McClure's Magazine/Volume 56/Number 1/An Experiment in Electricity
Illustration: '“Well, all I do,” said the prince, “is to turn this little lever—and there you are”'
As Aftermath to His Egyptian Adventure Maitland is a Victim of—
An
Experiment in
Electricity
By Major H. C. McNeile
illustrations by G. W. Gage
WITH a little sigh of relief Jim Maitland straightened up. We had been standing side by side watching the last belated sight-seers hurrying across the gangway after a frenzied dash around Port Said, and now the first faint throb of the propellers heralded the final lap of the journey. In another fortnight—a boiled shirt; a tail coat, if the moths hadn't got it; London
Slowly the gap between us and the shore widened; the native boats, with their chattering owners busily counting the proceeds of their robberies, fell away. And suddenly Jim turned to me with a grin.
“This is the identical boat, old man, in which I first left England. From a glimpse into the smoking room the barman is also identical. Moreover, the gun is over the yardarm.”
“Your return to respectability has made you very silent,” I said, with a laugh. “That's your first remark for half an hour.”
He looked at me thoughtfully while the barman produced something that tinkled pleasantly in a long glass.
“Your girl all right, old man?”
“Molly!” I stared at him in some surprise. “Why—yes. I saw her being piloted to her cabin with that eminently worthy parson's wife. What makes you ask?”
“Well, I don't mind telling you now what I didn't tell you in Cairo,” said Jim quietly. “To be quite candid, I've been distinctly uneasy these last two days.”
“But what on earth about?” I asked.
“Our late friends at the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile,” he answered soberly. “Put it how you will, Miss Tremayne escaped—and one of their chief scoundrels died a nasty death in the process. And a sect of that sort doesn't forgive things like that. So when I received in Cairo a letter containing a typewritten threat I wasn't altogether surprised.”
“But why didn't you tell me?” I cried.
“You couldn't have done anything if I had. And I didn't want to run any risk of alarming your girl.”
“What was the threat?”
“Terse and to the point,” laughed Jim. “It merely stated that in view of what had happened, all our lives were forfeit and that they would be claimed in due course.”
“How frightfully jolly!” I remarked, a little blankly. “Do you think it need be taken seriously?”
“I take it a great deal less seriously now that we've left the country,” he answered. “I think that undoubtedly the principal danger has passed, but I wouldn't go so far as to say that we are out of the wood. However, there's nothing to be done. We can only wait and see if anything happens.”
“It's possible,” I said, “that the whole thing is designed to have a mental effect only. To make one nervous anticipating things which are never really coming.”
“It is possible,” agreed Jim gravely. “If so, they succeeded quite well with me for forty-eight hours. Anyway, there's your girl, old Dick. I'll go down below and pass the time of day with the purser, and incidentally fix up seats for tiffin.”
The boat was fairly empty, as a number of passengers had broken their journey at Port Said. And when Jim discovered that he knew the captain, it was a foregone conclusion that we should sit at his table. And it was he who introduced us to Prince Feisul.
“A charming man,” he remarked, at lunch, as Jim made some comment on the empty seat just opposite him. “Fabulously wealthy, and almost more of an Englishman than an Egyptian. Has a large house in London, and spends most of his time there. I wonder you didn't meet him in Cairo.”
THE prince came in at that moment, and it struck me that the captain's remarks as to his appearance were quite justified. His clothes were faultless, with the indefinable hallmark of the West End tailor; his face, save that it was a trifle darker, was that of a European. He was wonderfully good-looking, and when he smiled he showed a row of the most perfect teeth. Moreover, he spoke English without a trace of accent. In fact, he seemed a charming man, with a most astounding range of knowledge on all sorts of subjects and a fascinating way of imparting it.
Jim and I both took to him at once. He had traveled all over the world, and traveled intelligently. In fact, most of his life seemed to have been spent in wandering, which gave him a common meeting ground with Jim. Yet in spite of his roving propensities he was—so I understood from the captain—an authority on old china, an electrical expert and a wonderful violinist.
“I happen to know of those three,” said the skipper. “But from what I've seen of the prince, I shouldn't think they exhaust his repertoire by any means.”
Strangely enough, Molly didn't take to him. He was unfailingly charming to her, but she didn't like him from the very first, though she could find no reason for her aversion.
The sea was like the proverbial mill pond, and a voyage in good weather with the girl who is shortly to become your wife is no unpleasant operation. So it is hardly surprising that by the time we left Gibraltar, Jim and his forebodings were forgotten in more pleasant thoughts. Life, indeed, seemed very, very good.
It was just as I was in that comfortable frame of mind induced by life being good that I saw Jim coming along the deck toward me. And the instant I saw his face I knew that something had happened. He glanced around to see that no one was within earshot; then he went straight to the point.
“I found this reposing on the pillow of my bunk an hour after we left Gib.”
He held out a sheet of paper, and with a sense of foreboding I glanced at it. There was only one sentence on it, written with a typewriter.
“Remember all your lives are forfeit,” it read.
The words danced before my eyes.
“How did it get there?” I asked at length.
“I know no more than you,” he answered gravely. “I sent for our lascar at once”—Jim and I were sharing a cabin—“and frightened him half to death. No good. I honestly believe that he knows nothing about it. I've made inquiries from one of the officers about the steerage passengers. He tells me definitely that there are no Arabs or Egyptians among them. But how it got there,” he went on thoughtfully, “is, comparatively speaking, a trifle. It may have been handed to some one before we left Port Said with instructions to put it on my pillow when opportunity arose. And the bustle and excitement at Gib may have been the first chance. No, old man, it doesn't matter how it got there—why is what concerns me. Is it just the continuation of a stupid bluff—or is it something more serious?”
“Why not ask Feisul?” I said. “His opinion ought to be worth having.”
“Tell him the whole story,” said Jim thoughtfully. “By Jove! Dick, that's a good idea. Let's see if we can find him.”
We ran him to ground in the writing room, and he rose from his table instantly on hearing that we wanted his advice.
“My letter can wait,” he said courteously. “It is not the least important. Let us go and have a whisky and soda, and for what it is worth my knowledge is at your disposal.”
And so, without any exaggeration, but at the same time with some fullness, Jim told Prince Feisul exactly what had taken place in the Temple of the Sacred Crocodile. Some of the details I put in, but by the time we had both finished he had every fact in his possession.
“The point, prince, is this: Are those letters bluff or not?” said Jim, in conclusion.
“Most emphatically not,” answered the prince promptly. “I have heard of that sect, of course, and you may take it from me that you only encountered the outside fringe of it. But, even so, you have been instrumental in killing a priest who is very highly placed. And that they will never forgive. Whether or not they will be able to carry out their purpose in England is a different matter—but they will assuredly try.”
“What—to kill the lot of us?” said Jim.
“Certainly,” said the prince calmly. “And deeply as I regret to have to say so, my friend, I shouldn't be at all surprised if they succeeded.”
“We'll see about that,” Jim remarked quietly. “And in the meantime, prince, what do you suggest we should do?”
“There is nothing to do,” he answered. “Sooner or later they will find you, wherever you hide yourselves; then it will be you or they.”
“Hide! Hide ourselves!” Jim stared at him in amazement. “My dear fellow, what an extraordinary flight of fancy! What in the name of fortune should we hide ourselves for?”
The prince waved a deprecating hand.
“Possibly I expressed myself a little infelicitously,” he murmured. “I assure you, my friend, I intended no reflection on your courage. That, so I understand from our most excellent captain, is beyond dispute. But, for all that”
HE broke off with a little characteristic movement of his shoulders.
You can take it from me, prince,” said Jim quietly, “that as far as I am concerned I don't propose to go into seclusion. But with regard to Miss Tremayne the matter is altogether different. And if you think her life is in danger we had better take some steps about it. Somewhat naturally, she knows nothing of these two warning letters, and we don't want to alarm her unnecessarily.”
“Precisely,” said the prince. “That is quite obvious.”
He leaned back in his chair and blew out a long cloud of smoke, while we watched him a little anxiously.
“I will tell you what I suggest,” he said at length. “It is possible that I may be wrong altogether, in which case there is no necessity to do anything. If, on the other hand, I am not wrong and you become aware that they are after you, then come to see me—I will give you my address—and possibly I may be of assistance. But it is no use attempting to evolve any scheme now, when we have no idea what to be on our guard against. Therefore, let us leave it until we have an idea, and then—well, three heads are better than two, isn't that so?”
“I call that sporting of you, prince!” said Jim heartily. “And I'm quite sure that we accept your offer with gratitude—don't we, Dick?”
“Certainly,” I agreed. “And in the meantime you don't think there is any need to alarm Miss Tremayne or take any special precautions on her behalf?”
“I do not,” said Prince Feisul. “If the attempt is made at all, I feel tolerably certain that it will be made in London.”
A moment or two later he rose and left us.
“That was a brain storm of yours, Dick,” said Jim, as we watched him sauntering back to the writing room. “'Pon my soul, it's extraordinarily good of the fellow. All we can do is to hope that we sha'n't have to avail ourselves of his kindness.”
IT was just a week after we reached London that the blow fell. As day after day went by and nothing happened, I had been lulled into a false sense of security. The half-naked priests of that foul pool in Egypt seemed so utterly incongruous in the crowded streets that sometimes I almost believed it had all been a dream.
And yet in London itself, in a house in the middle of Mayfair there took place a thing more amazing, more horrible by the very reason of the surroundings, than anything that had happened by the Nile. There, at any rate, the setting was appropriate; but in London, it appeared even at the time to be unreal and incredible.
As I say, it was a week after we reached London that it happened. I had been out all the afternoon shopping with Molly, and, after seeing her to her hotel, I had returned to my club to rest. I found Jim waiting for me tn a state of unconcealed impatience.
“I thought you were never coming, Dick!” he cried, as soon as he saw me. “Take me somewhere where we can talk.”
Illustration: “The end of a sporting course, old Dick,” said Jim steadily. There was a horrible look of anticipation on the prince's face
I led the way to a small card room which was luckily unoccupied.
“What is it?” I said. “Further developments?”
He nodded. “You know I gave Feisul my address. Until this afternoon I'd heard nothing from him, and nothing had happened on our side to make me get in touch with him. In fact, I was beginning to think that the whole thing was a bluff. An hour ago I was told that some one wanted me on the telephone, and it turned out to be the prince.” Jim stared at me gravely. “It's evidently no bluff, Dick.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He started off with a bright chatty little remark,” said Jim grimly. “The first thing he said when he heard my voice was, 'Thank Heaven! You're still alive.'
“'Never better,' I assured him.
“He didn't beat about the bush at all, but came straight to the point. 'You're in the most deadly peril,' he said. 'I've just received information from a source that is open to me which it is absolutely imperative you should know at once. It is too long to tell you over the telephone, even if I dared.'
“Well, that sounded a jolly sort of beginning, and I asked him what he suggested as the next move. He'd got everything cut and dried, and it boiled down to this: You and I are to go around to his house this evening at nine o'clock precisely. The time is important, as he will then arrange that his Arab butler is out. That little precaution is for his benefit, he told me; it would be signing his own death sentence if it were known he was warning us. He will then tell us exactly what he has found out, and it will be up to us after that. Molly—because I immediately asked about her—was perfectly safe for the next twelve hours. He further asked if we would both be good enough to preserve absolute silence as to where we were going. That, also, for his sake.
“In fact, he made no bones about it. By doing what he was going to do, he was running a very grave risk, and somewhat naturally he wants that risk minimized as much as possible. Which is quite understandable, because after all there's really no call on the fellow to do anything at all for us.”
“None whatever,” I agreed. “And now you'd better stay and have an early dinner with me.”
All through that meal we discussed the matter fruitlessly. What could it be—this danger that threatened us? The whole thing seemed so fantastic in the comfortable and peaceful dining room of a London club.
When we were ready to go Jim said gravely:
“We'd better start off toward Hampstead, to protect the prince. Then we can double back on our tracks, in case we're being followed.”
He gave an address in Eton Avenue, while I looked around. As far as I could see not a sou! was in sight— certainly no other vehicle, but we were taking no chances. So it wasn't until we were in Oxford Street that we gave the driver the real address we wanted in Berkeley Square.
“Have you got a gun, Dick?” said Jim suddenly.
“I haven't,” I answered. “But we sha'n't want one tonight.”
He laughed shortly. “No—I suppose not. But old habits die hard with me. I don't feel dressed unless I've got one. By Jove! I wonder what this show is going to develop into!”
“We shall know very soon,” I said. “It's five to nine, and here is Berkeley Square.'” When the cab had gone we mounted the stone steps and rang the bell.
The door was opened by the prince himself, and he immediately shut it again behind us. He was in evening clothes, and we murmured an apology for our own attire, which he waved aside.
“Follow me, please, gentlemen. There is not a moment to be lost.”
He led the way through the hall to a heavy green-baize door at the farther end, and even in the one rapid glance I threw around it was easy to see that money was no object. Down two flights of steps we hurried after him, till another door barred our progress. The prince produced a key from his pocket, and the next moment an exclamation of wonder broke from both our lips as we saw into the room beyond. In fact, for a while I forgot the real object of our visit in my amazement.
IT was a big room divided in half by an ornamental grille. There was an opening in the center, and the grille itself hardly obstructed one's view at all. But it was the beauty of the furniture and the wonderful lighting effect that riveted my attention: It seemed like a room out of a fairy story. The general design was Oriental, and save for the perfect taste of everything the display of wealth would have been almost vulgar. Luxurious divans, with costly brocades; marvelous Persian rugs, with small inlaid tables of gold and silver; the sound of water trickling through the leaves of a great mass of tropical flowers; and over everything the soft glow of a thousand hidden lights. Such was my first impression of that room, and the prince, seeing my face, smiled faintly.
“A room on which I have expended a good deal of time and money,” he remarked. “The general effect is, I think, not unpleasing. I use it a lot when I am in London. And I may say without undue pride that some of the things in here are absolutely unique. For instance, that chair near you, Mr. Leyton, is one that was used by the Doges of Venice. If you will sit in it, please, and put your arms along the sides as you would when resting comfortably Oh! By the way, Maitland, there's a head through there that will interest you. A record specimen, I'm told.”
“That's comfortable now,” I said, as Jim strolled into the other half of the room.
“Well, all I do,” said the prince, “is to turn this little lever behind your head—and there you are.”
“Well, by Jove!” I exclaimed. “That's neat.”
Two curved pieces of metal, which were normally parallel to the arms and quite unnoticeable, turned inward through a right angle and pressed lightly on my wrists. But though the pressure was negligible, it was none the less effective. The curve of the metal prevented me from disengaging my hands by moving them inward; my elbows hard up against the back of the chair kept me from moving my arms in that direction. And by no possible contortion could I reach the lever at the back of the chair. I was a prisoner.
“That's extraordinarily neat, prince,” I repeated. “So absurdly simple, too.”
And at that moment there came a faint clang: the opening in the grille through which Jim had passed a moment or two before had shut.
“Absurdly so,” agreed the prince, pleasantly. “But then, my friend—so are you!”
For a moment or two the silence was absolute. On the other side of the grille Jim swung around; then he took three quick steps to the place where the opening had been, and shook the grille. It refused to budge.
“Is this a game, prince?” he asked quietly.
“I don't know whether you will find it so, Mr. Maitland. I have every intention of enjoying myself thoroughly, but you may not see the humor of it.”
“So it was a trap, was it?” Jim said thoughtfully. “At the moment I confess I'm a little in the dark as to your intentions, but doubtless I shall not remain so for long.”
“You will not,” agreed the other. “In fact, I intend to enlighten you now. When you first went into that half of the room, it was just a normal room. You could have sat on any of the chairs, Mr. Maitland, with perfect impunity. You could have stretched yourself on either of the two sofas and been none the worse. That was when you first went in. Now, I regret to state, things are rather different.”
He stretched himself out in an easy chair.
“You may happen to have heard, Mr. Maitland, that I am something of an expert on electricity. And during the last week I have been very busy on a little electrifying scheme. Having been cheated by you of my excitement at the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile, I am sure you will agree with me that you owe me some reparation.”
“So you were there, were you?” said Jim slowly.
“Certainly I was there,” answered the prince. “And though I confess I was quite amused by the evening, it had not quite the same zest as if the charming Molly had gone into the Pool.”
“You foul blackguard!” I roared, struggling impotently to free my arms.
“This room is soundproof,” murmured the prince. “So when I ask you to moderate your voice you will realize that I am merely considering my own hearing, and nothing else. And please don't let any thought of Molly mar your enjoyment, Mr. Leyton. I will look after her with great pleasure when—er—you are unable to.”
He turned once again to Jim, who had slipped his hand into his pocket.
“Take it out, and have a chat,” said the prince, with a faint smile.
“Confound it!” cried Jim furiously. “What's the matter with the gun. Who is tugging at my pocket?”
He swung around with his fist clenched and an amazed look on his face. He was alone. And yet I could see the pocket that contained his revolver being dragged away from him, as if pulled by an invisible hand.
“I told you that I had carried out a small electrification scheme,” went on the prince affably, and just then Jim managed to extricate his revolver. Simultaneously the Egyptian leaned forward and pressed a button.
IT looked as if the revolver was wrenched from Jim's hand. It crashed to the floor at his feet, while he stared at it, bewildered; then he stooped to pick it up. It was resting on two small pillars which stuck up a few inches from the floor; it continued to rest there. He tugged at it with all his great strength, and he might have been a child trying to push a locomotive up a hill.
“Magnetism, my dear Maitland,” murmured the prince. “Perfectly simple and saves such a lot of trouble.”
“What's all this leading to?” Jim demanded a little hoarsely, staring at the Egyptian through the grille.
“What I told you before—an evening's amusement for me.”
And suddenly Jim lost his temper. He sprang at the gate in the center and shook it wildly, only to give a shout of pain and jump backward again.
“What the deuce was that?” he muttered.
“A severe electric shock,” said the prince genially. “Not enough to do you any real harm—but enough to prove to you that I am not romancing or bluffing, when I tell you of my little scheme. You know the principles of electricity, don't you? You remember them, doubtless, from your school days—anyway, those that count. For instance, you must certainly remember the method of getting a shock, by holding two terminals in your hands. That is what happened a moment ago, except that you were standing on one terminal, and holding the other.”
“Supposing you quit fooling and get down to it,” said Jim grimly.
“Certainly,” said the prince pleasantly. “In the week since I last saw you I have occupied myself in fixing scores of similar terminals all over your half of the room. For instance—the chair just behind you. There are two there. And though you might sit in that chair for quite a time in perfect safety, some chance movement might make the connection. And then you'd get another shock.”
“Am I to understand,” snarled Jim, “that you propose to keep me here hopping around the room having electric shocks?”
He again took a step forward toward the grille, to stop abruptly at the prince's shout of warning.
“Good heavens! My dear fellow—not yet. I couldn't bear to lose you so soon.”
“What do you mean?” said Jim.
“You see when you shook the gate before only one fiftieth of the current was switched on. And now it's all on. Why, you'd have been electrocuted far too soon. I should have had no fun at all.”
The prince lay back as if appalled at such a narrow escape from disaster, and Jim stood very still.
“You see, they're all over the room,” he explained. “For all you know, at this very moment you may be within an inch of death, and I mean that literally. Perhaps if you moved your right foot an inch you would complete the circuit and be electrocuted. On the other hand, you may not be within a yard of it. That's the game. Just like hunt the thimble. Sometimes as you move about the room you'll be warm, and sometimes you'll be cold—and I wait and watch. How long will you last? It may be next minute; it may not be for an hour or more. Some of the death spots I know; some I do not—they were put in by another. And that makes it more exciting for me.”
Jim was standing motionless, staring at the prince. Was it bluff or was it not? That was the thought in both our minds.
“You can, of course, continue standing exactly where you are with perfect impunity,” continued the prince suavely. “And as a matter of fact—this being my first experiment of this nature—I am quite interested in the psychology of the thing. How long will you go on standing there? Four hours—five? The night is yet young. But sooner or later, my dear Maitland, you will have to move.”
“What's your object in doing this?' said Jim slowly.
“Amusement, principally—amusement and revenge. How dared you, you miserable Englishman, profane our temple and put the authorities on our track?”
With his teeth bared like a wolf's, the Egyptian rose and approached the grille. He stood there snarling, and Jim yawned.
“You murdered a man,” went on the prince, and his voice was shaking with rage. “A man who had forgotten more of the mysteries of life than you and all your miserable countrymen put together will ever know. And the penalty for that is death, as I told you.”
“So it was you who wrote those notes, was it?” said Jim in a bored voice. “You wretched little nigger!”
In a frenzy of rage at the insult the Egyptian shook both his fists.
“Yes, it was I!' he screamed. “And it is I who have bluffed you all through. And as I've told you before”—he turned to me—“I will look after Molly.”
With a great effort he recovered himself and sat down again. And once more silence reigned. Motionless as a statue, Jim stood there, and his eyes never left the prince's face.
I sat there watching him helplessly. In my own mind I knew that this was not bluff; in my own mind I knew that in all his life of adventure Jim had never stood in such deadly peril as he did at that moment. And the thing was so diabolically ingenious. Sooner or later he must move, and then indeed with every step he ran the risk of sudden death. It couldn't go on; we all knew that. It had to finish, and at a sudden gesture from Jim, the prince rose and approached the grille. On his face was a horrible look of anticipation; his sinewy hands were clenched tight.
“Well, old Dick,” said Jim steadily, “this appears to be the end of a sporting course. I refuse to stand here any more for the amusement of that foul nigger. So I propose to sit down. And in case I sit the wrong way—so long.”
He turned and lounged toward the big chair. Then he sat down and polished his eyeglass, while the Egyptian clutched the grille and gloated. I could have told then, if I hadn't known it before, that it was no bluff that he was waiting in an ecstasy of anticipation for Jim to die. Anyway, it would be sudden. But when—when?
“A poor chair—this, nigger,” said Jim mildly—and then it happened. Jim gave one dreadful convulsive leap and slithered to the floor, where he lay rigid and stiff. For a moment I was stunned; for a moment I forgot that it was my fate, too. I could only grasp the fact that Jim was dead. Murdered by a madman—for there was madness in the eyes of Prince Feisul as I cursed him for a murderer.
“Your turn next,” he snarled. “But first we will remove the body.”
He pressed over a switch on the wall, and a great blue spark stabbed the air. Then he went to the central gate and pulled it back.
“Not much sport that time,” he remarked. “Too quick. But anyway, my dear Leyton, you will now know one place to avoid.”
“Which is more than you do!” came a terrible voice, and the prince screamed. For Jim's hands were around his throat, and Jim's merciless eyes were boring into his brain.
“You're not the only person who can bluff, nigger.”
The grip tightened, and the Egyptian struggled madly to free himself, until quite suddenly he grew limp and Jim flung him into the chair, where he lay sprawling. Then, picking up his revolver, Jim came toward me.
“Touch and go that time, Dick,” he said, and there was a strained look in his eyes as he set me free. Then he crossed to the switch. “Now we'll see how he likes it,” he muttered grimly.
There came another vivid spark, and with a loud clang the gate closed in the grille, while the Egyptian still sprawled unconscious in the chair.
“I took the only possible way, as it seemed to me,” Jim continued. “If it failed—I died, and by the mercy of Allah it didn't. Oh! Great Scott, look!”
His hand gripped my arm, and I swung around just in time to see it. I suppose he'd slipped in the chair or something, but Prince Feisul's back was arched inward in a semi-circle and for a moment he seemed to stand on his head. Then he crashed forward to the floor and lay still.
I DON'T profess to account for it. Whether he was indeed mad, or whether he was merely the victim of some terrible form of mental abnormality will never be known. Amazing stories of unbelievable debauches were hinted at by his servants during the inquest—debauches always carried out in this room.
Tales showing his appalling cruelty and his fiendish pleasure in witnessing pain in others were listened to by an astounded and open-mouthed jury. But one thing they did not hear—and that was of the presence of two white men in the house on the night preceding the finding of the prince's dead body. And a verdict of Accidental Death saved complications.
Copyright, 1924, H. C. McNeile