THE ROOM OF SECRETS.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXI, Issue 144131, 28 June 1913, Page 5

THE ROOM OF SECRETS.

(BY WILLIAM LE QUEUS.) . CHAPTEE I.—Continued. Scarcely had she uttered these words when the taxi pulled up suddenly before a large, old-fashioned house, one of a long and rather dingy terrace, each with a dd>p area and wide portico. Over the door the fanlight was illuminated. We descended together, and 1 had paid the man, when Jessie, having run up the steps, halted and exclaimed; “Why, this isn’t the house. But I know' where we are now. Come along; it’s only a few steps.” I was about to call the taxi, wh.ch had already moved off, but she would not hear of it. “It’s quite close. This is Weldon Crescent. The man made a mistake. How' foolish of him!” And she led me around a corner in the thick mist, across a quiet square and past a church, ghostly in the fog, until presently, crossing a second square which she. evidently' know well, she entered a street and halted before a big, drab-painted house of the usual West End type. The dark green door was gained by three broad steps, the last being payed with marble tiles of black and white. Behind the fanlight the glow of electricity showed, and almost as soon as Jessie excitedly pressed the electric button the door w r as throw'n open by an elderly man, who, in the excitement of the moment, caught the child up in his arras with a cry' of delight and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. I stood on the threshold without speaking. For the moment, words failed me, and not Without reason. The man who stood there had scarce-

ly glanced at me. His grey hair was long and unkempt, his beard scraggy, his teeth white and well-kept; yet the skin of his face was yellow and shrivelled; his cheeks were sunken, though his eyes were dark, eager, and searching—eyes which boro in them a strange expression indescribably fascinating and full'of mystery. Though he. was apparently past sixty, ho was still upright and possessed of all the vigour of youth. His eyes were those of a young man, while his small hands were, like his face, yellow and shrivelled; the nails, though well-kept, wore long and trained to points, as is the fashion in Italy and in some other Continental countries, so that it may be patent that the person in question performs no manual labour. That very face showed him to bo a foreigner. And yet he spoke English without the least trace of accent. He wore a black frock-coat buttoned tightly and somewhat shiny with age, with dark trousers baggy at the knees, while, as he turned to me, his bearing and manner were certainly those of a gentleman. “Forgive me, sir,” he exclaimed, taming to me in apology. “I have to thank yon for bringing Jessie home. Please step in—if only for a moment. It is so cold with the door open.” For a second I was unable to reply. The meeting was decidedly curious and unexpected,, for the man who stood before me was the same grey-faced person who, in passing me in a taxi not twefity minutes before, had peered out at me so inquisitively, and who, when our eyes had met, had drawn back quickly, as though in deadly fear of recognition. By some instinct, by some strange tuition, I felt myself attracted towards him. Why, I cannot, even at this moment, explain. CHAPTER 11. ' IN WHICH I MEET JOAN. “Do come in-—if only for a moment,” he urged, repeating his warm invitation, and smiling pleasantly. Why did I hesitate to cross that threshold? Do we not, all of us, at some time or other, receive warning of impending danger? Yet, alas! we so often act against onr better judgment. I did so in this case. I accepted his invitation and stepped inside, whereupon he closed the door behind me. The hall was not wide, but the room into which ho ,show T ed me, on the right hand, proved to be a cosy, well-fur-nished study which smelt strongly of cigars—evidently his own den. Then, after Jessie had thanked me, wished me a merry good-night and retired with Smith, the elderly female servant, he made me sit down, and, after handing me a cigar, took one himself. “Whenever did you discover the young puss,_ Mr.—er ?” he asked, his lips parting in a laugh, showing his intensely white teeth. “I—l beg your pardon, sir, 1 have not the pleasure of knowing your name,” ha added quickly. “Mine is Koop—Karl Koop—a Dutch name, but I am not Dutch, though my father was. People, here know me usually as Cooper. It is easier to have an English name,” he laughed. “Mine is Colefax—Sidney Colefax,” I replied, and handed him a card. “Well, where did you find my little madcap, Mr. Colefax ” he asked,- settling himself to smoke. I described our meeting, whereupon he exclaimed, with a laugh: “Silly little mins! I shall have to telephone to her aunt. The girl,Smith went there and found she had left the house -without a word. But there, Jessie is just like her mother used to be—always obstinate and wilful! I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Colefax, that you’ve been so bothered,” he added. “Pray accept a thousand apologies.” “None whatever-are needed,” I assured him. Suddenly he clapped his thin hands lopdly, whereupon the door opened and appeared a tall, gigantic Arab in long kaftan of canary-coloured silk and w’earing a fez. Upon his loft cheek were three cicatrices three inches long below each other, tribe-marks which I ■had seen in the Nubian Desert. In his long brown hand he bore .asmall gilt tray upon winch ' wore two tiny cups of thick sweet Arab coffee, cups'set in beautiful holders of golden filagree. For a moment ho stood motionless before us like a statue of bronze, and then at a motion from his master ho handed me a «up and Mr. Koop took a cup himself. ■Without moving, the tall, muscular Arab, a perfect specimen of the Nubian of the Nile, waited until wo had replaced our cups, then, respectfully touching his brow with his brown fingers, bowed, turned, and left. “He is a handsoine-looking servant,” 1 remarked. “Where did you find him ?” “I founcj Ibrahim in Waddy Haifa several years ago,” was the old man’s reply. “Ho was taught in the Mission School at Luxor, and is very intelligent for a man of his class—speaks

French, German and English after a fashion, and is extremely useful to mo in many ways.” “life is a Nubian, from his tribemark.” “Of course. Then you know Nubia f” In reply, I explained how I had been to Khartoum and beyond on business on half-n-dozen occasions. “Ah, so you know the Aral)—eh?” laughed my host, with a strange grin. “Most of them are untrustworthy. But 1 can place the most implicit confidence in Ibrahim, thanks to his Mission training.” It certainly was a surprise to mo to find there an Arab servant in fez, kaftan and slippers of scarlet morocco. But, as I have already said, I felt convinced, by some strange intuition, that Karl Koop was no ordinary man. It was that fact which had attracted mo towards him. As he lay hack idly smoking his cigar I could not fail to notice the hand which held it. The thin, grey fingers were long and full of knots, the joints enlarged, and the whole hand, with its sharply-pointed nails, was like the talons of some bird of prey—utterly out of keeping with his thin, refined and intense countenance. A few moments later ho replaced his cigar in his mouth, and again clapped his hands in the manner of the East, whereupon Ibrahim re-appeared instantly, and apparently divining his master’s wants, made up the lire and re-arranged the. chairs. Upon the sofa was a big cushion of scarlet silk which had been tumbled and crushed by someone reclining against it. This ho kneaded and re-arranged. “Has Miss Joan come in, Ibrahim?” asked the old man in a voice that was almost a grunt. “Yeds, - my master,” was the Arab’s reply. | “Tell her to como in here before she retires, and also tell Smith to telephone to Porchester Terrace and say that Miss Jessie is safely home,” said Koop. Then, turning to me, he explained that his daughter Joan had been out to a dinner-party. Ibrahim placed, his hands upon his breast, again bowed and withdrew, walking noiselessly in his red pointed slippers. (To be continued.)