by Sax Rohmer
XIV
EAST 18642
In a pitiable state of mind, Soames walked away from the Post Office.Gianapolis had hurried off in the direction of Victoria Station.Something was wrong! Some part of the machine, of the dimly divinedmachine whereof he formed a cog, was out of gear. Since the very natureof this machine--its construction and purpose, alike--was unknown toSoames, he had no basis upon which to erect surmises for good or ill.
His timid inquiries into the identity of East 18642 had begun andterminated with his labored perusal of the telephone book, a profitlesstask which had occupied him for the greater part of an evening.
The name, Gianapolis, did not appear at all; whereas there proved to besome two hundred and ninety Kings. But, oddly, only four of thesewere on the Eastern Exchange; one was a veterinary surgeon; one aboat-builder; and a third a teacher of dancing. The fourth, an engineer,seemed a "possible" to Soames, although his published number was not18642; but a brief--a very brief--conversation, convinced the butlerthat this was not his man.
He had been away from the flat for over an hour, and he doubted if eventhe lax sense of discipline possessed by Mr. Leroux would enable thatgentleman to overlook this irregularity. Soames had a key of the outerdoor, and he built his hopes upon the possibility that Leroux had notnoticed his absence and would not hear his return.
He opened the door very quietly, but had scarcely set his foot in thelobby ere the dreadful, unforgettable scene met his gaze.
For more years than he could remember, he had lived in dread of thelaw; and, in Luke Soames' philosophy, the words Satan and Detectivewere interchangeable. Now, before his eyes, was a palpable, unmistakablepolice officer; and on the floor...
Just one glimpse he permitted himself--and, in a voice that seemed toreach him from a vast distance, the detective was addressing HIM!...
Slinking to his room, with his craven heart missing every fourth beat,and his mind in chaos, Soames sank down upon the bed, locked his handstogether and hugged them, convulsively, between his knees.
It was come! He had overstepped that almost invisible boundary-linewhich divides indiscretion from crime. He knew now that the voice withinhim, the voice which had warned him against Gianapolis and againstbecoming involved in what dimly he had perceived to be an elaboratescheme, had been, not the voice of cowardice (as he had supposed) butthat of prudence.
And it was too late. The dead woman, he told himself--he had been unableto see her very clearly--undoubtedly was Mrs. Leroux. What in God's namehad happened! Probably her husband had killed her... which meant? Itmeant that proofs--PROOFS--were come into his possession; and who shouldbe involved, entangled in the meshes of this fallen conspiracy, buthimself, Luke Soames!
As must be abundantly evident, Soames was not a criminal of the daringtype; he did not believe in reaching out for anything until he waswell assured that he could, if necessary, draw back his hand. This lastventure, this regrettable venture--this ruinous venture--had beena mistake. He had entered into it under the glamour of Gianapolis'personality. Of what use, now, to him was his swelling bank balance?
But in justice to the mental capacity of Soames, it must be admittedthat he had not entirely overlooked such a possibility as this; he hadsimply refrained, for the good of his health, from contemplating it.
Long before, he had observed, with interest, that, should an emergencyarise (such as a fire), a means of egress had been placed by the kindlyarchitect adjacent to his bedroom window. Thus, his departure on thenight of the murder was not the fruit of a sudden scheme, but of onewell matured.
Closing and locking his bedroom door, Soames threw out upon the bed theentire contents of his trunk; selected those things which he consideredindispensable, and those which might constitute clues. He hastily packedhis grip, and, with a last glance about the room and some seconds ofbreathless listening at the door, he attached to the handle a long pieceof cord, which at some time had been tied about his trunk, and, gentlyopening the window, lowered the grip into the courtyard beneath. Thelight he had already extinguished, and with the conviction dwelling inhis bosom that in some way he was become accessory to a murder--that hewas a man shortly to be pursued by the police of the civilized world--hedescended the skeleton lift-shaft, picked up his grip, and passed outunder the archway into the lane at the back of Palace Mansions and St.Andrew's Mansions.
He did not proceed in the direction which would have brought him outinto the Square, but elected to emerge through the other end. At exactlythe moment that Inspector Dunbar rushed into his vacated room, Mr.Soames, grip in hand, was mounting to the top of a southward bound 'busat the corner of Parliament Street!
He was conscious of a need for reflection. He longed to sit in somesecluded spot in order to think. At present, his brain was a merewhirligig, and all things about him seemingly danced to the same tune.Stationary objects were become unstable in the eyes of Soames, and thesolid earth, burst free of its moorings, no longer afforded him a safefoothold. There was a humming in his ears; and a mist floated before hiseyes. By the time that the motor-'bus was come to the south side of thebridge, Soames had succeeded in slowing down his mental roundabout insome degree; and now he began grasping at the flying ideas whichthe diminishing violence of his brain storm enabled him, vaguely, toperceive.
The first fruits of his reflections were bitter. He viewed the eventsof the night in truer focus; he saw that by his flight he had sealed hisfate--had voluntarily outlawed himself. It became frightfully evidentto him that he dared not seek to draw from his bank, that he dared nottouch even his modest Post Office account. With the exception of sometwenty-five shillings in his pocket, he was penniless!
How could he hope to fly the country, or even to hide himself, withoutmoney?
He glanced suspiciously about the 'bus; for he perceived that an oldinstinct had prompted him to mount one which passed the Oval--a formerpoint of debarkation when he lived in rooms near Kennington Park.Someone might recognize him!
Furtively, he scanned his fellow passengers, but perceived noacquaintance.
What should he do--where should he go? It was a desperate situation.
The inspector who had cared to study that furtive, isolated figure,could not have failed to mark it for that of a hunted man.
At Kennington Gate the 'bus made a halt. Soames glanced at the clock onthe corner. It was close upon one A. M. Where in heaven's name should hego? What a fool he had been to come to this district where he was known!
Stay! There was one man in London, surely, who must be almost askeenly interested in the fate of Luke Soames as Luke Soames himself ...Gianapolis!
Soames sprang up and hurried off the 'bus. No public telephone box wouldbe available at that hour, but dire need spurred his slow mind and alsolent him assurance. He entered the office of the taxicab depot on thenext corner, and, from the man whom he found in charge, solicited andobtained the favor of using the telephone. Lifting the receiver, heasked for East 18642.
The seconds that elapsed, now, were as hours of deathly suspense tothe man at the telephone. If the number should be engaged!... If theexchange could get no reply!...
"Hullo!" said a nasal voice--"who is it?"
"It is Soames--and I want to speak to Mr. King!"
He lowered his tone as much as possible, almost whispering his own name.He knew the voice which had answered him; it was the same that he alwaysheard when ringing up East 18642. But would Gianapolis come to thetelephone? Suddenly--
"Is that Soames?" spoke the sing-song voice of the Greek.
"Yes, yes!"
"Where are you?"
"At Kennington."
"Are they following you?"
"No--I don't think so, at least; what am I to do? Where am I to go?"
"Get to Globe Road--near Stratford Bridge, East, without delay. Butwhatever you do, see that you are not followed! Globe Road is theturning immediately beyond the Railway Station. It is not too late,perhaps, to get a 'bus or tram, for some part of the way, at any rat
e.But even if the last is gone, don't take a cab; walk. When you get toGlobe Road, pass down on the left-hand side, and, if necessary, right tothe end. Make sure you are not followed, then walk back again. You willreceive a signal from an open door. Come right in. Good-by."
Soames replaced the receiver on the hook, uttering a long-drawn sigh ofrelief. The arbiter of his fortunes had not failed him!
"Thank you very much!" he said to the man in charge of the office, whohad been bending over his books and apparently taking not the slightestinterest in the telephone conversation. Soames placed twopence, theprice of the call, on the desk. "Good night."
"Good night."
He hastened out of the gate and across the road. An electric tramcarwhich would bear him as far as the Elephant-and-Castle was on the pointof starting from the corner. Grip in hand, Soames boarded the car andmounted to the top deck. He was in some doubt respecting his mode oftravel from the next point onward, but the night was fine, even if hehad to walk, and his reviving spirits would cheer him with visions of agolden future!
His money!--That indeed was a bitter draught: the loss of his hardlyearned savings! But he was now established--linked by a commonsecret--in partnership with Gianapolis; he was one of that mysterious,obviously wealthy group which arranged drafts on Paris--which couldafford to pay him some hundreds of pounds per annum for such a triflingservice as juggling the mail!
Mr. King!--If Gianapolis were only the servant, what a magnificent manof business must be hidden beneath the cognomen, Mr. King! And hewas about to meet that lord of mystery. Fear and curiosity were oddlyblended in the anticipation.
By great good fortune, Soames arrived at the Elephant-and-Castle in timeto catch an eastward bound motor-'bus, a 'bus which would actually carryhim to the end of Globe Road. He took his seat on top, and with greatercomposure than he had known since his dramatic meeting with Gianapolisin Victoria Street, lighted one of Mr. Leroux's cabanas (with which heinvariably kept his case filled) and settled down to think about thefuture.
His reflections served apparently to shorten the journey; and Soamesfound himself proceeding along Globe Road--a dark and uninvitinghighway--almost before he realized that London Bridge had beentraversed. It was now long past one o'clock; and that part of theeast-end showed dreary and deserted. Public houses had long sinceejected their late guests, and even those argumentative groups,which, after closing-time, linger on the pavements, within the odorBacchanalian, were dispersed. The jauntiness was gone, now, from Soames'manner, and aware of a marked internal depression, he passed furtivelyalong the pavement with its long shadowy reaches between the islandsof light formed by the street lamps. From patch to patch he passed, andeach successive lamp that looked down upon him found him more furtive,more bent in his carriage.
Not a shop nor a house exhibited any light. Sleeping Globe Road, East,served to extinguish the last poor spark of courage within Soames'bosom. He came to the extreme end of the road without having perceiveda beckoning hand, without having detected a sound to reveal that hisadvent was observed. In the shadow of a wall he stopped, resting hisgrip upon the pavement and looking back upon his tracks.
No living thing moved from end to end of Globe Road.
Shivering slightly, Soames picked up the bag and began to walk back.Less than half-way along, an icy chill entered into his veins, and hisnerves quivered like piano wires, for a soft crying of his name came,eerie, through the silence, and terrified the hearer.
"SOAMES!... SOAMES!"...
Soames stopped dead, breathing very rapidly, and looking about him rightand left. He could hear the muted pulse of sleeping London. Then, in thedark doorway of the house before which he stood, he perceived, dimly, amotionless figure. His first sensation was not of relief, but of fear.The figure raised a beckoning hand. Soames, conscious that his coursewas set and that he must navigate it accordingly, opened the iron gate,passed up the path and entered the house to which he thus had beensummoned....
He found himself surrounded by absolute darkness, and the door wasclosed behind him.
"Straight ahead, Soames!" said the familiar voice of Gianapolis out ofthe darkness.
Soames, with a gasp of relief, staggered on. A hand rested upon hisshoulder, and he was guided into a room on the right of the passage.Then an electric lamp was lighted, and he found himself confronting theGreek.
But Gianapolis was no longer radiant; all the innate evil of the manshone out through the smirking mask.
"Sit down, Soames!" he directed.
Soames, placing his bag upon the floor, seated himself in a canearmchair. The room was cheaply furnished as an office, with a roll-topdesk, a revolving chair, and a filing cabinet. On a side-table stooda typewriter, and about the room were several other chairs, whilst thefloor was covered with cheap linoleum. Gianapolis sat in the revolvingchair, staring at the lowered blinds of the window, and brushing up thepoints of his black mustache.
With a fine white silk handkerchief Soames gently wiped the perspirationfrom his forehead and from the lining of his hat-band. Gianapolis beganabruptly:--
"There has been an--accident" (he continued to brush his mustache, withincreasing rapidity). "Tell me all that took place after you left thePost Office."
Soames nervously related his painful experiences of the evening, whilstGianapolis drilled his mustache to a satanic angle. The story beingconcluded:
"Whatever has happened?" groaned Soames; "and what am I to do?"
"What you are to do," replied Gianapolis, "will be arranged, my dearSoames, by--Mr. King. Where you are to go, is a problem shortly settled:you are to go nowhere; you are to stay here."...
"Here!"
Soames gazed drearily about the room.
"Not exactly here--this is merely the office; but at our establishmentproper in Limehouse."...
"Limehouse!"
"Certainly. Although you seem to be unaware of the fact, Soames,there are some charming resorts in Limehouse; and your duties, for thepresent, will confine you to one of them."
"But--but," hesitated Soames, "the police"...
"Unless my information is at fault," said Gianapolis, "the police haveno greater chance of paying us a visit, now, than they had formerly."...
"But Mrs. Leroux"...
"Mrs. Leroux!"
Gianapolis twirled around in the chair, his eyes squintingdemoniacally:--"Mrs. Leroux!"
"She--she"...
"What about Mrs. Leroux?"
"Isn't she dead?"
"Dead! Mrs. Leroux! You are laboring under a strange delusion, Soames.The lady whom you saw was not Mrs. Leroux."
Soames' brain began to fail him again.
"Then who," he began....
"That doesn't concern you in the least, Soames. But what does concernyou is this: your connection, and my connection, with the matter cannotpossibly be established by the police. The incident is regrettable, butthe emergency was dealt with--in time. It represents a serious deficit,unfortunately, and your own usefulness, for the moment, becomes nil; butwe shall have to look after you, I suppose, and hope for better thingsin the future."
He took up the telephone.
"East 39951," he said, whilst Soames listened, attentively. Then:--
"Is that Kan-Suh Concessions?" he asked. "Yes--good! Tell Said to bringthe car past the end of the road at a quarter-to-two. That's all."
He hung up the receiver.
"Now, my dear Soames," he said, with a faint return to his old manner,"you are about to enter upon new duties. I will make your position clearto you. Whilst you do your work, and keep yourself to yourself, you arein no danger; but one indiscretion--just one--apart from what it maymean for others, will mean, for YOU, immediate arrest as accessory to amurder!"
Soames shuddered, coldly.
"You can rely upon me, Mr. Gianapolis," he protested, "to do absolutelywhat you wish--absolutely. I am a ruined man, and I know it--I know it.My only hope is that you will give me a chance."...
"You shall have every chance, S
oames," replied Gianapolis--"everychance."
