Books: Number Seventeen

L >> Louis Tracy >> Number Seventeen

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A tall, slim man, wearing a dark overcoat, who lurked in a doorway
near Winter's post, blew the tip of the cigar he was smoking into a
red glow so that he might look at his watch. Another tall man, rather
more powerfully built, awaited developments with apparent unconcern.
Mr. Handyside, in fact, was in the august company of the Commissioner
of Police, and the latter, though eminently agreeable, nevertheless
observed an Olympian attitude. Thus might Jove watch a gathering in
the Pompic Way!

At 12:45 there was a stir. Out of 410 and 414 came 25 Chinamen. They
gathered on the pavement, and did not attempt to walk away, though a
sudden and concentrated advance was made by the two sets of loafers,
while the doors of the warehouse opposite belched forth a startling
array of constables in uniform.

Winter and Furneaux respectively headed the contingents from north and
south. An inspector was in charge of the central body, and even a
Chinaman who had not been a day in London must have realized that the
intent of these swift-moving detachments was to cut off his escape if
he meant flight. But not a Chinaman budged, save one, who seemed to
recognize the chief inspector, because he stepped forward and said in
suave tones:

"These men are my friends. The others are inside. They are quite safe.
Kindly wait till one o'clock."

"I must understand what you mean, Mr. Li Chang," said Winter sternly;
for some reason, he distrusted the smooth-spoken jute merchant. "Why
have you visited these two houses, and not 412? And what do we gain by
waiting here any longer? We must have been seen, and our purpose
guessed."

"No," came the somewhat surprising answer. "No one in No. 412 is aware
of your presence. We have taken care of that. As for the other houses,
they provide the simplest means of access to the center one. Doorways
have been made in the cellar walls and special staircases built.
Consequently, if you broke open the door of 412 you would find the way
barred by two other locked doors, while the occupants, if aroused,
could escape from either or both of the next houses. We Chinese have a
long acquaintance with the needs of a secret society. You may take it
from me that the obvious way into or out of an opium den, for
instance, is never the way used by the habitues."

By this time the commissioner, Handyside, Furneaux and the inspector
had come up, and the five formed a little group in the center of a
semicircle of detectives and police. There was absolutely no sign of
life in any of the houses; save for the raiders and the stolid
Orientals, the street itself was deserted. Many eyes, no doubt, were
peering through darkened windows, but the denizens of Charlotte Street
as a rule attend strictly to their own personal affairs when the
police are in evidence.

"What do you advise, sire" said Winter, addressing the commissioner.
"Mr. Li Chang wants us to make no move until one o'clock. It is only a
matter of six or seven minutes."

"And what then? Are we to enter these other houses, and not No. 412?"

"Yes," said the Chinaman.

"Have you left the doors open?"

"No. They must be forced. But there are only small locks. The bolts
are drawn."

"The places are apparently in complete darkness. My men must use their
lamps, and may be attacked."

"No," said Li Chang simply. "There will be no fighting. Those Manchu
dogs are helpless. We have seen to that."

"But how? Do you mean that they are stupefied?"

"Bound," said the Chinaman. "Tied hand and foot."

"Again then, may I ask, why wait?"

"It will be in order," was the calm reply. "I entered into an
arrangement with you. I want to abide by it."

Winter breathed heavily. The ways of the Oriental were not his ways,
but a bargain was a bargain, so what more could be said?

Suddenly, about two minutes to one o'clock, a curious crackling noise
was heard, a column of sparks burst high above the steep roof of No.
412, and the upper windows of the opposite houses reflected a red
glare.

"Good heavens! the place is on fire!" cried Winter.

Simultaneously came a shout from both ends of the street. Men were
running from the detachment guarding the rear of the premises to say
that a fierce fire was raging on the first floor back of No. 412.

"Smash in those three doors!" cried Winter to his helpers. "Drag out
every Chinaman you meet! Handcuff them in threes and fours! Arrest
these fellows standing outside, but keep the two lots separate!"

"Why are we, your friends, to be arrested?" demanded Li Chang's
dignified voice.

"I'll soon tell you why, you slim demon!" shouted the chief inspector,
roused to anger by the consciousness that he had been duped. "What
fiendish trick have you played on those wretches penned up inside
there? But I'll soon know."

He turned to the local officer.

"Better march this crowd of Chinamen straight to your station," he
said. "I'll follow soon, and lay a charge."

He felt a claw-like hand on his arm, and wild with vexation though he
was, forced himself to listen.

"We are ready to go where you wish," said Li Chang calmly. "But spare
your own men. They must not enter No. 412. They will be blown to
pieces. Stop them! I shall not warn you twice!"

Somehow, Winter was impelled to obey. The center door was already
yielding, but he rushed forward and told the party which meant to
enter at that point to abandon it, and reinforce their comrades. A
number of detectives and police were already inside the dark hallways
of Nos. 410 and 414 when the very walls trembled under the shock of a
violent explosion in No. 412, which was quickly followed by three
others.

A tongue of flame darted instantly to a height of many feet above the
topmost storey, showing that the series of explosions had not only
destroyed the whole rear section of the house, and thus given the fire
fresh fuel and plenty of space but there could be no reasonable doubt
that the bombs, if bombs they were, had themselves been filled with
some highly inflammable substance. Thenceforth, the police could do
nothing beyond keeping at a distance the crowds which soon gathered,
and thus clear a space for the operations of the fire brigade.

No. 412 was thoroughly gutted. Not a shred of the building remained
except the crumbling walls at front and back. Its neighbors were in
little better case, and the firemen devoted their efforts mainly
toward keeping the disaster within bounds.

One thing was certain. No human being had escaped from out of that
doomed habitation. The fire, too, had gained hold with a phenomenal
rapidity which argued the use of petrol, or some kindred agent of
irresistible potency when ignited.

Winter and Furneaux, accompanied by the commissioner and Mr.
Handyside, walked to the local police station. The American was the
only one who spoke.

"Queer ducks, the Chinese!" he said, seemingly musing aloud rather
than inviting comment. "They like to settle their own differences. I
guess we'd feel pretty much like that if we lived in China."

No one took up the point thus raised. Winter bent a searching, almost
sorrowful glance at Furneaux, but the little man's eyes were fixed on
the ground, as though he were deep in thought.

In the charge room of the police station the twenty-five Chinamen
awaited them. Twenty-five pairs of oblique eyes gleamed at the four
when they entered, but not a word was spoken.

Winter, of course, singled out Li Chang for a parley.

"Now," he said, "tell me just what happened after you and these others
went into the two houses in Charlotte Street."

The Chinaman faced him imperturbably. His manner was as unemotional
and his words as slow and methodical as if he were selling jute in his
East End warehouse.

"We asked to be admitted, and after giving the password and showing
the sign there was no difficulty," he said. "We were in parties of
three. As you probably saw, I headed one, which entered No. 410. My
friend, Won Lung Foo, led the other. The ivory skulls made matters
simple. We explained to the door-keepers that we had just arrived from
China, and brought messages of great urgency. Once inside, we gagged
and bound the door-keepers. Then we entered No. 412, where we knew
that Wong Li Fu would be smoking opium with the remaining fourteen."

"Were there seventeen in the gang, all told?" broke in Furneaux.

"Seventeen Manchus. The rest are-- paid men-- of no account."

"Queer," muttered Furneaux, almost to himself. "The story begins and
ends with the number 17!"

Again did Winter strive to pierce his colleague with a look from those
bulging eyes, but the little man was far too occupied with a singular
numerical coincidence to pay any heed to him.

"Well, go on!" he said impatiently, glaring at the Chinaman.

"We went to the big room at the back," continued Li Chang quietly,
uttering each word separately, and evidently weighing it in his mind
to test its accuracy before use, "and found Wong Li Fu. Him we bound
quickly, and very securely. The others we tied in twos and threes. Of
course, we brought the two doorkeepers to the same room, so that you
should experience no difficulty, but take them all together."

Here Mr. Won Lung Foo broke in. Evidently he could follow English
better than speak it.

"Yes," he said. "We wantee you catchee Chineemans all togeller--
muchee wantee!"

Then he smiled blandly, and his tongue rolled over his lips as though
some fruit or sweetmeat had left a pleasant taste there.

"Then, if your surprise was so successful, what caused the fire?" said
Winter, affecting a magnificent disregard of the plain facts.

Li Chang, for once, permitted his immobile features to show some
semblance of anxious uncertainty.

"That," he said, "is a mystery which can, perhaps, never be solved.
But it saves your Government much trouble."

In those few words he expressed quite clearly the line he adhered to
throughout a long cross-examination. Neither Winter nor the
commissioner could shake him. The fire was an accident-- the outcome
of an extraordinary chance. He knew nothing whatsoever of its origin.

After a protracted debate in private between the two heads of the
Criminal Investigation Department, the names and addresses of the
prisoners were recorded and they were set at liberty.

Before Li Chang went away Furneaux demanded the return of the three
ivory skulls, which were promptly handed over.

"One word in your ear," murmured the detective, sotto voce. "Did Wong
Li Fu recognize you?"

"Oh, yes," said the Chinaman.

"And you spoke to him?"

"Oh, yes."

The eyes of the two clashed. For once, Furneaux peered deep into the
mind of an Oriental, and what he saw there kept him quiet, but he
knew, just as surely as if he had been present, exactly what Li Chang
said to Wong Li Fu. He delivered a message from two graves in far-off
China.
_______

And that is all-- or nearly all.

The "Charlotte Street Fire" caused only a slight sensation. It became
known that No. 412 was a resort of Chinese opium fiends, and the loss
of the den and its frequenters was not treated as a National calamity.
The shooting at No. 11 Fortescue Square was regarded much more
seriously, and the newspapers were full of it all next day.

Thenceforth, however, interest flagged. Mr. Forbes and his family and
servants left London for Scotland, and the Amateur Golf Championship
came along, so the escapades of a few Chinese fanatics in London were
quickly forgotten.

They were forgotten, that is, by most people; but one man, Frank
Theydon, went back to his flat in Innesmore Mansions to plunge into
work and strive vainly to obliterate those pages of his memory charged
with bitter-sweet day-dreams.

Strive as he would, and did, to bury the past under the duties and
cares of the present, the radiant vision of Evelyn Forbes remained
ineffaceable and entrancing.

But he was built of tough fiber, and resolutely refused an invitation
to visit the Sutherlandshire glen in which Forbes and his daughter
were sedulously nursing to health and strength the dear wife and
mother whose nervous system had suffered far more than she permitted
to become known under the stress and strain of the kidnaping
experience.

Even when Evelyn herself wrote, seconding her father's most friendly
note, Theydon pleaded the exigencies of his profession and filled a
letter with an amusing account of Bates's chagrin because he had
failed to "bag a Chinaman on his own account," having actually
purchased a pistol and fixed it in position before he and his wife
quitted the flat.

Three months passed. On August 9, a broiling morning, Theydon was
dejectedly reading of preparations for the "Twelfth," when a telegram
reached him. It read:

"Handyside has arrived here in his car. Come for the gathering of the
clan. We take no refusal. Forbes."

Theydon traveled north that night. He reached the glen in time for
dinner next evening and passed a few delightfully miserable days in
Evelyn's company.

At last, feeling that he was losing grip and might act foolishly, he
announced to Forbes, one night when a glorious moon was shining, and
he knew that Evelyn was awaiting him in the garden, that he must leave
for London next day.

"Why?" inquired his host. "Has something unforeseen happened? I
thought you meant remaining here till the end of the month at the
earliest."

"I'm sorry," said Theydon, chewing a cigar viciously as a means toward
maintaining his self-control. "I'm sorry, but I must go."

There was a slight pause. Forbes looked at his young friend with those
earnest, deep-seeing eyes of his.

"Is it a personal matter?" he went on.

"Yes."

Again there was a pause. Theydon was well aware that he risked a grave
misunderstanding, but that could not be avoided. It might be even
better so. And then his blood ran cold, because Forbes was saying:

"Are you leaving us because of anything Evelyn has said or done?"

"No, no!" came the frenzied answer. "Heaven help me, why do you ask
that?"

"Heaven helps those who help themselves," said the older man. "That is
a trite saying, but it meets the case. I think I diagnose your
trouble, my boy. You are in love with Evelyn, and dare not tell her
so, because I happen to be a rich man. Really I didn't think you had
so poor an opinion of me as to believe that money or rank would count
against my daughter's happiness."

He said other things-- kindly, wise, appreciative-- but Frank Theydon
never knew what they were. He managed to stammer out some words of
gratitude and then went to find Evelyn.

She had crossed a sloping lawn and was standing by the side of a
little stream that gargled and bubbled in joyous career to the nearby
loch. She had thrown a white shawl over her head and shoulders, and
looked adorably sylphlike as she turned on hearing his footsteps; the
moonlight shone on her face and was reflected in her eyes.

"Oh, you're here at last!" she cried gaily. "The next time I ask any
cavalier to escort me he will come more quickly, I imagine."

He stood in front of her, and stretched out both hands.

"Evelyn," he said, "here is one cavalier, at any rate, who offers
himself as an escort for life."

The merriment died out of her eyes, and the quip on her tongue failed
her. Greatly daring, her lover took her in his arms. Through the open
windows of the drawing room floated the tender refrain of a ballad.
Mrs. Forbes was singing, and sweet words blended with sweet music in
the still air.

Then their lips met, and the dark glen became an earthly Paradise.

THE END

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