The Five Knots

He made his way across the grass, and as he reached the shelter of the thicket he seemed to hear some one breathing stertorously. Shading the vesta in his hand he swept the shining blue flame over the grass. There was the outline of a figure lying on its back with a pale face turned up to the sky.

"Good Heavens!" Mercer cried, "why, it's Uzali!"

At the mention of his name the Malay opened his eyes and looked drearily about him. There was a nasty cut on the side of his head and a big black bruise under the left eye. It did not take Mercer long to discover that his companion was suffering from loss of blood, but so far as he could see no very great harm had come to him. A minute or two later Uzali staggered to his feet.

"How did it happen?" Wilfrid exclaimed.

Uzali put the question aside impatiently.

"Don't ask me now," he whispered. "Get me home as soon as you can. I will tell you about it in the morning. No, you are not to come home with me. You will put me in a cab and send me straight round to my flat. I can summon my own doctor by telephone and no one will be any the wiser. Now do you think you could manage to get me over that gate?"

There was something so imperious in Uzali's manner that Wilfrid asked no questions. By the great exertion of strength he managed to lift Uzali over the gate and deposit him on the coping-stones outside. A sleepy driver of a hansom cab came plodding along and Mercer summoned him without delay.

"My friend has had an accident," he said. "Here is his card and address. I want you to get him home as soon as possible and see him into his flat. You will have nothing more to do after that except to mind your own business and ask no questions. Come, my good man, I don't suppose you will mind earning a five-pound note like that. It isn't much for the money."

"I'll do it," the cabman said hoarsely. "I haven't earned ten shillings to-night. Now come on, sir."

Uzali was lifted bodily into the cab and as the driver reached the box the wounded man whispered a few, terse peremptory words to Wilfrid. A moment later the cab was out of sight. Wilfrid wondered what was going to happen next. He made his way back into the square again to the thicket of evergreens where he had dropped his cigarette case. He could see the houses opposite now. He could see that a flare of light had flashed upon the second floor in Samuel Flower's residence; quite plainly against the blinds were the shadows of two men struggling together. It was only for a moment, then all was thick darkness again. Wilfrid stood there rubbing his eyes in bewilderment.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LONG DARK HOUR

Even had Wilfrid Mercer had a stronger head and a steadier nerve, he might still have been pardoned for a feeling of dread at that moment. He had been on the rack nearly an hour and was, besides, more worn out than he was aware. As the first faint glow of the dawn filled the eastern sky it was impossible to piece together the tangled puzzle. In the first place it was idle to imagine what had happened to Uzali, and who was responsible for the murderous attack upon him. And it seemed purposeless now to conjecture why he had been in such a hurry to get away without at least trying to explain the drift of events to Mercer.

He wondered if those strange kinsmen of Uzali's had had anything to do with it, but so far as they were concerned the victim had been so confident, so absolutely sure of them, that this theory appeared unlikely. There was nothing for it but to turn his attention to Samuel Flower's house and attempt to discover what had been going on there. Anything was better than standing still in the chilly dawn trying to solve a problem which was seemingly beyond human skill.

He must be up and doing. Mechanically he grabbed for the cigarette case and placed it in his pocket; then he crossed the grass and made his way over the railings of the square close to Samuel Flower's residence. The house was in pitch darkness. There was no sign of any trouble within. Wilfrid's first impulse had been to alarm the inhabitants and let them know what he had seen, but in cooler blood he dismissed this notion.

He stood in the uncertain shadow of the trees making up his mind what to do and letting precious moments slip, though, for all he knew, some terrible catastrophe might have taken place under his very nose. As he watched, doubting and hesitating, a figure crept along the other side of the square and entered Flower's house. The handle of the door was turned boldly and resolutely. It closed as firmly, but Wilfrid's ear caught not the slightest sound. Then he noticed that the light in the hall sprang up, followed by another light in one of the bedrooms at the top of the house.

"They are clever as they are daring," Wilfrid murmured. "Anybody passing would think the servants were up and about. I wonder what time it is."

At that moment an obliging clock struck the hour of five.

"Too early for town servants," Wilfrid muttered. "I have a good mind to try my own luck."

Wilfrid was by no means a timid man. He had gone through too many privations and dangers for that. With determined step, therefore, he crossed the road and laid his hand on the latch. He was not surprised to find that the catch was not down and that the door yielded to his pressure. A moment later and he was in the hall.

All the lights had been turned up. The place was flooded with a soft tender glow; pictures and flowers and statuary stood out and delighted the eye and pleased the senses. So far, whoever the intruders were, they had made hardly any attempt to disguise their presence. There was a festive air about the house, too, for the atmosphere was heavy with the smell of cigar smoke and the half-opened dining-room door showed that a snug supper party had recently met. It must have been within a few hours, for the dregs of the champagne still sparkled in the glasses. Wilfrid pressed on curious. He buttoned his overcoat about his throat in case of a surprise, and caught up an old-fashioned life-preserver from the hall table and slipped it into his pocket.

Yet nothing broke the silence; nothing indicated anything out of the common. No doubt, he surmised, there must be scores of similar scenes in the west end of London to-night, where people had come home and partaken of a hasty supper after the servants had gone to bed and then retired themselves, carelessly leaving the lights burning.

But in this particular case Wilfrid knew the lights had not been left burning. He had seen that sudden, mysterious gleam in the upper windows and the quick flash of the electrics as the whole turned to a sea of light. It was his plain duty to investigate the premises from top to bottom.

Wilfrid chose the basement, but nothing rewarded his search. All the rooms there were empty, as they were on the dining-room floor. Nor were there any strange coats or hats in the vestibule, excepting Flower's big fur wrap and soft hat, and some cloudy-looking material which Beatrice doubtless had discarded when she came in. He must look further afield and see what the next landing might reveal.

It was dangerous and difficult, but Wilfrid resolved to go through with it. He found the switches of the drawing-room lights and just turned them on long enough to enable him to see that the room was empty. He dared not try any strong illumination, for fear of arousing the suspicions of the police, who would know a great deal more about the servants' habits than he could. There appeared to be a large bedroom behind the drawing-room, looking out on the back of the house, and this Wilfrid tried cautiously. He felt sure some one was there because a long slit of light showed from under the door. The door was locked on the inside and no sound proceeded from the room save a gentle purring noise such as machinery will make when heard a long way off. Wilfrid likened it to the singing of a kettle rather than anything else. As he bent down and listened more intently he seemed to hear the murmur of voices and occasionally a suppressed groan as if from some one in pain, who was being quieted by the application of a powerful drug. A minute or two later Wilfrid knew that he was not mistaken, for from behind the locked door came a sound which was unmistakably a smothered laugh.

It was no business of his, of course, and he hesitated before he went farther. He might have paused until it was too late, had not his quickened hearing caught a sound overhead as if somebody had left the room on the next landing and was coming leisurely downstairs. Wilfrid crept back into the deep shadow of the drawing-room door and waited. It was somewhat difficult to see, for he had only the gleams of the light coming from the hall to guide him. Presently, as his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, he saw that he was not mistaken. A man drew near with step noiseless and agile as a cat's. A peculiar perfume preceded him, a perfume which Wilfrid had not the least trouble in recognizing. It was the same strange scent he had smelt during the eventful night he had spent at Maldon Grange. He saw the stranger try the door of the bedroom; then suddenly all his restraint deserted him. His right hand shot out and he caught the little man by the throat.

"Get them to open that door," he said hoarsely. "Get them to open it at once or I'll choke the life out of you. Do you hear?"

Whether the man heeded or not he gave no sign. Wilfrid's grip was as tenacious as that of a bulldog, all his fighting instincts aroused. He felt the exhilarating sense of superior power. For the moment the man was as clay in his hands.

But only for a moment. Then in some strange way the little man managed to jerk himself free and two arms of wire and whipcord were around Wilfrid's throat till he was fain to bend and give under the pressure lest his neck should break. In all his adventures he had never encountered such a force as this. Try as he would he could not shake those arms off. He felt himself gradually being borne backwards until his head touched the ground and one of those relentless grips was relaxed for an infinitesimal space of time. The struggle was none the less tenacious and deadly because it was being fought out almost entirely in the dark, and Wilfrid temporarily lost his self-possession. Then he knew that if he could not fling the man off him his end was near. With a desperate effort he struggled to his knees and grasping his antagonist by the waist literally threw himself down the stairs.

Over and over they rolled, first one above and then the other, but making little or no noise as they slid down the velvet pile of carpet. No sound came from either and the ferocious struggle went on till they landed at length in the hall and Wilfrid was conscious of the cold marble under his head.

The time for the final struggle had arrived. Driving his knee upwards Wilfrid caught his antagonist fairly in the chest with a force that made him groan again, and as he felt the tense, rigid limbs relax, he knew that now or never was the time to save his life. A mist swam before his eyes; he turned faint and unconscious for a second or two; then when he looked about him again he saw that his assailant was gone and that some one was bending over him with tender solicitude.

"Beatrice," he murmured. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Hush," the girl whispered, "not a word. Thank goodness I have managed to get here in time to save your life."

CHAPTER XXV

THE DIAMOND MOTH AGAIN

Beatrice Galloway's feelings were strangely mixed as she drove along beside her uncle towards Gower Street. It seemed as if lately the whole world had gone astray, as if all happiness had ceased to be. For many months past she had felt the loss of Wilfrid Mercer; indeed, she had missed him even more than she cared to acknowledge to herself. And yet, no sooner had he crossed her path again than all this trouble had come back with him.

Of course, it was absurd to blame Wilfrid, but nevertheless, ever since he had shown his face at Maldon Grange there had been nothing but misery and mystery.

And why did Samuel Flower hate the young man so? Beatrice had been half ashamed to admit it when discussing the matter earlier in the evening with Wilfrid, but she knew that he spoke no more than the truth when he said that her guardian was an enemy of his. Beatrice was by no means suspicious, but this fact had been thrust upon her.

And yet Samuel Flower professed that Wilfrid was a perfect stranger to him. There was something here that Beatrice would have to get to the bottom of. Under the shadow of the darkness she could make out nothing of Samuel Flower's profile except that it was hard and set. She was glad enough when the drive came to an end and the house in the square was reached at length.

Cotter stood waiting in the hall. He appeared to be full of eagerness and the desire to speak, when Flower checked him with a malignant frown and a flash of his eyes.

"Presently, you fool," he muttered.

"It won't keep, sir, indeed, it won't," Cotter muttered. "Jansen has been here and must see you to-night. I told him you would not be back till late, but he went away saying he would call again."

Beatrice, glancing up casually at her guardian saw that once more the pale grey tinge had crept over his face. The malignant look had died from his eyes, giving way to a fear almost unspeakable. The girl had never heard this man's name before, and yet, quite by instinct, she coupled it with something disgraceful and underhanded. What was this new terror? She walked quietly into the dining-room and threw her wraps upon a chair by the side of the fire. As she laid her fan upon the mantelpiece an object in a small box fell to the floor. Beatrice picked it up carefully.

"I had almost forgotten," she murmured.

In a spirit of pure curiosity she raised the lid and the diamond moth flashed into view. Certainly it had been most careless of Uzali to leave the jewel on the supper-table after he had promised to get it repaired. Beatrice had taken it almost mechanically from the waiter who had brought it to her, and almost without thought carried it home. She took it casually from the box and ranged the two parts close together on the table so that the light might fall upon it. Really, it was a most lovely gem, one that any girl might be proud of, though Beatrice shrank from it as if it had been a thing of evil. In her mind it was associated with a series of dark tragedies, purple crimes and deeds of violence with which somehow her uncle was not unconnected. She laid her finger upon the jewel almost with loathing. She was still contemplating its sinister beauty when Flower entered the room and closed the door carefully behind him.

His mood had changed for the moment. He was by way of making himself agreeable.

"I hope you won't think I was rude to you just now," he said, "but I am greatly worried by business. Everything seems to have gone wrong lately, and if things don't mend before long I shall find myself very awkwardly situated. Like most successful men, I have enemies, and there is a conspiracy amongst them to drag me to the ground."

Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. Flower was telling her nothing new. She would have offered her assistance and advice had she thought it of the slightest use. She hardly heard what Flower was saying. She did not notice that he had broken off abruptly in his speech and that his gaze was concentrated upon the diamond moth.

"So that is what you were talking about?" he said. "Upon my word, it is exceedingly handsome. I should like to know the history of that jewel. But didn't it strike you as strange that an unknown man should have made you a present of the missing part of the ornament?"

"I don't know," Beatrice said indifferently. "Nothing strikes me as strange to-night. To begin with, it was such a remarkable gathering of people. Everything seemed to be so free and easy that I was bewildered. You may laugh at me as you like, but when Mr. Uzali produced the missing half, I was not in the least astonished."

Flower was about to ask a question when he altered his mind. He was leading up to a point cautiously.

"That being so," he said with assumed carelessness, "the man who made you this gift ought to have been rather an uncommon person to look at. What was he like? Did he resemble an adventurer or soldier of fortune? Was he a foreigner, or an actor, or what? As far as I could judge, though I was a long way off, he seemed a little insignificant man."

There was a forced gaiety in the speaker's voice which did not deceive Beatrice.

"You are right," she said. "Mr. Uzali is a little man, and very plain, with features not unlike those of a good-looking monkey, yellow face and hands more like a bird's claw than anything else."

"Ah!" Flower exclaimed. "And his speech?"

"His speech told me nothing. His English was as good as yours or mine. Mr. Uzali is a polished man of the world and as much at home in this country as in his own. But I thought it odd that his hand should be exactly like the one which I saw that night in the conservatory trying to find the latch of the door. But you need not be unduly curious. Indeed, I understood Mr. Uzali to express a wish to make your acquaintance."

"He wants to know me?" Flower murmured. "He is anxious to come here – the thing is preposterous. My dear child, you don't know what you are talking about."

Flower paused as if conscious that he was saying too much. The dark mood had come back upon him. He paced up and down the dining-room muttering. Then once more he realized that he was not alone, for he turned almost savagely to Beatrice and pointed to the clock on the mantel.

"I daresay we are making much ado about nothing," he said. "Don't you think you had better go to bed? I must finish some work before we return to Maldon Grange to-morrow."

"Are we going back to-morrow?" Beatrice asked.

"I think so," Flower said moodily. "On the whole, it is safer – I mean I prefer the country to London."

Beatrice gathered up her wraps and departed, the old sense of coming tragedy stealing upon her again. But she was too tired to think about anything but bed. She touched her guardian's cheek with her lips, but he did not seem conscious of her presence. No sooner had she gone than Cotter came into the room. He stood as if waiting for orders, his teeth chattering, his whole aspect one of ludicrous terror.

"Well, you blockhead," Flower cried, "why don't you speak? Why stand there in that ridiculous attitude? Anybody would think you a child frightened by a bogie. Where is your pluck, man? You used to have plenty of it."

"Never a man with more," Cotter said half defiantly. "But I have seen what I have seen and I know what I know, and I will never possess even the nerve of a rabbit. Oh, why didn't we leave well alone? Why couldn't we be satisfied with our ill-gotten gains? Surely you had more than enough. For years I have been dreaming about this danger. For years I have known that it was coming. Sooner or later it was bound to find us out. And the worst of it is, you can't fight it. It is miles away one day and the next it stands grinning at your elbow. It may be in the house at the present moment for all I know, just as it was at Maldon Grange."

"Drop that!" said Flower fiercely. "Drop that, you lily-livered coward, or I will do you a mischief. Is there nothing in the world worth speaking about except those yellow-faced devils who are after us now? Isn't it bad enough that Jansen should turn up at this moment?"

Flower paused as an electric bell in the basement purred loudly and a sort of muffled cry came from Cotter as if he had been listening to his death-knell. He stood gazing abjectly into Flower's face, his own white and sweat-bedabbled.

"Wake up, idiot," Flower said savagely. "Go and let him in. It is only Jansen."

CHAPTER XXVI

DR. JANSEN

Cotter seemed to feel his way to the door, as if he were blind, or the room had been suddenly plunged into intense darkness. He hardly dared to breathe till he had opened the front door and admitted a short, enormously stout man who beamed on him mildly behind a pair of huge silver-rimmed spectacles. There was nothing in the stranger to inspire terror in the heart of Cotter, but his manner was servile to a degree.

"You see, I have come back again," the foreigner said. "Did I not tell you that I should come back, my friend? And it is no use telling me that Mr. Flower is not in, because I saw him arrive with his beautiful niece. In fact, I stood on the pavement on the other side of the road and watched the carriage come. If it had been all night I had to wait, I should have remained there. You have told your master I am coming?"

"I have done that," Cotter whined, "and he will see you at once. Will you come this way, please?"

The Dutchman bustled into the dining-room and threw his hat and coat carelessly on a chair. Then he proceeded to wipe his spectacles on an immense red handkerchief which he produced from the tail pocket of his greasy frock-coat. Without ceremony he hustled Cotter to the door and closed it.

Flower stood moodily gazing into the fire-place without taking the least heed of his visitor. Not in the least disconcerted, the Dutchman wheeled a big armchair to the fire-place and made himself comfortable. Then from another capacious pocket he produced a villainous cigar with the fumes of which he began to poison the room. Helping himself liberally to brandy and soda, he sat down patiently waiting for Flower to speak. Despite the man's fatness and the jovial twinkle in his eyes, there was something about him which spoke of a grim and determined nature. Evidently, too, he was master of the situation and knew it. The tension grew until Flower could stand it no longer.

"Well, what the devil do you want?" he broke out passionately. "What are you doing here just at this time? Haven't I got worry enough without you turning up to blackmail me?"

The Dutchman waved the suggestion aside.

"There, my friend," he said coolly, "you are entirely wrong. I did not come here to blackmail you at all. You treated me very badly some years ago, and I have bided my time till I could get even with you. I don't know whether you are aware of it or not, but the time has come. I should like to know what you are going to do about it."

"Nothing," Flower said moodily. "I am going to let matters take their course. I am not afraid of you and the sooner you know it the better, and if you want money, well, you can't have it. For the last two years everything has gone wrong. People fight shy of me and only the smaller firms in the City will have any dealings with my firm. I am supposed to be rich and prosperous, to have made money in my own peculiar way, but I tell you I am a ruined, almost desperate man. Two years ago – "

"Ah, I know what you are going to say," the Dutchman chuckled. "You are going to tell me that everything has gone wrong with you since that trouble over the Guelder Rose. There was the Japonica, too, and the time has gone by when you could make money in coffin wood. Well, on the whole, you have been a lucky man. If I choose to find where young Dr. Mercer is, and if we put our heads together, we could tell a story about the Guelder Rose which would land Mr. Samuel Flower within the four walls of a gaol. Oh, you needn't look at me like that. I am not likely to do you any harm so long as I can make money out of you. I have waited long enough for this opportunity, knowing that you would find yourself in a corner sooner or later, and I have come here to-night to make a proposal. Why should you talk about being a ruined and desperate man when you have only to put out your hand and fill your pockets with treasure?"

Flower abandoned his place by the fire and began to walk up and down the room again. He was agitated.

"I will not be fool enough to pretend to misunderstand you," he said hoarsely. "I know what you are alluding to. You are speaking about that treasure which awaits us in North Borneo. I tell you I dare not. I cannot steel myself to go through that again. As for you, your case is different. Though you took a prominent part in that expedition you were wily enough to keep yourself in the background. Nobody could identify you with any of the men who fired that mine and washed a whole city to destruction. I used to marvel at your cunning – "

"I hope you admired it," Jansen chuckled. "Did you think that I was such a fool as to embark upon an enterprise like that without taking proper precautions? Did you suppose I didn't expect to be murdered on my way down to the coast? And didn't your native servants do their best, at your instigation, to put me away? Not that I bear you any malice. I daresay if things had been otherwise I should have tried to wipe you out, as they say in America. When the time came I discreetly disappeared, and it was generally imagined that I had perished miserably in the jungle. My dear, respected partner, I did nothing of the kind. I kept my head and by and by went back to the scene of the destruction to see what I could pick up for myself."