by Sax Rohmer
XLI
WESTMINSTER--MIDNIGHT
Detective-Sergeant Sowerby reported himself in Inspector Dunbar's roomat New Scotland Yard.
"I have completed my inquiries in Wharf-end Lane," he said; and pullingout his bulging pocketbook, he consulted it gravely.
Inspector Dunbar looked up.
"Anything important?" he asked.
"We cannot trace the makers of the sanitary fittings, and so forth, butthey are all of American pattern. There's nothing in the nature ofa trademark to be found from end to end of the place; even the ironsluice-gate at the bottom of the brick tunnel has had the makers'name chipped off, apparently with a cold chisel. So you see they wereprepared for all emergencies!"
"Evidently," said Dunbar, resting his chin on the palms of his hands andhis elbows upon the table.
"The office and warehouse staff of the ginger importing concern areinnocent enough, as you know already. Kan-Suh Concessions was conductedmerely as a blind, of course, but it enabled the Chinaman, Ho-Pin,to appear in Wharf-end Lane at all times of the day and night withoutexciting suspicion. He was supposed to be the manager, of course. Thepresence of the wharf is sufficient to explain how they managed to buildthe place without exciting suspicion. They probably had all the materiallanded there labeled as preserved ginger, and they would take it downbelow at night, long after the office and warehouse staff of Concessionshad gone home. The workmen probably came and went by way of the river,also, commencing work after nightfall and going away before businesscommenced in the morning."
"It beats me," said Dunbar, reflectively, "how masons, plumbers,decorators, and all the other artisans necessary for a job of thatdescription, could have been kept quiet."
"Foreigners!" said Sowerby triumphantly. "I'll undertake to say therewasn't an Englishman on the job. The whole of the gang was probablyimported from abroad somewhere, boarded and lodged during the day-timein the neighborhood of Limehouse, and watched by Mr. Ho-Pin or somebodyelse until the job was finished; then shipped back home again. It'seasily done if money is no object."
"That's right enough," agreed Dunbar; "I have no doubt you've hit uponthe truth. But now that the place has been dismantled, what does itlook like? I haven't had time to come down myself, but I intend to do sobefore it's closed up."
"Well," said Sowerby, turning over a page of his notebook, "it lookslike a series of vaults, and the Rev. Mr. Firmingham, a local vicar whomI got to inspect it this morning, assures me, positively, that it's acrypt."
"A crypt!" exclaimed Dunbar, fixing his eyes upon his subordinate.
"A crypt--exactly. A firm dealing in grease occupied the warehousebefore Kan-Suh Concessions rented it, and they never seem to havesuspected that the place possessed any cellars. The actual owner ofthe property, Sir James Crozel, an ex-Lord Mayor, who is also groundlandlord of the big works on the other side of the lane, had no moreidea than the man in the moon that there were any cellars beneath theplace. You see the vaults are below the present level of the Thames athigh tide; that's why nobody ever suspected their existence. Also, anexamination of the bare walls--now stripped--shows that they were prettywell filled up to the top with ancient debris, to within a few yearsago, at any rate."
"You mean that our Chinese friends excavated them?"
"No doubt about it. They were every bit of twenty feet below the presentstreet level, and, being right on the bank of the Thames, nobody wouldhave thought of looking for them unless he knew they were there."
"What do you mean exactly, Sowerby?" said Dunbar, taking out hisfountain-pen and tapping his teeth with it.
"I mean," said Sowerby, "that someone connected with the gang must havelocated the site of these vaults from some very old map or book."
"I think you said that the Reverend Somebody-or-Other avers that theywere a crypt?"
"He does; and when he pointed out to me the way the pillars were placed,as if to support the nave of a church, I felt disposed to agree withhim. The place where the golden dragon used to stand (it isn't reallygold, by the way!) would be under the central aisle, as it were; thenthere's a kind of side aisle on the right and left and a large space attop and bottom. The pillars are stone and of very early Norman pattern,and the last three or four steps leading down to the place appear tobelong to the original structure. I tell you it's the crypt of some oldforgotten Norman church or monastery chapel."
"Most extraordinary!" muttered Dunbar.
"But I suppose it is possible enough. Probably the church was burnt ordestroyed in some other way; deposits of river mud would graduallycover up the remaining ruins; then in later times, when the banks ofthe Thames were properly attended to, the site of the place would beentirely forgotten, of course. Most extraordinary!"
"That's the reverend gentleman's view, at any rate," said Sowerby, "andhe's written three books on the subject of early Norman churches! Heeven goes so far as to say that he has heard--as a sort of legend--ofthe existence of a very large Carmelite monastery, accommodating overtwo hundred brothers, which stood somewhere adjoining the Thames withinthe area now covered by Limehouse Causeway and Pennyfields. There is alittle turning not far from the wharf, known locally--it does not appearupon any map--as Prickler's Lane; and my friend, the vicar, tells methat he has held the theory for a long time"--Sowerby referred tohis notebook with great solemnity--"that this is a corruption ofPre-aux-Clerce Lane."
"H'm!" said Dunbar; "very ingenious, at any rate. Anything else?"
"Nothing much," said Sowerby, scanning his notes, "that you don't knowalready. There was some very good stuff in the place--Oriental ware andso on, a library of books which I'm told is unique, and a tremendousstock of opium and hashish. It's a perfect maze of doors andobservation-traps. There's a small kitchen at the end, near the head ofthe tunnel--which, by the way, could be used as a means of entranceand exit at low tide. All the electric power came through the meter ofKan-Suh Concessions."
"I see," said Dunbar, reflectively, glancing at his watch; "in a word,we know everything except"...
"What's that?" said Sowerby, looking up.
"The identity of Mr. King!" replied the inspector, reaching for his hatwhich lay upon the table.
Sowerby replaced his book in his pocket.
"I wonder if any of the bodies will ever come ashore?" he said.
"God knows!" rapped Dunbar; "we can't even guess how many were aboard.You might as well come along, Sowerby, I've just heard from Dr.Cumberly. Mrs. Leroux"...
"Dead?"
"Dying," replied the inspector; "expected to go at any moment. But thedoctor tells me that she may--it's just possible--recover consciousnessbefore the end; and there's a bare chance"...
"I see," said Sowerby eagerly; "of course she must know!"
The two hastened to Palace Mansions. Despite the lateness of the hour,Whitehall was thronged with vehicles, and all the glitter and noise ofmidnight London surrounded them.
"It only seems like yesterday evening," said Dunbar, as they mounted thestair of Palace Mansions, "that I came here to take charge of the case.Damme! it's been the most exciting I've ever handled, and it's certainlythe most disappointing."
"It is indeed," said Sowerby, gloomily, pressing the bell-button at theside of Henry Leroux's door.
The door was opened by Garnham; and these two, fresh from the noise andbustle of London's streets, stepped into the hushed atmosphere of theflat where already a Visitant, unseen but potent, was arrived, and nowwas beckoning, shadowlike, to Mira Leroux.
"Will you please sit down and wait," said Garnham, placing chairs forthe two Scotland Yard men in the dining-room.
"Who's inside?" whispered Dunbar, with that note of awe in his voicewhich such a scene always produces; and he nodded in the direction ofthe lobby.
"Mr. Leroux, sir," replied the man, "the nurse, Miss Cumberly, Dr.Cumberly and Miss Ryland"...
"No one else?" asked the detective sharply.
"And Mr. Gaston Max," added the man. "You'll find whisky and cigars uponthe t
able there, sir."
He left the room. Dunbar glanced across at Sowerby, his tufted browsraised, and a wry smile upon his face.
"In at the death, Sowerby!" he said grimly, and lifted the stopper fromthe cut-glass decanter.
In the room where Mira Leroux lay, so near to the Borderland that heralways ethereal appearance was now positively appalling, a hushed groupstood about the bed.
"I think she is awake, doctor," whispered the nurse softly, peering intothe emaciated face of the patient.
Mira Leroux opened her eyes and smiled at Dr. Cumberly, who was bendingover her. The poor faded eyes turned from the face of the physicianto that of Denise Ryland, then to M. Max, wonderingly; next to Helen,whereupon an indescribable expression crept into them; and finally toHenry Leroux, who, with bowed head, sat in the chair beside her. Shefeebly extended her thin hand and laid it upon his hair. He looked up,taking the hand in his own. The eyes of the dying woman filled withtears as she turned them from the face of Leroux to Helen Cumberly--whowas weeping silently.
"Look after... him," whispered Mira Leroux.
Her hand dropped and she closed her eyes again. Cumberly bent forwardsuddenly, glancing back at M. Max who stood in a remote corner of theroom watching this scene.
Big Ben commenced to chime the hour of midnight. That frightfulcoincidence so startled Leroux that he looked up and almost rose fromhis chair in his agitation. Indeed it startled Cumberly, also, but didnot divert him from his purpose.
"It is now or never!" he whispered.
He took the seemingly lifeless hand in his own, and bending over MiraLeroux, spoke softly in her ear:
"Mrs. Leroux," he said, "there is something which we all would ask youto tell us; we ask it for a reason--believe me."
Throughout the latter part of this scene the big clock had been chimingthe hour, and now was beating out the twelve strokes of midnight; hadstruck six of them and was about to strike the seventh.
SEVEN! boomed the clock.
Mira Leroux opened her eyes and looked up into the face of thephysician.
EIGHT!...
"Who," whispered Dr. Cumberly, "is he?"
NINE!
In the silence following the clock-stroke, Mira Leroux spoke almostinaudibly.
"You mean... MR. KING?"
TEN!
"Yes, yes! Did you ever SEE him?"...
Every head in the room was craned forward; every spectator tensed up tothe highest ultimate point.
"Yes," said Mira Leroux quite clearly; "I saw him, Dr. Cumberly... Heis"...
ELEVEN!
Mira Leroux moved her head and smiled at Helen Cumberly; then seemedto sink deeper into the downy billows of the bed. Dr. Cumberly stood upvery slowly, and turned, looking from face to face.
"It is finished," he said--"we shall never know!"
But Henry Leroux and Helen Cumberly, their glances meeting across thebed of the dead Mira, knew that for them it was not finished, but thatMr. King, the invisible, invisibly had linked them.
TWELVE!...
