The tomb of Ts'in
faculty told her that something must have occurred--there must have
been some extraordinary noise to have brought about this condition of
wakefulness.
She lay perfectly still--listening. For a long time she heard nothing
and saw nothing; then for a moment she saw a tiny streak of bright
light in the room.
Before she could touch it her wrist was grasped, and a long, bony hand
closed over her mouth.
“Be silent!” said a voice in her ear. “If you make a noise I will kill
you!”
She felt a grip on her throat, and lay paralysed with terror; she had
neither the will nor the ability to scream.
At last she found her voice.
“Take what you want and go,” she said.
“Where do you keep your jewels?” said the man who held her, in a low
voice.
The ghost of a smile, in spite of the tragic situation, dawned on
Yvonne’s face.
“In the top drawer of my bureau,” she said, and might have added:
“such as they are”; but even her sense of humour could not rise equal
to the occasion.
The man muttered some words in a language which she could not
understand; but she gathered that he was addressing the second man in
the room, for two there were undoubtedly.
Then with a sickening sense of danger she realised that the language
was Chinese.
She heard the soft “hush” of the drawer as it opened, she saw the
flash of light as the men swept it over her belongings. Then the man
at the drawer spoke over his shoulder. There was a quick exchange of
words, then:
“Get up!” said the man by her side shortly.
There was nothing to do but obey. She rose from her bed and stood on
the floor shaking in every limb. She was thankful for the darkness
which perhaps hid the full extent of her danger.
“You have a bracelet somewhere,” said the man who had spoken first.
“It was given to you by young De Costa. Where is it now?”
The girl made no reply. She was dismayed when she realised that
Talham’s deception had been discovered, and she felt herself a guilty
party to the deception.
“I have not got it,” she said.
“Who has?” The voice was sharp and authoritative.
“Captain Talham has it,” she said, before she realised that she was
betraying the strange man. He was nothing to her, yet even in the
moment of her peril, she understood that perhaps she might be
endangering him, and was sorry she had spoken.
There was a little silence, then:
“Put on your clothes!” said the man.
“Why?” she asked startled.
“Don’t argue. You can dress in the dark. Put on your clothes. If you
can’t I’ll turn on the light.”
She groped for her clothes, thankful to dress in the dark, and the man
walked over to the door.
“Remember,” he said as his vice-like grip released her arm, “any
attempt to raise an alarm will result in your immediate death; there
are no men in this house as I know. Captain Talham, on whom you may
unreasonably depend, is quite unconscious of your present predicament.
I am going to take you away from here, and I swear to you that you
shall not be harmed. Are you going to take my word?”
“There is no alternative,” answered the girl.
With trembling hands she drew on her clothes. That she should be
dressing herself in the presence of two Chinamen--for a Chinaman the
first speaker was, in spite of his perfect English--did not strike her
at the moment as being so much a subject for dismay, as to what would
happen after she had dressed.
There was a heavy cloak hanging in the wardrobe of the room. She drew
this on over her other things, and, twisting her hair into a knot at
the top of her head, fixed a hat over what she knew was a most
appalling untidiness.
“It may not be necessary,” said the man, “to tell you that any cry
will bring your mother and the maid--in which case I shall destroy not
only you, but the people you alarm.”
He guided her past her mother’s door, down the stairs and into the
street.
A little distance from the door was a motor-car. The second man went
out, and at a signal the car drew across the road to the door of the
house.
She was hustled inside, and the two men sprang in after her. With a
jerk the car started upon the most adventurous journey that Yvonne
Yale had ever taken in her short, and until then, uneventful, career.
Just as the car passed out of sight, a taxi came flying round the
corner, and pulled up at the door of Mrs. Yale’s dwelling. Two men got
out and made straight for the door. The first of these was Tillizinni.
He had his hand upon the knocker when he felt the door yield to his
touch, and he pushed it open.
He turned to the pale-faced Talham.
“My God!” he said. “They’ve been here!”
He slipped a revolver from his hip pocket, and went up the stairs, two
at a time, for Talham had found the switch which controlled the stair
light.
Tillizinni guessed that the best bedroom would be at the back, and
that Mrs. Yale would occupy it.
He knocked on the door.
“Who’s there?” asked a muffled voice.
“Open, please!” said Tillizinni. “I am an officer of police, and I
want to see you very urgently.”
Mrs. Yale came out to the light of the detective’s lamp and presented
an unhappy figure.
“Which room does your daughter occupy?” asked Tillizinni.
She recognised Talham with an embarrassed smile.
“My daughter is in the next room.” She led the way and knocked at the
door; but again there was no necessity for knocking--the door was half
open. She entered, followed without invitation by Tillizinni, who was
too anxious as to the girl’s safety to stand upon ceremony.
The bed was empty. He put his hand inside--it was still warm. A quick
glance round at the open drawers gave evidence of the visitors’
presence.
There was no time to be lost.
“Your daughter has been kidnapped,” he said. “You must arouse your
servants. I will send a policeman to you.”
Into the street again came the two men, and Tillizinni lifted one of
the lamps from the taxi and examined the roadway. There had been a
sharp shower of rain half an hour previous, and the tracks of the
other car were plainly visible.
He ran along the roadway carrying the lamp, and reached the
thoroughfare which ran to the north and south. There was no evidence
that the car had taken either direction. He crossed the road, the
taxi-cab following in his rear. Yes, here it was again--the broad band
had gone straight on. They would be making now for Portland Place.
At this point a policeman appeared, and Tillizinni gave him an order
that set the man running back to the house in Curzon Street. Then
Tillizinni went back to the cab, and the taxi went straight ahead at
full speed, slowing at the point where Portland Place cut across the
route.
The streets were newly washed. Indeed, the great thoroughfare was at
that moment in the hands of the scavengers with their hoses and their
squeegees. There would be no definite track here, and Tillizinni,
after a search, saw sufficient evidence to show him which direction
the car had taken.
At Oxford Circus a policeman had seen it. It had turned eastward, and
had gone straight along Oxford Street in the direction of Holborn.
“Speed up!” said Tillizinni to the driver. “There’s just a chance they
may have a puncture, and we may overtake them.”
He rejoined the silent Talham in the cab.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” said the big man. He sat with his hands
clasped together, and his face set.
“My dear chap, it’s not your fault.”
Tillizinni laid his hand on the other’s shoulder. He had a genuine
affection for this eccentric giant with his irrepressible oratory and
his calm disregard for convention.
“It’s a damned bracelet,” said Talham bitterly. “All the wealth and
all the secrets of Ts’in are too inadequate compensation for one
moment of misery she may suffer.”
Tillizinni made no reply. Like a white light it suddenly dawned upon
him that this man, the last man in the world that he would have
imagined, was smitten with love.
The tense agony in Talham’s voice, the attitude of absolute
dejection--he sat huddled in a corner of the cab--spoke eloquently of
his agony.
At Holborn Bars a City policeman had seen a car passing swiftly
eastward, and yet again, and farther on at the Mansion House, a
patrolling sergeant was able to direct them toward Gracechurch Street.
They lost the scent at Tower Hill. Two cars had come along at about
the same moment, probably one from Eastcheap. One had crossed Tower
Bridge and gone southward; the other had continued its way eastward.
Unfortunately both had been of similar make.
Tillizinni was in a dilemma.
“We’ll take the east road,” he said, after a moment’s thought; “that
is the more likely route.”
A moment later the cab was following the trail of an empty car on its
way to Harwich to meet the morning boat.
CHAPTER X.
THE ROOMS BY THE CANAL.
Yvonne Yale had sat in silence during that mad rush through the
City. Once in a frenzy of terror she had half risen to throw herself
from the car. Instantly Soo’s hand grasped her.
“When I tell you I will kill you, I mean it,” he said quickly. “Be
quiet, and no harm will come to you. I tell you this, that I am merely
holding you as a hostage for the recovery of the bangle. If I know
your friend, he will not hesitate when he knows a woman is in danger.”
His words reassured her somewhat. She had hardly dared to put her
fears into words.
The car swung round Tower Hill and slowed at the very spot where
Tillizinni was destined to stop ten minutes later; but it did not go
eastward, as Tillizinni had thought, but crossed the bridge, sped down
the slope into Tooley Street, turned again, and followed the Deptford
Road.
It continued until it came to a street which ran parallel with the
north bank of the Surrey Canal, and into this it turned. It was a
street made up of wharf entrances, of old and dilapidated warehouses
and stables.
The car stopped before a low-roofed old building that in its
prosperous days had been part of the wharfage of a stone merchant. As
the car stopped, a door in the wall opened, and Soo flung away the
cigarette which he had smoked during the latter part of the journey,
stepped quickly to the ground, and half dragged and half carried the
fainting girl into the building. Instantly the car moved on, and the
door closed behind her.
They were in complete darkness. There was a musty, unwholesome smell.
The atmosphere of the place filled her with cold terror.
“This way!” said Soo.
He led her unerringly across the ramshackle shed. At the far end there
was a door which opened and revealed a room lit by two swinging oil
lamps.
It was poorly furnished, with a table and a couple of chairs, and a
fire blazed in a broken grate in one corner. Some attempt had been
made to produce a sense of comfort--the square of carpet on the floor,
and the plain table-cover had evidently been newly purchased and still
showed their shop creases.
The room was untenanted, and Soo and the girl entered alone. He closed
the door behind him.
She saw now a man in the garb of a Westerner, whose face was hidden
from her by a curious contrivance. This was no less than a waxen mask,
which fitted the upper portion of the face down to the mouth. So
skilfully and cunningly had the colours been blended, that it was
difficult to see where the real ended and the artificial began. It
gave the man a European appearance, and made him tolerably
good-looking.
He locked the door, then turned and faced her.
“You stay here, Miss Yale,” he said, “until I secure satisfaction from
your friend. This,” he explained, waving his hand round the apartment,
“was once the manager’s quarters. It is fitted with some luxury.”
He opened a little door.
“There is a bathroom here,” he said, “and you will find everything you
may desire.”
“How long do you intend to keep me?” she asked.