Читать книгу The Green Pearl - Aidan de Brune - Страница 7

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FOR SOME seconds the two men stared at the figures in the doorway. Then Browne jumped to his feet and dashed towards them. He tripped over a rug and fell heavily. Therrold, more deliberate in his actions, sprang over the detective's prostrate body and reached the door, pulling it violently open.

The corridor was empty. Fifty feet along the corridor was a corner, where the passage led to the elevators. Glancing to the left, and seeing no one in that direction, the Secret Service man dashed to the corner and raced down to the lift gates. The indicators showed that both lifts were near the bottom floors, one of them descending and the other rising. The man and woman could not have escaped that way.

Going back to his room, Therrold examined the doors on either side of the corridor. He wanted to knock at each door and enquire who occupied the room, but he had no excuse for the action. At his own door he met Browne, who had searched he corridor in the opposite direction.

"No luck, sir," the man reported. "Gosh! I went a thud that time."

"Perhaps it is just as well we didn't catch them," Therrold laughed. "All they did was to peer into a room where we were enjoying a drink. That's not illegal. Did you Recognise either of them?"

"Can't say as I did, sir." Browne set the door at the old angle, before returning to his chair. "The man didn't look quite natural—rather funny, in fact."

"A Chinese?" queried the Secret Service man. "I thought so, too. That help, Browne?"

The police officer thought deeply for a few minutes. He drew a small memorandum book from his pocket and turned the leaves. "There was a Chink here, two years ago, sir, who gave the Department a bit of trouble. Name, Dr. Night—or that's what he chose to call himself."

The detective paused and looked up at the Englishman. "From what we discovered it appeared that he was the big noise in the Sydney dope-world. Get away after wrecking the house he occupied and killing a bunch of our fellows who were raiding the place. The description broadcasted stated that Dr. Night looked like a Chink, yet had points that might lead one to think him to be of partly European ancestry."

"The man at the door was certainly Chinese—or from one of the Central Asian countries," observed Therrold, thoughtfully. "If he is not pure Chink, then he comes from one of those mysterious tribes in Central Asia that seem to have provided the population for Europe and Asia. I heard quite a lot of queer yarns about those tribes while making my way from Russia to Singapore. One of them ran that in almost prehistoric days a Central Asian monarch over land that is now China, and most of the other parts of Asia, establishing what he claimed to be world-wide empire. From what my informant said, that empire lasted some hundreds of years."

"What became of it?" Browne asked the question idly. He appeared to interested in his manuscript book.

"Drowned in its own success." Therrold stretched out: his hand for the soda siphon. "Degenerated until they could not hold their sway over the many tribes they had conquered. The legend tells that they were driven back into the hill fastnesses of their country and disappeared from those days practical politics. Most of the legends of Central Asia are founded on similar themes—and always with the same ending; that they or their descendants, are to come back in the fullness of their old glory, reconquer their old territory and establish a far larger and more lasting empire. In; that is embodied the instincts of all races—the hope of a Messiah, to lead the lost nation back to their past glory."

Browne was gazing into space, a puzzled frown on his face. He held the little book open in his hand, apparently forgotten. At length, he sat upright and closed the book. A quick glance towards the door and he leaned forward.

"That was Dr. Night, sir—the man who peered in at the door," Browns spoke in a whisper. "He comes from somewhere out of the heart of Asia and claims to be a sort of prophet king. There was a reporter on the Mirror. He could tell you quite a tale about him. From what was rumoured at the time, this Dr. Night kept aim a prisoner in his house for days—and he was in the underground room when Dr. Night blew it and Inspector Frost and his men up. Hardy's his name, Robert Hardy, and he tells some queer story of being transported into some hidden city in Asia and seeing Dr. Night on his ancestral throne, wearing a wonderful Green Pearl in—Lord!"

"The Green Pearl!" Therrold was all attention. "The legend of the Green Pearl is that it once adorned the crown of some great Asian monarch. Why, Browne, even the rumour that I was carrying it gave me a queer sort of kudos in many districts I passed through."

"Then Dr. Night came after the jewel, sir. You can bet on that." Browne stared at the Englishman with wide eyes. "And that girl; she is in it, too. Acting for Dr. Night, no doubt. That's why she was in your room last night."

Therrold lit a cigarette, thoughtfully. For a time he lay back, blowing rings towards the ceiling. Suddenly he sat up. "You've given me quite a lot to think about, Browne," he said. "Yes, I think our friend at the open door and Dr. Night are the same person. What's his game. The Green Pearl, you claim. I don't think you're far out. Now, does he know that I lost it in Rohmer's office? If not, how long will it take him to find that out. Once he gets that information, what will he do. Go after Rohmer? If he does, should I keep tabs on him or stick to the trail of the Green Pearl. I'd rather he thought I still had it; then he'd only watch my dust. Anyway, the pearl's gone for the present."

"Doesn't seem to trouble you, sir," Browne chuckled.

"The thing that's troubling me at the moment is that 'IV' on Rohmer's desk. The pearl will come back. That's certain. I've lost and recovered it before."

"Who's got it now, sir?"

"Quién sabe!" Therrold laughed. "So far as I know there are three groups of people after it—and intend to possess it, by hook or by crook. The Soviet Government claims it because they rule Russia. The Romanoffs claim it because they ruled Russia and wore it in their crown. This Dr. Night appears likely to put in a claim for it because his ancestors once owned it. Who'll got it, eventually I'm not going to try to guess. One thing only I know—that is that I shall recover possession of it and deliver it to the man who sent me in search of it. If he's wise, he'll put it under a hammer until it's dust—but he won't do that."

"Who was the girl with the doctor, Captain?"

"The girl who came into my rooms last night and searched my belongings." The Englishman rose to his feet. "Well, Browne, I'll see the Commissioner and get your release. Then we'll take the trail of the Green Pearl. By the way, you might tip your chief that Dr. Night is loose in this city. If he can jug him for a time that would help us considerably. We'd only have our Soviet friends to consider then. See you to-morrow, sergeant."

For some time after Browne had left the room Therrold sat thinking deeply. Then he threw off his coat and waistcoat and stretched out on the lounge, closing his eyes. For nearly an hour he lay; then sat up and looked at his watch. It was just on two o'clock.

Dressing leisurely, he sauntered down the corridor to the elevators. Opposite the lift-gates a long bench stood against the wall. As he came towards the gates, Therrold noticed a man on the bench, apparently asleep. He looked at him curiously, but his face was bowed, concealing his features. Therrold rang the lift bell then turned again to face the man.

There was something strangely familiar about him. He went to the bench and stooped to peer into the man's face; then straightened, with a low whistle. When the elevator reached the floor, he was standing square before the gates.

"Get down to the offices and bring up Mr. Rohmer as quickly as you can," he ordered tersely. "Tell your mate not to bring anyone up to this floor. That applies to you, too."

The man looked doubtful, but Therrold was imperative. When the lift had dropped out of sight, the Englishman returned to the seated figure. Taking care not to touch him, he bent and made a careful examination. The man's hands attracted attention. The Englishman tore his handkerchief in two and with the linen covering his fingers wrenched the man's hands apart. Something small and glistening fell from the hands and rolled under the bench.

The Englishman bent and flicked the article into the open. With a sudden gust of rage he made as if to crush the thing with his foot; then changed his mind and rolled the article into a piece of paper. In his hands he held the Green Pearl. Whistling thoughtfully, he carried it to the window and made a careful examination. For some seconds he rolled it from side to side, on the paper; a grim smile forming on his lips.

The opening of the lift gates behind him caused him to turn swiftly. He crushed the Green Pearl into the paper and slipped it into his pocket, as Carl Rohmer stepped on to the floor.

"The attendant at the elevator informed me that you required my presence, m'sieu?" The hotel manager glanced curiously from the Englishman to the seated figure. "Is it of the Green Pearl that m'sieu would speak?"

"Send that man down and stop all persons coming to this floor, Mr. Rohmer." Therrold spoke in an undertone.

When the manager hesitated, he added: "You don't want a scandal here, do you?"

When they were alone Therrold turned to the seated figure on the bench, beckoning the hotel manager to approach.

"Know him?" Rohmer bent down, peering into the grey face. "Mon Dieu! It is—he is—"

"Detective Browne," snapped the Englishman. "Murdered! No, don't touch him, man! There's something damned queer here."