I hurried down again. The Chinaman took the telegram from me, read it, then placed it in his pocket and with a nod beckoned me to follow him.
It was a long weary march that he led me. Once we took a bus and once we went for some considerable way in a train, and always our route led us steadily eastward. We went through strange districts, the existence of which I had never dreamed of. We were down by the docks now, I knew, and I realised that I was being taken into the heart of Chinatown.
In spite of myself I shivered. Still my guide plodded on, turning and twisting through mean streets and byways, until at last he stopped at a dilapidated house and rapped four times upon the door.
It was opened immediately by another Chinaman who stood aside to let us pass in. The clanging to of the door behind me was the knell of my last hopes. I was indeed in the hands of the enemy.
I was now handed over to the second Chinaman. He led me down some rickety stairs and into a cellar which was filled with bales and casks and which exhaled a pungent odour, as of Eastern spices. I felt wrapped all round with the atmosphere of the East, tortuous, cunning, sinister--
Suddenly my guide rolled aside two of the casks, and I saw a low tunnel-like opening in the wall. He motioned me to go ahead. The tunnel was of some length, and it was just too low for me to stand upright. At last, however, it broadened out into a passage, and a few minutes later we stood in another cellar.
My Chinaman went forward, and rapped four times on one of the walls. A whole section of the wall swung out, leaving a narrow doorway. I passed through, and to my utter astonishment found myself in a kind of Arabian Nights' palace. A low long subterranean chamber hung with rich oriental silks, brilliantly lighted and fragrant with perfumes and spices. There five or six silk covered divans, and exquisite carpets of Chinese workmanship covered the ground. At the end of the room was a curtained recess. From behind these curtains came a voice.
"You have brought our honoured guest?"
"Excellency, he is here," replied my guide.
"Let our guest enter," was the answer.
At the same moment, the curtains were drawn aside by an unseen hand, and I was facing an immense cushioned divan on which sat a tall thin Oriental dressed in wonderfully embroidered robes, and clearly, by the length of his finger nails, a great man.
"Be seated, I pray you, Captain Hastings," he said, with a wave of his hand. "You acceded to my request to come immediately, I am glad to see."
"Who are you?" I asked. "Li Chang Yen?"
"Indeed no, I am but the humblest of the master's servants. I carry out his behests, that is all--as do other of his servants in other countries--in South America, for instance."
I advanced a step.
"Where is she? What have you done with her out there?"
"She is in a place of safety--where none will find her. As yet, she is unharmed. You observe that I say--_as yet_!"
Cold shivers ran down my spine as I confronted this smiling devil.
"What do you want?" I cried. "Money?"
"My dear Captain Hastings. We have no designs on your small savings, I can assure you. Not--pardon me--a very intelligent suggestion on your part. Your colleague would not have made it, I fancy."
"I suppose," I said heavily, "you wanted to get me into your toils. Well, you have succeeded. I have come here with my eyes open. Do what you like with me, and let her go. She knows nothing, and she can be no possible use to you. You've used her to get hold of me--you've got me all right, and that settles it."
The smiling Oriental caressed his smooth cheek, watching me obliquely out of his narrow eyes.
"You go too fast," he said purringly. "That does not quite--settle it. In fact, to 'get hold of you' as you express it, is not really our objective. But through you, we hope to get hold of your friend, M. Hercule Poirot."
"I'm afraid you won't do that," I said, with a short laugh.
"What I suggest is this," continued the other, his words running on as though he had not heard me.
"You will write M. Hercule Poirot a letter, such a letter as will induce him to hasten hither and join you."
"I shall do no such thing," I said angrily.
"The consequences of refusal will be disagreeable."
"Damn your consequences."
"The alternative might be death!"
A nasty shiver ran down my spine, but I endeavoured to put a bold face upon it.
"It's no good threatening me, and bullying me. Keep your threats for Chinese cowards."
"My threats are very real ones, Captain Hastings. I ask you again, will you write this letter?"
"I will not, and what's more, you daren't kill me. You'd have the police on your tracks in no time."
My interlocutor clapped his hands swiftly. Two Chinese attendants appeared as it were out of the blue, and pinioned me by both arms. Their master said something rapidly to them in Chinese, and they dragged me across the floor to a spot in one corner of the big chamber. One of them stooped, and suddenly, without the least warning, the flooring gave beneath my feet. But for the restraining hand of the other man I should have gone down the yawning gap beneath me. It was inky black, and I could hear the rushing of water.
"The river," said my questioner from his place on the divan. "Think well, Captain Hastings. If you refuse again, you go headlong to eternity, to meet your death in the dark waters below. For the last time, will you write that letter?"
I'm not braver than most men. I admit frankly that I was scared to death, and in a blue funk. That Chinese devil meant business, I was sure of that. It was good-bye to the good old world. In spite of myself, my voice wobbled a little as I answered.
"For the last time, no! To hell with your letter!"
Then involuntarily I closed my eyes and breathed a short prayer.
13. THE MOUSE WALKS IN
Not often in a life-time does a man stand on the edge of eternity, but when I spoke those words in that East End cellar I was perfectly certain that they were my last words on earth. I braced myself for the shock of those black, rushing waters beneath, and experienced in advance the horror of that breath-choking fall.
But to my surprise a low laugh fell on my ears. I opened my eyes. Obeying a sign from the man on the divan, my two jailers brought me back to my old seat facing him.
"You are a brave man, Captain Hastings," he said. "We of the East appreciate bravery. I may say that I expected you to act as you have done. That brings us to the appointed second act of our little drama. Death for yourself you have faced--will you face death for another?"
"What do you mean?" I asked hoarsely, a horrible fear creeping over me.
"Surely you have not forgotten the lady who is in our power--the Rose of the Garden."
I stared at him in dumb agony.
"I think, Captain Hastings, that you will write that letter. See, I have a cable form here. The message I shall write on it depends on you, and means life or death for your wife."
The sweat broke out on my brow. My tormentor continued, smiling amiably, and speaking with perfect sangfroid:--
"There, captain, the pen is ready to your hand. You have only to write. If not--"
"If not?" I echoed.
"If not, that lady that you love dies--and dies slowly. My master, Li Chang Yen, amuses himself in his spare hours by devising new and ingenious methods of tortures--"
"My God!" I cried. "You fiend! Not that--you wouldn't do that--"
"Shall I recount to you some of his devices?"
Without heeding my cry of protest, his speech flowed on--evenly, serenely--till with a cry of horror I clapped my hands to my ears.
"It is enough, I see. Take up the pen and write."
"You would not dare--"
"Your speech is foolishness, and you know it. Take up the pen and write."
"If I do?"
"Your wife goes free. The cable shall be despatched immediately."
"How do I know that you will keep faith with me?"
"I swear it to you on the sacred tombs of my ancestors. Moreover, judge for yourself--why should I wish to do her harm? Her detention will have answered its purpose."
"And--and Poirot?"
"We will keep him in safe custody until we have concluded our operations. Then we will let him go."
"Will you swear that also on the tombs of your ancestors?"
"I have sworn one oath to you. That should be sufficient."
My heart sank. I was betraying my friend--to what? For a moment I hesitated--then the terrible alternative rose like a nightmare before my eyes. Cinderella--in the hands of these Chinese devils, dying by slow torture--
A groan rose to my lips. I seized the pen. Perhaps by careful wording of the letter, I could convey a warning, and Poirot would be enabled to avoid the trap. It was the only hope.
But even that hope was not to remain. The Chinaman's voice rose, suave and courteous.
"Permit me to dictate to you."
He paused, consulted a sheaf of notes that lay by his side, and then dictated as follows:--
"Dear Poirot, I think I'm on the track of Number Four. A Chinaman came this afternoon and lured me down here with a bogus message. Luckily I saw through his little game in time, and gave him the slip. Then I turned the tables on him, and managed to do a bit of shadowing on my own account--rather neatly too, I flatter myself. I'm getting a bright young lad to carry this to you. Give him a half a crown, will you? That's what I promised him if it was delivered safely. I'm watching the house, and daren't leave. I shall wait for you until six o'clock, and if you haven't come then, I'll have a try at getting into the house on my own. It's too good a chance to miss, and, of course, the boy mightn't find you. But if he does, get him to bring you down here right away. And cover up those precious moustaches of yours in case any one's watching out from the house and might recognise you.