Moon of Skulls Page 5

  I found myself in a room whose curtains were closely drawn. During this journey Gordon’s alertness had not relaxed, and now he stood, still covering me with his revolver. Clad in conventional garments, he stood revealed a tall, leanly but powerfully built man, taller than I but not so heavy — with steel-gray eyes and clean-cut features. Something about the man attracted me, even as I noted a bruise on his jawbone where my fist had struck in our last meeting.

  “I cannot believe,” he said crisply, “that this apparent clumsiness and lack of subtlety is real. Doubtless you have your own reasons for wishing me to be in a secluded room at this time, but Sir Haldred is efficiently protected even now. Stand still.”

  Muzzle pressed against my chest, he ran his hand over my garments for concealed weapons, seeming slightly surprized when he found none.

  “Still,” he murmured as if to himself, “a man who can burst an iron lock with his bare hands has scant need of weapons.”

  “You are wasting valuable time,” I said impatiently. “I was sent here tonight to kill Sir Haldred Frenton —”

  “By whom?” the question was shot at me.

  “By the man who sometimes goes disguised as a leper.”

  He nodded, a gleam in his scintillant eyes.

  “My suspicions were correct, then.”

  “Doubtless. Listen to me closely — do you desire the death or arrest of that man?”

  Gordon laughed grimly.

  “To one who wears the mark of the scorpion on his hand, my answer would be superfluous.”

  “Then follow my directions and your wish shall be granted.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “So that was the meaning of this open entry and non-resistance,” he said slowly. “Does the dope which dilates your eyeballs so warp your mind that you think to lead me into ambush?”

  I pressed my hands against my temples. Time was racing and every moment was precious — how could I convince this man of my honesty?

  “Listen; my name is Stephen Costigan of America. I was a frequenter of Yun Shatu’s dive and a hashish addict — as you have guessed, but just now a slave of stronger dope. By virtue of this slavery, the man you know as a false leper, whom Yun Shatu and his friends call ‘Master,’ gained dominance over me and sent me here to murder Sir Haldred — why, God only knows. But I have gained a space of respite by coming into possession of some of this dope which I must have in order to live, and I fear and hate this Master. Listen to me and I swear, by all things holy and unholy, that before the sun rises the false leper shall be in your power!”

  I could tell that Gordon was impressed in spite of himself.

  “Speak fast!” he rapped.

  Still I could sense his disbelief and a wave of futility swept over me.

  “If you will not act with me,” I said, “let me go and somehow I’ll find a way to get to the Master and kill him. My time is short — my hours are numbered and my vengeance is yet to be realized.”

  “Let me hear your plan, and talk fast,” Gordon answered.

  “It is simple enough. I will return to the Masters lair and tell him I have accomplished that which he sent me to do. You must follow closely with your men and while I engage the Master in conversation, surround the house. Then, at the signal, break in and kill or seize him.”

  Gordon frowned. “Where is this house?”

  “The warehouse back of Yun Shatu’s has been converted into a veritable oriental palace.”

  “The warehouse!” he exclaimed. “How can that be? I had thought of that first, but I have carefully examined it from without. The windows are closely barred and spiders have built webs across them. The doors are nailed fast on the outside and the seals that mark the warehouse as deserted have never been broken or disturbed in any way.”

  “They tunneled up from beneath,” I answered. “The Temple of Dreams is directly connected with the warehouse.”

  “I have traversed the alley between the two buildings,” said Gordon, “and the doors of the warehouse opening into that alley are, as I have said, nailed shut from without just as the owners left them. There is apparently no rear exit of any kind from the Temple of Dreams.”

  “A tunnel connects the buildings, with one door in the rear room of Yun Shatu’s and the other in the idol room of the warehouse.”

  “I have been in Yun Shatu’s back room and found no such door.”

  “The table rests upon it. You noted the heavy table in the center of the room? Had you turned it around the secret door would have opened in the floor. Now this is my plan: I will go in through the Temple of Dreams and meet the Master in the idol room. You will have men secretly stationed in front of the warehouse and others upon the other street, in front of the Temple of Dreams. Yun Shatu’s building, as you know, faces the waterfront, while the warehouse, fronting the opposite direction, faces a narrow street running parallel with the river. At the signal let the men in this street break open the front of the warehouse and rush in, while simultaneously those in front of Yun Shatu’s make an invasion through the Temple of Dreams. Let these make for the rear room, shooting without mercy any who may seek to deter them, and there open the secret door as I have said. There being, to the best of my knowledge, no other exit from the Master’s lair, he and his servants will necessarily seek to make their escape through the tunnel. Thus we will have them on both sides.”

  Gordon ruminated while I studied his face with breathless interest.

  “This may be a snare,” he muttered, “or an attempt to draw me away from Sir Haldred, but —”

  I held my breath.

  “I am a gambler by nature,” he said slowly. “I am going to follow what you Americans call a hunch — but God help you if you are lying to me!”

  I sprang erect.

  “Thank God! Now aid me with this suit, for I must be wearing it when I return to the automobile waiting for me.”

  His eyes narrowed as I shook out the horrible masquerade and prepared to don it.

  “This shows, as always, the touch of the master hand. You were doubtless instructed to leave marks of your hands, encased in those hideous gauntlets?”

  “Yes, though I have no idea why.”

  “I think I have — the Master is famed for leaving no real clues to mark his crimes — a great ape escaped from a neighboring zoo earlier in the evening and it seems too obvious for mere chance, in the light of this disguise. The ape would have gotten the blame of Sir Haldred’s death.”

  The thing was easily gotten into and the illusion of reality it created was so perfect as to draw a shudder from me as I viewed myself in a mirror.

  “It is now two o’clock,” said Gordon.“Allowing for the time it will take you to get back to Limehouse and the time it will take me to get my men stationed, I promise you that at half-past four the house will be closely surrounded. Give me a start — wait here until I have left this house, so I will arrive at least as soon as you.”

  “Good!” I impulsively grasped his hand. “There will doubtless be a girl there who is in no way implicated with the Master’s evil doings, but only a victim of circumstances such as I have been. Deal gently with her.”

  “It shall be done. What signal shall I look for?”

  “I have no way of signaling for you and I doubt if any sound in the house could be heard on the street. Let your men make their raid on the stroke of five.”

  I turned to go.

  “A man is waiting for you with a car, I take it? Is he likely to suspect anything?”

  “I have a way of finding out, and if he does,” I replied grimly, “I will return alone to the Temple of Dreams.”

  11. Four Thirty-Four

  “Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

  — Poe

  The door closed softly behind me, the great dark house looming up more starkly than ever. Stooping, I crossed the wet lawn at a run, a grotesque and unholy figure, I doubt not, since any man had at a glance sworn me to be not a
man but a giant ape. So craftily had the Master devised!

  I clambered the wall, dropped to the earth beyond and made my way through the darkness and the drizzle to the group of trees which masked the automobile.

  The Negro driver leaned out of the front seat. I was breathing hard and sought in various ways to simulate the actions of a man who has just murdered in cold blood and fled the scene of his crime.

  “You heard nothing, no sound, no scream?” I hissed, gripping his arm.

  “No noise except a slight crash when you first went in,” he answered. “You did a good job — nobody passing along the road could have suspected anything.”

  “Have you remained in the car all the time?” I asked. And when he replied that he had, I seized his ankle and ran my hand over the soles of his shoe; it was perfectly dry, as was the cuff of his trouser leg. Satisfied, I climbed into the back seat. Had he taken a step on the earth, shoe and garment would have showed it by the telltale dampness.

  I ordered him to refrain from starting the engine until I had removed the apeskin, and then we sped through the night and I fell victim to doubts and uncertainties. Why should Gordon put any trust in the word of a stranger and a former ally of the Master’s? Would he not put my tale down as the ravings of a dope-crazed addict, or a lie to ensnare or befool him? Still, if he had not believed me, why had he let me go?

  I could but trust. At any rate, what Gordon did or did not do would scarcely affect my fortunes ultimately, even though Zuleika had furnished me with that which would merely extend the number of my days. My thought centered on her, and more than my hope of vengeance on Kathulos was the hope that Gordon might be able to save her from the clutches of the fiend. At any rate, I thought grimly, if Gordon failed me, I still had my hands and if I might lay them upon the bony frame of the Skull-faced One —

  Abruptly I found myself thinking of Yussef Ali and his strange words, the import of which just occurred to me, “The Master has promised her to me in the days of the empire!”

  The days of the empire — what could that mean?

  The automobile at last drew up in front of the building which hid the Temple of Silence — now dark and still. The ride had seemed interminable and as I dismounted I glanced at the timepiece on the dashboard of the car. My heart leaped — it was four thirty-four, and unless my eyes tricked me I saw a movement in the shadows across the street, out of the flare of the street lamp. At this time of night it could mean only one of two things — some menial of the Master watching for my return or else Gordon had kept his word. The Negro drove away and I opened the door, crossed the deserted bar and entered the opium room. The bunks and the floor were littered with the dreamers, for such places as these know nothing of day or night as normal people know, but all lay deep in sottish slumber.

  The lamps glimmered through the smoke and a silence hung mist-like over all.

  12. The Stroke of Five

  “He saw gigantic tracks of death,

  And many a shape of doom.”

  — Chesterton

  Two of the China-boys squatted among the smudge fires, staring at me unwinkingly as I threaded my way among the recumbent bodies and made my way to the rear door. For the first time I traversed the corridor alone and found time to wonder again as to the contents of the strange chests which lined the walls.

  Four raps on the underside of the floor, and a moment later I stood in the idol room. I gasped in amazement — the fact that across a table from me sat Kathulos in all his horror was not the cause of my exclamation. Except for the table, the chair on which the Skull-faced One sat and the altar — now bare of incense — the room was perfectly bare! Drab, unlovely walls of the unused warehouse met my gaze instead of the costly tapestries I had become accustomed to. The palms, the idol, the lacquered screen — all were gone.

  “Ah, Mr. Costigan, you wonder, no doubt.”

  The dead voice of the Master broke in on my thoughts. His serpent eyes glittered balefully. The long yellow fingers twined sinuously upon the table.

  “You thought me to be a trusting fool, no doubt!” he rapped suddenly. “Did you think I would not have you followed? You fool, Yussef Ali was at your heels every moment!”

  An instant I stood speechless, frozen by the crash of these words against my brain; then as their import sank home, I launched myself forward with a roar. At the same instant, before my clutching fingers could close on the mocking horror on the other side of the table, men rushed from every side. I whirled, and with the clarity of hate, from the swirl of savage faces I singled out Yussef Ali, and crashed my right fist against his temple with every ounce of my strength. Even as he dropped, Hassim struck me to my knees and a Chinaman flung a man-net over my shoulders. I heaved erect, bursting the stout cords as if they were strings, and then a blackjack in the hands of Ganra Singh stretched me stunned and bleeding on the floor.

  Lean sinewy hands seized and bound me with cords that cut cruelly into my flesh. Emerging from the mists of semi-unconsciousness, I found myself lying on the altar with the masked Kathulos towering over me like a gaunt ivory tower. About in a semicircle stood Ganra Singh, Yar Khan, Yun Shatu and several others whom I knew as frequenters of the Temple of Dreams. Beyond them — and the sight cut me to the heart — I saw Zuleika crouching in a doorway, her face white and her hands pressed against her cheeks, in an attitude of abject terror.

  “I did not fully trust you,” said Kathulos sibilantly, “so I sent Yussef Ali to follow you. He reached the group of trees before you and following you into the estate heard your very interesting conversation with John Gordon — for he scaled the house-wall like a cat and clung to the window ledge! Your driver delayed purposely so as to give Yussef Ali plenty of time to get back — I have decided to change my abode anyway. My furnishings are already on their way to another house, and as soon as we have disposed of the traitor — you! — we shall depart also, leaving a little surprize for your friend Gordon when he arrives at five-thirty.”

  My heart gave a sudden leap of hope. Yussef Ali had misunderstood, and Kathulos lingered here in false security while the London detective force had already silently surrounded the house. Over my shoulder I saw Zuleika vanish from the door.

  I eyed Kathulos, absolutely unaware of what he was saying. It was not long until five — if he dallied longer — then I froze as the Egyptian spoke a word and Li Kung, a gaunt, cadaverous Chinaman, stepped from the silent semicircle and drew from his sleeve a long thin dagger. My eyes sought the timepiece that still rested on the table and my heart sank. It was still ten minutes until five. My death did not matter so much, since it simply hastened the inevitable, but in my mind’s eye I could see Kathulos and his murderers escaping while the police awaited the stroke of five.

  The Skull-face halted in some harangue, and stood in a listening attitude. I believe his uncanny intuition warned him of danger. He spoke a quick staccato command to Li Kung and the Chinaman sprang forward, dagger lifted above my breast.

  The air was suddenly supercharged with dynamic tension. The keen dagger-point hovered high above me — loud and clear sounded the skirl of a police whistle and on the heels of the sound there came a terrific crash from the front of the warehouse!

  Kathulos leaped into frenzied activity. Hissing orders like a cat spitting, he sprang for the hidden door and the rest followed him. Things happened with the speed of a nightmare. Li Kung had followed the rest, but Kathulos flung a command over his shoulder and the Chinaman turned back and came rushing toward the altar where I lay, dagger high, desperation in his countenance.

  A scream broke through the clamor and as I twisted desperately about to avoid the descending dagger, I caught a glimpse of Kathulos dragging Zuleika away. Then with a frenzied wrench I toppled from the altar just as Li Kung’s dagger, grazing my breast, sank inches deep into the dark-stained surface and quivered there.

  I had fallen on the side next to the wall and what was taking place in the room I could not see, but it seemed as if far away I could
hear men screaming faintly and hideously. Then Li Kung wrenched his blade free and sprang, tigerishly, around the end of the altar. Simultaneously a revolver cracked from the doorway — the Chinaman spun clear around, the dagger flying from his hand — he slumped to the floor.

  Gordon came running from the doorway where a few moments earlier Zuleika had stood, his pistol still smoking in his hand. At his heels were three rangy, clean-cut men in plain clothes. He cut my bonds and dragged me upright.

  “Quick! Where have they gone?”

  The room was empty of life save for myself, Gordon and his men, though two dead men lay on the floor.

  I found the secret door and after a few seconds’ search located the lever which opened it. Revolvers drawn, the men grouped about me and peered nervously into the dark stairway. Not a sound came up from the total darkness.

  “This is uncanny!” muttered Gordon. “I suppose the Master and his servants went this way when they left the building — as they are certainly not here now! — and Leary and his men should have stopped them either in the tunnel itself or in the rear room of Yun Shatu’s. At any rate, in either event they should have communicated with us by this time.”

  “Look out, sir!” one of the men exclaimed suddenly, and Gordon, with an ejaculation, struck out with his pistol barrel and crushed the life from a huge snake which had crawled silently up the steps from the blackness beneath.

  “Let us see into this matter,” said he, straightening.

  But before he could step onto the first stair, I halted him; for, flesh crawling, I began dimly to understand something of what had happened — I began to understand the silence in the tunnel, the absence of the detectives, the screams I had heard some minutes previously while I lay on the altar. Examining the lever which opened the door, I found another smaller lever — I began to believe I knew what those mysterious chests in the tunnel contained.