________________________________________________
_ One would not readily associate the party of top-booted sewermen
who descend nightly to the subterranean passages of London with
the stout viceconsul at Durazzo. Yet it was one unimaginative man
who lived in Lambeth and had no knowledge that there was such a
place as Durazzo who was responsible for bringing this comfortable
official out of his bed in the early hours of the morning causing
him - albeit reluctantly and with violent and insubordinate
language - to conduct certain investigations in the crowded
bazaars.
At first he was unsuccessful because there were many Hussein
Effendis in Durazzo. He sent an invitation to the American Consul
to come over to tiffin and help him.
"Why the dickens the Foreign Office should suddenly be interested
in Hussein Effendi, I cannot for the life of me understand."
"The Foreign Department has to be interested in something, you
know," said the genial American. "I receive some of the quaintest
requests from Washington; I rather fancy they only wire you to
find if they are there."
"Why are you doing this!"
"I've seen Hakaat Bey," said the English official. "I wonder what
this fellow has been doing? There is probably a wigging for me in
the offing."
At about the same time the sewerman in the bosom of his own family
was taking loud and noisy sips from a big mug of tea.
"Don't you be surprised," he said to his admiring better half, "if
I have to go up to the Old Bailey to give evidence."
"Lord! Joe!" she said with interest, "what has happened!"
The sewer man filled his pipe and told the story with a wealth of
rambling detail. He gave particulars of the hour he had descended
the Victoria Street shaft, of what Bill Morgan had said to him as
they were going down, of what he had said to Harry Carter as they
splashed along the low-roofed tunnel, of how he had a funny
feeling that he was going to make a discovery, and so on and so
forth until he reached his long delayed climax.
T. X. waited up very late that night and at twelve o'clock his
patience was rewarded, for the Foreign Office' messenger brought a
telegram to him. It was addressed to the Chief Secretary and ran:
"No. 847. Yours 63952 of yesterday's date. Begins. Hussein
Effendi a prosperous merchant of this city left for Italy to place
his daughter in convent Marie Theressa, Florence Hussein being
Christian. He goes on to Paris. Apply Ralli Theokritis et Cie.,
Rue de 1'Opera. Ends."
Half an hour later T. X. had a telephone connection through to
Paris and was instructing the British police agent in that city.
He received a further telephone report from Paris the next morning
and one which gave him infinite satisfaction. Very slowly but
surely he was gathering together the pieces of this baffling
mystery and was fitting them together. Hussein Effendi would
probably supply the last missing segments.
At eight o'clock that night the door opened and the man who
represented T. X. in Paris came in carrying a travelling ulster on
his arm. T. X. gave him a nod and then, as the newcomer stood
with the door open, obviously waiting for somebody to follow him,
he said,
"Show him in - I will see him alone."
There walked into his office, a tall man wearing a frock coat and
a red fez. He was a man from fifty-five to sixty, powerfully
built, with a grave dark face and a thin fringe of white beard.
He salaamed as he entered.
"You speak French, I believe," said T. X. presently.
The other bowed.
"My agent has explained to you," said T. X. in French, "that I
desire some information for the purpose of clearing up a crime
which has been committed in this country. I have given you my
assurance, if that assurance was necessary, that you would come to
no harm as a result of anything you might tell me."
"That I understand, Effendi," said the tall Turk; "the Americans
and the English have always been good friends of mine and I have
been frequently in London. Therefore, I shall be very pleased to
be of any help to you."
T. X. walked to a closed bookcase on one side of the room,
unlocked it, took out an object wrapped in white tissue paper. He
laid this on the table, the Turk watching the proceedings with an
impassive face. Very slowly the Commissioner unrolled the little
bundle and revealed at last a long, slim knife, rusted and
stained, with a hilt, which in its untarnished days had evidently
been of chased silver. He lifted the dagger from the table and
handed it to the Turk.
"This is yours, I believe," he said softly.
The man turned it over, stepping nearer the table that he might
secure the advantage of a better light. He examined the blade
near the hilt and handed the weapon back to T. X.
"That is my knife," he said.
T. X. smiled.
"You understand, of course, that I saw 'Hussein Effendi of
Durazzo' inscribed in Arabic near the hilt."
The Turk inclined his head.
"With this weapon," T. X. went on, speaking with slow emphasis, "a
murder was committed in this town."
There was no sign of interest or astonishment, or indeed of any
emotion whatever.
"It is the will of God," he said calmly; "these things happen even
in a great city like London."
"It was your knife," suggested T. X.
"But my hand was in Durazzo, Effendi," said the Turk.
He looked at the knife again.
"So the Black Roman is dead, Effendi."
"The Black Roman" asked T. X., a little puzzled.
"The Greek they call Kara," said the Turk; "he was a very wicked
man."
T. X. was up on his feet now, leaning across the table and looking
at the other with narrowed eyes.
"How did you know it was Karat" he asked quickly.
The Turk shrugged his shoulders.
"Who else could it be?" he said; "are not your ne newspapers
filled with the story?"
T. X. sat back again, disappointed and a little an with himself.
"That is true, Hussein Effendi, but I did not think you read the
papers."
"Neither do I, master," replied the other coolly, "nor did I know
that Kara had been killed until I saw this knife. How came this
in your possession!"
"It was found in a rain sewer," said T. X., "into which the
murderer had apparently dropped it. But if you have not read the
newspapers, Effendi, then you admit that you know who committed
this murder."
The Turk raised his hands slowly to a level with his shoulders.
"Though I am a Christian," he said, "there are many wise sayings
of my father's religion which I remember. And one of these,
Effendi, was, 'the wicked must die in the habitations of the just,
by the weapons of the worthy shall the wicked perish.' Your
Excellency, I am a worthy man, for never have I done a dishonest
thing in my life. I have traded fairly with Greeks, with
Italians, have with Frenchmen and with Englishmen, also with Jews.
I have never sought to rob them nor to hurt them. If I have
killed men, God knows it was not because I desired their death,
but because their lives were dangerous to me and to mine. Ask the
blade all your questions and see what answer it gives. Until it
speaks I am as dumb as the blade, for it is also written that 'the
soldier is the servant of his sword,' and also, 'the wise servant
is dumb about his master's affairs.' "
T. X. laughed helplessly.
"I had hoped that you might be able to help me, hoped and feared,"
he said; "if you cannot speak it is not my business to force you
either by threat or by act. I am grateful to you for having come
over, although the visit has been rather fruitless so far as I am
concerned."
He smiled again and offered his hand.
"Excellency," said the old Turk soberly, "there are some things in
life that are well left alone and there are moments when justice
should be so blind that she does not see guilt here is such a
moment."
And this ended the interview, one on which T. X. had set very high
hopes. His gloom carried to Portman Place, where he had arranged
to meet Belinda Mary.
"Where is Mr. Lexman going to give this famous lecture of his?"
was the question with which she greeted him, "and, please, what is
the subject?"
"It is on a subject which is of supreme interest to me;" he said
gravely; "he has called his lecture 'The Clue of the Twisted
Candle.' There is no clearer brain being employed in the business
of criminal detection than John Lexman's. Though he uses his
genius for the construction of stories, were it employed in the
legitimate business of police work, I am certain he would make a
mark second to none in the world. He is determined on giving this
lecture and he has issued a number of invitations. These include
the Chiefs of the Secret Police of nearly all the civilized
countries of the world. O'Grady is on his way from America, he
wirelessed me this morning to that effect. Even the Chief of the
Russian police has accepted the invitation, because, as you know,
this murder has excited a great deal of interest in police circles
everywhere. John Lexman is not only going to deliver this
lecture," he said slowly, "but he is going to tell us who
committed the murder and how it was committed."
She thought a moment.
"Where will it be delivered!"
"I don't know," he said in astonishment; "does that matter?"
"It matters a great deal," she said emphatically, "especially if I
want it delivered in a certain place. Would you induce Mr.
Lexman to lecture at my house?"
"At Portman Place!" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No, I have a house of my own. A furnished house I have rented at
Blackheath. Will you induce Mr. Lexman to give the lecture
there?"
"But why?" he asked.
"Please don't ask questions," she pleaded, "do this for me,
Tommy."
He saw she was in earnest.
"I'll write to old Lexman this afternoon," ht promised.
John Lexman telephoned his reply.
"I should prefer somewhere out of London," he said, "and since
Miss Bartholomew has some interest in the matter, may I extend my
invitation to her? promise she shall not be any more shocked than
a good woman need be."
And so it came about that the name of Belinda Mary Bartholomew was
added to the selected list of police chiefs, who were making for
London at that moment to hear from the man who had guaranteed the
solution of the story of Kara and his killing; the unravelment of
the mystery which surrounded his death, and the significance of
the twisted candles, which at that moment were reposing in the
Black Museum at Scotland Yard. _
Read next: CHAPTER XX
Read previous: CHAPTER XVIII
Table of content of Clue of the Twisted Candle
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
