by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXI. THE SEVENTH KAMA
As Nicol Brinn strolled out from the door below his chambers inPiccadilly, a hoarse voice made itself audible above his head.
"Police!" he heard over the roar of the traffic. "Help! Police!"
Detective Sergeant Stokes had come out upon the balcony. But up to thetime that Nicol Brinn turned and proceeded in leisurely fashion inthe direction of the Cavalry Club, the sergeant had not succeeded inattracting any attention.
Nicol Brinn did not hurry. Having his hands thrust in the pockets of hislight overcoat, he sauntered along Piccadilly as an idle man might do.He knew that he had ample time to keep his appointment, and recognizingthe vital urgency of the situation, he was grateful for some littleleisure to reflect.
One who had obtained a glimpse of his face in the light of the shopwindows which he passed must have failed to discern any evidence ofanxiety. Yet Nicol Brinn knew that death was beckoning to him. He knewthat his keen wit was the only weapon which could avail him to-night;and he knew that he must show himself a master of defence.
A lonely man, of few but enduring friendships, he had admitted but onelove to his life, except the love of his mother. This one love for sevenyears he had sought to kill. But anything forceful enough to penetrateto the stronghold of Nicol Brinn's soul was indestructible, even byNicol Brinn himself.
So, now, at the end of a mighty struggle, he had philosophicallyaccepted this hopeless passion which Fate had thrust upon him. Yet hewhose world was a chaos outwardly remained unmoved.
Perhaps even that evil presence whose name was Fire-Tongue might havepaused, might have hesitated, might even have changed his plans, which,in a certain part of the world, were counted immutable, had he known themanner of man whom he had summoned to him that night.
Just outside the Cavalry Club a limousine was waiting, driven by achauffeur who looked like some kind of Oriental. Nicol Brinn walked upto the man, and bending forward:
"Fire-Tongue," he said, in a low voice.
The chauffeur immediately descended and opened the door of the car.The interior was unlighted, but Nicol Brinn cast a comprehensive glancearound ere entering. As he settled himself upon the cushions, the doorwas closed again, and he found himself in absolute darkness.
"Ah," he muttered. "Might have foreseen it." All the windows werecurtained, or rather, as a rough investigation revealed, were closedwith aluminium shutters which were immovable.
A moment later, as the car moved off, a lamp became lighted above him.Then he saw that several current periodicals were placed invitingly inthe rack, as well as a box of very choice Egyptian cigarettes.
"H'm," he murmured.
He made a close investigation upon every side, but he knew enough of theorganization with which he was dealing to be prepared for failure.
He failed. There was no cranny through which he could look out.Palpably, it would be impossible to learn where he was being taken. Thejourney might be a direct one, or might be a detour. He wished that hecould have foreseen this device. Above all, he wished that DetectiveSergeant Stokes had been a more clever man.
It would have been good to know that he was followed. His only hope wasthat someone detailed by Paul Harley might be in pursuit.
Lighting a fresh cigar, Nicol Brinn drew a copy of the Sketch from therack, and studied the photographs of more or less pretty actresses withapparent contentment. He had finished the Sketch, and was perusing theBystander, when, the car having climbed a steep hill and swerved sharplyto the right, he heard the rustling of leaves, and divined that theywere proceeding along a drive.
He replaced the paper in the rack, and took out his watch. Consultingit, he returned it to his pocket as the car stopped and the light wentout.
The door, which, with its fellow, Nicol Brinn had discovered to belocked, was opened by the Oriental chauffeur, and Brinn descended uponthe steps of a shadowed porch. The house door was open, and althoughthere was no light within:
"Come this way," said a voice, speaking out of the darkness.
Nicol Brinn entered a hallway the atmosphere of which seemed to be veryhot.
"Allow me to take your hat and coat," continued the voice.
He was relieved of these, guided along a dark passage; and presently, aninner door being opened, he found himself in a small, barely furnishedroom where one shaded lamp burned upon a large writing table.
His conductor, who did not enter, closed the door quietly, and NicolBrinn found himself looking into the smiling face of a Hindu gentlemanwho sat at the table.
The room was decorated with queer-looking Indian carvings, pictures uponsilk, and other products of Eastern craftsmanship. The table and theseveral chairs were Oriental in character, but the articles upon thetable were very European and businesslike in appearance. Furthermore,the Hindu gentleman, who wore correct evening dress, might have been therepresentative of an Eastern banking house, as indeed he happened to be,amongst other things.
"Good evening," he said, speaking perfect English "won't you sit down?"
He pointed with a pen which he was holding in the direction of a heavilycarved chair which stood near the table. Nicol Brinn sat down, regardingthe speaker with lack-lustre eyes.
"A query has arisen respecting your fraternal rights," continued theHindu. "Am I to understand that you claim to belong to the SeventhKama?"
"Certainly," replied Brinn in a toneless voice.
The Hindu drew his cuff back from a slender yellow wrist, revealing acurious mark which appeared to be branded upon the flesh. It was in theform of a torch or flambeau surmounted by a tongue of flame. He raisedhis black brows, smiling significantly.
Nicol Brinn stood up, removing his tight dinner jacket. Then, rollingback his sleeve from a lean, sinuous forearm, he extended the powerfulmember, having his fist tightly clenched.
Upon the inside of his arm, just above the elbow, an identical mark hadbeen branded!
The Hindu stood up and saluted Nicol Brinn in a peculiar manner. That isto say, he touched the second finger of his right hand with the tip ofhis tongue, and then laid the finger upon his forehead, at the same timebowing deeply.
Nicol Brinn repeated the salutation, and quietly put his coat on.
"We greet you," said the Hindu. "I am Rama Dass of the Bengal Lodge.Have you Hindustani?"
"No."
"Where were you initiated?"
"At Moon Ali Lane."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Hindu. "I see it all. In Bombay?"
"In Bombay."
"When, and by whom, may I ask?"
"By Ruhmani, November 23, 1913."
"Strange," murmured Rama Dass. "Brother Ruhmani died in that year; whichaccounts for our having lost touch with you. What is your grade?"
"The fifth."
"You have not proceeded far, brother. How do you come to be unacquaintedwith our presence in England?"
"I cannot say."
"What work has been allotted to you?"
"None."
"Never?"
"Never."
"More and more strange," murmured the Hindu, watching Nicol Brinnthrough the gold-rimmed spectacles which he wore. "I have only known oneother case. Such cases are dangerous, brother."
"No blame attaches to me," replied Nicol Brinn.
"I have not said so," returned Rama Dass. "But in the Seventh Kama allbrothers must work. A thousand lives are as nothing so the Fire lives.We had thought our information perfect, but only by accident did welearn of your existence."
"Indeed," murmured Nicol Brinn, coldly.
Not even this smiling Hindu gentleman, whose smile concealed so much,could read any meaning in those lack-lustre eyes, nor detect any emotionin that high, cool voice.
"A document was found, and in this it was recorded that you bore uponyour arm the sign of the Seventh Kama."
"'Tis Fire that moves the grains of dust," murmured Nicol Brinn,tonelessly, "which one day make a mountain for the gods."
Rama Dass stood up at once and repea
ted his strange gesture ofsalutation, which Nicol Brinn returned ceremoniously; and resumed hisseat at the table.
"You are advanced beyond your grade, brother," he said. "You are worthythe next step. Do you wish to take it?"
"Every little drop swells the ocean," returned Nicol Brinn.
"You speak well," the Hindu said. "We have here your complete record. Itshall not be consulted. To do so were unnecessary. We are satisfied. Weregret only that one so happily circumstanced to promote the coming ofthe Fire should have been lost sight of. Last night there were threepromotions and several rejections. You were expected."
"But I was not summoned."
"No," murmured Rama Dass. "We had learned of you as I have said.However, great honour results. You will be received alone. Do you desireto advance?"
"No. Give me time."
Rama Dass again performed the strange salutation, and again Nicol Brinnreturned it.
"Wisdom is a potent wine," said the latter, gravely.
"We respect your decision."
The Hindu rang a little silver bell upon his table, and the double doorswhich occupied one end of the small room opened silently, revealing alarge shadowy apartment beyond.
Rama Dass stood up, crossed the room, and standing just outside the opendoors, beckoned to Nicol Brinn to advance.
"There is no fear," he said, in a queer, chanting tone.
"There is no fear," repeated Nicol Brinn.
"There is no love."
"There is no love."
"There is no death."
"There is no death."
"Fire alone is eternal."
"Fire alone is eternal."
As he pronounced those words Nicol Brinn crossed the threshold of thedark room, and the double doors closed silently behind him.
