by Sax Rohmer
Yes, it was ghastly! But it was his life, or the life of millions!
Roughly I arranged my own hair in the manner which he had affected. There was a washbowl on one side of this small room and a mirror above it. The moustache, you understand, was tiny, like that worn by M. Charles Chaplin. I had cut a lock from the head of the dead man. I laid it on the bowl and in despair plunged my hands into the pockets of his dinner jacket. . . .
This gesture saved me! What do you think I found ? Chewing gum!
It was enough! My moustache was attached. I trimmed it with the surgical scissors.
I had become M. Nestor . . . except that I did not talk Greek!
CHAPTER XXII - MAX'S EXPLANATION CONCLUDED
1
In the pockets of this unhappy’s garments, I found several significant things. In order of interest they were:
A very neat and unusual folding headpiece, having tiny caps to fit the ears. (The purpose of this was apparent.) A case of good cigars—quite full. In the case a photograph of Mme. Yburg. A visiting card of one Dr. Schreiber, upon it pencilled: “9:30 Regal garden.” And, as I have already stated, a packet of chewing gum.
In a little lobby I discovered a light overcoat and soft gray hat, also a gold-mounted malacca cane. Upon a side table lay a pair of gloves.
It is at such moments, my friend, that one calls upon one’s experience. I had no clue to the hour. But it was safe to assume that, as M. Nestor had worn evening dress, it was night. Nevertheless, the appointment with Dr. Schreiber might not be for this night.
I was in a quandary—and for more reasons than one. The poor Nestor’s spectacles not only fitted me badly but contained such powerful lenses that, wearing them, I saw everything through a fog! Supreme problem: how did I get out of the laboratory—and what was M. Nestor's behaviour in departing?
The anteroom, as well as the room containing my glass coffin, was dimly lighted. This, by heaven, was fortunate!
As I stood before the little mirror, endeavouring to adjust those spectacles, I heard footsteps! I turned.
A stout man, a German, in white overalls—and who also wore spectacles—was approaching. He was blond, half blind, and good-humoured. . . .
He smiled.
“Forgive me, Doctor," he said, speaking in English, “if I have detained you. But you know how particular he is at his rest hours. He insisted upon a last word with the English journalist before retiring. Then, ‘Herr Richter,' he said, ‘it is death for anyone to wake me before midnight.' Thank God, he is asleep now! The Chief stood by. She is a darling. X know you agree with me?"
Swiftly, I became M. Nestor. This was leg pulling! Silence was indicated.
Herr Richter glanced at the crystal coffin.
“Another injection at midnight—is it so?" he asked.
I nodded. I recalled perfectly the speech of M. Nestor, and:
“Sure," I replied—“right arm. Don't move him."
Herr Richter nodded comprehendingly.
“A and B Zones are down,” he said, turning away. “You will require your crown.”
I understood. “Crown” was their name for the headpiece!
At what point of the journey was it usual to attach one’s “crown”? More urgent—in which direction should I proceed? This Richter was half blind, but I might meet others who could see too well. . . . Name of a good little man, it was nervous work!
“Elevator waiting!” the German called over his shoulder as he passed from the room.
I followed him.
At the farther end of the great laboratory, I saw a gap in the wall—the car of an elevator! My unsuspecting confrere was bending over a table on which were a number of books and papers. I hoped he would not ask me to explain anything; I hoped I should not meet Mme. Yburg. As I passed Richter and had nearly reached the elevator:
“Doctor!” he called.
I paused—afraid to look back!
“Well?” I spoke over my shoulder.
“Crown!” he said. “Always put it on before you leave, Doctor, when the zones are down. You know what happened last week!”
Relief drew a great sigh from me.
“Sure!” I replied. “Thanks. Good-night!”
I stepped into the lift. Immediately, it descended. It stopped. I saw before me a great hall supported by square pillars and having in the middle a monstrous statue. In a corner, beside an open doorway, stood a giant figure, black-armoured, a mace upon its shoulder!
No other opening was visible. My heart in my mouth, I advanced in the direction of this one. . . .
I was some ten paces off, when the figure in mail lowered his mace to the floor with a crash! I nearly choked. But he remained motionless. I continued to advance. I passed through the doorway, glancing back as I did so. The man at arms had replaced his mace upon his shoulder.
It was a salute!
Now I found myself upon a winding stair of ancient stonework. Above, it was in shadow; below, illuminated with what seemed to be bright moonlight. But there were no windows! I descended.
Presently I reached a great iron gate. Everything was silent—deathly silent! Here at this gate stood another of the gigantic black figures—dreadful to contemplate in that artificial moonlight. I was six steps above the gate; but the figure reached out a mailed black arm and opened it. I passed through and continued to descend. The gate closed with a clang behind me.
Down I went, at last reaching a low, arched doorway. I stepped through, and found myself. . . where do you think?
Clearly, in the ancient guard room of the castle! It retained many of its original features. But new and strange ones had been added. Behind a table near the great open fireplace, a table which contained a number of extraordinary-looking switchboards and other paraphernalia, a man was seated.
This room, alas! was more brightly lighted—as I had observed from the stairs. I now wore the head-piece and carried the hat, coat, and cane of M. Nestor.
The man at the table, an ascetic-looking creature who might have been a monk except that he wore quite ordinary and shabby clothes, stared at me hard with light blue eyes. He was, I think, a Swede. I did not care for his appearance, until:
“I am glad to see, Doctor,” he said, speaking in English, but now his Swedish accent was unmistakable, “that your experience of last week has taught you wisdom.”
He tapped his ear.
I nodded. That stare had been harmless. He had merely wished to learn if I wore the protective “crown”! Evidently M. Nestor was notoriously absent-minded.
So far, very good.
The Swede took up a bunch of keys, crossed, and opened a heavily iron-studded door—part, one could see at a glance, of the old fortress. He stood aside as I went through, and:
“If you return by road,” he advised, “use the zone path after midnight. But go out by the main gate. The Watch will open. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” I replied.
I walked out to find myself in an ancient courtyard.
Before me, at the door of a declivity, were twin towers joined by a gateway above which projected the teeth of a portcullis. The night was perfect. I proceeded.
Clear of the castle and before trees obtruded, I turned, looking back. My friend, Felsenweir from that point presents a wonderful spectacle in the moonlight! Its silhouette against the sky took me back into the Middle Ages. From that point of view, nothing seemed to have changed.
This road upon which I found myself presently plunged into a perfect tunnel of pines. I pulled up, unable to proceed. Moonlight failed to penetrate; and I wondered why the lamented M. Nestor carried no torch.
Then my stupidity became apparent.
Some heavy object contained in the pocket of that light overcoat I carried, and which had been bumping against my leg, proved to be just the torch which I required!
I continued my journey.
It was a longer journey than I had anticipated. But at last it brought me to the foot of the slope. Ahead, I saw an iron
gate. As I moved the ray of the torch right to left, presently it rested upon another of those gigantic black figures. . . .
I doubted. I wondered. . . . Name of a little dog! Since I had left, everything might have been discovered !
This one’s orders were perhaps to dash out my brains with that great mace which he carried! My torchlight touched his figure. ... He lowered the mace, reached out one black arm—and opened a wicket gate!
Teeth very tightly clenched, I passed through to the road. I was in sight of the spot where I had been captured! The gate was closed behind me. I switched off my torch.
A smart two-seater stood by the roadside, no lights showing. I opened the door, removed the head-piece, threw in coat and cane, put up the lamps, and lighted one of M. Nestor’s cigars. . . .
This was an exercise; but exercises are useful at times, Woodville. The road I knew well. I seated myself at the wheel and drove off. No one checked me! I left the castle of Felsenweir unchallenged. Your fate, my friend, and the fate of many millions, I held in my hands.
Upon me rested the mighty task of saving the world!
2
My first problem was where I should park the car. I had now no key to my private garage. I sank myself into the personality of Nestor, the chemist. I determined that he would park his car north of the church, behind the Regal.
This guess was good, for the man there seemed to know me. He hailed me as “Herr Doktor.” Some trifling formalities being completed, I now faced the greater problem. The time, I learned, was nine o’clock, and I was uncertain of myself, you understand—particularly of my moustache! Nevertheless, since no dressing room was available, I entered the Regal.
The hall porter and the clerk on duty both greeted me as “Herr Doktor”! Bien.
“I wish to see M. Gaston Max,” I said. “Can you tell me if he is in?”
“Why! he left three days ago,” the clerk exclaimed.
“What!” I cried.
And truly I was astounded. Three days had elapsed since we had been kidnapped on the road below Felsenweir!
“He left hurriedly with his friend Mr. Woodville,” the clerk went on to say. “Someone from Cook's came, settled their accounts, and collected their baggage. Unfortunately, I have no address, Herr Doktor. These French people are nearly as mad as the English!”
How thorough were the methods of our enemies! “Someone from Cook’s.” No loose end had been left! But I wondered what had become of my car! To use the name of the great Cook was audacious, and, I thought, significant. Things must be coming to a head or so great a risk would never have been taken.
I left the Regal and hurried to a quiet cafe. Desperately, I needed nourishment. I devoured sandwiches and drank beer. Certainly the Germans can brew beer!
Then I called at the headquarters of police and made myself known.
It was a sensation! It covers me with embarrassment this, but it is a fact—my name was famous even in Baden-Baden! The German authorities, little as 1 have cause to love them, are efficient!
I left that office certain that all I had suggested would be carried out; that Paris, London, Washington, and Berlin from now onward would be actively behind me. I hurried back to the Regal. It might be that my appointment was for tonight; that in Dr. Schreiber I should find a link with Felsenweir which should enable me to get in touch with those I had left behind, and to return as an advance guard of reinforcements to the post I had deserted— or so I felt. ...
Along that path beside the little singing stream I walked. Your room, Woodville, was dark—no one else had occupied it. Moonlight aided me. Since I could not recognize Dr. Schreiber, I could only trust that he would recognize me. And, sure enough, presently a portly figure rose from a chair.
“Dr. Nestor!” I heard.
I paused. I was unaware of the exact intimacy which existed between us. I must be tactful; and so:
“Surely Dr. Schreiber!” I replied.
“My dear Dr. Nestor!” He grasped my hand. “It is a long time since we have met! ” (I was glad of this.) “But it appears to me that you have not changed in the slightest.”
Always, I discovered, this Dr. Nestor was addressed in English. It was fortunate, since I have a good knowledge of the language. If I had been compelled to speak in German I might have betrayed myself. In Greek, I should have been lost!
“I return the compliment with pleasure!” I said. “Perhaps we have time to celebrate our meeting?”
“Why,” the doctor replied, “I think we might venture so far.”
“The Regal?”
“No, no! It is too public. I mean, one is noticed in hotels. Let us walk along to the Kurhaus and sit at a quiet table.”
We did as he suggested. And the table selected was not only quiet but in deep shadow. There we talked.
He was, or so it appeared, this worthy Dr. Schreiber, a high official of the brotherhood from the United States. Much of his conversation was unintelligible to me, although I contrived to pretend otherwise. But some of it was illuminating! The affiliated brethren on that continent, I gathered, had been broken up by the authorities. This had been a great disappointment, but it did not disturb their ultimate plans.
“I was told,” Dr. Schreiber continued, “that you would introduce me this evening, before visiting headquarters, to my British colleague, Sir Rathbone Edwardes, to Kluen Yung, of Hankow, and last but not least to that very remarkable man, Professor Dimes, of Melbourne. Where are we to meet them?”
You can imagine, my friend, the state of mind to which this remark reduced me! What 1 had learned was useless.
That there was a Kluen Yung, a Sir Rathbone Edwardes, and a Professor Dimes associated in this gigantic conspiracy would have been priceless information, if only I could have imparted it to the prefect of police! Now, it was too late!
I realized that I was getting out of my depth! But my experience with “Mr. King” of London, with “Diamond Ned ” of New York, and at least one other super-criminal with whom I had come in contact, in this crisis served me well. “By the beard of the Prophet!” I exclaimed to myself—“now it is wit, for you have no data to act upon!”
“The Master has not advised you of the change of plan?” I asked.
“No!”
“We are meeting these gentlemen at Felsenweir. There is a certain urgency, you understand? Therefore we do not remain unduly long in Baden.”
Dr. Schreiber nodded.
“I understand,” he replied. “The hour draws near. And perhaps, as happened in America, interference threatens?”
“Serious interference,” I assured him. “John Lonergan of the United States Secret Service is here, in Baden.”
It is a compliment to Lonergan: Dr. Schreiber was staggered.
“What!” he exclaimed—“Lonergan! Then most certainly there is urgency!”
“I agree,” said I. “There is a famous English journalist here also, hot upon the scent, and worse, an agent of the Surete Generate!”
“Which agent?” Dr. Schreiber demanded.
“Gaston Max!”
“The Gaston Max?”
“There is only one Gaston Max,” I assured him.
He leaned across the table and pressed my arm.
“More and more I understand!” he declared. “What then are our orders?”
Again I found myself at a deadlock!
I must return. So much was evident. In the short time at my disposal I had done all that lay in my power. Now, my place was beside you. I must return! I must return!
But once I had done so, what were our chances?
Even now, the substitution might have been discovered! Certainly, it must be discovered within a very few minutes of my reentering Felsenweir. The action I had requested of the German police authorities—no! name of a good little man! had demanded of them—could result in what? . . .
Felsenweir was impregnable! Those gallant troops formerly commanded by Foch could never have stormed it! Only by destruction with heavy arti
llery could access be obtained! Cunning—some treachery of the inhabitants—alone could aid us! Or, if the gun should arrive. This, I will explain later.
And it was then, my dear Woodville, that I thought of you!
Forgive me if I am obscure! This grotesque creature Anubis had said to me: “Your friend Woodville will join us. Because he is interested in the little Marusa and I will give her to him!,,
How slender a thread! How hollow a hope! Yet I must hope for something. And above all, at the moment, I had to reply to Dr. Schreiber’s inquiry.
“It would be best," I said, “if we returned immediately by road. My car is waiting.”
“Very good,” he agreed. “Let us go.”
You can imagine with what feelings I drove back! My chances were a thousand to one. I had no knowledge of the routine—how to demand that the gates should be opened—how to proceed when they were opened!
Dr. Schreiber unconsciously aided me. For, as we drew up:
“At last!” he cried, “I am to meet the Master face to face!”
He leaped out upon the road. Rushing to the gates, he beat upon them with clenched fists.
“Anubis!” he cried.
There was an interval.
“Anubis!”
The wicket opened.
I switched off the car lights and followed Dr. Schreiber into Felsenweir. . . .
When, at the end of that tedious climb, as we passed between those twin towers, under the teeth of the portcullis, and I saw light streaming out from Felsenweir’s ancient guardroom, I said good-bye to myself.
It was too much to suppose that Herr Richter, or Mme. Yburg, had failed to discover who lay in the crystal coffin! Of Madame I was uncertain. I dared not to believe what I longed to believe. . . . How far was she to be trusted ? Already, perhaps, she had betrayed me! For she knew I had tricked Anubis! . . .
The ascetic Swede was not on duty. The door stood open. A very genial Dutchman greeted us. He welcomed Schreiber with enthusiasm. He was second Watch master, I learned. I kept my hat on—the brim pulled down.
