by Sax Rohmer
XXXVII
THE WHISTLE
Luke Soames, buttoning up his black coat, stood in the darkness,listening.
His constitutional distaste for leaping blindfolded had been over-riddenby circumstance. He felt himself to be a puppet of Fate, and he driftedwith the tide because he lacked the strength to swim against it. Thatwill-o'-the-wisp sense of security which had cheered him when first hehad realized how much he owed to the protective wings of Mr. King hadbeen rudely extinguished upon the very day of its birth; he had learntthat Mr. King was a sinister protector; and almost hourly he lived againthrough the events of that night when, all unwittingly, he had become awitness of strange happenings in the catacombs.
Soames had counted himself a lost man that night; the only point whichhe had considered debatable was whether he should be strangled orpoisoned. That his employers were determined upon his death, he wasassured; yet he had lived through the night, had learnt from his watchthat the morning was arrived... and had seen the flecks at the roots ofhis dyed hair, blanched by the terrors of that vigil--of that watching,from moment to moment, for the second coming of Ho-Pin.
Yes, the morning had dawned, and with it a faint courage. He had shavedand prepared himself for his singular duties, and Said had broughthim his breakfast as usual. The day had passed uneventfully, and once,meeting Ho-Pin, he had found himself greeted with the same mirthlesssmile but with no menace. Perhaps they had believed his story, or haddisbelieved it but realized that he was too closely bound to them to bedangerous.
Then his mind had reverted to the conversation overheard in themusic-hall. Should he seek to curry favor with his employers byacquainting them with the fact that, contrary to Gianapolis' assertion,an important clue had fallen into the hands of the police? Did theyknow this already? So profound was his belief in the omniscience ofthe invisible Mr. King that he could not believe that Power ignorant ofanything appertaining to himself.
Yet it was possible that those in the catacombs were unaware howScotland Yard, night and day, quested for Mr. King. The papers made nomention of it; but then the papers made no mention of another fact--theabsence of Mrs. Leroux. Now that he was no longer panic-ridden, hecould mentally reconstruct that scene of horror, could hear again,imaginatively, the shrieks of the maltreated woman. Perhaps this sameactive imagination of his was playing him tricks, but, her voice...Always he preferred to dismiss these ideas.
He feared Ho-Pin in the same way that an average man fears a tarantula,and he was only too happy to avoid the ever smiling Chinaman; so thatthe days passed on, and, finding himself unmolested and the affairs ofthe catacombs proceeding apparently as usual, he kept his information tohimself, uncertain if he shared it with his employers or otherwise, buthesitating to put the matter to the test--always fearful to approachHo-Pin, the beetlesque.
But this could not continue indefinitely; at least he must speakto Ho-Pin in order to obtain leave of absence. For, since thatunforgettable night, he had lived the life of a cave-man indeed, andnow began to pine for the wider vault of heaven. Meeting the impassiveChinaman in the corridor one morning, on his way to valet one of theliving dead, Soames ventured to stop him.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, confusedly, "but would there be any objectionto my going out on Friday evening for an hour?"
"Not at all, Soames," replied Ho-Pin, with his mirthless smile: "you maygo at six, wreturn at ten."
Ho-Pin passed on.
Soames heaved a gentle sigh of relief. The painful incident wasforgotten, then. He hurried into the room, the door of which Said washolding open, quite eager for his unsavory work.
In crossing its threshold, he crossed out of his new peace into a mentalturmoil greater in its complexities than any he yet had known; he met M.Gaston Max, and his vague doubts respecting the omniscience of Mr. Kingwere suddenly reinforced.
Soames' perturbation was so great on that occasion that he feared itmust unfailingly be noticed. He realized that now he was definitely incommunication with the enemies of Mr. King! Ah; but Mr. King did notknow how formidable was the armament of those enemies! He (Soames) hadoverrated Mr. King; and because that invisible being could inspire Fearin an inconceivable degree, he had thought him all-powerful. Now, herealized that Mr. King was unaware of the existence of at least one clueheld by the police; was unaware that his name was associated with thePalace Mansions murder.
The catacombs of Ho-Pin were a sinking ship, and Soames was first of therats to leave.
He kept his appointment at the "Three Nuns" as has appeared; he acceptedthe blood-money that was offered him, and he returned to the garageadjoining Kan-Suh Concessions, that night, hugging in his bosom aleather case containing implements by means whereof his new accomplicedesigned to admit the police to the cave of the golden dragon.
Also, in the pocket of his overcoat, he had a neat Browning pistol; andwhen the door at the back of the garage was opened for him by Said, hefound that the touch of this little weapon sent a thrill of assurancethrough him, and he began to conceive a sentiment for the unknowninvestigator to whom he was bound, akin to that which formerly he hadcherished for Mr. King!
Now the time was come.
The people of the catacombs acquired a super-sensitive power of hearing,and Soames was able at this time to detect, as he sat or lay in his ownroom, the movements of persons in the corridor outside and even in thecave of the golden dragon. That mysterious trap in the wall gave himmany qualms, and to-night he had glanced at it a thousand times. He heldthe pistol in his hand, and buttoned up within his coat was the leathercase. Only remained the opening of his door in order to learn if thelights were extinguished in the corridor.
He did not anticipate any serious difficulty, provided he could overcomehis constitutional nervousness. In his waistcoat pocket was a brand newYale key which, his latest employer had assured him, fitted the lockof the end door of Block A. The door between the cave of the dragonand Block A was never locked, so far as Soames was aware, nor was thatopening from the corridor in which his own room was situated. Therefore,only a few moments--fearful moments, certainly--need intervene, erehe should have a companion; and within a few minutes of that time, thepolice--his friends!--would be there to protect him! He recognized thatthe law, after all, was omnipotent, and of all masters was the master tobe served.
There was no light in the corridor. Leaving his door ajar, he tiptoedcautiously along toward the cave. Assuring himself once again that thepistol lay in his pocket, he fumbled for the lever which opened thedoor, found it, depressed it, and stepped quietly forward in hisslippered feet.
The unmistakable odor of the place assailed his nostrils. All was indarkness, and absolute silence prevailed. He had a rough idea of thepositions of the various little tables, and he stepped cautiouslyin order to skirt them; but evidently he had made a miscalculation.Something caught his foot, and with a muffled thud he sprawled upon thefloor, barely missing one of the tables which he had been at such painsto avoid.
Trembling like a man with an ague, he lay there, breathing in short,staccato breaths, and clutching the pistol in his pocket. Certainly hehad made no great noise, but...
Nothing stirred.
Soames summoned up courage to rise and to approach again the door ofBlock A. Without further mishap he reached it, opened it, and enteredthe blackness of the corridor. He could make no mistake in regard tothe door, for it was the end one. He stole quietly along, his fingerstouching the matting, until he came in contact with the corner angle;then, feeling along from the wall until he touched the strip of bamboowhich marked the end of the door, he probed about gently with the key;for he knew to within an inch or so where the keyhole was situated.
Ah! he had it! His hand trembling slightly, he sought to insert the keyin the lock. It defied his efforts. He felt it gently with the fingersof his left hand, thinking that he might have been endeavoring toinsert the key with the irregular edge downward, and not uppermost; butno--such was not the case.
Again he tried, and with n
o better result. His nerves were threateningto overcome him, now; he had not counted upon any such hitch as this:but fear sharpened his wits. He recollected the fall which he hadsustained, and how he had been precipitated upon the polished floor,outside.
Could he have mistaken his direction? Was it not possible that owing tohis momentary panic, he had arisen, facing not the door at the foot ofthe steps, as he had supposed, but that by which a moment earlier he hadentered the cave of the golden dragon?
Desperation was with him now; he was gone too far to draw back. Trailinghis fingers along the matting covering of the wall, he retraced hissteps, came to the open door, and reentered the apartment of the dragon.He complimented himself, fearfully, upon his own address, for he wasinspired with an idea whereby he might determine his position. Pickinghis way among the little tables and the silken ottomans, he groped aboutwith his hands in the impenetrable darkness for the pedestal supportingthe dragon. At last his fingers touched the ivory. He slid themdownward, feeling for the great vase of poppies which always stoodbefore the golden image....
The vase was on the LEFT and not on the RIGHT of the pedestal. Histheory was correct; he had been groping in the mysterious precincts ofthat Block B which he had never entered, which he had never seen any oneelse enter, and from whence he had never known any one to emerge! Itwas the fall that had confused him; now, he took his bearings anew, bentdown to feel for any tables that might lie in his path, and crept acrossthe apartment toward the door which he sought.
Ah! this time there could be no mistake! He depressed the lever handle,and, as the door swung open before him, crept furtively into thecorridor.
Repeating the process whereby he had determined the position of the enddoor, he fumbled once again for the keyhole. He found it with even lessdifficulty than he had experienced in the wrong corridor, inserted thekey in the lock, and with intense satisfaction felt it slip into place.
He inhaled a long breath of the lifeless air, turned the key, and threwthe door open. One step forward he took...
A whistle (God! he knew it!) a low, minor whistle, wavered through thestillness. He was enveloped, mantled, choked, by the perfume of ROSES!
The door, which, although it had opened easily, had seemed to be aremarkably heavy one, swung to behind him; he heard the click of thelock. Like a trapped animal, he turned, leaped back, and found hisquivering hands in contact with books--books--books...
A lamp lighted up in the center of the room.
Soames turned and stood pressed closely against the book-shelves,against the book-shelves which magically had grown up in front of thedoor by which he had entered. He was in the place of books and roses--inthe haunt of MR. KING!
A great clarity of mind came to him, as it comes to a drowning man; heknew that those endless passages, through which once he had been ledin darkness, did not exist, that he had been deceived, had been guidedalong the same corridor again and again; he knew that this room of rosesdid not lie at the heart of a labyrinth, but almost adjoined the cave ofthe golden dragon.
He knew that he was a poor, blind fool; that his plotting had beenknown to those whom he had thought to betray; that the new key whichhad opened a way into this place of dread was not the key which hisaccomplice had given him. He knew that that upon which he had tripped atthe outset of his journey had been set in his path by cunning design, inorder that the fall might confuse his sense of direction. He knew thatthe great vase of poppies had been moved, that night....
God! his brain became a seething furnace.
There, before him, upstood the sandalwood screen, with one corner of thetable projecting beyond it. Nothing of life was visible in the perfumedplace, where deathly silence prevailed....
No lion has greater courage than a cornered rat. Soames plucked thepistol from his pocket and fired at the screen--ONCE!--TWICE!
He heard the muffled report, saw the flash of the little weapon, sawthe two holes in the carven woodwork, and gained a greater, hystericalcourage--the courage of a coward's desperation.
Immediately before him was a little ebony table, bearing a silver bowl,laden to the brim with sulphur-colored roses. He overturned the tablewith his foot, laughing wildly. In three strides he leapt across theroom, grasped the sandalwood screen, and hurled it to the floor....
In the instant of its fall, he became as Lot's wife. The pistol droppedfrom his nerveless grasp, thudding gently on the carpet, and, with hisfingers crooked paralytically, he stood swaying... and looking into theface of MR. KING!
Soames' body already was as rigid as it would be in death; his mind wasnumbed--useless. But his outraged soul forced utterance from the lips ofthe man.
A scream, a scream to have made the angels shudder, to have inspiredpity in the devils of Hell, burst from him. Two yellow hands leaped athis throat....
