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The Green Eyes of Bast by Sax Rohmer

S >> Sax Rohmer >> The Green Eyes of Bast




"Really," I murmured, "it was good of you to take so much trouble,
but--"

"It was no trouble at all," she declared. "I had occasion to come this
way and Lady Coverly asked me to call and tell you that whilst she is
not well enough to receive visitors, you are quite welcome to inspect
the older parts of the house."

"I am much indebted," I said.

Having so spoken, I ceased and was aware of a kind of embarrassment.
For whilst I was naturally anxious to avoid unpleasant suspicions
regarding a lady who apparently had gone out of her way to perform an
act of courtesy, yet I could not place this elegant figure in the
household of Friar's Park as that household had been depicted by my
old gossip of "The Threshers."

I mentally determined there and then to question Martin, and if
possible Hawkins, upon the point, directly an opportunity arose, and
the former immediately my visitor had departed. But she seemed to be
in no hurry to depart.

"You have never visited this neighborhood before?" she continued, in
the soft, caressing voice which persistently awakened memories of that
evening in my cottage.

She re-seated herself upon the sofa, leaving me no alternative but to
sit down in the only chair which the coffee-room boasted. I could not
fail to notice, however, that although she addressed me as Mr.
Addison, she did not volunteer her own name. Furthermore, she remained
throughout with her back to the window.

"Never," I replied; "it is very interesting in many ways, I believe."

"You will find Friar's Park most fascinating," she assured me. "It
stands upon the site of one of the oldest and largest monasteries in
the south of England. Indeed, some parts of the house, notably the
chapel and the west tower, which is visible from here, I think, are
remains of the original building."

She was palpably trying to interest me; and conscious that my somewhat
frigid attitude was churlish, if she was really what she professed to
be--namely, a friend of Lady Coverly's--I endeavored in turn to
display an intelligent interest in the history of the old monastic
house.

I do not regret that I did so. I think that I have never heard the dry
bones of history clothed so fascinatingly. The knowledge displayed by
my unknown visitor of the history of that old monkish corner of
England was truly amazing. The Coverlys, it appeared, had played their
part in that history right back to the misty times of Saxon England.
The scenes conjured up by my first sight of the curiously wild country
which lay between the village and the distant parkland were presented
now with all the color and truth of real life. This woman seemingly
was acquainted with almost every act of importance of every Coverly
since the days of Canute and with the doings of all the abbots who had
ever ruled over Croix-de-Lis.

Finally, while I listened in ever growing wonder, fascinated by the
extent of this strange woman's knowledge and in part, too, by the
husky music of her voice, she seemed to become conscious of the
passage of time and, rising suddenly, she laughed; and her laughter
again awakened a memory.

"How perfectly absurd of me, Mr. Addison!" she said. "You will
certainly think I am more than eccentric to sit here fulfilling the
part of a local guide."

Even as she spoke the words, a sound intruded from the road outside. A
heavy footstep came first, the footstep of one who approached the door
of the inn; then:

"Martin!" I heard; "a moment, please."

It was Dr. Damar Greefe!

If the sound of his voice had startled me, its effect upon my visitor
was truly singular. Taking a swift step towards me, she grasped my arm
with her strangely slender gloved hand. Now that she stood so close to
me, I realized that she was even taller than I had supposed, nearly as
tall as myself, in fact. Her swift, lithe movements possessed an
indescribable grace which, as I thought, and experienced a sudden
revulsion, were oddly uncanny--cat-like.

"Oh, Mr. Addison," she said, and drew even nearer, so that I could
feel her breath upon my cheek, "I fear that man as one fears a snake.
I am going to ask a favor of you. I see that there is another door to
this room, and I have a particular reason for wishing to avoid him. I
don't know where that doorway leads to, but I can doubtless find my
way out."

Her grasp upon my arm tightened.

"Dare I ask you," she added pleadingly, "to conceal from him if
necessary the fact that I have been here?"

"But Martin knows that you have been here," I protested, my mind in a
whirl at this sudden turn of affairs; "and the man sitting on the
bench outside must have seen you come in also."

"He did not," she replied rapidly, "and Martin does not know who I
am."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say, "Neither do I," but:

"Please," she pleaded; "it is not much to ask, but it means so much to
me."

Thereupon, without waiting for my answer, she turned and ran out
through the little doorway, which opened as a matter of fact into the
larder of the inn, from which there was an exit into a kitchen-garden.

I could hear Martin, the landlord, talking to the Eurasian doctor in
the passage outside the coffee-room, and before I had time to open the
door, there came a peremptory rap, the door was opened from the
outside and Dr. Damar Greefe entered.

In spite of the already great heat of the morning he wore a heavy
black overcoat, and his white hair showed in startling relief beneath
a wide-brimmed black felt hat. If I had been surprised at the tallness
of the woman who had so suddenly departed, the stature of the Eurasian
was curiously illustrated by the fact that he had to lower his head in
order to enter the little doorway.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, peering towards me where I stood in the badly
lighted room--"Mr. Addison, I believe?"

"At your service, Dr. Greefe," I replied.

"I understood that my niece was here?"

"Your niece!" I exclaimed, and my astonishment was quite unfeigned.

"Precisely."

That peremptory manner which I had previously resented in him evinced
itself now; and even had I lacked reasons other than personal for
foiling him I should certainly have returned a reply far from pacific.

"I was not aware," he continued, his voice high-pitched and harsh,
"that you were acquainted. Inform me."

All the time he was peering about the room suspiciously, and:

"I inform you that we are not!" I said. "But if we were, I cannot
conceive that our acquaintance would concern you in any way."

"You are rude, sir!" he cried, and bent towards me so that I could see
the fierce hawk face set in a vicious scowl.

"I should be sorry to think so," I said indifferently; for the
Eurasian's behavior transcended the merely annoying and was that of a
lunatic. "I would not willingly provoke a sick man, and the tone and
manner of your address forcibly suggest to me that your temperature is
not normal."

A moment he stood bending towards me, his pose that of one about to
spring, then:

"Ah," he exclaimed, "yes, you are right, Mr. Addison. I live much
alone and I fear my manner grows brusk. Overlook it. She has gone,
then?"

"If you refer to a lady who called upon me half an hour ago--yes, she
is gone."

He drew himself upright again and stood there, gigantic in the little
room--a great, gaunt figure.

"Ah! And she was not my niece?"

"I lack the pleasure of your niece's acquaintance, Dr. Greefe."

"Yes. You said so. Good day, Mr. Addison."

He turned, lowered his head, and walked out of the room. When I, in
turn, emerged into the passage, I saw him striding out of the inn.
Martin was standing by the door of the bar-parlor looking very
confused; and as I joined him, intent upon a chat, I observed that the
shabby-looking stranger had departed.

"Hullo, Martin!" I exclaimed. "I thought I saw a customer here."

"When you came in there was. He went off with Cassim and Hawkins. They
was goin' to show him the road to Manton."

"Cassim?"

"Aye."

Martin growled and walked behind the bar-counter.

"You have some curious residents in this neighborhood."

"Too curious by half."

"Cassim, for instance, is not an English name."

Martin indulged in that rumbling sound which was his only form of
laughter.

"English!" he said. "He's as black as your hat!"

My hat chanced to be gray, but I followed the idea nevertheless, and:

"What!" I exclaimed, "a negro?"

"A blackamoor. That's all I know or care; and dumb!"

"Dumb! and a friend of Hawkins?"

"God knows. Things ain't right."

"Do you know if--a lady--resides with Dr. Greefe?"

"Maybe--maybe not. There _is_ tales told."

Substantially this was all I learned from mine host; but, having
lighted my pipe, I sat down on the bench before the door and set my
mind to work in an endeavor to marshal all the facts into some sort of
order.

The reputation locally enjoyed by Dr. Damar Greefe I could afford to
ignore, I thought, but from my personal observation of the man I had
come to the conclusion that there was much about him which I did not
and could not understand. In the first place, for any man to choose to
live, solitary, in such an abode as the Bell House was remarkable. Why
had the masterful Eurasian retired to that retreat in company with his
black servitor? I thought of my own case, but it did not seem to
afford a strict analogy.

Then, who was the "niece" so closely guarded by Dr. Greefe? And if she
was none other than my late elegant visitor why had she sought the
interview? Not even my natural modesty, which in such matters I have
sometimes thought to be excessive, could conceal from me the fact that
she had found my society pleasing. But, since I had never seen her
before, did this theory account for her visit? Recalling again that
huskily caressing voice, I asked myself the question: _Had_ I seen her
before?

Perhaps the apparition of green eyes looking up to my window from the
lane below, which on the night of my arrival I had relegated to the
limbo of dreamland, had been verity and not phantasm. If that were so,
then the uncanny visitant to my cottage had pursued me to Upper
Crossleys!

Or could it be the fact that she had preceded me? Perhaps Gatton had
not confided the whole of his ideas to me--perhaps, as I had already
suspected, the heart of "the _Oritoga_ mystery" lay here and not in
London.

The result of my meditations was that I determined, in pursuit of my
original plan, first to call upon Mr. Edward Hines; and having
inquired of Martin the way to Leeways Farm, I took my stick and set
out.




CHAPTER XVI

THE GOLDEN CAT


It was a perfect morning and although the sun had not yet attained to
its full power it had dispersed the early mist and I knew that in
another hour or less the heat would once more have become tropical.
During the first part of my walk, and whilst I remained in the
neighborhood of Upper Crossleys, I met never a wayfarer, and memories
of the green eyes followed me step by step so that I was often tempted
to look back over my shoulder by the idea that I should detect, as I
had detected once before, the presence of some follower. I resented
this impulse, however. I felt that my imagination was adding horrors
to those which already actually existed, so that I should presently
find myself unable to distinguish the real from the imaginary.

At the end of half an hour's steady tramping I saw before me a place
where a wood dipped down to the wayside so that its trees cast a broad
shadow across the path. I knew that the entrance to the farm lay just
beyond; and, pressing on past the trees, I saw many outbuildings
having none of that deserted appearance which characterized the
neighboring homesteads of Upper Crossleys. Twenty yards beyond the
farm itself appeared in view.

There was some sign of activity about the yard, and, walking briskly
forward, I presently found myself looking into a stone-paved place
containing numbers of milk-cans. Here a woman was engaged in sweeping
the floor, and:

"I have called to see Mr. Edward Hines," I said. "Can you tell me
where I shall find him?"

The woman stared at me in a strange and almost stupefied manner.

"Is he a friend of yours?" she inquired.

"He is not exactly a friend of mine," I continued; "but I have very
particular business with him."

She continued to stare in that curious way and remained silent for so
long that I began to think she was not going to reply, when:

"If Mr. Edward is not expecting you," she said, "I don't know that I
should advise you to go in. He is not very well just now--and he is
sometimes rather strange."

"I know," I said. "I quite understand; but he will be willing to see
me when he knows what I have come about. Shall I find him yonder?"

I pointed towards an open door leading to which was a neat, graveled
path lined by well-kept flower-beds, and which I took to be the main
entrance to the farm.

"Well, sir," said the woman doubtfully, "they'll tell you there if Mr.
Edward is to be seen; but I don't advise it"

"That's all right!" I cried, and proceeded in the direction of the
doorway.

I presently obtained a view of a cozily furnished room, where a
white-haired old lady was bustling about engaged in some domestic
duties. I paused at the threshold.

"My name is Addison," I said. "Would it be possible for me to have a
few minutes' conversation with Mr. Edward Hines?"

The old lady (whom I suspected to be the mother of the youth whom I
was seeking) paused in the midst of her task and looked at me in a
troubled way. It was evident enough that the reputation of Mr. Edward
was the same in his home as elsewhere, and it occurred to me that his
upbringing must have been a very bad one.

"Well," she replied, after this eloquent pause, "he's up in his room
certainly, but he doesn't like to see visitors, I know."

"He will be perfectly willing to see _me_," I said, confidently. "I
have news of importance for him"--and as she continued to look at me
in that troubled way: "I know of his present disfigurement," I
explained. "You need not be afraid of any unpleasant scenes."

"If I were sure of that," she said hesitatingly, and looked me over
with a critical eye. "Does he know you, sir?"

"Oh, yes," I answered; "we have met before. I assure you it will be
quite all right if you will just let me walk up and announce myself to
him, Mrs. Hines."

If I had had any doubt upon the point I was soon to learn that she was
indeed the mother of the notorious Mr. Edwards; for, ere she had time
to reply, a high-pitched, querulous voice which I had heard before
cried out from somewhere above:

"If that's any one for me, mother, tell him to go away! You know
perfectly well I won't see any one."

"There you are, sir," said Mrs. Hines, unable to hide her
embarrassment; "I told you he wouldn't see you."

"Please give me permission to go up," I said; "he will change his mind
when he hears what I have to say."

"You hear, mother!" came the irritable voice; "I'll break his neck if
he comes up here!"

Judging from the sound of the voice, I concluded that the excited
young man was located in a room immediately above that at the door of
which I stood.

"Don't be alarmed, madam," I said, and, stepping into the room, I
placed my hand reassuringly upon the old lady's shoulder.

Without waiting for any further protest I advanced to an open
staircase which I had already marked as leading to the apartment above
and confidently mounted. The copy-hunting pressman is not readily
excluded, and a few moments later I found myself in an extremely
untidy bedroom, the walls of which were decorated with sporting
prints, Kirchner drawings and photographs of many damsels.

The scarred young man, his face still a mass of sticking-plaster,
stood with clenched fists facing me, and:

"Get out!" was his greeting--"before I throw you out."

"My dear sir," I said, "unless you particularly want to figure in a
very undignified light as a witness in a trial for murder, sit down
and listen to me."

Edward Hines hesitated, opening and closing his hands and glaring at
me in a preposterous fury.

"What's the game?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"I am talking of 'the _Oritoga_ mystery,'" I replied.

"The _Oritoga_ mystery?"

His expression changed, and he dropped down into an armchair from
which he had evidently arisen upon hearing my voice below. I observed
a copy of a daily paper lying upon the carpet, and the conspicuous
headline was sufficient to show me that he had actually been reading
the latest reports concerning the case at the time of my arrival. I
had judged my man pretty accurately by this time, and drawing up
another chair which stood near me I sat down facing him, holding out
my open cigar-case.

"I quite understand your sensitiveness in the circumstances," I said
soothingly; "but there is no occasion to suppose that I have come to
remind you of your misfortune. Have a cigar. I want a chat with you."

He continued to watch me in a lowering way, but I was gradually
getting him in hand. With very poor grace he accepted a cigar, lighted
it, and threw the match away without offering to light mine. I did
not appear to notice his churlishness, but immediately approached the
matter about which I had come.

"Although I am not a member of the Criminal Investigation Department,"
I continued, "I am nevertheless in a sense an agent of Scotland Yard,
and I must ask you to listen very seriously to what I have to say. You
have in your possession a certain gold amulet--"

He was on his feet in a moment, the patches of skin visible between
the strapping assuming a purple color. A more choleric young man I had
never met.

"Damn you!" he cried. "What has it to do with you?"

"Sit down!" I said sternly. "I have given you one warning; I shall not
give you another. You will either answer my questions civilly here and
now or answer them in court, whichever you please. I shall not give
you another opportunity of choosing. I will repeat my remark: you have
in your possession a certain gold amulet in the form, I believe, of a
cat."

He was choking and muttering and glaring at me as I spoke, but I
stared at him coolly, and finally he resumed his seat and reached out
one hand towards a chest-of-drawers which stood beside his chair.
Pulling one of the drawers open, he took out a little gold figure of
Bast, and holding it towards me:

"Is this the thing you mean?" he jerked uncivilly.

"It is," I replied; "allow me to examine it."

He seemed rather reluctant to do so, but nevertheless I took it from
his hand and looked at it closely. Beyond doubt it was of Ancient
Egyptian workmanship and probably a genuine Bubastite votive
offering. Raising my eyes to him again:

"Without in any way desiring to pry into your affairs," I said, "would
you be good enough to tell me how this came into your possession?"

The studied coolness of my manner was having its proper effect, and
Edward Hines, although sulkily, replied at once:

"A woman gave it to me."

"What was her name?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know the name of a woman who gave you a costly trinket of
this kind?"

A ridiculous look of vanity appeared in his eyes.

"Is it very valuable?" he inquired.

"It may be worth as much as L50," I answered quietly.

"Really!" said he, with something approaching geniality in his tones.
"Well, it's an extraordinary thing, but I assure you I don't know her
name."

"Of course," I said, with Machiavellian cunning, "I don't expect you
to remember the name of every girl who has loved you, but this is an
unusual present to receive even from an infatuated woman."

"It's an extraordinary thing, isn't it?" repeated Edward Hines, full
of self-esteem. "I can't make out the women at all; they're always
giving me presents. Look at that picture-frame. I got that from a girl
I had only seen three times--and it's solid silver," he added.

I glanced at the memento indicated, and observed that it contained a
photograph of Mr. Hines (without the sticking-plaster).

"An excellent likeness of yourself, too," I remarked.

"It's not bad," said he disparagingly; "it was done by one of the big
people up in London. The girl paid for it."

"But even that," I pursued--"even that is not so remarkable a gift as
this valuable piece of jewelry which I hold in my hand."

"No," said the youth, now restored to the utmost good-humor by my
undisguised admiration of his Don Juan-like qualities. "But the fact
remains that I don't know her name to this day. What did you mean," he
continued, "when you said that I was concerned in some way in 'the
_Oritoga_ mystery'?"

"I meant," I explained, "that the police are looking for a woman who
answers to the description of your friend."

"Really!" he cried. "A tall woman, very fine figure, beautifully
dressed?"

"I think it is probably the same," I said. "Had she any peculiarities
of appearance or manner by which you would recognize her again?"

"She had several peculiarities by which I should recognize her," he
declared, a note of resentment now proclaiming itself in his voice.

"And they were?"

Mr. Hines leaned forward, tapping me on the knee confidentially.

"I met her by accident, you understand," he confided, "on the London
Road one evening about sunset set. She asked me the way to Friar's
Park and I could see that I had made an impression at once. It was
just an excuse to speak to me of course. I offered to walk that far
with her; she agreed, and to cut a long story short--the usual thing,
of course; she wanted to meet me again.

"Well," he resumed complacently, "I met her on the following Thursday
and we became very good friends, you understand, except that she
always seemed particularly anxious to return home before dusk. All
this time I never knew who she was, or even where she lived, but of
course I could see how the land lay. She was some lady from London
staying at one of the big houses about here and had to show up for
dinner. That night when we parted she gave me this little gold thing
and arranged to see me again."

He paused, knocking ash from his cigar and seemingly reflecting as to
how he should word his next communication; but finally:

"The third time I saw her," he said, "I managed to arrange that she
could not get in quite so early, you understand; and then--I don't
know exactly how to tell you. I am not a chap that gets in a panic
very easily; but (I may mention that the scene took place in a wood)
she gave me the biggest scare I have ever had in my life."

He bent forward and again tapped me on the knee.

"My dear--Mr. Addison, I think you said your name was?--her eyes
lighted up in the dark like a cat's!"

He stared at me with some return of his old truculence as if
anticipating ridicule and prepared to resent it, but I nodded sternly,
watching him as if enthralled by his narrative, whereupon:

"Yes--like a cat's!" he repeated; "and I'll admit I got in a panic. I
don't know if she thought from the way I yelled that I was going to
attack her or what, but the next thing I knew she was at my throat."

He uttered a sort of choking sound, tenderly touched the bandages
about his neck and fingered the plaster which ornamented his face.

"At your throat?" said I. "You mean she tried to throttle you?"

"Throttle me!" he exclaimed scornfully. "She seized me with her
_teeth_!"

"But," I said, and hesitated, for I feared I might wound his curious
susceptibility--"the damage to your face?"

"Damn her!" he cried. "Damn her! I had never seen her without her
gloves, you understand, but she must have taken them off that night;
for _this_"--he indicated his plastered countenance--"is what she did
with her nails!"

He paused, staring at me dully, and then with a hint of the old
ridiculous vanity entering his voice:

"But I scored after all," he said, tossing the little amulet into the
drawer from which he had taken it. "If that's worth L50 it will more
than pay the doctor's bill, I think!"

Following a brief interval:

"Of course," I said, "you would recognize the woman again?"

"I am not so certain," declared the scarred man. "She always wore some
sort of veil; but you may be sure," he added in a tone of supreme
condescension, "that she was a very pretty woman, or I shouldn't have
been bothering with her."

"You are quite sure of that?" I ventured to remark.

"No doubt about it at all. Most extraordinary eyes--too damned
extraordinary by half!"

"Well," I said, "I am much indebted to you for your statement, and you
may be confident that it will materially assist the investigation now
in progress."

"Don't mention it," said Hines, airily. "If I can ever do anything
else for you, just let me know; but--I mean to say I rely upon you not
to bring me into it. You understand what I mean?"

"You may be absolutely certain," I replied, "that no hint of this
occurrence will ever be made public so far as I am concerned."

I took my departure from Leeways Farm fully satisfied with the result
of the first move in the plan of campaign upon which I had decided.
Returning to my quarters at the Abbey Inn, I spent the greater part of
the afternoon in writing a detailed account of my interview with
Edward Hines. Having completed this, I set out for the town, as by
posting my report there and not in the wayside box at Upper Crossleys
I knew that I could count upon its delivery at New Scotland Yard by
the first mail in the morning.

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