Chapter Fourteen
I slept that night like a log, untroubled by dreams, and woke late the next morning. It was then that, as the saying is, I got it in the neck. "Wow!" I half-shouted, half-groaned, as I turned to meet the Chinese valet with the morning cup of tea. My whole body seemed one bruise, my joints turned to pith, and what was worse than all, my brain -- a pretty active organ, take it all in all -- seemed stuffed with wool.
It was the reaction, only to be expected, as the Richmond doctor said to me some three hours later. For the next two or three days I was to do nothing at all, after my "bad fall," which was the way my state had been explained to him. Whether he believed it or not, I cannot tell. It was certainly odd that Gideon Mendoza Morse, whom he also attended, should be in very much the same state of shock and semi-collapse.
But the doctor was a discreet, clean-shaven gentleman, with a comfortable manner, and in the seventh heaven at being admitted to the mysterious City in the Clouds, his eyes everywhere as he was being conducted through its wonders to our bedsides -- so Rolston told me afterwards. At any rate, he was right. It was certainly necessary to go slow for a few days, and fortunately, now that the search was over and no trace of Midwinter discovered, we felt we could do this.
The preliminary arrangements for our final effort were left in Rolston's hands, who descended with the doctor, and I did not rise till midday.
I met Morse at lunch, feeling distinctly under the weather from a physical point of view. We neither of us talked of important matters, but enjoyed a stroll round the City during a bright afternoon. At teatime we met Juanita, and I had a long and happy talk with her. She knew, of course, that the search had proved satisfactory, and -- as we had all agreed together -- I led her to think that all danger was now practically over. Indeed, as far as Morse and she were concerned, I believed it myself. I knew there was yet a grim tussle ahead for the rest of us, but that was all.
I did not see Juanita at dinner, but took the meal alone in my own house provided for me in the City in the Clouds. Rolston was still absent, and as I did not want to talk to anyone, failing Juanita, I was quite happy by myself.
About nine o'clock I was rung up on the telephone. Morse spoke. He said he was now thoroughly rested, and was ready for a chat. If I hadn't examined the treasures of the library yet, he and Pu-Yi would be pleased to show them to me. And so, slipping on a coat over my evening clothes, and taking a light cane in my hand, I started out for Grand Square. It was again, I may mention here, a fine and calm night.
My host and Pu-Yi were waiting for me in the great, Gothic room, and we inspected the treasures in some of the glass-fronted shelves. I was surprised and delighted to find that my future father-in-law had a real love for, and a considerable knowledge of books. It was a side of him I had not seen before. I had not connected him with the arts in any way, which, when you come to think of it, was rather foolish. Certainly Morse had the finest expert advice and help to be found in the whole world in the building of the City in the Clouds. But I should have remembered that the initial conception was his own, and that many of the details also came entirely from his brain. Certainly, in his way, Mendoza Morse was a creative artist.
My own collection of books at Stax, my place in Hertfordshire, is of course well known, and always mentioned when English libraries are under discussion. But Morse could boast treasures far beyond me. During the last year or two I had been so busy in working up the Evening Special that I had quite neglected to follow the book sales, but I learned now that some of the rarest treasures obtainable had been quietly bought up on Morse's behalf.
He had all the folios, and most of the quartos, of Shakespeare; a fine edition of Spenser's Faërie Queene with an inscription to Florio, the great Elizabethan scholar. There was Boswell's own copy of Johnson's Lives of the Poets, with a ponderous Latin inscription in the sturdy old doctor's own hand; and many other treasures as rare, though not perhaps of such popular and general interest.
Pu-Yi made us some marvellous tea in the Chinese fashion, with a sort of ritual which was impressive as he moved about the table and waved his long pale hands. It was of a faint, straw colour, with neither sugar, milk, or lemon, and he assured me that it came from the stores of the Forbidden City in Pekin. Certainly, it was nasty enough for anything, and I praised it as I had praised Morse's rose-coloured champagne the night before -- but with less sincerity.
I don't know if my friend Pu-Yi had a touch of homesickness or not, but he began to tell us of his home by the waters of the Yang-Tse-Kiang. His precise and literary English rose and fell in that great room with a singular charm, and though I don't think Morse listened much, he smoked a cigar with great good-humour while Pu-Yi expounded his quaint, Eastern philosophy. I never met, as I have said before, a more courteous gentleman than Pu-Yi.
"Ever been in South Germany, Tom?" said Morse suddenly. He had evidently been pursuing a train of his own thought while the Chinese man held forth.
I told him yes.
"Then in some of those quaint, old-fashioned towns you have seen the storks nesting on the roofs of the houses?"
I remembered I had.
"Well, I've got a pair of storks. They arrived this morning from Germany. Duck and drake, or should you say cock and hen? At any rate, I've a sort of idea of trying to domesticate them, and to that end have had a nest constructed on the roof of this building, where they will be sheltered by the parapet and be high up above the roof of the City. What do you say to going to have a look at them and see if they're all right?"
Extraordinary man! He had always some odd or curious idea in his mind to improve his artificial fairyland. Nothing loath, we left Pu-Yi, and ascended a winding staircase to the roof of the great building. Save for the lantern in the centre, it was flat and made a not unpleasant promenade. The storks were at present in a cage, and could only be distinguished as bundles of dirty feathers in a miscellaneous litter. I thought my friend's chance of domesticating them was very small, but he seemed to be immensely interested in the problem.
When we had talked it over, we began to promenade the whole length of the roof. As I have said, the night was clear and calm. Again the great stars globed themselves in heaven with an incomparable glory unknown and unsuspected by those down below. The silence was profound, the air like iced wine.
From where we were, we had a bird's eye view of the whole City in the Clouds. Grand Square lay immediately at our feet, brilliantly illuminated as usual. Not a living soul was to be seen; only the dragon-fountain glittered with mysterious life. To the right, beyond the encircling buildings of the Square, stood the Palacete Mendoza surrounded by its gardens. I sent a mental greeting to Juanita. So high was the roof on which we stood that only one of the towers or cupolas rose much above us. It was the dome of the observatory, exactly opposite, on the other side of Grand Square.
"There is someone who isn't much troubled by sub-lunary affairs," I said, pointing over the parapet.
Morse nodded. "I guess old Chang is the most contented fellow on earth," he said. "He is Professor, you know; Professor Chang, and an honorary M.A. of Oxford University. I had him from the Imperial Chinese Observatory at Pekin, and I am told he is on the track of a new comet, or something, which is to be called after me when he has confirmed it -- thus conferring immortality on yours truly!
"It is an odd frame of mind," he went on more seriously, "that can spend a whole life in patient seclusion, peering into the unknown, and what, after all, is the unknowable. Still, he is happy, and that is the end of human endeavour."
He sighed, and with renewed interest I stared up at the round dome. The slit over the telescope was open, which showed that the astronomer was at work. In the gilded half-circle of the cupola, it was exactly like a cut in an orange.
I was about to make a remark, when an extraordinary thing happened. Without any hint or warning, there was a loud, roaring sound, like that of some engine blowing off steam. With a "whoosh," a great column of fire, like golden rai
n, rose up out of the dark aperture in the dome, towering hundreds of feet in the sky, like the veritable comet for which old Chang was searching, and burst high in the empyrean with a dull explosion, followed by a swarm of brilliant, blue-white stars.
Someone inside the observatory had fired a gigantic rocket.
Morse gave a shout of surprise.
"What was that?" I cried, echoing his shout.
Morse didn't answer, but grew white as he stepped up to the parapet, placed his hand on the stone, and leant forward.
I did the same, and for nearly a minute we stared at the white, circular tower in silence.
Nothing happened. There was the black slit in the gold, enigmatic and undisturbed.
"Some experiment," I stammered at length. "Professor Chang is at work on some problem."
Morse shook his head. "Not he. I'll swear that old Chang would never be letting off fireworks without consulting or warning Pu-Yi. Tom, there is some black business stirring. We must look into this. I don't like it at all. Hark!"
He stopped speaking, and put his hand to his ear. I listened also, and with dread in my heart. Instinctively and without any process of reasoning, I knew that in some way or other the horror was on us again. My lips went dry and I moistened them with the tip of my tongue; and without conscious thought my hand stole round to my pistol pocket and touched the cold and roughened stock of an automatic Webley.
Then I heard what Morse must have heard at first.
The air all around us was vibrating, and swiftly the vibration became a throb, a rhythmic beat, and then a low, menacing roar which grew louder and louder every second.
We had turned to each other, understanding at last, and the same word was on our lips when the thing came -- it happened as rapidly as that.
Skimming over the top of the distant Palacete like some huge night-hawk, and with a noise like a machine gun, came a venomous-looking, fast-flying monoplane. It swept down into Grand Square like a living thing, just as the noise ceased suddenly and echoed into silence.
It alighted at one end and on the side of the fountain nearest the observatory, ran over the smooth wood-blocks for a few yards, and stopped. It was as though the hawk had pounced down on its prey, and every detail was distinct and clear in the brilliant light of the lamps in the Square below.
Both of us seemed frozen where we stood. I know, for my part, all power of motion left me. A choking noise came from Morse's throat, and then we heard a cry. From immediately below us came the figure of Pu-Yi, hurrying down the library steps and running towards the aeroplane, which was still a considerable distance from him.
The next thing happened very quickly. A door at the foot of the observatory tower opened, and out came what we both thought was the figure of the astronomer. He was a tall, bent, old man, habitually clothed in a padded, saffron-coloured robe with a hood, something like that of a monk.
"Chang!" I said in a hoarse whisper, when Pu-Yi stopped short in his tracks, lifted his arm, and there was the crack of a pistol.
The figure beyond, which was hurrying towards the monoplane, swerved aside. The robe of padded silk fell from it and disclosed a tall man in dark, European clothes. He dodged and writhed like an eel as Pu-Yi emptied his automatic at him, apparently without the least result. Then I saw that he was at the side of the aeroplane, scrambling up into the fuselage assisted by the pilot in leather hood and goggles.
He was up the side of the plane in a second, and then, with one leg thrown over the cockpit he turned and took deliberate aim at Pu-Yi. There was one crack, he waited for an instant to be sure, and saw that it was enough. Then there was a chunk of machinery, two or three loud explosions, a roar, and the wings of the venomous night-hawk moved rapidly over the parquet, chased by a black shadow. It gathered speed, lifted, tilted upwards. Clearing the buildings at the far end of the Square, it hummed away into the night.
It was thus that Mark Antony Midwinter escaped from the City in the Clouds. He had been there all the time. He had murdered poor old Chang many hours before, and impersonated him with complete success. The food of the recluse was brought to him by servants and placed in an outer room so that he should never be disturbed during his calculations. He had received it with his usual muttered acknowledgments through a little guichet in the wooden partition which separated the anteroom from the telescope chamber itself. No one had ever thought of doubting that the astronomer himself was there as usual. The whole thing was most carefully planned beforehand with diabolic ingenuity and resource.