Array Sapper - The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile Sapper

It was just a week after we reached London that the blow fell. I, certainly, as day by day went by and nothing happened, had been lulled into a false sense of security. The half-naked priests of that foul pool in Egypt seemed so utterly incongruous in the crowded streets that sometimes I almost believed it had all been a dream. And once or twice with a feeling of inward amusement I wondered what would be the result if I told the story at my club. To Podgers, for choice, of the firm of Podgers & Podgers—a chartered accountant of blameless life. Great Scott! I could see his face as he listened.

And yet, in London itself, in a house in the middle of Mayfair there took place a thing more amazing, more horrible by the very reason of the surroundings, than anything that had happened by the Nile. There, at any rate, the setting was appropriate, but in London it appeared even at the time to be unreal and incredible. To me—for I was destined to fill the role of spectator—it seemed as if I were watching some Grand Guignol play. But it was no play; it was grim reality—a little too grim.

As I say, it was a week after we reached London that it happened. I had been out all the afternoon shopping with Molly. She and I were going to a theatre that night, and, after seeing her to her hotel, I had returned to my club to dress. And I found Jim waiting for me in a state of unconcealed impatience.

"I thought you were never coming, Dick," he cried as soon as he saw me. "Take me somewhere where we can talk."

I led the way to a small card-room which was luckily unoccupied.

"What is it?" I said. "Further developments?" He nodded.

"You know I gave Selim my address? Until this afternoon I'd heard nothing from him, and nothing had happened on our side to make me get in touch with him. In fact, I was beginning to think the whole thing was a leg-pull. An hour ago I was told that someone wanted me on the telephone, and it turned out to be the Prince." Jim stared at me gravely. "It's evidently no leg-pull, Dick."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He started off with a bright, chatty little remark," said Jim grimly. "The first thing he said when he heard my voice was, 'Thank heaven you're still alive.'"

"' Never better,' I assured him.

"He didn't beat about the bush at all, but came straight to the point. You're in the most deadly peril,' he said, in the same sort of voice as you'd ask someone out to dinner. 'I've just received information,' he went on, from a source that is open to me, which it is absolutely imperative you should know at once. It is too long to tell you over the telephone even if I dared.'

"Well, that sounded a jolly sort of beginning, and I asked him what he suggested as the next move. He'd got everything cut and dried, and it boiled down to this.

"You and I are to go round to his house this evening at nine o'clock precisely. The time is important, as he will then arrange that his Arab butler is out. That little precaution is for his benefit. He told me it would be signing his own death sentence if it were known he was warning us. He will then tell us exactly what he has found out, and it will be up to us after that.

"Molly—because I immediately asked about her—is perfectly safe for the next twelve hours. He further asked if we would both be good enough to preserve absolute silence as to where we were going. That— also for his sake.

"In fact, he made no bones about it. By doing what he was going to do he was running a very grave risk, and, somewhat naturally, he wants that risk minimised as much as possible. Which is quite understandable, because, after all, there's really no call on the fellow to do anything at all for us."

"None whatever," I agreed. "However, I must go and ring Molly at once, and tell her I can't go tonight. And after that you'd better stop and have an early dinner with me."

All through that meal we discussed it fruitlessly. What could it be—this danger that threatened us? The whole thing seemed so fantastic in the comfortable dining-room of a London club. And then, just as we had advanced the sixth wild guess, I saw one of the page-boys coming towards me.

"There's a black man as wants to see you, sir, in the 'all."

I glanced at Jim; then rose and followed the boy.

"This man, sir," began the hall-porter, looking out of his window. He stared round foolishly for a moment or two: the hall was empty.

"Hey! boy—where's that Arab gone, wot wanted to see Mr. Leyton?"

But the page-boy didn't know, and the hall-porter didn't know, and the sergeant outside didn't know. One and all were positive that a dark-skinned man who looked like an Arab had entered the club, to inquire for me. After that the situation was obscure. He had arrived: he was no longer there. Therefore, presumably, he had left. But the staff were still arguing about it half an hour later when Jim and I were ready to go.

"They're on to us, Dick—that's evident," he said gravely. "That man merely came round to find out if you were in the club. And that being the case, I think it's only fair to Selim to throw any possible watchers off the scent if we can. Let us, therefore, announce in a loud tone outside the door that we are going to Hampstead. Then we can double back on our tracks in case we're being followed."

He gave an address in Eton Avenue, while I looked round. Not a soul, as far as I could see, was in sight—certainly no other vehicle, but we Were taking no chances. So it wasn't until we were in Oxford Street that we gave the driver the real address we wanted in Berkeley Square. And even then we didn't give him the number of the house: we intended to walk the last few yards for greater safety.

"Have you got a gun, Dick?" said Jim suddenly.

"I haven't," I answered. "But we shan't want one tonight."

He laughed shortly. "No—I suppose not. But old habits die hard with me. I don't sort of feel dressed unless I've got one. By Jove! I wonder what this show is going to develop into."

"We shall know very soon," I said. "It's five to nine, and here is Berkeley Square."

The door was opened by the Prince himself, and he immediately shut it again behind us. He was in evening clothes, and we murmured an apology for our own attire, which he waved aside.

"Follow me, please, gentlemen. There is not a moment to be lost."

He led the way through the hall to a heavy green-baize door at the farther end, and even in the one rapid glance I threw round me it was easy to see that money was no object. Down two flights of steps we hurried after him, till another door barred our progress. The Prince produced a key from his pocket, and the next moment an exclamation of wonder broke from both our lips as we saw into the room beyond. In fact, for a while I forgot the real object of our visit in my amazement.

It was a big room divided in half by an ornamental grille. There was an opening in the centre, and the grille itself hardly obstructed one's view at all. But it was the beauty of the furniture and the wonderful lighting effect that riveted my attention: it seemed like a room out of a fairy story.

The general design was Oriental, and save for the perfect taste of everything the display of wealth would have been almost vulgar. Luxurious divans, with costly brocades: marvellous Persian rugs, with small inlaid tables of gold and silver: the sound of water trickling through the leaves of a great mass of tropical flowers: and over everything the soft glow of a thousand hidden lights. Such was my first impression of that room, and the Prince, seeing my face, smiled faintly.

"A room on which I have expended a good deal of time and money," he remarked. "The general effect is, I think, not unpleasing. I use it a lot when I am in London. And I may say without undue pride that some of the things in here are absolutely unique. For instance, that chair in which you are sitting, Mr. Leyton, is one that was used by the Doges of Venice. Now put your arms along the sides as you would do when sitting comfortably—oh! by the way, Maitland, there's a head through there that will interest you. A record specimen, I'm told."