The Island Where Time Stands Still (6 page)

From where Gregory was standing he could make out little of the interior of the room, but he hesitated to go nearer, as the moon was now well up and its light so strong that had he advanced into the open anyone looking out would have been certain to see him. While pondering the matter he noticed a little way off an ornamental tree with low twisted branches, and it struck him that by climbing up into them he would get a better view. In one swift dart he covered the few yards to it, then scaled the gnarled trunk and perched himself in its fork.

Now, although the lattice-work still make it impossible to get a clear view of the room, he could form a fair impression of it, and its furnishings seemed a queer mixture of East and West. To one side there was a large lacquer cabinet on which sat a gilded Buddha, the far wall was almost hidden by shelves of books, in a corner stood a large radiogram, and in the foreground a woman lay reading on a Chinese day-bed under a hideous but efficient chromium electric light standard. He could not tell if the woman was old or young; only that she had thick black hair and was wearing a pale-coloured wrap which left exposed her small bare feet.

He had been looking at the woman for some moments when he suddenly became aware that he was not the only person watching her. Up on the veranda there had been a movement in the deep shadow cast by the overhanging roof. Straining his eyes, Gregory made out a crouching figure about ten feet from the french windows. Stealthily the figure moved again, halving the distance and now becoming clearly revealed in the soft glow radiating through the lattice-work. It was that of a man, and he was obviously up to no good.

Gregory wondered what he ought to do. To intervene would mean disclosing his own presence, and, while he had committed no crime, he did not want to have to admit that he had been snooping. It occurred to him that he could give a loud shout which would probably scare the man into running away—and would anyhow put the woman on her guard—then bolt for it himself. But such a course was all against his instincts. Besides, there was always the possibility that the man was the woman's lover. Perhaps she had been waiting up for him, and he was approaching her room so stealthily only to preserve their secret. Should that be so Gregory was the last person to wish to spoil their fun, and perhaps bring tragedy upon them.

He was still debating the matter with himself, when the man acted. Springing up, he tore open the gauze-covered doorway and rushed into the room. The woman's startled cry was strangled almost instantly by his throwing a cloth over her head. Next moment he had picked her up in his arms and come running out of the house. The violence with which he handled the woman placed it beyond doubt that this was no abduction, to play a passive part in which the lady had secretly consented in advance; and as he reached the top of the steps Gregory got his first proper view of him. He was a big, heavy-limbed man and, judging by his clothes, an ordinary coolie. In the bright moonlight his bared teeth, flashing eyes, and coarse features contorted with excitement, looked like a mask of evil.

Gregory dropped from his perch in the tree. As he did so he used a peculiarly blasphemous Italian oath. Few prospects could have annoyed him more than that of becoming involved in a fight with a hulking coolie over a woman totally unknown to him. In his youth he had more than once slapped other men's faces for making rude remarks about girls whom he knew perfectly well were no better than they should be; but that sort of thing had long gone out of fashion and he had since learned to adopt a less quixotic attitude where questions of chivalry were concerned. Now, willy-nilly, he felt he had no option.
It was just one of those things which however dangerous and unpleasant could not be shirked. Having instantly made up his mind to that, had he been St. George in person he could not have gone more swiftly to the rescue of this, possibly hideous, damsel in distress.

His unexpected appearance had the effect of temporarily depriving the coolie of his wits. Halting dead in his tracks, he stood for a moment boggling at the figure racing towards him. His expression was one of mingled hate and fear. Suddenly recovering himself, he swung round to the left, threw the woman over his shoulder, and dashed for the nearest cover.

The man's reaction came too late. Burdened with the woman's weight he now had no chance of gaining a sufficient lead to throw off his pursuer among the dark undergrowth ahead. Gregory swerved and ran all out to intercept him, failed to do so only by a bare three paces, and was hard on his heels as he crashed through a screen of tall pampas grass.

On its far side there was an ornamental stream. Unaware of its presence the coolie proved unequal to the hazard. His belated leap landed him with one foot in the water. The woman was flung from his grasp as he pitched face down across the farther bank. Gregory, coming after, was warned of the trap by the other's fall. With, the spring of a panther he landed on the coolie's back.

Few people would have had much chance against Gregory after that. At one time or another he had been mixed up in a score of rough-houses, and when it came to serious fighting he regarded the Queensberry rules as of only academic interest. In his view, whether attacking or attacked, the object of the operation was to render one's opponent helpless as speedily as possible, thus minimising the risk of severe injury to oneself. His favourite weapon was a champagne bottle, and failing that a heavy marlin-spike; but even unarmed he was a formidable antagonist, as he had no scruples about holds or using his knees and feet.

Now that he had secured the initial advantage he seized the coolie's ear with his left hand and clenching his right fist aimed a terrific blow at the small of the man's back. Had it landed as intended on his kidneys that would have been the end of the matter, but he was exceptionally strong and agile. At that instant he hunched his great shoulders in a violent effort to throw Gregory off. The movement only partially succeeded but saved him from the worst effects of the blow. It thudded on solid flesh just above his right buttock.

Before Gregory could strike again, the man had staggered to his feet, dragging his attacker up behind him. Clenching his teeth he wrenched free his ear, gave a gasp of pain and swung round. As he did so Gregory slogged him hard below the ribs; then, as he half doubled up, dealt him a left upper cut under the chin. Reeling away the coolie tripped and fell but rolling over came up on his knees half turned away. In a second attempt to finish him, Gregory rushed in and aimed a swift kick at the side of his head. By throwing himself backwards the man dodged the kick, managed to grab Gregory's ankle, bringing him down.

For a moment they were a tangled heap on the ground. With his free foot Gregory kicked out again. His heel caught the coolie on the Adam's apple. Giving an agonising gulp, he let go of the ankle he was clutching and they rolled apart. Next minute they had staggered to their feet with barely two yards separating them.

Both were panting from their exertions. As they fought to get their breath they stood with heads thrust forward, eyeing one another warily. Now, for the first time, Gregory felt concern about the outcome of the conflict. The coolie was by far the bigger man and overtopped his five foot ten by several inches. Moreover the half-naked arms that protruded from his robe were as long and sinewy as those of a gorilla. Gregory's ribs had mended well, but he knew that if he once let those arms close round them he would be finished.

So far Gregory's desperate encounter with the coolie had not lasted much more than a minute. During it no sound had broken the stillness of the moonlit garden except their gasps, the thud of their falls and a curious malevolent hissing that the coolie was making as he glared at his attacker. Suddenly the night was pierced by a high-pitched scream. The breath had been driven out of the body of the woman by the violence of her fall, but now she had got it back, freed her head from the cloth in which it was muffled, and let out a shriek fit to raise the dead.

At that very second the coolie was in the act of launching himself forward. His long arms were outstretched to seize Gregory, but her wailing cry caused him to bungle the attempt. That sudden, unexpected, screech in his rear made him half turn his head. The moon was shining straight on his face, and Gregory saw the ferocious hatred in his gleaming eyes instantly give way to fear of capture. Taking advantage of his momentary hesitation, Gregory swiftly side-stepped and, as the man rushed in, tripped him.

Just for a moment, as the coolie pitched forward, their bodies brushed together. Gregory's right fist shot out and landed heavily behind his enemy's ear. Already off balance, the man lurched sideways and crashed to the ground. Instantly, Gregory was upon him. Grabbing his left wrist he wrenched his arm behind his back and gave it a violent jerk. He heard the bone snap. The woman was still screaming, and now the coolie's screams were added to hers.

In spite of the pain he was in, the man still struggled desperately. Squirming round, he managed to get to his
knees, thrust out his good arm and grab Gregory by the throat. His grip was like a vice. Tearing at the coolie's hand with both his own, Gregory strove to break the grip; but could not. His eyes began to bulge, the blood beat in his ears. Suddenly he ceased pulling away, threw himself against the man and kneed him in the groin. The stroke had not much weight behind it, but enough. The stranglehold loosened for a moment and he was able to jerk his head free.

Cries in answer to those of the woman were now coming from the house. Somewhere in it a gong was being loudly banged. With its reverberations and the shouts was mingled the patter of running footsteps. Both men struggled to their feet. The coolie's left arm dangled uselessly by his side, and now that his grip had been broken his last hope of revenging himself was gone. Flight once more took first place in his mind. Swerving away, he dashed towards the thicker bushes. In a second Gregory was after him. Flinging himself at the man's knees in a rugby tackle, he brought him down.

The struggle lasted only a few moments longer. Half a dozen people in various states of attire burst upon the scene. Several men grabbed both Gregory and the coolie, pulled them apart and hauled them to their feet. One, who from the glance Gregory caught of him looked much older than the rest, sought to reassure the woman, although she had already ceased screaming and showed no signs of hysteria. Another very fat woman, wheezing loudly from having had to run, joined them belatedly and added her shrill, excited inquiries to the general clamour.

Raising his voice, the elderly man uttered several staccato sentences. At once silence fell, and as he turned away a short procession formed, the two women falling in behind him and the others leading the two captives after them in the direction of the house. They did not enter it by the french window but took a path leading through the shrubbery to the side of the house facing away from the lake, which was evidently its main entrance. After mounting
a flight of steps, they passed through big sliding lattice-work doors into a spacious hall that was richly furnished, entirely in the Chinese manner.

It was well but softly lit, and for the first time Gregory could get a good look at the people with whom he had to deal. A glance was enough to show that all the men were servants—with the exception of the one who had given the orders, and he was obviously the master of the house. He was old, tall and very thin. He wore no pigtail, but had a long sparse grey beard, and thin drooping moustache. The robe he was wearing had a plum-coloured ground on which were embroidered, in gold thread and many-hued silks, a gorgeous array of dragons, butterflies and improbable flowers. On the top of his round skull-cap was a large button, which proclaimed him to be a Mandarin.

As he seated himself in a high-backed, carved ebony chair the woman whom the coolie had attempted to carry off went and stood beside him. Gregory could see now that she was still a girl, and he judged her to be about twenty-two. She had a broad forehead, bright intelligent eyes and a firm chin. As she sought to tidy her ruffled hair he noticed that she wore it swept up in a high double wave that formed a dark halo, making her golden-tinted face pale by contrast, and that it was cut short at the back. Her eyebrows were thin and tapering, her mouth full. Her features, although oriental, were not flattened. Both she and the old man had prominent noses set between high cheek-bones, which suggested that they were Manchus of noble blood. The fat, older woman did not resemble either of them, and from her nervous, hen-like manner Gregory rightly assumed that she was the girl's duenna.

The Mandarin asked the girl a question, to which she replied volubly, pointing several times at the coolie. He stood with hanging head between the men who held him, making no attempt to defend himself. When questioned he babbled something, then threw himself on his knees. At an order from the Mandarin he was pulled to his feet and led away.

Gregory was standing between two of the servants, but they were no longer actually holding him; so, knowing the value of making a good impression, he swiftly untied the girdle of the loose robe he was wearing and slipped it off. It had become soiled and torn while he was struggling on the ground, so in it he looked like a tatterdemalion of dubious origin; but now, in his dinner-jacket suit, he stood revealed as a white man of the upper class.

The girls's face showed her surprise and lit up with a sudden smile, but that of the old man remained impassive, as he asked in English:

‘Who are you?'

Gregory bowed. ‘My name, honoured Sir, is Sallust. I am a British subject, and the unhappy survivor of a wreck.'

‘How comes it that you are in my garden?'

‘I was taking a midnight walk. On the roadside there is no indication that this delightful domain is private. As a humble lover of beauty I felt compelled to enter it, so that I could better admire the most artistic manner in which the trees and shrubberies are set out.'