Nude in Mink, Sax Rohmer [free children's ebooks pdf TXT] 📗

>Ives’s desk phone purred. He took it up.

“Chief Inspector Ives here… What’s that? A house near Hanover Square, you say? But are you sure of the car?… We’re on dangerous ground there. We can’t raid the embassies of friendly nations! … All right, I’ll come along at once.”

He replaced the receiver.

“Any news, Inspector?” Donovan asked eagerly.

“Well—” Ives frowned in a puzzled way. “I hope so.

But it’s all rather confusing. One of my fellows thinks he has found the house to which your missing friend, Miss Duquesne, was taken when she arrived in London–-”

“Yes, yes! Go on!”

“It’s certainly in the right neighbourhood. But it belongs to the diplomatic corps of one of the Balkan states! Funny business! I must be off. It’s getting late, too. Let me drop you at your flat in Bruton Street. When I’ve looked into this clue, I’ll come along and see you …”

2

“Caspar! …”

“Caspar! … Caspar! …”

Sibilant slippers crossed a marble floor; there was a musical tinkling as the rose-tinted curtains swung open.

“My Lady?”

“What does Philo report?”

“He reports. My Lady, that the house of the ex-ambassador is being watched by the police—”

There followed a moment of ominous silence—a faint splash from the pool.

“There has been some carelessness! Some outrageous clumsiness! Steps must be taken immediately. This may be dangerous. Proceed, Caspar! Proceed! What of the American journalist?”

“Mark Donovan is away from his apartment, My Lady. It is believed that he is at Scotland Yard—”

“Believed! believed! Am I served by half-wits? Is he at Scotland Yard or is he not?”

Caspar bowed so low that he resembled an inverted L.

“My Lady—I only tell you what is reported to me. I can tell you no more.”

My Lady tapped her long nails on the ivory inlay of an Arab coffee-table.

“Philo’s wits grow dull. I must find some means of stimulating them. Perhaps a year in the ruby mines—”

“My Lady! My Lady!” At last, emotion entered into the placid voice. “Spare him that!”

“We must act at once. Those records, photographs and fingerprints may fall into the wrong hands—particularly if the servants at the embassy are interrogated. Varro and Abdul are ready with the car?”

“They await your orders, Madonna.”

“Ariosto knows the plan. Tell him to apply the new preparation, 842, and to send Dr. Maitland to me here.”

“It shall be done, My Lady.”

The curtain rings emitted their bell-like tinkle. The whisper of Caspar’s slippers died into silence.

My Lady laughed.

“It is all so simple—if one is wise, and calm …”

An almost complete stillness fell upon that fantastic room, broken only by occasional faint splashings from the marble pool, when one of the golden orfe disturbed a lily leaf. Then came an angry voice and a scuffle of footsteps…

“Restrain yourself, Dr. Maitland.” The oily tones were Caspar’s. ‘This anger is useless. I do not more than to obey Our Lady’s orders.”

“Keep your slimy hands off me!” Steel Maitland shouted. “I can walk without support, thank you.”

The rings tinkled as the curtains were drawn open.

“My Lady—Dr. Steel Maitland to see you.”

The rings tinkled again as the curtains were closed. Caspar’s slippers went whispering away.

Maitland looked slightly dishevelled. His eyes were hotly angry, and his hands were fastened. He stood there staring at My Lady.

“Ah! I am much obliged to you, madame. First, for having my hands re-tied—which small attention probably saved me from a charge of homicide. Second, for instructing ‘Dr. Worthington’ to administer an injection which means no doubt that I shall die without having strangled him!”

A ripple of musical laughter checked his words.

“How you exaggerate, Dr. Maitland! Please be seated. I fear you are a nasty, rough fellow—or so Ariosto reports.”

Maitland hesitated, then, with a gesture of resignation, dropped down on to the Egyptian stool set near the divan.

“Who is Ariosto?”

My Lady clasped her hands behind her head, leaning back on a pillar.

“My chief physician—whom you know as Dr. Worthington. A man of great ability.”

“I am aware of his ability!” said Maitland dryly.

“You must bear no malice.” The wonderful eyes were nearly closed. “He merely carries out my orders. And my orders must be obeyed. I ordered Mark Donovan to be set free. He is free now. I had my reasons. One day, he will work for me—voluntarily.”

“You are an optimist! But enough of this nonsense. Scotland Yard is hard on your heels. I suppose you know it?”

Sumuru remained still.

“Scotland Yard can never disturb my serenity. I am beyond the reach of Scotland Yard. Those who are a real danger to my plans, I remove—in a manner to be a warning to others. There is never any evidence, Dr. Maitland. In my home I preserve the traditions of a past grandeur. I go about the world, freely and luxuriously. I maintain the personal staff of a prime minister. I have thousands of followers. But Scotland Yard can never interfere with me.”

Maitland was studying the lovely, provocative face, covertly.

“Am I to suppose,” he asked, “that you do me the honour of regarding me as one who is a real danger? Has your talented Ariosto booked me to a quick or to a slow death?”

Where had he met this woman before?

“You are really absurd!” She smiled slightly. “I assure you I am entirely harmless—if no one interferes with me. No, Dr. Maitland, you will not die. You will merely obey my orders. 842, which Ariosto administered, is a sedative, intended to compose your mind to receive those orders.”

Maitland became aware of a disturbing phenomenon. Either My Lady’s features were changing, assuming a wholly different character, or his eyes were playing him tricks…

“I may be your prisoner, madam, and helpless. But nothing can ever force me to carry out your fantastic plans…” His voice sounded to his own ears as though it came from a long way off. “Whew! This place is suffocatingly hot!”

“I recall,” My Lady murmured, “that you were overcome on a former occasion, Dr. Maitland. The scent of mimosa is, of course, a heavy one. But you will no doubt become accustomed to it—in time.”

The slim, recumbent body seemed to be floating… floating nearer. Maitland spoke, hoarsely.

“You… have… drugged me… you she-devil!… I am… suffocating …”

My Lady’s eyes had grown enormous—and they were close to his own.

“You are merely a little faint. This will pass. Look at me! … I order you to look at me!”

Maitland seemed to be sinking into purple depths, but the beautiful, remorseless voice followed him.

“There is a small steel box locked in the wardrobe at Mark Donovan’s flat. It contains evidence which you have collected in the East concerning that Order of which I am the head. I must see this evidence. You will bring it to me. You have the key to the apartment. You are going there now. If you are disturbed, you will say, ‘Do not follow me …

Scented purple clouds dosed over Maitland’s head.

“… ‘Death to follow …”’

“… ‘Death to follow me…”

“.._.‘to follow me …‘“_

3

“Is that you, Inspector?”

Donovan sprang up and turned to the door. He was ridiculously jumpy.

“It is!”

Inspector Ives stepped in, closing the door behind him.—“Phew! My nerve’s going!”

“I was right to borrow the key, Mr. Donovan. I left the car well out of sight and took a careful look along Bruton Street. Sure enough, there’s a fellow skulking up at the Berkeley Square end! But I tricked him! I waited until a lorry came by, and ran beside it right to your door. I was in before he could have seen me!”

Donovan crossed to the buffet and poured out two drinks.

“Does it matter?” he asked wearily, passing a tumbler to the inspector.

“I think it does. _Why_ is your place being watched? Whatever it means, they don’t know I’m here!… Thanks! This is welcome.”

“What news?”

“Nothing much.” Ives set his glass down. “A car corresponding to the one in which you were carried off, recently, was seen to call at a house not far from here. Unfortunately, this house is outside the jurisdiction of Scotland Yard. All quiet there. Don’t quite know what we can do—at least, not tonight.”

Donovan took a deep gulp of whisky.

“Good God! this is awful! And—_Claudette_ may be in that house!”

“She may be, Mr. Donovan,” Ives agreed, and began to fill his pipe. “But if she is, she stays there. A good man is posted now, and will be relieved at daylight by another. In the meantime, I shall try to get the necessary powers.”

Donovan moved about restlessly.

“This house right in Mayfair can’t possibly be Sumuru’s headquarters,” he said. “But we know for a fact that she uses some other place near by as well. Is there anything otherwise suspicious, to suggest that it might be this Embassy?”

“Nothing much. Except that the diplomatic party who formerly occupied it went away some time ago. There are still servants there I believe, clearing up the heavier baggage, and so on. But while the national flag hangs over the door, my hands are tied.”

Donovan nodded, miserably.

“We have got to accept the fact that Sumuru has tremendous secret influence of some sort. It may be political influence …”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking!” Ives declared, putting his pouch back in his pocket and lighting his pipe.

“It would account for a lot of things. It would partly explain how she manages her abductions. In fact, there could be a better place to hide a prisoner than inside an Embassy.”

“You’re right. It’s been done before. But if we’re up against a woman who uses diplomatic immunity to cover her crimes, we’re also up against a tough proposition!”

“I agree. Why—Maitland might be in that house!”

“He might be, Mr. Donovan. But… Quiet! What’s that?”

Ives put his lighted briar in a tray, and stood up.

“What? I heard nothing—”

“S’sh! Listen!”

They stood tense, alert, and then:

“Someone just outside the door!” Donovan whispered.

“Trying a key in the lock! Quick! Where can we hide?”

“There—look—”

“S’sh, Quiet!”

“Behind that painted screen. What’s the idea–-?”

“Light out, first of all! Slip into the lobby. Quick! Those out too… Not a sound! No rough stuff, mind. Keep your hands in your pockets. I’m in charge …”

Donovan darted into the lobby, and was back in a matter of seconds.

“That’s done!”

“Right! Whoever it is will switch the lights on, I expect. Come on!”

Ives stepped into cover. Donovan depressed both switches and groped his way in beside him. “It may be Maitland,” he whispered.

“Dr. Maitland wouldn’t fumble about like that!”

Then, the key was turned in the lock, very slowly. Donovan could hear it turning. A slight draught became perceptible. The door was open. Next, the lobby light sprang up. Ives looked out through one hinge of the screen, Donovan from another. Both commanded a view of the room. Suddenly, a hand appeared in silhouette, and all the lights were switched on. Steel Maitland came in, walking softly!

Donovan was on the point of shouting his name, when, to his amazement, Ives clapped a hand over his mouth!

“Quiet!” he breathed. “Look at his eyes!”

And, as the restraining hand was removed, Donovan looked.

What he saw chilled him.

Steel Maitland, his cheeks, or that part of them visible through his beard, oddly white, stared vacantly about the room with a glassy stare which Donovan thought resembled that of an opium-smoker. Of the keen intelligence, the acute observation, Which normally lighted them, nothing was left. They were the eyes of a man in a trance. Then, in a low voice, Maitland spoke.

“I must