"Chunda Lal," it said.
I clenched my teeth; I knew that I must not miss a syllable.
"Scorpion" replied . . . in voluble Hindustani--a language of which I know less than a dozen words!
CHAPTER II. CONCERNING THE GRAND DUKE
ALTHOUGH I had met with an unforeseen check I had nevertheless learned three things. I had learned that Miguel the quadroon was possibly in league with the Hindu; that the Hindu was called Chunda Lal; and that Chunda Lal received messages, probably instructions, from a third party who announced his presence by the word "Scorpion."
One of my fellows, of course, had been in the café all the evening, and from him I obtained confirmation of the fact that it had been the Hindu who had been summoned to the telephone and whom I had heard speaking. Instant upon the man at the café replacing the telephone and disconnecting, I called up the exchange. They had been warned and were in readiness.
"From what subscriber did that call come?" I demanded.
Alas! another check awaited me. It had originated in a public call office, and "Scorpion" was untraceable by this means!
Despair is not permitted by the traditions of the Service de Sureté. Therefore I returned to my flat and recorded the facts of the matter thus far established. I perceived that I had to deal, not with a designing woman, but with some shadowy being of whom she was an instrument. The anomaly of her life was in a measure explained. She sojourned in Paris for a purpose--a mysterious purpose which was concerned (I could not doubt it) with the Grand Duke Ivan. This was not an amorous but a political intrigue.
I communicated, at a late hour, with the senior of the three men watching the Grand Duke. The Grand Duke that evening had sent a handsome piece of jewellery purchased in the Rue de la Paix to the dancer. It had been returned.
In the morning I met the good Casimir at his favourite café. He had just discovered that Zâra el-Khalâ drove daily to the Bois de Boulogne, alone, and that afternoon the Grand Duke had determined to accost her during her solitary walk. I prepared myself for this event. Arrayed in a workman's blouse and having a modest luncheon and a small bottle of wine in a basket, I concealed myself in that part of the Bois which was the favourite recreation ground of the dancer, and awaited her appearance.
The Grand Duke appeared first upon the scene, accompanied by Casimir. The latter pointed out to him a path through the trees along which Zâra el-Khalâ habitually strolled and showed him the point at which she usually rejoined the Hindu who followed along the road with the car. They retired. I seated myself beneath a tree from whence I could watch the path and the road and began to partake of the repast which I had brought with me.
At about three o'clock the dancer's car appeared, and the girl, veiled as usual, stepped out, and having exchanged a few words with the Indian, began to walk slowly towards me, sometimes pausing to watch a bird in the boughs above her and sometimes to examine some wild plant growing beside the way. I ate cheese from the point of a clasp-knife and drank wine out of the bottle.
Suddenly she saw me.
She had cast her veil aside in order to enjoy the cool and fragrant air, and as she stopped and regarded me doubtfully where I sat, I saw her beautiful face, undefiled, now, by make-up and unspoiled by the presence of garish Eastern ornaments. Nom d'un nom! but she was truly a lovely woman! My heart went out in sympathy to the poor Grand Duke. Had I received such a mark of favour from her as he had received, and had I then been scorned as now she scorned him, I should have been desperate indeed.
Coming around a bend in the path, then, she stood only a few paces away, looking at me. I touched the peak of my cap.
"Good-day, mademoiselle," I said. "The weather is very beautiful."
"Good-day," she replied.
I continued to eat cheese, and reassured she walked on past me. Twenty yards beyond, the Grand Duke was waiting. As I laid down my knife upon the paper which had been wrapped around the bread and cheese, and raised the bottle to my lips, the enamoured nobleman stepped out from the trees and bowed low before Zâra el-Khalâ.
She started back from him--a movement of inimitable grace, like that of a startled gazelle. And even before I had time to get upon my feet she had raised a little silver whistle to her lips and blown a short shrill note.
The Grand Duke, endeavouring to seize her hand, was pouring out voluble expressions of adoration in execrable French, and Zâra el-Khalâ was retreating step by step. She had quickly thrown the veil about her again. I heard the pad of swiftly running feet. If I was to intervene before the arrival of the Hindu, I must act rapidly. I raced along the path and thrust myself between the Grand Duke and the girl.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "is this gentleman annoying you?"
"How dare you, low pig!" cried the Grand Duke, and with a sweep of his powerful arm he hurled me aside.
"Thank you," replied Zâra el-Khalâ, with great composure. "But my servant is here."
As I turned, Chunda Lal hurled himself upon the Grand Duke from behind. I had never seen an expression in a man's eyes like that in the eyes of the Hindu at this moment. They blazed like the eyes of a tiger, and his teeth were bared in a savage grin which I cannot hope to describe. His lean body seemed to shoot through the air, and he descended upon his burly adversary as a jungle beast falls upon its prey. Those long brown fingers clasping his neck, the Grand Duke fell forward upon his face.
"Chunda Lal!" said the dancer.
Kneeling, his right knee thrust between the shoulder blades of the prostrate man, the Hindu looked up--and I read murder in those glaring eyes. That he was an accomplished wrestler--or perhaps a strangler--I divined from the helplessness of the Grand Duke, who lay inert, robbed of every power except that of his tongue. He was swearing savagely.
"Chunda Lal!" said Zâra el-Khalâ again.
The Hindu shifted his grip from the neck to the arms of the Grand Duke. He pinioned him as is done in ju-jitsu and forced him to stand upright. It was a curious spectacle--the impotency of this burly nobleman in the hands of his slight adversary. As they swayed to their feet, I thought I saw the glint of metal in the right hand of the Indian, but I could not be sure, for my attention was diverted. At this moment Casimir appeared upon the scene, looking very frightened.
Suddenly releasing his hold altogether, the Hindu, glaring into the empurpled face of the Grand Duke, shot out one arm and pointed with a quivering finger along the path.
"Go!" he said.
The Grand Duke clenched his fists, looked from face to face as if calculating his chances, then shrugged his shoulders, very deliberately wiped his neck and wrists, where the Indian had held him, with a large silk handkerchief and threw the handkerchief on the ground. I saw a speck of blood upon the silk. Without another glance he walked away, Casimir following sheepishly. It is needless, perhaps, to add that Casimir had not recognized me.
I turned to the dancer, touching the peak of my cap.
"Can I be of any assistance to mademoiselle?" I asked.
"Thank you--no," she replied.
She placed five francs in my hand and set off rapidly through the trees in the direction of the road, her bloodthirsty but faithful attendant at her heels!
I stood scratching my head and looking after her.
That afternoon I posted a man acquainted with Hindustani to tap any message which might be sent to or from the café used by Chunda Lal. I learned that the Grand Duke had taken a stage box at the Montmartre theatre at which the dancer was appearing, and I decided that I would be present also.
A great surprise was in store for me.
Zâra el-Khalâ had at this time established a reputation which extended beyond those circles from which the regular patrons of this establishment were exclusively drawn and which had begun to penetrate to all parts of Paris. You will remember that it was the extraordinary circumstance of her remaining at this obscure place of entertainment so long which had first interested me in the lady. I had learned that she had rejected a number of professional off
ers, and, as I have already stated, I had assured myself of this unusual attitude by presenting the card of a well-known Paris agency--and being refused admittance.
Now, as I leaned upon the rail at the back of the auditorium and the time for the dancer's appearance drew near, I could not fail to observe that there was a sprinkling of evening-dress in the stalls and that the two boxes already occupied boasted the presence of parties of well-known men of fashion. Then the Grand Duke entered as a troupe of acrobats finished their performance. Zâra el-Khalâ was next upon the programme. I glanced at the Grand Duke and thought that he looked pale and unwell.
The tableau curtain fell and the manager appeared behind the footlights. He, also, seemed to be much perturbed.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I greatly regret to announce that Mlle. Zâra el-Khalâ is indisposed and unable to appear. We have succeeded in obtaining the services----"
Of whom he had succeeded in obtaining the services I never heard, for the rougher section of the audience rose at him like a menacing wave! They had come to see the Egyptian dancer and they would have their money back! It was a swindle; they would smash the theatre.
If one had doubted the great and growing popularity of Zâra el-Khalâ, this demonstration must have proved convincing. Over the heads of the excited audience I saw the Grand Duke rise as if to retire. The other box parties were also standing up and talking angrily.
"Why was it not announced outside the theatre?" someone shouted.
"We did not know until twenty minutes ago!" cried the manager in accents of despair.
I hurried from the theatre and took a taxicab to the hotel of the dancer. Running into the hall, I thrust a card in the hand of a concierge who stood there.
"Announce to Mlle. Zâra el-Khalâ that I must see her at once," I said.
The man smiled and returned the card to me.
"Mlle. Zâra el-Khalâ left Paris at seven o'clock, monsieur!"
"What!" I cried--"left Paris!"
"But certainly. Her baskets were taken to the Gare du Nord an hour earlier by her servant and she went off by the seven-fifteen rapide for Calais. The theatre people were here asking for her an hour ago."
I hurried to my office to obtain the latest reports of my men. I had lost touch with them, you understand, during the latter part of the afternoon and evening. I found there the utmost confusion. They had been seeking me all over Paris to inform me that Zâra el-Khalâ had left. Two men had followed her and had telephoned from Calais for instructions. She had crossed by the night mail for Dover. It was already to late to instruct the English police.
For a few hours I had relaxed my usual vigilance--and this was the result. What could I do? Zâra el-Khalâ had committed no crime, but her sudden flight--for it looked like flight you will agree--was highly suspicious. And as I sat there in my office filled with all sorts of misgivings, in ran one of the men engaged in watching the Grand Duke.
The Grand Duke had been seized with illness as he left his box in the Montmartre theatre and had died before his car could reach the hotel!
CHAPTER III. A STRANGE QUESTION
A CONVICTION burst upon my mind that a frightful crime had been committed. By whom and for what purpose I knew not. I hastened to the hotel of the Grand Duke. Tremendous excitement prevailed there, of course. There is no more certain way for a great personage to court publicity than to travel incognito. Everywhere that "M. de Stahler" had appeared all Paris had cried, "There goes the Grand Duke Ivan!" And now as I entered the hotel, press, police and public were demanding: "Is it true that the Grand Duke is dead?" Just emerging from the lift I saw Casimir. In propria persona--as M. Max--he failed to recognize me.
"My good man," I said--"are you a member of the suite of the late Grand Duke?"
"I am, or was, the valet of M. de Stahler, monsieur," he replied.
I showed him my card.
"To me 'M. de Stahler' is the Grand Duke Ivan. What other servants had he with him?" I asked, although I knew very well.
"None, monsieur."
"Where and when was he taken ill?"
"At the Theatre Coquerico, Montmartre, at about a quarter-past ten o'clock to-night."
"Who was with him?"
"No one, monsieur. His Highness was alone in a box. I had instructions to call with the car at eleven o'clock."
"Well?"
"The theatre management telephoned at a quarter-past ten to say that His Highness had been taken ill and that a physician had been sent for. I went in the car at once and found him lying in one of the dressing-rooms to which he had been carried. A medical man was in attendance. The Grand Duke was unconscious. We moved him to the car----"
"We?"
"The doctor, the theatre manager, and myself. The Grand Duke was then alive, the physician declared, although he seemed to me to be already dead. But just before we reached the hotel, the physician, who was watching His Highness anxiously, cried, "Ah, mon Dieu! It is finished. What a catastrophe!"
"He was dead?"
"He was dead, monsieur."
"Who has seen him?"
"They have telephoned for half the doctors in Paris, monsieur, but it is too late."
He was affected, the good Casimir. Tears welled up in his eyes. I mounted in the lift to the apartment in which the Grand Duke lay. Three doctors were there, one of them being he of whom Casimir had spoken. Consternation was written on every face.
"It was his heart," I was assured by the doctor who had been summoned to the theatre. "We shall find that he suffered from heart trouble."
They were all agreed upon the point.
"He must have sustained a great emotional shock," said another.
"You are convinced that there was no foul play, gentlemen?" I asked.
They were unanimous on the point.
"Did the Grand Duke make any statement at the time of the seizure which would confirm the theory of a heart attack?"
No. He had fallen down unconscious outside the door of his box, and from this unconsciousness he had never recovered. (Depositions of witnesses, medical evidence and other documents are available for the guidance of whoever may care to see them, but, as is well known, the death of the Grand Duke was ascribed to natural causes and it seemed as though my trouble would after all prove to be in vain.) Let us see what happened.
Leaving the hotel, on the night of the Grand Duke's death, I joined the man who was watching the café telephone.
There had been a message during the course of the evening, but it had been for a Greek cigarette-maker and it referred to the theft of several bales of Turkish tobacco--useful information, of a minor kind, but of little interest to me. I knew that it would be useless to question the man Miguel, although I strongly suspected him of being a member of "The Scorpion's" organization. Any patron of the establishment enjoyed the privilege of receiving private telephone calls at the café on payment of a small fee.
A man of less experience in obscure criminology might now have assumed that he had been misled by a series of striking coincidences. Remember, there was not a shadow of a doubt in the minds of the medical experts that the Grand Duke had died from syncope. His own professional adviser had sent written testimony to show tht there was hereditary heart trouble, although not of a character calculated to lead to a fatal termination except under extraordinary circumstances. His own Government, which had every reason to suspect that the Grand Duke's assassination might be attempted, was satisfied. Eh, bien! I was not.
I cross-examined the manager of the Theatre Coquerico. He admitted that Mlle. Zâra el-Khalâ had been a mystery throughout her engagement. Neither he nor anyone else connected with the house had ever entered her dressing-room or held any conversation with her, whatever, except the stage-manager and the musical director. These had spoken to her about her music and about lighting and other stage effects. She spoke perfect French, they said.
Such a state of affairs was almost incredible, but was explained by the fact that the dancer, at a most mo
dest salary, had doubled the takings of the theatre in a few days and had attracted capacity business throughout the remainder of her engagement. She had written from Marseilles, enclosing press notices and other usual matter and had been booked direct for one week. She had remained for two months, and might have remained for ever, the poor manager assured me, at five times the salary!
A curious fact now came to light. In all her photographs Zâra el-Khalâ appeared veiled, in the Eastern manner; that is to say, she wore a white silk yashmak which concealed all her face except her magnificent eyes! On the stage the veil was discarded; in the photographs it was always present.
And the famous picture which she had sent to the Grand Duke? He had destroyed it, in a fit of passion, on returning home from the Bois de Boulogne after his encounter with Chunda Lal!
It is Fate after all--Kismet--and not the wit of man which leads to the apprehension of really great criminals--a tireless Fate which dogs their footsteps, a remorseless Fate from which they fly in vain. Long after the funeral of the Grand Duke, and at a time when I had almost forgotten Zâra el-Khalâ, I found myself one evening at the opera with a distinguished French scientist and he chanced to refer to the premature death (which had occurred a few months earlier) of Henrik Ericksen, the Norwegian electrician.
"A very great loss to the century, M. Max," he said. "Ericksen was as eminent in electrical science as the Grand Duke Ivan was eminent in the science of war. Both were stricken down in the prime of life--and under almost identical circumstances."
"That is true," I said thoughtfully.
"It would almost seem," he continued, "as if Nature had determined to foil any further attempts to rifle her secrets and Heaven to check mankind in the making of future wars. Only three months after the Grand Duke's death, the American admiral, Mackney, died at sea--you will remember? Now, following Ericksen, Van Rembold, undoubtedly the greatest mining engineer of the century and the only man who has ever produced radium in workable quantities, is seized with illness at a friend's house and expires even before medical aid can be summoned."
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