The Voice of Káli/Chapter 14

HERE was a hushed silence in the Abbey library as Paul Harley slowly opened the door of the lacquered cabinet. Then, as if impelled by a common impulse, the three who watched him recoiled.

“Merciful heaven!” cried Van Dean.

But the others, save for a sharp inhalation, were silent.

Rigid in the cabinet, one hand resting upon the right and one upon the left side, was Mohammed Khán!

His face had an indescribably leaden hue. The head was tilted forward and to the left. His eyes were startlingly wide open and his whole expression was that of one who listened, alertly, to some important message.

Latham, stifling a great revulsion, stepped forward and touched the still figure.

“Dead!” he whispered.

“The Listening Death!” said Harley.

A cloud of horror like a palpable thing seemed to sweep out and envelope them all. Even Harley was not entirely untouched by it. He averted his face, closing the door of the cabinet and locking it.

“Latham,” he said, “will you get out your car and bring it round to the front door? On your way, you might try to reassure the ladies. I leave it to you how much to tell and how much you withhold.”

“Very well,” Latham replied, and unlocked the library door and went out.

“Now, Westbury,” Harley continued, “will you please telephone to the police. Give them the facts as briefly as possible. It will be close upon an hour before they arrive, giving ample time for me to complete my inquiries.”

Jim Westbury appeared to be half-dazed. He listened to Harley with a sort of stupefied expression; then, as if the meaning of the words had suddenly come home to him, he walked out of the room without any comment whatever.

“And you, Van Dean,” said Harley, “would be all the better for a stiff peg. I want to be alone here for ten minutes, uninterrupted. So when you go out, I shall lock the door again. Will you give instructions that I am not to be disturbed? Then, when I have finished my inquiries here, there are a number of questions which I wish to ask you.”

“Very well, Harley,” was the reply.

But Van Dean glanced rapidly at the cabinet and rapidly away again. A question trembled upon his lips. He stifled it, however, and resting his hand on Paul Harley's shoulder for a moment, walked slowly from the library; his was a pathetic figure, that of a courageous man broken.

A quarter of an hour later, Harley came cut into the lobby. Wu Chang, carrying a tray, was about to enter the drawing room,

“Wu Chang!” called Harley. “Tell Captain Latham to come.”

The Chinaman nodded and went into the drawing room. A moment later, Latham came out.

“Want me, Harley?”

“Yes,” was the reply. “I have something to show you.”

They returned to the scene of the mysterious tragedy and once more Harley locked the door. Latham, looking quickly about him, made a discovery. The rest chair, the lacquer cabinet and the emblem of Káli were the three objects to which he particularly addressed his attention. And, on looking at the third, he exclaimed, “What's this?”

The front of the carven pedestal had been removed in some way! It was hollow, but the interior was entirely occupied by intricate locking electrical devices! He stepped toward it, kneeling down and peering in.

“Come away from it, Latham,” said Harley quietly.

Latham turned, startled.

“You're in the danger zone. Move to the other side.”

“The danger zone?”

“Exactly!”

Latham backed hastily away from the pedestal.

“No need for me to inspect the correspondence from Van Dean's agent in Rangoon,” said Harley dryly. “Either it was forged, or, if it was genuine, this thing was tampered with, either before it left Burma or between the time that it left the docks and reached Norfolk.”

“But, Harley, what does it all mean? What is this thing? How does it operate? My God! I'll never forget—” he glanced hastily toward the cabinet—“the face of Mohammed Khán!”

“The Listening Death is not easily forgotten,” Harley admitted. “But as for the way this thing operates—well, it's mechanical genius. Unfortunately for himself, Mohammed Khán failed to realize that by moving this pedestal I had placed his hiding place inside the danger zone. Incidentally, I was well out of it. I had marked that Egyptian coffin lid, some time ago, and had provided myself with the key of the wall case.”

“I am still in the dark,” declared Latham blankly.

“In some respects, so am I,” confessed Harley. “But there is much that I can explain. You see, as the room was originally arranged, a line drawn from the image of Káli across to the fireplace would pass through the rest chair, which habitually stands upon the hearth. I moved the image in such a way that this imaginary line from the pedestal to the fireplace would now pass through the lacquer cabinet.”

“Yes.” Latham nodded. “But what has the fireplace got to do with it?”

“A point that puzzled me for a long time, Latham. My researches were handicapped, you see, by the fact that I knew a spy of the S. Group to be in the house. But, tonight, I climbed onto the roof, if you recall.”

“Yes. What for?”

“To examine the library chimney!” was the reply.

“The library chimney! And what did you find?”

“I found a piece of soft copper wire, with a tiny fitting attached to the end, protruding from the chimney. The other end of the wire I had already detected from here. It comes down to within three feet or so of the fireplace.”

“But what is its purpose?”

“Its purpose, Latham, is to fix the direction of something—shall we say a wave—which proceeds from the mechanism in the pedestal of the Káli image.”

At that, Latham stared almost affrightedly at the strange figure.

“What is this mechanism?”

“Well—in some respects it resembles a wireless receiving set; but there are certain differences. Do you begin to grasp the truth, Latham?”

Latham shook his head blankly.

“It is Ernst's Trajector!” snapped Harley. “Mohammed Khán was killed by Ernst's Trajector. It is some adaptation of wireless, a kind of wave which evidently has the property of penetrating all obstacles and destroying life instantly. In the case of human victims, it produces that ghastly, contorted expression, which has become known as the Listening Death.”

“Then,” said Latham in a low voice, “the inventor, Ulric Ernst”

“Was the first victim of his own invention! The S. Group were watching and waiting. How, we shall never know, but they used the Trajector to murder the inventor. Since then, they have employed it to remove their enemies. This thing—” he pointed to the image of Káli—“was introduced into the Abbey by the Mandarin K. Van Dean, all unsuspecting, gave the murder machine house room!”

“That horrible, indescribable sound,” muttered Latham. “You heard it, Harley?”

Harley nodded. “I heard it. I believe we shall find that it is a new note”

“A new note?”

“Yes, a sound which human ears have never before heard. Anyone, upon whom it is concentrated, dies. There was no post-mortem in the case of Denby. I managed to prevent it. But in the case of Mohammed Khán, I think we shall find that death was brought about by cerebral hemorrhage. It may interest you to know, Latham, that there is a length of cable running from the base of the pedestal of Káli to the lacquer cabinet.”

“By which you mean?” said Latham.

“By which I mean that a concealed switch, reached through some hole in the ancient woodwork, controls the Trajector.”

“What! It was worked from there?”

“It was. There is much irony in the fact that Mohammed Khán actually pressed the switch which caused his own death. It disconnects automatically when the pressure is removed.”

“Van Dean trusted him implicitly!'”

Harley nodded. “His credentials were forgeries. He was a spy of the S. Group, patiently watching, biding his time. He has a bad wound on his left arm, by the way.”

He stared significantly at Latham as he spoke.

“What's the point?” asked the latter.

“The point is that it was caused by the teeth of your dog! Oh! there's no doubt of it. Mohammed Khán was the man who penetrated into Van Dean's study this evening. Mohammed Khán, in all probability, murdered Detective Sergeant Denby.”

“But,” cried Latham, “he died outside in the shrubbery!”

“He didn't, Latham,” snapped Harley. “This is the death chamber. I moved that chair three times, tonight; and three times it was moved back again into focus. Denby was lured into this room, into that chair; and there, in that chair, he died! His body was dragged out into the shrubbery by Mohammed Khán!”

“Mohammed Khán, of course, held duplicate keys?”

“Yes. They are on him now. He had pierced the woodwork so that he could lock the cabinet from the inside. No doubt you understand, now, why Van Dean's orders for the removal of that murder machine were never carried out?”

“Mohammed Khán intercepted them?”

“Exactly. He wore some sort of cowled garment when engaged upon any work which would have been difficult to explain, had he been detected in it.”

“Trusting to be taken for an apparition if anyone met him?”

“That is my idea,” agreed Harley.

They were silent for a moment, listening to threatening peals of the storm which seemed to be approaching again.

“The object of it all is what I can't fathom,” declared Latham.

“Simple enough,” said Harley. “I was the object! I will explain later. There is still much to do.”

“I quite agree, Harley. The heart of the mystery appears to me to be not here in the Abbey, at all. I mean to say, if this thing is worked by wireless, where is the transmitter?”

Harley stared at him silently for a moment.

“I am not sure,” he replied, “but I think I know where the transmitter is. If your car is ready, we will start now.”

He paused. There came a loud knocking on the door. Crossing, he threw it open.

Westbury was standing there, practically all the members of the household grouped behind him.

“Good heavens, Harley!” he cried, “what's the meaning of this? Parker, the gardener, has disappeared!