Nude in Mink by Sax Rohmer (classic literature books txt) 📖

reclosed the door, went over and stared out of the window, which had no curtains.

The Rolls had disappeared. London looked grey and normal. Just across the street a policeman was directing an American Air Force sergeant, one hand resting on the man’s shoulder and the other, outstretched, pointing in the direction of Hanover Square. Quite a fair amount of traffic was about.

“Make love to her, Mark. She is made for love. Don’t waste the golden moments…”

Then, Donovan heard someone opening the door behind him.

He turned—as Claudette came in…

She wore a plain frock which, however, fitted her slim figure to perfection, and light reflected from the lobby behind her gleamed wonderfully on her hair. As their glances met, she grew suddenly pale and then, as Donovan gripped her hands, that divine flush stained her cheeks—and he knew that her lips were his to claim.

He claimed them.

But although she returned his kisses, he was conscious of a strong reserve which Claudette seemed to be exercising —and now she fumblingly forced a slip of paper between his fingers.

He released her, failed to read some message which she flashed from her eyes, and glanced down at the note so mysteriously offered. He saw a fragment torn from an envelope. On this the following words had been pencilled:

“Be careful. Someone is listening.”

He put the note in his pocket and nodded to indicate that he understood. Then, he spoke, choosing his words.

“Claudette, darling—where have you been?”

Claudette dropped into an armchair and seemed to make a great effort to compose herself. Donovan knelt on the rug, holding her hands again.

“I have been here—most of the time.”

“Here!”

“Yes. I thought I was coming to meet you. But of course—” she shrugged in her own individual way—“I might have known that Our Lady would never allow me to run away.”

“Then—you have seen her? I mean, not in a dream?”

“Yes. At last, I have seen her, spoken to her.”

Something in Claudette’s voice, in her expression—one almost of veneration—prompted Donovan to do what must have seemed to an observer, had there been one, a truly singular thing.

He glanced swiftly down at her ankles, those slender patrician ankles.

She wore stockings of spiderweb texture, which he guessed might have been borrowed from the tenderhearted Jackie de Lara on the night of Claudette’s departure. When he looked up again, perhaps his expression had changed, for Claudette slightly shook her head.

“No—I am not a member of the Order… yet.”

“Yet?”

Donovan seated himself on the side of her chair and threw his arm around her shoulders. “What do you mean by ‘yet’?”

“I suppose I mean that it’s inevitable, sooner or later.”

“Inevitable! Claudette dear, I don’t understand at all. I know how you came to be here. I know you were abducted a second time—by that dusky blackguard who calls himself Worthington. But I don’t know, I simply can’t imagine, why you have stayed here. You had only to run out and claim the protection of the first policeman who passed. Why, it’s just a matter of minutes to my own door!”

Claudette raised her eyes to him. Their expression was wistful, almost sad.

“Do you think I ever forgot that?”

Donovan stooped and kissed her hair.

“Darling, why didn’t you come?”

“In the first place, because it would not have been of the slightest use. In the second place, because if you had tried to hide me from Our Lady or had attempted to interfere with her, she would have retaliated. I don’t know what might have happened to you. Then—there is another reason.”

“What can it be?”

“My father.”

“Your father! But I heard that your father had disappeared—that they have failed to trace him!”

“You mean the police have?” She smiled up at him. “Very likely. He is with the Paris Circle.”

“What do you mean by the Paris Circle?”—“There are Circles in all the chief capitals. Our Lady had begun to form them before 1939. She went on all through the war. She was working against time. She believed that if the atomic experiments succeeded before her plans were complete, civilisation would be destroyed.”

“Does she still think so?”

“Yes, That is why, now, she permits nothing or nobody to stand in her way. I have had a letter from Father. You know, don’t you, that he is a very brilliant man? Well—he is not a prisoner, as I am; he is a working member of the Order. And he entreats me to join him!”

For a moment, Donovan was silent, dumbfounded.

Maitland’s suspicions were based on solid fact. Sumuru was the head of a powerful secret society having world-wide ramifications. Terror was not her chief weapon, but she never hesitated to employ it when necessary. His heart sank. Recalling the able men and women who had been hypnotised into slavish obedience by such a creature as Hitler, what must be the influence wielded by this dazzling woman who called herself Sumuru? Marcel Duquesne! A name revered in French journalism; that of a patriot and a gentleman. She had won over Marcel Duquesne!

At last:

“Claudette,” he said, “does your father know that this woman whose projects he is working to forward has committed murder? Not once, but God alone knows how many times!”

Claudette clasped her hands between her knees and stared down pensively.

“You should not say that—Mark.” She pronounced his name with delicious hesitancy. “Our Lady knows that to bring about any great change in the present idea of government must involve war of some sort. But she confines her war to individuals, to those who would become responsible for involving others.”

“This is a great change of heart, Claudette. You told me, not so long ago, that the book called Tears of Our Lady was evil.”

“Perhaps I did. But, then, I had not met Our Lady.”

“Does that mean that you believe in her? That you condone her killings? That you approve of her aims?”

Claudette looked up.

“I believe in her implicitly. She is the most wonderful woman in the world. And I approve of her aims. Who could disapprove? She wants to restore peace and beauty to life. But I cannot make up my mind about her methods. She considers that the end justifies the means. She has given me time to think this over.”

“Suppose you decide that you wish to be free—what will happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would your father suffer?”

“No. I am sure of that. But—”

“Yes,” Donovan prompted, for she hesitated, and he held her close. “But what?”

“But I don’t think we should ever see one another again…”

4

Now, here was a man squarely at the crossroads, suddenly brought face to face with the greatest crisis in his life.

The genius of Sumuru began to appall him.

He recalled how she had said that Ariosto (known as Dr. Worthington) was deeply devoted to the girl who had murdered Sir Miles Tristram. He saw his fate starkly uprise before him. He lost all enmity for the man who had so impudently blinded him on a London street. He found himself thinking of Dr. Worthington as of a companion in misfortune. The chains that bound him to Sumuru were silken chains—but nevertheless unbreakable.

Sumuru employed the beauty of women to secure the serfdom of men!

And already, in spirit, Donovan was stretching out his hands to welcome the same servitude!

In short, he must acknowledge the power of Sumuru or give up Claudette …

It was finding himself faced with this alternative, no doubt, which restored his naturally combative spirit. Was there no other way? Must he accept the word of Sumuru as final? Must he, a free citizen, bow to the will of a gang leader? For this was what it amounted to.

He stood up and began to pace the floor.

“Listen,” he said. “Who really rents this house?”

“The flag still over the door must have told you.”

“Then what is Sumuru doing here?”

“I never heard that name, Mark, as I have said before. But I suppose it is the name by which you know Our Lady. I am only at liberty to answer if you promise to keep whatever I tell you absolutely secret.”

Another quandary! Yet, the implication, that Sumuru was prepared to accept his word, Donovan found in some way flattering. What use it would be to learn the facts if he were not to use them didn’t seem any too clear; but he saw that he had no choice.

“Very well… I promise.”

“The wife of the minister who lived here is a member of the Order. Our Lady has been her guest, and it was arranged when Madame Druse returned to her own country that Our Lady should retain her rooms for a time.

This perfectly simple statement let a flood of light into dark places. Donovan began fully to appreciate the size of Maitland’s job—and the difficulties which confronted Inspector Ives. A criminal able to claim, and to secure, diplomatic immunity is a tough proposition for any police force. Small wonder they had failed to find “the house near Hanover Square.”

And, meanwhile, here was he, pacing up and down and noting, every time he looked out of the window, the presence of a member of that police force on the other side of the street! The constable who had directed the airman was standing by a pillar-box glancing idly right and left.

Suddenly, Donovan stopped before Claudette, knelt down at her feet and clasped his hands over her knees.

“Claudette! I couldn’t go on without you! Love has hit me very suddenly and very hard. Just tell me this: If things could be straightened out, would you marry me?”

“Of course I would, Mark. It came just as suddenly to me. Do you suppose I should have let you kiss me like that if I hadn’t cared for you?”

Donovan didn’t know what Sumuru, or whoever was listening, heard during the next few minutes, but it wasn’t conversation…

“Who is going to prevent us walking straight out, now?” he asked, presently.

“I don’t think anyone would try to prevent us, Mark.”

“Aren’t we behaving rather like two frightened children? After all, darling, Sumuru no doubt is a dangerous woman, but we could be in another country before she had time to act. There’s a policeman right across the street. We have only to step over and join him and we’re safe—even from Sumuru.”

But Claudette shook her head.

“If we did get away, and she left us alone, I should never see Father again.”

“You would see him just as soon as the police had their hands on Sumuru!”

“The police will never have their hands on—” she hesitated—“on Her.’

Claudette spoke the word in a hushed way, and as though it had a capital H.

And, as often happens in such cases, the awe with which Sumuru had impressed Claudette, began to creep over Donovan, too. He seemed to feel her presence, to hear again her thrilling voice. The light banter of which she was capable never for a moment more than masked the powerful personality of the woman; indeed, it revealed it, terrifyingly.

Sumuru, smart as a fashion plate, smiling, gay, who could calmly order a man’s secret execution; Sumuru, who had conquered Donovan with her eyes, who had sent Steel Maitland out to deliver into her hands that evidence against her which had taken years to accumulate! Sumuru…

“What does she want with me, Claudette? Do you know?”

“Yes.” Claudette’s eyes were lowered for a moment, a flush swept over her face. “She wants me to be the mother of your children. And she wants you to take charge of her propaganda department. My father is working on it, now.”

Donovan dropped Claudette’s hands, jumped up, and began