by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXV. AN ENGLISHMAN'S HONOUR
"You have been guilty of a series of unfortunate mistakes, Mr. Harley,"continued the speaker. "Notably, you have relied upon the clumsy deviceof disguise. To the organization in which you have chosen to interestyourself, this has provided some mild amusement. Your pedlar of almanacswas a clever impersonation, but fortunately your appearance at the Savoyhad been anticipated, and no one was deceived."
Paul Harley did not reply. He concluded, quite correctly, that theorganization had failed to detect himself in the person of the nervouscobbler. He drew courage from this deduction. Fire-Tongue was notomniscient.
"It is possible," continued the unseen speaker, in whom Harley hadnow definitely recognized Ormuz Khan's secretary, "that you recentlyoverheard a resolution respecting yourself. Your death, in fact, hadbeen determined upon. Life and death being synonymous, the philosophercontemplates either with equanimity."
"I am contemplating the latter with equanimity at the moment," saidHarley, dryly.
"The brave man does so," the Hindu continued, smoothly. "The world onlyseems to grow older; its youth is really eternal, but as age succeedsage, new creeds must take the place of the old ones which are burnedout. Fire, Mr. Harley, sweeps everything from its path irresistibly.You have dared to stand in the path of a fiery dawn; therefore, like allspecks of dust which clog the wheels of progress, you must be brushedaside."
Harley nodded grimly, watching a ring of smoke floating slowly upward.
"It is a little thing to those who know the truth," the speaker resumed."To the purblind laws of the West it may seem a great thing. We seek inRome to do as Rome does. We judge every man as we find him. Therefore,recognizing that your total disappearance might compromise our movementsin the near future, we have decided to offer you an alternative. Thisoffer is based upon the British character. Where the oath of some men isa thing of smoke, the word of honour of an Englishman we are prepared toaccept."
"Many thanks," murmured Harley. "On behalf of Great Britain I accept thecompliment."
"We have such faith in the completeness of our plans, and in thenearness of the hour of triumph, that if you will pledge yourself tosilence, in writing, you will not be molested in any way. You occupy atthe moment the apartment reserved for neophytes of a certain order. Butwe do not ask you to become a neophyte. Disciples must seek us, we donot seek disciples. We only ask for your word that you will be silent."
"It is impossible," said Harley, tersely.
"Think well of the matter. It may not seem so impossible to-morrow."
"I decline definitely."
"You are sustaining yourself with false hopes, Mr. Harley. You thinkyou have clues which will enable you to destroy a system rooted in theremote past. Also you forget that you have lost your freedom."
Paul Harley offered no further answer to the speaker concealed behindthe violet curtain.
"Do not misunderstand us," the voice continued. "We bind you to nothingbut silence."
"I refuse," said Harley, sharply. "Dismiss the matter."
"In spite of your refusal, time for consideration will be given to you."
Faintly Paul Harley detected the sounds made by Ormuz Khan and hissecretary in withdrawing. The light beneath the curtain disappeared.
For perhaps a space of two hours, Paul Harley sat smoking andcontemplating the situation from every conceivable angle. It wascertainly desperate enough, and after a time he rose with a wearysigh, and made a second and more detailed examination of the severalapartments.
It availed him nothing, but one point he definitely established. Escapewas impossible, failing outside assistance. A certain coldness in theatmosphere, which was perceptible immediately beneath the barred window,led him to believe that this communicated with the outer air.
He was disposed to think that his unconsciousness had lasted less thanan hour, and that it was still dark without. He was full of distrust.He no longer believed his immediate death to have been decided upon.For some reason it would seem that the group wished him to live, at anyrate, temporarily. But now a complete theory touching the death of SirCharles Abingdon had presented itself to his mind. Knowing little, butsuspecting much of the resources of Fire-Tongue, he endeavoured to avoidcontact with anything in the place.
Night attire was provided in the sleeping chamber, but he did not availhimself of this hospitality. Absolute silence reigned about him. Yet soimmutable are Nature's laws, that presently Paul Harley sank back uponthe mattresses, and fell asleep.
He awoke, acutely uncomfortable and ill-rested. He found a shaft oflight streaming into the room, and casting shadows of the iron bars uponthe opposite wall. The brass lantern still burned above him, and thesilence remained complete as when he had fallen asleep. He stood upyawning and stretching himself.
At least, it was good to be still alive. He was vaguely conscious of thefact that he had been dreaming of Phil Abingdon, and suppressing a sigh,he clenched his teeth grimly and entered the little bathroom. Thereproved to be a plentiful supply of hot and cold water. At this hesniffed suspiciously, but at last:
"I'll risk it," he muttered.
He undressed and revelled in the joy of a hot bath, concluding with acold plunge. A razor and excellent toilet requisites were set upon thedressing table, and whilst his imagination whispered that the soap mightbe poisoned and the razor possess a septic blade, he shaved, and havingshaved, lighted his pipe and redressed himself at leisure.
He had nearly completed his toilet when a slight sound in the outer roomarrested his attention. He turned sharply, stepping through the doorway.
A low carved table, the only one which the apartment boasted, displayedan excellent English breakfast laid upon a spotless cover.
"Ah," he murmured, and by the sight was mentally translated to thatcelebrated apartment of the palace at Versailles, where Louis XIVand his notorious favourite once were accustomed to dine, alone, andunsuitably dressed, the courses being served in just this fashion.
Harley held his pipe in his hand, and contemplated the repast. It wasonly logical to suppose it to be innocuous, and a keen appetitehastened the issue. He sidetracked his suspicion, and made an excellentbreakfast. So the first day of his captivity began.
Growing used to the stillness about him, he presently began to detect,as the hours wore on, distant familiar sounds. Automobiles on thehighroad, trains leaving and entering a tunnel which he judged to befrom two to three miles distant; even human voices at long intervals.
The noises of an English countryside crept through the barred windows.Beyond a doubt he was in the house known as Hillside. Probably atnight the lights of London could be seen from the garden. He was withinordinary telephone call of Chancery Lane. Yet he resumed his pipe andsmiled philosophically. He had hoped to see the table disappear beneaththe floor. As evidence that he was constantly watched, this had occurredduring a brief visit which he had made to the bedroom in quest ofmatches.
When he returned the table was in its former place, but the cover hadbeen removed. He carefully examined the floor beneath it, and realizedthat there was no hope of depressing the trap from above. Then, at anhour which he judged to be that of noon, the same voice addressed himfrom beyond the gilded screen.
"Mr. Paul Harley?"
"Yes, what have you to say?"
"By this time, Mr. Harley, you must have recognized that oppositionis futile. At any moment we could visit death upon you. Escape, onthe other hand, is out of the question. We desire you no harm. Fordiplomatic reasons, we should prefer you to live. Our cause is a sacredone. Do not misjudge it by minor incidents. A short statement and a copyof your English testament shall be placed upon the table, if you wish."
"I do not wish," Paul Harley returned.
"Is that your last word, Mr. Harley? We warn you that the third time ofasking will be the last time."
"This is my last word."
"Your own life is not the only stake at issue."
"What do you mean?"
&
nbsp; "You will learn what we mean, if you insist upon withholding yourconsent until we next invite it."
"Nevertheless, you may regard it as withheld, definitely and finally."
Silence fell, and Paul Harley knew himself to be once more alone.Luncheon appeared upon the table whilst he was washing in the bathroom.Remembering the change in the tone of the unseen speaker's voice, heavoided touching anything.
From the divan, through half-closed eyes, he examined every inch ofthe walls, seeking for the spy-hole through which he knew himself to bewatched. He detected it at last: a little grating, like a ventilator,immediately above him where he sat. This communicated with some roomwhere a silent watcher was constantly on duty!
Paul Harley gave no sign that he had made this discovery. But alreadyhis keen wits were at work upon a plan. He watched the bar of lightfading, fading, until, judging it to be dinner time, he retireddiscreetly.
When he returned, he found dinner spread upon the table.
He wondered for what ordeal the neophyte was prepared in this singularapartment. He wondered how such neophytes were chosen, and to what teststhey were submitted before being accepted as members of the bloodthirstyorder. He could not even surmise.
Evidently no neophyte had been accepted on the previous night, unlessthere were other like chambers in the house. The occupants of theshuttered cars must therefore have been more advanced members. He spentthe night in the little cell-like bedchamber, and his second day ofcaptivity began as the first had begun.
For his dinner he had eaten nothing but bread and fruit. For hisbreakfast he ate an egg and drank water from the tap in the bathroom.His plan was now nearing completion. Only one point remained doubtful.
At noon the voice again addressed him from behind the gilded screen:
"Mr. Paul Harley?"
"Yes?"
"Your last opportunity has come. For your own future or for that of theworld you seem to care little or nothing. Are you still determined tooppose our wishes?"
"I am."
"You have yet an hour. Your final decision will be demanded of you atthe end of that time."
Faint sounds of withdrawal followed these words and Harley suddenlydiscovered himself to be very cold. The note of danger had touchedhim. For long it had been silent. Now it clamoured insistently. He knewbeyond all doubt that he was approaching a crisis in his life. At itsnature he could not even guess.
He began to pace the room nervously, listening for he knew not what. Hismind was filled with vague imaginings; when at last came an overture tothe grim test to be imposed upon him.
A slight metallic sound drew his glance in the direction of the gildedscreen. A sliding door of thick plate glass had been closed behind it,filling the space between the metal work and the curtain. Then--thelight in the brass lantern became extinguished.
Standing rigidly, fists clenched, Paul Harley watched the curtain. Andas he watched, slowly it was drawn aside. He found himself looking intoa long room which appeared to be practically unfurnished.
The floor was spread with rugs and at the farther end folding doors hadbeen opened, so that he could see into a second room, most elegantlyappointed in Persian fashion. Here were silver lanterns, and many silkencushions, out of which, as from a sea of colour, arose slender pillars,the scheme possessing an air of exotic luxury peculiarly Oriental.
Seated in a carved chair over which a leopard skin had been thrown, andtalking earnestly to some invisible companion, whose conversation seemedwholly to enthrall her, was Phil Abingdon!
