Читать книгу Flat 2 - Edgar Wallace - Страница 5

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The room looked little like that of a flat in the West End of London.

Oriental tapestries and embroidered silks, emblazoned with every hue, were strewn about, cushions of exotic design in profusion. A gold hookah stood near a wide settee, its pale-blue smoke mingling with that from the perfumed cigarette which the girl smoked, seated amongst the cushions, her feet on a carved footstool.

In a high slender brazier of bronze burned pungent spices, and the only illumination came from a grotesquely carved bronze lantern suspended by chains, from which a pale-green light spread eerily, shining on the polished black head of the man beside the hookah. His Western clothes were covered by an embroidered robe, and to the girl whose dreams of the East were realised by the bizarre effects about her, the dim light, the scent of the smoke and the spices, he was a figure of rich romance.

His imperfect English was in itself an added charm.

'But you seem to know somet'ing of Cairo already,' he remarked.

'No. Just a little that Jimmy told me. He used to tell me interesting things once.'

'But is interesting no longer?' inquired Louba.

She frowned.

'He soon became more talkative about crime and police work out there, than Cairo and Baghdad themselves. Don't let's talk about him. When I'm here, I want to forget I'm in England: I want to forget humdrum places and ordinary people and live in a beautiful dream.'

'You are ver' good to say I make beautiful dreams for you. You do not now regret our meetings? You are not now troubled by the little inconveniences they entail?'

'I don't care for anything so long as I escape for an hour to a new wonderful world.'

'But it is great pity you should have to escape to it,' he observed. 'Would it not be so much more wonderful if you lived there all the time? If your East was not conjured out of a few Eastern hangings and carvings, bound by four walls, but you stood in the secret heart of it, steeped in the soul of its age-old mystery...'

'Oh, don't—you make me so envious, and miserable. Because I shall never see it, and I want to more than anything in the world.'

'And why not, Kate? It is only the shackles of that humdrum society which you dislike that holds you back. If only—'

'Who's that?' she broke in, her lips parted fearfully, the cigarette held far from her as though she prepared to cast it aside hastily.

He turned his head at the sound of the bell.

'I do not expect anyone,' he said. 'Miller will see to it.'

But Miller, his man, opened the door to two visitors whom he dared not take upon himself to send away. He begged them to wait whilst he took their names.

'Who is it?' called Louba, as the man knocked on the locked door.

The girl leapt to her feet in terror when the names were given. 'Daddy! Oh, get me out! Get me out! Which way can I go?'

She seized her coat and hat, flinging them on in trembling haste.

'You cannot go by the service passage now. There's only the window. Perhaps I'd better not see them,' said Louba.

'Oh, you must! Otherwise he might suspect. How can I get out by the window?'

'Down the fire escape. I'll release the ladder, but when you get to the bottom of it, the alarm will ring. You must run round by the back of the house quickly, before anyone can see you. Don't be frightened. You will get away safely.'

He had unlatched the window, and was tugging furiously to open it. It withstood all his efforts. He went to the door, outside which Miller waited.

'What's the matter with the confounded window, Miller?' he cried.

'The screws, sir, the screws at the bottom!'

Louba switched on the light and returned to the window, where the girl stooped agitatedly to assist, half sobbing as she fumbled vainly at the small tightened screws.

'He can't suspect it's you,' said Louba, as he tore his fingers and cursed inwardly in his endeavours to loosen the screws. 'I'd better send them away.'

'No, no!' The girl was in a panic. 'He's seen us exchange a private word or two occasionally—I'm always afraid he'll guess. I must get away if we break the window!'

At last he had the screws out, and the window dragged open.

Without a word and possessed only by her guilty desire to escape, she fled through the window and down the fire escape, jumping the last few steps in a frenzy of fright as the burglar-alarm clanged harshly and sent her fleeing into the misty darkness.

'Show them in!' called Louba to Miller, unlocking the door. Hastily he collected a few of the tapestries and cushions and threw them through the doorway into his bedroom, slamming the door shut and wrapping a handkerchief about his torn finger before he went forward to meet his guests.

'Pray pardon me that I keep you waiting, dear friends,' he apologised. 'I had fallen asleep and was far away in the land of dreams. But you bring me a ver' pleasant awakening.'

His visitors had doubts and, despite Louba's efforts, it plain that they felt themselves intruders and were anxious to take their leave.

After a very short while they rose to go. He accompanied them to the door himself, still talking vivaciously, and expressing his regret that they could not be persuaded to stay longer.

It was after the door had closed on them that the suavity vanished from his face and was replaced by a scowl.

'Miller!'

'Yes, sir,' said the man, appearing in response to the peremptory call.

'What is the meaning of that window being stuck fast as if it was never to be opened this side eternity? I have broken my nails and torn my skin trying to open it. Why was it screwed down?'

'There's always been screws there, sir, at night-time. With the fire escape outside, it's safer.'

'Need you hammer them in so that I must needs root up the whole building to get them out?' demanded Louba, still visibly irritated and flurried by the contretemps.

'I only screwed 'em right as I always do, sir, particularly on a misty night. You may be glad of those screws some day,' he added, with a feeble attempt at lightness; but if he sought to dispel the gloom, he failed dismally.

'What do you mean by that?' exclaimed Louba suspiciously.

'Nothing, sir,' replied the man innocently. 'I only meant they do keep the burglars out, don't they?'

Louba uttered an impatient exclamation, and went back into the disordered room.

He glanced at the window, even went close and peered out until he could see the faint outline of the fire escape. It certainly would be easy for anyone to enter that way, but for the burglar-alarm connected with the ladder.

He pulled the curtains close across, and returned to the centre of the room, where he stood, biting a finger.

He was a much-hated man. There were people...

Bah!

He shook his shoulders scornfully.

Who dare touch Louba?