first thing that struck me at the moment of her appearance was that her presence there was contrary to her wishes and inclinations. I have never seen a similar expression in any woman’s eyes. She looked at Adderley as though she would gladly have slain him!
“Seeing this look, his mocking smile in which there was something of triumph — of the joy of possession — turned to a scowl of positive brutality. He clenched his fists in a way that set me bristling. He advanced toward the girl — and although the width of the room divided them, she recoiled — and the significance of expression and gesture was unmistakable. Adderley paused.
“‘So you have made up your mind to dance after all?’ he shouted.
“The look in the girl’s dark eyes was pitiful, and she turned to me with a glance of dumb entreaty.
“‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘No, no! Why do you bring me here?’
“‘Dance!’ roared Adderley. ‘Dance! That’s what I want you to do.’
“Rebellion leapt again to the wonderful eyes, and she started back with a perfectly splendid gesture of defiance. At that my brutal and drunken host leapt in her direction. I was on my feet now, but before I could act the girl said a thing which checked him, sobered him, which pulled him up short, as though he had encountered a stone wall.
“‘Ah, God!’ she said. (She was speaking, of course, in her native tongue.) ‘His hand! His hand! Look! His hand!’
“To me her words were meaningless, naturally, but following the direction of her positively agonized glance I saw that she was watching what seemed to me to be the shadow of someone moving behind the flame-like curtain which produced an effect not unlike that of a huge, outstretched hand, the fingers crooked, claw-fashion.
“‘Knox, Knox!’ whispered Adderley, grasping me by the shoulder.
“He pointed with a quivering finger toward this indistinct shadow upon the curtain, and:
“‘Do you see it — do you see it?’ he said huskily. ‘It is his hand — it is his hand!’
“Of the pair, I think, the man was the more frightened. But the girl, uttering a frightful shriek, ran out of the room as though pursued by a demon. As she did so whoever had been moving behind the curtain evidently went away. The shadow disappeared, and Adderley, still staring as if hypnotized at the spot where it had been, continued to hold my shoulder as in a vise. Then, sinking down upon a heap of cushions beside me, he loudly and shakily ordered more champagne.
“Utterly mystified by the incident, I finally left him in a state of stupor, and returned to my quarters, wondering whether I had dreamed half of the episode or the whole of it, whether he did really possess that wonderful palace, or whether he had borrowed it to impress me.”
I ceased speaking, and my story was received in absolute silence, until:
“And that is all you know?” said Burton.
“Absolutely all. I had to leave about that time, you remember, and afterward went to France.”
“Yes, I remember. It was while you were away that the scandal arose respecting the mandarin. Extraordinary story, Knox. I should like to know what it all meant, and what the end of it was.”
Dr. Matheson broke his long silence.
“Although I am afraid I cannot enlighten you respecting the end of the story,” he said quietly, “perhaps I can carry it a step further.”
“Really, Doctor? What do you know about the matter?”
“I accidentally became implicated as follows,” replied the American: “I was, as you know, doing voluntary surgical work near Singapore at the time, and one evening, presumably about the same period of which Knox is speaking, I was returning from the hospital at Katong, at which I acted sometimes as anaesthetist, to my quarters in Singapore; just drifting along, leisurely by the edge of the gardens admiring the beauty of the mangroves and the deceitful peace of the Eastern night.
“The hour was fairly late and not a soul was about. Nothing disturbed the silence except those vague sibilant sounds which are so characteristic of the country. Presently, as I rambled on with my thoughts wandering back to the dim ages, I literally fell over a man who lay in the road.
“I was naturally startled, but I carried an electric pocket torch, and by its light I discovered that the person over whom I had fallen was a dignified-looking Chinaman, somewhat past middle age. His clothes, which were of good quality, were covered with dirt and blood, and he bore all the appearance of having recently been engaged in a very tough struggle. His face was notable only for its possession of an unusually long jet-black moustache. He had swooned from loss of blood.”
“Why, was he wounded?” exclaimed Jennings.
“His hand had been nearly severed from his wrist!”
“Merciful heavens!”
“I realized the impossibility of carrying him so far as the hospital, and accordingly I extemporized a rough tourniquet and left him under a palm tree by the road until I obtained assistance. Later, at the hospital, following a consultation, we found it necessary to amputate.”
“I should say he objected fiercely?”
“He was past objecting to anything, otherwise I have no doubt he would have objected furiously. The index finger of the injured hand had one of those preternaturally long nails, protected by an engraved golden case. However, at least I gave him a chance of life. He was under my care for some time, but I doubt if ever he was properly grateful. He had an iron constitution, though, and I finally allowed him to depart. One queer stipulation he had made — that the severed hand, with its golden nail-case, should be given to him when he left hospital. And this bargain I faithfully carried out.”
“Most extraordinary,” I said. “Did you ever learn the identity of the old gentleman?”
“He was very reticent, but I made a number of inquiries, and finally learned with absolute certainty, I think, that he was the Mandarin Quong Mi Su from Johore Bahru, a person of great repute among the Chinese there, and rather a big man in China. He was known locally as the Mandarin Quong.”
“Did you learn anything respecting how he had come by his injury, Doctor?”
Matheson smiled in his quiet fashion, and selected a fresh cigar with great deliberation. Then:
“I suppose it is scarcely a case of betraying a professional secret,” he said, “but during the time that my patient was recovering from the effects of the anaesthetic he unconsciously gave me several clues to the nature of the episode. Putting two and two together I gathered that someone, although the name of this person never once passed the lips of the mandarin, had abducted his favourite wife.”
“Good heavens! truly amazing,” I exclaimed.
“Is it not? How small a place the world is. My old mandarin had traced the abductor and presumably the girl to some house which I gathered to be in the neighbourhood of Katong. In an attempt to force an entrance — doubtless with the amiable purpose of slaying them both — he had been detected by the prime object of his hatred. In hurriedly descending from a window he had been attacked by some weapon, possibly a sword, and had only made good his escape in the condition in which I found him. How far he had proceeded I cannot say, but I should imagine that the house to which he had been was no great distance from the spot where I found him.”
“Comment is really superfluous,” remarked Burton. “He was looking for Adderley.”
“I agree,” said Jennings.
“And,” I added, “it was evidently after this episode that I had the privilege of visiting that interesting establishment.”
There was a short interval of silence; then:
“You probably retain no very clear impression of the shadow which y
ou saw,” said Dr. Matheson, with great deliberation. “At the time perhaps you had less occasion particularly to study it. But are you satisfied that it was really caused by someone moving behind the curtain?”
I considered his question for a few moments.
“I am not,” I confessed. “Your story, Doctor, makes me wonder whether it may not have been due to something else.”
“What else can it have been due to?” exclaimed Jennings contemptuously— “unless to the champagne?”
“I won’t quote Shakespeare,” said Dr. Matheson, smiling in his odd way. “The famous lines, though appropriate, are somewhat overworked. But I will quote Kipling: ‘East is East, and West is West.’”
II
THE LADY OF KATONG
Fully six months had elapsed, and on returning from Singapore I had forgotten all about Adderley and the unsavoury stories connected with his reputation. Then, one evening as I was strolling aimlessly along St. James’s Street, wondering how I was going to kill time — for almost everyone I knew was out of town, including Paul Harley, and London can be infinitely more lonely under such conditions than any desert — I saw a thick-set figure approaching along the other side of the street.
The swing of the shoulders, the aggressive turn of the head, were vaguely familiar, and while I was searching my memory and endeavouring to obtain a view of the man’s face, he stared across in my direction.
It was Adderley.
He looked even more debauched than I remembered him, for whereas in Singapore he had had a tanned skin, now he looked unhealthily pallid and blotchy. He raised his hand, and:
“Knox!” he cried, and ran across to greet me.
His boisterous manner and a sort of coarse geniality which he possessed had made him popular with a certain set in former days, but I, who knew that this geniality was forced, and assumed to conceal a sort of appalling animalism, had never been deceived by it. Most people found Adderley out sooner or later, but I had detected the man’s true nature from the very beginning. His eyes alone were danger signals for any amateur psychologist. However, I greeted him civilly enough:
“Bless my soul, you are looking as fit as a fiddle!” he cried. “Where have you been, and what have you been doing since I saw you last?”
“Nothing much,” I replied, “beyond trying to settle down in a reformed world.”
“Reformed world!” echoed Adderley. “More like a ruined world it has seemed to me.”
He laughed loudly. That he had already explored several bottles was palpable.
We were silent for a while, mentally weighing one another up, as it were. Then:
“Are you living in town?” asked Adderley.
“I am staying at the Carlton at the moment,” I replied. “My chambers are in the hands of the decorators. It’s awkward. Interferes with my work.”
“Work!” cried Adderley. “Work! It’s a nasty word, Knox. Are you doing anything now?”
“Nothing, until eight o’clock, when I have an appointment.”
“Come along to my place,” he suggested, “and have a cup of tea, or a whisky and soda if you prefer it.”
Probably I should have refused, but even as he spoke I was mentally translated to the lounge of the Hotel de l’Europe, and prompted by a very human curiosity I determined to accept his invitation. I wondered if Fate had thrown an opportunity in my way of learning the end of the peculiar story which had been related on that occasion.
I accompanied Adderley to his chambers, which were within a stone’s throw of the spot where I had met him. That this gift for making himself unpopular with all and sundry, high and low, had not deserted him, was illustrated by the attitude of the liftman as we entered the hall of the chambers. He was barely civil to Adderley and even regarded myself with marked disfavour.
We were admitted by Adderley’s man, whom I had not seen before, but who was some kind of foreigner, I think a Portuguese. It was characteristic of Adderley. No Englishman would ever serve him for long, and there had been more than one man in his old Company who had openly avowed his intention of dealing with Adderley on the first available occasion.
His chambers were ornately furnished; indeed, the room in which we sat more closely resembled a scene from an Oscar Asche production than a normal man’s study. There was something unreal about it all. I have since thought that this unreality extended to the person of the man himself. Grossly material, he yet possessed an aura of mystery, mystery of an unsavoury sort. There was something furtive, secretive, about Adderley’s entire mode of life.
I had never felt at ease in his company, and now as I sat staring wonderingly at the strange and costly ornaments with which the room was overladen I bethought me of the object of my visit. How I should have brought the conversation back to our Singapore days I know not, but a suitable opening was presently offered by Adderley himself.
“Do you ever see any of the old gang?” he inquired.
“I was in Singapore about six months ago,” I replied, “and I met some of them again.”
“What! Had they drifted back to the East after all?”
“Two or three of them were taking what Dr. Matheson described as a Busman’s Holiday.”
At mention of Dr. Matheson’s name Adderley visibly started.
“So you know Matheson,” he murmured. “I didn’t know you had ever met him.”
Plainly to hide his confusion he stood up, and crossing the room drew my attention to a rather fine silver bowl of early Persian ware. He was displaying its peculiar virtues and showing a certain acquaintance with his subject when he was interrupted. A door opened suddenly and a girl came in. Adderley put down the bowl and turned rapidly as I rose from my seat.
It was the lady of Katong!
I recognized her at once, although she wore a very up-to-date gown. While it did not suit her dark good looks so well as the native dress which she had worn at Singapore, yet it could not conceal the fact that in a barbaric way she was a very beautiful woman. On finding a visitor in the room she became covered with confusion.
“Oh,” she said, speaking in Hindustani. “Why did you not tell me there was someone here?”
Adderley’s reply was characteristically brutal.
“Get out,” he said. “You fool.”
I turned to go, for I was conscious of an intense desire to attack my host. But:
“Don’t go, Knox, don’t go!” he cried. “I am sorry, I am damned sorry, I —— —”
He paused, and looked at me in a queer sort of appealing way. The girl, her big eyes widely open, retreated again to the door, with curious lithe steps, characteristically Oriental. The door regained, she paused for a moment and extended one small hand in Adderley’s direction.
“I hate you,” she said slowly, “hate you! Hate you!”
She went out, quietly closing the door behind her. Adderley turned to me with an embarrassed laugh.
“I know you think I am a brute and an outsider,” he said, “and perhaps I am. Everybody says I am, so I suppose there must be something in it. But if ever a man paid for his mistakes I have paid for mine, Knox. Good God, I haven’t a friend in the world.”
“You probably don’t deserve one,” I retorted.
“I know I don’t, and that’s the tragedy of it,” he replied. “You may not believe it, Knox; I don’t expect anybody to believe me; but for more than a year I have been walking on the edge of Hell. Do you know where I have been since I saw you last?”
I shook my head in answer.
“I have been half round the world, Knox, trying to find peace.”
“You don’t know where to look for it,” I said.
“If only you knew,” he whispered. “If only you knew,” and sank down upon the settee, ruffling his hair with his hands and looking the picture of haggard misery. Seeing that I was still set upon departure:
“Hold on a bit, Knox,” he implored. “Don’t go yet. There is something I want to ask you, something very important.”
He crossed to a sideboard and mixed himself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He asked me to join him, but I refused.
“Won’t you sit down again?”
I shook my head.
“You came to my place at Katong once,” he began abruptly. “I was damned drunk, I admit it. But something happened, do you remember?”
I nodded.
“This is what I want to ask you: Did you, or did you not, see that shadow?”
I stared him hard in the face.
“I remember the episode to which you refer,” I replied. “I certainly saw a shadow.”
“But what sort of shadow?”
“To me it seemed an indefinite, shapeless thing, as though caused by someone moving behind the curtain.”
“It didn’t look to you like — the shadow of a hand?”
“It might have been, but I could not be positive.”
Adderley groaned.
“Knox,” he said, “money is a curse. It has been a curse to me. If I have had my fun, God knows I have paid for it.”
“Your idea of fun is probably a peculiar one,” I said dryly.
Let me confess that I was only suffering the man’s society because of an intense curiosity which now possessed me on learning that the lady of Katong was still in Adderley’s company.
Whether my repugnance for his society would have enabled me to remain any longer I cannot say. But as if Fate had deliberately planned that I should become a witness of the concluding phases of this secret drama, we were now interrupted a second time, and again in a dramatic fashion.
Adderley’s nondescript valet came in with letters and a rather large brown paper parcel sealed and fastened with great care.
As the man went out:
“Surely that is from Singapore,” muttered Adderley, taking up the parcel.
He seemed to become temporarily oblivious of my presence, and his face grew even more haggard as he studied the writing upon the wrapper. With unsteady fingers he untied it, and I lingered, watching curiously. Presently out from the wrappings he took a very beautiful casket of ebony and ivory, cunningly carved and standing upon four claw-like ivory legs.
