“It is a lot to ask, Sir John,” Danjuro said briskly, “but for the moment, will you put yourself completely in my hands?”
“I am perfectly willing.”
“Then allow me to ring the bell.”
He pressed it.
When Thumbwood came in, Danjuro said politely, “I left a black bag in the hall. Would you please bring it to me?”
A moment later, Thumbwood returned with the bag.
Danjuro put it on the table and opened it.
“You are a very well-known man, Sir John. Major Helzephron and his associates have either seen you before or have certainly seen the many photographs of you that have appeared in the newspapers these past few days. You must change your appearance immediately. I anticipated this and brought everything we need.”
I could not help whistling in dismay.
The idea certainly did not appeal to me.
“Is all this really necessary?”
“Absolutely. But it will cause you no trouble. Go into your bedroom and cut off your moustache with scissors. Then shave your upper lip completely.”
He paused.
“The man who leaves London tonight must look nothing like the Chief Commissioner of Air Police.”
I went into my bedroom and did exactly as he said. I had no choice.
When I finished, I hardly recognized myself. I had never realized how severe and forbidding my mouth looked without a moustache.
I went back into the sitting-room.
Danjuro made no comment. He simply removed my collar and tie with the skill of a barber and wrapped a towel around my neck.
Then he took a bottle and sponged my entire face and neck with a faintly pink liquid.
Next he worked on my hair with another substance.
Then he treated my eyebrows.
After a while, I could stand the mystery no longer.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“I am dyeing your hair black, Sir John. The dye can be removed whenever you wish. Until then, it looks completely natural.”
He continued working.
“The chemical is not generally known. I obtain it from a friend in Honcho Dori in Yokohama. The same friend supplies the liquid that has already changed your skin from blond and pale to dark and sunburned-looking. I shall treat your hands in a moment.”
For nearly forty-five minutes he worked on me.
At last he stepped back and examined me critically.
“Part your hair in the middle instead of at the side. Wear a low collar rather than a high one. Add a pair of spectacles—even plain glass will do—and you need have no fear of being recognized.”
He gave me a small smile.
“As far as your outward appearance is concerned, Sir John, you have already ceased to exist.”
There was a mirror above the mantelpiece.
I stood before it.
The transformation was astonishing.
It was almost disturbing.
A dark-haired, dark-skinned stranger stared back at me from the glass. I turned away with a mixture of amazement and disgust.
“Do you drive an automobile?” Danjuro asked.
The sudden question caught me off guard.
“Yes. I have a touring car in a garage nearby.”
“It would be better not to use it. We shall take one of Mr. Van Adams’s cars. It is already prepared.”
I laughed.
“I still have a great deal to learn, Mr. Danjuro. I may have placed myself entirely in your hands, but you certainly made sure of that before I had much chance to object.”
“It is Mr. Van Adams’s command,” he replied simply.
I reflected that the man really did seem to have only one purpose in life: to carry out his master’s orders.
“We shall leave London at midnight,” he continued, “and drive throughout the night. I am also an expert chauffeur, so we can take turns at the wheel.”
“Thumbwood can drive as well. Naturally, he is coming with us?”
“He will be extremely useful.”
Danjuro looked at me carefully.
“Now, Sir John, if you wish to sleep for a while, this is the best opportunity. I should like to speak with your servant and get to know him. We shall be working together quite closely.”
Strangely enough, I suddenly realized how tired I was.
Despite everything that had happened, I felt I could easily sleep for a couple of hours.
“Very well. That sounds sensible. Two hours should do.”
“Certainly. I shall make some other arrangements while you sleep. You will receive a full explanation later, and I sincerely thank you for the confidence you have placed in me.”
We had already left the sitting-room and crossed the hall.
Danjuro opened the door to my bedroom.
“Sleep well. We shall go and have a look at Major Helzephron later.”
“What?”
“He is in London. I have never seen him myself, and I certainly intend to do so.”
“In London?”
A dozen thoughts crashed through my mind at once.
“That,” he added calmly, “is why we are leaving London tonight.”
He closed the door and disappeared.
I had known this extraordinary man for less than two hours.
I was accustomed to command. My whole life had been spent giving orders.
Yet I lay down on my bed like a perfectly obedient child and asked no further questions.
And, exactly as Danjuro had predicted, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A little after eight that evening, Danjuro and I were having dinner at the Restaurant Mille Colonnes.
It was one of London’s most expensive and fashionable restaurants, famous for its luxurious atmosphere, its proprietor Nicholas, a large and rather arrogant man, and its celebrated chef, M. Dulac.
We had chosen a table at the far end of the south gallery, right against the wall.
The electric lights above our section had been switched off. Our table was illuminated only by candles beneath red shades.
We were almost hidden in darkness.
Most of the other diners were seated in the longer section of the gallery, which extended at right angles to ours.
We, however, could see almost everything.
From our table, we could look over the gilded railing into the main hall below. Every detail of our own gallery was also visible.
There was only one problem.
A huge arrangement of flowers and ferns stood in the center of our table, blocking part of our view.
I was wearing a dark flannel suit and a low, turned-down collar.
Danjuro had changed clothes too.
He was wearing a flannel suit, a straw hat, and a necktie that I suddenly recognized as the tie of my old college, Christ Church, Oxford.
But the strangest thing was his face.
He looked at least fifteen years younger.
He had promised to explain everything once we reached the Mille Colonnes.
As we began eating salted prawns and stuffed olives, he finally did.
“You are now Mr. Johns, an Oxford tutor, Sir John. I am a young Japanese gentleman. My own name will do perfectly well. You are tutoring me.”
He paused.
“We are going into the countryside together under these identities. It is a simple disguise. It gives a perfectly reasonable explanation for your being seen with an Asian gentleman, and you should have no difficulty maintaining it.”
It was an excellent way to avoid unwanted attention.
I told him so.
“Now perhaps you will tell me where we are going. I have my own suspicions.”
“We are going west,” he replied seriously.
“To Cornwall.”
My heart beat faster.
That was exactly what I had hoped he would say.
“To Helzephron’s home?”
“Yes.”
He leaned closer.
“For that is where we shall find ourselves at the very center of the web.”
“Even though the Duchy has become increasingly popular with tourists, there are still enormous areas of empty moorland and deserted coastline where a man can walk for half a day without meeting another human being.”
He continued quietly.
“Between St. Ives and Land’s End there is a vast region that is still, for practical purposes, unknown and unexplored. Later I shall show you some maps.”
“Major Helzephron’s house is in one of the most remote parts of that region.”
His voice suddenly became intense.
“I tell you, Sir John, there are strange secrets hidden in those forgotten places where England’s granite cliffs stretch out into the Atlantic.”
“Those lonely grey moors were once the territory of the Druids. Their ancient monuments still stand there, silent reminders of a mysterious past.”
His eyes burned with excitement.
“And somewhere among those wild places lies the explanation for the terror that is now troubling the world.”
He paused.
“And if human skill and determination can find her, Miss Constance Shepherd as well.”
An attentive waiter arrived with iced consommé.
He was followed by Nicholas himself, his enormous body filling out his buttoned frock coat. Nicholas never wore evening dress.
He bowed deeply and exchanged a few whispered words with Danjuro.
I looked at him in surprise.
“You seem to have a remarkable position in this restaurant.”
“I do what I wish here,” Danjuro replied.
“Of course, it is through Mr. Van Adams. I have this place completely under my control—as you are about to see.”
He gave one of his rare, tired smiles.
Then he spoke quietly.
“Please do not get up. Do not move.”
I froze.
“Major Helzephron has just entered the gallery.”
I could not have moved even if I had wanted to.
Danjuro continued.
“I was certain that Helzephron would show himself in London for a day or two. Considering what we know—or at least what we suspect—it was inevitable.”
“He comes here regularly. He reserved his usual table at this restaurant and his usual box at the Parthenon Theatre.”
“For reasons that you and I understand, even if nobody else does.”
He looked toward the other end of the gallery.
“I admit I am very curious to see this man for myself.”
“You had this corner darkened deliberately?” I asked.
“Yes. Nobody can see us clearly from here.”
“And even if Helzephron sees us, he will not recognize us.”
“But he is almost certain to encounter us in Cornwall, so there is no reason to take unnecessary risks.”
He nodded toward the mass of flowers and ferns on our table.
“I have also arranged a little device for us. It once proved extremely useful to me in Chicago.”
He reached into the flowers and moved the greenery aside.
A green-painted tube appeared.
Then I saw a small slanting mirror, about the size of a postcard.
“What on earth is that?”
“An adaptation of a periscope.”
Danjuro took a magnifying glass from his pocket, adjusted it, and bent over the mirror.
“The lens is aimed directly at Helzephron’s table.”
He looked through the glass.
“With this magnifier, I can enlarge the image in the mirror.”
He suddenly made a faint hissing sound.
“Ah. So that is the honorable gentleman.”
His face became completely rigid as he stared through the magnifying glass.
“Shi-ban, Go-ban, hei!”
He remained motionless for several minutes.
“There are two of them,” he murmured.
“I expect the younger man is the Honorable Herbert Gascoigne. We have heard about him.”
At last he straightened.
The terrible intensity disappeared from his face.
“Will you take my seat?”
He handed me the magnifying glass.
“A little drama will begin in a few minutes. I think you will find it interesting.”
We exchanged chairs.
“We shall be in Cornwall tomorrow, ahead of our friends,” he whispered.
“But we need to make some preliminary investigations without interference. I have devised a little plan that, if everything goes as expected, will keep Major Helzephron in London for another day or two.”
“You will see.”
My hands were trembling with excitement as I looked down into the mirror.
The periscope was perfectly focused.
With the reading glass, the image was astonishingly clear.
Two men in evening clothes were sitting at a table, their heads close together as they spoke seriously.
One was a tall, handsome young man of about twenty-two.
He had a fair complexion and a reckless, rather dissipated face.
Although he was young, life had already left its mark on him.
His smile belonged to a much older man.
But I barely noticed him.
My eyes were fixed on the moving image of Major Helzephron.
“Hawk” Helzephron.
His face was deeply tanned.
Above his brows rose a magnificent dome of white forehead beneath thick dark-red hair.
It was the forehead of a man who thought deeply.
The face below was heavily lined.
His thin nose curved downward like the beak of a bird of prey.
His mouth was large and well shaped, but tightly compressed.
His chin was strong and sharply defined.
As he spoke, I saw his slightly protruding eyes.
They were cold and fierce.
Everything about the man was powerful, severe, and threatening.
“Watch,” Danjuro whispered.
I watched.
A thick-set, brutal-looking man entered the scene.
A large diamond flashed from the front of his shirt.
As he passed Helzephron’s table, his dinner jacket caught a wineglass and knocked it onto the floor.
The glass smashed.
Helzephron looked up with a dark scowl and said something.
At the same moment, Nicholas and a waiter appeared in the background, apparently passing by casually.
The thick-set man bent down until his face was almost touching Helzephron’s.
He said something too.
He was smiling unpleasantly.
Suddenly Helzephron sprang to his feet and punched him squarely in the face.
The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun.
The thick-set man calmly absorbed the blow.
Then he attacked.
He struck Helzephron exactly where he wanted, whenever he wanted.
It immediately became clear to me that this man knew exactly what he was doing.
Helzephron had started the fight.
But his opponent was far more skilled.
Within moments, shouting guests and waiters rushed forward and separated them.
A policeman and a commissionaire hurried both men away from the gallery.
Throughout the entire disturbance, Danjuro sat calmly smoking a cigarette.
“That was Mr. Wag Ashton, the professional boxer,” he said.
“Honorable Nicholas and the waiter both saw Helzephron strike him first.”
He took another quiet puff.
“I think the Major will be resting for a day or two before Mr. Ashton brings a charge of assault against him.”
I was almost speechless.
“You arranged all that?”
Danjuro interrupted me.
“Now let us finish our dinner peacefully.”
He glanced toward the waiter.
“The river trout meunière should be arriving.”
An hour later, I was behind the wheel of a huge sixty-horsepower limousine.
The car was loaded with luggage, while Danjuro and Thumbwood sat inside.
We rolled down the slope of Piccadilly and headed west.
Our destination was Penzance.