his wild gestures and still wilder appearance, Peret careened into a telephone booth, and, after being connected with the police headquarters, barked into the receiver a few disjointed sentences that froze the blood of Central, who had been listening in, and made Detective Sergeant Strange, at the other end of the wire, drop the receiver and bellow an order that brought everybody within hearing distance to their feet.
Whereupon Peret, having heard the order as plainly as if he had been in Strange’s office, reeled out into the lobby and collapsed in a chair to await the arrival of the homicide squad.
CHAPTER VI.
PERET EXPLAINS
AT 9 a. m. on the following morning Jules Peret presented himself at the front door of a small, unpretentious red-brick house on Fifteenth Street, one block from the home of the murdered scientist.
One would never have suspected from his manner or appearance that, eight hours previously, he had battled with an invisible menace in the narrow confines of a darkened room, and had felt stark terror grip his soul before he emerged triumphant from the most harrowing experience of his adventurous career. No one would ever have suspected that, because, to all outward appearance, Peret was at peace with the world and had no thought on his mind of greater weight than the aroma of the cigarette between his lips. Debonair as ever, and attired with the scrupulous neatness that was so characteristic of him, he made a picture that had caused more than one young lady to pay him the honor of a lingering glance when, a half-hour previously, he had issued from his apartment and pursued his way down the well populated thoroughfare.
In answer to the tinkle of the bell the door was opened three inches by the butler, a small, wrinkled, leathery-faced old Chinaman, whose head was as bald and shiny as a polished egg. In one hand he held a faded silk skull cap, which he had evidently just removed from his head or forgotten to put on.
"Whatchee want, huh?" he demanded, with a regrettable lack of civility.
"I want to see your master," returned Peret courteously, extending his card. "Please present my compliments to him, Monsieur, and tell him my business is pressing."
"Mlaster no see nobody," chattered Sing Tong Fat. "He sick. Allee samee dlunk. No see noblody. Clome back nex' week."
"But it is necessary that I should see your master this morning," was Peret's polite but firm retort. "Your master will be glad enough to see me when you show him my card." He displayed his badge of special officer and added, "Get a wiggle on!"
"Yak pozee!" shrilled Sing Tong Fat indignantly, and opened the door. "You clazy. Allee samee tong man. Master have you alested." He contorted his face until it resembled a hyena's, and broke into a shrill laugh. "Tchee, tchee. (yes, yes.) Alee samee tam fool clazy man."
"You are an amiable old scamp, Monsieur," laughed Peret. "But we are losing time, and time is of importance. Where does your master hang out, eh? I will present my own card."
"I tellee him you see him flirst," chattered the Chinaman, "You wait here. He sleepee. Me wakee him up. He sick. Allee samee dlunk, You wait leddle time. Tchon-dzee-ti Fan-Fu (it is the will of the master)."
A door on the right side of the hall opened and a man stepped out into the hall. In spite of his disheveled hair and the brilliantly-colored dressing robe that covered his heavy frame, there was no mistaking the handsome features of Albert Deweese.
"'S all right, Sing," he said, when he saw who his visitor was. "I decided to get up for a while." Then to Peret: "Good-morning, Mr. Peret. I guess you think I am an inhospitable cuss, what? Fact is, I have been trying to sleep."
"No, I do not think you are inhospitable, Monsieur," replied Peret, as he shook hands. "After your experience last night, you need time to recuperate. The wonder of it is you are able to be up at all."
"I agree with you there!" responded Deweese with feeling. "I told Sing last night when I retired to admit no one this morning until I rang, which accounts for his discourtesy in keeping you waiting. I felt the need of a round twelve hours’ sleep to recover from the effects of my adventure, but I haven’t been able to close my eyes. I feel as if I shall never be able to close them."
Deweese indeed showed the effects of his near-tragic battle with the Whispering Thing. His face was grayish-white and the heavy black circles under his bloodshot eyes accentuated his pallor and gave him an appearance that was almost ghastly. Had he been stretched out on a bed and his eyes closed, one could easily have mistaken him for a corpse.
Dismissing the garrulous and indignant old Chinaman, he crossed the hall and ushered Peret into a large, well-lighted room that was fitted out as a studio. The walls were hung with canvases of an indifferent quality in various stages of completion, and on an easel near a large double window reposed the half-completed picture of a semi-nude, which immediately caught and held the detective's gaze.
After a moment's critical inspection of the painting, Peret remarked: "You seem to be a busy man, my friend. But I don't suppose you find much interest in your paintings this morning, eh? In fact, you look on the verge of a collapse. Have you seen your physician yet?"
"That's the first thing I did after leaving Berjet's house last night," the artist replied. "He found nothing serious the matter with me, however. Shock more than anything else, I suppose, But to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Peret? Have you had any success in running down the Thing?"
"Yes and no," answered Peret, and then went on to explain: "We are hot on the trail, but haven't yet succeeded in entirely clearing-up the mystery. It was in the hope that you would be able to help me a little that I called upon you this morning. I thought you might like to see the affair through to the end."
"Good!" cried the artist, his feverish eyes glittering with eagerness. "After I had gotten some sleep, I intended hunting you up, anyway. You are right when you say I want to see the thing through to the finish. You can count on me to help you in any way that lies in my power. God knows, there is no one more eager than myself to get to the bottom of this affair! With the Whispering Thing still at large—"
He shuddered involuntarily, laughed, and added, "It is difficult for you to understand my feelings, I guess."
"Perhaps it's not as difficult as you imagine, my friend," said Peret quietly, subsiding into a chair. He selected a cigarette from the case the artist proffered; and continued: "But let us get down to business. First, I will recount a few facts disclosed by my investigations and then explain how you can help me. In the meantime, let us be comfortable. You are as pale as a ghost. Be seated, my dear fellow, I beg of you," he added with solicitude.
"Oh, I am not as bad off as I may appear," declared Deweese confidently, dropping into a chair nevertheless. "I will be all right after a few hours' rest. Now, let me have your story. Naturally, I am consumed with curiosity to hear what you have discovered."
