CHAPTER XXXVI
ECKO
CAREY had given Ecko leave to call upon Japanese friends staying in London. As these resided in the neighbourhood of Dulwich, it was tacitly understood that, provided Ecko appeared in Carey's room at ten o'clock in the morning with China tea and the daily papers, he should be at liberty to spend the night with his compatriots. Ecko, however, belonged to a race which in two generations or so had passed from bows and arrows to field artillery of the highest efficiency; from a nondescript collection of junks to a battle fleet that demanded serious recognition; from semi-barbarism to world power—a process of evolution from which the European nations had only emerged at the end of some six or seven hundred years.
This miracle (which many modern statesmen overlook) had been accomplished by that genius which is defined as an infinite capacity for taking pains.
Ecko was incapable of abusing generosity in an employer. The greater such generosity, the greater Ecko's efforts to deserve it. His present mission in life was to minister to the comfort of Douglas Carey. It was to the ultimate profit of Ecko that his mission should be well and truly performed. No impetuous behaviour on Carey's part could affect this outlook, which was racial.
Therefore, Ecko returned by the last train from Dulwich; and, shortly after twelve o'clock, since the night was fine, he set out to walk from Victoria to Bruton Street. He had a confession to make and an explanation to offer. From experience he judged that Carey would not be home before one a. m., and therefore he would be in ample time to see him before he retired.
Whilst dressing that evening for the visit to his friends, Carey having already departed for Half Moon Street, Ecko had made a remarkable discovery. He was a student of subjects the mere name of which must have stupefied the average English man-servant, and amongst his modest possessions was a Chinese book-marker, a slip of figured ivory attached to which was a long silk beaded cord terminating in double green tassels.
It was thrust into a text-book of the higher mathematics, and, whilst he dressed, the glitter of the beads attracted his glance. Suddenly, unaccountably, he found himself thinking of a horrible grey face floating mistily before him. It was momentary, a mere impression, but startling and uncanny. It demanded an explanation.
Part of Ecko's studies touched this very province of the mind. Here was a practical illustration of theories with which he was familiar. He began to think, not at random, but in the manner of the trained reasoner; with the result that where many another had failed Ecko partially succeeded. His first discovery was notable enough. He found himself quite unable to remember at what time, or from whom, he had obtained the book-marker.
Recognition of this phenomenon spurred him to renewed efforts, and without changing his plans for the evening—essentially, he was practical—he continued to think hard. He was rewarded. At about ten o'clock, and in the midst of an animated discussion with his friends, he suddenly discovered a link between the book-marker, the grey face, and the figure of an elegant woman stepping into a car at the corner of Bruton Street and Berkeley Square.
Returning in the train and having the compartment to himself, he focussed his keen mind upon these three associated points, seeking to link them more closely and to discover new associations. Partly, but not entirely, he succeeded, and as he walked along the Mall his brain remained busy with this problem which struck at the very roots of his racial traditions.
Absorbed in his obscure reflections, he was on the point of turning toward Marlborough Gate when his attention was arrested by a figure, that of a woman, which seemed to belong, not to reality, but to those provoking, indeterminate memories which to-night, by dogged perseverance and sheer force of will, he had been seeking to trap and more closely to examine. As he approached the corner, she came toward him, wearing a long, dark cloak and a black hat. Her features he could not see, but her shape, her carriage, the entire personality of the woman, struck a familiar chord, drove him from speculation on to the physical plane. He knew beyond any possibility of doubt that this was she whose image he associated with the shadowy grey face and the Chinese book-marker. He knew it because the sight of her had instantly enlarged those vague memories,
Plainly he could see her walking along Bruton Street-with just that swift, lithe movement. He could see the footman holding open the door of the car, could see her enter. He remembered the occasion—and what it had portended. He was sure.
Therefore he now stepped aside quickly, and unseen; allowed the woman to pass him.
He managed to obtain a glimpse of her face, but it proved to be unfamiliar. This fact did not disturb his conviction; for, as she passed a lamp, he received a momentary impression of white hair beneath her black hat. The memory was complete.
The woman whom he had watched walking along Bruton Street had had this youthful shape, this white hair. It came back to him how he had thought at the time that she must be wearing a silk wig—a Paris fashion then in vogue.
She passed him, turned to the right, and proceeded along the Mall in the shadow of the trees.
Ecko, knowing instinctively that the receding figure was a link in a mysterious chain, hesitated—but only for a moment. Here was a chance to amplify the confession which he had to make. If he could learn the identity of this woman, perhaps it might bring further enlightenment.
He turned and followed. He was disposed to think, from a certain carelessness in her attire, that she was merely taking a moonlight walk and would presently retrace her steps. Therefore he maintained a discreet distance but never lost sight of her.
This encounter had aided enormously the mental task which he had set himself. Not once, but twice he had seen her. On each occasion the grey face had in some way been associated with her presence. There was something else, too; something concerning Carey; something which continued to elude him; a missing datum which he believed his employer would be able to supply.
Ecko's sturdy little figure merged with true Oriental stealth into the shadows under the trees. Ahead of him the mysterious woman walked, her distinctive carriage provoking him, sending his mind back over the past, beyond the episodes of those two strange nights and into the East out of which he came.
A thought presented itself, an explanation, only to be immediately dismissed. Ecko understood the art of focussing. He was not to be thus diverted from his purpose, mental or physical.
Then, about halfway along the nearly deserted Mall, violent drama intruded upon the comedy.
Dimly he became aware of the presence of a second stealthy figure between himself and his quarry—of one who was closing in upon the woman step by step. Where this figure crossed vague patches of light it presented the appearance of a huge baboon.
Ecko began to question his own powers of observation. He hastened his steps, drawing slightly nearer. He was still nearly twenty yards from the scene when the incredible thing happened—incredible in that place because it was the heart of the civilized city of London.
The baboon creature seized the woman! Ecko could discern her struggling in his grasp. She was silent—mysteriously silent.
Running, ape-like, out to the roadway where a closed two-seater waited, the attacker, whom Ecko saw now to be a curiously deformed man dressed in black, lifted his victim, who had ceased to struggle, into the car, leapt in behind her, and in a trice was driving away in the direction of Buckingham Palace!
Ecko reached the scene of the outrage half a minute too late. For a moment his keen brain was at a loss. There was no pedestrian, no policeman usefully near. A genius for swift decision was his; the gymnasiums of Japan teach it even more effectively than those of the West.
He set out in pursuit, running easily and almost silently; and, as he ran, he considered what his next move must be.
Even if he should meet a policeman, the process of explaining to the representative of the law what had taken place would necessitate a fatal delay. The car would escape, and he had been unable to see its number. Already it was outdistancing him. Unoccupied taxicabs going in the opposite direction Ecko rejected, as he had rejected the idea of accosting a policeman, and for the same reason.
He must find a cab bound westward and board it without a stoppage, making the man understand the urgency of the matter; no easy thing for Ecko to do, as he fully realized. Once provided with a means of continuing the pursuit, doubtless some opportunity to act would present itself later.
The receding car was now racing around the bend by the Memorial and Ecko was rapidly losing ground. He was running in the roadway and had ignored the curiosity of one or two people whom he had passed. Now, overtaking him, he heard what sounded like a taxicab. Continuing to run, he glanced back over his shoulder. Yes, a taxi, the flag up, was approaching, and, as Ecko looked around, the man raised his hand enquiringly.
"Yes, t'ank you," said the Japanese, a little breathlessly. "Don't stop, please. Very important. If all right, much money."
He was on the footboard now, bending down close to the astonished driver.
"You see car? Look! Darka blue—look! Go by statue!"
The taxi driver peered ahead curiously, then:
"Yes," he said, "I see her."
"You try keep in sight until I say what to do. You understand?"
The driver looked into the yellow face of his extraordinary fare. It was immobile, mask-like; only the intelligent eyes revealed the excitement which consumed Ecko. Taxi drivers are considerable psychologists, and this one was immediately convinced. He nodded his head briskly.
"Right ho!" he replied. "Be careful how you get in."
Ecko rested his hand upon the man's shoulder for a moment, and:
"T'ank you," he said. "Good pay."
With as little effort as it would have cost an acrobat, he swung back along the footboard and entered the cab.