The tomb of Ts'in
Talham was no ordinary man. He called the next day, and having no more
idea of social conventions than a cow has of painting on silk, he
chose a quarter to one in the afternoon as the hour.
Mercifully, both Mrs. Yale and her daughter were indulging in the
luxury of a day’s shopping, and Talham came back to Adelphi Terrace
crestfallen, and sat moodily at the lunch table watching his host eat.
Tillizinni expostulated with him.
“It was absurd to call at an hour like that,” he said.
“I thought they might ask me to lunch,” said Talham naïvely.
He refused to eat anything for a little while, and then his healthy
appetite overcame his desire for starving to death, with the result
that the detective had to wait another three-quarters of an hour at
the table whilst he fed, which annoyed him intensely.
“Do you think if I called this afternoon----” he asked tentatively.
“You’ll make yourself a nuisance. Moreover,” Tillizinni said as a
bright idea struck him, “Miss Yale will not unnaturally think that we
regard our rescue of her as giving us the right of entrance into the
house at all inconvenient hours of the day and night.”
His face fell, and he made no attempt to put his threat of calling
into execution. Indeed, during the next few days he was so busy with
his preparation for departure, that Tillizinni hoped that his
infatuation had died a natural death. When, later, he mentioned the
material prospects of the Yales, Tillizinni was sufficiently
indiscreet as to suggest that they might be well left to work out
their own salvation.
“It is to such unsympathetic pharisaical souls as yours,” he said,
amongst other things, “that we owe the shocking and cynical disregard
for infant life in England, the deterioration of the national
physique, the growth of anti-militist in France.”
On the fourth day after the abduction, Talham called. At four o’clock
in the afternoon he issued from his room at the Pall Mall Palace Hotel
arrayed like a modern Solomon in all his glory. From the tips of his
enamelled American shoes, to the crown of his glossy Bond Street hat,
he was the man about town.
In an hour and a half, considerably agitated, he called upon
Tillizinni. Whatever had happened he did not say, but he directed the
vials of his wrath upon two gentlemen who had had the singular bad
taste to be present, and to monopolise much of the lady’s time during
Talham’s visit.
Talham would have sent them out, but they had apparently called to
take the girl out to a “five o’clock.”
“It was impossible to say what I wanted to say,” he said moodily,
striding up and down the apartment, “so I hit upon a ruse.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“What was the ruse?” asked Tillizinni; but the other seemed
disinclined to go on.
“In love as in war,” he began at last, “all means are justified.
Remembering the seriousness of the issue, remembering the tremendous
effect which the decision one way or the other might produce upon
posterity, and remembering, too, that in love as in war, as I say, we
come against the elementary passions which are superior to the trivial
conventions of modern life----”
Tillizinni waited, wonderingly.
“My suggestion to the two young men--one, as I have told you, was De
Costa, and the other a Mr. William Dixon, of forty-three, Claremont
Gardens, S.W.,” he added imposingly and significantly, “my suggestion
was, I contend, perfectly pardonable and quite admissible within the
rules of war. It was that I had a friend who in a moment of
exuberation had struck a policeman.”
Tillizinni gasped.
“As a result of that unlawful act, my friend had been arrested and
taken to Bow Street police station, the police being ignorant as to
his identity. I myself was a stranger in the country; I had not
sufficient influence to secure his release. Would these gentlemen of
their charity drive to Bow Street and vouch for the respectability of
my unfortunate friend?”
He said all this hesitatingly, yet hurriedly; there were long pauses
between each sentence. Talham was obviously ill at ease.
“And who,” Tillizinni asked slowly, “might this unfortunate friend of
yours be?”
Talham looked at the ceiling thoughtfully.
“If by any chance,” he said, “I have overstepped----”
“Not me!” cried the detective in horror. “You didn’t say it was me?”
Talham nodded silently.
“I will only say this in extenuation,” he said with that seriousness
which made all his actions so real and plausible: “that I took
particular care to impress upon them that you were perfectly sober.”
Tillizinni fell back in the chair helplessly, with silent laughter.
“Well?” he asked at last. “Having resigned myself to the loss of what
little character I possessed, I should like to know what these two
young people did?”
“I must confess,” said Talham, “that they were very decent. They went
at once, took a taxi-cab, and drove straight away to the police
station. Not finding you there, and ascertaining by telephone that you
were not at Adelphi Terrace, they came back. In the meantime I had
thrown myself upon the mercy of Yvonne.”
“Did you call her Yvonne?” Tillizinni asked.
“I called her Yvonne,” said Talham gravely, “because that is her name.
I put before her as much of my prospects as I deemed it expedient to
reveal. I gave her a brief resumé of my views of love and matrimony
and the duty which we owe to the future. I told her in the terms which
I have discovered are usual”--(It was afterwards discovered that
Talham had sent out a comprehensive commission to the nearest
bookstall for all the latest novels in which love dominated)--“that I
loved her, and would endeavour by a life-long service, by a devotion
which should be unique in the history of the world, to make her life
an increasing joy and pleasure.”
He was walking up and down all the time he spoke. He stopped in front
of the window and stared out. Thunder clouds were banking up over
South London, and on the murky horizon there was the flicker of
lightning.
“That is as it should be,” he said.
Talham was approving of the elements; it was not the first time he had
suggested that the incidence of natural phenomena were directed by an
all-wise Providence to coincide with his moods.
“She could not agree,” he said. “She was startled, I thought at first
that she was angry; but possibly I am doing her an injustice.”
“What of the young men?”
“They returned as I was going,” said Talham.
He swung round on Tillizinni.
“I have their cards and their addresses; that is what I wish to see
you about. If you are my friend, you will call on them to-morrow and
arrange a meeting.”
The detective had no words; he simply arose from the chair with his
mouth open.
“Arrange a meeting!” he stammered.
“Arrange a meeting,” said Talham. “They used language to me which I
will not permit any man to use. Moreover, what they said was in the
presence of my future wife.”
“But she refused you!”
“My future wife,” repeated Talham in such a tone of decision as left
no room for argument.
“But what do you mean by a meeting? You don’t for one moment imagine
that these people will fight a duel?”
“That remains to be seen,” said the other. “I think that Hyde Park in
the early hours of the morning would be an admirable rendezvous. You
may leave to them the choice of weapons. I know very little about
these fancy small swords which duellists favour, but if they will be
kind enough to choose cavalry swords, I should be glad. I will fight
them with Chinese knives, or, of course, with rapiers, if they prefer
those weapons. I have no doubt that I shall make myself proficient in
a few hours. As honourable men, they will not, of course, desire to
take me at a disadvantage.”
He discussed the punctilio of duelling at some length. There was no
use in arguing with him.
They spent the evening together, Tillizinni examining the documents
which had been removed from the Chinese Embassy, and Talham assisting
him.
“You understand, of course,” the detective explained, “that if I come
upon any information which is likely to be of service to you in your
search for your tomb----”
“Not my tomb,” corrected Talham.
“Well, the Emperor’s tomb,” said the other. “I cannot allow you to see
it.”
“You will find nothing,” said Talham with confidence. “Every scrap
referring to the Tomb of the First Emperor was in the stolen docket.”
It was nearly half-past ten when his servant brought Tillizinni a
card. The detective read it and passed it to the other. It was
inscribed:
Raymond de Costa
&
Gregory de Costa.
The two exchanged glances.
“Show them up!” said Tillizinni.
Talham’s face brightened up.
“I wonder----” he began, but did not finish his sentence. It might
have been that he imagined that the visit would symbolise an act of
self-abnegation of which young De Costa was incapable.
All his doubts were disposed of a few minutes later when the sulky
young man, looking stouter and more unpleasant than ever, came into
the room and introduced his father.
De Costa bowed ceremoniously to both men.
“This is my father,” said young De Costa.
Something made Tillizinni look at Talham. He had the faintest of
smiles upon his lips, as at some amusing recollection.
“You know my father, I think,” said young De Costa.
“I haven’t that pleasure,” replied Talham.
The older man favoured him with a malicious little grin.
“I think we have done business together, Mr.--er--Talham.”
“Is it Talham?” asked the other innocently. “I seem to remember
another name. May I sit down?”
Tillizinni apologised, and pushed forward two chairs, and the men
seated themselves. They were both in evening dress; in De Costa
senior’s shirt front blazed a diamond even larger than that which his
son affected on such occasions.
“I may recall to you, Mr. Talham”--there was an offensive little pause
before the name--“that I am engaged in the shipping trade. I sometimes
send cargoes to South America”--he smiled again--“and sometimes to
China.”
“That is very interesting,” said Talham. “I think shipping is one of
the most fascinating branches of commercial endeavour.”
“I am glad you think so,” said the old De Costa. “Sometimes,” he
continued, “I find it necessary to engage a super-cargo to carry out
the more delicate and intricate negotiations which are sometimes
associated with the transference of the goods shipped.”
Talham nodded.
“I quite understand the functions of the super-cargo,” he said.
“Some years ago,” the old man went on reminiscently, “I had to send
rather an important cargo to one of the islands of the West Pacific.”
He shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands in one motion. “I cannot
recall exactly where the cargo was to land, or what it consisted of;
but I have a most vivid recollection of a gentleman who called upon me
at my office in Little Saville Street on one occasion. And I also
remember having engaged him to carry out certain duties. In so
engaging him it was necessary to take him into my confidence, to an
extent”--he smiled. “For instance, I had to explain that he would pick
up a collier at a certain point at sea, and that he would land bales
of hardware in a very difficult place.”
“In the Philippines,” said Talham cheerily. “And it was not hardware,
but rifles, if I remember rightly.”
“As to that,” the other hastened to say, “I have no distinct
recollection. At any rate there was an accident: my coal was stolen,
my collier, which I specially chartered to meet my ship, was met by
another. The coal was stolen, I repeat. Later my ship was held up by a
make-believe warship, and the merchandise was removed, against the
captain’s wish. That Mr.--er--Talham, was piracy.”