Nude in Mink by Sax Rohmer (top reads .TXT) 📕

“‘No,’ I told her, ‘except that it’s so foggy! I don’t know where we are at all. And there’s something that has puzzled me very much, Jean. Why were we given new passports at that place?”

“‘Official red tape, I expect, dear!’

“‘Official red tape? But the war’s long over and done with. Why the new passports? You have carried them both. I have never seen mine. What do they say?’

“Jean stared for a moment, and then said, ‘Nothing much, Claudette. They must be in order. We got through everywhere without trouble, didn’t we?’

“That was true enough, and so I said no more. Presently, the car pulled up before quite an imposing mansion, and the chauffeur, a very dark and very powerful man, with simply enormous shoulders, was joined by someone I supposed to be an Arab butler. He had a face as though it had been carved out of ivory, and a perpetual smile.”

Claudette gave a convincing imitation of this man’s voice and mannerisms …

“‘Be pleased to follow me, ladies…’

“I said aside to Jean, ‘What an extraordinary looking creature! He appears to be walking in his sleep! Is he—a sort of butler?’

“‘I suppose so,’ Jean said.

“‘Your things will be taken to your rooms, ladies,’ he intoned. ‘You must be exhausted after your tiring journey. Allow me to offer you cocktails—or a glass of wine?’

“‘Oooh!’ Jean squealed (she appeared to be terribly excited.) ‘Champagne?’

“Well, we had the champagne, and I must say it was delightful. I heard Jean say, ‘We have evidently come to the right place!’ and then, her words seemed to be echoed—over and over again.

“‘To the right place…

“‘Right place…

“‘Come to the right place…”

“I remember whispering, ‘Jean! Jean! I feel ill! I believe I am going to…’

“And Jean’s voice went on, ‘The right place… right place… right place…’

“I simply can’t remember a thing after that; and I can’t truly say if I dreamed or only half-dreamed what happened next. But I heard, or I imagined that I heard, Jean’s voice saying, ‘Here she is, Our Lady. Was I right about her?’

“Two eyes were looking at me.” Claudette extended her hands in a gesture which implied bewilderment. “I don’t know if I can make you understand what I mean. But all I could see (or all I can remember) was just two eyes. They were wonderful eyes, but they seemed to hurt me, to hurt something deep, deep inside me—perhaps my spirit. I felt— because I couldn’t really see—that those eyes were examining me all over, from head to foot. And then I heard another voice made me really wake up. But I know, now, that I wondering if Sarah Bernhardt, whom my father raved about, had spoken like that. It said:

“‘You were right, child. She is accepted. I leave her in your charge …’

“I thought at the time that the sound of this glorious voice made me really wake up. But I know, now, that I must have wakened some time later. I found myself in bed, in a charming little room—with not a shred of clothing on!”

Again that faint blush touched Claudette’s cheeks and was gone.

“There was only one bedside lamp burning, and the house seemed quite still. I got up and searched for my frock, my shoes, my stockings. But there was nothing of the kind in the room; only a pair of fur-trimmed slippers. At first, this seemed incomprehensible—and then I grasped the idea. It was to prevent my attempting to go out!

“Well—I got angry. The door was not locked. I suppose she thought this unnecessary. I looked out on to a landing.

“It was empty.

“I went along to the end and looked down into the entrance hall, Which I remembered. There was no one there, and I could hear no sound. What I should have done next I don’t know, but, thrown over the post at the foot of the stair I saw a magnificent mink cape. Then, I made up my mind.

“I crept down and wrapped myself in the cape. It’s in Jackie’s wardrobe, now. (It has a strange but very faint perfume which I never smelled before.) I opened the front door. I was afraid to close it behind me when I slipped out as I should have had to bang it.

“I just turned to the right, and ran!”

Claudette caught her breath and clenched her hands.

“Were you followed?”

“Yes. I hadn’t gone far (I don’t quite know where I was) when I heard someone running after me. I groped along, and felt iron railings, and presently a gate. I pushed it open —and nearly fell down the area steps to which it led! But this saved me.

“A man—a heavy man—I think it was the chauffeur— went racing past. I came out and ran across the street. I was beginning to feel dreadfully swimmy. It was the effects of whatever they had given me. I moved along, struggling to walk steadily, and presently I heard regular, heavy footsteps. Their sound reassured me: I was certain they were not the steps of any of Our Lady’s men.

“I was right. A constable came up. I tried to speak naturally when I asked him to direct me to Bruton Street. I knew that Aunt Margaret’s flat could not be far away, but I was hopelessly confused. He showed me I was at the corner of George Street, and so no distance from it. When I got there, I found the outside door open, and—”

“Come on, you two love birds!” cried Jackie. “Supper’s ready. If you don’t want to eat, I do!”

And even as she spoke, Donovan remembered—as a man awakened from trance recalls reality.

“Good heavens! Look at the time! I had no idea. Jackie. I just hate to seem ungrateful, but there is something wrong! Maitland should have been here hours ago…”

He hurried across to the phone and dialled his own number.

“Come on, Claudette!” snapped Jackie. “Leave him to his old ‘phoning!”

“Hullo! Hullo! Maitland? Donovan here… What’s that?… Is that Inspector Ives?”

And Ives’s voice replied, “It is, sir! Thank the Lord you phoned. We didn’t know where you were, except Shepherd Market…”

“But—Dr. Maitland—”

“We’ve just broken into the flat, sir. He’s not here. But there are signs of a tremendous struggle in the lobby—

Then, Donovan knew, and his voice became a groan.

“My God! Sumuru has got Maitland!”

2

Donovan was dazed momentarily, by recognition of that appalling fact—Sumuru had Maitland. His first impulse was to cry the bad news aloud; his second, to repress it—for Claudette’s sake. He recovered his composure, and rejoined the two girls. “Maitland isn’t back, yet,” was all he said.

Then a hundred doubts, regrets, projects, jostling one another in his brain, he made a pretence of eating.

The phone bell rang.

“Oooh!” Jackie exclaimed. “Made me jump “

“It may be for me, Jackie,” said Donovan, quietly.

Jackie put down her coffee cup and went out into the lobby.

“I’ll see, Mark.” They heard her voice, muffled in the cubby-hole, then: “Yes! It is for you. It’s ‘.he police!”

Donovan stood up, avoiding Claudette’s glance, and went over to the phone.

“Right. Thanks, Jackie.” He raised the receiver. “Mark Donovan here. Is that Inspector Ives? Line isn’t too clear. What name? Sergeant Bettes? Speaking for Inspector Ives? I see.”

He listened in a puzzled way to the message.

“But surely it would be unwise for me to return to Bruton Street and leave Miss Duquesne and her friend here alone, wouldn’t it?… Oh, I see what you mean… The men are already posted? Well—I suppose I must, if that’s Inspector Ives’s plan … Right. Good-bye.”

He replaced the receiver and walked back, as Jackie was saying: “But, Claudette, who is this woman, Sumuru? And what’s her game?”

“I don’t know what she is, Jackie. But she has great secret influence—”

Then, as Donovan came in, both girls turned to him, and Jackie asked, “What’s up, Mark? Has something gone wrong?”

“It isn’t,” Claudette whispered—“Dr. Maitland? They haven’t found—”

“There’s no news of him, Claudette, yet But Inspector Ives has changed his plan. Now, please listen carefully. This building is surrounded by the police! It seems that some of Sumuru’s people are in the neighbourhood—but well hidden. I am to set out for my flat in Bruton Street, and Ives hopes that when I’m seen to leave they will come out into the open. Do you follow?”

“Do you mean,” Claudette asked… “leave us here…?”

“We can lock ourselves in,” Jackie remarked.

“That’s true,” Donovan agreed. “But all the same you don’t know, as poor Claudette knows, just what we are up against. It’s because Sumuru is hot on her trail that the police are surrounding this building now. Sumuru knows Claudette is here!”

“Mark! It’s terrifying…”

“Shucks!” Jackie cut in—“I’m not scared. The inspector is counting on you, Mark, so finish your coffee and off you go. I’ll bolt the door after you. I seem to have walked into the middle of another war!”

“Thank you, Jackie—and Claudette—for heaven’s sake be very careful. On no account open the door to anyone except to Inspector Ives.” He took his hat and coat. “Thank you again, Jackie. You’re a brick. Shut the door the moment I’m out.”

And with one long, hungry look at Claudette, Mark Donovan went out—and heard the door closed and bolted behind him.

He groped his way down the dark stair and out into the street.

“Who’s there?”

A dim figure was discernible some three paces away.

“Quiet, sir! Push on! Police!”

“Thank God for that!” Donovan murmured, and went on his way with renewed confidence.

He was a man with a mission in life. Whilst Maitland’s remarkable statements and the ghastly death of Sir Miles Tristram had gone far to convince him that some rare evil threatened civilisation, the impact of these grotesque happenings had, at the same time, deadened imagination. The menace of Sumuru had remained remote, abstract. Now, it was intimate, vital.

Not only Maitland, but Claudette lay in the toils of this incalculable woman—and so Sumuru was become Donovan’s personal enemy. (Although Claudette had never heard that name, there could be little room for doubt regarding the identity of “Our Lady.”) What lay behind it all, what ultimate aim Sumuru held in view, Donovan found it impossible even to guess.

But—Maitland was missing: Claudette was marked down. This was sufficient.

Fired with that holy rage which once had fired the Crusaders, Donovan set out for Bruton Street. He had something to tell Ives which would surprise him. Clearly enough, Sumuru already had a considerable organisation. How, otherwise, could she have abducted Claudette from under the noses of the French authorities, and, quietly eliminating her identity, have had her safely transferred to a house in London?

She had agents in unsuspected quarters; witness, the behaviour of the girl called Jean Barlow. And that very night Donovan determined, the house in question should be raided by Scotland Yard: small trouble to find it, in spite of Claudette’s hazy memory on this point.

So that he had plenty to think about, but a hopeful heart as he strode along the streets. He did not believe that Sumuru would dare to harm Maitland.

Pedestrians seemed to be even fewer in number than usual. Perhaps this was because of threatening rain-clouds which had come banking from the West. Donovan looked up.

A plane was crossing almost directly overhead. He could see its navigation lights. He thoughts of the nights he had known in London, when the sound of a plane would almost certainly have meant that soon there would be rainfall—a rainfall of bombs.

The atmosphere was vaporous. The lights looked like a veiled eye peering