The Yellow Claw

S >> Sax Rohmer >> The Yellow Claw


The door was reclosed.

Soames had all the garments in readiness by the time that the man
emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly less ill, and not quite so
pallid. He wore a yellow silk kimono; and, with greater composure than
he had yet revealed, he seated himself in the armchair that Soames might
shave him.

This operation Soames accomplished, and the subject, having partially
dressed, returned to the bathroom to brush his hair. When his toilet was
practically completed:

"Shall I pack the rest of the things in the bag, sir?" asked Soames.

The man nodded affirmatively.

Five minutes later he was ready to depart, and stood before the
ex-butler a well-dressed, intellectual, but very debauched-looking
gentleman. Being evidently well acquainted with the regime of the
establishment, he pressed an electric bell beside the door, presented
Soames with half-a-sovereign, and, as Said reappeared, took his
departure, leaving Soames more reconciled to his lot than he could ever
have supposed possible.

The task of cleaning the room was now commenced by Soames. Said
returned, bringing him the necessary utensils; and for fifteen minutes
or so he busied himself between the outer apartment and the bathroom.
During this time he found leisure to study the extraordinary mural
decorations; and, as he looked at them, he learned that they possessed a
singular property.

If one gazed continuously at any portion of the wall, the intertwined
figures thereon took shape--nay, took life; the intricate, elaborate
design ceased to be a design, and became a procession, a saturnalia;
became a sinister comedy, which, when first visualized, shocked Soames
immoderately. The horrors presented by these devices of evil cunning,
crowding the walls, appalled the narrow mind of the beholder, revolted
him in an even greater degree than they must have revolted a man of
broader and cleaner mind. He became conscious of a quality of evil
which pervaded the room; the entire place seemed to lie beneath a spell,
beneath the spell of an invisible, immeasurably wicked intelligence.

His reflections began to terrify him, and he hastened to complete his
duties. The stench of the place was sickening him anew, and when at
last Said opened the door, Soames came out as a man escaping from some
imminent harm.

"Di," muttered Said.

He pointed to the opened door of a second room, identical in every
respect with the first; and Soames started back with a smothered groan.
Had his education been classical he might have likened himself to
Hercules laboring for Augeus; but his mind tending scripturally, he
wondered if he had sold his soul to Satan in the person of the invisible
Mr. King!




XVII

KAN-SUH CONCESSIONS


Soames' character was of a pliable sort, and ere many days had passed
he had grown accustomed to this unnatural existence among the living
corpses in the catacombs of Ho-Pin.

He rarely saw Ho-Pin, and desired not to see him at all; as for Mr.
King, he even endeavored to banish from his memory the name of that
shadowy being. The memory of the Eurasian he could not banish, and was
ever listening for the silvery voice, but in vain. He had no particular
duties, apart from the care of the six rooms known as Block A, and
situated in the corridor to the left of the cave of the golden dragon;
this, and the valeting of departing occupants. But the hours at which he
was called upon to perform these duties varied very greatly. Sometimes
he would attend to four human wrecks in the same morning; whilst,
perhaps on the following day, he would not be called upon to officiate
until late in the evening. One fact early became evident to him.
There was a ceaseless stream of these living dead men pouring into the
catacombs of Ho-Pin, coming he knew not whence, and issuing forth again,
he knew not whither.

Twice in the first week of his new and strange service he recognized the
occupants of the rooms as men whom he had seen in the upper world. On
entering the room of one of these (at ten o'clock at night) he almost
cried out in his surprise; for the limp, sallow-faced creature extended
upon the bed before him was none other than Sir Brian Malpas--the
brilliant politician whom his leaders had earmarked for office in the
next Cabinet!

As Soames stood contemplating him stretched there in his stupor,
he found it hard to credit the fact that this was the same man whom
political rivals feared for his hard brilliance, whom society courted,
and whose engagement to the daughter of a peer had been announced only a
few months before.

Throughout this time, Soames had made no attempt to seek the light of
day: he had not seen a newspaper; he knew nothing of the hue and cry
raised throughout England, of the hunt for the murderer of Mrs. Vernon.
He suffered principally from lack of companionship. The only human being
with whom he ever came in contact was Said, the Egyptian; and Said, at
best, was uncommunicative. A man of very limited intellect, Luke Soames
had been at a loss for many days to reconcile Block A and its temporary
occupants with any comprehensible scheme of things. Whereas some of
the rooms would be laden with nauseating fumes, others would be free of
these; the occupants, again, exhibited various symptoms.

That he was a servant of an opium-den de luxe did not for some time
become apparent to him; then, when first the theory presented itself, he
was staggered by a discovery so momentous.

But it satisfied his mind only partially. Some men whom he valeted might
have been doped with opium, certainly, but all did not exhibit those
indications which, from hearsay, he associated with the resin of the
white poppy.

Knowing nothing of the numerous and exotic vices which have sprung from
the soil of the Orient, he was at a loss for a full explanation of the
facts as he saw them.

Finding himself unmolested, and noting, in the privacy of his own
apartment, how handsomely his tips were accumulating, Soames was rapidly
becoming reconciled to his underground existence, more especially as
it spelt safety to a man wanted by the police. His duties thus far had
never taken him beyond the corridor known as Block A; what might lie on
the other side of the cave of the golden dragon he knew not. He never
saw any of the habitues arrive, or actually leave; he did not know
whether the staff of the place consisted of himself, Said, Ho-Pin, the
Eurasian girl--and... the other, or if there were more servants of this
unseen master. But never a day passed by that the clearance of at least
one apartment did not fall to his lot, and never an occupant quitted
those cells without placing a golden gratuity in the valet's palm.

His appetite returned, and he slept soundly enough in his clean white
bedroom, content to lose the upper world, temporarily, and to become a
dweller in the catacombs--where tips were large and plentiful. His
was the mind of a domestic animal, neither learning from the past nor
questioning the future; but dwelling only in the well-fed present.

No other type of European, however lowly, could have supported existence
in such a place.

Thus the days passed, and the nights passed, the one merged
imperceptibly in the other. At the end of the first week, two sovereigns
appeared upon the breakfast tray which Said brought to Soames' room;
and, some little time later, Said reappeared with his bottles and
paraphernalia to renew the ex-butler's make-up. As he was leaving the
room:

"Ahu hina--G'nap'lis effendi!" he muttered, and went out as Mr.
Gianapolis entered.

At sight of the Greek, Soames realized, in one emotional moment, how
really lonely he had been and how in his inmost heart he longed for a
sight of the sun, for a breath of unpolluted air, for a glimpse of gray,
homely London.

All the old radiance had returned to Gianapolis; his eyes were crossed
in an amiable smile.

"My dear Soames!" he cried, greeting the really delighted man. "How well
your new complexion suits you! Sit down, Soames, sit down, and let us
talk."

Soames placed a chair for Gianapolis, and seated himself upon the bed,
twirling his thumbs in the manner which was his when under the influence
of excitement.

"Now, Soames," continued Gianapolis--"I mean Lucas!--my anticipations,
which I mentioned to you on the night of--the accident... you remember?"

"Yes," said Soames rapidly, "yes."

"Well, they have been realized. Our establishment, here, continues to
flourish as of yore. Nothing has come to light in the press calculated
to prejudice us in the eyes of our patrons, and although your own name,
Soames"...

Soames started and clutched at the bedcover.

"Although your own name has been freely mentioned on all sides, it is
not generally accepted that you perpetrated the deed."

Soames discovered his hair to be bristling; his skin tingled with a
nervous apprehension.

"That I," he began dryly, paused and swallowed--"that I perpetrated....
Has it been"...

"It has been hinted at by one or two Fleet Street theorists--yes,
Soames! But the post-mortem examination of--the victim, revealed the
fact that she was addicted to drugs"...

"Opium?" asked Soames, eagerly.

Gianapolis smiled.

"What an observant mind you have, Soames!" he said. "So you have
perceived that these groves are sacred to our Lady of the Poppies? Well,
in part that is true. Here, under the auspices of Mr. Ho-Pin, fretful
society seeks the solace of the brass pipe; yes, Soames, that is true.
Have you ever tried opium?"

"Never!" declared Soames, with emphasis, "never!"

"Well, it is a delight in store for you! But the reason of our existence
as an institution, Soames, is not far to seek. Once the joys of Chandu
become perceptible to the neophyte, a great need is felt--a crying need.
One may drink opium or inject morphine; these, and other crude measures,
may satisfy temporarily, but if one would enjoy the delights of that
fairyland, of that enchanted realm which bountiful nature has concealed
in the heart of the poppy, one must retire from the ken of goths
and vandals who do not appreciate such exquisite delights; one must
dedicate, not an hour snatched from grasping society, but successive
days and nights to the goddess"...

Soames, barely understanding this discourse, listened eagerly to every
word of it, whilst Gianapolis, waxing eloquent upon his strange thesis,
seemed to be addressing, not his solitary auditor, but an invisible
concourse.

"In common with the lesser deities," he continued, "our Lady of the
Poppies is exacting. After a protracted sojourn at her shrine, so keen
are the delights which she opens up to her worshipers, that a period of
lassitude, of exhaustion, inevitably ensues. This precludes the proper
worship of the goddess in the home, and necessitates--I say NECESSITATES
the presence, in such a capital as London, of a suitable Temple. You
have the honor, Soames, to be a minor priest of that Temple!"

Soames brushed his dyed hair with his fingers and endeavored to look
intelligent.

"A branch establishment--merely a sacred caravanserai where votaries
might repose ere reentering the ruder world," continued Gianapolis--"has
unfortunately been raided by the police!"

With that word, POLICE, he seemed to come to earth again.

"Our arrangements, I am happy to say, were such that not one of the
staff was found on the premises and no visible link existed between
that establishment and this. But now let us talk about yourself. You may
safely take an evening off, I think"...

He scrutinized Soames attentively.

"You will be discreet as a matter of course, and I should not recommend
your visiting any of your former haunts. I make this proposal, of
course, with the full sanction of Mr. King."

The muscles of Soames' jaw tightened at sound of the name, and he
avoided the gaze of the crossed eyes.

"And the real purpose of my visit here this morning is to acquaint you
with the little contrivance by which we ensure our privacy here. Once
you are acquainted with it, you can take the air every evening at
suitable hours, on application to Mr. Ho-Pin."

Soames coughed dryly.

"Very good," he said in a strained voice; "I am glad of that."

"I knew you would be glad, Soames," declared the smiling Gianapolis;
"and now, if you will step this way, I will show you the door by which
you must come and go." He stood up, then bent confidentially to Soames'
ear. "Mr. King, very wisely," he whispered, "has retained you on the
premises hitherto, because some doubt, some little doubt, remained
respecting the information which had come into the possession of the
police."

Again that ominous word! But ere Soames had time to reflect, Gianapolis
led the way out of the room and along the matting-lined corridor into
the apartment of the golden dragon. Soames observed, with a nervous
tremor, that Mr. Ho-Pin sat upon one of the lounges, smoking a
cigarette, and arrayed in his usual faultless manner. He did not attempt
to rise, however, as the pair entered, but merely nodded to Gianapolis
and smiled mirthlessly at Soames.

They quitted the room by the door opening on the stone steps--the
door by which Soames had first entered into that evil Aladdin's cave.
Gianapolis went ahead, and Soames, following him, presently emerged
through a low doorway into a concrete-paved apartment, having walls of
Portland stone and a white-washed ceiling. One end consisted solely of a
folding gate, evidently designed to admit the limousine.

Gianapolis turned, as Soames stepped up beside him.

"If you will glance back," he said, "you will see exactly where the door
is situated."

Soames did as directed, and suppressed a cry of surprise. Four of the
stone blocks were fictitious--were, in verity, a heavy wooden door,
faced in some way with real, or imitation granite--a door communicating
with the steps of the catacombs.

"Observe!" said Gianapolis.

He closed the door, which opened outward, and there remained nothing
to show the keenest observer--unless he had resorted to sounding--that
these four blocks differed in any way from their fellows.

"Ingenious, is it not?" said Gianapolis, genially. "And now, my dear
Soames, observe again!"

He rolled back the folding gates; and beyond was a garage, wherein stood
the big limousine.

"I keep my car here, Soames, for the sake of--convenience! And now, my
dear Soames, when you go out this evening, Said will close this entrance
after you. When you return, which, I understand, you must do at ten
o'clock, you will enter the garage by the side door yonder, which will
not be locked, and you will press the electric button at the back of
the petrol cans here--look! you can see it!--the inner door will then be
opened for you. Step this way."

He passed between the car and the wall of the garage, opened the door at
the left of the entrance gates, and, Soames following, came out into a
narrow lane. For the first time in many days Soames scented the cleaner
air of the upper world, and with it he filled his lungs gratefully.

Behind him was the garage, before him the high wall of a yard, and, on
his right, for a considerable distance, extended a similar wall; in the
latter case evidently that of a wharf--for beyond it flowed the Thames.

Proceeding along beside this wall, the two came to the gates of a
warehouse. They passed these, however, and entered a small office.
Crossing the office, they gained the interior of the warehouse, where
chests bearing Chinese labels were stacked in great profusion.

"Then this place," began Soames...

"Is a ginger warehouse, Soames! There is a very small office staff, but
sufficiently large to cope with the limited business done--in the import
and export of ginger! The firm is known as Kan-Suh Concessions and
imports preserved Chinese ginger from its own plantations in that
province of the Celestial Empire. There is a small wharf attached,
as you may have noted. Oh! it is a going concern and perfectly
respectable!"

Soames looked about him with wide-opened eyes.

"The ginger staff," said Gianapolis, "is not yet arrived. Mr. Ho-Pin
is the manager. The lane, in which the establishment is situated,
communicates with Limehouse Causeway, and, being a cul-de-sac, is little
frequented. Only this one firm has premises actually opening into it and
I have converted the small corner building at the extremity of the wharf
into a garage for my car. There are no means of communication between
the premises of Kan-Suh Concessions and those of the more important
enterprise below--and I, myself, am not officially associated with the
ginger trade. It is a precaution which we all adopt, however, never to
enter or leave the garage if anyone is in sight."...


Soames became conscious of a new security. He set about his duties that
morning with a greater alacrity than usual, valeting one of the
living dead men--a promising young painter whom he chanced to know by
sight--with a return to the old affable manner which had rendered him so
popular during his career as cabin steward.

He felt that he was now part and parcel of Kan-Suh Concessions; that
Kan-Suh Concessions and he were at one. He had yet to learn that his
sense of security was premature, and that his added knowledge might be
an added danger.

When Said brought his lunch into his room, he delivered also a slip of
paper bearing the brief message:

"Go out 6.30--return 10."

Mr. Soames uncorked his daily bottle of Bass almost gaily, and attacked
his lunch with avidity.




XVIII

THE WORLD ABOVE


The night had set in grayly, and a drizzle of fine rain was falling.
West India Dock Road presented a prospect so uninviting that it must
have damped the spirits of anyone but a cave-dweller.

Soames, buttoned up in a raincoat kindly lent by Mr. Gianapolis, and of
a somewhat refined fit, with a little lagoon of rainwater forming
within the reef of his hat-brim, trudged briskly along. The necessary
ingredients for the manufacture of mud are always present (if invisible
during dry weather) in the streets of East-end London, and already
Soames' neat black boots were liberally bedaubed with it. But what cared
Soames? He inhaled the soot-laden air rapturously; he was glad to feel
the rain beating upon his face, and took a childish pleasure in ducking
his head suddenly and seeing the little stream of water spouting from
his hat-brim. How healthy they looked, these East-end workers, these
Italian dock-hands, these Jewish tailors, these nondescript, greasy
beings who sometimes saw the sun. Many of them, he knew well, labored
in cellars; but he had learnt that there are cellars and cellars. Ah! it
was glorious, this gray, murky London!

Yet, now that temporarily he was free of it, he realized that there was
that within him which responded to the call of the catacombs; there was
a fascination in the fume-laden air of those underground passages; there
was a charm, a mysterious charm, in the cave of the golden dragon, in
that unforgettable place which he assumed to mark the center of the
labyrinth; in the wicked, black eyes of the Eurasian. He realized that
between the abstraction of silver spoons and deliberate, organized
money-making at the expense of society, a great chasm yawned; that there
may be romance even in felony.

Soames at last felt himself to be a traveler on the highroad to fortune;
he had become almost reconciled to the loss of his bank balance, to the
loss of his place in the upper world. His was the constitution of a born
criminal, and, had he been capable of subtle self-analysis, he must
have known now that fear, and fear only, hitherto had held him back, had
confined him to the ranks of the amateurs. Well, the plunge was taken.

Deep in such reflections, he trudged along through the rain, scarce
noting where his steps were leading him, for all roads were alike
to-night. His natural inclinations presently dictated a halt at a
brilliantly lighted public house; and, taking off his hat to shake some
of the moisture from it, he replaced it on his head and entered the
saloon lounge.

The place proved to be fairly crowded, principally with local tradesmen
whose forefathers had toiled for Pharaoh; and conveying his glass of
whisky to a marble-topped table in a corner comparatively secluded,
Soames sat down for a consideration of past, present, and future; an
unusual mental exercise. Curiously enough, he had lost something of his
old furtiveness; he no longer examined, suspiciously, every stranger who
approached his neighborhood; for as the worshipers of old came by the
gate of Fear into the invisible presence of Moloch, so he--of equally
untutored mind--had entered the presence of Mr. King! And no devotee
of the Ammonite god had had greater faith in his potent protection than
Soames had in that of his unseen master. What should a servant of Mr.
King fear from the officers of the law? How puny a thing was the law
in comparison with the director of that secret, powerful, invulnerable
organization whereof to-day he (Soames) formed an unit!

Then, oddly, the old dormant cowardice of the man received a sudden
spurring, and leaped into quickness. An evening paper lay upon the
marble top of the table, and carelessly taking it up, Soames, hitherto
lost in imaginings, was now reminded that for more than a week he had
lain in ignorance of the world's doings. Good Heavens! how forgetful he
had been! It was the nepenthe of the catacombs. He must make up for lost
time and get in touch again with passing events: especially he must post
himself up on the subject of... the murder....

The paper dropped from his hands, and, feeling himself blanch beneath
his artificial tan, Soames, in his old furtive manner, glanced around
the saloon to learn if he were watched. Apparently no one was taking the
slightest notice of him, and, with an unsteady hand, he raised his glass
and drained its contents. There, at the bottom of the page before him,
was the cause of this sudden panic; a short paragraph conceived as
follows:--


REPORTED ARREST OF SOAMES

It is reported that a man answering to the description of Soames, the
butler wanted in connection with the Palace Mansions outrage, has been
arrested in Birmingham. He was found sleeping in an outhouse belonging
to Major Jennings, of Olton, and as he refused to give any account of
himself, was handed over, by the gentleman's gardener, to the local
police. His resemblance to the published photograph being observed, he
was closely questioned, and although he denies being Luke Soames, he is
being held for further inquiry.


Soames laid down the paper, and, walking across to the bar, ordered a
second glass of whisky. With this he returned to the table and began
more calmly to re-read the paragraph. From it he passed to the other
news. He noted that little publicity was given to the Palace Mansions
affair, from which he judged that public interest in the matter was
already growing cold. A short summary appeared on the front page, and
this he eagerly devoured. It read as follows:--


PALACE MANSIONS MYSTERY

The police are following up an important clue to the murderer of Mrs.
Vernon, and it is significant in this connection that a man answering
to the description of Soames was apprehended at Olton (Birmingham) late
last night. (See Page 6). The police are very reticent in regard to the
new information which they hold, but it is evident that at last they are
confident of establishing a case. Mr. Henry Leroux, the famous novelist,
in whose flat the mysterious outrage took place, is suffering from a
nervous breakdown, but is reported to be progressing favorably by Dr.
Cumberly, who is attending him. Dr. Cumberly, it will be remembered, was
with Mr. Leroux, and Mr. John Exel, M. P., at the time that the murder
was discovered. The executors of the late Mr. Horace Vernon are faced
with extraordinary difficulties in administering the will of the
deceased, owing to the tragic coincidence of his wife's murder within
twenty-four hours of his own demise.

Public curiosity respecting the nursing home in Gillingham Street,
with its electric baths and other modern appliances, has by no means
diminished, and groups of curious spectators regularly gather outside
the former establishment of Nurse Proctor, and apparently derive some
form of entertainment from staring at the windows and questioning the
constable on duty. The fact that Mrs. Vernon undoubtedly came from this
establishment on the night of the crime, and that the proprietors of the
nursing home fled immediately, leaving absolutely no clue behind them,
complicates the mystery which Scotland Yard is engaged in unraveling.

It is generally believed that the woman, Proctor, and her associates
had actually no connection with the crime, and that realizing that
the inquiry might turn in their direction, they decamped. The obvious
inference, of course, is that the nursing home was conducted on lines
which would not bear official scrutiny.

The flight of the butler, Soames, presents a totally different aspect,
and in this direction the police are very active.