Dope

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CHAPTER IV

THE CLOSED DOOR

Rather less than five minutes later a taxicab drew up in old Bond
Street, and from it Quentin Gray leapt out impetuously and ran in at
the doorway leading to Kazmah's stairs. So hurried was his progress
that he collided violently with a little man who, carrying himself
with a pronounced stoop, was slinking furtively out.

The little man reeled at the impact and almost fell, but:

"Hang it all!" cried Gray irritably. "Why the devil don't you look
where you're going!"

He glared angrily into the face of the other. It was a peculiar and
rememberable face, notable because of a long, sharp, hooked nose and
very little, foxy, brown eyes; a sly face to which a small, fair
moustache only added insignificance. It was crowned by a wide-brimmed
bowler hat which the man wore pressed down upon his ears like a Jew
pedlar.

"Why!" cried Gray, "this is the second time tonight you have jostled
me!"

He thought he had recognized the man for the same who had been
following himself, Mrs. Irvin and Sir Lucien Pyne along old Bond
Street.

A smile, intended to be propitiatory, appeared upon the pale face.

"No, sir, excuse me, sir--"

"Don't deny it!" said Gray angrily. "If I had the time I should give
you in charge as a suspicious loiterer."

Calling to the cabman to wait, he ran up the stairs to the second
floor landing. Before the painted door bearing the name of Kazmah he
halted, and as the door did not open, stamped impatiently, but with no
better result.

At that, since there was neither bell nor knocker, he raised his fist
and banged loudly.

No one responded to the summons.

"Hi, there!" he shouted. "Open the door! Pyne! Rita!"

Again he banged--and yet again. Then he paused, listening, his ear
pressed to the panel.

He could detect no sound of movement within. Fists clenched, he stood
staring at the closed door, and his fresh color slowly deserted him
and left him pale.

"Damn him!" he muttered savagely. "Damn him! he has fooled me!"

Passionate and self-willed, he was shaken by a storm of murderous
anger. That Pyne had planned this trick, with Rita Irvin's consent, he
did not doubt, and his passive dislike of the man became active hatred
of the woman he dared not think. He had for long looked upon Sir
Lucien in the light of a rival, and the irregularity of his own
infatuation for another's wife in no degree lessened his resentment.

Again he pressed his ear to the door, and listened intently. Perhaps
they were hiding within. Perhaps this charlatan, Kazmah, was an
accomplice in the pay of Sir Lucien. Perhaps this was a secret place
of rendezvous.

To the manifest absurdity of such a conjecture he was blind in his
anger. But that he was helpless, befooled, he recognized; and with a
final muttered imprecation he turned and slowly descended the stair. A
lingering hope was dispelled when, looking right and left along Bond
Street, he failed to perceive the missing pair.

The cabman glanced at him interrogatively. "I shall not require you,"
said Gray, and gave the man half-a-crown.

Busy with his poisonous conjectures, he remained all unaware of the
presence of a furtive, stooping figure which lurked behind the
railings of the arcade at this point linking old Bond Street to
Albemarle Street. Nor had the stooping stranger any wish to attract
Gray's attention. Most of the shops in the narrow lane were already
closed, although the florist's at the corner remained open, but of the
shadow which lay along the greater part of the arcade this alert
watcher took every advantage. From the recess formed by a shop door he
peered out at Gray, where the light of a street lamp fell upon him,
studying his face, his movements, with unrelaxing vigilance.

Gray, following some moments of indecision, strode off towards
Piccadilly. The little man came out cautiously from his hiding-place
and looked after him. Out of a dark porch, ten paces along Bond
Street, appeared a burly figure to fall into step a few yards behind
Gray. The little man licked his lips appreciatively and returned to
the doorway below the premises of Kazmah.

Reaching Piccadilly, Gray stood for a time on the corner, indifferent
to the jostling of passers-by. Finally he crossed, walked along to the
Prince's Restaurant, and entered the lobby. He glanced at his wrist-
watch. It registered the hour of seven-twenty-five.

He cancelled his order for a table and was standing staring moodily
towards the entrance when the doors swung open and a man entered who
stepped straight up to him, hand extended, and:

"Glad to see you, Gray," he said. "What's the trouble?"

Quentin Gray stared as if incredulous at the speaker, and it was with
an unmistakable note of welcome in his voice that he replied:

"Seton! Seton Pasha!"

The frown disappeared from Gray's forehead, and he gripped the other's
hand in hearty greeting. But:

"Stick to plain Seton!" said the new-comer, glancing rapidly about
him. "Ottoman titles are not fashionable."

The speaker was a man of arresting personality. Above medium height,
well but leanly built, the face of Seton "Pasha" was burned to a
deeper shade than England's wintry sun is capable of producing. He
wore a close-trimmed beard and moustache, and the bronze on his cheeks
enhanced the brightness of his grey eyes and rendered very noticeable
a slight frosting of the dark hair above his temples. He had the
indescribable air of a "sure" man, a sound man to have beside one in a
tight place; and looking into the rather grim face, Quentin Gray felt
suddenly ashamed of himself. From Seton Pasha he knew that he could
keep nothing back. He knew that presently he should find himself
telling this quiet, brown-skinned man the whole story of his
humiliation--and he knew that Seton would not spare his feelings.

"My dear fellow," he said, "you must pardon me if I sometimes fail to
respect your wishes in this matter. When I left the East the name of
Seton Pasha was on everybody's tongue. But are you alone?"

"I am. I only arrived in London tonight and in England this morning."

"Were you thinking of dining here?"

"No; I saw you through the doorway as I was passing. But this will do
as well as another place. I gather that you are disengaged. Perhaps
you will dine with me?"

"Splendid!" cried Gray. "Wait a moment. Perhaps my table hasn't gone!"

He ran off in his boyish, impetuous fashion, and Seton watched him,
smiling quietly.

The table proved to be available, and ere long the two were discussing
an excellent dinner. Gray lost much of his irritability and began to
talk coherently upon topics of general interest. Presently, following
an interval during which he had been covertly watching his companion:

"Do you know, Seton," he said, "you are the one man in London whose
company I could have tolerated tonight."

"My arrival was peculiarly opportune."

"Your arrivals are always peculiarly opportune." Gray stared at Seton
with an expression of puzzled admiration. "I don't think I shall ever
understand your turning up immediately before the Senussi raid in
Egypt. Do you remember? I was with the armored cars."

"I remember perfectly."

"Then you vanished in the same mysterious fashion, and the C. O. was a
sphinx on the subject. I next saw you strolling out of the gate at
Baghdad. How the devil you'd got to Baghdad, considering that you
didn't come with us and that you weren't with the cavalry, heaven only
knows!"

"No," said Seton judicially, gazing through his uplifted wine-glass;
"when one comes to consider the matter without prejudice it is
certainly odd. But do I know the lady to whose non-appearance I owe
the pleasure of your company tonight?"

Quentin Gray stared at him blankly.

"Really, Seton, you amaze me. Did I say that I had an appointment with
a lady?"

"My dear Gray, when I see a man standing biting his nails and glaring
out into Piccadilly from a restaurant entrance I ask myself a
question. When I learn that he has just cancelled an order for a table
for two I answer it."

Gray laughed. "You always make me feel so infernally young, Seton."

"Good!"

"Yes, it's good to feel young, but bad to feel a young fool; and
that's what I feel--and what I am. Listen!"

Leaning across the table so that the light of the shaded lamp fell
fully upon his flushed, eager face, Gray, not without embarrassment,
told his companion of the "dirty trick"--so he phrased it--which Sir
Lucien Pyne had played upon him. In conclusion:

"What would you do, Seton?" he asked.

Seton sat regarding him in silence with a cool, calculating stare
which some men had termed insolent, absently tapping his teeth with
the gold rim of a monocle which he carried but apparently never used
for any other purpose; and it was at about this time that a long low
car passed near the door of the restaurant, crossing the traffic
stream of Piccadilly to draw up at the corner of old Bond Street.

From the car Monte Irvin alighted and, telling the man to wait, set
out on foot. Ten paces along Bond Street he encountered a small,
stooping figure which became detached from the shadows of a shop door.
The light of a street lamp shone down upon the sharp, hooked nose and
into the cunning little brown eyes of Brisley, of Spinker's Detective
Agency. Monte Irvin started.

"Ah, Brisley!" he said, "I was looking for you. Are they still there?"

"Probably, sir." Brisley licked his lips. "My colleague, Gunn, reports
no one came out whilst I was away 'phoning."

"But the whole thing seems preposterous. Are there no other offices in
the block where they might be?"

"I personally saw Mr. Gray, Sir Lucien Pyne and the lady go into
Kazmah's. At that time--roughly, ten to seven--all the other offices
had been closed, approximately, one hour."

"There is absolutely no possibility that they might have come out
unseen by you?"

"None, sir. I should not have troubled a client if in doubt. Here's
Gunn."

Old Bond Street now was darkened and deserted; the yellow mist had
turned to fine rain, and Gunn, his hands thrust in his pockets, was
sheltering under the porch of the arcade. Gunn possessed a purple
complexion which attained to full vigor of coloring in the nasal
region. His moustache of dirty grey was stained brown in the centre as
if by frequent potations of stout, and his bulky figure was
artificially enlarged by the presence of two overcoats, the outer of
which was a waterproof and the inner a blue garment appreciably longer
both in sleeve and skirt than the former. The effect produced was one
of great novelty. Gunn touched the brim of his soft felt hat, which he
wore turned down all round apparently in imitation of a flower-pot.

"All snug, sir," he said, hoarsely and confidentially, bending forward
and breathing the words into Irvin's ear. "Snug as a bee in a hive.
You're as good as a bachelor again."

Monte Irvin mentally recoiled.

"Lead the way to the door of this place," he said tersely.

"Yes, sir, this way, sir. Be careful of the step there. You may remark
that the outer door is not yet closed. I am informed upon reliable
authority as the last to go locks the door. Hence we perceive that the
last has not yet gone. It is likewise opened by the first to come of a
mornin'. Here we are, sir; door on the right."

The landing was in darkness, but as Gunn spoke he directed the ray of
a pocket lamp upon a bronze plate bearing the name "Kazmah." He rested
one hand upon his hip.

"All snug," he repeated; "as snug as a eel in mud. The decree nisi is
yours, sir. As an alderman of the City of London and a Justice of the
Peace you are entitled to call a police officer--"

"Hold your tongue!" rapped Irvin. "You've been drinking: and I place
no reliance whatever in your evidence. I do not believe that my wife
or any one else but ourselves is upon these premises."

The watery eyes of the insulted man protruded unnaturally. "Drinkin'!"
he whispered, "drink--"

But indignation now deprived Gunn of speech and:

"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the nasal voice of Brisley, "but I can
absolutely answer for Gunn. Reputation of the Agency at stake. Worked
with us for three years. Parties undoubtedly on the premises as
reported."

"Drink--" whispered Gunn.

"I shall be glad," said Monte Irvin, and his voice shook emotionally,
"if you will lend me your pocket lamp. I am naturally upset. Will you
kindly both go downstairs. I will call if I want you."

The two men obeyed, Gunn muttering hoarsely to Brisley; and Monte
Irvin was left standing on the landing, the lamp in his hand. He
waited until he knew from the sound of their footsteps that the pair
had regained the street, then, resting his arm against the closed
door, and pressing his forehead to the damp sleeve of his coat, he
stood awhile, the lamp, which he held limply, shining down upon the
floor.

His lips moved, and almost inaudibly he murmured his wife's name.

CHAPTER V

THE DOOR IS OPENED

Quentin Gray and Seton strolled out of Prince's and both paused whilst
Seton lighted a long black cheroot.

"It seems a pity to waste that box," said Gray. "Suppose we look in at
the Gaiety for an hour?"

His humor was vastly improved, and he watched the passing throngs with
an expression more suited to his boyish good looks than that of anger
and mortification which had rested upon him an hour earlier.

Seton Pasha tossed a match into the road.

"My official business is finished for the day," he replied. "I place
myself unreservedly in your hands."

"Well, then," began Gray--and paused.

A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of
a motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where
they were standing. Gray seized Seton's arm in a fierce grip.

"Seton," he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, "Look! There
is Monte Irvin!"

"In the car?"

"Yes, yes! But--he has two police with him! Seton, what can it mean?"

The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream
and clearly heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray's mercurial
color deserted him, and he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale.

"Good God," he whispered, "something has happened to Rita!"

Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic,
dodging this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin's car. Of the
fact that his friend was close beside him he remained unaware until,
on the corner of old Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his
shoulder. Gray turned angrily. But the grip was immovable, and he
found himself staring into the unemotional face of Seton Pasha.

"Seton, for God's sake, don't detain me! I must learn what's wrong."

"Pull up, Gray."

Quentin Gray clenched his teeth.

"Listen to me, Seton. This is no time for interference. I--"

"You are about to become involved in some very unsavory business; and
I repeat--pull up. In a moment we shall learn all there is to be
learned. But are you determined openly to thrust yourself into the
family affairs of Mr. Monte Irvin?"

"If anything has happened to Rita I'll kill that damned cur Pyne!"

"You are determined to intrude upon this man in your present frame of
mind at a time of evident trouble?"

But Gray was deaf to the promptings of prudence and good taste alike.

"I'm going to see the thing through," he said hoarsely.

"Quite so. Rely upon me. But endeavor to behave more like a man of the
world and less like a dangerous lunatic, or we shall quarrel
atrociously."

Quentin Gray audibly gnashed his teeth, but the cool stare of the
other's eyes was quelling, and now as their glances met and clashed, a
sympathetic smile softened the lines of Seton's grim mouth, and:

"I quite understand, old chap," he said, linking his arm in Gray's.
"But can't you see how important it is, for everybody's sake, that we
should tackle the thing coolly?"

"Seton"--Gray's voice broke--"I'm sorry. I know I'm mad; but I was
with her only an hour ago, and now--"

"And now 'her' husband appears on the scene accompanied by a police
inspector and a sergeant. What are your relations with Mr. Monte
Irvin?"

They were walking rapidly again along Bond Street.

"What do you mean, Seton?" asked Gray.

"I mean does he approve of your friendship with his wife, or is it a
clandestine affair?"

"Clandestine?--certainly not. I was on my way to call at the house
when I met her with Pyne this evening."

"That is what I wanted to know. Very well; since you intend to follow
the thing up, it simplifies matters somewhat. Here is the car."

"At Kazmah's door! What in heaven's name does it mean?"

"It means that we shall get a very poor reception if we intrude.
Question the chauffeur."

But Gray had already approached the man, who touched his cap in
recognition.

"What's the trouble, Pattison?" he demanded breathlessly. "I saw
police in the car a moment ago."

"Yes, sir. I don't rightly know, sir, what's happened. But Mr. Irvin
drove from home to the corner of old Bond Street a quarter of an hour
ago and told me to wait, then came back again and drove round to Vine
Street to fetch the police. They're inside now."

Even as he spoke, with excitement ill-concealed, a police-sergeant
came out of the doorway, and:

"Move on, there," he said to Seton and Gray. "You mustn't hang about
this door."

"Excuse me, Sergeant," cried Gray, "but if the matter concerns Mrs.
Monte Irvin I can probably supply information."

The Sergeant stared at him hard, saw that both he and his friend wore
evening dress, and grew proportionately respectful.

"What is your name, sir?" he asked. "I'll mention it to the officer in
charge."

"Quentin Gray. Inform Mr. Monte Irvin that I wish to speak to him."

"Very good, sir." He turned to the chauffeur. "Hand me out the bag I
gave you at Vine Street." Pattison leaned over the door at the front
of the car, and brought out a big leather grip. With this in hand the
police-sergeant returned into the doorway.

"We're in for it now," said Seton grimly, "whatever it is."

Gray returned no answer, moving restlessly up and down before the door
in a fever of excitement and dread. Presently the Sergeant reappeared.

"Step this way, please," he said.

Followed by Seton and Gray he led the way up to the landing before
Kazmah's apartments. It was vaguely lighted by two police-lanterns.
Four men were standing there, and four pairs of eyes were focussed
upon the stair-head.

Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke.

"That you, Gray?" Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice.
"Thanks for offering your help. God knows I need all I can get. You
were with Rita tonight. What happened? Where is she?"

"Heaven knows where she is!" cried Gray. "I left her here with Pyne
shortly after seven o'clock."

He paused, fixing his gaze upon the face of Brisley, whose shifty eyes
avoided him and who was licking his lips in the manner of a dog who
has seen the whip.

"Why," said Gray, "I believe you are the fellow who has been following
me all night for some reason."

He stepped toward the foxy little man but:

"Never mind, Gray," interrupted Irvin. "I was to blame. But he was
following my wife, not you. Tell me quickly: Why did she come here?"

Gray raised his hand to his brow with a gesture of bewilderment.

"To consult this man, Kazmah. I actually saw her enter the inner room,
I went to get a cab, and when I returned the door was locked."

"You knocked?"

"Of course. I made no end of a row. But I could get no reply and went
away."

Monte Irvin turned, a pathetic figure, to the Inspector who stood
beside him.

"We may as well proceed, Inspector Whiteleaf," he said. "Mr. Gray's
evidence throws no light on the matter at all."

"Very well, sir," was the reply; "we have the warrant, and have given
the usual notice to whoever may be hiding inside. Burton!"

The Sergeant stepped forward, placed the leather bag on the floor, and
stooping, opened it, revealing a number of burglarious-looking
instruments.

"Shall I try to cut through the panel?" he asked.

"No, no!" cried Monte Irvin. "Waste no time. You have a crowbar there.
Force the door from its hinges. Hurry, man!"

"It doesn't work on hinges!" Gray interrupted excitedly. "It slides to
the right by means of some arrangement concealed under the mat."

"Pass that lantern," directed Burton, glancing over his shoulder to
Gunn.

Setting it beside him, the Sergeant knelt and examined the threshold
of the door.

"A metal plate," he said. "The weight moves a lever, I suppose, which
opens the door if it isn't locked. The lock will be on the left of the
door as it opens to the right. Let's see what we can do."

He stood up, crowbar in hand, and inserted the chisel blade of the
implement between the edge of the door and the doorcase.

"Hold steady!" said the Inspector, standing at his elbow.

The dull metallic sound of hammer blows on steel echoed queerly around
the well of the staircase. Brisley and Gunn, standing very close
together on the bottom step of the stair to the third floor, watched
the police furtively. Irvin and Gray found a common fascination in the
door itself, and Seton, cheroot in mouth, looked from group to group
with quiet interest.

"Right!" cried the Sergeant.

The blows ceased.

Firmly grasping the bar, Burton brought all his weight to bear upon
it. There was a dull, cracking sound and a sort of rasping. The door
moved slightly.

"There's where it locks!" said the Inspector, directing the light of a
lantern upon the crevice created. "Three inches lower. But it may be
bolted as well."

"We'll soon get at the bolts," replied Burton, the lust of destruction
now strong upon him.

Wrenching the crowbar from its place he attacked the lower panel of
the door, and amid a loud splintering and crashing created a hole big
enough to allow of the passage of a hand and arm.

The Inspector reached in, groped about, and then uttered an
exclamation of triumph.

"I've unfastened the bolt," he said. "If there isn't another at the
top you ought to be able to force the door now, Burton."

The jimmy was thrust back into position, and:

"Stand clear!" cried Burton.

Again he threw his weight upon the bar--and again.

"Drive it further in!" said Monte Irvin; and snatching up the heavy
hammer, he rained blows upon the steel butt. "Now try."

Burton exerted himself to the utmost.

"Take hold up here, someone!" he panted. "Two of us can pull."

Gray leapt forward, and the pair of them bent to the task.

There came a dull report of parting mechanism, more sounds of
splintering wood . . . and the door rolled open!

A moment of tense silence, then:

"Is anyone inside there?" cried the Inspector loudly.

Not a sound came from the dark interior.

"The lantern!" whispered Monte Irvin.

He stumbled into the room, from which a heavy smell of perfume swept
out upon the landing. Quentin Gray, snatching the lantern from the
floor, where it had been replaced, was the next to enter.

"Look for the switch, and turn the lights on!" called the Inspector,
following.

Even as he spoke, Gray had found the switch, and the apartment of
Kazmah became flooded with subdued light.

A glance showed it to be unoccupied.

Gray ran across to the mushrabiyeh cabinet and jerked the curtains
aside. There was no one in the cabinet. It contained a chair and a
table. Upon the latter was a telephone and some papers and books.
"This way!" he cried, his voice high pitched and unnatural.

He burst through the doorway into the inner room which he had seen
Mrs. Irvin enter. The air was laden with the smell of frankincense.

"A lantern!" he called. "I left one on the divan."

But Monte Irvin had caught it up and was already at his elbow. His
hand was shaking so that the light danced wildly now upon the carpet,
now upon the green walls. This room also was deserted. A black gap in
the curtain showed where the material had been roughly torn. Suddenly:

"My God, look!" muttered the Inspector, who, with the others, now
stood in the curious draped apartment.

A thin stream of blood was trickling out from beneath the torn
hangings!

Monte Irvin staggered and fell back against the Inspector, clutching
at him for support. But Sergeant Burton, who carried the second
lantern, crossed the room and wrenched the green draperies bodily from
their fastenings.

They had masked a wooden partition or stout screen, having an aperture
in the centre which could be closed by means of another of the sliding
doors. A space some five feet deep was thus walled off from this
second room. It contained a massive ebony chair. Behind the chair, and
dividing the second room into yet a third section, extended another
wooden partition in one end of which was an ordinary office door; and
immediately at the back of the chair appeared a little opening or
window, some three feet up from the floor. The sound of a groan,
followed by that of a dull thud, came from the outer room.

"Hullo!" cried Inspector Whiteleaf. "Mr. Irvin has fainted. Lend a
hand."

"I am here," replied the quiet voice of Seton Pasha.

"My God!" whispered Gray. "Seton! Seton!"

"Touch nothing," cried the Inspector from outside, "until I come!"

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