Абрахам Меррит - Seven Footprints To Satan

"Not one," she said. "Consardine likes me- I think he would go far to protect me. But he is tied to Satan. So are all of them. Not only by fear – you saw what happened to Cartright- but by other reasons as well. Satan does pay highly, Mr. Kirkham. Not only in money, but in other things- he has dreadful power… unholy power. Oh, it's not just money that people want! Nor all that he gives them! You can't even dream as yet… "

"Drugs?" I suggested unimaginatively. "You're being stupid- deliberately," she said. "You know very well what Lucifer was supposed to be able to give. And he can… and he does… and even those who have lost to him still have the hope that they may do something that will give them another chance- or that his caprice will."

"Has such a thing ever happened?"

"Yes," she replied, "it has. But don't think it was because he was capable of mercy."

"You mean it was simply a play to hold them tighter by dangling the hope of freedom under their noses?"

"Yes," she said. "So their usefulness would not be weakened by despair."

"Miss Demerest," I asked her bluntly, "why should you think I am any different from these others?"

"You did not come to him of your own will," she said. "And you are no slave to his seven shining prints."

"I came pretty close to being so last night," I said, somewhat ruefully.

"They haven't- got you," she whispered. "Not like the others. And they won't. They mustn't get you, Mr. Kirkham."

"I don't intend to let them," I told her, grimly. She gave me her other hand at that. I glanced at my watch and jumped. "There's only a little more than ten minutes left to us," I said. "We've not even spoken of any plan. We've got to meet again- quickly. And we've got to keep right on hoodwinking Satan."

"That will be the great difficulty, of course," she nodded. "But I'll take care of that. And you understand now, don't you, that it was that necessity that made me treat you so outrageously?"

"Even before Satan's confession to me, I suspected something of the sort," I grinned. "And of course you understand that my equally outrageously sounding proposition to him to turn you over to me was just a following of your lead."

"Better than that," she answered softly. "I knew what you really did mean."

Again I shot a glance at my watch. Six minutes- just about time.

"Look here," I said abruptly. "Answer me truly. When did it first occur to you that I might be the one to get you out of this trap?"

"Wh-when you kissed me," she whispered.

"And when did you get the idea of camouflaging what you thought about me?"

"R-right after you began kissing me."

"Eve," I said, "do you see any necessity for camouflage at this moment?"

"No," answered Eve, ingenuously. "Why?"

"This is why!" I dropped her hands, drew her to me and kissed her. And Eve put her arms around my neck tightly and kissed me quite as whole-heartedly. And that was that uniquely satisfactory that.

"It's a coincidence," I murmured against her ear a moment or two later, "but the exact second you had that idea was the precise second I decided to stick the game out."

"Oh- Jim!" sighed Eve. This time she kissed me.

The car was going more slowly. I cursed helplessly Satan's inflexible schedule.

"Eve," I said swiftly, and thrust the necklace of Senusert in her hands, "do you know a little Englishman named Barker? The electrician? He seems to know you."

"Yes," she answered, eyes wide with wonder. "I know him. But how- "

"Get in touch with him as soon as you can," I bade her, "I haven't time to explain. But Barker's to be trusted. Tell him he must get to me in my room the first night I return. By hook or crook, he's got to. You understand?"

She nodded, eyes wider.

"Arrange it," I said, "so that you'll be there that night, too."

"All right- Jim," said Eve.

I looked at my watch. I had one and three-quarters minutes more. We put it to excellent use.

The car stopped.

"Remember Barker," I whispered.

I opened the door and stepped out. It closed behind me and the car rolled off. The obelisk was near by. I walked around it obediently. As I started for Fifth Avenue I saw a man on another path about a hundred feet from me. His overcoat and hat were the same as mine. He swung a Malacca cane. A vast curiosity struck me? Was it my double? I started toward him, and halted. If I followed him I was disobeying Satan's instructions. Less than at any time did I want to do that. Reluctantly I turned and let him go.

I hailed a taxi and started to the Club. There was a rosy light outside the windows; I felt like singing; the walkers on the Avenue seemed to skip gaily. Eve had gone a bit to my head.

Suddenly the rosiness dimmed, the song died. Reason began to function. No doubt the absence of the necklace had been soon discovered. The doors of the museum would have been closed, and none allowed to depart without being searched. Perhaps the alarm had been sounded even as I had gone down the steps. It might be that I had been the only one who had gotten out.

If that were so, then, obviously, I must be suspected. I had deliberately drawn the attention of the guards to me, not only in the corridor, but in the treasure room. They would remember me. Why had I slipped away, ignoring the disturbances, if I had not had some strong reason? What reason could I have had except making away with the necklace?

Or supposing the theft had not been discovered until after the museum had been emptied. Still, I would find it difficult to explain why I had so rapidly made my exit; been the only one to take no interest in the happenings.

Had Satan missed a move in his complicated game, made an error in his deliberate calculations? Or had he coldly planned to have suspicion rest upon me? Whether he had or not, it must.

In no easy frame of mind I dismissed the taxi and entered the Club.

"Back early, Mr. Kirkham," smiled the clerk at the desk as he handed me my keys. Quite evidently he had no suspicion that the Kirkham who had gone out a few hours before and the one who had just returned were two distinct persons. My double, I reflected, must be good indeed.

"I'm going to be almighty busy for the next few hours," I told him. "I've some writing to do that will demand my entire concentration. There's nothing, absolutely nothing, of sufficient importance to break in on me. It's very likely that there will be telephone calls and visitors. Tell everybody that I'm out. If it's reporters, tell them I'll see them at eight o'clock. Slip copies of all the afternoon papers up to me at seven o'clock. Not before. Get me the latest editions. And no matter who calls, don't let me be bothered."

"I'll put an extra key in your box," he said. "It always looks better."

I went to my room. Locking the door, I made a minute inspection. On my desk was my three-day accumulation of mail. There were not many letters, none was important; all had been opened. Two were invitations to speak at dinners. Carbon copies of notes of regret were attached to them. My signature upon them was perfect. My double's powers of imitation were clearly not limited to voice and appearance. My reason for declining, I was much interested in learning, was that I would not be in the city on the dates of the dinners. So? Where the devil, I wondered, was I to be?

Beside my typewriter was a bulky document. Riffling its pages I discovered that it was a report upon the possibilities of certain mineralized lands in China. It was addressed to that same brilliant attorney who had toasted the "near-damned" at Satan's feast of the night before. It was corrected and annotated in my own handwriting. I had, of course, no knowledge of its purpose, but I was sure that the lawyer would be able to discuss it with easy familiarity if circumstances forced it to his attention. My confidence in Satan revived. I felt much more comfortable.