Books: Number Seventeen
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Louis Tracy >> Number Seventeen
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The door was thrown wide as they turned at the sound of the words, and
Theydon recognized in a strange little figure-- wearing a blue serge
suit, a straw hat and brown boots-- Furneaux, the man whom he had
looked on as somewhat of a crank and visionary during their talk of
the previous night.
"You?" he gasped, and the note of recognition was sharpened by a
sudden sense of dismay, almost of alarm, because of the overwhelming
knowledge that now all his scheming had collapsed, while the
representatives of Scotland Yard would regard him as nothing more than
a poor sort of trickster.
But Forbes was not in the habit of yielding to any man, no matter what
his status, or howsoever awe-inspiring might be the department of
state which he represented.
"Who the devil are you, at any rate?" he cried angrily. "And what
right have you to spy on gentlemen in this manner, listening to their
conversation, and breaking in with a cheap stage effect obviously
intended to startle?"
Furneaux remained motionless, his feet set well apart and his hands
thrust into his trousers pockets. The trim, natty figure, the spruce
and Summer-like attire, the small, wizened face with its cynically
humorous and wide-awake aspect-- above all, a certain jauntiness of
air and cocksure expression-- certainly did not suggest a comedian
fresh from the boards.
"You tell," he said, nodding to Theydon.
"This is Mr. Furneaux of Scotland Yard," said the latter nervously. He
imagined he could detect in Furneaux's glance a mixture of amusement
and contempt, amusement at the notion that any amateur should harbor
the belief that the two best men in the "Yard" could be egregiously
hoodwinked, and contempt of one who so far forgot himself as even to
dare attempt such a thing in relation to a police inquiry into a
murder.
"I don't know, and care less, who Mr. Furneaux of Scotland Yard may
be," went on Forbes hotly. "I resent his intrusion, and wish to be
relieved of his presence."
"Why?" said Furneaux.
"I have given my reasons to the Home Secretary. That mere statement
must suffice for you."
"Really, I must ask you to be more explicit."
"I visited the Home Office this morning, and placed such evidence in
the hands of the Home Secretary that Scotland Yard will be requested
to suspend all further investigation into the death of Mrs. Lester."
"Do you mean that the Home Secretary has sanctioned the breaking off
of this inquiry."
"In the conditions--"
"Because, if that is what your words imply, Mr. Forbes, I may tell you
at once that I don't believe you. It is more than any Home Secretary
dare do, and if you harbor any lingering doubts on the point, go to
Mr. Theydon's telephone, ring up the Home Office, and tell the
gentleman at the other end of the wire exactly what I have said. Of
course you really don't mean anything of the sort. By virtue of some
special and inside knowledge of certain facts communicated to the Home
Secretary, you may have persuaded him to promise that, provided the
ends of justice are not defeated thereby, every precaution will be
taken to keep the main lines of the inquiry secret until the whole
position can be laid before the law officers of the Crown. The Home
Secretary may have gone that far, Mr. Forbes, but not one inch
farther, and you know it."
The two antagonists, so singularly disproportionate in size, were yet
so perfectly matched in the vastly more important qualities of brain
and nerve that the contest lost all sense of inequality. Theydon felt
himself of no account in this duel. He was like an urchin watching
open-mouthed a combat of gladiators.
Forbes, not without a perceptible effort, choked down his wrath and
recovered his poise.
"You have gaged the state of affairs accurately enough," he said,
speaking more calmly. "May I, then, recommend you to consult your
direct superiors before carrying your investigations any furthur,
Mr.--"
"Furneaux-- Charles Francois Furneaux."
"Just so, Mr. Charles Francois Furneaux."
"I give you my full name, because one of the peculiar features of this
case is the inability of some persons mixed up in it to recall names,
or even the mere salient facts," and the detective's glance dwelt for
an instant on Theydon, who, again, in his own estimation, shrank into
the boots of a fourth-form boy detected by a master in an overt breach
of college rules.
But the little man was speaking impressively, and, Theydon compelled
his wandering wits to pay attention.
"It will clear the air, perhaps," went on Furneaux, "if I point out
that if any one here is playing the spy-- carrying on some underhanded
game, that is-- it is not I. These apartments are in charge of the
police. The manager of the whole block of flats and the porter of this
particular section have been warned that no one can be allowed to
enter No. 17, on any pretext, until our inquiry is closed. Now, Mr.
Forbes, kindly explain how you contrived to get possession of a key."
An experienced man of the world like Forbes could hardly fail to see
that he was in a false position, and that any persistent attempt to
browbeat the detective would not only meet with utter failure but
might possibly compromise him gravely.
"That was a simple matter," he said. "Mrs. Lester's servant left her
key in Mr. Theydon's establishment. Bates surprised both his master
and me by producing it when I expressed a wish to examine the place."
"But why adopt such a clandestine method?"
Forbes's face, usually so classic in outline, assumed a certain
rigidity, and his firm chin grew markedly aggressive.
"I don't answer questions put in that way," he said.
Furneaux laughed sardonically.
"You meet with greater respect in Capel Court, I have no doubt," he
snapped. "There you stand on a pedestal, with one hand flourishing a
check-book and the other resting gracefully on the neck of a golden
calf. Here, you are simply an ordinary citizen behaving in a
suspicious manner. If the uniformed policeman on the neighboring beat
knew what I know of your recent movements he would arrest you without
ceremony, and charge you with being concerned in the murder of Mrs.
Lester. Between you and Mr. Theydon, the work of my department has
been hindered and burked most scandalously. Don't glare at me like
that! I don't care tuppence for your millions and your social
position. What I do care about is the horrible risk you and each
member of your family are incurring. You know why, and while you are
still alive I mean to force you to speak. Tell me now why Mrs. Lester
was killed. Tell me, too, why the same hand which thrust a little
ivory skull into the dead woman's underbodice caused a similar token
to be delivered to you by this morning's post. Ah, that touches you,
does it? Now, my worthy financier and philanthropist, step down from
your pedestal and behave like a being of flesh and blood!"
Forbes positively wilted under that extraordinary attack. His white
face grew wan, and his eyes dilated with surprise and terror. The
detective's words seemed to have the effect of a paralytic shock.
Thenceforth he was under dog in the fight.
"How do you know," he gasped, "that I received an ivory skull this
morning? Have you been to my house? Did my daughter tell you?"
Furneaux chuckled.
"You're ready to listen, eh? Well, I don't mind telling you that I
have not stirred out of this flat since seven o'clock this morning,
and I question if your letters were delivered in Fortescue Square at
that hour."
"I give in," said Forbes curtly. "Need we remain here? The smell of
that cursed joss stick oppresses me."
Then Theydon found his tongue.
"If Mr. Furneaux cares to abandon his vigil, my flat is entirely at
your disposal," he said.
"My vigil, as you accurately describe it, has ended for the time
being," said Furneaux, apparently mollified by the millionaire's
surrender. "I was sure that if I remained here long enough I would
clear away some of the fog attached to a case which promises to be one
of the most remarkable I have ever investigated. Come, gentlemen, let
us be amiable to one another. I'm sorry if I lost my temper just now,
but I regard myself as being the only detective in existence who uses
other sections of his brain than those governed by statutes made and
provided, and it riles me when men of superior intelligence like
yourselves treat me as though my mission in life was to direct the
traffic and keep a sharp eye on mischievous juveniles.... Mr. Theydon,
can that soldier-servant of yours make coffee?"
"His wife can," said Theydon.
"Will you be good enough, then, to set her to work? Thus far, since
the sun rose, I have stayed the pangs of hunger with an apple and a
glass of water."
By this time, Theydon had thoroughly revised his first estimate of the
diminutive detective. Indeed, he was beginning to look on him as a
quite noteworthy person, a man whose mental equipment it was most
unwise to assess at any lower valuation than the somewhat exalted one
which Furneaux himself had set forth with such refreshing candor.
As for Forbes, the millionaire seemed to have sunk into a species of
stupor since Furneaux spoke of the ivory skull. He uttered no word
until the three were seated in Theydon's room, and his expression was
so woebegone that it stirred even the mercurial Jerseyite to pity.
"I imagine that a cup of coffee will do you also a world of good," he
said. Then, whirling round on Theydon, he stuck a question into him as
if each word was a stiletto.
"Where do you get your coffee?"
"At the grocer's," was the surprised answer.
"Is that all you know about it?"
"Yes."
"Singular thing, isn't it?" mused the detective aloud, "how idiotic
men and women can be in their attitude to the supreme things of life.
What is of greater importance than the food we eat and the liquors we
drink? Through them the body reconstitutes itself hourly and daily.
Providence gives us a perfect engine, yet we clog and choke its shafts
and cylinders by supplying it haphazard with any sort of fuel and
lubricant, no matter how unsuited either may be to its purpose. Take
coffee, for instance. The physiological action of coffee depends on
the presence of the alkaloid caffeine, which varies from 0.6 percent
in the Arabian berry to 2 percent in that of Sierra Leone. Again, the
aromatic oil, caffeine, which is developed by roasting, increases in
quantity the longer the seeds are kept. Unfortunately, coffee beans
lose weight during storage, so you have a clear commercial reason why
grocers should not sell the best coffee, unless under compulsion of an
enlightened public opinion. Now you, Mr. Forbes, would never dream of
putting your money into a investment without full and careful inquiry
into the history and scope of the proposed undertaking, while our
young friend here would snort furiously at a split infinitive or a
false rhyme, yet, when I submit the vital problem of the sort of
coffee you imbibe-- the very essence and nutriment of your brains and
bodies-- you hear the kind of answer I receive."
All this, of course, was excellent fooling, intended to dispel the
brooding horror which had suddenly descended upon Forbes since it was
borne in on him that the demoniac wrath wreaked on Mrs. Lester was now
directed with equal ferocity against his family and himself.
To an extent, Furneaux's scheme succeeded. A gleam of interest shot
from the millionaire's eyes. They lost their introspective look. He
even smiled wistfully.
"You are a man after my own heart, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "I had no
idea that the Criminal Investigation Department employed philosophers
of your caliber. I suppose that you and I are about to swallow coffee
containing indeterminate percentages of the chief constituents you
named."
"One does not look at gift coffee in the cup," grinned the little man,
obviously well pleased with himself. "But, if ever you two gentlemen
favor my obscure dwelling with a visit, and partake of a meal, you
will have a strict analysis with every bite and sup. There is a grocer
in Battersea who used to tremble at sight of me. Now he has learned
wisdom, and has quadrupled his trade by publishing learned
disquisitions on the nature and quality of each principal article he
sells. You ought to read his treatise on butter. He is an authority on
the dietetic value of jam. The nutritive properties of his cheese are
ruining the local butchers."
Furneaux's efforts were rewarded when the really excellent beverage
provided by Mrs. Rates was disposed of. Forbes seemingly atoned for
his earlier secretiveness by placing every fact in his possession
fully and fairly before his auditors.
"Nearly seven years ago," he said, "I made a very large sum of money
by amalgamating certain shipping interests at a favorable moment.
Thus, as it happened, I had at command practically unlimited resources
when I was asked to finance the cause of reform in China. The wretched
lot of the Chinese Nation had always appealed to my sympathies. Some
hundreds of millions of the most industrious and peace-loving people
in the world have been exploited for centuries by a predatory caste.
Given a chance to expand, freed from the shackles of the Manchus, the
Chinese, in my opinion, contain the elements which go to form a great
race. But the Manchus held them in bondage, body and soul, and, so
powerful is self-interest, there has never been an Emperor or
statesman who strove to elevate the masses who was not mercilessly
assassinated as soon as he allowed his intent to become known. The
only path to freedom lay through revolution, and I had reason to
believe that the ruling faction could be overthrown by a
well-organized and properly financed movement without the appalling
bloodshed which often accompanies such dynastic changes. At any rate,
I entered the conspiracy, heart and soul. But I met with two
difficulties at the outset. I could not exercise efficient financial
control in London, and I could neither go and live in the Far East nor
transact my business through ordinary banking channels. So I had to
find a substitute, and my choice fell on a rising young barrister
named Arthur Lester, whom I had known since he was a boy who had
married the daughter of an old friend. He had a taste for adventure,
and was alive to the magnificent career which lay before one who
helped materially in the rebirth of China. In a word, he went to
Shanghai as my agent, and the outcome of his work there is the present
Chinese constitution. Of course, as holds good in all human affairs,
events did not follow the precise track mapped out for them. But, on
the whole, he and I were satisfied. China is awake at last. The giant
has stirred, and, if his first uncertain steps have deviated from the
open road of reform, he will never again sink into the torpor of the
past centuries. Manchu arrogance and domination, at any rate, are
shadows of the past, but unhappily, the conquerors who have been so
effectually thrust aside have now embarked on a secret campaign of
vengeance and reaction. A society which calls itself the 'Young
Manchus' is inspired by one principle, and one only, and that is
'death to the reformers.' I don't suppose you gentlemen follow closely
the trend of affairs in China, but you must have read of the
assassinations of prominent men reported occasionally in the
newspapers."
Furneaux clicked his tongue so loudly that Forbes stopped speaking and
looked at him, thinking, apparently, that the little detective meant
to say something. He did, but it was Theydon whom he addressed.
"I'd give a week's pay if Winter was here now, and I could see those
big eyes of his bulging out of his head," he cackled.
Theydon nodded. He understood perfectly. Then he caught Forbes's
inquiring glance, and explained matters.
"Mr. Furneaux hinted last night at some such development as that which
your present statement conveys, and his colleague, Mr. Winter,
pretended to scout it," he said.
"Pretended!" shrieked Furneaux, instantly in a rage.
"That was how it struck me," said Theydon coolly.
"Didn't I drag the Chinese aspect of the crime out of him with
pincers?" came the indignant demand.
"Unquestionably. I only remark that your large-sized friend had it
tucked away all the time at the back of his head."
Furneaux pounded the table so viciously that the cups rattled.
"Of course, he has a nose to smell joss sticks, and eyes to see an
ivory skull, but didn't he say I was talking nonsense when I spoke
about Shang Ti scowling from a porcelain vase?" he shrilled.
"Yes. For all that, I don't think he missed the least hint of your
meaning."
Furneaux gazed at Theydon fixedly.
"Sorry," he said, with an acid tone that was almost malicious. "I
imagined you were so busy throwing dust in our eyes that you wouldn't
have noticed such fine shades of perception on Winter's part."
But Theydon was now able to measure this strange little man with some
degree of accuracy; he only smiled.
"As a thrower of dust I was a most abject failure," he said.
Furneaux smiled and turned to the millionaire.
"Pardon the interruption," he said. "Like every artist, I am pained
when my best efforts are scoffed at by heedless mediocrity. You, at
least, will understand what a big thing it was to deduce even the
vaguest outline of the truth from the facts at my command."
"I certainly do," agreed Forbes. "Until this morning I was convinced
that Mrs. Lester's death removed the one person in England who knew of
my connection with the revolution in China. To revert to the Young
Manchus-- they have secured far more victims than the world at large
is aware of. I am sure that they poisoned Arthur Lester, and his wife
held the same view. They aim at nothing less than the extinction of
the democratic cause by the murder of every prominent man connected
with it. But they never yet have been able to obtain a full and
authentic list of the reform leaders. They suspected poor Lester of
complicity in the movement, and killed him. It was through Mrs. Lester
that I first became aware of their existence as an active
organization, and I hoped that when she had returned to England, and
was living quietly in London, she would be lost sight of-- ignored, in
fact. Nevertheless, both she and I thought it prudent that our
acquaintance should cease until the turmoil in China had subsided. For
that reason I never visited her, nor did I permit the growth of
friendship between her and my wife and daughter-- a friendship which,
in happier conditions, would have been natural and inevitable. But we
were woefully mistaken. An Oriental vendetta neither slackens nor
dies. By some means wholly unknown to me, the Young Manchus must have
discovered, or guessed, that in leaving Lester's widow out of their
reckoning they had lost a promising clew. Be that as it may, they
followed her to London, and, by a singular fatality, I was the first
to know of it. Last Monday, while driving home from the city, my car
was held up in Piccadilly for a few seconds. Looking idly out at the
passing crowd, I saw a Chinaman in European clothes. He was waiting to
cross the road, so I was able to scrutinize him carefully, and, owing
to a scar on the left side of his face, recognized him. His name is
Wong Li Fu, a Manchu of the Manchus, a mandarin of almost imperial
lineage. Some years ago he was a young attaché at the Chinese Embassy
here. Suddenly, while on the way to my house, I recollected that
certain members of the Revolutionary Committee had spoken of this very
man as being one of the ablest and most unscrupulous adherents of the
Manchu faction in Pekin. Somehow, his presence in London was
disconcerting and menacing. Who more likely than he, I argued, to be a
leading spirit among the Young Manchus? In any event, London was not
big enough to hold both Mrs. Lester and him, and I decided to visit
her that very night, tell her I had seen Wong Li Fu, and advise her to
go away into the country, leaving no record of her whereabouts. I
happened to be taking my daughter to Daly's Theater, and contrived to
slip away on some pretext after the performance. I found Mrs. Lester
alone in her flat, and she fell in with my views at once, because she,
too, had heard of this very man, and the mere sound of his name
terrified her. I was half inclined to urge that she should go to an
hotel for the night, but the lateness of the hour and the seeming fact
that if danger threatened she was safe at least till the morrow,
prevented me."
Furneaux, sitting on the edge of a chair, his head bent forward, his
piercing black eyes intent as those of a hawk, a hand resting on each
knee, his attitude curiously suggestive of a readiness to spring
forward at any instant, now leaned over and tapped the millionaire
decisively on the shoulder.
"You couldn't have saved her, Mr. Forbes," he said gravely. "She was
marked down as the first warning. Didn't the letter you received this
morning tell you something of the sort?"
Agitation gave place to utter astonishment in Forbes's face.
"In Heaven's name, how do you know anything of any letter?" he cried.
"I will tell you later. But am I not right?"
"Yes, you are."
"Where is it? May I see it?"
Forbes took a creased and soiled document from a small, flat cardboard
box which he carried in the breast pocket of his coat. But first he
withdrew from the box a little object, and placed it on the table. It
was an ivory skull, and the very presence of such a sinister token
brought some hint of the charnel-house into the cozy and sunlit room.
Furneaux, a creature oddly constituted either of all nerves or of no
nerves, disregarded the skull. He had eyes only for the few words
typed on a single sheet of note-paper. They ran:
"James Creighton Forbes: If you are willing to come to terms, announce
the fact by advertisement in Thursday's Times. Address your reply to
Y. M., and sign it 'J. C. F.' Yield, and you will hear further.
Refuse, and no other warning will be given."
CHAPTER VIII
THE FIRST COUNTER-STROKE
Furneaux apparently made up his mind with reference to the contents of
a somewhat enigmatic message after one quick, unerring perusal.
"The man who wrote that took a great many things for granted," he
said. "He assumed, firstly, that you knew of Mrs. Lester's death and
understood its significance; secondly, that you are aware of the
nature of the 'terms' he will offer; thirdly, that you may hesitate
between compliance and threatened death. 'Y. M.,' of course, can be
read as 'Young Manchus.' Even there, the writer exhibits artistic
reticence.... Frankly, Mr. Forbes, I wish you had come straight to
Scotland Yard on Monday evening instead of wasting those precious
hours at Daly's Theater."
Forbes was moved to energetic protest.
"How was I to deduce the true nature of these hell hounds' mission
from a casual glance vouchsafed of one who may or may not be their
leader?" he cried.
"Yet you treated your discovery as serious enough to warrant a prompt
visit to the woman with whom association was dangerous?"
"Yes; I wanted to act secretly."
"Just so. You were afraid the police would bungle the job. Between you
and Mr. Theydon, you have exhibited remarkable skill in heading us off
the scent. Fortunately, we were able to dispense with your assistance,
having other matters to occupy our brains. You two were ripe nuts
waiting to be cracked and have the contents extracted at leisure.
There were a few freshly broken shells lying about which invited
immediate attention. For instance, some four months ago, a well-known
and reputable firm of private inquiry agents was instructed from
Canton to secure all possible information about Mrs. Lester and you--
yes, you, Mr. Forbes-- your household, friends, methods of living,
servants, tradesmen,-- every sort of fact, indeed, which might be
useful to a thoroughgoing and well-organized society of cutthroats
like the Young Manchus. The inquiry agents did their work well, and
were handsomely paid for it. I haven't the least doubt that Wong Li Fu
knows what brand of cigars you favor, and what you eat for breakfast.
His informants sent us a copy of their notes an hour after the murder
was announced in the newspapers. Mr. Lester is 'removed' in Shanghai.
His widow comes home. The inquiry agents receive instructions. They
forward their report to Canton, and Wong Li Fu turns up in London. The
program is a tribute to the excellence and regularity of the mail
service between England and the Far East."
While the detective was speaking, Forbes's face, already haggard, had
grown desperate.
"I care little for my own life," he said, "but I shall stop short of
no measures to protect my wife and daughter."
"I certainly recommend that an armed guard should be on duty day and
night in any house where you may happen to be living at the moment,"
replied Furneaux airily. "I really think that if your safety alone
were at stake I would do you a good turn by arresting you on
suspicion."
"On suspicion of what crime?"
"Of killing Mrs. Lester, to be sure."
"I regard you as a clever man, Mr. Furneaux, so may I remind you that
this is neither the time nor the place for a display of gross humor?"
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