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 Cornell Unlversily Library 
 PR 6045.A67T2 1922a 
 
 Tales of Chinatown / 
 
 3 1924 023 400 280 
 
TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023400280 
 
TALES OF 
 CHINATOWN 
 
 By SAX ROHMER 
 
 Author of 
 
 "Fire Tongue," "Bat Wing," "Dope," "The Golden 
 
 Scorpion," "The Green Eyes of Bast," "The Hand 
 
 of Fu Manchu," "Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu," 
 
 "Quest of the Sacred Slipper," "Return 
 
 - of Dr. Fu Manchu," "Tales of Egypt," 
 
 "The Yellow Claw," etc. 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with Doubleday, Page & Company 
 Printed in TJ. S. A. 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Copyright, 1916, by Consolidated Magazines Corporation (The 
 
 Blue Book Magazine). All rights reserved. 
 
 Copyright*. 191 7, by Conisolidated Magazines Corporation (The 
 
 ' Red Book' Magazine). All rights reserved. 
 
 Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son Company in the United 
 
 : States. Great Britain, and Canada 
 
 ' Opyright, 1921, 1922, by Street & Smith Corporation 
 
 Copyright, 1922, by The Frank A. Munsey Company 
 
 PRINTED IS THE UNITED STATES 
 
 AT 
 
 THE COUNTRY UFE PRESS, GARDEN CXTV, IT. Y. 
 
 Mi^e 
 
FACE 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Daughter of Huang Chow i 
 
 Kerry's Kid 65 
 
 The Pigtail of Hi Wing Ho 123 
 
 The House of Golden Joiss 157 
 
 The Man With the Shaven Skull 191 
 
 The White Hat 223 
 
 Tcheriapin 259 
 
 The Dance of the Veils 287 
 
 The Hand of the Mandarin Quong 319 
 
 The Key of the Temple of Heaven 349 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF 
 HUANG CHOW 
 
TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 
 I 
 
 IN THE saloon bar of a public-house, situated only 
 a few hundred yards from the official frontier of 
 Chinatown, two men sat at a small table in a 
 corner, engaged in earnest conversation. They af- 
 forded a sharp contrast. One was a thick-set and 
 rather ruffianly looking fellow, not too cleanly in 
 either person or clothing, and, amongst other evidences 
 that at one time he had known the prize ring, possess- 
 ing a badly broken nose. His companion was dressed 
 with that spruceness which belongs to the successful 
 East End Jew ; he was cleanly shaven, of slight build, 
 and alert in manner and address. 
 
 Having ordered and paid for two whiskies and 
 sodas, the Jew, raising his glass, nodded to his com- 
 panion and took a drink. The glitter of a magnificent 
 diamond which he wore seemed to attract the other's 
 attention almost hypnotically. 
 
 "Cheerio, Freddy!" said the thick-set man. "Any 
 
 news?" 
 
'£ TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Nothing much," returned the one addressed as 
 Freddy, setting his glass upon the table and selecting 
 a cigarette from a packet which he carried in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "I'm not so sure," growled the other, watching him 
 suspiciously. "You've been lying low for a long time, 
 and it's not like you to slack off except when there's 
 something big in sight." 
 
 "Hm!" said his companion, lighting his cigarette. 
 "What do you mean exactly?" 
 
 Jim Poland — for such was the big man's name — 
 growled and spat reflectively into a spittoon. 
 
 "I've had my eye on you, Freddy," he replied; 
 "I've had my eye on you I" 
 
 "Oh, have you?" murmured the other. "But tell 
 me what you mean I" 
 
 Beneath his suave manner lay a threat, and, indeed, 
 Freddy Cohen, known to his associates as "Diamond 
 Fred," was in many ways a formidable personality. 
 He had brought to his chosen profession of crook a 
 first-rate American training, together with all that 
 mental agility and cleverness which belong to his race, 
 and was at once an object of envy and admiration 
 amongst the fraternity which keeps Scotland Yard 
 busy. 
 
 Jim Poland, physically a more dangerous character, 
 was not in the same class with him; but he was not 
 without brains of a sort, and Cohen, although smiling 
 agreeably, waited with some anxiety for his reply. 
 
 "I mean," growled Poland, "that you're not wasting 
 Ijfpur time with Lala Huang for nothing." 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 3 
 
 "Perhaps not," returned Cohen lightly. "She's a, 
 pretty girl; but what business Is it of yours?" 
 
 "None at all. I ain't interested in 'er good looks? 
 neither are you." 
 
 Cohen shrugged and raised his glass again. 
 
 "Come on," growled Poland, leaning across the 
 table. "I know, and I'm in on it. D'ye hear me? 
 I'm in on it. These are hard times, and we've got to 
 stick together." 
 
 "Oh," said Cohen, "that's the game, Is it?" 
 
 "That's the game right enough. You won't go 
 wrong if you bring me in, even at fifty-fifty, because 
 maybe I know things about old Huang that you don't 
 know." 
 
 The Jew's expression changed subtly, and beneath 
 his drooping lids he glanced aside at the speaker. 
 Then: 
 
 "It's no promise," he said, "but what do you know?" 
 
 Poland bent farther over the table. 
 
 "Chinatown's being watched again. I heard this 
 morning that Red Kerry was down here." 
 
 Cohen laughed. 
 
 "Red Kerry I" he echoed. "Red Kerry means noth- 
 ing in my young life, Jim." 
 
 "Don't 'e?" returned Jim, snarling viciously. "The 
 way he cleaned up that dope crowd awhile back 
 seemed to show he was no jug, didn't it?" 
 
 The Jew made a racial gesture as If to dismiss thei 
 subject. 
 
 "All right," continued Poland. "Think that way 
 if you like. But the patrols have been doubled: Ij 
 
4 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 suppose you know that? And it's a cert there are 
 special men on duty, ever since the death of that 
 Chink." 
 
 Cohen shifted uneasily, glancing about him in a 
 furtive fashion. 
 
 "See what I mean?" continued the other. "China- 
 town ain't healthy just now." 
 
 He finished his whisky at a draught, and, standing 
 up, lurched heavily across to the counter. He returned 
 with two more glasses. Then, reseating himself and 
 bending forward again: 
 
 "There's one thing I reckon you don't know," he 
 whispered in Cohen's ear. "I saw that Chink talking 
 to Laid Huang only a week before the time he was 
 hauled out of Limehouse Reach. I'm wonde'ring, 
 Diamond, if, with all your cleverness, you may not go 
 the same way." 
 
 "Don't try to pull the creep stuff on me, Jim," said 
 Cohen uneasily. "What are you driving at, anyway?" 
 
 "Well," replied Poland, sipping his whisky re- 
 flectively, "how did that Chink get into the river?" 
 
 "How the devil do I know?" 
 
 "And what killed him? It wasn't drowning, 
 although he was all swelled up." 
 
 "See here, old pal," said Cohen. "I know 'Frisco 
 better than you know Limehouse. Let me tell you 
 that this little old Chinatown of yours is pie to me. 
 You're trying to get me figuring on Chinese death 
 traps, secret poisons, and all that junk. Boy, you're 
 wasting your poetry. Even if you did see the Chink 
 with Lala, and I doubt it Oh, don't get excited, 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW S 
 
 I'm speaking plain — there's no connection that I can 
 see between the death of said Chink and old Huang 
 Chow." 
 
 "Ain't there?" growled Poland huskily. He 
 grasped the other's wrist as in a vise aiid bent forward 
 so that his battered face was close to the pale 
 countenance of the Jew. "I've been covering old 
 Huang for months and months. Now I'm going to 
 tell you something. Since the death of that Chink 
 Red Kerry's been covering him, too." 
 
 "See here!" Cohen withdrew his arm from the 
 other's grasp angrily. "You can't freeze me out of 
 this claim with bogey stuff. You're listed, my lad, 
 and you know it. Chief Inspector Kerry is your pet 
 nightmare. But if he walked in here right now I 
 could ask him to have a drink. I wouldn't but I 
 could. You've got the wrong angle, Jim. Lala likes 
 me fine, and although she doesn't say much, what she 
 does say is straight. I'll ask her to-night about the 
 Chink." 
 
 "Then you'll be a damned fool." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "I say you'll be a damned fool. I'm warning you, 
 Freddy. There are Chinks and Chinks. All the 
 boys know old Huang Chow has got a regular gold 
 mine buried somewhere under the floor. But all the 
 boys don't know what I know, and it seems that you 
 don't either." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 Jim Poland bent forward more argently, again 
 seizing Cohen's wrist, and: 
 
6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Huang Chow is a mighty big bug amongst the 
 Chinese," he whispered, glancing cautiously about him. 
 "He's hellish clever and rotten with money. A man 
 ■like that wants handling. I'm not telling you what I 
 know. But call it fifty-fifty and maybe you'll come 
 out alive." 
 
 The brow of Diamond Fred displayed beads of 
 perspiration, and with a blue silk handkerchief which 
 he carried in his breast pocket he delicately dried his 
 forehead. 
 
 "You're an old hand at this stuff, Jim," he muttered. 
 "It amounts to this, I suppose; that if I don't agree 
 you'll queer my game?" 
 
 Jim Poland's brow lowered and he clenched his fists 
 formidably. Then : 
 
 "Listen," he said in his hoarse voice. "It ain't 
 your claim any more than mine. You've covered it 
 different, that's all. Yours was always the petticoat 
 lay. Mine's slower but safer. Is anyone else in with 
 you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then we'll double up. Now I'll tell you some- 
 thing. I was backing out." 
 
 "What? You were going to quit?" 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because the thing's too dead easy, and a thing 
 like that always looks like hell to me." 
 
 Freddy Cohen finished his glass of whisky. 
 
 "Wait while I get some more drinks," he said. 
 
 In this way, then, at about the hour of ten on a 
 
THE DAUGHTER Ut HUANG CHOW 7 
 
 stuffy autumn night, in the crowded bar of that Wap- 
 ping public-house, these two made a compact; and of 
 its outcome and of the next appearance of Cohen, the 
 Jewish-American cracksman, within the ken of man, I 
 shall now proceed to tell. 
 
II 
 
 THE END OF COHEN 
 
 I'VE been expecting this," said Cliief Inspector 
 Kerry. 
 He tilted his bowler hat farther forward over 
 his brow and contemplated the ghastly exhibit which 
 lay upon the slab of the mortuary. Two other police 
 ofEcers — one in uniform — ^were present, and they 
 treated the celebrated Chief Inspector with the defer- 
 'ence which he had not only earned but had always 
 demanded from his subordinates. 
 
 Earmarked for important promotion, he was an 
 interesting figure as he stood there in the gloomy, 
 Ill-lighted place, his pose that of an athlete about to 
 perform a long jump, or perhaps, as it might have 
 appeared to some, that of a dancing-master about to 
 demonstrate a new step. 
 
 His close-cropped hair was brilliantly red, and so 
 was his short, wiry, aggressive moustache. He was 
 ruddy of complexion, and he looked out unblinkingly 
 upon the world with a pair of steel-blue eyes. Neat 
 he was to spruceness, and while of no more than 
 medium height he had the shoulders of an acrobat. 
 
 The detective who stood beside him, by name John 
 Durham, had one trait in common with his celebrated 
 
 8 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 9 
 
 superior. This was a quick keenness, a sort of alert 
 vitality, which showed in his eyes, and indeed in every 
 line of his thin, clean-shaven face. Kerry had picked 
 him out as the most promising junior in his department. 
 
 "Give me the particulars," said the Chief Inspector. 
 "It isn't robbery. He's wearing a diamond ring 
 worth two hundred pounds." 
 
 His diction was rapid and terse — so rapid as to 
 create the impression that he bit off the ends of the 
 longer words. He turned his fierce blue eyes upon 
 the uniformed officer who stood at the end of the slab. 
 
 "They are very few. Chief Inspector," was the 
 reply. "He was hauled out by the river police shortly 
 after midnight^ at the lower end of Limehouse Reach. 
 He was alive then — they heard his cry — ^but he died 
 while they were hauling him into the boat." 
 
 "Any statement?" rapped Kerry. 
 
 "He was past it, Chief Inspector. According to 
 the report of the officer In charge, he mumbled some- 
 thing which sounded like: 'It has bitten me,' just be- 
 fore he became unconscious;" 
 
 " 'It has bitten me,' " murmured Kerry. "The 
 divisional surgeon has seen him?" 
 
 "Yes, Chief Inspector. And in his opinion the man 
 did not die from drowning, but from some form of 
 virulent poisoning." 
 
 "Poisoning?" 
 
 "That's the idea. There will be a further examin- 
 ation, of course. Either a hypodermic injection or 
 a bite." 
 
 "A bite?" said Kerry. "The bite of what?" 
 
lo TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "That I cannot say, Chief Inspector. A venomous 
 reptile, I suppose." 
 
 Kerry stared down critically at the swollen face of 
 the victim, and then glanced sharply aside at Durham. 
 
 "Accounts for his appearance, I suppose," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "Yes," said Durham quietly. "He hadn't been in 
 the water long enough to look like that." He turned 
 to the local officer. "Is there any theory as to the 
 point at which he went in?" 
 
 "Well, an arrest has been made." 
 
 "By whom? of whom?" rapped Kerry. 
 
 "Two constables patrolling the Chinatowft area 
 arrested a man for suspicious loitering. He turned 
 out to be a well-known criminal — ^Jira Poland, with a 
 whole list of convictions against him. They're hold- 
 ing him at Limehouse Station, and the theory is that 
 
 he was operating with " He . nodded in the 
 
 direction of the body. 
 
 "Then who's the smart with the swollen face?" 
 inquired Kerry. "He's a new one on me." 
 
 "Yes, but he's been identified by one of the K Divi- 
 sion men. He is an American crook with a clean 
 slate, so far as this side is concerned. Cohen is his 
 name. And the idea seems to be that he went in at 
 some point between where he was found by the river 
 police and the point at which Jim Poland was 
 arrested." 
 
 Kerry snapped his teeth together audibly, and : 
 
 "I'm open to learn," he said, "that the house of 
 Huang Chow is within that area." 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 1 1 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "I thought so. He died the same way the China- 
 man died awhile ago," snapped Kerry savagely. "It 
 looks very queer." He glanced aside at the local 
 officer: "Cover him_ up," he ordered, and, turning, 
 he walked briskly out of the mortuary, followed by 
 Detective Durham. 
 
 Although dawn was not far off, this was the darkest 
 hour of the night, so that even the sounds of dockland 
 were muted and the riverside slept as deeply as the 
 great port of London ever sleeps. Vague murmur- 
 ings there were and distant clankings, with the hum 
 of machinery which is never still. 
 
 Few of London's millions were awake at that hour, 
 yet Scotland Yard was awake in the person of the 
 fierce-eyed Chief Inspector and his subordinate. Per- 
 haps those who lightly criticize the Metropolitan 
 Force might have learned a new respect for the 
 tireless vigilance which keeps London clean and 
 wholesome, had they witnessed this scene on the 
 borders of LimehOuse, as Kerry, stepping into a wait- 
 ing taxi-cab accompanied by Durham, proceeded to 
 Limehouse Police Station in that still hour when the 
 City slept. 
 
 The arrival of Kerry created something of a stir 
 amongst the officials on duty. His reputation in these 
 days was at least as great as that of the most garrulous 
 Labour member. 
 
 The prisoner was in cells, but the Chief Inspector 
 elected to interview him in the office ; and accordingly^ 
 while the officer In charge sat at an extremely tidy 
 
12 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 writing-table, tapping the blotting-pad with a pencil, 
 and Detective John Durham stood beside him, Kerry 
 paced up and down the little room, deep in reflection, 
 until the door opened and the prisoner was brought in. 
 
 One swift glance the Chief Inspector gave at the 
 battle-scarred face, and recognized instantly that this 
 was a badly frightened man. Crossing to the table 
 he took up a typewritten slip which lay there, and : 
 
 "Your name is James Poland?" he said. "Four 
 convictions; one, robbery with violence." 
 
 Jim Poland nodded sullenly. 
 
 "You were arrested at the corner of Pekin Street 
 about midnight. What were you doing there?" 
 
 "Taking a walk." 
 
 "I'll say it again," rapped Kerry, fixing his fierce 
 eyes upon the man's face. "What were you doing 
 there?" 
 
 "I've told you." 
 
 "And I tell you you're a liar. Where did you leave 
 the man Cohen?" * 
 
 Poland blinked his small eyes, cleared his throat, 
 and looked down at the floor uneasily. Then : 
 
 "Who's Cohen?" he grunted. 
 
 "You mean, who was Cohen?" cried Kerry. 
 
 The shot went home. The man clenched his fists 
 and looked about the room from face to face. 
 
 "You don't tell me " he began huskily. 
 
 "I've told you," said Kerry. "He's on the slab. 
 Spit out the truth; it'll be good for your health." 
 
 The man hesitated, then looked up, his eyes half 
 closed and a cunning expression upon his face. 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 13 
 
 "Make out your own case," he said. "You've got 
 nothing against me." 
 
 Kerry snapped his teeth together viciously. 
 
 "I've told you what happened to your pal," he 
 warned. "If you're a wise man you'll come in on our 
 side, before the same thing happens to you." 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking about," growled 
 Poland. 
 
 Kerry nodded to the constable at the doorway. 
 
 "Take him back," he ordered. 
 
 Jim Poland being returned to his cell, Kerry, as 
 the door closed behind the prisoner and his guard, 
 stared across at Durham where he stood beside the 
 table. 
 
 "An old hand," he said. "But there's another 
 way." He glanced at the officer in charge. "Hold 
 him till the morning. He'll prove useful." 
 
 From his waistcoat pocket he took out a slip of 
 chewing gum, unwrapped it, and placed the mint- 
 flavoured wafer between his large white teeth. He 
 bit upon it savagely, settled his hat upon his head, and, 
 turning, walked toward the door. In the doorway 
 he paused. 
 
 "Come with me, Durham," he said. "I am leav- 
 ing the conduct of the case entirely in your hands from 
 now onward." 
 
 Detective Durham looked surprised and not a little 
 anxious. 
 
 "I am doing so for two reasons," continued the 
 Chief Inspector, "These two reasons I shall now ex- 
 plain." 
 
Ill 
 
 THE SECRET TREASURE-HOUSE 
 
 UNLIKE its sister colony in New York, there 
 are no show places in Limehouse. The visitor 
 sees nothing but mean streets and dark door- 
 ways. The superficial inquirer comes away convinced 
 that the romance of the Asiatic district has no ex- 
 istence outside the imaginations of writers of fiction. 
 Yet here lies a secret quarter, as secret and as strange, 
 in its smaller way, as its parent in China which is 
 called the Purple Forbidden City. 
 
 On a morning when mist lay over the Thames 
 reaches, softening the harshness of the dock buildings 
 and lending an air of mystery to the vessels stealing 
 out upon the tide, a man walked briskly along Lime- 
 house Causeway, looking about him inquiringly, as 
 one unfamiliar with the neighbourhood. Presently 
 he seemed to recognize a turning to the right, and he 
 pursued this for a time, now walking more slowly. 
 
 A European woman, holding a half-caste baby in 
 her arms, stood in an open doorway, watching hira 
 uninterestedly. Otherwise, except for one neatly 
 dressed young Chinaman, who passed him about half- 
 way along the street, there was nothing which could 
 have told the visitor that he had crossed the border 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 15 
 
 line dividing West from East and was now in an 
 Oriental town. 
 
 A very narrow alleyway between two dingy houses 
 proved to be the spot for which he was looking; and, 
 having stared about him for a while, he entered this 
 alleyway. At the farther end it was crossed 
 T-fashion, by another alley, the only object of interest 
 being an iron post at the crossing, and the scenery 
 being made up entirely of hideous brick walls. 
 
 About halfway along on the left, set in one of 
 these walls, were strong wooden gates, apparently 
 those of a warehouse. Beside them was a door ap- 
 proached by two very dirty steps. There was a bell- 
 push near the door, but upon neither of these entrances 
 was there any plate to indicate the name of the pro- 
 prietor of the establishment. 
 
 From his pocket-book the visitor extracted a card, 
 consulted something written upon it, and then pressed 
 the bell. 
 
 It was very quiet in this dingy little court. No 
 sound of the busy thoroughfares penetrated here ; and 
 although the passage forming the top of the "T" 
 practically marked the river bank, only dimly could 
 one discejn the sounds which belong to a seaport. 
 
 Presently the door was opened by a Chinese boy 
 who wore the ordinary native working dress, and who 
 regarded the man upon the step with oblique, tired- 
 looking eyes. 
 
 "Mr. Huang Chow?" asked the caller. 
 
 The boy nodded. 
 
 "You wantchee him see?" 
 
1 6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "If he is at home." 
 
 The boy glanced at the card, which the visitor 
 still held between finger and thumb, and extended his 
 hand silently. The card was surrendered. It was 
 that of an antique dealer of Dover Street, Piccadilly, 
 and written upon the back was the following: "Mr. 
 Hampden would like to do business with you." The 
 signature of the dealer followed. 
 
 The boy turned and passed along a dim and per- 
 fectly unfurnished passage which the opening of the 
 door had revealed, while Mr. Hampden stood upon 
 the step and lighted a cigarette. 
 
 In less than a minute the boy returned and beckoned 
 to him to come in. As he did so, and the door was 
 closed, he almost stumbled, so dark was the passage. 
 
 Presently, guided by the boy, he found himself in a 
 very business-like little office, where a girl sat at an 
 American desk, looking up at him inquiringly. 
 
 She was of a dark and arresting type. Without 
 being pretty in the European sense, there was some- 
 thing appealing in her fine, dark eyes, and she pos- 
 sessed the inviting smile which is the heritage of 
 Eastern women. Her dress was not unlike that of 
 any other business girl, except that the neck of her 
 blouse was cut very low, a fashion affected by many 
 Eurasians, and she wore a gaily coloured sash, and 
 large and very costly pearl ear-rings. As Mr. Hamp- 
 den paused in the doorway: 
 
 "Good morning," said the girl, glancing down at 
 the card which lay upon the desk before her. "You 
 come from Mr. Isaacs, eh?" 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 17 
 
 She looked at him with a caressing glance from 
 beneath half-lowered lashes, but missed no detail of 
 his appearance. She.did not quite like his moustache, 
 and thought that he would have looked better clean- 
 shaven. Nevertheless, he was a well-set-up fellow, 
 and her manner evidenced approval. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, smiling genially. "I have a 
 small commission to execute, and I am told that you 
 can help me." 
 
 The girl paused for a moment, and then : 
 
 "Yes, very likely," she said, speaking good English 
 but with an odd intonation. "It is not jade? We 
 have very little jade." 
 
 "No, no. I wanted an enamelled casket." 
 
 "What kind?" 
 
 "Cloisonne." 
 
 "Cloisonne? Yes, we have several." 
 
 She pressed a bell, and, glancing up at the boy who 
 had stood throughout the interview at the visitor's 
 elbow, addressed him rapidly in Chinese. He nodded 
 his head and led the way through a second doorway. 
 Closing this, he opened a third and ushered Mr. 
 Hampden into a room which nearly caused the latter 
 to gasp with astonishment. 
 
 One who had blundered from Whitechapel into the 
 Khan Khalil, who had been transported upon a magic 
 carpet from a tube station to the Taj Mahal, or 
 dropped suddenly upon Lebanon hills to find himself 
 looking down upon the pearly domes and jewelled 
 gardens of Damascus, could not well have been more 
 surprised. This great treasure-house of old Huang 
 
i8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Chow was one of Chinatown's secrets — a secret shared 
 only by those whose commercial interests were identical 
 with the interests of Huang Chow. 
 
 The place was artificially lighted by lamps which 
 themselves were beautiful objects of art, and which 
 swung from the massive beams of the ceiling. The 
 floor of the warehouse, which was partly of stone, was 
 covered with thick matting, and spread upon it were 
 rugs and carpets of Karadagh, Kermanshah, Sultan- 
 abad, and Khorassan, with lesser-known loomings of 
 almost equal beauty. Skins of rare beasts overlay the 
 divans. Furniture of ivory, of ebony and lemonwood) 
 preciously inlaid, gave to the place an air of cunning 
 confusion. There were tall cabinets, there were 
 caskets and chests of exquisite lacquer and enamel, 
 loot of an emperor's palace; robes heavy with gold; 
 slippers studded with jewels; strange carven ivories; 
 glittering weapons; pots, jars, and bowls, as delicate 
 and as fragile as the petals of a lily. 
 
 Last, but not least, sitting cross-legged upon a 
 low couch, was old Huang Chow, smoking a great 
 curved pipe, and peering half blindly across the place 
 through large horn-rimmed spectacles. This couch 
 was set immediately beside a wide ascending stair- 
 case, richly carpeted, and on the other side of 
 the staircase, in a corresponding recess, upon a 
 gilded trestle carved to represent the four claws 
 of a dragon, rested perhaps the strangest exhibit 
 of that strange collection — a Chinese coffin of ex- 
 quisite workmanship. 
 
 The boy retired, and Mr. Hampden found himself 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 19 
 
 alone with Huang Chow. No word had been ex- 
 changed between master and servant, but : 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Hampden," said the China- 
 man in a high, thin voice. "Please be seated. It is 
 from Mr. Isaacs you come?" 
 
IV 
 
 PERSONAL REPORT OF DETECTIVE JOHN DURHAM TO 
 
 CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY, OFFICER IN CHARGE OF 
 
 LIMEHOUSE INQUIRY 
 
 Dear Chief Inspector, — Following your instruc- 
 tions I returned and interviewed the prisoner Poland 
 in his cell. I took the line which you had suggested, 
 pointing out to him that he had nothing to gain and 
 everything to lose by keeping silent. 
 
 "Answer my questions," I said, "and you can walk 
 straight out. Otherwise, you'll be up before the 
 magistrate, and on your record alone it will mean a 
 holiday which you probably don't want." 
 
 He was very truculent, but I got him in a good 
 humour at last, and he admitted that he had been 
 cooperating with the dead man, Cohen, in an attempt 
 to burgle the house of Huang Chow. His reluctance 
 to go into details seemed to be due rather to fear of 
 Huang Chow than to fear of the law, and I presently 
 gathered that he regarded Huang as responsible for 
 the death not only of Cohen, but also of the China- 
 man who was hauled out of the river about three 
 weeks ago, as you well remember. The post-mortem 
 showed that he had died of some kind of poisoning, 
 and when we saw Cohen in the mortuary, his swollen 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 21 
 
 appearance struck me as being very similar to that 
 of the Chinaman. ( See my report dated 3 1 st ultimo. ) 
 
 He finally agreed to talk if I would promise that 
 he should not be charged and that his name should 
 never be mentioned to anyone in connection with what 
 he might tell me. I promised him that outside the 
 ordinary official routine I would respect his request, 
 and he told me some very curious things, which no 
 doubt have a bearing on the case. 
 
 For instance, he had discovered — I don't know in 
 what way — that the dead Chinaman, whose name was 
 Pi Lung, had been in negotiation with Huang Chow 
 for some sort of job in his warehouse. Poland had 
 seen the man talking to Huang's daughter, at the end 
 of the alley which leads to the place. He seemed to 
 attach extraordinary importance to this fact. At last : 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is," he said. "That Chink 
 was a stranger to Limehouse; I can swear to it. He 
 was a gent of his hands; I reckon they've got 'em in 
 China as well as here. He went out for the old boy's 
 money-box, and finished like Cohen finished." 
 
 "Make your meaning clearer," I said. 
 
 "My meaning's this : Old Huang Chow is the biggest 
 dealer in stolen and smuggled valuables from overseas 
 we've got in London. He's something else as well; 
 he's a big swell in China. But here's the point. He's 
 got business with buyers all over London, and they 
 have to pay cash — no checks. He doesn't bank it: 
 I've proved that. He's got it in gold, or diamonds, 
 or something, being wise to present conditions, hidden 
 there in the house. Pi Lung was after his hoard. 
 
22 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 He didn't get it. Cohen and me was after it. 
 Where's Cohen?" 
 
 I agreed that it looked very suspicious, and 
 presently : 
 
 "When I went in with Cohen," continued Poland, 
 "I knew one thing he didn't know — a short cut into the 
 warehouse. He's been playing pretty-like with Lala, 
 old Huang's daughter, and it's my belief that he knew 
 where the store was hidden; but he never told me. 
 We knew there were special men on duty, and we'd 
 arranged that I was to give a signal when the patrol 
 had passed. Cohen all the time had planned to double 
 on me. While I was watching down on the Causeway 
 end he climbed up and got in through the skylight I'd 
 shown him. When I got there he was missing, but 
 the skylight was open. I started off after him." 
 
 Then Poland clutched me, and his fright was very 
 real. 
 
 "I heard a shriek like nothing I ever heard in my 
 life. I saw a light shine through the trap, and then I 
 heard a sort of moaning. Last, I heard a bang, and 
 the light went out. I staggered down the passage 
 half silly, started to run, and ran straight into the 
 arms of two coppers." 
 
 This evidence I thought was conclusive, and in 
 accordance with your Instructions I proceeded to Mr. 
 Isaacs in Dover Street. He didn't seem too pleased 
 at my suggestion, but when I pointed out to him that 
 one good turn deserved another, he agreed to give me 
 an introduction to Huang Chow. 
 
 I adopted a very simple disguise, just altering my 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 23 
 
 complexion and sticking on a moustache with spirit 
 gum, hair by hair, and trimming it down military 
 fashion. Everything ran smoothly, and I seemed to 
 make a fairly favourable impression upon Lala 
 Huang, the Chinaman's daughter, who evidently inter- 
 views prospective customers before they are admitted 
 to the warehouse. 
 
 She is a Eurasian and extremely good looking. 
 But when I found myself in the room where old 
 Huang keeps his treasures, I really thought I was 
 dreaming. It's a collection that must be worth 
 thousands. He showed me snuff-bottles, cut out of 
 gems, and with a little opening no bigger than the hole 
 in a pipe-stem, but with wonderful paintings done 
 inside the bottles. He'd got a model of a pagoda 
 made out of human teeth, and a big golden rug woven 
 from the hair of Circassian slave girls. Excuse this. 
 Chief Inspector ; I know it is what you call the roman- 
 tic stuff ; but I think it would have impressed you if you 
 had seen it. 
 
 Anyway, I bought a little enamelled box, in ac- 
 cordance with Mr. Isaacs's instructions, although 
 whether I succeeded in convincing Huang Chow that 
 I knew anything about the matter is more than doubt- 
 ful. He got up from a sort of throne he sits on, and 
 led the way up a broad staircase to a private room 
 above. 
 
 "Of course, you have brought the cash, Mr. Hamp- 
 den?" he said. 
 
 He speaks quite faultless English. He walked up 
 three steps to a sort of raised writing-table in this 
 
24 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 upstairs room, and I counted out the money to him. 
 When he sat at the table he faced toward the room, 
 and I couldn't help thinking that, in his horn-rimmed 
 spectacles, he looked like some old magistrate. He 
 explained that he would pack the purchase for me, but 
 that I must personally take it away. And: 
 
 "You understand," said he, "that you bought it from 
 a gentleman who had purchased it abroad." 
 
 I said I quite understood. He bowed me out very 
 politely, and presently I found myself back in the 
 oflSce with Lala Huang. 
 
 She seemed quite disposed to talk, and I chatted 
 with her while the box was being packed for me to 
 take away. I knew I must make good use of my 
 time, but you have never given me a job I liked less. 
 I mean, there is something very appealing about her, 
 and I hated to think that I was playing a double game. 
 However, without actually agreeing to see me again, 
 she told me enough to enable me to meet her "acci- 
 dentally," if I wanted to. Therefore, I am going to 
 look out for her this evening, and probably take her 
 to a picture palace, or somewhere where we can have 
 a quiet talk. She seems to be fancy free, and for 
 some reason I feel sorry for the girl. I don't alto- 
 gether like the job, but I hope to justify your faith in 
 me, Chief. 
 
 I will prepare my oificial report this evening when 
 I return. 
 
 Yours obediently, — ^JoHN Durham. 
 
LALA HUANG 
 
 NO, SAID Laid Huang, "I don't like London 
 — :not this part of London." 
 "Where would you rather be?" asked 
 Durham. "In China?" 
 
 Dusk had dropped its merciful curtain over Lime- 
 house, and as the two paced slowly along West India 
 Dock Road it seemed to the detective that a sort of 
 glamour hg,d crept into the scene. 
 
 He was a clever man within his limitations, and 
 cultured up to a point; but he was not philosopher 
 enough to know that he viewed the purlieus of Lime- 
 house through a haze of Oriental mystery conjured 
 up by the conversation of his companion. Temple 
 bells there were in the clangour of the road cars. The 
 smoke-stacks had a semblance of pagodas. Burma 
 she had conjured up before him, and China, and the 
 soft islands where site had first seen the light. For 
 as well as a streak of European, there was Kanaka 
 blood in Lali, which lent her an appeal quite new to 
 Durham, insidious and therefore dangerous. 
 
 "Not China," she replied. "Somehow I don't 
 think I shall ever see China again. But my father is 
 rich, and it is dreadful to think that we live here when 
 there are so many more beautiful places to live in." 
 
 25 
 
26 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Then why does he stay?" asked Durham with 
 curiosity. 
 
 "For money, always for money," answered Lala, 
 shrugging her shoulders. "Yet if it is not to bring 
 happiness, what good is it?" 
 
 "What good indeed?" murmured Durham. 
 
 "There is no fun for me," said the girl pathetically. 
 "Sometimes someone nice comes to do business, but 
 
 mostly they are Jews, Jews, always Jews, and " 
 
 Again she shrugged eloquently. 
 
 Durham perceived the very opening for which he 
 had been seeking.. 
 
 "You evidently don't like Jews," he said endeavour- 
 ing to speak lightly. 
 
 "No," murmured the girl, "I don't think I do. 
 Some are nice, though. I think it is the same with 
 every kind of people — there are good and bad." 
 
 "Were you ever in America?" asked Durham. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I was just thinking," he explained, "that I have 
 known several American Jews who were quite good 
 fellows." 
 
 "Yes?" said Lala, looking up at him naively, "I 
 met one not long ago. He was not nice at all." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Durham, startled by this admis- 
 sion, which he had not anticipated. "One of your 
 father's customers?" 
 
 "Yes, a man named Cohen." 
 
 "Cohen?" 
 
 "A funny little chap," continued the girl. "He 
 tried to make love to me." She lowered her lashes 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 27 
 
 roguishly. "I knew all along he was pretending. He 
 was a thief, I think. I was afraid of him." 
 
 Durham did some rapid thinking, then: 
 
 "Did you say his name was Cohen?" he asked. 
 
 "That was the name he gave." 
 
 "A man named Cohen, an American, was found 
 dead in the river quite recently." 
 
 Lala stopped dead and clutched his arm. 
 
 "How do you know?" she demanded. 
 
 "There was a paragraph in this morning's paper." 
 
 She hesitated, then : 
 
 "Did it describe him?" she asked. 
 
 "No," replied Durham, "I don't think it did in 
 detail. At least, the only part of the description which 
 I remember is that he wore a large and valuable 
 diamond on his left hand." 
 
 "Oh!" whispered Lala. 
 
 She released her grip of Durham's arm and went 
 on. 
 
 "What?" he asked. "Did you think it was some- 
 one you knew?" 
 
 "I did know him," she replied simply. "The man 
 who was found drowned. It is the same. I am sure 
 now, because of the diamond ring. What paper did 
 you read it in? I want to read it myself." 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't remember. It was probably 
 the Daily Mail." 
 
 "Had he been drowned?" 
 
 "I presume so — yes," replied Durham guardedly. 
 
 Lala Huang was silent for some time while they 
 paced on through the dusk. Then : 
 
28 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "How strange I" she said in a low voice. 
 "I am sorry I mentioned ,it," declared Durham.- 
 "But how was I to know it was your friend?" 
 
 "He was no friend of niine," returned the girl 
 sharply. "I hated him. But it is strange neverthe- 
 less. I am sure he intended to rob my father." 
 "And is that why you think it strange?" 
 "Yes," she said, but her voice was almost in- 
 audible. 
 
 They were come now to the narrow street com- 
 municating with the courtway, in which the great 
 treasure-house of Huang Ghpw was situated, andj 
 Lala stopped at the corner. 
 
 "It was nice of you to walk along with me," she 
 said. "Do you live in Limehouse?" 
 
 "No," replied Durhaim, "I don't. As a matter of 
 fact, I came down here to-night in the hope of seeing 
 you again." 
 "Did you?" 
 
 The girl glanced up at him doubtfully, and his 
 distaste for the task set him by his superior increased 
 with the passing of every moment. He was a man of 
 some imagination, a great reader, and ambitious pro- 
 fessionally. He appreciated the fact that Chief 
 Inspector Kerry looked for great things from him, but 
 for this type of work he had little inclination. 
 
 There was too much chivalry in his make-up to 
 enable him to play upon a woman's sentiments, even 
 in the interests of justice. By whatever means the 
 man Cohen had met his death,- and whether or no the 
 Chinaman Pi Lung had died by the same hand, Lala 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 29 
 
 Huang was innocent of any complicity in these matters, 
 he was perfectly well assured. 
 
 Doubts were to come later when he was away from 
 her, when he had had leisure to consider that she might 
 regard him in the light of a third potential rifler of 
 her father's treasure-house. But at the moment, 
 looking down into her dark eyes, he reproached him- 
 self and wondered where his true duty lay. 
 
 "It is so gray and dull and sordid here," said the 
 girl, looking down the darkened street. "There is no 
 one much to talk to." 
 
 "But you have your business interests to keep you 
 employed during the day, after all." 
 
 "I hate it all. I hate it all." 
 - "But you seem to have perfect freedom?" 
 
 "Yes. My mother, you see, was not Chinese." 
 
 "But you wish to leave Limehouse ?" 
 
 "I do. I do. Just now it is not so bad, but in 
 the winter how I tire of the gray skies, the endless 
 drizzling rain. Oh!" She shrank back into the 
 shadow of a doorway, clutching at Durham's arm. 
 "Don't let Ah Fu see me." ' 
 
 "Ah Fu? Who is Ah Fu?" asked Durham, also 
 dra^i^ing back as a furtive figure went slinking down 
 the opposite side of the street. 
 
 '"My 'fa;ther's servant. He let you in this morn- 
 ing-" 
 
 "And why must he hot see you?" 
 
 "I don't trust him. I think he tells my father 
 thitigs." ■ -■■ ? 
 
 "What is it that he carries in his hand?" 
 
30 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "A birdcage, I expect." 
 
 "A birdcage?" 
 
 "Yes I" 
 
 He caught the gleam of her eyes as she looked up 
 at him out of the shadow. 
 
 "Is he, then, a bird-fancier?" 
 
 "No, no, I can't explain because I don't understand 
 myself. But Ah Fu goes to a place in Shadwell reg- 
 ularly and buys young birds, always very young ones 
 and very little ones." 
 
 "For what or for whom?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Have you an aviary in your house?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you mean that they disappear, these purchases 
 of AhFu's?" 
 
 "I often see him carrying a cage of young birds, 
 but we have no birds in the house." 
 
 "How perfectly extraordinary!" muttered Durham. 
 
 "I distrust Ah Fu," whispered the girl. "I am 
 glad he did not see me with you." 
 
 "Young birds," murmured Durham absently. 
 "What kind of young birds? Any particular breed?" 
 
 "No; canaries, linnets — all sorts. Isn't it funny?" 
 The girl laughed in a childish way. "And now I 
 think Ah Fu will have gone in, so I must say good 
 night." 
 
 But when presently Detective Durham found him- 
 self walking back along West India Dock Road, his 
 mind's eye was set upon the slinking figure of a 
 Chinaman carrying a birdcage. 
 
VI 
 
 A HINT OF INCENSE 
 
 ONE Chinaman more or less does not make any 
 very great difference to the authorities re- 
 sponsible for maintaining law and order in 
 Limehouse. Asiatic settlers are at liberty to follow 
 their national propensities, and to knife one another 
 within reason. This is wisdom. Such recreations 
 are allowed, If not encouraged, by all wise rulers of 
 Eastern peoples. 
 
 "Found drowned," too, is a verdict which has 
 covered many a dark mystery of old Thames, but 
 "Found in the river, death having been due to the 
 action of some poison unknown," is a finding which 
 even in the case of a Chinaman is calculated to stimu- 
 late the jaded official mind. 
 
 New Scotland Yard had given Durham a roving 
 commission, and had been justified in the fact that 
 the second victim, and this time not a Chinaman, had 
 been found under almost identical conditions. The 
 link with the establishment of Huang Chow was in- 
 complete, and Durham fully recognized that it was 
 up to him to make it sound and incontestable. 
 
 Jim Poland was not the only man in the East End 
 who knew that the dead Chinaman had been in 
 
 31 
 
32 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 negotiation with Huang Chow. Kerry knew it, and 
 had passed the information on to Durham. 
 
 Some mystery surrounded the life of the old dealer, 
 who was said to be a mandarin of high rank, but his 
 exact association with the .deaths first of the China- 
 man Pi Lung, and second of Cohen, remained to be 
 proved. Certain critics have . d^l^red the Metro- 
 politan detective service to be obsolete and inefficient, 
 Kerry, as a potential superintendent, resented these 
 criticisms, and in his protege Durham, perceived a 
 member of the new generation who was likely in tirfie 
 to produce results calculated to remove this' stigma; 
 
 Durham recognized that a greater respbnsibility 
 rested upon his shoulders than the actual importance 
 of the case might have indicated ; and now, proceed- 
 ing warily along the deserted streets, he found his 
 brain to be extraordinarily active and his imagiriation 
 very much alive. 
 
 There is a night life in Limehouse, as he had 
 learned, but it is a mole life, a subtcrrahe^n life, of 
 which no sign appears aboVe ground after a certain 
 hour. Nevertheless, as he entered the area which 
 harbodrs those strange, hidden resorts the rumour of 
 which 'has served to create the glamour of China- 
 town, he found himself to be thinking of the great 
 influence said to be wielded by Huang Chow, and 
 wondering if unseen spies watched his movements. 
 
 Lala was Oriental, and now, alone in the'ftight, 
 distrust leapt into being within him. He had been 
 attracted by her and had pitied her. He told himself 
 now that this' was becatis6 of her dark beauty and the 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 331 
 
 essentially feminine appeal which she made. She was 
 perhaps a vampire of the most dangerous sort, one 
 who lured men to strange deaths for some sinister 
 object beyond reach of a Western imagination. 
 
 He found himself doubting the success of those 
 tactics upon which, earlier in the day, he had con- 
 gratulated himself. Perhaps beneath the guise of 
 Hampden, who bought antique furniture on commis- 
 sion, those cunning old eyes beneath the horn-rimmed 
 spectacles had perceived the detective hidden, or at 
 least had marked subterfuge. 
 
 While he could not count Lala a conquest — for he 
 had not even attempted to make love to her — the ease 
 with which he had developed the acquaintance now 
 afforded matter for suspicion. 
 
 At the entrance to the court communicating with 
 the establishment of Huang Chow he paused, looking 
 cautiously about him. The men on the Limehouse 
 beats had been warned of the investigation afoot to- 
 night, and there was a plain-clothes man on point duty 
 at no great distance away, although carefully hidden, 
 so that Durham had quite failed to detect his presence. 
 
 Durham wore rough clothes and rubber-soled shoes ; 
 and now, as he entered the court, he was thinking of 
 the official report of the police sergeant who, not sa 
 many hours before, had paid a visit to the house of 
 Huang Chow in order to question him respecting his 
 knowledge of the dead man Cohen, and to learn when 
 last he had seen him. 
 
 Old Huang, who had receired his caller in the large 
 room upstairs, the room which boasted the presence 
 
34 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 of the writing-dais, had exhibited no trace of con- 
 fusion, assuring the sergeant that he had not seen the 
 man Cohen for several days. Cohen had come to 
 him with an American introduction, which he, Huang, 
 believed to be forged, and had wanted him to under- 
 take a shady agency, respecting the details of which 
 he remained peculiarly reticent. In short, nothing 
 had been gained by this official interrogation, and 
 Huang blandly denied any knowledge of an attempted 
 burglary of his establishment. 
 
 "What have I to lose?" he had asked the inquirer. 
 "A lot of old lumber which I have accumulated during 
 many years, and a reputation for being wealthy, due 
 to my lonely habits and to the ignorance of those who 
 live around me." 
 
 Durham, mentally reviewing the words of the 
 report, reconstructed the scene in his mind; and now, 
 baving come to the end of the lane where the iron 
 post rested, he stood staring up at a place in the 
 ancient wall where several bricks had decayed, and 
 where it was possible, according to the statement of 
 the man Poland, to climb up on to a piece of sloping 
 roof, and thence gain the skylight through which 
 Cohen had obtained admittance on the night of his 
 death. 
 
 He made sure that his automatic pistol was in his 
 pocket, questioned the dull sounds of the riverside for 
 a moment, looking about him anxiously, and then, 
 using the leaning post as a stepping-stone, he suc- 
 ceeded in wedging his foot into a crevice in the wall. 
 By the exercise of some agility he scrambled up to the 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 35 
 
 top, and presently found himself lying upon a sloping 
 roof. 
 
 The skylight remained well out of reach, but his 
 rubber-soled shoes enabled him to creep up the slates 
 until he could grasp the framework with his hands. 
 Presently he found himself perched upon the trap 
 which, if his information could be relied upon, pos- 
 sessed no fastener, or one so faulty that the trap could 
 be raised by means of a brad-awl. He carried one in 
 his pocket, and, screwing it into the framework, he 
 lifted it cautiously, making very little noise. 
 
 The trap opened, and up to his nostrils there stole 
 a queer, indefinable odour, partly that which belongs 
 to old Oriental furniture and stuffs, but having 
 mingled with it a hint of incense and of something 
 else not so easily named. He recognized the smell 
 of that strange store-room, which, as Mr. Hampden, 
 he had recently visited. 
 
 For one moment he thought he could detect the 
 distant note of a bell. But, listening, he heard noth- 
 ing, and was reassured. 
 
 He rested the trap back against the frame, and 
 shone the ray of an electric torch down into the dark- 
 ness beneath him. The light fell upon the top of a 
 low carven table, dragon-legged and gilded. Upon 
 it rested the model pagoda constructed of human teeth, 
 and there was something in this discovery which made 
 Durham feel inclined to shudder. However, the im- 
 pulse was only a passing one. 
 
 He measured the distance with his eye. The little 
 table stood beside a deep divan, and he saw that with 
 
36 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 care it would be possible to drop upon this divan 
 without making much noise. He calculated its exact 
 position before ceplacing the torch in his pocket, and 
 then, resting back against one side of the frame, he 
 clutched the other with his hands. He wriggled 
 gradually down until further purchase became impos- 
 sible. He then let himself drop, and swung for a 
 moment by his hands before, releasing his hold. 
 
 He fell, as he had calculated, upon the divan. It 
 creaked ominously. Catching his foot in the cushions^ 
 he stumbled and lay forward for a moment upon his 
 face, listening intently. 
 
 The room w?is very hot but nothing stirred. 
 
 >,,■;.♦ 
 
 
VII 
 
 THE SCUFFLING SOUND 
 
 DETECTIVE DURHAM, as he lay there in- 
 haling the peculiar perfume of the place, 
 recognized that he had put himself outside 
 the pale of official protection, and was become tech- 
 nically a burglar. 
 
 He wondered if Chief Inspector Kerry would have 
 approved; but he had outlined this plan of investiga- 
 tion for himself, and knew well that, if it were crowned 
 by success, the end would be regarded as having 
 justified the means. On the other hand, in the event 
 of detention he must personally bear the consequences 
 of such irregular behaviour. He knew well, how- 
 ever, that his celebrated superior had achieved promo- 
 tion by methods at least as irregular; and he knew 
 that if he could but obtain evidence to account for 
 the death of the man Cohen, and of the Chinaman 
 Pi Lung, who had preceded him by the same mys- 
 terious path, the way of his obtaining it would not be 
 too closely questioned. 
 
 He was an ambitious man, and consequently one 
 who took big chances. Nothing disturbed the silence ; 
 he sat upon the divan and again pressed the button 
 of his torch, shining it all about the low-beamed apart- 
 
 37 ' ; 
 
38 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ment and peering curiously Into the weird shadows of 
 the place. He calculated he was now in the position 
 which Cohen had occupied during the last moments of 
 his life, and a sense of the uncanny touched him coldly. 
 
 As he thought of the unnatural screams spoken of 
 by Poland, some strange instinct prompted him to curl 
 up his feet upon the divan again, as though a secret 
 menace crawled upon the floor amid its many rugs 
 and carpets. 
 
 He must now endeavour to reconstruct the plan 
 upon which the American cracksman had operated. 
 Poland had a persistent belief that Cohen had known 
 where the fabled hoard of Huang Chow was con- 
 cealed. 
 
 Durham began a deliberate inspection of the place. 
 He thought it unlikely that a wily old Chinaman, as- 
 suming that he possessed hidden wealth, would keep it 
 in so accessible a spot as this. It was far more probable 
 that he had a fireproof safe in the room upstairs, per- 
 haps built into the wall. Yet, according to Poland's 
 account, it was in this room and not in any other that 
 death came to Diamond Fred. 
 
 The wall-hangings first engaged Durham's atten- 
 tion. He moved them aside systematically, one after 
 another, seeking for any hiding-place, but failing to 
 find one. The door communicating with the outer 
 office he found to be locked, but he did not believe 
 I for a moment that the office would be worthy of 
 inspection. 
 
 There were cases containing jewelled weapons and 
 cups and goblets inlaid with precious stones, but none 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 39 
 
 of these seemed to have been tampered with, and all 
 were locked, as was the big cabinet filled with snuff 
 bottles. 
 
 Many of the larger pieces about the place contained 
 drawers and cupboards, and these he systematically 
 opened one after another, without making any dis- 
 covery of note. Some of the cupboards contained 
 broken pieces of crockery, and more or less damaged 
 curios of one kind and another, but none of them gave 
 him the'clue for which he was seekitlg. 
 
 He examined the couch upon which Huang Chow 
 had been seated when first he had met him, but 
 although he searched it scientifically he was rewarded 
 by no discovery. 
 
 A very fusty and unpleasant smell was more notice- 
 able at this point than elsewhere in the room, and he 
 found himself staring speculatively up the wide, car- 
 peted stairs. Next he turned his attention to the 
 lac quered coffin which occupied the corresponding 
 recess to that filled by the couch. It was an extra- 
 ordinarily ornate piece of lacquer work and probably 
 of great value. 
 
 The lid appeared to be screwed on, and Durham 
 stood staring at the thing, half revolted 'and half fas- 
 cinated. He failed to discover any means of opening 
 it, however, and when he tried to move it bodily found 
 it very heavy. He came to the conclusion that all the 
 portable valuables were contained in locked cases or 
 cabinets, and out of this discovery grew an idea. 
 
 The case containing the snuff bottles stood too close 
 to the wall to enable him to test his new theory, but a 
 
40 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 square case near the office door, in which were five or 
 six small but almost pricelc^ss; pieces , of porcelain, 
 afforded the very evidence for which he was looking. , 
 
 Thin electric flex despf^ded from somewhere inside 
 the case down one of the legs of the pedestal, and 
 through a neatly drilled hole in the floor, evidently 
 placed there to accommoda:te it. 
 
 "Burglar sl^rm I" he muttered. 
 
 The opening of this case, and doubtless of any of 
 the others, would set , alarm bells ^ringing. ; This was 
 not an unimportant discovery, but it broughthim very 
 littl^ nearer to a solution of the'chief problem which 
 engaged his mind, f Assliming that Cohen had opened 
 one of the cases and had alarmed old Huang Choi*, 
 whiat steps had the latter taken to deal with the/ in- 
 truder which had resulted in so ghastly a death ? And 
 how had he disposed of the body? 
 
 As Durham stood there musing and looking down 
 through the plate-glass at the delicate porcelain be- 
 neath, a f a^int sounds intruded itself upon the stillness. 
 It gave him another Idea. Part of the flooi: was 
 stone-paved, but part was wood. 
 
 Upon a portion of the lattpf , where no carpet rested, 
 Durham dropped flat, pressing his ear to the floor. 
 
 A faint swishing and trickling sound was percept- 
 ible from some place beneath. 
 
 "Ah !" he murmured.-. 
 
 Remembering that the premises almost overhung 
 the Thames, he divined that the cellars were flooded at 
 high tide, or that there was some kind of drain or 
 cutting running underneath the house. 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 41 
 
 He stood up again, listening intently for any sound 
 within the building. He thought he had detected 
 something, and now, as he stood there alert, he heard 
 it again — a faint scuffling, which might have been 
 occasioned by rats or even mice, but which, in some 
 subtle and very unpleasant way, did not suggest the 
 movements of these familiar rodents. 
 
 Even as he perceived it, it ceased, leaving him 
 wondering, and uncomfortably conscious of a sudden 
 dread of his surroundings. He wondered In what 
 part of this mysterious house Lala resided, and recog- 
 nizing that his departure must leave traces, he deter- 
 mined to prosecute his inquiries as far as possible, 
 since another opportunity might not arise. 
 
 He was baffled but still hopeful. Something there 
 was in the smell of the place which threatened to un- 
 nerve him; or perhaps In its silence, which remained 
 quite unbroken save when, by acute listening, one 
 detected the dripping of water., 
 
 That unexplained scuffling sound, too, which he had 
 failed to trace or Identify, lingered in his memory in- 
 sistently, and for some reason contained the elements 
 of fear. 
 
 He crossed the room and began softly to mount 
 the stair. It creaked only slightly, and the door at 
 the top proved to be ajar. He peeped in, to find the 
 place empty. It was a typical Chinese apartment, 
 containing very little furniture, the raised desk being 
 the most noticeable Item, except for a small shrine 
 which faced It on the other side of the room. 
 
 He mounted the steps to the desk and Inspected a 
 
42 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 number of loose papers which lay upon it. Without 
 exception they were written in Chinese. A sort of 
 large, dull white blotting-pad lay upon the table, but 
 its surface was smooth and glossy. 
 
 Over it was suspended what looked like a lamp- 
 shade, but on inspection it proved to contain no lamp, 
 but to communicate, by a sort of funnel, with the 
 ceiling above. 
 
 At this contrivance Durhani stared long and curi- 
 ously, but without coming to any conclusion respecting 
 its purpose. He might have investigated further, but 
 he became aware of a dull and regular sound in the 
 room behind him. 
 
 He turned in a flash, staring in the direction of two 
 curtains draped before what he supposed to be a door. 
 
 On tiptoe he crossed and gently drew the curtains 
 aside. 
 
 He looked into a small, cell-like room, lighted by 
 one window, where upon a low bed Huang Chow lay 
 sleeping peacefully I 
 
 Durham almost held his breath ; then, withdrawing 
 as quietly as he had approached, he descended the 
 stair. At the foot his attention was again arrested 
 by the faint scuffling sound. It ceased as suddenly as 
 it had begun, leaving him wondering and conscious 
 anew of a chill of apprehension. 
 
 He had already made his plans for departure, but 
 knew that they must leave evidence, when discovered, 
 of his visit. 
 
 A large and solid table stood near the divan, and 
 he moved this immediately under the trap. Upon it 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 43 
 
 he laid a leopard-skin to deaden any noise he might 
 make, and then upon the leopard-skin he set a massive 
 chair: he replaced his torch in his pocket and drew 
 himself up on to the roof again. Reclosing the trap 
 by means of the awl which he had screwed into it, he 
 removed the awl and placed it in his pocket. 
 
 Then, sliding gently down the sloping roof, he 
 dropped back into the deserted court. 
 
VIII 
 
 A CAGE OF BIRDS 
 
 NO," SAID Lala, "we have never had robbers 
 in the house." She looked up at Durham 
 naively. "You are not a thief, are you?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "No, I assure you I am not," he answered, and 
 felt himself flushing to the roots of his hair. 
 
 They were seated in a teashop patronized by the 
 workers of the district; and as Durham, his elbows 
 resting on the marble-topped table, looked into the 
 dark eyes of his companion, he told himself again that 
 whatever might be the secrets of old Huang Chow, 
 his daughter did not share them. 
 
 The Chinaman had made no report to the authori- 
 ties, although the piled up furniture beneath the sky- 
 light must have afforded conclusive evidence that a 
 burglarious entry had been made into the premises. 
 
 "I should feel very nervous," Durham declared, 
 "with all those valuables in the house." 
 
 "I feel nervous about my father," the girl an- 
 swered in a low voice. "His room opens out of the 
 warehouse, but mine is shut away in another part of 
 the building. And Ah Fu sleeps behind the office." 
 
 "Were you not afraid when you suspected that 
 
 44 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 45 
 
 Cohen was a burglar ? You told me yourself that you 
 did suspect him." 
 
 "Yes, I spoke to my father about it." 
 
 "And what did he say?" 
 
 "Oh"— «he shrugged her shoulders — "he just 
 smiled and told me not to worry." 
 
 "And that was the last you heard about the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Yes, until you told me he was dead." 
 
 Again he questioned the dark eyes and again was 
 baffled. He felt tempted, and not for the first time, 
 to throw up the case. After all, it rested upon very 
 slender data — the mysterious death of a Chinaman 
 whose history was unknown and the story of a crook 
 whose word was worth nothing. 
 
 Finally he asked himself, as he had asked himself 
 before, what did it matter? If old Huang Chow had 
 disposed of these people in some strange manner, they 
 had sought to rob him. The morality of the case was 
 complicated and obscure, and more and more he was 
 falling under the spell of Lala's dark eyes. 
 
 But always it was his professional pride which 
 came to the rescue. Murder had been done, whether 
 justifiably or otherwise, and to him had been entrusted 
 the discovery of the murderer. It seemed that failure 
 was to be his lot, for if Lala knew anything she was 
 a most consummate actress, and if she did not, his last 
 hope of information was gone. 
 
 He would have liked nothing better than to be rid 
 of the affair, provided he could throw up the case 
 with a clear conscience. But when presently hq parted 
 
46 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 from the attractive Eurasian, and watched her slim 
 figure as, turning, she waved her hand and disappeared 
 round a corner, he knew that rest was not for him. 
 
 He had discovered the emporium of a Shadwell 
 live-stock dealer with whom Ah Fu had a standing 
 order for newly fledged birds of all descriptions. 
 Purchases apparently were always made after dusk, 
 and Ah Fu with his birdcage was due that evening. 
 
 A scheme having suggested! itself to Durham, he 
 now proceeded to put it into execution, so that when 
 dusk came, and Ah Fu, carrying an empty birdcage, 
 set out from the house of Huang Chow, a very dirty- 
 looking loafer passed the corner of the street at about 
 the time that the Chinaman came slinking out. 
 
 Durham had mentally calculated that Ah Fu would 
 be gone about half an hour upon his mysterious errand, 
 but the Chinaman travelled faster than he had calcu- 
 lated. 
 
 Just as he was about to climb up once more on to 
 the sloping roof, he heard the pattering footsteps 
 returning to the courtyard, although rather less than 
 twenty minutes had elapsed since the man had set out. 
 
 Durham darted round the corner and waited until 
 he heard the door closed; then, returning, he scram- 
 bled up on to the roof, creeping forward until he was 
 lying looking down through the skylight into the 
 darkened room below. 
 
 For ten minutes or more he waited, until he began 
 to feel cramped and uncomfortable. Then that hap- 
 pened which he had hoped and anticipated would 
 happen. The place beneath became illuminated, not 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 47 
 
 fully, by means of the hanging lamps, but dimly so 
 that distorted shadows were cast about the floor. 
 Someone had entered carrying a lantern. 
 
 Durham's view-point limited his area of vision, but 
 presently, as the light came nearer and nearer, he 
 discerned Ah Fu, carrying a lantern in one hand and 
 a birdcage in the other. He could hear nothing, for 
 the trap fitted well and the glass was thick. More- 
 over, it was very dirty. He was afraid, however, to , 
 attempt to clean a space. 
 
 Ah Fu apparently had set the lantern upon a table, 
 and into the radius of its light there presently moved 
 a stooping figure. Durham recognized Huang Chow, 
 and felt his heart beats increasing in rapidity. 
 
 Clutching the framework of the trap with his hands, 
 he moved his head cautiously, so that presently he was 
 enabled to see the two Chinamen. They were stand- 
 ing beside the lacquered coffin upon its dragon-legged 
 pedestal. Durham stifled an exclamation. 
 
 One end of the ornate sarcophagus had been opened 
 in some way ! 
 
 Now, to the watcher's unbounded astonishment, 
 Ah Fu placed the birdcage in the opening, and appar- 
 ently reclosed the trap in the end of the coffin. He 
 made other manipulations with his bony yellow fingers, 
 which Durham failed to comprehend. Finally the 
 birdcage was withdrawn again, and as it was passed 
 before the light of the lantern he saw that it was 
 empty, whereas previously it had contained a number 
 of tiny birds all huddled up together I 
 
 The light gleamed upon the spectacles of Huang 
 
48 TALES OF CHINATOWN ' 
 
 Chow. Watching him, Durham saw him take out 
 from a hidden drawer in the pedestal a long, slender 
 key, insert it in a lock concealed by the ornate carv> 
 ing, and then slightly raise the lid which had so 
 recently defied his own efforts. 
 
 He raised it only a few inches, and then, taking up 
 the lantern, peered into the interior of the coffin, at 
 the same time waving his hand in dismissal to Ah Fu. 
 For a while he stood there, peering Into the interior, 
 and then, lowering the lid again, he relocked this 
 gruesome receptacle and, lantern in hand, began to 
 mount the stair. 
 
 Durham inhaled deeply. He realized that during 
 the last few seconds he had been holding his breath. 
 Now, as he began to creep back down the slope, he 
 discovered that his hands were shaking. 
 
 He dropped down into the court again, and for 
 several minutes leaned against the wall, endeavouring 
 to reason out an explanation of what he had seen, and 
 in a measure to regain his composure. 
 
 There was a horror underlying it all which he was 
 half afraid to face. But the real clue to the mystery 
 still eluded him. 
 
 Whether what he had witnessed were some kind 
 of obscene ceremony, or whether an explanation more 
 vile must be sought, he remained undetermined. He 
 must repeat his exploit, if possible, and once more 
 gain access to the room which contained the lacquer 
 coffin. 
 
 But the adventure was very distasteful. He rec- 
 ollected the smell of the place, and the memory 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 49 
 
 brought with it a sense of nausea. He thought of 
 Laid Huang, and his ideas became grotesque and 
 chaotic. Yet the solution of the mystery lay at last 
 within his grasp, and to the zest of the investigator 
 everything else became subjligated. 
 
 He walked slowly away, silent in his rubber-soled 
 shoes. 
 
IX 
 
 THE PICTURE ON THE PAD 
 
 LALA HUANG lay listening to the vague sounds 
 which disturbed the silence of the night. Pres- 
 ■* ently her thoughts made her sigh wearily. 
 During the lifetime of her mother, who had died while 
 Lala was yet a little girl, life had been different and so 
 much brighter. 
 
 She imagined that in the mingled sounds of dock 
 and river which came to her she could hear the roar 
 pf surf upon a golden beach. The stuffy air of Lime- 
 house took on the hot fragrance of a tropic island, 
 and she sighed again, but this time rapturously, for 
 in spirit she was a child once more, lulled by the 
 voice of the great Pacific. 
 
 Young as she was, the death of her mother had 
 been a blow from which it had taken her several years 
 to recover. Then had commenced those long travels 
 with her father, from port to port, from ocean to 
 ocean, sometimes settling awhile, but ever moving 
 onward, onward. 
 
 He had had her educated after a fashion, and his 
 love for her she did not doubt. But her mother's 
 blood spoke more strongly than that part of her which 
 ,was Chinese, and there was softness and a delicious 
 
 So 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 51 
 
 languor in her nature which her father did not seem 
 to understand, and of which he did not appear to 
 approve. 
 
 She knew that he was wealthy. She knew that his 
 ways were not straight ways, although that part of his 
 business to which he had admitted her as an assistant, 
 and an able one, was legitimate enough, or so it 
 seemed. 
 
 Consignments of goods arrived at strange hours 
 of the night at the establishment in Limehouse, and 
 from this side of her father's transactions she was 
 barred. The big double doors opening on the little 
 courtyard would be opened by Ah Fu, and packing 
 cases of varying sizes be taken in. Sometimes the 
 sounds of these activities would reach her in her 
 room in a distant part ^f the house; but only in the 
 morning would she recognize their significance, when 
 in the warehouse she would discover that some new 
 and choice pieces had arrived. 
 
 She wondered with what object her father accumu- 
 lated wealth, and hoped, against the promptings of 
 her common sense, that he designed to return East, 
 there to seek a retirement amidst the familiar and 
 the beautiful things of the Orient which belonged to 
 Lala's dream of heaven. 
 
 Stories about her father often reached her ears. 
 She knew that he had held high rank in China before 
 she had been born; but that he had sacrificed his 
 rights in some way had always been her theory. She 
 had been too young to understand the, stories whicK 
 her mother had told her sometimes; but that there 
 
5 2 TALES GF CHINATOWN 
 
 were traits in the character of Huang Chow which it 
 was not good for his daughter to know she appreciated 
 and accepted as a secret sorrow. 
 
 He allowed her all the freedom to which her educa- 
 tion entitled her. Her life was that of a European 
 and not of an Oriental woman. She lov^ed him in a 
 way, but also feared him. She feared the dark and 
 cruel side of his character, of which, at various 
 periods during their life together, she had had terri- 
 fying glimpses. 
 
 She had decided that cruelty was his vice. In 
 what way he gratified it she had never learned, nor 
 did she desire to do so. There were periodical visits 
 from the police, but she had learned long ago that her 
 father was too clever to place himself within reach of 
 the law. 
 
 However crooked one part of his business methods 
 might be, his dealings with his clients were straight 
 enough, so that no one had any object in betraying 
 him; and the legality or otherwise of his foreign re- 
 lations evidently afforded no case against him upon 
 which the authorities could act, or upon which they 
 cared to act. 
 
 In America it had been graft which had protected 
 him. She had learned this accidentally, but never 
 knew whether he bought his immunity in the same -ypay 
 in London. ' . 
 
 Some of the rumours which reached her were terri- 
 fying. ; Latterly siie had met many strange glances in 
 her comings and goings ab^iut Limehouse. This 
 peculiar atmosphere had always preceded the break-up 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 53 
 
 of every home which they had shared. She divined 
 the fact that in some way Huang Ghow had outstayed 
 his welcome in Chinatown, -London. Where their next 
 resting-place would be she could not imagine, but she 
 prayed that it nright be, in some more sunny clime. 
 
 She found herself to be thinking over much of John 
 Hampden. His bona fides were not above suspicion, 
 but she could scarcely expect to meet a really white 
 man in such an environment. 
 
 Laid would have liked to think that he was white, 
 but could not force helrself to do so. She would have 
 liked to think that he sought her cotnpany because she 
 appealed to him personally; but she had detected the 
 fact that another motive underlay his attentions. She 
 wondered if he could be another of those moths drawn 
 by the light of that fabled wealth of her father. 
 
 It was curious, she reflectied, that Huang Chow 
 never checked — indeed, openly countenanced — ^her 
 friendship with the many chance acquaintances she 
 had made, even when her own instincts told her that 
 the men were crooked; so that, knowing the acumen 
 of her father, she was well aware that he must know 
 it too. 
 
 Several of these pseudo lovers of hers had died. 
 It was a point which often occurred to her mind, but 
 upon which she did not care to dwell even now. But 
 John Hampden-^— John Hampden was different. He 
 was not wholly sincere. She sighed wearily. But 
 nevertheless he was not like some of the others. 
 
 She started up in bed, seized with a sudden dread- 
 ful idea. He was a detective 1 
 
54 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 She understood now why she had found so much 
 that was white in him, but so much that was false. 
 His presence seemed to be very near her. Something 
 caressing in his voice echoed in her mind. She found 
 herself to be listening to the muted sounds of Lime- 
 house and of the waterway which flowed so close 
 beside her. 
 
 That old longing for the home of her childhood 
 returned tenfold, and tears began to trickle down her 
 cheeks. She was falling in love with this man whose 
 object was her, father's ruin. A cold terror clutched 
 at her heart. Even now, while their friendship was 
 so new, so strange, there was a query, a stark, terrify- 
 ing query, to stand up before her. 
 
 If put to the test, which would she choose? 
 
 She was unable to face that issue, and dropped 
 back upon her pillow, stifling a sob. 
 
 Yes, he was a detective. In some way her father 
 had at last attracted the serious attention of the law. 
 Rumours of this were flying round Chinatown, to 
 which she had not been entirely deaf. She thought 
 of a hundred questions, a hundred silences, and grew 
 more and more convinced of the truth. 
 
 What did he mean to do? Before her a ghostly 
 company uprose — the shadows of some she had known 
 with designs upon her father. John Hampden's de- 
 sign was different. But might he not join that myster- 
 ious company?" 
 
 Now again she suddenly sprang upright, this time 
 because of a definite sound which had reached her 
 ears from within the house: a very faint, bell-like 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 55 
 
 tinkling which ceased almost immediately. She had 
 heard it one night before, and quite recently; indeed, 
 on the night before she had met John Hampden. 
 Cohen — Cohen, the Jew, had died that night ! 
 
 She sprang lightly on to the floor, found Tier slip- 
 pers, and threw a silk kimono over her nightrobe. 
 She tiptoed cautiously to the door and opened it. 
 
 It was at this very moment that old Huang Chow, 
 asleep in his cell-like apartment, was aroused by the 
 tinkling of a bell set immediately above his head. He 
 awoke Instantly, raised his hand and stopped the bell. 
 His expression, could anyone have been present to see 
 it, was a thing unpleasant to behold. Triumph was 
 In it, and cunning cruelty. 
 
 His long yellow fingers reached out for his horn- 
 rimmed spectacles which lay upon a little table beside 
 him. Adjusting them, he pulled the curtains aside 
 and shufiled silently across the large room. 
 
 Mounting the steps to the raised writing-table, he 
 rested his elbows upon it, and peered down at that 
 curious blotting-pad which had so provoked the cur- 
 iosity of Durham. Could Durham have seen it now 
 the mystery must have been solved. It was an In- 
 genious camera obscura apparatus, and dimly depicted 
 upon Its surface appeared a reproduction of part of 
 the storehouse beneath! The part of it which was 
 visible was that touched by the light of an electric 
 torch, carried by a man crossing the floor in the 
 direction of the lacquered coffin upon the gilded 
 pedestal! 
 
 Old Huang Chow chuckled silently, and his yellow 
 
56 TALES' OFXHINATOWN- 'T 
 
 fingers clutched the table edge as he moved to peer 
 more closely into the picture. 
 
 "Poor fool!" he whispered in Chinese. "Poor 
 fooll" ' 's»:ij Ui;u 
 
 It was the man who had dome with the ihtroduction 
 from Mr. Isaacs — a new impostor who sought to rob 
 him, who sought to obtain information from his 
 daughter, who had examined his premises la&t night, 
 and had even penetrated upstairs; so that he, old 
 Huang Chow, had been compelled to disconnect the 
 apparatus and to feign sleep under the scrutiny of the 
 intruder. 
 
 To-night it would be otherwise. To-night it would 
 be otherwise. 
 
 3-1) 
 
 
 
X 
 
 THE LACQUERED COFFIN 
 
 DURHAM gently raised the trap in the roof of 
 Huang Chow's treasure-house. He was pre- 
 pared for snares and pitfalls. No sane man, 
 on the evidence which he, Durham, had been compelled 
 to leave behind, would have neglected to fasten the 
 skylight which so obviously afforded a means of 
 entrance into his premises. 
 
 Therefore, he was expected to return. The devil- 
 ish mechanism was set ready to receive him. But 
 the artist within him demanded that he should unmask 
 the mystery with his own hands. 
 
 Moreover, he doubted that an official visit, even 
 now, would yield any results. Old H"ang Chow was 
 too cunning for that. If he was to learn how the man 
 Cohen had died, he must follow the same path to the 
 bitter end. But there were men on duty round the 
 house, and he believed that he had placed them so 
 secretly as to deceive even this master of cunning with 
 whom he was dealing. 
 
 He repeated his exploit, dropping with a dull thud 
 upon the cushioned divan. Then, having lain there 
 listening awhile, he pressed the button of his torch, 
 and, standing up, crept across the room in the direc- 
 tion of the stairway. 
 
 57 
 
58 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Here he paused awhile, listening intently. The 
 image of Lala Huang arose before his mind's eye re- 
 proachfully, but he crushed the reproach, and ad- 
 vanced until he stood beside the lacquered coffin. 
 
 He remembered where the key was hidden, and, 
 stooping, he fumbled for a while and then found it. 
 He was acutely conscious of an unnameable fear. He 
 felt that he was watched, and yet was unwilling to 
 believe it. The musty and unpleasant smell which 
 he had noticed before became extremely perceptible. 
 
 He quietly sought for the hidden lock, and, presently 
 finding it, inserted the key, then paused awhile. He 
 rested his torch upon the cushions of the divan where 
 the light shone directly upon the coffin. Then, having 
 his automatic in his left hand, he turned the key. 
 
 He had expected now to be able to raise the lid as 
 he had seen Huang Chow do ; but the result was far 
 more surprising. 
 
 The lid, together with a second framework of fine 
 netting, flew o;;'en with a resounding bang; and from 
 the interior of the coffin uprose a most abominable 
 stench. 
 
 Durham started back a step, and as he did so 
 witnessed a sight which turned him sick with horror. 
 
 Out on to the edge of the coffin leapt the most 
 gigantic spider which he had ever seen in his life! 
 It had a body as big as a man's fist, jet black, with 
 hairy legs like the legs of a crab and a span of a foot 
 or more! 
 
 A moment it poised there, while he swayed, sick 
 with horror. Then, unhesitatingly, it leapt for his face 1 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 59 
 
 He groaned and fired, missed the horror, but 
 diverted its leap, so that it fell with a sickening thud 
 a yard behind him. He turned, staggering back 
 towards the stair, and aware that a light had shone 
 out from somewhere. 
 
 A door had been opened only a few yards from 
 where he stood, and there, framed in the opening, was 
 Lala Huang, her eyes wide with terror and her gaze 
 set upon him across the room. 
 
 "You !" she whispered. "You 1" 
 
 "Go back I" he cried hoarsely. "Go back! Close 
 the door. You don't understand — close the 
 door!" 
 
 Her gaze set wildly upon him, Lala staggered for- 
 ward; stopped dead; looked down at her bare ankle, 
 and then, seeing the thing which had fastened upon 
 her, uttered a piercing shriek which rang throughout 
 the place. 
 
 At which moment the floor slid away beneath 
 Durham, and he found himself falling — ^falling — and 
 then battling for life in evil-smelling water, amidst 
 absolute darkness. 
 
 Police whistles were skirling around the house of 
 Huang Chow. As the hidden men came running into 
 the court: 
 
 "You heard the shot?" cried the sergeant in charge. 
 "I warned him not to go alone. Don't waste time on 
 the door. One man stay on duty there; the rest of 
 you follow me." 
 
 In a few moments, led by the sergeant, the party 
 came dropping heavily through the skylight into the 
 
6o TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 treasure-house of Huang Chow, in which every lamp 
 was now alight. A trap was open near the foot of 
 the stairs, and from beneath it muffled cries pro- 
 ceeded. In this direction the sergeant headed. 
 Craning over the trap : 
 
 "Hallo, Mr. Durham!" he called. "Mr. Durham!" 
 
 "Get a rope and a ladder," came a faint cry from 
 below. "I can just touch bottom with my feet and 
 keep my head above water, but the tide's coming in. 
 Look to the girl, though, first. Look to the girl!" 
 
 The sergeant turned to where, stretched upon a 
 tiger skin before a half-open door, Lala Huang lay, 
 scantily clothed and white as death. 
 
 Upon one of her bare ankles was a discoloured 
 mark. 
 
 As the sergeant and another of the men stooped 
 over her a moaning sound drew their attention to the 
 stair, and there, bent and tottering slowly down, was 
 old Huang Chow, his eyes peering through the owl- 
 like glasses vacantly across the room to where his 
 daughter lay. 
 
 "My God!" whispered the sergeant, upon one knee 
 beside her. He looked blankly into the face of the 
 other man. "She's dead!" 
 
 Two plain-clothes men were busy knotting together 
 tapestries and pieces of rare stuff with which to draw 
 Durham out of the pit ; but at these old Huang Chow 
 looked not at all, but gropingly crossed the room, as 
 if he saw imperfectly, or could not believe what he 
 saw. At last he reached the side of the dead girl, 
 stooped, touched her, laid a trembling yellow hand 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW 6i 
 
 over her heart, and then stood up again, looking from 
 face to face. 
 
 Ignoring the mingled activities about him, he 
 crossed to the open coffin and be^an to fumble amongst 
 the putrefying mass of bones and webbing which lay 
 therein. Out from this he presently drew an iron 
 coffer. 
 
 Carrying it across the room he opened the lid. It 
 was full almost to the top with uncut gems of every 
 variety — diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, 
 amethysts, flashing greenly, redly, whitely. In hand- 
 fuls he grasped them and sprinkled them upon the 
 body of the dead girl. 
 
 "For you," he crooned brokenly in Chinese. "They 
 were all for you I" 
 
 The extemporized rope had just been lowered to 
 Durham, when : 
 
 "My God!" cried the sergeant, looking over Huang 
 Chow's shoulder. "What's that?" 
 
 He had seen the giant spider, the horror from 
 Surinam, which the Chinaman had reared and fed 
 to guard his treasure and to gratify his lust for the 
 strange and cruel. The insect, like everything else in 
 that house, was unusual, almost unique. It was one 
 of the Black Soldier spiders, by some regarded as a 
 native myth, but actually existing 'in Surinam and 
 parts of Brazil. A member of the family, Mygale, 
 its sting was more quickly and certainly fatal than 
 that of a rattle-snake. Its instinct was fearlessly to 
 attack any creature, great or small, which disturbed it 
 in its dark hiding-place. 
 
62 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Now, with feverish, horrible rapidity it was racing 
 up the tapestries on the other side of the room. 
 
 "Merciful God!" groaned the sergeant. 
 
 Snatching a revolver from his pocket he fired shot 
 after shot. The third hit the thing but did not kill it. 
 It dropped back upon the floor and began to crawl 
 toward the coffin. The sergeant ran across and at 
 close quarters shot It again. 
 
 Red blood oozed out from the hideous black body 
 and began to form a deep stain upon the carpet. 
 
 When Durham, drenched but unhurt, was hauled 
 back into the treasure-house, he did not speak, but, 
 scrambling into the room stood— pallid — staring dully 
 at old Huang Chow. 
 
 Huang Chow, upon his knees beside his daughter, 
 was engaged in sprinkling priceless jewels over her 
 still body, and murmuring in Chinese : 
 
 "For you, for you, Laid. They were all for you." 
 
KERRY'S KID 
 
KERRY'S KID 
 I 
 
 RED KERRY ON DUTY 
 
 CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY came down 
 from the top of a motor-bus and stood on 
 the sidewalk for a while gazing to right and 
 left along Piccadilly. The night was humid and 
 misty, now threatening fog and now rain. Many 
 travellers were abroad at this Christmas season, the 
 pleasure seekers easily to be distinguished from those 
 whom business had detained in town, and who hurried 
 toward their various firesides. The theatres were 
 disgorging their audiences. Streams of lighted cars 
 bore parties supperward; less pretentious taxicabs 
 formed links in the chain. 
 
 From the little huddled crowd of more economical 
 theatre-goers who waited at the stopping place of the 
 motor-buses, Kerry detached himself, walking slowly 
 along westward and staring reflectively about him. 
 Opposite the corner of Bond Street he stood still, 
 swinging his malacca cane and gazing fixedly along 
 this narrow bazaar street of the Baghdad of the West. 
 
 His trim, athletic figure was muffled in a big, 
 double-breasted, woolly overcoat, the collar turned up 
 about his ears. His neat bowler hat was tilted for- 
 es 
 
66 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ward so as to shade the fierce blue eyes. Indeed, in 
 that imperfect light, little of the Chief Inspector's 
 countenance was visible except his large, gleaming 
 white teeth, which he constantly revealed in the act of 
 industriously chewing mint gum. 
 
 He smiled as he chewed. Duty had called him 
 out into the midst, and for once he had obeyed re- 
 luctantly. That very afternoon had seen the return 
 of Dan Kerry, junior, home from school for the 
 Christmas vacation, and Dan was the apple of his 
 father's eye. 
 
 Mrs. Kerry had reserved her dour Scottish com- 
 ments upon the boy's school report for a more seemly 
 occasion than the first day of his holidays; but Kerry 
 had made no attempt to conceal his jubilation — almost 
 immoral, his wife had declared it to be — ^respecting 
 the lad's athletic record. His work on the junior left 
 wing had gained the commendation of a celebrated 
 international; and Kerry, who had interviewed the 
 gymnasium instructor, had learned that Dan Junior 
 bade fair to become an amateur boxer of distinction. 
 
 •'He is faster on his feet than any boy I ever 
 handled," the expert had declared. "He hasn't got 
 the weight behind it yet, of course, but he's develop- 
 ing a left that's going to make history. I'm of 
 opinion that there isn't a boy in the seniors can take 
 him on, and I'll say that he's a credit to you." 
 
 Those words had fallen more sweetly upon the 
 ears of Chief Inspector Kerry than any encomium of 
 the boy's learning could have done. On the purely 
 §choIastic side his report was not a good one, ad- 
 
KERRY'S KID 67 
 
 mittedly. "But," murmured Kerry aloud, "he's going 
 to be a man." 
 
 He remembered that he had promised, despite the 
 lateness of the hour, to telephone the lad directly he 
 had received a certain report, and to tell him whether 
 he might wait up for his return or whether he must 
 turn In. Kerry, stamping his small, neatly shod feet 
 upon the pavement, smiled agreeably. He was think- 
 ing of the telephone which recently he had had in- 
 stalled In his house In Brixton. His wife had de- 
 manded this as a Christmas box, pointing out how 
 many uneasy hours she would be spared by the Instal- 
 lation. Kerry had consented cheerfully enough, for 
 was he not shortly to be promoted to the exalted post 
 of a superintendent of the Criminal Investigation 
 Department? 
 
 These reflections were cheering and warming; and, 
 waiting until a gap occurred in the stream of cabs and 
 cars, he crossed Piccadilly and proceeded along Bond 
 Street, swinging his shoulders In a manner which 
 would have enabled any constable in the force to 
 recognize "Red Kerry" at a hundred yards. 
 
 The fierce eyes scrutinized the occupants of all the 
 lighted cars. At pedestrians also he stared curiously, 
 and at another smaller group of travellers waiting 
 for the buses on the left-hand side of the street he 
 looked hard and long. He pursued his way, acknowl- 
 edged the salutation of a porter who stood outside the 
 entrance to the Embassy Club, and proceeded, glanc- 
 ing about him right and left and with some evident and 
 definite purpose. 
 
68 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 A constable standing at the corner of Conduit 
 Street touched his helmet as Kerry passed and the 
 light of an arc-lamp revealed the fierce red face. 
 The Chief Inspector stopped, turned, and : 
 
 "What the devil's the idea?" he demanded. 
 
 He snapped out the words in such fashion that the 
 unfortunate constable almost believed he could see 
 sparks in the misty air. 
 
 "I'm sorry, sir, but recognizing you suddenly like, 
 I " 
 
 "You did?" the fierce voice interrupted. "How 
 long in the force ?" 
 
 "Six months, sir." 
 
 "Never salute an officer in plain clothes." 
 
 "I know, sir." 
 
 "Then why did you do it?" 
 
 "I told you, sir." 
 
 "Then tell me again," 
 
 "I forgot." 
 
 "You're paid to remember; bear it in mind." 
 
 Kerry tucked his malacca under his arm and walked 
 on, leaving the unfortunate policeman literally stupe- 
 fied by his first encounter with the celebrated Chief 
 Inspector. 
 
 Presently another line of cars proclaimed the en- 
 trance to a club, and just before reaching the first of 
 these Kerry paused. A man stood in a shadowy door- 
 way, and: 
 
 "Good evening. Chief Inspector," he said quietly. 
 
 "Good evening, Durham. Anything to report?" 
 
 "Yes. Lou Chada is here again. 
 
KERRY'S KID 69 
 
 "With whom?" 
 
 "Lady Rourke." 
 
 Kerry stepped to the edge of the pavement and 
 spat out a piece of chewing-gum. From his overcoat 
 pocket he drew a fresh piece, tore off the pink wrap- 
 ping and placed the gum between his teeth. Then : 
 
 "How long?" he demanded. 
 
 "Came to dinner. They are dancing." 
 
 "H'm!" The Chief Inspector ranged himself be- 
 side the other detective in the shadow of the door- 
 way. "Something's brewing, Durham," he said. "I 
 think I shall wait." 
 
 His subordinate stared curiously but made no reply. 
 He was not wholly in his chief's confidence. He 
 merely knew that the name of Lou Chada to Kerry 
 was like a red rag to a bull. The handsome, cultured 
 young Eurasian, fresh from a distinguished university 
 career and pampered by a certain section of smart 
 society, did not conform to Detective Sergeant Dur- 
 ham's idea of a suspect. He knew that Lou was the 
 son of Zani Chada, and he knew that Zani Chada was 
 one of the wealthiest men in Limehouse. But Lou 
 had an expensive flat in George Street; Lou was 
 courted by society butterflies, and in what way he 
 could be connected with the case known as "the Lime- 
 house inquiry," Durham could not imagine. 
 
 That the open indiscretion of Lady "Pat" Rourke 
 might lead to trouble with her husband, was conceivable 
 enough; but this was rather a matter for underhand 
 private inquiry than for the attention of the Criminal 
 Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard. 
 
,7o TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 So mused Durham, standing cold and uncomfort- 
 able in the shadowy doorway, and dreaming of a 
 certain cosy fireside, a pair of carpet slippers and a 
 glass of hot toddy which awaited him. Suddenly : 
 
 "Great flames! Look!" he cried. 
 
 Kerry's fingers closed, steely, upon Durham's wrist. 
 A porter was urgently moving the parked cars farther 
 along the street to enable one, a French coupe, to 
 draw up before the club entrance. 
 
 Two men came out, supporting between them a 
 woman who seemed to be ill; a slender, blonde woman 
 whose pretty face was pale and whose wide-open blue 
 eyes stared strangely straight before her. The taller 
 of her escorts, while continuing to support her, 
 solicitously wrapped her fur cloak about her bare 
 shoulders; the other, the manager of the club, stepped 
 forward and opened the door of the car. 
 
 "Lady Rourke!" whispered Durham. 
 
 "With Lou Chada!" rapped Kerry. "Run for a 
 cab. Brisk. Don't waste a second." 
 
 Some little conversation ensued between manager 
 and patron, then the tall, handsome Eurasian, waving 
 his hand protestingly, removed his hat and stepped 
 into the coupe beside Lady Rourke. It immediately 
 moved away in the direction of Piccadilly. 
 
 One glimpse Kerry had of the pretty, fair head 
 lying limply back against the cushions. The man- 
 ager of the club was staring after the car. 
 
 Kerry stepped out from his hiding place. Durham 
 had disappeared, and there was no cab in sight, but 
 immediately beyond the illuminated entrance stood a 
 
KERRY'S KID ^i 
 
 Rolls-Royce which had been fifth in the rank of parked 
 cars before the adjustment had been made to enable 
 the coupe to reach the door. Kerry ran across, and : 
 
 "Whose car, my lad?" he demanded of the chauf- 
 feur. 
 
 The latter, resenting the curt tone of the inquiry, 
 looked the speaker up and down, and : 
 
 "Captain Egerton's," he replied slowly. "But 
 what business may it be of yours?" 
 
 "I'm Chief Inspector Kerry, of New Scotland 
 Yard," came the rapid reply. "I want to follow the 
 car that has just left." 
 
 "What about running?" demanded the man in- 
 solently. 
 
 Kerry shot out a small, muscular hand and grasped 
 the speaker's wrist. 
 
 "I'll say one thing to you," he rapped. "I'm* a 
 police officer, and I demand your help. Refuse it, 
 and you'll wake up in Vine Street." 
 
 The Chief Inspector was on the step now, bending 
 forward so that his fierce red face was but an inch 
 removed from that of the startled chauffeur. The 
 quelling force of his ferocious personality achieved its 
 purpose, as it rarely failed to do. 
 
 "I'm getting in," added the Chief Inspector, jump- 
 ing back on to the pavement. "Lose that French bus, 
 and I'll charge you with resisting and obstructing an 
 officer of the law in the execution of his duty. Start." 
 
 Kerry leaped in and banged the door — and the 
 Rolls-Royce started. 
 
n 
 
 AT MALAY JACK's 
 
 WHEN Kerry left Bond Street the mistiness 
 of the night was developing into definite 
 fog. It varied in different districts. Thus, 
 St. Paul's Churchyard had been clear of it at a time 
 when it had lain impenetrably in Trafalgar Square. 
 When, an hour and a half after setting out in the 
 commandeered Rolls-Royce, Kerry groped blindly 
 along Limehouse Causeway, It was through a yellow 
 murk that he made his way — a vapour which could not 
 only be seen, smelled and felt, but tasted. 
 
 He was in one of his most violent humours. He 
 found some slight solace in the reflection that the 
 impudent chauffeur, from whom he had parted in 
 West India Dock Road, must experience great 
 difficulty in finding his way back to the West End. 
 
 "Damn the fog!" he muttered, coughing irritably. 
 
 It had tricked him, this floating murk of London; 
 for, while he had been enabled to keep the coupe in 
 view right to the fringe of dockland, here, as if bred 
 by old London's river, the fog had lain impenetrably. 
 
 Chief Inspector Kerry was a man who took rfiany 
 risks, but because of this cursed fog he had no definite 
 evidence that Chada's car had gone to a certain 
 
 72 
 
KERRY'S KID 73 
 
 house. Right of search he had not, and so temporar- 
 ily he was baffled. 
 
 Now the nearest telephone was his objective, and 
 presently, where a blue light dimly pierced the mist, 
 he paused, pushed open a swing door, and stepped 
 into a long, narrow passage. He descended three 
 stairs, and entered a room laden with a sickly per- 
 fume compounded of stale beer and spirits; of greasy 
 humanity — European, Asiastic, and African; of cheap 
 tobacco and cheaper scents; and, vaguely, of opium. 
 
 It was fairly well lighted, but the fog had pene- 
 trated here, veiling some of the harshness of its rough 
 appointments. An unsavoury den was Malay Jack's, 
 where flotsam of the river might be found. Yellow 
 men there were, and black men and brown men. But 
 aU the women present were white. 
 
 Fan-tan was in progress at one of the tables, the 
 four players being apparently the only strictly sobei- 
 people in the room. A woman was laughing raucously 
 as Kerry entered, and many coarse-voiced conversa- 
 tions were in progress; but as he pulled the rough 
 curtain walls aside and walked into the room, a hush, 
 highly complimentary to the Chief Inspector's repu- 
 tation, fell upon the assembly. Only the woman's 
 raucous laughter continued, rising, a hideous solo, 
 above a sort of murmur, composed of the words "Red 
 Kerry!" spoken in many tones. 
 
 Kerry ignored the sensation which his entrance had 
 created, and crossed the room to a small counter, be- 
 hind which a dusky man was standing, coatless and 
 shirt sleeves rolled up. He had the skin of a Malay 
 
74 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 but the features of a stage Irishman of the old school. 
 And, indeed, had he known his own pedigree, which 
 is a knowledge beyond the ken of any man, partly 
 Irish he might have found himself indeed to be. 
 
 This was Malay Jack, the proprietor of one of the 
 roughest houses in Limehouse. His expression, while 
 propitiatory, was not friendly, but: 
 
 "Don't get hot and bothered," snapped Kerry 
 viciously. "I want to use your telephone, that's all." 
 
 "Oh," said the other, unable to conceal his relief, 
 "that's easy. Come in." 
 
 He raised a flap in the counter, and Kerry, passing 
 through, entered a little room behind the bar. Here 
 a telephone stood upon a dirty, littered table, and, 
 taking it up : 
 
 "City four hundred," called the Chief Inspector 
 curtly. A moment later: "Hallo! Yes," he said. 
 "Chief Inspector Kerry speaking. Put me through 
 to my department, please." 
 
 He stood for a while waiting, receiver in hand, and 
 smiled grimly to note that the uproar in the room 
 beyond had been resumed. Evidently Malay Jack 
 had given the "all clear" signal. Then: 
 
 "Chief Inspector Kerry speaking," he said again. 
 "Has Detective Sergeant Durham reported?" 
 
 "Yes," was the reply, "half an hour ago. He's 
 standing-by at Limehouse Station. He followed you 
 in a taxi, but lost you on the way owing to the fog." 
 
 "I don't wonder," said Kerry. "His loss is not 
 so great as mine. Anything else?" 
 
 "Nothing else." 
 
KERRY'S KID 75 
 
 "Good. I'll speak to Limehouse. Good-bye." 
 
 He replaced the receiver and paused for a moment, 
 reflecting. Extracting a piece of tasteless gum from 
 between his teeth, he deposited it in the grate, where 
 a sickly fire burned; then, tearing the wrapper from a,, 
 fresh slip, he resumed his chewing and stood looking 
 about him with unseeing eyes. Fierce they were as 
 ever, but introspective in expression. 
 
 Famous for his swift decisions, for once in a way 
 he found himself in doubt. Malay Jack had keen 
 ears, and there were those in the place who had every 
 reason to be interested in the movements of a member 
 of the Criminal Investigation Department, especially 
 of one who had earned the right to be dreaded by the 
 rats of Limehouse. London's peculiar climate fought 
 against him, but he determined to make no more tele- 
 phone calls but to proceed to Limehouse police station. 
 
 He stepped swiftly into the bar, and, as he had 
 anticipated, nearly upset the proprietor, who was 
 standing listening by the half-open door. Kerry 
 smiled fiercely into the ugly face, lifted the flap, and 
 walked down the room, through the aisle between the 
 scattered tables, where the air was heavy with strange 
 perfumes, touched now with the bite of London fog, 
 and where slanting eyes and straight eyes, sober eyes 
 and drunken eyes, regarded him furtively. Some- 
 thing of a second hush there was, but one not so com- 
 plete as the first. 
 
 Kerry pulled the curtain aside, mounted the stair, 
 walked along the passage and out through the swing 
 door into the yellow gloom of the Causeway. Ten 
 
76 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 slow steps he had taken when he detected a sound of 
 pursuit. Like a flash he turned, clenching his fists. 
 Then: 
 
 "Inspector!" whispered a husky voice. 
 
 "Yes! Who are you? What do you want?" 
 
 A dim form loomed up through the fog. 
 
 "My name is Peters, sir. Inspector Preston knows 
 me. 
 
 Kerry had paused immediately under a street lamp, 
 and now he looked into the pinched, lean face of the 
 speaker, and: 
 
 "I've heard of you," he snapped. "Got some in- 
 formation for me?" 
 
 "I think so; but walk on." 
 
 Chief Inspector Kerry hesitated. Peters belonged 
 to a class which Kerry despised with all the force of 
 his straightforward character. A professional in- 
 former has his uses from the police point of view; 
 and while evidence of this kind often figured in reports 
 made to the Chief Inspector, he personally avoided 
 contact with such persons, as he instinctively and 
 daintily avoided contact with personal dirt. But now, 
 something so big was at stake that his hesitation was 
 only momentary. 
 
 A vision of the pale face of Lady Rourke, of the 
 golden head leaning weakly back upon the cushions of 
 the coupe, as he had glimpsed it in Bond Street, rose 
 before his mind's eye as if conjured up out of the fog. 
 Peters shuffled along beside him, and : 
 
 "Young Chada's done himself in to-night," con- 
 tinued the husky voice. "He brought a swell girl to 
 
KERRY'S KID 77 
 
 the old man,s house an hour ago. I was hanging 
 about there, thinking I might get some information. 
 I think she was doped." 
 
 "Why?" snapped Kerry. 
 
 "Well, I was standing over on the other side of 
 the street. Lou Chada opened the door with a key; 
 and when the light shone out I saw him carry her in." 
 
 "Carry her in?" 
 
 "Yes. She was in evening dress, with a swell 
 cloak." 
 
 "The car?" 
 
 "He came out again and drove it around to the 
 garage at the back." 
 
 "Why didn't you report this at once?" 
 
 "I was on my way to do it when I saw you coming 
 out of Malay Jack's." 
 
 The man's voice shook nervously, and : 
 
 "What are you scared about?" asked Kerry sav- 
 agely. "Got anything else to tell me?" 
 
 "No, no," muttered Peters. "Only I've got an 
 idea he saw me." 
 
 'Who saw you?" 
 
 "Lou Chada." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Well, only — don't leave me till we get to the 
 station." 
 
 Kerry blew down his nose contemptuously, then 
 stopped suddenly. 
 
 "Stand still," he ordered. "I want to listen." 
 
 Silent, they stood in a place of darkness, untouched 
 by any lamplight. Not a sound reached them through 
 
78 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 the curtain of fog. Asiatic mystery wrapped them 
 about, but Kerry experienced only contempt for the 
 cowardice of his companion, and : 
 
 "You need come no farther," he said coldly. 
 "Good night." 
 
 "But " began the man. 
 
 "Good night," repeated Kerry. 
 
 He walked on briskly, tapping the pavement with 
 his malacca. The sneaking figure of the informer 
 was swallowed up in the fog. But not a dozen paces 
 had the Chief Inspector gone when he was arrested by 
 a frenzied scream, rising, hollowly, in a dreadful, 
 muffled crescendo. Words reached him. 
 
 "My God, he's stabbed me !" 
 
 Then came a sort of babbling, which died into a 
 moan. 
 
 "Hell!" muttered Kerry, "the poor devil was 
 right!" 
 
 He turned and began to run back, fumbling in 
 his pocket for his electric torch. Almost in the same 
 moment that he found it he stumbled upon Peters, 
 who lay half in the road and half upon the sidewalk. 
 
 Kerry pressed the button, and met the glance of 
 upturned, glazing eyes. Even as he dropped upon 
 his knee beside the dying man, Peters swept his arm 
 around in a convulsive movement, having the fingers 
 crooked, coughed horribly, and rolled upon his face. 
 
 Switching off the light of the torch, Kerry clenched 
 his jaws in a tense effort of listening, literally holding 
 his breath. But no sound reached him through the 
 muffling fog. A moment he hesitated, well knowing 
 
KERRY'S KID 79, 
 
 his danger, then viciously snapping on the light again, 
 he quested in the blood-stained mud all about the 
 body of the murdered man. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 It was an exclamation of triumph. 
 
 One corner hideously stained, for it had lain half 
 under Peters's shoulder, Kerry gingerly lifted between 
 finger and thumb a handkerchief of fine white silk, 
 such as is carried in the breast pocket of an evening 
 coat. 
 
 It bore an ornate monogram worked in gold, and 
 representing the letters "L. C." Oddly enough, it 
 was the corner that bore the monogram which was 
 also bloodstained. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE ROOM OF THE GOLDEN BUDDHA 
 
 IT WAS a moot point whether Lady Pat Rourke 
 merited condemnation or pity. She possessed 
 that type of blonde beauty which seems to be a 
 lodestone for mankind in general. Her husband was 
 wealthy, twelve years her senior, and, far from watch- 
 ing over her with jealous care — an attitude which often 
 characterizes such unions — he, on the contrary, per- 
 mitted her a dangerous freedom, believing that she 
 would appreciate without abusing it. 
 
 Her friendship with Lou Chada had first opened 
 his eyes to the perils which beset the road of least 
 resistance. Sir Noel Rourke was an Anglo-Indian, 
 and his. prejudice against the Eurasian was one not 
 lightly to be surmounted. Not all the polish which 
 English culture had given to this child of a mixed 
 union could blind Sir Noel to the yellow streak. 
 Courted though Chada was by some of the best people, 
 Sir Noel remained cold. 
 
 The long, magnetic eyes, the handsome, clear-cut 
 features, above all, that slow and alluring smile, ap- 
 pealed to the husband of the wilful Pat rather as 
 evidences of Oriental, half-effeminate devilry than 
 as passports to decent society. Oxford had veneered 
 
 80 
 
KERRY'S KID 8i 
 
 him, but scratch the veneer and one found the sandal- 
 wood of the East, perfumed, seductive, appealing, but 
 something to be shunned as brittle and untrust- 
 worthy. 
 
 Yet he hesitated, seeking to be true to his convic- 
 tions. Knowing what he knew already, and what he 
 suspected, it is certain that, could he have viewed Lou 
 Chada through the eyes of Chief Inspector Kerry, 
 the affair must have terminated otherwise. But Sir 
 Noel did not know what Kerry knew. And the 
 pleasure-seeking Lady Rourke, with her hair of spun 
 gold and her provoking smile, found Lou Chada 
 dangerously fascinating; almost she was infatuated — 
 she who had known so much admiration. 
 
 Of those joys for which thousands of her plainer 
 sisters yearn and starve to the end of their days she 
 had experienced a surfeit. Always she sought for 
 novelty, for new adventures. She was confident of 
 herself, but yet — and here lay the delicious thrill — 
 not wholly confident. Many times she had promised 
 to visit the house of Lou Chada's father — a mystery 
 palace cunningly painted, a perfumed page from the 
 Arabian poets dropped amid the interesting squalour 
 of Limehouse. 
 
 Perhaps she had never intended to go. Who 
 knows ? But on the night when she came within the 
 ken of Chief Inspector Kerry, Lou Chada had urged 
 her to do so in his poetically passionate fashion, and, 
 wanting to go, she had asked herself: "Am I strong 
 enough? Dare I?" 
 
 They had dined, danced, and she had smoked one 
 
82 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 of. the scented cigarettes which he alone seemed to be 
 able to procure, and which, on their arrival from the 
 East, were contained in queer little polished wooden 
 boxes. 
 
 Then had come an unfamiliar nausea and dizziness, 
 an uncomfortable recognition of the fact that she was 
 making a fool of hei"self, and finally a semi-darkness 
 through which familiar faces loomed up and were 
 quickly lost again. There was the soft, musical voice 
 of Lou Chada reassuring her, a sense of chill, of help- 
 lessness, and then for a while an interval which after- 
 ward she found herself unable to bridge. 
 
 Knowledge^ of verity came at last, and Lady Pat 
 raised herself from the divan upon which she had 
 been lying, and, her slender hands clutching the cush- 
 ions, stared about her with eyes which ever grew 
 wider. 
 
 She was in a long, rather lofty room, which was 
 lighted by three silver lanterns swung from the ceiling. 
 The place, without containing much furniture, was a 
 riot of garish, barbaric colour. There were deep divans 
 cushioned in amber and blood-red. Upon the floor lay 
 Persian carpets and skins of beasts. Cunning niches 
 there were, half concealing and half revealing long- 
 necked Chinese jars; and odd little carven tables bore 
 strangely fashioned vessels of silver. There was a cab- 
 inet of ebony inlaid with jade, there were black tapes- 
 tries figured with dragons of green and gold. Curtains 
 she saw of peacock-blue ; and in a tall, narrow recess, 
 dominating the room, squatted a great golden Buddha. 
 
 The atmosphere was laden with a strange perfume. 
 
KERRY'S KID 83 
 
 But, above all, this room was silent, most oppressively 
 silent. 
 
 Lady Pat started to her feet. The whole perfumed 
 place seemed to be swimming around her. Reclosing 
 her eyes, she fought down her weakness. The truth, 
 the truth respecting Lou Chada and herself, had up- 
 risen starlcly before her. By her own foUy^ — and she 
 could find no tiny excuse — she had placed herself in 
 the power of a man whom, instinctively, deep within 
 her soul, she had always known to be utterly un- 
 scrupulous. 
 
 How cleverly he had concealed the wild animal 
 which dwelt beneath that suave, polished exterior 1 
 Yet how ill he had concealed it! For intuitively she 
 had always recognized its presence, but had deliber- 
 ately closed her eyes, finding a joy in the secret knowl- 
 edge of danger. Now at last he had discarded pretense. 
 
 The cigarette which he had offered her at the club 
 had been drugged. She was in Limehouse, at the 
 mercy of a man in whose veins ran the blood of ances- 
 tors to whom women had been chattels. Too well 
 she recognized that his passion must have driven him 
 insane, as he must know at what cost he took such 
 liberties with one who could not lightly be so treated. 
 But these reflections afforded poor consolation. It 
 was not of the penalties that Lou Chada must suffer 
 for this infringement of Western codes, but of the 
 price that she must pay for her folly, of which Pat 
 was thinking. 
 
 There was a nauseating taste upon her palate. 
 She remembered having noticed it faintly while she 
 
84 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 was smoking the cigarette ; indeed, she had commented 
 upon it at the time. 
 
 "The dirty yellow blackguard!" she said aloud, 
 and clenched her hands. 
 
 She merely echoed what many a man had said be- 
 fore her. She wondered at herself, and in doing so 
 but wondered at the mystery of womanhood. 
 
 Clarity was returning. The room no longer swam 
 around her. She crossed in the direction of a garish 
 curtain, which instinctively she divined to mask a 
 door. Dragging it aside, she tried the handle, but 
 the door was locked. A second door she found, and 
 this also proved to be locked. 
 
 There was one tall window, also covered by ornate 
 draperies, but it was shuttered, and the shutters had 
 locks. Another small window she discovered, glazed 
 with amber glass, but set so high in the wall as to 
 be inaccessible. 
 
 Dread assailed her, and dropping on to one of the 
 divans, she hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "My God!" she whispered. "My God! Give 
 me strength — give me courage." 
 
 For a long time she remained there, listening for 
 any sound which should disperse the silence. She 
 thought of her husband, of the sweet security of her 
 home, of the things which she had forfeited because 
 of this mad quest of adventure. And presently a key 
 grated in a lock. 
 
 Lady Pat started to her feet with a wild, swift 
 action which must have reminded a beholder of a 
 startled gazelle. The drapery masking the door 
 
KERRY'S KID 85 
 
 which she had first investigated was drawn aside. A 
 man entered and dropped the curtain behind him. 
 
 Exactly what she had expected she could not have 
 defined, but the presence of this perfect stranger was 
 a complete surprise. The man, who wore embroidered 
 slippers and a sort of long blue robe, stood there 
 regarding her with an expression which, even in her 
 frantic condition, she found to be puzzling. He had 
 long, untidy gray hair brushed back from his low 
 brow; eyes strangely like the eyes of Lou Chada, 
 except that they were more heavy-lidded ; but his skin 
 was as yellow as a guinea, and his gaunt, clean- 
 shaven face was the face of an Oriental. 
 
 The slender hands, too, which he held clasped 
 before him, were yellow, and possessed a curiously 
 arresting quality. Pat imagined them clasped about 
 her white throat, and her very soul seemed to shrink 
 from the man who stood there looking at her with 
 those long, magnetic, inscrutable eyes. 
 
 She wondered why she was surprised, and suddenly 
 realized that it was because of the expression in his 
 eyes, for it was an expression of cold anger. Then 
 the intruder spoke. 
 
 "Who are you?" he demanded, speaking with an 
 accent which was unfamiliar to her, but in a voice 
 which was not unlike the voice of Lou Chada. "Who 
 brought you here?" 
 
 This was so wholly unexpected that for a moment 
 she found herself unable to reply, but finally: 
 
 "How dare you!" she cried, her native courage 
 reasserting itself. "I have been drugged and brought 
 
86 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 to this place. You shall pay for it. How dare you !" 
 
 "Ah !" The^ long, dark eyes regarded her un- 
 movingly. "But who are you?" 
 
 "I am Lady Rourke. Open the door. You shall 
 bitterly regret this outrage." 
 
 "You are Lady Rourke?" the man repeated. "Be- 
 fore you speak of regrets, answer the question which 
 I have asked: Who brought you here?" 
 
 "Lou Chada." 
 
 "Ah I" There was no alteration of pose, no change 
 of expression, but slightly the intonation had varied. 
 
 "I don't know who you are, but I demand to be 
 released from this place instantly." 
 
 The man standing before the curtained door slightly 
 inclined his head. 
 
 "You shall be released," he replied, "but not in- 
 stantly. I will see the one who brought you here. 
 He may not be entirely to blame. Before you leave 
 we shall understand one another." 
 
 Tone and glance were coldly angry. Then, before 
 the frightened woman could say another word, the 
 man in the blue robe robe withdrew, the curtain was 
 dropped again, and she heard the grating of a key in 
 the lock. She ran to the door, beating upon it with 
 her clenched hands. 
 
 "Let me go I" she cried, half hysterically. "Let 
 me go! You shall pay for this! Oh, you shall pay 
 for this!" 
 
 No one answered, and, turning, she leaned back 
 against the curtain, breathing heavily and fighting for 
 composure, for strength. 
 
IV 
 
 ZANI CHADA, THE EURASIAN 
 
 I CAN'T help thinking, Chief Inspector," said the 
 officer in charg? at Limehouse Station, "that you 
 take unnecessary risks." 
 
 "Can't you?" said Kerry, tilting his bowler farther 
 forward and staring truculently at the speaker. 
 
 "No, I can't. Since you cleaned up the dope gang 
 down here you've been a marked man. These murders 
 in the Chinatown area, of which this one to-night 
 makes the third, have got some kind of big influence 
 behind them. Yet you wander about in the fog with- 
 out even a gun in your pocket." 
 
 "I don't believe in guns," rapped Kerry. "My 
 bare hands are good enough for any yellow smart in 
 this area. And if they give out I can kick like a 
 mule." 
 
 The other laughed, shaking his head. 
 
 "It's silly, all the same," he persisted. "The man 
 who did the job out there in the fog to-night might 
 have knifed you or shot you long before you could 
 have got here." 
 
 "He might," snapped Kerry, "but he didn't." 
 
 Yet, remembering his wife, who would be wait- 
 ing for him in the cosy sitting-room he knew a 
 
 87 
 
88 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 sudden pang. Perhaps he did take unnecessary 
 chances. Others had said so. Hard upon the 
 thought came the memory of his boy, and of the tele- 
 phone message which the episodes of the night had 
 prevented him from sending. 
 
 He remembered, too, something which his fearless 
 nature had prompted him to forget: he remembered 
 how, just as he had arisen from beside the body of 
 the murdered man, oblique eyes had regarded him 
 swiftly out of the fog. He had lashed out with a 
 boxer's instinct, but his knuckles had encountered 
 nothing but empty air. No sound had come to tell 
 him that the thing had not been an illusion. Only, 
 once again, as he groped his way through the shuttered 
 streets of Chinatown and the silence of the yellow 
 mist, something had prompted him to turn ; and again 
 he had detected the glint of oblique eyes, and faintly 
 had discerned the form of one who followed him. 
 
 Kerry chewed viciously, then : 
 
 "I think I'll 'phone the wife," he said abruptly. 
 "She'll be expecting me." 
 
 Almost before he had finished speaking the 'phone 
 bell rang, and a few moments later : 
 
 "Someone to speak to you, Chief Inspector " cried 
 the officer in charge. 
 
 "Ah !" exclaimed Kerry, his fierce eyes lighting up. 
 "That will be from home." 
 
 "I don't think so," was the reply. "But see who 
 it is." 
 
 "Hello I" he called. 
 
 He was answered by an unfamiliar voice, a voice 
 
KERRY'S KID 89 
 
 which had a queer, guttural intonation. It was the 
 sort of voice he had learned to loathe. 
 
 "Is that Chief Inspector Kerry?" 
 
 "Yes," he snapped. 
 
 "May I take it that what I have to say will be 
 treated in confidence?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Think again. Chief Inspector," the voice con- 
 tinued. "You are a man within sight of the ambition 
 of years, and although you may be unaware of the 
 fact, you stand upon the edge of a disaster. I appre- 
 ciate your sense of duty and respect it. But there 
 are times when diplomacy is a more potent weapon 
 than force." 
 
 Kerry, listening, became aware that the speaker was 
 a man of cultured intellect. He wondered greatly, 
 but: 
 
 "My time is valuable," he said rapidly. "Come to 
 the point. What do you want and who are you?" 
 
 "One moment. Chief Inspector. An opportunity 
 to make your fortune without interfering with your 
 career has come in your way. You have obtained 
 possession of what you believe to be a clue to a 
 murder." 
 
 The voice ceased, and Kerry remaining silent, im- 
 mediately continued : 
 
 "Knowing your personal character, I doubt if you 
 have communicated the fact of your possessing this 
 evidence to anyone else. I suggest, in your own in- 
 tprests, that before doing so you interview me." 
 
 Kerry thought rapidly, and then: 
 
90 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "I don't say you're right," he rapped back. "But 
 if I come to see you, I shall leave a sealed statement in 
 possession of the officer in charge here." 
 
 "To this I have no objection," the guttural voice 
 replied, "but I beg of you to bring the evidence with 
 you." 
 
 "I'm not to be bought," warned Kerry. "Don't 
 think it and don't suggest it, or when I get to you 
 I'll break you in half." 
 
 His red moustache positively bristled, and he 
 clutched the receiver so tightly that it quivered against 
 his ear. 
 
 "You mistake me," replied the speaker. "My name 
 is Zani Chada. You know where I live. I shall 
 not detain you more than five minutes if you will do 
 me the honour of calling upon me." 
 
 Kerry chewed furiously for ten momentous seconds, 
 then: 
 
 "I'll come !" he said. 
 
 He replaced the receiver on the hook, and, walking 
 across to the charge desk, took an official form and a 
 pen. On the back of the form he scribbled rapidly, 
 watched with curiosity by the officer in charge. 
 
 "Give me an envelope," he directed. 
 
 An envelope was found and handed to him. He 
 placed the paper in the envelope, gummed down the 
 lapel, and addressed it in large, bold writing to the 
 Assistant Commissioner of the Criminal Investigation 
 Department, who was his chief. Finally : 
 
 "I'm going out," he explained. 
 
 "After what I've said?" 
 
KERRY'S KID 91 
 
 "After what you've said. I'm going out. If I 
 don't come back or don't telephone within the next 
 hour, you will know what to do with this." 
 
 The Limehouse official stared perplexedly. 
 
 "But meanwhile," he protested, "what steps am I 
 to take about the murder? Durham will be back with 
 the body at any moment now, and you say you've got 
 a clue to the murderer." 
 
 "I have," said Kerry, "but I'm going to get definite 
 evidence. Do nothing until you hear from me." 
 
 "Very good," answered the other, and Kerry, tuck' 
 ing his malacca cane under his arm, strode out into 
 the fog. 
 
 His knowledge of the Limehouse area was exten- 
 sive and peculiar, so that twenty minutes later, having 
 made only one mistake in the darkness, he was press- 
 ing an electric bell set beside a door which alone broke 
 the expanse of a long and dreary brick wall, lining a' 
 street which neither by day nor night would have 
 seemed inviting to the casual visitor. 
 
 The door was opened by a Chinaman wearing 
 national dress, revealing a small, square lobby, warmly 
 lighted and furnished Orientally. Kerry stepped in 
 briskly. 
 
 "I want to see Mr. Zani Chada. Tell him I am 
 here. Chief Inspector Kerry is my name." 
 
 The Chinaman bowed, crossed the lobby, and, 
 drawing some curtains aside, walked up four carpeted 
 stairs and disappeared into a short passage revealed 
 by the raising of the tapestry. As he did so Kerrj 
 stared about him curiously. 
 
92 JALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 He had never before entered the mystery house of 
 Zani Chada, nor had he personally encountered the 
 Eurasian, reputed to be a millionaire, but who chose, 
 for some obscure reason, to make his abode in this 
 old rambling building, once a country mansion, which 
 to-day was closely invested by dockland and the narrow 
 alleys of Chinatown. It was curiously still in the 
 lobby, and, as he determined, curiously Eastern. He 
 was conscious of a sense of exhilaration. That Zani 
 Chada controlled powerful influences, he knew well. 
 But, reviewing the precautions which he had taken, 
 Kerry determined that the trump card was in his 
 possession. 
 
 The Chinese servant descended the stairs again and 
 Intimated that the yisitor should follow him. Kerry, 
 carrying his hat and cane, mounted the stairs, walked 
 along the carpeted passage, and was ushered into a 
 queer, low room furnished as a library. 
 
 It was lined with shelves containing strange-looking 
 books, none of which appeared to be English. Upon 
 the top of the shelves were grotesque figures of gods, 
 pieces of Chinese pottery and other Oriental orna- 
 ments. Arms there were In the room, and rich carpets, 
 carven furniture, and an air of luxury peculiarly exotic. 
 Furthermore, he detected a faint smell of opium from 
 which fact he divined that Zani Chada was addicted 
 to the national vice of China. 
 
 Seated before a long narrow table was the notorious 
 Eurasian. The table contained a number of strange 
 and unfamiliar objects, as well as a small rack of 
 books. An opium pipe rested in a porcelain bowl. 
 
KERRY'S KID 93 
 
 Zani Chada, wearing a blue robe, sat in a cushioned 
 chair, staring toward the Chief Inspector. With one 
 slender yellow hand he brushed his untidy gray hair. 
 His long magnetic eyes were half closed. 
 
 "Good evening, Chief Inspector Kerry," he said. 
 "Won't you be seated?" 
 
 "Thanks, I'm not staying. I can hear what you've 
 got to say standing." 
 
 The long eyes grew a little more narrow — the only 
 change of expression that Zani Chada allowed himself. 
 
 "As you wish. I have no occasion to detain you 
 long." 
 
 In that queer, perfumed room, with the suggestion 
 of something sinister underlying its exotic luxury, 
 ar«se a kind of astral clash as the powerful personality 
 of the Eurasian came in contact with that of Kerry. 
 In a sense it was a contest of rapier and battle-axe; 
 an insidious but powerful will enlisted against the 
 bulldog force of the Chief Inspector. 
 
 Still through half-closed eyes Zani Chada watched 
 his visitor, who stood, feet apart and chin thrust for- 
 ward aggressively, staring with wide open, fierce blue 
 eyes at the other. 
 
 "I'm going to say one thing," declared Kerry, 
 snapping out the words in a manner little short of 
 ferocious. He laid his hat and cane upon a chair and 
 took a step in the direction of the narrow, laden table. 
 "Make me any kind of offer to buy back the evidence 
 you think I've got, and I'll bash your face as flat as a 
 frying-pan." 
 
 The yellow hands of Zani Chada clutched the metal 
 
94 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 knobs which ornamented the arms of the chair in 
 which he was seated. The long eyes now presented 
 the appearance of being entirely closed; otherwise he 
 remained immovable. 
 
 Following a short, portentous silence : 
 
 "How grossly you misunderstood me, Chief In- 
 spector," Chada replied, speaking very softly. "You 
 are shortly to be promoted to a post which no one is 
 better fitted to occupy. You enjoy great domestic 
 happiness, and you possess a son in whom you repose 
 great hopes. In this respect Chief Inspector, I re- 
 semble you." 
 
 Kerry's nostrils were widely dilated, but he did not 
 speak. 
 
 "You see," continued the Eurasian, "I know many 
 things about you. Indeed, I have watched your career 
 with interest. Now, to be brief, a great scandal may 
 be averted and a woman's reputation preserved if you 
 and I, as men of the world, can succeed in understand- 
 ing one another." 
 
 "I don't want to understand you," said Kerry 
 bluntly. "But you've said enough already to justify 
 me in blowing this whistle." He drew a police 
 whistle from his overcoat pocket. "This house is 
 being watched." 
 
 "I am aware of the fact," murmured Zani Chada, 
 
 "There are two people in it I want for two different 
 reasons. If you say much more there may be three." 
 
 Chada raised his hand slowly. 
 
 "Put back your whistle, Chief Inspector." 
 
 There was a curious restraint in the Eurasian's 
 
KERRY'S KID 95 
 
 manner which Kerry distrusted, but for which at the 
 time he was at a loss to account. Then suddenly he 
 determined that the man was waiting for something, 
 listening for some , sound. As if to confirm this 
 reasoning, just at that moment a sound indeed broke 
 the silence of the room. 
 
 Somewhere far away in the distance of the big 
 house a gong was beaten three times softly. Kerry's 
 fierce glance searched the face of Zani Chada, but it 
 remained mask-like, immovable. Yet that this had 
 been a signal of some kind the Chief Inspector did 
 not doubt, and: 
 
 "You can't trick me," he said fiercely. "No one 
 can leave this house without my knowledge, and be- 
 cause of what happened out there in the fog my hands 
 are untied." 
 
 He took up his hat and cane from the chair. 
 
 "I'm going to search the premises," he declared 
 
 Zani Chada stood up slowly. 
 
 "Chief Inspector," he said, "I advise you to do 
 nothing until you have consulted your wife." 
 
 "Consulted my wife?" snapped Kerry. "What the 
 devil do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that any steps you may take now can only 
 lead to disaster for many, and in your own case to 
 great sorrow." 
 
 Kerry took a step forward, two steps, then paused. 
 He was considering certain words which the Eurasian 
 had spoken. Without fearing the man in the physical 
 sense, he was not fool enough to underestimate his 
 potentialities for evil and his power to strike darkly. 
 
96 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Act as you please," added Zani Chada, speaking 
 even more softly. "But I have not advised lightly. 
 I will receive you, Chief Inspector, at any hour of the 
 night you care to return. By to-morrow, if you wish, 
 you may be independent of everybody." 
 
 Kerry clenched his fists. 
 
 "And great sorrow may be spared to others," con- 
 cluded the Eurasian. 
 
 Kerry's teeth snapped together audibly; then, put- 
 ting on his hat, he turned and walked straight to the 
 door. 
 
DAN KERRY, JUNIOR 
 
 DAN KERRY, junior, was humorously like his 
 father, except that he was larger-boned and 
 promised to grow into a much bigger man. 
 His hair was uncompromisingly red, and grew in such 
 irregular fashion that the comb was not made which 
 could subdue it. He had the wide-open, fighting blue 
 eyes of the Chief Inspector, and when he smiled the 
 presence of two broken teeth lent him a very pugilistic 
 appearance. 
 
 On his advent at the school of which he was now 
 one of the most popular members, he had promptly 
 been christened "Carrots." To this nickname young 
 Kerry had always taken exception, and he proceeded 
 to display his prejudice on the first day of his arrival 
 with such force and determination that the sobriquet 
 had been withdrawn by tacit consent of every member 
 of the form who hitherto had favoured it. 
 
 "I'll take you all on," the new arrival had declared 
 amidst a silence of stupefaction, "starting with you" 
 — pointing to the biggest boy. "If we don't finish 
 to-day, I'll begin again to-morrow." 
 
 The sheer impudence of the thing had astounded 
 everybody. Young Kerry's treatment of his leading 
 
 97 
 
98 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 persecutor had produced a salutary change of opinion. 
 Of such kidney was Daniel Kerry, junior; and when, 
 some hours after his father's departure on the night 
 of the murder in the fog, the 'phone bell rang, it was 
 Dan junior, and not his mother, who answered the call. 
 
 "Hallo!" said a voice. "Is that Chief Inspector 
 JCerry's house?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Dan. 
 
 "It has begun to rain in town," the voice continued. 
 "Is that the Chief Inspector's son speaking?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm Daniel Kerry." 
 
 "Well, my boy, you know the way to New Scotland 
 Yard?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 "He says will you bring his overall? Do you know 
 where to find it?" 
 
 "Yes, yes!" cried Dan excitedly, delighted to be 
 thus made a party to his father's activities. 
 
 "Well, get it. Jump on a tram at the Town Hall 
 and bring the overall along here. Your mother will 
 not object, will she?" 
 
 "Of course not," cried Dan. "I'll tell her. Am I 
 to start now?" 
 
 "Yes, right away." 
 
 Mrs. Kerry was sewing by the fire in the dining 
 room when her son came in with the news, his blue eyes 
 sparkling excitedly. She nodded her head slowly. 
 
 "Ye'U want ye'r Burberry and ye'r thick boots," 
 she declared, "a muffler, too, and ye'r oldest cap. I 
 think it's madness for ye to go out on such a night, 
 but " 
 
KERRY'S KID 99 
 
 "Father said I could," protested the boy. 
 
 "He says so, and ye shall go, but I think it madness 
 a' the same." 
 
 However, some ten minutes later young Kerry set 
 out, keenly resenting the woollen muffler which he 
 had been compelled to wear, and secretly determined 
 to remove it before mounting the tram. Across one 
 arm he carried the glistening overall which was the 
 Chief Inspector's constant companion on wet nights 
 abroad. The fog had turned denser, and ten paces 
 from the door of the house took him out of sight of 
 the light streaming from the hallway. 
 
 Mary Kerry well knew her husband's theories about 
 coddling boys, but even so could not entirely reconcile 
 herself to the present expedition. However, closing 
 the door, she returned philosophically to her sewing, 
 reflecting that little harm could come to Dan after 
 all, for he was strong, healthy, and intelligent. 
 
 On went the boy through the mist, whistling merrily. 
 Not twenty yards from the house a coupe was drawn 
 up, and by the light of one of its lamps a man was con- 
 sulting a piece of paper on which, presumably, an 
 [address was written ; for, as the boy approached, the 
 man turned, his collar pulled up about his face, his 
 hat pulled down. 
 
 "Hallo I" he called, "Can you please tell me some- 
 thing?" 
 
 He spoke with a curious accent, unfamiliar to the 
 boy. "A foreigner of some kind," young Kerry de- 
 termined. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked, pausing. 
 
loo TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Will you please read and tell me if I am near 
 this place?" the man continued, holding up the paper 
 which he had been scrutinizing. 
 
 Dan stepped forward and bent over It. He could 
 not make out the writing, and bent yet more, holding 
 it nearer to the lamp. At which moment some second 
 person neatly pinioned him from behind, a scarf was 
 whipped about his head, and, kicking furiously but 
 otherwise helpless, he felt himself lifted and placed 
 inside the car. 
 
 The muffler had been thrown in such fashion about 
 his face as to leave one eye partly free, and as he was 
 lifted he had a momentary glimpse of his captors. 
 With a thrill of real, sickly terror he realized that he 
 was in the hands of Chinamen! 
 
 Perhaps telepathically this spasm of fear was con- 
 veyed to his father, for it was at about this time that 
 the latter was interviewing Zani Chada, and at about 
 this time that Kerry recognized, underlying the other's 
 words, at once an ill-concealed suspense and a threat. 
 Then, a few minutes later, had come the three strokes 
 of the gong; and again that unreasonable dread had 
 assailed him, perhaps because it signalized the capture 
 of his son, news of which had been immediately tele- 
 phoned to Limehouse by Zani Chada's orders. 
 
 Certain it is that Kerry left the Eurasian's house 
 in a frame of mind which was not familiar to him. 
 He was undecided respecting his next move. A deadly 
 menace underlay Chada's words. 
 
 "Consult your wife," he kept muttering to himself. 
 When the door was opened for him by the Chinese 
 
KERRY'S KID loi 
 
 servant, he paused a moment before going out into 
 the fog. There were men on duty at the back and at 
 the front of the house. Should he risk all and raid 
 the place? That Lady Rourke was captive here he 
 no longer doubted. But it was equally certain that 
 no further harm would come to her at the hands of 
 her captors, since she had been traced there and since 
 Zani Chada was well aware of the fact. Of the 
 whereabouts of Lou Chada he could not be certain. 
 If he was in the house, they had him. 
 
 The door was closed by the Chinaman, and Kerry 
 stood out in the darkness of the dismal, brick-walled 
 street, feeling something as nearly akin to dejection 
 as was possible in one of his mercurial spirit. Some- 
 thing trickled upon the brim of his hat, and, raising 
 his head, Kerry detected rain upon his upturned face. 
 He breathed a prayer of thankfulness. This would 
 put an end to the fog. 
 
 He began to walk along by the high brick wall, 
 but had not proceeded far before a muffled figure 
 arose before him and the light of an electric torch was 
 shone into his face. 
 
 "Oh, it's you, Chief Inspector !" came the voice of 
 the watcher. 
 
 "It is," rapped Kerry. "Unless there are tunnels 
 under this old rat-hole, I take it the men on duty can 
 cover all the exits?" 
 
 "All the main exits," was the reply. "But, as you 
 say, it's a strange house, and Zani Chada has a 
 stranger reputation." 
 
 "Do nothing until you hear from me." 
 
102 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Very good, Chief Inspector." 
 
 The rain now was definitely conquering the fog, 
 and in half the time which had been occupied by the 
 outward journey Kerry was back again in Limehouse 
 police station. Unconsciously he had been hastening 
 his pace with every stride, urged onward by an un- 
 accountable anxiety, so that finally he almost ran into 
 the office and up to the desk where the telephone 
 stood. 
 
 Lifting it, he called his own number and stood 
 tapping his foot, impatiently awaiting the reply. 
 Presently came the voice of the operator : "Have they 
 answered yet?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I will ring them again." 
 
 Kerry's anxiety became acute, almost unendurable; 
 and when at last, after repeated attempts, no reply 
 could be obtained from his home, he replaced the re- 
 ceiver and leaned for a moment on the desk, shaken 
 with such a storm of apprehension as he had rarely 
 known. He turned to the inspector in charge, and: 
 
 "Let me have that envelope I left with you," he 
 directed. "And have someone 'phone for a taxi; they 
 are to keep on till they get one. Where is Sergeant 
 Durham?" 
 
 "At the mortuary." 
 
 "Ahl" 
 
 "Any developments, Chief Inspector?" 
 
 "Yes. But apart from keeping a close watch upon 
 the house of Zani Chada you are to do nothing until 
 you hear from me again." 
 
KERRY'S KID 103 
 
 "Very good," said the inspector. "Are you going 
 to wait for Durham's report?" 
 
 "No. Directly the cab arrives I am going to wait 
 for nothing." 
 
 Indeed, he paced up and down the room like a wild 
 beast caged, while call after call was sent to neighbour- 
 ing cab ranks, for a long time without result. What 
 did it mean, his wife's failure to answer the telephone? 
 It might mean that neither she nor their one servant 
 nor Dan was in the house. And if they were not in 
 the house at this hour of the night, where could they 
 possibly be? This it might mean, or^ — something 
 worse. 
 
 A thousand and one possibilities, hideous, fantastic, 
 appalling, flashed through his mind. He was begin- 
 ning to learn what Zani Chada had meant when he 
 had said: "I have followed your career with in- 
 terest." 
 
 At last a taxi was found, and the man instructed 
 over the 'phone to proceed immediately to Limehouse 
 station. He seemed so long in coming that when at 
 last the cab was heard to pause outside, Kerry could 
 not trust himself to speak to the driver, but directed a 
 sergeant to give him the address. He entered silently 
 and closed the door. 
 
 A steady drizzle of rain was falling. It had al- 
 ready dispersed t^ie fog, so that he might hope with 
 luck to be home within the hour. As a matter of 
 fact, the man performed the journey in excellent time, 
 but it seemed to his passenger that he could have 
 walked quicker, such was the gnawing anxiety within 
 
104 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 him and the fear which prompted him to long for 
 wings. 
 
 Instructing the cabman to wait, Kerry unlocked 
 the front door and entered. He had noted a light in 
 the dining room window, and entering, he found his 
 wife awaiting him there. She rose as he entered, with 
 horror in her comely face. 
 
 "Dan!" she whispered. "Dan! where is ye'r 
 maclcintosh ?" 
 
 "I didn't take it," he replied, endeavouring to tell 
 himself that his apprehensions had been groundless. 
 "Buthowwasitthatyou did not answer the telephone?" 
 
 "What do ye mean, Dan?" Mary Kerry stared, 
 her eyes growing wider and wider. "The boy an- 
 swered, Dan. He set out wi' ye'r mackintosh full 
 an hour and a half since." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 The truth leaped out at Kerry Uke an enemy out, 
 of ambush. 
 
 "Who sent that message?" 
 
 "Someone frae the Yard, to tell the boy to bring 
 ye'r mackintosh alone at once. Dan! Dan " 
 
 She advanced, hands outstretched, quivering, but 
 Kerry had leaped out into the narrow hallway. He 
 raised the telephone receiver, listened for a moment, 
 and then jerked it back upon the hook. 
 
 "Dead line !" he muttered. "Someone has been at 
 work with a wire-cutter outside the house!" 
 
 His wife came out to where he stood, and, clenching 
 his teeth very grimly, he took her in his arms. She 
 was shaking as if palsied. 
 
KERRY'S KID 105 
 
 "Mary dear," he said, "pray with all your might 
 that I am given strength to do my duty." 
 
 She looked at him with haggard, tearless eyes. 
 
 "Tell me the truth: ha' they got my boy?" 
 
 His fingers tightened on her shoulders. 
 
 "Don't worry," he said, "and don't ask me to stay 
 to explain. When I come back I'll have Dan with 
 me!" 
 
 He trusted himself no further, but, clapping his hat 
 on his head, walked out to the waiting cab. 
 
 "Back to Limehouse police station," he directed 
 rapidly. 
 
 "Lor lumme!" muttered the taximan. "Where 
 are you goin' to after that, guv'nor? It's a bit off 
 the map." 
 
 "I'm going to hell!" rapped Kerry, suddenly thrust- 
 ing his red face very near to that of the speaker. 
 "And you're going to drive mel" 
 
VI 
 
 THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 RECOGNIZING the superior strength of his 
 captors, young Kerry soon gave up struggling. 
 - The thrill of his first real adventure entered 
 into his blood. He remembered that he was the son 
 of his father, and he realized, being a quick-witted 
 lad, that he was in the grip of enemies of his father. 
 The panic which had threatened him when first he had 
 recognized that he was in the hands of Chinese, gave 
 place to a cold rage — a heritage which in later years 
 was to make him a dangerous man. 
 
 He lay quite passively in the grasp of someone 
 who held him fast, and learned, by breathing quietly, 
 that the presence of the muffler about his nose and 
 mouth did not greatly inconvenience him. There was 
 some desultory conversation between the two men in 
 the car, but it was carried on in an odd, sibilant 
 language which the boy did not understand, but which 
 he divined to be Chinese. He thought how every 
 ©ther boy in the school would envy him, and the 
 thought was stimulating, nerving. On the very first 
 day of his holidays he was become the central figure 
 of a Chinatown drama. 
 
 The last traces of fear fled. His position was un- 
 
 io6 
 
KERRY'S KID 107 
 
 comfortable and his limbs were cramped, but he 
 resigned himself, with something almost like glad- 
 ness, and began to look forward to that which lay 
 ahead with a zest and a will to be no passive instru- 
 ment which might have surprised his captors could 
 they have read the mind of their captive. 
 
 The journey seemed almost interminable, but young 
 Kerry suffered it in stoical silence until the car stopped 
 and he was lifted and carried down stone steps into 
 some damp, earthy-smelling place. Some distance 
 was traversed, and then many flights of stairs were 
 mounted, some bare but others carpeted. 
 
 Finally he was deposited in a chair, and as he 
 raised his hand to the scarf, which toward the end of 
 the journey had been bound more tightly about his 
 head so as to prevent him from seeing at all, he heard 
 a door closed and locked. 
 
 The scarf was quickly removed. And Dan found 
 himself in a low-ceilinged attic having a sloping roof 
 and one shuttered window. A shadeless electric lamp 
 hung from the ceiling. Excepting the cane-seated 
 chair in which he had been deposited and a certain 
 amount of nondescript lumber, the attic was unfur- 
 nished. Dan rapidly considered what his father would 
 have done in the circumstances. 
 
 "Make sure that the door is locked," he muttered. 
 
 He tried it, and it was locked beyond any shadow of 
 doubt. 
 
 "The window." 
 
 Shutters covered it, and these were fastened with 
 a padlock. 
 
io8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 He considered this padlock attentively ; then, draw- 
 ing from his pocket one of those wonderful knives 
 which are really miniature tool-chests, he raised from 
 a grove the screw-driver which formed part of its 
 equipment, and with neatness and dispatch unscrewed 
 the staple to which the padlock was attached ! 
 
 A moment later he had opened the shutters and 
 was looking out into the drizzle of the night. 
 
 The room in which he was confined was on the third 
 floor of a dingy, brick-built house ; a portion of some 
 other building faced him; down below was a stone- 
 paved courtyard. To the left stood a high wall, and 
 beyond it he obtained a glimpse of other dingy build- 
 ings. One lighted window was visible — a square 
 window in the opposite building, from which amber 
 light shone out. 
 
 Somewhere in the street beyond was a standard 
 lamp. He could detect the halo which it cast into the 
 misty rain. The glass was very dirty, and young 
 Keri-y raised the sash, admitting a draught of damp, 
 cold air into the room. He craned out, looking about 
 him eagerly. 
 
 A rainwater-pipe was within reach of his hand on 
 the right of the window and, leaning out still farther, 
 young Kerry saw that it passed beside two other, 
 larger, windows on the floor beneath him. Neither 
 of these showed any light. 
 
 Dizzy heights have no terror for healthy youth. 
 The brackets supporting the rain-pipe were a sufficient 
 staircase for the agile Dan, a more slippery prisoner 
 than the famous Baron Trenck; and, discarding his 
 
KERRY'S KID 109 
 
 muffler and his Burberry, he climbed out upon the sill 
 and felt with his thick-soled boots for the first of these 
 footholds. Clutching the ledge, he lowered himself 
 and felt for the next. 
 
 Then came the moment when he must trust all his 
 weight to the pipe. Clenching his teeth, he risked it, 
 felt for and found the third angle, and then, still 
 clutching the pipe, stood for a moment upon the ledge 
 of the window immediately beneath him. He was 
 curious respecting the lighted window of the neigh- 
 bouring house; and, twisting about, he bent, peering 
 across — and saw a sight which arrested his progress. 
 
 The room within was furnished in a way which 
 made him gasp with astonishment. It was like an 
 Eastern picture, he thought. Her golden hair dis- 
 hevelled and her hands alternately clenching and un- 
 clenching, a woman whom he considered to be most 
 wonderfully dressed was pacing wildly up and down, 
 a look of such horror upon her pale face that Dan's 
 heart seemed to stop beating for a moment! 
 
 Here was real trouble of a sort which appealed to 
 all the chivalry in the boy's nature. He considered 
 the window, wbich was glazed with amber-coloured 
 glass, observed that it was sufficiently open to enable 
 him to slip the fastening and open it entirely could 
 he but reach it. And — ^yes! — there was a rain-pipe I 
 
 Climbing down to the yard, he looked quickly about 
 him, ran across, and climbed up to the lighted window. 
 A moment later he had pushed it widely open. 
 
 He was greeted by a stifled cry, but, cautiously 
 transferring his weight from the friendly pipe to the 
 
1 1 o TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ledge, he got astride of It, one foot In the room. 
 Then, by exercise of a monkey-Hke agility, he wriggled 
 his head and shoulders within. 
 
 "It's all right," he said softly and reassuringly. 
 "I'm Dan Kerry, son of Chief Inspector Kerry. Can 
 I be of any assistance?" 
 
 Her hands clasped convulsively together, the 
 woman stood looking up at him. 
 
 "Oh, thank God!" said the captive. "But what 
 are you going to do? Can you get me out?" 
 
 "Don't worry," replied Dan confidently. "Father 
 and I can manage it all right!" 
 
 He performed a singular contortion, as a result of 
 which his other leg and foot appeared inside the win- 
 dow. Then, twisting around, he lowered himself and 
 dropped triumphantly upon a cushioned divan. At 
 that moment he would have faced a cage full of man- 
 eating tigers. The spirit of adventure had him In Its 
 grip. He stood up, breathing rapidly, his crop of 
 red hair more dishevelled than usual. 
 
 Then, before he could stir or utter any protest, the 
 golden-haired princess whom he had come to rescue 
 stooped, threw her arms arpund his neck, and kissed 
 him. 
 
 "You darling, brave boy!" she said. "I think you 
 have saved me from madness." 
 
 Young Kerry, more flushed than ever, extricated 
 himself, and: 
 
 "You're not out of the mess yet," he protested. 
 "The only difference is that I'm in It with you !" 
 
 "But where is your father?" 
 
KERRY'S KID iii 
 
 "I'm looking for him." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Oh I he's about somewhere," Dan assured her con- 
 fidently. 
 
 "But, but " She was gazing at him wide-eyed, 
 
 "Didn't he send you here?" 
 
 "You bet he didn't," returned young Kerry, "I 
 came here on my own accord, and when I go you're 
 coming with me. I can't make out how you got here, 
 anyway. Do you know whose house this is?" 
 
 "Oh, I do, I do!" 
 
 "Whose?" 
 
 "It belongs to a man called Chada." 
 
 "Chada? Never heard of him. But I mean, what 
 part of London is it In?" 
 
 "Whatever do you mean? It is in Limehouse, I 
 believe. I don't understand. You came here." 
 
 "I didn't," said young Kerry cheerfully; "I was 
 fetched!" 
 
 "By your father?" 
 
 "Not on your life. By a couple of Chinks! I'll 
 tell you something." He raised his twinkling blue 
 eyes. "We are properly up against it. I suppose 
 you couldn't climb down a rain-pipe?" 
 
VII 
 
 RETRIBUTION 
 
 IT WAS that dark, still, depressing hour of the 
 night, when all life is at its lowest ebb. In the 
 low, strangely perfumed room of books Zani 
 Chada sat before his table, his yellow hands clutching 
 the knobs on his chair arms, his long, inscrutable eyes 
 staring unseeingly before him. 
 
 Came a disturbance and the sound of voices, and 
 Lou Chada, his son, stood at the doorway. He still 
 wore his evening clothes, but he no longer looked 
 smart. His glossy black hair was dishevelled, and 
 his handsome, olive face bore a hunted look. Panic 
 was betoken by twitching mouth and fear-bright eyes. 
 He stopped, glaring at his father, and : 
 
 "Why are you not gone?" asked the latter sternly. 
 "Do you wish to wreck me as well as yourself?" 
 
 "The police have posted a man opposite Kwee's 
 house. I cannot get out that way." 
 
 "There was no one there when the boy was 
 brought in." 
 
 "No, but there is now. Father!" He took a step 
 forward. "I'm trapped. They sha'n't take me. You 
 won't let them take me?" 
 
 Zani Chada stirred not a muscle, but : 
 
 112 
 
KERRY'S KID 113 
 
 "To-night," he said, "your mad passion has brought 
 ruin to both of us. For the sake of a golden doll who 
 is not worth the price of the jewels she wears, you have 
 placed yourself within reach of the hangman." 
 
 "I was mad, I was mad," groaned the other. 
 
 "But I, who was sane, am involved in the con- 
 sequences," retorted his father, 
 
 "He will be silent at the price of the boy's life." 
 
 "He may be," returned Zani Chada. "I hate him, 
 but he is a man. Had you escaped, he might have 
 consented to be silent. Once you are arrested, noth- 
 ing would silence him." 
 
 "If the case is tried it will ruin Pat's reputation." 
 
 "What a pity!" said Zani Chada. 
 
 In some distant part of the house a gong was 
 struck three times. 
 
 "Go," commanded his father. "Remain at Kwee's 
 house until I send for you. Let Ah Fang go to the 
 room above and see that the woman is silent. An 
 outcry would ruin our last chance." 
 
 Lou Chada raised his hands, brushing the hair 
 back from his wet forehead, then, staring haggardly 
 at his father, turned and ran from the room. 
 
 A minute later Kerry was ushered in by the Chinese 
 servant. The savage face was set like a mask. 
 Without removing his hat, he strode across to the 
 table and bent down so th"at fierce, wide-open blue eyes 
 stared closely into long, half-closed black ones. 
 
 "I've got one thing to say," explained Kerry huskily. 
 "Whatever the hangman may do to your slimy son, 
 and whatever happens to the little blonde fool he 
 
114 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 kidnapped, if you've laid a hand on my kid I'll kick 
 you to death, if I follow you round the world to do it." 
 
 Zani Chada made no reply, but his knuckles gleamed, 
 so tightly did he clutch the knobs on the chair arms. 
 Kerry's savagery would have awed any man, even 
 though he had supposed it to be the idle threat of a 
 passionate man. But Zani Chada knew all men, and 
 he knew this one. When Daniel Kerry declared that 
 in given circumstances he would kick Zani Chada to 
 death, he did not mean that he would shoot him, 
 strangle him, or even beat him with his fists ; he meant 
 precisely what he said — that he would kick him to 
 death — and Zani Chada knew it. 
 
 Thus there were some moments of tense silence 
 during which the savage face of the Chief Inspector 
 drew even closer to the gaunt, yellow face of the 
 Eurasian. Finally : 
 
 "Listen only for one moment," said Zani Chada. 
 His voice had lost its guttural intonation. He spoke 
 softly, sibilantly. "I, too, am a father " 
 
 "Don't mince words!" shouted Kerry. "You've 
 kidnapped my boy. If I have to tear your house 
 down brick by brick I'll find him. And if you've hurt 
 one hair of his head — ^you know what to expect I" 
 
 He quivered. The effort of suppression which he 
 had imposed upon himself was frightful to witness. 
 Zani Chada, student of men, knew that in despite of 
 his own physical strength and of the hidden resources 
 [at his beck, he stood nearer to primitive retribution 
 tiian he had ever done. Yet: 
 
 "I understand," he continued. "But you do not 
 
KERRY'S KID 115 
 
 understand. Your boy is not in this house. Ohl 
 violence cannot avail! It can only make his loss 
 irreparable." 
 
 Kerry, nostrils distended, eyes glaring madly, bent 
 over him. 
 
 "Your scallywag of a son," he said hoarsely, "has 
 gone one step too far. His adventures have twice 
 before ended in murder — and you have covered him. 
 This time you can't do it. I'm not to be bought. 
 We've stood for the Far East in London long enough. 
 Your cub hangs this time. Get me? There'll be no 
 bargaining. The woman's reputation won't stop me. 
 My kid's danger won't stop me. But if you try to use 
 him as a lever I'll boot you to your stinking yellow 
 paradise and they'll check you in as pulp." 
 
 "You speak of three deaths," murmured Zani Ghada. 
 
 Kerry clenched his teeth so tightly that his maxillary 
 muscles protruded to an abnormal degree. He thrust 
 his clenched fists into his coat pockets. 
 
 "We all follow our vocations in life," resumed the 
 Eurasian, "to the best of our abilities. But is pro- 
 fessional kudos not too dearly bought at the price of 
 a loved one lost for ever? A far better bargain 
 would be, shall we say, ten thousand pounds, as the 
 price of a silk handkerchief " 
 
 Kerry's fierce blue eyes closed for a fraction of a 
 second. Yet, in that fraction of a second, he had 
 visualized some of the things which ten thousand 
 pounds — a sum he could never hope to possess — 
 would buy. He had seen his home, as he would have 
 it — and he had seen Dan there, safe and happy at his 
 
ii6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 mother's side. Was he entitled to disregard the hap- 
 piness of his wife, the life of his boy, the honourable 
 name of Sir Noel Rourke, because an outcast like 
 Peters had come to a fitting end — because a treacher- 
 ous Malay and a renegade Chinaman had, earlier, 
 gone the same way, sped, as he suspected, by the same 
 hand? 
 
 "My resources are unusual," added Chada, speak- 
 ing almost in a whisper. "I have cash to this amount 
 in my safe " 
 
 So far he had proceeded when he was interrupted; 
 and the cause of the interruption was this : 
 
 A few moments earlier another dramatic encounter 
 had taken place in a distant part of the house. Kerry 
 Junior, having scientifically tested all the possible 
 modes of egress from the room in which Lady Pat was 
 confined, had long ago desisted, and had exhausted 
 his ingenuity in plans which discussion had proved to 
 be useless. In spite of the novelty and the danger of 
 his situation, nature was urging her laws. He was 
 growing sleepy. The crowning tragedy had been the 
 discovery that he could not regain the small, square 
 window set high in the wall from which he had 
 dropped into this luxurious prison. Now, as the two 
 sat side by side upon a cushioned divan, the woman's 
 arm about the boy's shoulders, they were startled to 
 hear, in the depths of the house, three notes of a 
 gong. 
 
 Young Kerry's sleepiness departed. He leapt to 
 his feet as though electrified. 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
KERRY'S KID 117 
 
 Theie was something horrifying in those gong 
 notes in the stillness of the night. Lady Pat's beauti- 
 ful eyes grew glassy with fear. 
 
 "I don't know," replied Dan. "It seemed to come 
 from below." 
 
 He ran to the door, drew the curtain aside, and 
 pressed his car against one of the panels, listening 
 intently. As he did so, his attitude grew tense, his 
 expression changed, then : 
 
 "We're saved!" he cried, turning a radiant face to 
 the woman, "I heard my father's voice 1" 
 
 "Oh, are you sure, are you sure?" 
 
 "Absolutely sure!" 
 
 He bent to press his ear to the panel again, when 
 a stifled cry from his companion brought him swiftly 
 to his feet. The second door in the room had opened 
 silently, and a small Chinaman, who carried himself 
 with a stoop, had entered, and now, a menacing ex- 
 pression upon his face, was quickly approaching the 
 boy. 
 
 What he had meant to do for ever remained in 
 doubt, for young Kerry, knowing his father to be in 
 the house and seeing an open door before him, took 
 matters into his own hands. 
 
 At the moment that the silent Chinaman was about 
 to throw his arms about him, the pride of the junior 
 school registered a most surprising left accurately on 
 the point of Ah Fang's jaw, following it up by a wilful 
 transgression of Queensberry rules in the form of a 
 stomach punch which temporarily decided the issue. 
 Then : 
 
ii8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Quick I quick!" he cried breathlessly, grasping 
 Lady Pat's hand. "This is where we run!" 
 
 In such fashion was Zani Chada interrupted, the 
 interruption taking the form of a sudden, shrill out- 
 cry: 
 
 "Dad! dad! Where are you, dad?" 
 
 Kerry spun about as a man galvanized. His face 
 became transfigured. 
 
 "This way, Dan!" he cried. "This way, boy!" 
 
 Came a clatter of hurrying feet, and into the low, 
 perfumed room burst Dan Kerry, junior, tightly 
 clasping the hand of a pale-faced, dishevelled woman 
 in evening dress. It was Lady Rourke ; and although 
 she seemed to be in a nearly fainting condition, Dan 
 dragged her, half running, into the room. 
 
 Kerry gave one glance at the pair, then, instantly, 
 he turned to face Zani Chada. The latter, like a man 
 of stone, sat in his carved chair, eyes nearly closed. 
 The Chief Inspector whipped out a whistle and raised 
 it to his lips. He blew three blasts upon it. 
 
 From one — two — three — four points around the 
 house the signal was answered. 
 
 Zani Chada fully opened his long, basilisk eyes. 
 
 "You win. Chief Inspector," he said. "But much 
 may be done by clever counsel. If all fails " 
 
 "Well?" rapped Kerry fiercely, at. the same time 
 throwing his arm around the boy. 
 
 "I may continue to take an interest in your 
 affairs." 
 
 A tremendous uproar arose, within and without the 
 house. The police were raiding the place. Lady 
 
KERRY'S KID 119 
 
 Rourke sank down, slowly, almost at the Eurasian's 
 feet. 
 
 But Chief Inspector Kerry experienced an unfamiliar 
 chill as his uncompromising stare met the cold hatred 
 which blazed out of the black eyes, narrowed, now, 
 and serpentine, of Zani Chada. 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 
 I 
 
 HOW I OBTAINED IT 
 
 LEAVING the dock gates behind me I tramped 
 through the steady drizzle, going parallel with 
 ■^ the river and making for the Chinese quarter. 
 The hour was about half^past eleven on one of those 
 September nights when, in such a locality as this, a 
 stifling quality seems to enter the atmosphere, render- 
 ing it all but unbreathable. A mist floated over the 
 river, and it was difficult to say if the rain was still 
 falling, indeed, or if the ample moisture upon my 
 garments was traceable only to the fog. Sounds were 
 muffled, lights dimmed, and the frequent hooting of 
 oirens from the river added another touch of weird- 
 ness to the scene. 
 
 Even when the peculiar duties of my friend, Paul 
 Harley, called him away from England, the lure of 
 this miniature Orient which I had first explored under 
 his guidance, often called me from my chambers. In 
 the house with the two doors in Wade Street, Lime- 
 house, I would discard the armour of respectability, 
 and, dressed in a manner unlikely to provoke comment 
 in dockland, would haunt those dreary ways sometimes 
 from midnight until close upon dawn. Yet, well as I, 
 
 123 
 
124 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 knew the district and the strlange and often dangerous 
 creatures lurking in its many burrows, I experienced 
 j», chill partly physical and partly of apprehension 
 "£b-night; indeed, strange thoujgh it may sound, I hast- 
 ened my footsteps in order the sooner to reach the 
 low den for which I was bound — Malay Jack's — a 
 spot marked plainly on the crimes-map and which few 
 respectable travellers would have regarded as a haven 
 of refuge. 
 
 But the chill of the adjacent river, and some quality 
 of utter desolation which seemed to emanate from the 
 deserted wharves and ramshackle buildings about me, 
 were driving me thither now; for I knew that human 
 companionship, of a sort, and a glass of good liquor 
 — from a store which the Customs would have been 
 happy 'to locate — -awaited me there. I rriight chance, 
 too, upbn Durham' or Wessex, of New Scotland Yard, 
 both good friends of mine, or even upon the Terror 
 of Chinatown, Chief Inspector Kerry, a man for 
 whoin I had an esteem which none of his ungracious 
 manners could diminish. 
 
 I was just about to turn to the right into a narrow 
 and nameless alley, lying at right attgles to the 
 Thames, when I pulled up sharply, clenching my fists 
 and listening. 
 
 A confused and continuous sound, not unlike that 
 "which might be occasioned by several large and savage 
 hounds at close grips, was proceeding out of the 
 darkness ahead of me; a worrying, growling, and 
 scuffling which presently I identified as human, 
 although in fact it was animal eribugh. A moment I 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 125 
 
 hesitated, then, distinguishing among the sounds of 
 conflict an unmistakable, though subdued, cry for help, 
 I leaped forward and found myself in the midst of 
 the fnelee. 
 
 This was taking place in the lee of a high, dilapi- 
 dated brick wall. A lamp in a sort of iron bracket 
 spluttered dimly above on the right, but the scene of 
 the conflict lay in densest shadow, so that the figures 
 were indistinguishable. 
 
 "Help! By Gawd! they're strangling me " 
 
 From almost at my feet the cry arose and was 
 drowned in Chinese chattering. But guided by it I 
 now managed to make out that the struggle in pro- 
 gress waged between a burly English sailorman and 
 two lithe Chinese. The yellow men seemed to have 
 gained the advantage and my course was clear. 
 
 A straight right on the jaw of the Chinaman who 
 •was engaged in endeavouring to throttle the victim 
 laid him prone in the dirty roadway. His companion, 
 who was holding the wrist of the recumbent man, 
 sprang upright as though propelled by a spring. I 
 struck out at him savagely. He uttered a shrill 
 scream not unlike that of a stricken hare, and fled so 
 rapidly that he seemed to melt in the mist. 
 
 "Gawd bless you, mate !" came chokingly from the 
 ground — and the rescued man, extricating himself 
 from beneath the body of his stunned assailant, rose 
 unsteadily to his feet and lurched toward me. 
 
 As I had surmised, he was a sailor, wearing a rough, 
 blue-serge jacket and having his greasy trousers thrust 
 into heavy seaboots — ^by which I judged that he was 
 
126 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 but newly come ashore. He stooped and picked up 
 his cap. It was covered in mud, as were the rest of 
 his garments, but he brushed it with his sleeve as 
 though it had been but slightly soiled and clapped it 
 on his head. 
 
 He grasped my hand in a grip of iron, peering 
 into my face, and his breath was eloquent. 
 
 "I'd had one or two, mate," he confided huskily 
 (the confession was unnecessary). "It was them two 
 in the Blue Anchor as did it; if I 'adn't 'ad them last 
 two, I could 'ave broke up theni Chinks with one 'and 
 tied behind me." 
 
 "That's all right," I said hastily, "but what are we 
 going to do about this Chink here?" I added, en- 
 deavouring at the same time to extricate my hand 
 from the vise-like grip in which he persistently held it. 
 "He hit the tiles pretty heavy when he went down." 
 
 As if to settle my doubts, the recumbent figure 
 suddenly arose and without a word fled into the dark- 
 ness and was gone like a phantom. My new friend 
 made no attempt to follow, but : 
 
 "You can't kill a bloody Chink," he confided, still 
 clutching my hand; "it ain't 'umanly possible. It's 
 easier to kill a cat. Come along o' me and 'ave one; 
 then I'll tell you somethink. I'll put you on some- 
 think, I will." 
 
 With surprising steadiness of gait, considering the 
 liquid cargo he had aboard, the man, releasing my 
 hand and now seizing me firmly by the arm, confidently 
 led me by divers narrow ways, which I knew, to a 
 little beerhouse frequented by persons of his class. 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 127 
 
 My own attire was such as to excite no suspicion in 
 these surroundings, and although I considered that 
 my acquaintance had imbibed more than enough for 
 one night, I let him have his own way in order that 
 I might learn the story which he seemed disposed to 
 confide In me. Settled in the corner of the beerhouse 
 — ^which chanced to be nearly empty — with portentous 
 pewters before us, the conversation was opened by my 
 new friend: 
 
 "I've been paid off from the Jupiter — Samuelson's 
 Planet Line," he explained. "What I am Is a fire- 
 
 man. 
 
 "She was from Singapore to London?" I asked. 
 
 "She was," he replied, "and it was at Suez It 
 'appened — at Suez." 
 
 I did not interrupt him. 
 
 "I was ashore at Suez — ^we all was, owin' to a 'Itch 
 with the canal company — a matter of money, I may 
 say. They make yer pay before they'll take yer 
 through. Do you know that?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Suez is a place," he continued, "where they don't 
 sell whisky, only poison. Was you ever at Suez?" 
 
 Again I nodded, being most anxious to avoid divert- 
 ing the current of my friend's thoughts. 
 
 "Well, then," he continued, "you know Greek 
 Jimmy's — and that's where I'd been." 
 
 I did not know Greek Jimmy's, but I thought it 
 unnecessary to mention the fact. 
 
 "It was just about this time on a steamin' 'ot 
 night as I come out of Jimmy's and started for the 
 
-128 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ship. I was walkin' along the Waghorn Quay, same 
 as I might be walkin' along to-night, all by myself — 
 bit of a list to port but nothing much— rfull o' joy an' 
 happiness, 'appy an' free — 'appy an' free. Just like 
 you might have noticed to-night, I noticed a knot of 
 Ghiijks scrappiu' ojj the ground all amongst^ the dust 
 right in front of me. I rammed in, windmillin' all 
 round and knocking 'em down like skittles. Seemed 
 to me there was about ten of 'em, but allowin' for 
 Jimmy's whisky, maybe ithpre wasn't more than three. 
 Anyway, they all shifted and left me standin' there in 
 the empty street with this 'ere in my 'and." 
 
 At that, without more ado, he thrust his hand deep 
 into some concealed pocket and jerked out a Chinese 
 pigtail, which had been severed, , apparently some, 
 three inches from the scalp, by a clean cut. My ac- 
 quaintance, with . somewhat -bleared eyes glistening in 
 appreciation of his own dramatic skill — for I could 
 not conceal my surprise — dangled it before me trium- 
 phantly. , i ,,, 
 
 "Which of 'em it belong to," he continued, thrust- 
 ing it into anpther pocket and drumming loudly on 
 the counter for more beer, "I can't say, 'cos I don't 
 know. But that ain't all." 
 
 The tankards being refilled and my friend having 
 sampled the contents of his own : 
 
 "That ain't all," he continued. "I thought I'd 
 keep it as a sort of relic, like. What 'appened? I'll 
 tell you. Amongst the crew there's three Chinks — 
 see ? We ain't through the canal before one of 'em, a 
 new one to me — Li Ping is his name — offers me five 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 1 29 
 
 bob for the pigtail, which he sees me looking at one 
 mornin'. I give him a punch on the nose an' 'e don't 
 renew the offer: but that night (we're layin' at Port 
 Said) 'e tries to pinch it! I dam' near broke his 
 neck, and 'e don't try any more. To-night" — he 
 extended his right arm forensically — ''a deppitation 
 of Chinks waits on me at the dock gates; they explains 
 as from a patriotic point of view they feels it to be 
 their dooty to buy that pigtail off of me, and they bids 
 a quid, a bar of gold — a Jimmy o' Goblin!" 
 
 He snapped his fingers contemptuously and emptied 
 his pewter. A sense of what was coming began to 
 dawn on me. That the "hold-up" near the riverside 
 formed part of the scheme was possible, and, rei^ect- 
 ing on my rough treatment of the two Chinamen, I 
 chuckled inwardly. Possibly, however, the scheme 
 had germinated in my acquaintance's mind merely as 
 a result of an otherwise common assault, of a kind not 
 unusual in these parts, but, whether elaborate of com- 
 paratively simple, that the story of the pigtail was a 
 "plant" designed to reach my pocket, seemed a reason- 
 able hypothesis. 
 
 "I told him to go to China," concluded the object 
 of my suspicion, again rapping upon the counter, "and 
 you see what come of it. All I got to say is this : If 
 they're so bloody patriotic, I says one thing: I ain't 
 the man to stand in their way. You done me a good 
 turn to-night, mate; I'm doing you one. 'Ere's the 
 bloody pigtail, 'cre's my empty mug. Fill the mug 
 and the pigtail's yours. It's good for a quid at the. 
 dock gates any day!" 
 
LI30 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 My suspicions vanished ; my interest arose to boiling- 
 point. I refilled my acquaintance's mug, pressed a 
 sovereign upon him (in honesty I must confess that 
 he was loath to take it), and departed with the pigtail 
 coiled neatly in an inner pocket of my jacket. I 
 entered the house in Wade Street by the side door, 
 and half an hour later let myself out by the front 
 door, having cast o& my dockland disguise. 
 
II 
 
 HOW I LOST IT 
 
 IT WAS not until the following evening that I 
 found leisure to examine my strange acquisition, 
 for affairs of more immediate importance en- 
 grossed my attention. But at about ten o'clock I 
 seated myself at my table, lighted the lamp, and tak- 
 ing out the pigtail from the table drawer, placed it on 
 the blotting-pad and began to examine it with the 
 greatest curiosity, for few Chinese affect the pigtail 
 nowadays. 
 
 I had scarcely commenced my examination, how- 
 ever, when it was dramatically interrupted. The door 
 bell commenced to ring jerkily. I stood up, and as I 
 did so the ringing ceased and in its place came a 
 muffled beating on the door. I hurried into the pas- 
 sage as the bell commenced ringing again, and I had 
 almost reached the door when once more the ringing 
 ceased; but now I could hear a woman's voice, low; 
 but agitated: 
 
 "Open the door! Oh, for God's sake be quick!" 
 
 Completely mystified, and not a little alarmed, I 
 
 threw open the door, and in there staggered a woman 
 
 heavily veiled, so that I could see little of her features, 
 
 but by the lines of her figure I judged her to be young. 
 
 »3i 
 
,132 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Uttering a sort of moan o£ terror she herself closed 
 the door, and stood with her back to it, watching me 
 through the thick veil, while her breast rose and fell 
 tumultuously. 
 
 "Thank God there was someone at homel" she 
 gasped. 
 
 I think I may say with justice that I had never 
 been so surprised in my life; every particular of the 
 incident marked it as unique — set it apart from the 
 episodes of everyday life. 
 
 "Madam," I began doubtfully, "you seem to be 
 much alarmed at something, and if I can be of any 
 assistance to you " 
 
 "You have saved my life!" she whispered, and 
 pressed one hand to her bosom. "In a moment I will 
 explain." 
 
 "Won't you rest a little after your evidently alarm- 
 ing experience?" I suggested. 
 
 My strange visitor nodded, without speaking, and I 
 conducted her to the study which I had just left, and 
 placed the most comfortable arm-chair close beside the 
 table so that as I sat I might study this woman who so 
 strangely had burst in upon me. I even tilted the 
 shaded lamp, artlessly, a trick I had learned from 
 Harley,in order that the light might fall upon her face. 
 
 She may have detected this device; I know not; 
 but as if in answer to its challenge, she raised her 
 gloved hands and unfastened the heavy veil which had 
 concealed her features. 
 
 Thereupon I found myself looking into a pair of 
 -lustrous black eyes whose almond shape was that of 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 133 
 
 the Orient; I found myself looking at a woman who, 
 since she was evidently a Jewess, was probably no older 
 than eighteen or nineteen, but whose beauty was ripely 
 voluptuous, who might fittingly have posed for Salome, 
 who, despite her modern fashionable garments, at 
 once suggested to my mind the wanton beauty of the 
 daughter of Herodias. 
 
 I stared at her silently for a time, and presently 
 her full lips parted in a slow smile. My ideas were 
 diverted into another channel. 
 
 "You have yet to tell me what alarmed you," I said 
 in a low voice, but as courteously as possible, "and if 
 I can be of any assistance in the matter." 
 
 My visitor seemed to recollect her fright — or the 
 necessity for simulation. The /pupils of her fine eyes 
 seemed to grow larger and darker; she pressed her 
 white teeth into her lower lips, and resting her hands 
 upon the table leaned toward me. 
 
 "I am a stranger to London," she began, now ex- 
 hibiting a certain difildence, "and to-night I was look- 
 ing for the chambers of Mr. Raphael Philips of Figtree 
 Court." 
 
 "This is Figtree Court," I said, "but I know of no 
 Mr. Raphael Philips who has chambers here." 
 
 The black eyes met mine despairingly. 
 
 "But I am positive of the address I" protested my 
 beautiful but strange caller — from her left glove she 
 drew out a scrap of paper, "here it is." 
 
 I glanced at thei fragment, upon which, in a woman^s 
 hand the words were pencilled : "Mr. Raphael Philips, 
 36-b Figtree Court, London." 
 
[134 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 I stared at my visitor, deeply mystified. 
 
 "These chambers are 36-b !" I said. "But I am not 
 Raphael Philips, nor have I ever heard of him. My 
 name is Malcolm Knox. There is evidently some 
 mistake, but" — returning the slip of paper — "pardon 
 me if I remind you, I have yet to learn the cause of 
 your alarm." 
 
 "I was followed across the court and up the stairs." 
 
 "Followed 1 By whom?" 
 
 "By a dreadful-looking man, chattering in some 
 tongue I did not understand 1" 
 
 My amazement was momentarily growing greater. 
 
 "What kind of a man?" I demanded rather 
 abruptly. 
 
 "A yellow-faced man — remember I could only just 
 distinguish him in the darkness on the stairway, and 
 see little^more of him than his eyes at that, and his 
 ugly gleaming teeth — oh ! it was horrible 1" 
 
 "You astound me," I said; "the thing is utterly in- 
 comprehensible." I switched off the light of the lamp. 
 "I'll see if there's any sign of him in the court below." 
 
 "Oh, don't leave me! For heaven's sake don't 
 leave me alone!" 
 
 She clutched my arm in the darkness. 
 
 "Have no fear; I merely propose to look out from 
 this window." 
 
 1 Suiting the action to the word, I peered down into 
 the court below. It was quite deserted. The night 
 yras a very dark one, and there were many patches of 
 shadow in which a man might have lain concealed. 
 I "I can see nq one," I said, speaking as confidently 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 13^ 
 
 as possible, and relighting the lamp, "if I call a cab 
 for you and see you safely into it, you will have noth- 
 ing to fear, I think." 
 
 "I have a cab waiting," she replied, and lowering 
 the veil she stood up to go. 
 
 "Kindly allow me to see you to it. I am sorry you 
 have been subjected to this annoyance, especially as 
 you have not attained the object of your visit." 
 
 "Thank you so much for your kindness; there must 
 be some mistake about the addressy of course." 
 
 She clung to my arm very tightly as we descended 
 the stairs, and often glanced back over her shoulder 
 affrightedly, as we crossed the court. There was not 
 a sign of anyone about, however, and I could not make 
 up my mind whether the story of the yellow man was 
 a delusion or a fabrication. I inclined to the latter 
 theory, but the object of such a deception was more 
 difficult to determine. 
 
 Sure enough, a taxicab was waiting at the entrance 
 to the court; and my visitor, having seated herself 
 within, extended her hand to me, and even through 
 the thick veil I could detect her brilliant smile. 
 
 "Thank you so much, Mr. Knox," she said, "and 
 a thousand apologies. I am sincerely sorry to have 
 given you all this trouble." 
 
 The cab drove off. For a moment I stood looking 
 after it, in a state of dreamy incertitude, then turned 
 and slowly retraced my steps. Reopening the door of 
 my chambers with my key, I returned to my study 
 and sat down at the table to endeavour to arrange thej 
 facts of what I recognized to be a really amazing 
 
136 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 (Episode. The adventure, trifling though it seemed, 
 undoubtedly held some hidden significance that at 
 present was not apparent to me. In accordance with 
 the excellent custom of my friend, Paul Harley, I 
 prepared to make notes of the occurrence while the 
 facts were still fresh in my memory. At the moment 
 that I was about to begin, I made an astounding dis- 
 covery. 
 
 Although I had. been absent only a few minutes, 
 and had locked my door behind me, the pigtail was 
 gone ! 
 
 I sat quite still, listening intently. The woman's 
 story of the yellow man on the stairs suddenly assumed 
 a totally different a.spect — a new and sinister aspect. 
 Could it be that the pigtail was at the bottom of the 
 mystery? — ^could it be that some murderous Chinaman 
 who had been lurking in hiding, waiting his oppor- 
 tunity, had in some way gained access to my chambers 
 during that.brief absence? If so, was he gone? 
 
 From the table drawer I took out a revolver, 
 ascertained that It was fully loaded, and turning up 
 light after light as I proceeded, conducted a room-to- 
 room sparch. It was without result; there was abso- 
 lutely nothing to indicate that anyone had surrepti- 
 tiously entered or departed from my chambers. 
 
 I returned to the study and sat gazing at the 
 revolver lying on the blotting-pad before me. Per- 
 :haps my mind worked slowly, but I think that fully 
 fifteen minutes must have passed before it dawned on 
 me that the explanation not only of the missing pigtail 
 but of the other incidents of the night, was simple 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 137 
 
 enough. The yellow man had been a fabrication, and 
 my dark-eyed visitor had not been in quest of "Raphael 
 Philips," but in quest of the pigtail: and her quest had 
 been successful! 
 
 "What a hopeless fool I ami" I cried, and banged 
 my fist down upon the table, "there was no yellow 
 man at all — there was " 
 
 My door bell rang. I sprang nervously to my feet, 
 glanced at the revolver on the table — and finally drop- 
 ped it into my coat pocket ere going out and opening 
 the door. 
 
 On the landing stood a police constable and an 
 officer in plain clothes. 
 
 "Your name is Malcolm Knox?" asked the con- 
 stable, glancing at a note-book which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 "It is," I replied. 
 
 "You are required to come at once to Bow Street 
 to identify a woman who was found murdered in a 
 taxi-cab in the Strand about eleven o'clock to-night." 
 
 I suppressed an exclamation of horror ; I felt myself 
 turning pale. 
 
 "But what has it to do " 
 
 "The driver stated she came from your chambers, 
 for you saw her off, and her last words to you 
 were 'Good night, Mr. Knox, I am sincerely sorry 
 to have given you all this trouble.' Is that correct, 
 sir?" 
 
 The constable, who had read out the information 
 in an official voice, now looked at me, as I stood there 
 stupefied. 
 
138 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "It IS," I said blankly. "I'll come at once." 
 It would seem that I had misjudged my unfortu- 
 nate visitor : her story of the yellow man on the stair 
 had apparently been not a fabrication, but a gruesome 
 fact! 
 
Ill 
 
 HOW I REGAINED IT 
 
 MY GHASTLY duty was performed; I had 
 identified the dreadful thing, which less than 
 an hour before had been a strikingly beauti- 
 ful woman, as my mysterious visitor. The police were 
 palpably disappointed at the sparsity of my knowl- 
 edge respecting her. In fact, had it not chanced that 
 Detective Sergeant Durham was in the station, I 
 think they would have doubted the accuracy of my 
 story. 
 
 As a man of some experience in such matters, I 
 fully recognized its improbability, but beyond relating 
 the circumstances leading up to my possession of the 
 pigtail and the events which had ensued, I could do 
 no more in the matter. The weird relic had not been 
 found on the dead woman, nor in the cab. 
 
 Now the unsavoury business was finished, and I 
 walked along Bow Street, racking my mind for the 
 master-key to this mystery in which I was become en- 
 meshed. How I longed to rush off to Harley's rooms 
 in Chancery Lane and to tell him the whole story! 
 But my friend was a thousand miles away — and I 
 had to see the thing out alone. 
 
 That the pigtail was some sacred relic stolen from 
 
 139 
 
I40 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 a Chinese temple and sought for by Its fanatical custo- 
 dians was a theory which persistently intruded itself. 
 But I could find no place in that hypothesis for the 
 beautiful Jewess; and that she was intimately con- 
 cerned I did not doubt. A Icool survey of the facts 
 rendered it fairly evident that it was she and none 
 other who had stolen the pigtail from my rooms. 
 Some third party — possibly the "yellow man" of 
 whom she had spoken — had in turn stolen it from her, 
 strangling her in the process. 
 
 The police theory of the murder (and I was pre- 
 pared to accept it) was that the assassin had been 
 crouching in hiding behind or beside, the cab — or even 
 within the dark interior. He had leaped in and at- 
 tacked the woman at the moment that the taxi-man 
 had started his engine ; if already inside, the deed had 
 proven even easier. Then, during some block in the 
 
 traffic, he had slipped out unseen, leaving the body of 
 the victim to be discovered when the cab pulled up at 
 the hotel. 
 
 I knew of only one place in London where I might 
 hope to obtain useful information, and for that place 
 I was making now. It was Malay Jack's, whence I 
 had been bound on the previous night when my strange 
 meeting with the seaman who then possessed the pig- 
 tail had led to a change of plan. The scum of the 
 Asiatic population always come at one time or another 
 to Jack's, and I hoped by dint of a little patience to 
 achieve what the police had now apparently despaired 
 of achieving — the discovery of the assassin. 
 
 Having called at my chambers to obtain my revolver, 
 
THE PIGTAIL QF HI WING HO 141 
 
 I mounted an eastward-bound motor-bus. The night, 
 as I have already stated, was exceptionally dark. 
 There was no moon, and heavy clouds were spread 
 over the sky; so that the deserted East End streets 
 presented a sufficiently uninviting aspect, but one with 
 which I was by no means unfamiliar and which cer- 
 tainly in no way daunted me. 
 
 Changing at Paul Harley's Chinatown base in Wade 
 Strett, I turned my steps in the same direction as 
 upon the preceding night; but if. my own will played 
 no part in the matter, then decidedly Providence truly 
 guided me. Poetic justice is rare enough in real life, 
 yet I was destined to-night to witness swift retribution 
 overtaking a malefactor. 
 
 The by-ways which I had trodden were utterly de- 
 serted; I was far from the lighted high road, and the 
 only signs of human activity that reached me came 
 from the adjacent river; therefore, when presently an 
 outcry arose from somewhere on my left, for a moment 
 I really believed that my imagination was vividly re- 
 producing the episode of the night before ! 
 
 A furious scuffle-^-between a European and an 
 Asiatic — ^was in progress not twenty yards away ! 
 
 Realizing that such was indeed the case, and that 
 I was not the victim of hallucination, I advanced 
 slowly in the direction of the sounds, but my footsteps 
 reechoed hollowly from wall to wall of the narrow 
 passage-way, and my coming brought the conflict to 
 a sudden and dramatic termination. 
 
 "Thought I wouldn't know yer ugly face, did yer?" 
 yelled a familiar voice. "No good squealin' — I got 
 
142 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 yer I I'd bust you up if I could !" (a sound of furious 
 blows and inarticulate chattering) "but it ain't 'umanly 
 possible to kill a Chink " 
 
 I hurried forward toward the spot where two dim 
 figures were locked in deadly conflict. 
 
 "Take that to remember me by!" gasped the husky 
 voice as I ran up. 
 
 One of the figures collapsed in a heap upon the 
 ground. The other made off at a lumbering gait 
 along a second and even narrower passage branching 
 at right angles from that in which the scuffle had 
 taken place. 
 
 The clatter of the heavy sea-boots died away in the 
 distance. I stood beside the fallen man, looking 
 keenly about to right and left; for an impression was 
 strong upon me that another than I had been witness 
 of the scene — that a shadowy form had slunk back 
 furtively at my approach. But the night gave up no 
 sound in confirmation of this, and I could detect no 
 sign of any lurker. 
 
 I stooped over the Chinaman (for a Chinaman it 
 was) who lay at my feet, and directed the ray of my 
 pocket-lamp upon his yellow and contorted counten- 
 ance. I suppressed a cry of surprise and horror. 
 
 Despite the human impossibility referred to by the 
 missing fireman, this particular Chinaman had joined 
 the shades of his ancestors. I think that final blow, 
 which had felled him, had brought his shaven skull in 
 such violent contact with the wall that he had died of 
 the thundering concussion set up. 
 
 Kneeling there and looking into his upturned eyes, 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 143 
 
 I became aware that my position was not an enviable 
 one, particularly since I felt little disposed to set the 
 law on the track of the real culprit. For this man 
 who now lay dead at my feet was doubtless one of the 
 pair who had attempted the life of the fireman of the 
 Jupiter. 
 
 That my seafaring acquaintance had designed to 
 kill the Chinaman I did not believe, despite his stormy 
 words : the death had been an accident, and (perhaps 
 my morality was over-broad) I considered the assault 
 to have been justified. 
 
 Now my ideas led me further yet. The dead China- 
 man wore a rough blue coat, and gingerly, for I found 
 the contact repulsive, I inserted my hand into the inside 
 pocket. Immediately my fingers closed upon a familiar 
 object— and I stood up, whistling slightly, and dangl- 
 ing In my left hand the missing pigtail I 
 
 Beyond doubt Justice had guided the seaman's 
 blows. This was the man who had murdered my 
 dark-eyed visitor I , 
 
 I stood perfectly still, directing the little white ray 
 of my flashlight upon the pigtail in my hand. I real- 
 ized that my position, diflicult before, now was become 
 impossible ; the possession of the pigtail compromised 
 me hopelessly. What should I do? 
 
 "My God!" I said aloud, "what does it all mean?" 
 
 "It means," said a gruff voice, "that it was lucky 
 I was following you and saw what happened!" 
 
 I whirled about, my heart leaping wildly. De- 
 tective-Sergeant Durham was standing watching me, 
 a grim smile upon his face I 
 
144 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 1 laughed rather shakily. 
 
 "Lucky indeed!" I said. "Thank God you're here. 
 This pigtail is a nightmare which threatens to drive 
 me mad!" 
 
 The detective advanced and. knelt beside the 
 crumpled-up figure on the ground. He examined it 
 briefly, and then stood up. 
 
 "The fact that he had the missing pigtail in his 
 pocket," he said, "is proof enough to my mind that he 
 did the murder." 
 
 "And to mine." 
 
 "There's another point," he added, "which throws 
 a lot of light on the matter. You and Mr. Harley 
 were out of town at the time of the Huang Chow case ; 
 but the Chief and I outlined it, you remember, one 
 night in Mr. Harley's rooms?" 
 
 "I remember it perfectly; the giant spider in the 
 coffin- " 
 
 "Yes; and a certain Ah Fu, confidential servant of 
 the old man, who used to buy the birds the thing fe5 
 on. Well, Mr. Knox, Huang Chow was the biggest 
 dealer in illicit stuff in all the East End — and this bat- 
 tered thing At our feet is — ^Ah Fu!" 
 
 "Huang Chow's servant?" 
 
 "Exactly!" 
 
 I stared, uncomprehendingly, and : 
 
 "In what way does this throw light on the matter?" 
 I asked. 
 
 Durham — a very intelligent young officer — -smiled 
 significantly. 
 
 "I begin to see light!" he declared. "The gentle- 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 145 
 
 man who made off just as I arrived On the scene 
 probably had a private quarrel with the Chinaman and 
 was Otherwise not concerned in any way." 
 
 "I am disposed to agree with you," I said guardedly. 
 
 "Of course, you've no idea of his identity?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not." 
 
 "We may find him," mused the oiEcer, glancing at 
 me shrewdly, "by applying at the offices of the Planet 
 Line, but I rather doubt it. Also I rather doubt if 
 we'll look very far. He's saved us a lot of trouble, 
 but" — ^peering about in the shadowy corners which 
 abounded — "didn't I see somebody else lurking around 
 here?" 
 
 "I'm almost certain there was someone else I" I 
 cried. "In fact, I could all but swear to it." 
 
 "H'm!" said the detective. "He's not here now. 
 Might I trouble you to walk along to Limehouse 
 Police Station for the ambulance? I'd better stay 
 here." 
 
 I agreed at once, and started off. 
 
 Thus a second time my plans were interrupted, for 
 my expedition that night ultimately led me to Bow 
 Street, whence, after certain formalities had been ob- 
 served, I departed for my chambers, the mysterious 
 pigtail in my pocket. Failing the presence of Dur- 
 ham, the pigtail must have been retained as evidence, 
 but: 
 
 ' "We shall know where to find it if it's wanted, 
 Mr. Knox," said the Yard man, "and I can trust you 
 to look after your own property." 
 
 The clock of St. Paul's was chiming the hour of 
 
146 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 two when I locked the door of my chambers and pre- 
 pared to turn in. The clangour of the final strokes 
 yet vibrated through the night's silence when some- 
 one set my own door bell loudly ringing. 
 
 With an exclamation of annoyance I shot back the 
 bolts and threw open the door. 
 
 A Chinaman stood outside upon the matl 
 
 / 
 
IV 
 
 HOW IT ALL ENDED 
 
 ME WISHEE see you," said the apparition, 
 smiling blandly; "me comee in?" 
 "Come in, by all means," I said without 
 enthusiasm, and, switching on the light in my study, I 
 admitted the Chinaman and stood' facing him with an 
 expression upon my face which I doubt not was the 
 reverse of agreeable. 
 
 My visitor, who wore a slop-shop suit, also wore 
 a wide-brimmed bowler hat; now, the set bland smile 
 still upon his yellow face, he removed the bowler and 
 pointed significantly to his skull. 
 
 His pigtail had been severed some three inches from 
 the root! 
 
 "You gotchee my pigtail," he explained; "me caller 
 get it — thank you." 
 
 "Thank you," I said grimly. "But I must ask you 
 to establish your claim rather more firmly." 
 
 "Yessir," agreed the Chinaman. 
 
 And thereupon in tolerable pidgin English he un- 
 folded his tale. He proclaimed his name to be Hi 
 iWing Ho, and his profession that of a sailor, or so I 
 junderstood him. While ashore at Suez he had be- 
 come embroiled with some drunken seamen: knives 
 
 147 
 
148 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 had been drawn, and in the scuffle by some strange 
 accident his pigtail had been severed. He had escaped 
 from the conflict, badly frightened, and had run a 
 great distance before he realized his loss. Since 
 Southern Chinamen of his particular Tong hold their 
 pigtails in the highest regard, he had instituted in- 
 quiries as soon as possible, and had presently learned 
 from a Chinese member of the crew of the S. S. Jupiter 
 that the precious queue had fallen into the hands of a 
 fireman on that vessel. He (Hi Wing Ho) had 
 shipped on the first availablfc steamer bound for Eng- 
 land, having in the meanwhile communicated with his 
 friend on the Jupiter respecting the recovery of the 
 pigtail. 
 
 "What was the name of your friend on the Jupiter?" 
 
 "Him LI Ping — ^yessir!" — without the least hesi- 
 tation or hurry. 
 
 I nodded. "Go on," I said. 
 
 He arrived at the London docks very shortly after 
 the Jupiter. Indeed, the crew of the latter vessel had 
 not yet been paid off when Hi Wing Ho presented 
 himself at the dock gates. He admitted that, finding 
 the fireman so obdurate, he and h^s friend Li Ping 
 had resorted to violence, but he did not seem to rec- 
 ognize me as the person who had frustrated their 
 designs. Thus far I found his story credible enough, 
 excepting the accidental severing of the pigtail at Suez, 
 but now it became wildly improbable, for he would 
 have me believe that Li Ping, or Ah Fu, obtaining 
 possession of the pigtail (in what manner Hi Wing 
 Ho protested that he knew not) he sought to hold it 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 149 
 
 to ransom, knowing how highly Hi Wing Ho valued 
 it. 
 
 I glared sternly at the Chinaman, but his impassive 
 countenance served him well. That he was lying to 
 me I no longer doubted; for Ah Fu could not have 
 hoped to secure such a price as would justify his com- 
 mitting murder; furthermore, the presence of the un- 
 fortunate Jewess in the case was not accounted for by 
 the ingenious narrative of Hi Wing Ho. I was 
 standing staring at him and wondering what course 
 to adopt, when yet again my restless door-bell clam- 
 oured in the silence. 
 
 Hi Wing Ho started nervously, exhibiting the first 
 symptoms of alarm which I had perceived in him. 
 My mind was made up in an instant. I took my 
 revolver from the drawer and covered him. 
 
 "Be good enough to open the door, Hi Wing Ho," 
 I said coldly. 
 
 He shrank from me, pouring forth voluble protes- 
 tations. 
 
 "Open the door!" 
 
 I clenched my left fist and advanced upon him. He 
 scuttled away with his odd Chinese gait and threw 
 open the door. Standing before me I saw my friend 
 Detective Sergeant Durham, and with him a remark- 
 ably tall and very large-boned man whose square- 
 jawed face was deeply tanned and whose aspect was 
 dourly Scottish. 
 
 When the piercing eyes of this stranger rested 
 upon Hi Wing Ho an expression which I shall 
 never forget entered into them; an expression coldly 
 
I50 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 murderous. As for the Chinaman, he litersrlly crum- 
 pled up. 
 
 "You rat !" roared the stranger. 
 
 Taking one long stride he stooped upon the China- 
 man, seized him by the back of the neck as a terrier 
 might seize a rat, and lifted him to his feet. 
 
 "The mystery of the pigtail, Mr. Knox," said the 
 detective, "is solved at last." 
 
 "Have ye got it?" demanded the Scotsman, turning 
 to me, but without releasing his hold upon the neck 
 of Hi Wing Ho. 
 
 I took the pigtail from my pocket and dangled it 
 before his eyes. 
 
 "Suppose you come into my study," I said, "and 
 explain matters." 
 
 We entered the room which had been the scene of 
 so many singular happenings. The detective and I 
 seated ourselves, but the Scotsman, holding the China- 
 man by the neck as though he had been some inanimate 
 bundle, stood just within the doorway, one of the 
 most gigantic specimens of manhood I had ever set 
 eyes upon. 
 
 "You do the talking, sir," he directed the detective; 
 "ye have all the facts." 
 
 While Durham talked, then, we all listened — ex- 
 cepting the Chinaman, who was past taking an intelli- 
 gent interest in anythmg, and who, to judge from his 
 starting eyes, was being slowly strangled. 
 
 "The gentleman," said Durham — "Mr. Nichol- 
 son — arrived two days ago from the East. He 
 is a buyer for a big firm of diamond merchants, and 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 151 
 
 some weeks ago a valuable diamond was stolen from 
 him " 
 
 "By this!" interrupted the Scotsman, shaking the 
 wretched Hi Wing Ho terrier fashion. 
 
 "By Hi Wing Ho," explained the detective, "whom 
 you see before you. The theft was a very ingenious 
 one, and the man succeeded in getting away with his 
 haul. He tried to dispose of the diamond to a certain 
 Isaac Cohenberg, a Singapore moneylender; but Isaac 
 Cohenberg was the bigger crook of the two. Hi 
 Wing Ho only escaped from the establishment of 
 Cohenberg by dint of sandbagging the moneylender, 
 and quitted the town by a boat which left the same 
 night. On the voyage he was indiscreet enough to 
 take the diamond from its hiding-place and surrepti- 
 tiously to examine it. Another member of the 
 Chinese crew, one LI Ping — otherwise Ah Fu, the ac- 
 credited agent of old Huang Chow! — ^was secretly 
 watching our friend, and, knowing that he possessed 
 this valuable jewel, he also learned where he kept it 
 hidden. At Suez Ah Fu attacked Hi Wing Ho and 
 secured possession of the diamond. It was to secure 
 possession of the diamond that Ah Fu had gone out 
 East. I don't doubt it. He employed Hi Wing Ho 
 — and HI Wing Ho tried to double on him! 
 
 "We are indebted to you, Mr. Knox, for some of 
 the data upon which we have reconstructed the fore- 
 going and also for the next link in the narrative. A 
 fireman ashore from the Jupiter intruded upon the 
 scene at Suez and deprived Ah Fu of the fruits of his 
 labours. Hi Wing Ho seems to have been badly 
 
152 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 damaged in the scuffle, but, Ah Fu, the more wily of 
 the two, evidently followed the fireman, and, desert- 
 ing from his own ship, signed on with the Jupiter." 
 
 While this story was enlightening in some respects, 
 it was mystifying in others. I did not interrupt, how- 
 ever, for Durham immediately resumed : 
 
 "The drama was complicated by the presence of a 
 fourth character — the daughter of Cohenberg. Real- 
 izing that a small fortune had slipped through his 
 fingers, the old moneylender dispatched his daughter 
 in pursuit of Hi Wing Ho, having learned upon which 
 vessel the latter had sailed. He had no difficulty in 
 obtaining this information, for he is in touch with all 
 the crooks of the town. Had he known that the dia- 
 mond had been stolen by an agent of Huang Chow, 
 he would no doubt have hesitated. Huang Chow has 
 an international reputation. 
 
 "However, his daughter — a. girl of great personal 
 beauty — relied. upon her diplomatic gifts to regain 
 possession of the stone, but, poor creature! she had 
 not counted with Ah Fu, who was evidently watching 
 your chambers (while Hi Wing Ho, it seems, was 
 assiduously shadowing Ah Fu ! ) . How she traced the 
 diamond from point to point of its travels we do not 
 know, and probably never shall know, but she was 
 undeniably clever and unscrupulous. Poor girl 1 She 
 came to a dreadful end. Mr. Nicholson, here, identi- 
 fied her at Bow Street to-night." 
 
 Now the whole amazing truth burst upon me. 
 
 "I understand!" I cried. "This" — and I snatched 
 up the pigtail 
 
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO 153 
 
 "That my pigtail," moaned Hi Wing Ho feebly. 
 
 Mr. Nicholson pitched him unceremoniously into 
 a corner of the room, and taking the pigtail in his 
 huge hand, clumsily unfastened it. Out from the 
 thick part, some two inches below the point at which 
 it had been cut from the Chinaman's head, a great 
 diamond dropped upon the floor ! 
 
 For perhaps twenty seconds there was perfect 
 silence in my study. No one stooped to pick the dia- 
 mond from the floor — the diamond which now had 
 blood upon it. No one, so far as my sense informed 
 me, stirred. But when, following those moments of 
 stupefaction, we all looked up — Hi Wing Ho, like a 
 phantom, had faded from the room! 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 
 I 
 
 THE BLOOD-STAINED IDOL 
 
 STOP when we pass the next lamp and give me a 
 light for my pipe." 
 "Why?" 
 
 "No! don't look round," warned my companion. 
 "I think someone is following us. And it is always 
 advisable to be on guard in this neighbourhood." 
 
 We had nearly reached the house in Wade Street, 
 Limehouse, which my friend used as a base for East 
 End operations. The night was dark but clear, and 
 I thought that presently when dawn came it would 
 bring a cold, bright morning. There was no moon, 
 and as we passed the lamp and paused we stood in 
 almost total darkness. 
 
 Facing in the direction of the Council School I 
 struck a match. It revealed my ruffianly looking 
 companion — in whom his nearest friends must have 
 failed to recognize Mr. Paul Harley of Chancery 
 Lane. 
 
 He was glancing furtively back along the street, 
 and when a moment later we moved on, I too, had 
 detected the presence of a figure stumbling toward us. 
 
 1S7 
 
iS8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Don't stop at the door," whispered Harley, for 
 our follower was only a few yards away. 
 
 Accordingly we passed the house in which Harley 
 had rooms, and had proceeded some fifteen paces 
 farther when the man who was following us stumbled 
 in between Harley and myself, clutching an arm of 
 either. I scarcely knew what to expect, but was pre- 
 pared for anything, when: 
 
 "Mates 1" said a man huskily. "Mates, if you 
 know where I can get a drink, take me there !" 
 
 Harley laughed shortly. I cannot say if he re- 
 mained suspicious of the newcomer, but for my own 
 part I had determained after one glance at the man 
 that he was merely a drunken fireman newly recovered 
 from a prolonged debauch. 
 
 "Where 'ave yer been, old son?" growled Harley, 
 in that wonderful dialect of his which I had so often 
 and so vainly sought to cultivate. "You look as though 
 you'd 'ad one too many already." 
 
 "I ain't," declared the fireman, who appeared to be 
 in a semi-dazed condition. "I ain't 'ad one since ten 
 o'clock last night. It's dope wot's got me, not rum." 
 
 "Dopel" said Harley sharply; "been 'avin' a pipe, 
 eh?" 
 
 "If you've got a corpse-reviver anywhere," con- 
 tinued the man in that curious, husky voice, " 'ave pity 
 on me, mate. I seen a thing to-night wot give me 
 the jim-jams." 
 
 "All right, old son," said my friend good-humour- 
 edly; "about turn I I've got a drop in the bottle, but 
 me an' my mate sails to-morrow, an' it's the last." 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 159 
 
 "Gawd bless yer!" growled the fireman; and the 
 three of us — an odd trio, truly — turned about, retrac- 
 ing our steps. 
 
 As we approached the street lamp and its light 
 shone upon the haggard face of the man walking be- 
 tween us, Harlcy stopped, and: 
 
 "Wot's up with yer eye?" he inquired. 
 
 He suddenly tilted the man's head upward and 
 peered closely into one of his eyes. I suppressed a 
 gasp of surprise for I instantly recognized the fireman 
 of the Jupiter! 
 
 "Nothin' up with it, is there?" said the fireman. 
 
 "Only a lump o' mud," growled Harley, and with 
 a very dirty handkerchief he pretended to remove the 
 imaginary stain, and then, turning to me: 
 
 "Open the door, Jim," he directed. 
 
 His examination of the man's eyes had evidently 
 satisfied him that our acquaintance had really been 
 smoking opium. 
 
 We paused immediately outside the house for which 
 we had been bound, and as I had the key I opened 
 the door and the three of us stepped Into a little dark 
 room. Harley closed the door and we stumbled up- 
 stairs to a low first-floor apartment facing the street. 
 There was nothing In its appointments, as revealed in 
 the light of an oil lamp burning on the solitary table, 
 to distinguish it from a thousand other such apart- 
 ments which may be leased for a few shillings a week 
 in the neighbourhood. That adjoining might have 
 told a different story, for it more closely resembled 
 an actor's dressing-room than a seaman's lodging; 
 
i6o - TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 but the door of this sanctum was kept scrupulously 
 Ipcked. < ., 
 
 "Sit down, old son," said my friend heartily, push- 
 ing forward an old arm-chair. "Fetch but the grog, 
 Jim; there's about enough for three." 
 
 I walked to a cupboard, as the fireman Sank limply 
 down in the chair, and took out a bottle and three 
 glasses. When the man, who, as I could now see 
 quite plainly, was suffering from the after effects, of 
 opium, had eagerly gulped the stiff drink which I 
 handed to him, he looked around with dim, glazed 
 eyes> and: 
 
 "You've saved my life, mates," he declared. "I've 
 'ad a 'orrible nightmare, I 'ave — a nightmare. See?" 
 
 He fixed his eyes on me for a moment, then raised 
 himself from his seat, peering narrowly at me across 
 the table. 
 
 "I seed you before, mate, Gaw, bUmeyl if you 
 ain't the bloke wot I giv'd the pigtail to! And wot 
 laid out that blasted Chink as was scraggin' me ! 
 Shake, mate!" 
 
 I shook hands with him, Harley eyeing me closely 
 the while, in a manner which told me that his quick 
 brain had already supplied the link connecting our 
 doped acquaintance with my strange experience dur- 
 ing his absence, At the same time it occurred to me 
 that my fireman friend did not know that Ah Fu was 
 dead, or he would never have broached the subject so 
 openly. 
 
 "That's so," I said, and wondered if he required 
 further information. 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN J OSS 1 6 1 
 
 "It's all right, mate. I don't want to 'ear no more 
 about blinking pigtails — not all my life I don't," 
 and he sat back heavily in his chair and stared at 
 Harley. 
 
 "Where have you been?" inquired Harley, as if 
 no interruption had occurred, and then began to 
 reload his pipe: "at Malay Jack's or at Number 
 Fourteen?" 
 
 "Neither of 'em!" cried the fireman, some evidence 
 of animation appearing in his face; "I been at Kwen 
 Lung's." 
 
 "In Pennyfields?" 
 
 "That's 'im, the old bloke with the big joss. I 
 allers goes to see Ma Lorenzo when I'm in Port o' 
 London. I've seen 'er for the last time, mates." 
 
 He banged a big and dirty hand upon the table. 
 
 "Last night I see murder done, an' only that I 
 know they wouldn't believe me, I'd walk across to 
 Limehouse P'lice Station presently and put the splits 
 on 'em, I would." 
 
 Harley, who was seated behind the speaker, glanced 
 at me significantly. 
 
 "Sure you wasn't dreamin'?" he inquired face- 
 tiously. 
 
 "Dreamin' !" cried the man. "Dreams don't leave 
 no blood be'ind, do they?" 
 
 "Blood!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "That's wot I said — ^blood ! When I woke up this 
 mornin' there was blood all on that grinnin' joss — 
 the blood wot 'ad dripped from 'er shoulders whea 
 she fell." 
 
1 62 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Eh I" said Harley. "Blood on whose shoulders? 
 Wot the 'ell are you talkin' about, old son?" 
 
 "Ere" — the fireman turned in his chair and grasped 
 Harley by the arm — "listen to me, and I'll tell you 
 somethink, I will. I'm goin' in the Seahawk in the 
 mornin' see? But if you want to know somethink, 
 I'll tell yer. Drunk or sober I bars the blasted p'lice, 
 but if you like to tell 'em I'll put you on somethink 
 worth tellin'. Sure the bottle's empty, mates?" 
 
 I caught Harley's glance and divided the remainder 
 of the whisky evenly between the three glasses. 
 
 "Good 'ealth," said the fireman, and disposed of 
 his share at a draught. "That's bucked me up won- 
 derful." 
 
 He lay back in his chair and from a little tobacco- 
 box began to fill a short clay pipe. 
 
 "Look 'ere, mates, I'm soberin' up, like, after the 
 smoke, an' I can see, I can see plain, as nobody'U ever 
 believe me. Nobody ever does, worse luck, but 'ere 
 goes. Pass the matches." 
 
 He lighted his pipe, and looking about him in a 
 sort of vaguely aggressive way : 
 
 "Last night," he resumed, "after I was chucked out 
 of the Dock Gates, I made up my mind to go and 
 smoke a pipe with old Ma Lorenzo. Round I goes 
 to Pennyfields, and she don't seem glad to see me. 
 There's nobody there only me. Not like the old days 
 when you 'ad to book your seat in advance." 
 
 He laughed gruffly. 
 
 "She didn't want to let me in at first, said they was 
 watched, that if a Chink 'ad an old pipe wot 'ad 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 163 
 
 b'longed to 'is grandfather it was good enough to get 
 'im fined fifty quid. Anyway, me bein' an old friend 
 she spread a mat for me and filled me a pipe. I asked 
 after old Kwen Lung, but, of course, 'e was out 
 gamblin', as usual; so after old Ma Lorenzo 'ad made 
 me comfortable an' gone out I 'ad the place to myself, 
 and presently I dozed oS and forgot all about bloody 
 ship's bimkers an' nigger-drivin' Scotchmen." 
 
 He paused and looked about him defiantly. 
 
 "I dunno 'ow long I slept," he continued, "but 
 some time in the night I kind of 'alf woke up." 
 
 At that he twisted violently in his chair and glared 
 across at Harley : 
 
 "You been a pal to me," he said; "but tell me I 
 was dreamin' again and I'll smash yer bloody facel" 
 
 He glared for a while, then addressing his narra- 
 tive more particularly to me, he resumed: 
 
 "It was a scream wot woke me — a woman's scream. 
 I didn't sit up ; I couldn't. I never felt like it before. 
 It was the same as bein' buried alive, I should think. 
 I could see an' I could 'ear, but I couldn't move one 
 muscle in my body. Poller me? An' wot did I see, 
 mates, an' wot did I 'ear? I'm goin' to tell yer. I 
 see old Kwen Lung's daughter " 
 
 "I didn't know 'e 'ad one," murmured Harley. 
 
 "Then you don't know muchl" shouted the fire- 
 man. "I knew years ago, but 'e kept 'er stowed 
 away somewhere up above, an' last night was the first 
 time I ever see 'er. It was 'er shriek wot 'ad reached 
 ime, reached me through the smoke. I don't take 
 much stock in Chink gals in general, but this one's 
 
1 64 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 mother was jio Chinky I'll swear. She was just . as 
 pretty as a bloomm'i ivory , doll, an' as little an' as 
 white, and that old swine ,Kwen Lung 'ad tore the 
 dress off gf 'er shoulders with a bloody great whip I" 
 
 Harley was leaning forward in his seat now, intent 
 upon the man's story, and although I could not get 
 rid of the idea that our friend was rejlating the events 
 of a particularly unpleasant gpium dream, neverthe- 
 less I was fascinated by , the strange story and by the 
 strange manner of its t&Uing. 
 
 "I saw the blood drip from 'er bare shoulders, 
 mates," the man Continued huskily, and with his big 
 dirty hands he strove to illustrate his words, "An' 
 that old yellow devil lashed an' lashed until the poor 
 gal was past' screamin'. She just sunk down on the 
 floor all of a 'eap, mganin' and moanin' — Gawd I I 
 can 'ear 'er moanin' now I : 
 
 "Meanwhile, 'ere's me with murder in me 'eart 
 lyin' there watchin', an' I . Can't speak, no ! I can't 
 even curse the yellow rat, dn' I can't move — ^not; a 
 'and, not a foot.I Just, as she fell there right up 
 against the joss an'' 'er blood trickled down on 'is 
 gilded feet, old Ma Lorenzo comes staggerin' in. I 
 remember all this as clear as print, mates, remember 
 it plain, but wot 'appened next ain't so good an' clear. 
 Somethink seemed to bust in me *ead. Only just be- 
 fore I went off, the winder — there's only one in the 
 room — was smashed to smithereens an' somebody 
 come in through , it." 
 
 "Are you sure?" said Harley eagerly. "Are you 
 sure?" 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 165 
 
 IThat he was intensely absorbed in the story he 
 revealed by a piece of bad artistry, very rare in him. 
 He temporarily forgot his dialect. Our marine 
 friend, however, was too much taken up with his own 
 story to notice the slip, and : 
 
 "Dead sure I" he shouted. 
 
 He suddenly twisted around in his chair. 
 
 "Tell me I was dreamin', mate," he invited, "and 
 if you ain't dreamin' in 'arf a tick it won't be because 
 I 'aven't put yer to sleep !" 
 
 "I ain't arguin', old son," said Harley soothingly. 
 "Get on with your yarn." 
 
 "Ho !" said the fireman, mollified, "so long as you 
 ain't. Well, then, it's all blotted out after that. 
 Somebody come in at the winder, but '00 it was or 
 wot it was I can't tell yer, not for fifty quid. When 
 I woke up, which is about 'arf an hour before you see 
 me, I'm all alone — see? There's no sign of Kwen 
 
 Lung nor the gal nor old Ma Lorenzo nor anybody. 
 I sez to meself, wot you keep on sayin'. I sez, 
 'You're dreamin', Bill' " 
 
 "But I don't think you was," declared Harley. 
 "Straight I don't." 
 
 "I know I wasn't !" roared the fireman, and banged 
 the table lustily. "I see 'er blood on the joss an' on 
 the floor where she lay!" 
 
 "This morning?" I interjected. 
 
 "This mornin', in the light of the little oil lamp 
 where old Ma Lorenzo 'ad roasted the pills! »It's all 
 still an' quiet an' I feel more dead than alive. I'm 
 goin' to give 'er a hail, see? When I sez to myself, 
 
1 66 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 'Bill,' I sez, 'put out to sea; you're amongst KaiErs, 
 Bill.' It occurred to me as old Kwen Lung might 
 wonder 'ow much I knew. So I beat it. But when 
 I got in the open air I felt I'd never make my lodgin's 
 without a tonic. That's 'ow I come to meet you, 
 mates. 
 
 "Listen — I'm away in the old Seahawk in the 
 mornin', but I'll tell you somethink. That yellow 
 bastard killed his daughter last night! Beat 'er to 
 death. I see it plain. The sweetest, prettiest bit of 
 ivory as Gawd ever put breath into. If 'cr body ain't 
 in the river, it's in the 'ouse. Drunk or sober, I never 
 could stand the splits, but mates" — he stood up, and 
 grasping me by the arm, he drew me across the room 
 where he also seized Harley in his muscular grip — 
 "mates," he went on earnestly, "she was the sweetest, 
 prettiest little gal as a man ever clapped eyes on. 
 One of yer walk into Limehouse Station an' put the 
 koppers wise. I'd sleep easier at sea if I knew old 
 Kwen Lung 'ad gone west on a bloody rope's end." 
 
II 
 
 AT KWEN lung's 
 
 FOR fully ten minutes after the fireman had de- 
 parted Paul Harley sat staring abstractedly in 
 front of him, his cold pipe between his teeth; 
 and knowing his moods I intruded no words upon this 
 reverie, until: 
 
 "Come on, Knox," he said, standing up suddenly, 
 "I think this matter calls for speedy action." 
 
 "What! Do you think the man's story was true?'^ 
 
 "I think nothing. I am going to look at Kweih 
 Lung's joss." 
 
 Without another word he led the way downstairs 
 and out into the deserted street. The first gray half- 
 tones of dawn were creeping into the sky, so that the 
 outlines of Limehouse loomed like dim silhouettes 
 about us. There was abundant evidence in the form 
 of noises, strange and discordant, that many workers 
 were busy on dock and riverside, but the streets 
 through which our course lay were almost empty. 
 Sometimes a furtive shadow would move out of some 
 black gully and fade into a dimly seen doorway in a 
 manner peculiarly unpleasant and Asiatic. But we 
 met no palpable pedestrian throughout the journey. 
 
 Before the door of a house in Pcnnyfields which 
 
 167 
 
1 68 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 closely resembled that which we had left in Wade 
 Street, in that it was flatly uninteresting, dirty and 
 commonplace, we paused. There was no sign of life 
 about the place and no lights showed at any of the 
 windows, which appeared as dim cavities — eyeless 
 sockets in the gray face of the building, as dawn pro- 
 claimed the birth of a new day. 
 
 Harley seized the knocker and knocked sharply. 
 There was no response, and he Tepeated the summons, 
 but again without elect. Thereupon, with a muttiered 
 exclamation, he grasped the knocker a third time and 
 executed a veritable tattoo upon the door. When this 
 had proceeded for about half a minute or more: 
 
 "All right, all right I" came a shaky voice from 
 within. "I'm coming." 
 
 Harley released the knocker, and, turning to me : 
 
 "Ma Lorenzo," he whispered. ■ "Don't make any 
 mistakes." 
 
 Indeed, even as he warned me, heralded by a 
 creaking of bolts and the rattling of a chain, the door 
 was opened by a fat, shapeless, half-caste woman of 
 indefinite age; in whose dark eyes, now sunken in 
 bloated cheeks, in whose fiill though drooping lips, 
 and even in the whole overlaid contour of whose face 
 and figure it was possible to recognize the traces of 
 former beauty. This was Ma Lorenzo, who for many 
 years had lived at that address with old Kwen Lung, 
 of whom strange stories were told in Chinatown. 
 
 As Bill Jones, A.B., my friend, Paul Harley^ was 
 well known to Ma Lorenzo as he was well known, to 
 many others in that stra!nge colony which clusters 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 169 
 
 round the Londoii docks., I sometimes enjoyed, the 
 privilege of accompanying my friend on a tour of 
 investigation through the weird resorts which abound 
 in that neighbourhood, and, indeed, we had been re- 
 turning from one of these Baghdad nights when our 
 present adventure had been thrust upon us. Assum- 
 ing a wild; and boisterous manner which he had at 
 command : 
 
 " 'Urry up, Mai" said Harley, entering without 
 ceremony; "I want to introduce my pal Jim 'ere to 
 old Kwen Lung, and make it all right for him before 
 I sail." 
 
 Ma Lorenzo, who was half Portuguese, replied in 
 her peculiar accent : 
 
 "This no time to come waking me up out of bed!" 
 
 But Harley, briiishing past her, was already inside 
 the stuffy little room, and I hastened to follow. 
 
 "Kwen Lung!" shouted my friend loudly. "Where 
 are you? Brought a friend. to see you." 
 
 "Kwen Limg no hab," came the complaining tones 
 of Ma Lorenzo from behind us. 
 
 It was curious to note how long association with 
 the Chinese had resulted in her catching the infection 
 of that pidgin'-E'nglish which is a sort of esperanto in 
 all Asiatic quarters. . 
 
 "Eh I" cried my friend, pushing, open a door on 
 the right of the passage and stumbling down three 
 worn steps into a very evil-smelling room. "Where 
 is he?" 
 
 "Go play fan-tan. Not come back." i 
 
 Ma Lorenzo, having relocked the street door, had 
 
[170 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 tejoined us, and as I followed my friend down into the 
 'dim and uninviting apartment she stood at the top of 
 the steps, hands on hips, regarding us. 
 
 The place, which was quite palpably an opium den, 
 must have disappointed anyone familiar with the more 
 ornate houses of Chinese vice in San Francisco and 
 elsewhere. The bare floor was not particularly clean, 
 and the few decorations which the room boasted were 
 garishly European for, the most part. A deep divan, 
 evidently used sometimes as a bed, occupied one side 
 of the room, and just to the left of the steps reposed 
 the only typically Oriental object in the place. 
 
 It was a strange thing to see in so sordid a setting; 
 a great gilded joss, more than life-size, squatting, 
 hideous, upon a massive pedestal ; a figure fit for some 
 native temple but strangely out of place in that dirty 
 little Limehouse abode. 
 
 I had never before visited Kwen Lung's, but the 
 fame of his golden joss had reached me, and I know 
 that he had received many offers for it, all of which 
 he had rejected. It was whispered that Kwen Lung 
 was rich, that he was a great man among the Chinese, 
 and even that some kind of religious ceremony peri- 
 odically took place in his house. Now, as I stood 
 staring at the famous idol, I saw something which 
 made me stare harder than ever. 
 
 The place was lighted by a hanging lamp from 
 which depended bits of coloured paper and several 
 gilded silk tassels; but dim as the light was it could 
 not conceal those tell-tale stains. 
 
 There was blood on the feet of the golden idol I 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 1711 
 
 All this I detected at a glance, but ere I had time 
 to speak: 
 
 "You can't tell me that tale, Ma !" cried Harley. 
 "I believe 'e was smokin' in 'ere when we knocked." 
 
 The woman shrugged her fat shoulders. 
 
 "No, hab," she repeated. "You two johnnies clear 
 out. Let me sleep." 
 
 But as I turned to her, beneath the nonchalant 
 manner I could detect a great uneasiness; and in her 
 dark eyes there was fear. That Harley also had seen 
 the bloodstains I was well aware, and I did not doubt 
 that furthermore he had noted the fact that the only 
 mat which the room boasted had been placed before 
 the joss — doubtless to hide other stains upon the 
 boards. 
 
 As we stood so I presently became aware of a 
 current of air passing across the room in the direction 
 of the open door. It came from a window before 
 which a tawdry red curtain had been draped. Either 
 the window behind the curtain was wide open, which 
 is alien to Chinese habits, or it was shattered. While 
 I was wondering if Harley intended to investigate 
 further : 
 
 "Come on, Jim!" he cried boisterously, and clapped 
 me on the shoulder; "the old fox don't want to be 
 disturbed." 
 
 He turned to the woman : 
 
 "Tell him when he wakes up, Ma," he said, "that 
 if ever my pal Jim wants a pipe he's to 'ave one. 
 Savvy? Jim's square." 
 
 "Savvy," replied the woman, and she was wholly 
 
172 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 unable to conceal her relief. "You clear out now, and 
 I. tell Kwen Lung when he come in." 
 
 "Righto, Ma!" said Harley. "Kiss 'im on both 
 cheeks for me, an' tell 'im I'll be 'ome again in a 
 month." 
 
 Grasping me by the arm he lurched up the steps, 
 and the two of us presently found ourselves out in 
 the street again. In the growing light the squalor of 
 the district was more evident than ever, but the com- 
 parative freshness of the air was welcome after the 
 reek of that room in which the golden idol sat leering, 
 with blood at his feet. 
 
 "You saw, Harley?" I exclaimed excitedly. "You 
 saw the stains? And I'm certain the window was 
 broken I" 
 
 Harley nodded shortly. 
 
 "Back to Wade Street!" he said. "I allow myself 
 fifteen minutes to shed Bill Jones, able seaman, and 
 to become Paul Harley, of Chancery Lane." 
 
 As we hurried along: 
 
 "What steps shall you take?" I asked. 
 
 "First step : search Kwen Lung's house from cellar 
 to roof. Second step : entirely dependent upon result 
 of first. The Chinese are subtle, Knox;: If Kwen 
 Lung has killed his daughter, it may require all the 
 resources of Scotland Yard to prove it." 
 
 "But- — " 
 
 "There is no 'but' about it. Chinatown Is the one 
 district of London which possesses the property of 
 swallowing people up." 
 
Ill 
 
 "captain dan" 
 
 HALF an hour later, as I sat in the inner room 
 before the great dressing-table laboriously 
 removing my disguise — for I was utterly in- 
 capable of metamorphosing myself like Harley in 
 seven minutes — I heard a rapping at the outer door. 
 I glanced nervously at my face in the mirror. 
 
 Comparatively little of "Jim" had yet been re- 
 moved, for since time was precious to my friend I had 
 acted as his dresser before setting to work to remove 
 my own make-up. There were two entrances to the 
 establishment, by one of which Paul Harley invariably 
 entered and invariably went out, and from the other 
 of which "Bill Jones" was sometimes seen to emerge, 
 but never Paul Harley. That my friend had made good 
 his retirement I knew, but, nevertheless, if I had to 
 open the door of the outer room it must be as "Jim." 
 
 Thinking it impolite not to do so, since the one 
 who knocked might be aware that we had come in but 
 not gone out again, I hastily readjusted that side of 
 my moustache which I had begun to remove, replaced 
 my cap and muffler, and carefully locking the door of 
 the dressing-room, crossed the outer apartment and 
 opened the door. 
 
 173 
 
174 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 It was Harley's custom never to enter or leave these 
 rooms except under the mantle of friendly night, but 
 at so early an hour I confess I had not expected a 
 visitor. Wondering whom I should find there I 
 opened the door. 
 
 Standing on the landing was a fellow-lodger who 
 permanently occupied the two top rooms of the house, 
 Paul Harley had taken the trouble to investigate the 
 man's past, for "Captain Dan," the name by which he 
 was known in the saloons and worse resorts which he 
 frequented, was palpably a broken-down gentleman; 
 a piece of flotsam caught in the yellow stream. Opium 
 had been his downfall. How he lived I never knew, 
 but Harley believed he had some small but settled 
 income, sufficient to enable him to kill himself in 
 comfort with the black pills. 
 
 As he stood there before me in the early morning 
 light, I was aware of some subtle change in his appear- 
 ance. It was fully six months since I had seen him 
 last, but in some vague way he looked younger. Hag- 
 gard he was, with an ugly cut showing on his temple, 
 but not so lined as I remembered him. Some former 
 man seemed to be struggling through the opium- 
 scarred surface. His eyes were brighter, and I noted 
 with surprise that he wore decent clothes and was 
 clean shaved. 
 
 "Good morning, Jim," he said; "you remember me, 
 don't you?" 
 
 As he spoke I observed, too, that his manner had 
 altered. He who had consorted with the sweepings 
 of the doss-houses now addressed me as a courteous 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 175 
 
 gentleman addresses an inferior — not haughtily or 
 patronizingly, but with a note of conscious superiority 
 and self-respect wholly unfamiliar. Almost it threw 
 me off my guard, but remembering in the nick of time 
 that I was still "Jim" : 
 
 "Of course I remember you, Cap'n," I said. "Step 
 inside." 
 
 "Thanks," he replied, and followed me into the 
 little room. 
 
 I placed for him the arm-chair which our friend 
 the fireman had so recently occupied, but : 
 
 "I won't sit down," he said. 
 
 And now I observed that he was evidently in a 
 condition of repressed excitement. Perhaps he saw 
 the curiosity in my glance, for he suddenly rested 
 both his hands on my shoulders, and : 
 
 "Yes, I have given, up the dope, Jim," he said— 
 "done with it for ever. There's not a soul in this 
 neighbourhood I can trust, yet if ever a man wanted 
 a pal, I want one to-day. Now, you're square, my 
 lad. I always knew that, in spite of the dope; and 
 if I ask you to do a little thing that means a lot to me, 
 I think you will do it. Am I right?" 
 
 "If it can be done, I'll do it," said I. 
 
 "Then, listen. I'm leaving England in the Patna 
 for Singapore. She sails at noon to-morrow, and 
 passengers go on board at ten o'clock. I've got my 
 ticket, papers in order, but" — he paused impressively, 
 grasping my shoulders hard — ^"I must get on board 
 to-night." 
 
 I stared him in the face. 
 
176 TALES OF CHINA"! OWN • 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 He returned my look with one searching' and eager ; 
 then: 
 
 "If I show you the reason," said he, "and trust you 
 with all my papers, will you go down to the dock — 
 it's no great distance— and ask to see Marryat, the 
 chief officer? Perhaps you've sailed with him?" 
 
 "No," I replied guardedly. "I was never in the 
 Patna." 
 
 "Never mind. When you give him a letter which 
 I shall write he will make the necessary arrangements 
 for me to occupy my state-room to-night. I knew him 
 well," he explained, "in — the old days. Will you do 
 it, Jim?" 
 
 "I'll do it with pleasure," I answered. 
 
 "Shake!" said Captain Dan. 
 
 We shook hands heartily, and : 
 
 "Now I'll show you the reason," he added. "Come 
 upstairs." 
 
 Turning, he led the way upstairs to his own room, 
 and wondering greatly, I followed him in. Never 
 having been in Captain Dan's apartments I cannot 
 say whether they, like their occupant, had changed for 
 the better. But I found myself in a rpom surprisingly 
 clean and with a note of culture in its appointments 
 which was even more surprising. 
 
 On a couch by the window, wrapped in a fur rug, 
 lay the prettiest half-caste girl I had ever seen. East 
 or West. Her skin was like cream rose petals and 
 her abundant hair was of wonderful lustrous black. 
 Perhaps it was her smooth warm colour which sug- 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 177 
 
 gested the idea, but as her cheeks flushed at sight of 
 Captain Dan and the long dark eyes lighted up in 
 welcome, I thought of a delicate painting on ivory 
 and I wondered more and more what it all could mean. 
 
 "I have brought Jim to see you," said Captain Dan. 
 "No, don't trouble to move dear." 
 
 But even before he had spoken I had seen the girl 
 wince with pain as she had endeavoured to sit up to 
 greet us. She lay on her side In a rather constrained 
 attitude, but although her sudden movement had 
 brought tears to her eyes she smiled bravely and ex- 
 tended a tiny ivory hand to me. 
 
 "This is my wife, Jim I" said Captain Dan. 
 
 I could find no words at all, but merely stood there 
 looking very awkward and feeling almost awed by the 
 indescribable expression of trust in the eyes of the 
 little Eurasian, as with her tiny fingers hidden in her 
 husband's clasp she lay looking up at him. 
 
 "Now you know, Jim," said he, "why we must get 
 aboard the Patna to-night. My wife is really too ill 
 to travel; in fact, I shall have to carry her down to 
 the cab, and such a proceeding in daylight would 
 attract an enormous crowd in this neighbourhood!" 
 
 "Give me the letters and the papers," I answered. 
 "I will start now." .- 
 
 His wife disengaged her hand and extended it to 
 me. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, in a queer little silver-bell 
 voice; "you are good. I shall always love you." 
 
IV 
 
 THE SECRET OF MA LORENZO 
 
 IT MUST have been about eleven o'clock that 
 night when Paul Harley rang me up. Since we 
 had parted in the early morning I had had no 
 word from him, and I was all anxiety to tell him of 
 the quaint little romance which unknown to us had 
 had its setting in the room above. 
 
 In accordance with my promise I had seen the chief 
 officer of the Patna; and from the start of surprise 
 which he gave on opening "Captain Dan's" letter, I 
 judged that Mr. Marryat and the man who for so 
 long had sunk to the lowest rung of the ladder had 
 been close friends in those "old days." At any rate, 
 he had proceeded to make the necessary arrangements 
 without a moment's delay, and the couple were to go 
 on board the Patna at nine o'clock. 
 
 It was with a sense of having done at least one 
 good deed that I finally quitted our Limehouse base 
 and returned to my rooms. Now, at eleven o'clock 
 at night: 
 
 "Can you come round to Chancery Lane at once?" 
 said Harley. "I want you to run down to Pennyfields 
 with me." 
 
 "Some development in the Kwen Lung business?" 
 
 178 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 179 
 
 "Hardly a development, but I'm not satisfied, Knox. 
 I hate to be beaten." 
 
 Twenty minutes later I was sitting in Harley's study, 
 watching him restlessly promenading up and down be- 
 fore the fire. 
 
 "The police searched Kwen Lung's place from foun- 
 dation to tiles," he said. "I was there myself. Old 
 Kwen Lung conveniently kept out of the way — still 
 playing fan-tan, no doubt 1 But Ma Lorenzo was in 
 evidence. She blandly declared that Kwen Lung 
 never had a daughter! And in the absence of our 
 friend the fireman, who sailed in the Seahawk, and 
 whose evidence, by the way, is legally valueless — ^what 
 could we do? They could find nobody in the neigh- 
 bourhood prepared to state that Kwen Lung had a 
 daughter or that Kwen Lung had no daughter. There 
 are all sorts of fables about the old fox, but the facts 
 about him are harder to get at." 
 
 "But," I explained, "the bloodstains on the jossl" 
 
 "Ma Lorenzo stumbled and fell there on the pre- 
 vious night, striking her skull against the foot of the 
 figure." 
 
 "What nonsense I" I cried. "We should have seen 
 the wound last night." 
 
 "We might have done," said Harley musingly; "I 
 don't know when she inflicted it on herself; but I did 
 see it this morning." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Oh, the gash is there all right, partly covered by 
 her hair." 
 
 He stood still, staring at me oddly. 
 
i8o TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "One meets with cases of singular devotion in un- 
 expected quarters sometimes," he said. 
 
 "You mean that the woman inflicted the wound 
 upon herself in order — — " 
 
 "To save old Kwen Lung — exactly I It's marvellous." 
 
 "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "And the win- 
 dow?" 
 
 "Oh 1 it was broken right enough — ^by two drunken 
 sallormen fighting in the court outside! Sash and 
 everything smashed to splinters." 
 
 He began irritably to pace the carpet again. 
 
 "It must have been a devil of a fight!" he added 
 savagely. 
 
 "Meanwhile," said I, "where is old Kwen Lung hid- 
 ing?" 
 
 "But more particularly," cried Harley, "where has 
 he hidden the poor victim? Come along, Knox! I'm 
 going down there for a final look round." 
 
 "Of course the premises are being watched?" 
 
 "Of course — and also, of course, I shall be the 
 laughing stock of Scotland Yard if nothing results." 
 
 It was close on midnight when once more I found 
 myself in Pennyfields. Carried away by Harley's 
 irritable excitement I had quite forgotten the romance 
 of Captain Dan; and when, having exchanged greet- 
 ings with the detective on duty hard by the house of 
 Kwen Lung, we presently found ourselves in the pres- 
 ence of Ma Lorenzo, I scarcely knew for a moment 
 if I were "Jim" or my proper self. 
 
 "Is Kwen Lung in?" asked Harley sternly. 
 
 The woman shook her head. 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS i8i 
 
 "No," she replied; "he sometimes stop away a 
 whole week." 
 
 "Does he?" jerked Harley. "Come in, Knox; we'll 
 take another look round." 
 
 A moment later I found myself again in the room 
 of the golden joss. The red curtain had been re- 
 moved from before the shattered window, but other- 
 wise the place looked exactly as it had looked before. 
 The atmosphere was much less stale, however, but 
 there was something repellent about the great gilded 
 idol smiling eternally from his pedestal beside the door. 
 
 I stared into the leering face, and it was the face 
 of one who knew and who might have said: "Yes! 
 this and other things equally strange have I beheld 
 in many lands as well as England. Much I could tell. 
 Many things grim and terrible, and some few joyous; 
 for behold ! I smile but am silent." 
 
 For a while Harley stared abstractedly at the blood- 
 stains on the pedestal of the joss and upon the floor 
 beneath from which the matting had been pulled back. 
 Suddenly he turned to Ma Lorenzo: 
 
 "Where have you hidden the body?" he demanded. 
 
 Watching her, I thought I saw the woman flinch, 
 but there was enough of the Oriental in her composi- 
 tion to save her from self-betrayal. She shook her 
 head slowly, watching Harley through half-closed eyes. 
 
 "Nobody hab," she replied. 
 
 And I thought for once that her lapse into pidgin 
 had been deliberate and not accideatal. 
 
 When finally we quitted the house of the missing 
 Kwen Lung, and when,. Harley having curtly acknow- 
 
1 82 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ledged "good night" from the detective on duty, we 
 canie out into Limehouse Causeway. 
 
 "You have not overlooked the possibility, Harley," 
 I said, "that this woman's explanation may be true, 
 and that the fireman of the Seahawk may have been 
 entertaining us with an account of a weird dream?" 
 
 "No!" snapped Harley — "neither will Scotland 
 Yard overlook it." 
 
 He was in a particularly impossible mood, for he 
 so rarely made mistakes that to be detected in one 
 invariably brought out those petulant traits of char- 
 acter which may have been due in some measure to 
 long residence in the East. Recognizing that he 
 would rather be alone I parted from him at the corner 
 of Chancery Lane and returned to my own chambers. 
 Furthermore, I was very tired, for it was close upon 
 two o'clock, and on turning in I very promptly went 
 to sleep, nor did I awaken until late in the morning. 
 
 For some odd reason, but possibly because the fact 
 had occurred to me just as I was retiring, I remem- 
 bered at the moment of waking that I had not told 
 Harley about the romantic wedding of Captain Dan. 
 As I had left my friend in very ill humour I thought 
 that this would be a good excuse for an early call, and 
 just before eleven o'clock I walked into his office. 
 Innes, his invaluable secretary, showed me into the 
 study at the back. 
 
 "Hallo, Knox," said Harley, looking up from a 
 little silver Buddha which he was examining, "have 
 you come to ask for news of the Kwen Lung case?" 
 
 "No," I replied. "Is there any?" 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 183 
 
 Harley shook his head. 
 
 "It seems like fate," he declared, "that this thing 
 should have been sent to me this morning." He in- 
 dicated the silver Buddha. "A present from a friend 
 who knows my weakness for Chinese ornaments," he 
 explained grimly. "It reminds me of that damned 
 joss of Kwen Lung's!" 
 
 I took up the little Image and examined it with 
 interest. It was most beautifully fashioned in the 
 patient Oriental way, and there was a little hinged 
 door in the back which fitted so perfectly that when 
 closed it was quite impossible to detect its presence. 
 I glanced at Harley. 
 
 "I suppose you didn't find a jewel inside?" I said 
 lightly. 
 
 "No," he replied; "there was nothing inside." 
 
 But even as he uttered the words his whole expres- 
 sion changed, and so suddenly as to startle me. He 
 sprang up from the table, and : 
 
 "Have you an hour to spare, Knox?" he cried ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "I can spare an hour, but what for?" 
 
 "For Kwen Lung!" 
 
 Four minutes later we were speeding in the direc- 
 tion of Limehouse, and not a word of explanation to 
 account for this sudden journey could I extract from 
 my friend. Therefore I beguiled the time by telling 
 him of my adventure with Captain Dan. 
 
 Harley listened to the stony in unbroken silence, 
 but at its termination he brought his hand down 
 sharply on my knee. 
 
1 84 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "I have been almost perfectly blind, Knox," he 
 said; "but not quite so perfectly blind as you!" 
 
 I stared at: him in amazement, but he merely 
 laughed and offered no fexplanation of his words. 
 
 Presently, then, I found myself yet again in the 
 familiar room of the golden joss. Ma Lorenzo, in 
 whom some hidden anxiety seemed to have increased 
 since I had last seen her, stood at the top of the stairs 
 watching us. Upon what idea my friend was oper- 
 ating and what he intended to do I could not imagine; 
 but without a word to the woman he crossed the room 
 and grasping the great golden idol with both arms he 
 dragged it forward across the floor I 
 
 As he did so there was a stifled shriek, and Ma 
 Lorenzo, stumbling down the steps, threw herself on 
 her knees before Harley! Raising imploring hands: 
 
 "No, no!" she moaned. "Not until I tell you — I 
 tell you everything first!" 
 
 "To begin with, tell me how to open this thing," he 
 said sternly. 
 
 Momentarily she hesitated, and did not rise from 
 her knees, but: 
 
 "Do you hear me?" he cried. 
 
 The woman rose unsteadily and walking slowly 
 round the joss manipulated some hidden fastening, 
 whereupon the entire back of the thing opened like a 
 doorl From what was within she shudderingly 
 averted her face, but Harley, stepping back against 
 the wall, stopped and peered into the cavity. 
 
 "Good God!" he muttered. "Come and look, 
 Knox." 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 185 
 
 Prepared by his manner for some gruesome spec- 
 tacle, I obeyed — and from that which I saw I recoiled 
 in horror. 
 
 "Harley," I whispered, "Harleyl who is it?" 
 
 The spectacle had truly sickened me. Crouched 
 within the narrow space enclosed by the figure of the 
 idol was the body of an old and wrinkled Chinaman ! 
 His knees were drawn up to his chin, and his head so 
 compressed upon them that little of his features could 
 be seen. 
 
 "It is Kwen Lung!" murmured Ma Lorenzo, 
 standing with clasped hands and wild eyes over by 
 the window. "Kwen Lung — and I am glad he is 
 dead!" 
 
 Such a note of hatred came into her voice as I had 
 never heard in the voice of any woman. 
 
 "He is vile, a demon, a mocking cruel demon J 
 Long, long years ago I would have killed him, but 
 always I was afraid. I tell you everything, every- 
 thing. This is how he comes to be dead. The little 
 one" — again her voice changed and a note of almost 
 grotesque tenderness came into it — "the lotus-flower, 
 that is his own daughter's child, flesh of his flesh, he 
 keeps a prisoner as the women of China are kept, up 
 there" — she raised one fat finger aloft — "up above. 
 He does not Icnow that someone comes to see her — 
 someone who used to come to smoke but who gave it 
 up because he had looked into the dear one's eyes. 
 He does not know that she goes with me to see her 
 man. Ah! we think he does not know! I — I ar- 
 range it all. A week ago they were married. On 
 
1 86 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Tuesday night, when Kwen Lung die, I plan for her to 
 steal away for ever, for ever." 
 
 Tears now were running down the woman's fat 
 cheeks, and her voice quivered emotionally. 
 
 "For me it is the end, but for her it is the begin- 
 ning of life. All right! I don't matter a damn! 
 She is young and beautiful. Ah, God! so beautiful! 
 A drunken pig comes here and finds his way in, so 
 I give him the smoke and presently he sleeps, but it 
 makes delay, and I don't know how soon Kwen Lung, 
 that yellow demon, will Wake. For he is like the bats 
 who sleep all day and wake at night. 
 
 "At last the sailor pig sleeps and I call softly to 
 my dear little one that the time has come. I have 
 gone out into the street, locking the door behind me, 
 to see if her man is waiting, and I hear her shrieks— « 
 her shrieks! I hurry back. My hands tremble so 
 much that I can scarcely unlock the door. At last I 
 enter, and I see and I know — that yellow devil has 
 learned all and has been playing with us like cat and 
 mouse 1 He is lashing her, with a great whip I Lash- 
 ing her — that tiny, sweet flower. Ah I" 
 
 She choked in her utterance, and turning to the 
 gilded joss which contained the dead Chinaman she 
 shook her clenched hands at it, and the expression on 
 her face I can never forget. Then : 
 
 "As I shriek curses at him, crash goes the window 
 -^and I see her husband spring into the room! The 
 tender one had fallen, there at the foot of the joss, 
 and Kwen Lung, his teeth gleaming — like a rat — ^like 
 a devil — turns to meet him. So he is when her man 
 
THE HOUSE OF GOLDEN JOSS 187 
 
 strike him, once. Just once, here." She rested her 
 hand upon her heart. "And he falls — and he coughs. 
 He lie still. For him It is finished. That devil heart 
 has ceased to beat. Ah I" 
 
 She threw up her hands, and : 
 
 "That is all. I tell you no more." 
 
 "One thing more," said Harley sternly; "the name 
 of the man who killed Kwen Lung?" 
 
 At that Ma Lorenzo slowly raised her head and 
 folded her arms across her bosom. There was some- 
 thing one could never forget in the expression of her 
 fat face. 
 
 "Not if you burn me alive I" she answered in a low 
 voice. "No one ever knows that — from me." 
 
 She sank on to the divan and burled her face in 
 her hands. Her fat shoulders shook grotesquely; 
 and Harley stood perfectly still staring across at her 
 for fully a minute. I could hear voices in the street 
 outside and the hum of traffic in Limehouse Causeway. 
 
 Then my friend did a singular thing. Walking 
 over to the gilded joss he reclosed the opening and 
 not without a great effort pushed the great idol back 
 against the wall. 
 
 "There are times, Knox," he said, staring at me 
 oddly, "when I'm glad that I am not an official agent 
 of the law." 
 
 While I watched him dumfounded he walked across 
 to the woman and touched her on the shoulder. She 
 raised her tear-stained face. 
 
 "All right," she whispered. "I am ready." 
 
 "Get ready as soon as you like," said he tersely. 
 
1 88 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "I'll have the man removed who is watching the house, 
 and you can reckon on forty-eight hours to make your- 
 self scarce." 
 
 With never another word he seized me by the arm 
 and hurried me out of the place! Ten paces along 
 the street a shabby-looking fellow was standing, lean- 
 ing against a pillar. Harley stopped, and: 
 
 "Even the greatest men make mistakes sometimes, 
 Hewitt," he remarked. "I'm throwing up the case; 
 probably Inspector Wcssex will do the same. Good 
 morning." 
 
 On towards the Causeway he led me — for not a 
 word was I capable of uttering; and just before we 
 reached that artery of Chinatown, from down-river 
 came the deep, sustained note of a steamer's siren, the 
 warning of some big liner leaving dock. 
 
 "That will be the Patna," said Harley. "She sails 
 at twelve o'clock, I think you said?" 
 
THE MAN WITH THE SHAVEN SKULL 
 
THE MAN WITH THE SHAVEN SKULL 
 
 I 
 
 A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 PULL that light lower," ordered Inspector 
 Wessex. "There you are, Mr. Harley; 
 what do you make of it?" 
 
 Paul Harley and I bent gingerly over the ghastly 
 exhibit to which the C.I.D. official had drawn our 
 attention, and to view which we had journeyed from 
 Chancery Lane to Wapping. 
 
 This was the body of a man dressed solely in ragged 
 shirt and trousers. But the remarkable feature of 
 his appearance lay in the fact that every scrap of hair 
 from chin, lip, eyebrows and skull had been shaved 
 of/ • 
 
 There was another facial disfigurement, peculiarly 
 and horribly Eastern, which my pen may not describe. 
 
 "Impossible to identify 1" murmured Harley. "Yes, 
 you were right. Inspector; this is a victim of Oriental 
 deviltry. Look here, too!" 
 
 He indicated three small wounds, one situated on 
 the left shoulder and the others on the forearm of the 
 dead man. 
 
 "The divisional surgeon cannot account for them," 
 replied Wessex. "They are quite superficial, and he 
 
 191 
 
192 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 thinks they may be due to the fact that the body got 
 entangled with something in the river." 
 
 "They are due to the fact that the man had a birth- 
 mark on his shoulder and something — ^probably a 
 name or some device — tattooed on his arm," said Har- 
 ley quietly. "Some few years ago, I met with a simi- 
 lar case in the neighbourhood of Stambul. A 
 woman," he added, significantly. 
 
 Detective-Inspector Wessex listened to my com- 
 panion with respect, for apart from his established 
 reputation as a private inquiry-agent which had made 
 his name familiar in nearly every capital of the civil- 
 ized world, Paul Harley's work in Constantinople 
 during the six months preceding war with Turkey 
 had merited higher reward than it had ever received. 
 Had his recommendations been adopted the course of 
 history must have been materially changed. 
 
 "You think it's a Chinatown case, then, Mr. Har- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Possibly," was the guarded answer. 
 
 Paul Harley nodded to the constable in charge, 
 and the ghastly figure was pforaptly covered up again. 
 My friend stood staring vacantly at Wessex, ^d j)rje- 
 sently : 
 
 "The chief actor,"*!' think, will prove to be' not 
 Chinese," he said, turned, and walked out. 
 
 "If there's any development," remarked Wessex 
 as the three of us entered Harley's car, which stood at 
 the door, "I will, of course, report to you, Mr. Har- 
 ley. But in the absence of any clue or mark of identi- 
 fication, I fear the ycrdict will be, 'Body of a man 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 193 
 
 unknown,' etc., which has marked the finish of a good 
 many in this cheerful quarter of London." 
 
 "Quite so," said Harley, absently. "It presents 
 extraordinary features, though, and may not end as 
 you suppose. However — ^where do you want me to 
 drop you, Wessex; at the Yard?" 
 
 "Oh no," answered Wessex. "I made a special 
 visit to Wapping just to get your opinion on the 
 shaven man. I'm really going down to Deepbrow to 
 look into that new disappearance case; the daughter 
 of the gamekeeper. You'll have read of it?" 
 
 "I have," said Harley shortly. 
 
 Indeed, readers of the daily press were growing 
 tired of seeing on the contents bills: "Another girl 
 missing." The circumstance (which might have been 
 no more than coincidence) that three girls had disap- 
 peared within the last eight weeks leaving no trace 
 behind, had stimulated the professional scribes to link 
 the cases, although no visible link had been found, 
 and to enliven a somewhat dull journalistic season 
 with theories about "a new Mormon menace." 
 
 The vanishing of this fourth girl had inspired them 
 to some startling headlines, and the case had interested 
 me personally for the reason that I was acquainted 
 with Sir Howard Hepwell, one of whose gamekeepers 
 was the stepfather of the missing Molly Clayton. 
 Moreover, it was hinted that she had gone away in the 
 company of Captain Ronald Vane, at that time a guest 
 of Sir Howard's at the Manor. 
 
 In fact. Sir Howard had 'phoned to ask me if I! 
 could induce Harley to run down, but my friend ha<J 
 
194 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 expressed himself as disinterested in a- common case 
 of elopement. Now, as Wessex spoke, I glanced 
 aside at Harley, wondering if the fact that so cele- 
 brated a member of the C.I.D. as Detective-Inspector 
 Wessex had been put in charge would induce him to 
 change his mind. 
 
 We were traversing a particularly noisy and un- 
 savoury section of the Commercial Road, and 
 although I could see that Wessex was anxious to 
 impart partictilars of the case to Harley, so loud was 
 the din that I recognized the impossibility of con- 
 versing, and therefore: 
 
 "Have you time to call at my rooms, Wessex?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Well," he replied, "I have three-quarters of an 
 hour." 
 
 "You can do it in the car," said Harley suddenly. 
 "I have been asked to look into this case myself, and 
 before I definitely decline I should like to hear your 
 version of the matter." 
 
 Accordingly, we three presently gathered in my 
 chambers, and Wessex, with one eye on the clock, 
 outlined the few facts at that time in his possession 
 respecting the missing girl. 
 
 Two days before the news of the disappearance had 
 been published broadcast under such headings as I 
 have already indicated, a significant scene had been 
 enacted in the gamekeeper's cottage. 
 
 Molly Clayton, a girl whose remarkable beauty 
 had made her a central figure in numerous scandalous 
 stories, for such is the charity of rural neighbours, 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 195 
 
 was detected by her stepfather, about eight in the 
 evening, slipping out of the cottage. 
 
 "Where be ye goin', hussy?" he demanded, grasp- 
 ing her promptly by the arm. 
 
 "For a walkl" she replied defiantly. 
 
 "A walk wi' that fine soger from t' Manor !" roared 
 Bramber furiously. "You'll be sorry yet, you bare- 
 faced gadabout! Must I tell you again that t' man's 
 a villain?" 
 
 The girl wrenched her arm from Bramber's grasp, 
 and blazed defiance from her beautiful eyes. 
 
 "He knows how to respect a woman — ^what you 
 don't!" she retorted hotly. 
 
 "So I don't respect you, my angel?" shouted her 
 stepfather. "Then you know what you can do ! The 
 door's open and there's few'll miss you!" 
 
 Snatching her hat, the girl, very white, made to 
 go out. Whereat the gamekeeper, a brutal man with 
 small love for Molly, and maddened by her taking 
 him at his word, seized her suddenly by her abundant 
 fair hair and hauled her back into the room. 
 
 A violent scene followed, at the end of which Molly 
 fainted and Bramber came out and locked the door. 
 
 When he came back about half-past nine the girl 
 was missing. She did not reappear that night, and 
 the police were advised in the morning. Their most 
 significant discovery was this : 
 
 Captain Ronald Vane, on the night of Molly's dis- 
 appearance, had left the Manor House, after dining 
 alone with his host, Sir Howard Hepwell, saying that 
 he proposed to take a stroll as far as the Deep Wood. 
 
J 96 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 , He never returned I 
 
 From the moment that Gamekeeper Bramber left 
 his cottage, and the moment when Sir Howard Hep- 
 well parted from his guest after dinner, the world 
 to which these two people, Molly Clayton and Cap- 
 tain Vane, were known, knew them no more 1 
 
 I was about to say that they were never seen again. 
 But to me has fallen the task of relating how and 
 where Paul Harley and I met with Captain Vane and 
 Molly Clayton. 
 
 At the end of the Inspector's account: 
 
 "H'm," said Harley, glancing under his thick brows 
 in my direction, "could you spare the time, Knox?" 
 
 "To go to Deepbrow?" I asked with interest. 
 
 "Yes; we have ten minutes to catch the train." 
 
 "I'll come," said I. "Sir Howard will be de- 
 lighted to see you, Harley." 
 
II 
 
 THE CLUE OF THE PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 WHAT do you make of It, Inspector?" asked 
 my friend. 
 Detective-Inspector Wessex smiled, and 
 scratched his chin. 
 
 "There was no need for me to come down!" he re- 
 plied. "And certainly no need for you, Mr. Harleyl" 
 
 Harley bowed, smiling, at the Implied compliment. 
 
 "It's a common or garden elopement 1" continued 
 the detective. "Vane's reputation is absolutely rot- 
 ten, and the girl was clearly infatuated. He must 
 have cared a good bit, too. He'll be cashiered, as 
 sure as a gunl" 
 
 Leaving Sir Howard at the Manor, we had joined 
 Inspector Wessex at a spot where the baronet's pre- 
 serves bordered a narrow lane. Here the ground 
 was soft, and the detective drew Harley's attention 
 to a number of footprints by a stile. _^ _ 
 
 "I've got evidence that he was seen here with the 
 girl on other occasions. Now, Mr. Harley, I'll ask 
 you to look over these footprints." 
 
 Hg,rley dropped to his knees and made a brief but 
 close examination of the ground round about. One 
 particularly clear imprint of a pointed toe he noticed 
 
 197 
 
198 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 especially; and Wessex, diving into the pocket of his 
 light overcoat, produced a patent-leather shoe, such 
 as is used for evening wear. 
 
 "He had a spare pair in his bag," he explained non- 
 chalantly, "and his man did not prove incorruptible 1" 
 
 Harley took' the shoe and placed it in the impres- 
 sion. It fitted perfectly ! 
 
 "This is Molly Clayton, I take it?" he said, indi- 
 cating the prints of a woman's fodtt. 
 
 "Yes," assented Wessex. "You'll notice that they 
 stood for some little time and then walked off, very 
 close together." 
 
 Harley nodded absently. 
 
 "We lose them along here," continued Wessex, 
 leading up the lane; "but at the corner by the big hay- 
 stack they join up with the tracks of a motor-car 1 I 
 ask for nothing clearer 1 There was rain that after- 
 noon, but there's been none since." 
 
 "What does the Captain's man think?" 
 
 "The same as I do I He's not surprised at any mad- 
 ness on Vane's part, with a pretty woman in the easel" 
 
 "The girl left nothing behind — no note?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Traced the car?" 
 
 "No. It must have been hired or borrowed from a 
 long distance off." 
 
 Where the tracks of the tires were visible we 
 stopped, and Harley made a careful examination of 
 the marks. 
 
 "Seems to have had a struggle with her," he said, 
 dryly. 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 199 
 
 "Very likely I" agreed Wessex, without interest. 
 
 Harley crawled about on the ground for some time, 
 to the great detriment of his Harris tweeds, but finally 
 arose, a curious expression on his face — ^which, how- 
 ever, the detective evidently failed to observe. 
 
 We returned to the Manor House where Sir 
 Howard was awaiting us, his good-humoured red face 
 more red than usual ; and in the library, with its sport- 
 ing prints and its works for the most part dealing with 
 riding, hunting, racing, and golf (except for a sprink- 
 ling of Nat Gould's novels and some examples of the 
 older workmanship of Whyte-Melville), we were 
 presently comfortably ensconced. On a side table 
 were placed a generous supply of liquid refreshments, 
 cigars and cigarettes ; so that we made ourselves quite 
 comfortable, and Sir Howard restrained his indigna- 
 tion, until each had a glass before him and all were 
 smoking. 
 
 "Now," he began, "what have you got to report, 
 gentlemen? You, Inspector," he pointed with his 
 cigar toward Wessex, "have seen Vane's man and all 
 of you have been down to look at these danmed 
 tracks. I only want to hear one thing; that you ex- 
 pect to trace the disgraceful couple. I'll see to it" 
 — his voice rose almost to a shout — "that Vane is 
 kicked out of the service, and as to that shameless brat 
 of Bramber's, I wish her no worse than the black- 
 guard's company!" 
 
 "One moment. Sir Howard, one moment," said 
 Harley quietly; "there are always two sides to a., 
 case." 
 
200 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Harley? There's only 
 one side that interests me — the outrage inflicted upon 
 my hospitality by this dirty guest of mine. For the 
 girl I don't give twopence ; she was boxmd to come to 
 a bad end." 
 
 "Well," said Harley, "before we pronounce the 
 final verdict upon either of them I should like to inter- 
 view Bramber. Perhaps," he added, turning to Wes- 
 sex, "it would be as well if Mr. Knox and I went alone. 
 The presence of an official detective sometimes awes 
 this class of witness." 
 
 "Quite right, quite right 1" agreed Sir Howard, 
 waving his cigar vigorously. "Go and see Bramber, 
 Mr. Harley; tell him that no blame attaches to him- 
 self whatever ; also, tell him with my compliments that 
 his stepdaughter is " 
 
 "Quite so, quite so," interrupted Harley, endeav- 
 ouring to hide a smile. "I understand your feelings. 
 Sir Howard, but again I ask you to reserve your ver- 
 dict until all the facts are before us." 
 
 As a result, Harley and I presently set out for the 
 gamekeeper's cottage, and as the man had been 
 :warned that we should visit him, he was on the porch 
 smoking his pipe. A big, dark, ugly fellow he proved 
 to be, of a very forbidding cast of countenance. Hav- 
 ing introduced ourselves : 
 
 "I always knowed she'd come to a bad end!" de- 
 clared Gamekeeper Bramber,' almost echoing Sir How- 
 ard's words. "One o' these gentlemen o' hers was 
 sure to be the finish of her 1" 
 
 "She had other admirers — ^before Captain Vane?" 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 201 
 
 "Aye I the hussy 1 There was a black-faced villain 
 not six months since I He got t' vain cat to go to 
 London an' have her photograph done in a dress any 
 decent woman would 'a' blushed to look at! Like 
 one o' these Venuses up at t' Manor 1 Good rid- 
 dance! She took after her mother 1" 
 
 The violent old ruffian was awkward to examme, 
 but Harley persevered. 
 
 "This previous admirer caused her to be photo- 
 graphed in that way, did he? Have you a copy?" 
 
 "Nol" blazed Bramber. "What I found I burnt! 
 He ran off, like I told her he would — an' her cryin' 
 her eyes out! But the pretty soger dried her tears 
 quick enough!" 
 
 "Do you know this man's name?" 
 
 "No. A foreigner, he was." 
 
 "Where were the photographs done — in London, 
 you say?" 
 
 "Aye." 
 
 "Do you know by what photographer?" 
 
 "I don't! An' I don't care! Piccadilly they had 
 on 'em, which was good enough for me." 
 
 "Have you her picture?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Did she receive a letter on the day of her disap- 
 pearance?" 
 
 "Maybe." 
 
 "Good day!" said Harley. "And let me add that 
 the atmosphere of her home was hardly conducive to 
 ideal conduct!" 
 
 Leaving Bramber to digest this rebuke, we came 
 
202 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 out of the cottage. Dusk was falling now, and by tHe 
 time that we regained the Manor the place was lighted 
 up. Inspector Wessex was waiting for us in the li- 
 brary, and: 
 
 "Well?" he said, smiling slightly as we entered. 
 
 "Nothing much," replied Harley dryly, "except 
 that I don't wonder at the girl's leaving such a 
 home." 
 
 "What's thatl What!" roared a big voice, and 
 Sir Howard came into the room. "I tell you, Bram- 
 ber only had one fault as a stepfather; he -wasn't 
 heavy-handed enough. A bad lot, sir, a bad lot!" 
 
 "Well, sir," said Inspector Wessex, looking from 
 one to another, "personally, beyond the usual inquiries 
 at railway stations, etc., I cannot see that we can do 
 much here. Don't you agree with me, Mr. Harley?" 
 
 Harley nodded. 
 
 "Quite," he replied. "There is a late train to 
 town which I think we could catch if we started at 
 once." 
 
 "Eh?" roared Sir Howard; "you're not going back 
 to-night? Your rooms are ready for you, damn it!" 
 
 "I quite appreciate the kindness, Sir Howard," re- 
 plied Harley; "but I have urgent business to attend to 
 in London. Believe me, my departure is unavoid- 
 able." 
 
 The blue eyes of the baronet gleamed with the sim- 
 ple cunning of his kind. 
 
 "You've got something up your sleeve," he roared. 
 "I know you have, I know you have!" 
 
 Inspector Wessex looked at me significantly, but S 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 203 
 
 could only shrug my shoulders in reply; for in these 
 moods Harley was as inscrutable as the Sphinx. 
 
 However, he had his way, and Sir Howard hur- 
 riedly putting a car in commission, we raced for the 
 local station and just succeeded in picking up the ex- 
 press at Claybury. 
 
 Wessex was rather silent throughout the journey, 
 often glancing in my friend's direction, but Harley 
 made no further reference to the case beyond outlining 
 the interview with Bramber, until, as we were parting 
 at the London terminus, Wessex to report to Scotland 
 Yard and I to go to Harley's rooms: 
 
 "How long do you think it will take you to find 
 that photographer, Wessex?" he asked. "Piccadilly 
 is a sufficient clue." 
 
 "Well," replied the Inspector, "nothing can be done 
 to-night, of course, but I should think by mid-day to- 
 morrow the matter should be settled." 
 
 "Right," said Harley shortly. "May I ask you to 
 report the result to me, Wessex?" 
 
 "I will report without fail." 
 
Ill 
 
 ALI OF CAIRO 
 
 IT WAS not until the evening of the following day 
 that Harley rang me up, and : 
 "I want you to come round at once," he said 
 Urgently. "The Deepbrow case is developing along 
 lines which I confess I had anticipated, but which are 
 dramatic nevertheless." 
 
 Knowing that Harley did not lightly make such an 
 assertion, I put aside the work upon which I was en- 
 gaged and hurried around to Chancery Lane. I 
 found my friend, pipe in mouth, walking up and down 
 his smoke-laden study in a state which I knew to be- 
 token suppressed excitement, and : 
 
 "Did Wessex find your photographer?" I asked on 
 entering. 
 
 "Yes," he replied. "A first-class man, as I had 
 anticipated. As I had further anticipated he did a 
 number of copies of the picture for the foreign gentle- 
 man-^about fifty, in factl" 
 • "Fifty 1" 
 
 f "Yes! Does the significance of that fact strike 
 you?" asked Harley, a queer smile stealing across his 
 tanned, clean-shaven face. 
 
 "It is an extraordinary thing for even an ardent 
 
 204 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 205 
 
 admirer to have so many reproductions done of the 
 same picture 1" 
 
 "It is 1 I will show you now what I found trodden 
 into one of the footprints where the struggle took 
 place beside the car." 
 
 Harley produced a piece of thick silk twine. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "It is a link, Knox — i link to seek which I really 
 Went down to Deepbrow." He stared at me 
 quizzically, but my answering look must have 
 been a blank one. "It is part of the tassel of 
 one of those red cloth caps commonly called in Eng- 
 land, a fez !" 
 
 He continued to stare at me and I to stare at the 
 piece of silk; then: 
 
 "What is the next move?" I demanded. "Your 
 new clue rather bewilders me." 
 
 "The next move," he said, "is to retire to the ad- 
 joining room and make ourselves look as much like a 
 couple of Oriental commercial travellers as our cor- 
 rectly British appearance will allow!" 
 
 "What!" I cried. 
 
 "That's it !" laughed Harley. "I have a perpetual 
 tan, and I think I can give you a temporary one which 
 I keep in a bottle for the purpose." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, then, having quitted HaT- 
 ley's chambers by a back way opening into one of those 
 old-world courts which abound in this part of the 
 metropolis, two quietly attired Eastern gentlemen got 
 into a cab at the corner of Chancery Lane and pro- 
 ceeded in the direction of Limehouse. 
 
2o6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 There are haunts in many parts of London whose 
 very existence is unsuspected by all but the few ; haunts 
 unvisited by the tourist and even unknown to the copy- 
 hunting pressman. Into a quiet thoroughfare not 
 three minutes' walk from the busy life of West India 
 Dock Road, Harley led the way. Before a door sand- 
 wiched in between the entrance to a Greek tobaccon- 
 ist's establishment and a boarded shop-front, he paused 
 and turned to me. 
 
 "Whatever you see or hear," he cautioned, "ex- 
 press no surprise. Above all, show no curiosity." 
 
 He rang the bell beside the door, and almost imme- 
 diately it was opened by a Negress, grossly and repel- 
 lently ugly. 
 
 Harley pattered something in what sounded like 
 Arabic, whereat the Negre^ss displayed the utmost 
 servility, ushering us into an ill-lighted passage with 
 every evidence of respect. Following this passage to 
 its termination, an inner door was opened, and a burst 
 of discordant music greeted us, together with a wave 
 of tobacco smoke. We entered. 
 
 Despite my friend's particular injunctions to the 
 contrary I gave a start of amazement. 
 
 We stood in the doorway of a fairly large apart- 
 ment having a divan round three of its sides. This 
 divan was occupied by ten or a dozen men of mixed 
 nationalities — Arabs, Greeks, lascars, and others. 
 They smoked cigarettes for the most part and sipped 
 Mokha from little cups. A girl was performing a 
 wriggling dance upon the square carpet occupying 
 the centre of the floor, accompanied by a Nubian boy 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 207 
 
 who twanged upon a guitar, and by most of the assem- 
 bled company, who clapped their hands to the music • 
 or droned a low, tuneless dirge. 
 
 Shortly after our entrance the performance ter- 
 minated, and the girl retired through a curtained door- 
 way at the farther end of the room. Our presence 
 being now observed, suspicious glances were cast in 
 our direction, and a very aged man, who sat smoking a 
 narghli near the door by which the girl had made her 
 exit, gravely waved towards us the amber mouthpiece 
 which he held in his hand. 
 
 Harley walked straight across to him, I close at 
 his heels. The light of a lamp which hung close by 
 fell fully upon my friend's face; and, rising from his 
 seat, the old man greeted him with the dignified and 
 graceful salutation of the East. At his request we 
 seated ourselves beside him, and, while we all three 
 smoked excellent Turkish cigarettes, Harley and he 
 conversed in a low tone. Suddenly, at some remark 
 of my friend's, our strange host rose to his feet, an 
 angry frown contracting his heavy eyebrows. 
 
 Silence fell upon the company. 
 
 In a loud and peremptory voice he called out some- 
 thing in Arabic. 
 
 Instantly I detected a fellow near the entrance door, 
 and whom I had not hitherto observed, slipping fur- 
 tively into the shadow, with a view, as I thought, to 
 secret departure. He seemed to be deformed in some 
 way and had the most evil, pock-marked face I had 
 ever beheld in my life. Angrily, the majestic old man 
 recalled him. Whereupon, with a sort of animal 
 
2o8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 snarl quite indescribable, the fellow plucked out a 
 knife ! Two men who had been on the point of seiz- 
 ing him fell back, and : 
 
 "Hold him!" shouted Harley, springing forward 
 —"hold him ! It's Ali of Cairo 1" 
 
 But Harky was too late. Turning, the strange and 
 formidable-looking Oriental ran like the wind! Ere 
 hand could be raised to stay him he was through the 
 doorway ! 
 
 "That settles it," said Harley grimly, as once more 
 I found myself in a cab beside him. "I was right; but 
 he'll forestall us!" 
 
 ^Who will forestall us?" I asked in bewilderment. 
 
 "The biggest villain in Europe, Asia, or Africa!" 
 cried my companion. "I have wasted precious time 
 to-day. I might have known." He drummed irri- 
 tably upon his knees. "The place we have just left 
 is a sort of club, you understand, Knox, and Hakim is 
 the proprietor or host as well as being an old gentle- 
 man of importance and authority in the Moslem world. 
 I told him of my suspicions — which step I should have 
 taken earlier — and they were instantly confirmed. My 
 man was there — recognized me — and bolted! He'll 
 forestall us." 
 
 "But my dear fellow," I said patiently — "who is 
 this man, and what has he to do with the Deepbrow 
 case?" 
 
 "He is the blackest scoundrel breathing!" answered 
 Harley bitterly. "As to what he has to do with the 
 case — why did he bolt? At any rate, I know where 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 209 
 
 to find him now — and we may not be too late after 
 all." 
 
 "But who and what is this maA?" 
 
 "He is All of Cairo ! As to what he is — ^you will 
 soon learn." 
 
 \ 
 
IV 
 
 THE HOUSE BY THE RIVER 
 
 ON QUITTING the singular Oriental club, 
 Harley had first raced off to a public tele- 
 phone, where he had spoken for some time — 
 as I now divined — to Scotland Yard. For when we 
 presently arrived at the headquarters of the Metro- 
 politan Police, I was surprised to find Inspector 
 Wessex awaiting us. Leaning out of the cab win- 
 dow: 
 
 "Yes?" called Harley excitedly. "Was I right?" 
 
 "You were, Mr. Harley," answered Wessex, who 
 seemed to be no less excited than my companion. "I 
 got the man's reply an hour ago." 
 
 "I knew it!" said Harley shortly. "Get in, Wes- 
 sex; we haven't a minute to waste." 
 
 The Inspector joined us in the cab, having first 
 given instructions to the chauffeur. As we set out 
 once more: 
 
 "You have had very little time to make the neces- 
 sary arrangements," continued my friend. 
 
 "Time enough," replied Wessex. "They will not 
 be expecting us." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of it. One of the biggest villains 
 in the civilized world recognized me three minutes be- 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 211 
 
 fore I called you up and then made good his escape. 
 However, there is at least a fighting chance." 
 
 Little more was said from that moment until the 
 end of the drive, both my companions seeming to be 
 consumed by an intense eagerness to reach our desti- 
 nation. At last the cab drew up in a deserted street. 
 I had rather lost my bearings ; but I knew that we were 
 once more somewhere in the Chinatown area, and: 
 
 "Follow us until we get into the house," Harley 
 said to Inspector Wessex, "and wait out of sight. If 
 you hear me blow this whistle, bring up the men you 
 have posted — as quick as you like ! But make it your 
 particular business to see that no one gets out!" 
 
 Into a pitch-dark yard we turned, and I felt a shud- 
 der of apprehension upon observing that it was the 
 entrance to a wharf. Dully gleaming in the moon- 
 light, the Thames, that grave of many a ghastly se- 
 cret, flowed beneath us. Emerging from the shadow 
 of the archway, we paused before a door in the wall 
 on our left. 
 
 At that moment something gleamed through the 
 air, whizzed past my ear, and fell with a metallic 
 jingle on the stones! 
 
 Instinctively we both looked up. 
 
 At an unlighted window on the first floor I caught a 
 fleeting glimpse of a dark face. 
 
 "You were right 1" I said. "Ali of Cairo has fore- 
 stalled us!" 
 
 Harley stooped and picked up a knife with a broad 
 and very curious blade. He slipped it into his pocket, 
 nonchalantly. 
 
212 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "All evidence!" he said. "Keep in the shadow 
 and bend down. I am going to stand on your shoul- 
 ders and get into that window!" 
 
 Wondering at his daring, I nevertheless obeyed; 
 and Harley succeeded, although not without dif&culty, 
 in achieving his purpose. A moment after he had 
 disappeared in the blackness of the room above. 
 
 "Stand clear, Knox!" I heard. 
 
 Two of the cushion seats sometimes called "poof- 
 ottomans" were thrown down, and: 
 
 "Up you come!" called Harley. "I'll grasp your 
 hands if you can reach." 
 
 It proved no easy task, but I finally managed to 
 scramble up beside my friend — to find myself in a 
 dark and stuffy little room. 
 
 "This way!" said Harley rapidly — "upstairs." 
 
 He led the way without more ado, but it was with 
 serious misgivings that I stumbled up a darkened stair 
 in the rear of my greatly daring friend. 
 
 A pistol cracked in th^ darkness — and my fez was 
 no longer on my head ! 
 
 Harley's repeater answered, and we stumbled 
 through a heavily curtained door into a heated room, 
 the air of which was laden with some Eastern perfume. 
 In the dim light from a silken-shaded lantern a figure 
 showed, momentarily, darting across the place before 
 us. 
 
 Again Harley's pistol spoke, but, as it seemed, in- 
 effectively. 
 
 I had little enough opportunity to survey my sur- 
 roundings ; yet even in those brief, breathless moments 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 213 
 
 I saw enough of the place wherein we stood to make 
 me doubt the evidence of my senses I Outside, I knew, 
 lay a dingy wharf, amid a maze of mean streets; here 
 was an opulently furnished apartment with a strong 
 Oriental note in the decorations! 
 
 Snatching an electric torch from his pocket, Harley 
 leaped through a doorway draped with rich Persian 
 tapestry, and I came close on his heels. Outside was 
 darkness. A strong draught met us; and, passing 
 along a carpeted corridor, we never halted until we 
 came to a room filled with the weirdest odds and ends, 
 apparently collected from every quarter of the globe. 
 
 Crack! 
 
 A bullet flattened itself on the wall behind us I 
 
 "Good job he can't shoot straight I" rapped Harley. 
 
 The ray of the torch suddenly picked out the head 
 and shoulders of a man who was descending through 
 a trap in the floor I Ere we had time to shoot he was 
 gone f I saw his brown fingers relax their hold — and 
 a bundle which he had evidently hoped to take with 
 him was left lying upon the floor. 
 
 Together we ran to the trap and looked down. 
 
 Slowly moving tidal water flowed darkly beneath 
 us ! For twenty breathless seconds we watched — ^but 
 nothing showed upon the surface. 
 
 "I hope his swimming is no better than his shoot- 
 ing," I said. 
 
 "It can avail him little," replied Harley grimly; 
 "a river-police boat is waiting for anyone who tries to 
 escape from that side of the house. We are by no 
 'means alone in this affair, Knox. But, firstly, what 
 
214 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 have we here!" He took up the bundle which the 
 fugitive had deserted. "Something incriminating 
 when Ali of Cairo dared not stay to face it out ! He 
 would never have deserted this place in the ordinary 
 way. That fellow who was such a bad shot was left 
 behind, when the news of our approach reached here, 
 to make a desperate attempt to remove some piece of 
 evidence ! I'll swear to it. But we were too soon for 
 him!" 
 
 All the time he was busily removing the pieces of 
 sacking and scraps of Oriental stuff with which the 
 bundle was fastened; and finally he drew out a dress- 
 suit, together with the linen, collar, shoes, and under- 
 wear — a complete outfit, in fact — and on top of the 
 whole was a soft gray felt hat! 
 
 Eagerly Harley searched the garments for some 
 name of a maker by which their owner might be iden- 
 tified. Presently, inside the lining of the breast 
 pocket, where such a mark is usually found, he dis- 
 covered the label of a well-known West End firm. 
 
 "The pohce can confirm it, Knox!" he said, looking 
 up, his face slightly flushed with triumph; "but I, per- 
 sonally, have no doubt!" 
 
 "You may have no doubt, Harley," I retorted, "but 
 / am full of doubt! What is the significance of this 
 discovery to which you seem to attach so much im- 
 portance ?" 
 
 "At the moment," replied my friend, "never mind; 
 I still have hopes — although they have grown some- 
 what slender-^of making a much more important dis- 
 covery." 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 215 
 
 "Why not permit the police to aid in the search?" 
 
 "The police are more useful in their present occu- 
 pation," he replied. "We are dealing with the most 
 cunning knave produced by East or West, and I don't 
 mean to let him slip through my fingers if he is in 
 this house 1 Nevertheless, Knox, I am submitting 
 you to rather an appalling risk, I know; for our man 
 is desperate, and if he is still in the place will prove 
 as dangerous as a cornered rat." 
 
 "But the man who dropped through the trap?" 
 
 "The man who dropped through the trap," said 
 Harley, "was not Ali of Cairo — and it is AH of Cairo 
 for whom I am looking!" 
 
 "The hunchback we saw to-night?" 
 
 Harley nodded, and having listened intently for a 
 few moments, proceeded again to search the singular 
 apartments of the abode. In each was evidence of 
 Oriental occupancy; indeed, some of the rooms pos- 
 sessed a sort of Arabian Nights atmosphere. But no 
 living creature was to be seen or heard anywhere. It 
 was while the two of us, having examined every inch 
 of wall, I should think, in the building, were standing 
 staring rather blankly at each other in the room with 
 the lighted lantern, that I saw Harley's expression 
 change. 
 
 "Why," he muttered, "is this one room illuminated 
 —and all the others in darkness?" 
 
 Even then the significance of this circumstance was 
 not apparent to me. But Harley stared critically at 
 an electric switch which was placed on the Immediate 
 right of the door and then up at the silk-shaded lantern 
 
2i6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 which l^hted the room. Crossing, he raised and low- 
 ered the switch rapidly, but the lamp continued to 
 burn uninterruptedly! 
 
 "Ah!" he said— ''a good trick!" 
 
 Grasping the wooden block to which the switch was 
 attached, he turned it bodily — and I saw that it was 
 a masked knob ; for in the next moment he had pulled 
 open the narrow section of wall— which proved to be 
 nothing less than a cunningly fitted door ! 
 
 A small, dinily lighted apartment was revealed, the 
 Oriental note still predominant in its appointments, 
 which, however, were few, and which I scarcely paused 
 to note. For lying upon a mattress in this place was 
 a pretty, fair-haired girl! 
 
 She lay on her side, having one white arm thrown 
 out and resting limply on the floor, and she seemed 
 to be in a semi-conscious condition, for although her 
 fine eyes were widely opened, they had a glassy, wit- 
 less look, and she was evidently unaware of our 
 presence. 
 
 "Look at her pupils," rapped Harley. "They have 
 drugged her with bhang! Poor, pretty fool!" 
 
 "Good God!" I cried. "Who is this, Harley?" 
 
 "Molly Clayton!" he answered, "Thank heaven 
 we have saved one victim from Ali of Cairo." 
 
THE HAREM AGENCY 
 
 OWING to the instrumentality of Paul Harley, 
 the public never learned that the awful river- 
 side murder called by the Press in reference 
 to the victim's shaven skull "the barber atrocity" had 
 any relation to the Decpbrow case. It was physically 
 impossible to identify the victim, and Harley had his 
 own reasons for concealing the truth. The house on 
 the wharf with its choice Oriental furniture was 
 seized by the police; but, strange to relate, no arrest 
 was made in connection with this most gruesome out- 
 rage. The man who dropped through the trap had 
 been wounded by one of Harley's shots, and he sank 
 for the last time under the very eyes of the crew of 
 the police cutter. 
 
 It was at a late hour on the night of this concluding 
 tragedy that I learned the amazing truth underlying 
 the case. Wessex was still at work in the East End 
 upon the hundred and one formalities which attached 
 to his office, and Harley and I sat in the study of my 
 friend's chambers in Chancery Lane. 
 
 "You see," Harley was explaining. "I got my first 
 clue down at Deepbrow. The tracks leading to the 
 motor-car. They showed — to anyone not hampered 
 
 217 
 
2i8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 by a preconceived opinion — that the girl and Vane 
 had not gone on together (since the man's footprints 
 proved him to have been running), but that she had 
 gone first and that 'fee had run after her 1 Arguments : 
 (a) He heard the approach of the car; or (b) he 
 heard her call for help. In fact, it almost immediately 
 became evident to me that someone else had met her 
 at the end of the lane; probably someone who ex- 
 pected her, and whom she was going to meet when 
 she, accidentally, encountered Vane ! The captain was 
 not attired for an elopement, and, more significant 
 still, he said he should stroll to the Deep Wood, and 
 that was where he did stroll to ; for it borders the road 
 at this point! 
 
 "I had privately ascertained, from the postman, 
 that Molly Clayton actually received a letter on that 
 morning! This resolved my last doubt. She was 
 not gbing to meet Vane on the night of her disap- 
 pearance. 
 
 "Then whom?" 
 
 "The old love ! He who some months earlier had 
 had over fifty seductive pictures of this undoubtedly 
 pretty girl prepared for a purpose of his own!" 
 
 "Vane interfered?" 
 
 "When the girl saw that they meant to take her 
 away, she no doubt made a fiiss! He ran to the 
 rescue! They had not reckoned on his being there, 
 but these are clever villains, who leave no clues- — ex- 
 cept for one who has met them on their own ground!" 
 
 "On their own ground! What do you mean, 
 Harley? Who are these people?" 
 
THE SHAVEN SKULL 219 
 
 "Well — ^where do you suppose those fifty photo- 
 graphs went?" 
 
 "I cannot conjecture I" 
 
 "Then I will tell you. The turmoil in the East has 
 put wealth and power into unscrupulous hands. But 
 even before the war there were marts, Knox — open 
 marts — at which a Negro girl might be purchased 
 for some £30, and a Circassian for anything from 
 £250 to £500! Ah! You stare 1 But I assure you 
 it was so. Here is the point, though: there were, 
 and still are, private dealers! Those photographs 
 were circulated among the nouveaux riches of the 
 East! They were employed in the same way that 
 any other merchant employs a catalogue. They 
 reached the hands of many an opulent and abandoned 
 'profiteer' of Damascus, Stambul — ^where you will. 
 Molly's picture would be one of many. Remember 
 that hundreds of pretty girls disappear from their 
 homes — taking the whole of the world — every year. 
 Clearly, English beauty is popular at the moment! 
 And," he added bitterly, "the arch-villain has 
 escaped!" 
 
 "Ali of Cairo !" I cried. "Then Ali of Cairo " 
 
 "Is the biggest slave-dealer in the East!" 
 "Good God! Harley — at last I understand!" 
 "I was slow enough to understand it myself, Knox. 
 But once the theory presented Itself I asked Wessex 
 to get into immediate touch with the valet he had 
 already interviewed at Deepbrow. It was the result 
 of his inquiry to which he referred when we met him 
 at Scotland Yard to-night. Captain Vane had a large; 
 
220 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 mole on his shoulder and A girl's name, together with 
 a small device, tattooed on his forearm — a freak of 
 
 his Sandhurst days " 
 
 "Then 'the man with the shaven skull' — ^ — " 
 
 "Is Captain Ronald Vane I May he rest in peace. 
 But / never shall until the crook-back dealer in 
 humanity has met his just deserts." 
 
THE WHITE HAT 
 
THE WHITE HAT 
 I 
 
 MAJOR JACK RAGSTAFF 
 
 HALLO I Innes," said Paul Harley as his secre- 
 tary entered. "Someone is making a devil 
 of a row outside." 
 
 "This is the offender, Mr. Harley," said Innes, and 
 handed my friend a yisiting card. 
 
 Glancing at the card, Harley read aloud: 
 
 "Major J. E. P. Ragstaff, Cavalry Club." 
 
 Meanwhile a loud harsh voice, which would have 
 been audible in a full gale, was roaring in the 
 lobby. 
 
 "Nonsense!" I could hear the Major shouting. 
 "Balderdash I There's more fuss than if I had asked 
 for an interview with the Prime Minister. Piffle! 
 Balderdash!" 
 
 Innes's smile developed into a laugh, in which 
 Harley joined, then: 
 
 "Admit the Major," he said. 
 
 I^to the study where Harley and I had been seated 
 quietly smoking, there presently strode a very choleric 
 Anglo-Indian. He wore a horsy check suit and white 
 spats, and his tie closely resembled a stock. In his 
 
 223 
 
224 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 hand he carried a heavy malacca cane, gloves, and one 
 of those tall, light-gray hats commonly termed white. 
 He was below medium height, slim and wiry; his 
 gait and the shape of his legs, his build, all proclaimed 
 the dragoon. His complexion was purple, and the 
 large white teeth visible beneath a bristling gray 
 moustache added to the natural ferocity of his appear- 
 ance. Standing just within the doorway: 
 
 "Mr. Paul Harley?" he shouted. 
 
 It was apparently an inquiry, but it sounded like a 
 reprimand. 
 
 My friend, standing before the fireplace, his hands 
 in his pockets and his pipe in his mouth, nodded 
 brusquely. 
 
 "I am Paul Harley," he said. "Won't you sit 
 down?" 
 
 Major Ragstaff, glancing angrily at Innes as the 
 latter left the study, tossed his stick and gloves on to 
 a settee, and drawing up a chair seated himself stiffly 
 upon it as though he were in a saddle. He stared 
 straight at Harley, and : 
 
 "You are not the sort of person I expected, sir," 
 he declared. "May I ask if it is your custom to keep 
 clients dancin' on the mat and all that — on the blasted 
 mat, sir?" 
 
 Harley suppressed a snlilc, and I hastily reached for 
 my cigarette-case which I had placed upon the mantel- 
 shelf. 
 
 "I am always naturally pleased to see clients. Major 
 Ragstaff," said Harley, "but a certain amount of 
 routine is necessary even in civilian life. You had 
 
THE WHITE HAT 225 
 
 not advised me of your visit, and it is contrary to my 
 custom to discuss business after five o'clock." 
 
 As Harley spoke the Major glared at him contin- 
 uously, and then: 
 
 "I've seen you in India!" he roared; "damme I I've 
 seen you in India ! — and, yes I in Turkey I Ha 1 I've 
 got you now sir!" He sprang to his feet. "You're 
 the Harley who was in Constantinople in 19 12." 
 
 "Quite true." 
 
 "Then I've come to the wrong shop." 
 
 "That remains to be seen. Major." 
 
 "But I was told you were a private detective, and 
 all that." 
 
 "So I am," said Harley quietly. "In 1912 the 
 Foreign Office was my client. I am now at the 
 service of anyone who cares to employ me." 
 
 "Hell!" said the Major. 
 
 He seemed to be temporarily stricken speechless 
 by the discovery that a man who had acted for the 
 British Government should be capable of stooping to 
 the work of a private inquiry agent. Staring all about 
 the room with a sort of naive wonderment, he drew 
 out a big silk handkerchief and loudly blew his nose, 
 all the time eyeing Harley questioningly. Replacing 
 his handkerchief he directed his regard upon me, and : 
 
 "This is my friend, Mr. Knox," said Harley; "you 
 may state your case before him without hesitation, 
 unless " 
 
 I rose to depart, but: 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Knox! Sit down, sir!" shouted 
 the Major. "I have no dirty linen to wash, no 
 
226 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 skeletons in the cupboard or piffle of that kind. I 
 simply want something explained which I am too 
 thick-headed — too damned thick-headed, sir — to ex- 
 plain myself." 
 
 He resumed his seat, and taking out his wallet 
 extracted from it a small newspaper cutting which he 
 offered to Harley. 
 
 "Read that, Mr. Harley," he directed. "Read it 
 aloud." 
 
 Harley read as follows: 
 
 "Before Mr. Smith, at Marlborough Street Police Court, John 
 Edward Bampton was charged with assaulting a well-known 
 clubman in Bond Street on Wednesday evening. It was proved 
 by the constable who made the arrest that robbery had not been 
 the motive of the assault, and Bampton confessed that he bore 
 no grudge against the assailed man, indeed, that he had never 
 seen him before. He pleaded intoxication, and the police surgeon 
 testified that although not actually intoxicated, his breath had 
 smelled strongly qf liquor at the time of his arrest. Bampton's 
 employers testified to a hitherto blameless character, and as the 
 charge was not pressed the man was dismissed with a caution." 
 
 Having read the paragraph, Harley glanced at the 
 Major with a puzzled expression. 
 
 "The point of this quite escapes me," he confessed. 
 
 "Is that so?" said Major Ragstaff. "Is that so, 
 sir? Perhaps you will be good enough to read this." 
 
 From his wallet he took a second newspaper cut- 
 ting, smaller than the first, and gummed to a sheet of 
 club notepaper. Harley took it and read as follows: 
 
 "Mr. De Lana, a well-known member of the Stock Exchange, 
 who met with a serious accident recently, is still in a precarious 
 condition." 
 
THE WHITE HAT 227 
 
 The puzzled look on Harley's face grew more 
 acute, and the Major watched him with an expression 
 which I can only describe as one of fierce enjoyment. 
 
 "You're thinkin' I'm a damned old fool, ain't you?" 
 he shouted suddenly. 
 
 "Scarcely that," said Harley, smiling slightly, "but 
 the significance of these paragraphs is not apparent, 
 I must confess. The man Bampton would not appear 
 to be an interesting character, and since no great dam- 
 age has been done, his drunken frolic hardly comes 
 within my sphere. Of Mr. De Lana, of the Stock 
 Exchange, I never heard, unless he happens to be a 
 member of the firm of De Lana and Day?" 
 
 "He's not a member of that firm, sir," shouted the 
 Major. "He was, up to six o'clock this evenin'." 
 ; "What do you mean exactly?" inquired Harley, and 
 the tone of his voice suggested that he was beginning 
 to entertain doubts of the Major's sanity or sobriety; 
 then: 
 
 "He's dead!" declared the latter. "Dead as the 
 Begum of Bangalore 1 He died at six o'clock. I've 
 just spoken to his widow on the telephone." 
 
 I suppose I must have been staring very hard at 
 the speaker, and certainly Harley was doing so, for 
 suddenly directing his fierce gaze toward me: 
 I "You're completely treed, sir, and so's your friend !" 
 shouted Major RagstafE. 
 
 "I confess it," replied Harley quietly; "and since 
 my time is of some little value I would suggest, with- 
 out disrespect, that you explain the connection, if any, 
 between yourself, the drunken Bampton, and Mr. De 
 
228 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Lana, of the Stock Exchange, who died, you inform 
 us, at six o'clock this evening as the result, presumably, 
 of injuries received in an accident." 
 
 "That's what I'm here fori" cried Major Ragstaff. 
 "In the first place, then, I am the party, although I 
 saw to it that my name was kept out of print, whom 
 the drunken lunatic assaulted." 
 
 Harley, pipe in hand, stared at the speaker per- 
 plexedly. 
 
 "Understand me," continued the Major, "I am the 
 person — ^I, Jack Ragstaff — ^he assaulted. I was walk- 
 in' down from my quarters in Maddox Street on my 
 way to dine at the club, same as I do every night o' my 
 life, when this flamin' idiot sprang upon me, grabbed 
 my hat" — ^he took up his white hat to illustrate what 
 had occurred — "not this one, but one like it — ^pitched 
 it on the ground and jumped on it!" 
 
 Harley was quite unable to conceal his smiles as the 
 excited old soldier dropped his conspicuous head-gear 
 on the floor and indulged in a vigorous pantomime 
 designed to illustrate his statement. 
 
 "Most extraordinary," said Harley. "What did 
 you do?" 
 
 "What did I do?" roared the Major. "I gave him 
 a crack on the head with my cane, and I said things 
 to him which couldn't be repeated in court. I punched 
 him, and likewise hoofed him, but the hat was com- 
 pletely done in. Damn crowd collected, hearin' me 
 swearin' and bellowin'. Police and all that; names 
 an' addresses and all that balderdash. Man lugged 
 away to guard-room and me turnin' up at the dub with 
 
THE WHITE HAT 229 
 
 no hat. Damn ridiculous spectacle at my time of life." 
 
 "Quite so," said Harley soothingly; "I appreciate 
 your annoyance, but I am utterly at a loss to under- 
 stand why you have come here, and what all this has 
 to do with Mr. De Lana, of the Stock Exchange." 
 
 "He fell out of the window!" shouted the Major. 
 
 "Fell out of a window?" 
 
 "Out of a window, sir, a second floor window ten 
 yards up a side street I Pitched on his skull — marvel 
 he wasn't killed outright!" 
 
 A faint expression of interest began to creep into 
 Harley's glance, and : 
 
 "I understand you to mean, Major Ragstaff," he 
 said deliberately, "that while your struggle with the 
 drunken man was in progress Mr. De Lana fell out of 
 a neighbouring window into the street?" 
 
 "Right!" shouted the Major. "Right, sir!" 
 
 "Do you know this Mr. De Lana?" 
 
 "Never heard of him in my life until the accident 
 occurred. Seems to me the poor devil leaned out to 
 see the fun and overbalanced. Felt responsible, only 
 natural, and made inquiries. He died at six o'clock 
 this evenin', sir." 
 
 "H'm," said Harley reflectively. "I still fail to 
 see where I come in. From what window did he 
 faU?" 
 
 "Window above a sort of teashop, called Cafe 
 Dame — damn silly name. Place on a corner. Don't 
 know name of side street." 
 
 "H'm. You don't think he was pushed out, for 
 instance?" 
 
230 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Certainly not!" shouted the Major; "he just fell 
 out, but the point is, he's dead I" 
 
 "My dear sir," said Harley patiently, "I don't dis- 
 pute that point; but what on earth do you want of 
 me?" 
 
 "I don't know what I wantl" roared the Major, 
 beginning to walk up and down the room, "but I 
 know I ain't satisfied, not easy in my mind, sir. I 
 wake up of a night hearin' the poor devil's yell as he 
 crashed on the pavement. That's all wrong. I've 
 heard hundreds of death-yells, but" — ^he took up his 
 malacca cane and beat it loudly on the table — "I 
 haven't woke up of a night dreamin' I heard 'em 
 again." 
 
 "In a word, you suspect foul play?" 
 
 "I don't suspect anything!" cried the other excitedly, 
 "but someone mentioned your name to me at the club 
 — said you could see through concrete, and all that — 
 and here I am. There's something wrong, radically 
 wrong. Find out what it is and send the bill to me. 
 Then perhaps I'll be able to sleep in peace." 
 
 He paused, and again taking out the large silk 
 handkerchief blew his nose loudly. Harley glanced 
 at me in rather an odd way, and then : 
 
 "There will be no bill, Major Ragstaff," he said; 
 "but if I can see any possible line of inquiry I will 
 pursue it and report the result to you." 
 
II 
 
 A CURIOUS OUTRAGE 
 
 WHAT do you make of it, Harley?" I asked. 
 Paul Harley returned a work of reference 
 to Its shelf and stood staring absently across 
 the study. 
 
 "Our late visitor's history does not help us much," 
 he replied. "A somewhat distinguished army career, 
 and so forth, and his only daughter, Sybil Margaret, 
 married the fifth Marquis of Ireton. She is, there- 
 fore, the noted society beauty, the Marchioness of 
 Ireton. Does this suggest anything to your mind?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever," I said blankly. 
 
 "Nor to mine," murmured Harley. 
 
 The telephone bell rang. 
 
 "Hallo I" called Harley. "Yes. That you, Wes- 
 sex? Have you got the address? Good. No, I 
 shall remember it. Many thanks. Good-bye." 
 
 He turned to me. 
 
 "I suggest, Knox," he said, "that we make our call 
 and then proceed to dinner as arranged." 
 
 Since I was always glad of an opportunity of study- 
 ing my friend's methods I immediately agreed, and 
 ere long, leaving the lights of the two big hotels be- 
 hind, our cab was gliding down the long slope which 
 
 2JI 
 
232 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 leads to Waterloo Station. Thence through crowded, 
 slummlsh high-roads we made our way via Lambeth 
 to that dismal thoroughfare, Westminster Bridge 
 Road, with its forbidding, often windowless, houses, 
 and its peculiar air of desolation. 
 
 The house for which we were bound was situated 
 at no great distance from Kensington Park, and tell- 
 ing the cabman to wait, Harley and I walked up a 
 narrow, paved path, mounted a flight of steps, and 
 rang the bell beside a somewhat time-worn door, above 
 which was an old-fashioned fanlight dimly illumin- 
 ated from within. 
 
 A considerable interval elapsed before the door 
 was opened by a marvellously untidy servant girl who 
 had apparently been interrupted in the act of black- 
 leading her face. Partly opening the door, she stared 
 at us agape, pushing back wisps of hair from her 
 eyes and with every movement daubing more of some 
 mysterious black substance upon her countenance. 
 
 "Is Mr. Bampton in?" asked Harley. 
 
 "Yus, just come in. I'm cookin' his supper." 
 
 "Tell him that two friends of his have called on 
 rather important business." 
 
 "All right," said the black-faced one. "What name 
 is it?" 
 
 "No name. Just say two friends of his." 
 
 Treating us to a long, vacant stare and leaving us 
 standing on the step, the maid (in whose hand I per- 
 ceived a greasy fork) shuffled along the passage and 
 began to mount the stairs. Ah unmistakable odour 
 of frying sausages now reached my nostrils. Harley 
 
THE WHITE HAT 233 
 
 glanced at me quizzically, but said nothing until the 
 Cinderella came stumbling downstairs again. With- 
 out returning to where we stood : 
 
 "Go up," she directed. "Second floor, front. 
 Shut the door, one of yer." 
 
 She disappeared into gloomy depths below as Harley 
 and I, closing the door behind us, proceeded to avail 
 ourselves of the invitation. There was very little 
 light on the staircase, but we managed to find our way 
 to a poorly furnished bed-sitting-room where a small 
 table was spread for a meal. Beside the table, in a 
 chintz-covered arm-chair, a thick-set young man was 
 seated smoking a cigarette and having a copy of the 
 Daily Telegraph upon his knees. 
 
 He was a very typical lower middle-class, nothing- 
 in-particular young man, but there was a certain 
 truculence indicated by his square jaw, and that sort 
 of self-possession which sometimes accompanies 
 physical strength was evidenced in his manner as, 
 tossing the paper aside, he stood up. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Bampton," said Harley 
 genially. "I take it" — pointing to the newspaper — 
 "that you are looking for a new job ?" 
 
 Bampton stared, a suspicion of anger in his eyes, 
 then, meeting the amused glance of ray friend, he 
 broke into a smile very pleasing and humorous. He 
 was a fresh-coloured young fellow with hair inclined 
 to redness, and smiling he looked very boyish indeed. 
 
 "I have no idea who you are," he said, speaking 
 with a faint north-country accent, "but you evidently 
 know who I am and what has happened to me." 
 
%34 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Got the boot?" asked Harlcy confidentially. 
 
 Bampton, tossing the end of his cigarette into the 
 grate, nodded grimly. 
 
 "You haven't told me your name," he said, "but 
 I think I can tell you your business," He ceased 
 smiling. "Now look here, I don't want any more 
 publicity. If you think you are going to make a funny 
 newspaper story out of me change your mind as quick 
 as you like. I'll never get another job in London as 
 it is. If you drag me any further into the limelight 
 I'll never get another job in England." 
 
 "My dear fellow," replied Harley soothingly, at 
 the same time extending his cigarette-case, "you mis- 
 Jipprehend the object of my call. I am not a reporter." 
 
 "What!" said Bampton, pausing in the act of tak- 
 ing a cigarette, "then what the devil are you?" 
 
 "My name is Paul Harley, and I am a criminal 
 investigator." 
 
 He spoke the words deliberately, having his eyes 
 fixed upon the other's face; but although Bampton 
 was palpably startled there was no trace of fear in his 
 straightforward glance. He took a cigarette from 
 the case, and : 
 
 "Thanks, Mr. Harley," he said. "I cannot imagine 
 what business has brought you here." 
 
 "I have come to ask you two questions," was the 
 reply. "Number one : Who paid you to smash Major 
 Ragstaff's white hat? Number two: How much did 
 he pay you?" 
 
 To these questions 1 listened in amazement, and 
 my amazement was evidently shared by Bampton. He 
 
THE WHITE HAT 235 
 
 had been in the act of lighting his cigarette, but he 
 allowed the match to burn down nearly to his fingers 
 and then dropped it with a muttered exclamation in 
 the fire. Finally : 
 
 "I don't know how you found out," he said, "but 
 you evidently know the truth. Provided you assure 
 me that you are not o|jt to make a silly-season news- 
 paper story, I'll tell you all I know." 
 Harley laid his card on the table, and : 
 "Unless the ends of justice demand it," he said, 
 "I give you my word that anything you care to say 
 will go no further. You may speak freely before my 
 friend, Mr. Knox. Simply tell me in as few words 
 as possible what led you to court arrest in that 
 
 manner." 
 
 "Right," replied Bampton, "I will." He half 
 closed his eyes, reflectively. "I was having tea in 
 the Lyons' cafe, to which I always go, last Monday 
 afternoon about four o'clock, when a man sat down 
 facing me and got into conversation." 
 
 "Describe him!" 
 
 "He was a man rather above medium height. I 
 should say about my own build; dark, going gray. 
 He had a neat moustache and a short beard, and the 
 look of a man who had travelled a lot. His skin was 
 very tanned, almost as deeply as yours, Mr. Harley. 
 Not at all the sort of chap that goes in there as a rule. 
 After a while he made an extraordinary proposal. At 
 first I thought he was joking, then when I grasped 
 the idea that he was serious I concluded he was mad.i 
 He asked me how much a year I earned, and I toldj 
 
236 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 him Peters and Peters paid rae £150. He said: 'I'll 
 give you a year's salary to knock a man's hat ofi I' " 
 
 As Bampton spoke the words he glanced at us with 
 twinkling eyes, but although for my own part I was 
 merely amused, Harley's expression had grown very 
 stern. 
 
 "Of course, I laughed," continued Bampton, "but 
 when the man drew out a fat wallet and counted ten 
 five-pound notes on the table I began to think seriously 
 about his proposal. Even supposing he was cracked, 
 it was absolutely money for nothing. 
 
 " 'Of course,' he said, 'you'll lose your job and you 
 may be arrested, but you'll say that you had been out 
 with a few friends and were a little excited, also that 
 you never could stand white hats. Stick to that story 
 and the balance of a hundred pounds will reach you 
 on the following morning.' 
 
 "I asked him for further particulars, and I asked 
 him why he had picked me for the job. He replied 
 that he had been looking for some time for the right 
 man; a man who was strong enough physically to 
 accomplish the thing, and someone" — Bampton's eyes 
 twinkled again — "with a dash of the devil in him, but 
 at the same time a man who could be relied upon to 
 stick to his guns and not to give the game away. 
 
 "You asked me to be brief, and I'll try to be. The 
 man in the white hat was described to me, and the 
 exact time and place of the meeting. I just had to 
 grab his white hat, smash it, and face the music. I 
 agreed. I don't deny that I had a couple of stiff 
 idrinks before I set out, but the memory of that fifty 
 
THE WHITE HAT 237 
 
 pounds locked up here in my room and the further 
 hundred promised, bucked me up wonderfully. It 
 was impossible to mistake my man; I could see him 
 coming toward me as I waited just outside a sort of' 
 little restaurant called the Cafe Dame. As arranged, 
 I bumped into him, grabbed his hat and jumped on it." 
 
 He paused, raising his hand to his head reminis- 
 cently. 
 
 "My man was a bit of a scrapper," he continued, 
 "and he played helL I've never heard such language 
 in my life, and the way he laid about me with his cane 
 is something I am not likely to forget in a hurry. A 
 crowd gathered, naturally, and (also naturally) I was 
 'pinched.' That didn't matter much. I got off 
 lightly; and although I've been dismissed by Peters 
 and Peters, twenty crisp fivers are locked in my trunk 
 there, with the ten which I received in the City." 
 
 Harley checked him, and: 
 
 "May I see the envelope in which they arrived?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Sorry," replied Bampton, "but I burned it. I 
 thought it was playing the game to do so. It wouldn't 
 have helped you much, though," he added; "It was 
 an ordinary common envelope, posted in the City, 
 address typewritten, and not a line enclosed." 
 
 "Registered?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Bampton stood looking at us with a curious ex- 
 pression on his face, and suddenly: 
 
 "There's one point," he said, "on which my con- 
 science isn't easy. You know about that poor devil 
 
238 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 who fell out of a window? , Well, it would never have 
 happened if I hadn't kicked up a row in the street. 
 There's no doubt he was leaning out to see what the 
 disturbance was about when the accident occurred." 
 
 "Did you actually see him fall?" asked Harley. 
 
 "No. He fell from a window several yards behind 
 me in the side street, but I heard him cry out, and as 
 I was lugged off by the police I heard the bell of the 
 ambulance which came to fetch him." 
 
 He paused again and stood rubbing his head rue- 
 fully. 
 
 "H'm," said Harley; "was there anything partic- 
 ularly remarkable about this man in the Lyons' cafe?" 
 
 Bampton reflected silently for some moments, and 
 then: 
 
 "Nothing much," he confessed. "He was evidently 
 a gentleman, wore a blue top-coat, a dark tweed suit, 
 and what looked like a regimental tie, but I didn't 
 see much of the colours. He was very .tanned, as I 
 have said, even to the backs of his hands — and oh, 
 yes! there was one point: He had a gold-covered 
 tooth." 
 
 "Which tooth?" 
 
 "I can't remember, except that it was on the left 
 side, and I always noticed it when he smiled." 
 
 "Did he wear any ring or pin which you would 
 recognize?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Had he any oddity of speech or voice?" 
 
 "No. Just a heavy, drawling manner. He spoke 
 like thousands of other cultured Englishmen. But 
 
THE WHITE HAT 239 
 
 wait a minute — ^yesl There was one other point. 
 Now I come to think of it, his eyes very slightly 
 slanted upward." 
 
 Harley stared. 
 
 "Like a Chinaman's?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing so marked as that. But the same 
 sort of formation." 
 
 Harley nodded briskly and buttoned up his over- 
 coat. 
 
 "Thanks, Mr. Bampton," he said; "we will detain 
 you no longer!" 
 
 As we descended the stairs, where the smell of 
 frying sausages had given place to that of something 
 burning — ^probably the sausages: 
 
 "I was half Inclined to think that Major Ragstaff's 
 ideas were traceable to a former touch of the sun," 
 said Harley. "I begin to believe that he has put us 
 on the track of a highly unusual crime. I am sorry to 
 delay dinner, Knox, but I propose to call at the Cafe 
 Dame." 
 
Ill 
 
 A CRIMINAL GENIUS 
 
 ON ENTERING the doorway of the Cafe 
 Dame we found ourselves in a narrow pass- 
 age. In front of us was a carpeted stair, 
 and to the right a glass-panelled door communicating 
 with a discreetly lighted little dining room which 
 seemed to be well patronized. Opening the door 
 Harley beckoned to a waiter, and : 
 
 "I wish to see the proprietor," he said. 
 
 "Mr. Meyer is engaged at the moment, sir," was 
 the reply. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "In his office upstairs, sir. He will be down in a 
 moment." / 
 
 The waiter hurried away, and Harley stood glanc- 
 ing up the stairs as if in doubt what to do. 
 
 "I cannot imagine how such a place can pay," he 
 muttered. "The rent must be enormous in tETs 
 district." 
 
 But even before he ceased speaking I became aware 
 of an excited conversation which was taking place in 
 some apartment above. 
 
 ij "It's scandalous!" I heard, in a woman's shrill 
 voice. "You have no right to keep it I It's not your 
 
 240 
 
THE WHITE HAT 241 
 
 property, and I'm here to demand that you give it up." 
 
 A man's voice replied in voluble broken English, 
 but I could only distinguish a word here and there. 
 I saw that Harley was interested, for catching my 
 questioning glance, he raised his finger to his lips 
 enjoining me to be silent. 
 
 "Oh, that's the game, is it?" continued the female 
 voice. "Of course you know it's blackmail?" 
 
 A flow of unintelligible words answered this speech, 
 then: 
 
 "I shall come back with someone," cried the invis- 
 ible woman, "who will make you give it up 1" 
 
 "Knox," whispered Harley in my ear, "when that 
 woman comes down, follow her I I'm afraid you wiU 
 bungle the business, and I would not ask you to attempt 
 it if big things were not at stake. Return here; I 
 shall wait." 
 
 As a matter of fact, his sudden request had posi- 
 tively astounded me, but ere I had time for any reply 
 a door suddenly banged open above and a respectable- 
 looking woman, who might have been some kind of 
 upper servant, came quickly down the stairs. An ex- 
 pression of intense indignation rested upon her face, 
 and without seeming to notice our presence she 
 brushed past us and went out into the street. 
 
 "Off you go, Knox!" said Harley. 
 
 Seeing myself committed to an unpleasant business, 
 I slipped out of the doorway and detected the woman 
 five or six yards away hurrying in the direction of 
 Piccadilly. I had no difficulty in following her, for 
 she was evidently unsuspicious of my presence, and 
 
242 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 when presently she mounted a westward-bound 'bus I 
 did likewise, but while she got inside I went on top, 
 and occupied a seat on the near side whence I could 
 observe anyone leaving the vehicle. 
 
 If I had not known Paul Harley so well I should 
 have counted the whole business a ridiculous farce, 
 but recognizing that something underlay these seem- 
 ingly trivial and disconnected episodes, I lighted a 
 cigarette and resigned myself to circumstance. 
 
 At Hyde Park Corner I saw the woman descending, 
 and when presently she walked up Hamilton Place I 
 was not far behind her. At the door of an imposing 
 mansion she stopped, and in response to a ring of the 
 bell the door was opened by a footman, and the 
 woman hurried in. Evidently she was an inmate of 
 the establishment; and conceiving that my duty was 
 done when I had noted the number of the house, I 
 retraced my steps to the corner ; and, hailing a taxicab, 
 returned to the Cafe Dame. 
 
 On inquiring of the same waiter whom Harley had 
 accosted whether my friend was there : 
 
 "I think a gentleman is upstairs with Mr. Meyer," 
 said the man. 
 
 "In his office?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Thereupon I mounted the stairs and before a half- 
 open door paused. Harley's voice was audible within, 
 and therefore I knocked and entered. 
 
 I discovered Harley standing by an American desk. 
 Beside him in a revolving chair which, with the desk, 
 constituted the principal furniture of a tiny office, sat 
 
THE WHITE HAT 243 
 
 a man in a dress-suit which had palpably not been 
 made for him. He had a sullen and suspiciously 
 Teutonic cast of countenance, and he was engaged in 
 a voluble but hardly intelligible speech as I entered. 
 
 "Ha, Knox I" said Harley, glancing over his 
 shoulder, "did you manage?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 Harley nodded shortly and turned again to the man 
 in the chair. 
 
 "I am sorry to give you so much trouble, Mr. 
 Meyer," he said, "but I should like my friend here to 
 see the room above." 
 
 At this moment my attention was attracted by a 
 singular object which lay upon the desk amongst a 
 litter of bills and accounts. This was a piece of rusty 
 iron bar somewhat less than three feet in length, and 
 which once had been painted green. 
 
 "You are looking at this tragic fragment, Knox," 
 said Harley, taking up the bar. "Of course" — ^he 
 shrugged his shoulders — "it explains the whole un- 
 fortunate occurrence. You see there was a flaw in 
 the metal at this end, here" — he indicated the spot — 
 "and the other end had evidently worn loose in its 
 socket." 
 
 "But I don't understand." 
 
 "It will all be made clear at the inquest, no doubt. 
 A most unfortunate thing for you, Mr. Meyer." 
 
 "Most unfortunate," declared the proprietor of the 
 restaurant, extending his thick hands pathetically. 
 "Most ruinous to my business." 
 
 "We will go upstairs now," said Harley. "You 
 
244 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 will kindly lead the way, Mr. Meyer, and the whole 
 thing will be quite clear to you, Knox." 
 
 As the proprietor walked out of the office and 
 upstairs to the second floor Harley whispered in my 
 ear: 
 
 "Where did she go?" 
 
 "No. Hamilton Place," I replied in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 "Good God!" muttered my friend, and clutched 
 my arm so tightly that I winced. "Good God ! The 
 master touch, Knox I This crime was the work of a 
 genius — of a genius with slightly, very slightly, 
 oblique eyes." 
 
 Opening a door on the second landing, Mr. Meyer 
 admitted us to a small supper-room. Its furniture 
 consisted of a round dining table, several chairs, a 
 couch, and very little else. I observed, however, that 
 the furniture, carpet, and a few other appointments 
 were of a character much more elegant than those of 
 the public room below. A window which overlooked 
 the stceet was open, so that the plush curtains which 
 had been drawn aside moved slightly to and fro in 
 the draught. 
 
 "The window of the tragedy, Knox," explained 
 Harley. 
 
 He crossed the room. 
 
 "If you will stand here beside me you will see the gap 
 in the railing caused by the breaking away of the frag- 
 ment which now lies on Mr. Meyer's desk. Some few 
 yards to the left in the street below is where the assault 
 took place, of which we have heard, and the unf ort- 
 
THE WHITE HAT 245 
 
 unate Mr. De Lana, who was dining here alone — an 
 eccentric custom of his — naturally ran to the window 
 upon hearing the disturbance and leaned out, support- 
 ing his weight upon the railing. The rail collapsed, 
 and — ^we know the rest." 
 
 "It will ruin me," groaned Meyer; "It will give bad 
 repute to my establishment." 
 
 "I fear it will," agreed Harlcy sympathetically, 
 "unless we can manage to clear up one or two little 
 difficulties which I have observed. For instance" — 
 he tapped the proprietor on the shoulder confidentially 
 — "have you any Idea, any hazy Idea, of the identity 
 of the woman who was dining here with Mr. De Lana 
 on Wednesday night?" 
 
 The effect of this simple Inquiry upon the proprletor 
 was phenomenal. His fat yellow face assumed a sort 
 of leaden hue, and his already prominent eyes pro- 
 truded abnormally. He licked his lips. 
 
 "I tell you — already I tell you," he muttered, "that 
 Mr. De Lana he engage this room every Wednesday 
 and sometimes also Friday, and dine here by him- 
 self." 
 
 "And I tell you," said Harley sweetly, "that you 
 are an inspired liar. You smuggled her out by the 
 side entrance after the accident." 
 
 "The side entrance?" muttered Meyer. "The side 
 entrance?" 
 
 "Exactly; the side entrance. There Is something 
 else which I must ask you to tell me. Who had 
 engaged this room on Tuesday night, the night before 
 ^he accident?" 
 
246 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 The proprietor's expression remained uncompre- 
 hending, and: 
 
 "A gentleman," he said. "I never see him before." 
 
 "Another solitary diner?" suggested Harley. 
 
 "Yes, he is alone all the evening waiting for a friend 
 who does not arrive." 
 
 "Ah," mused Harley — "alone all the evening, was 
 he? And his friend disappointed him. May I sug- 
 gest that he was a dark man? Gray at the temples, 
 having a dark beard and moustache, and a very tanned 
 face? His eyes slanted slightly upward?" 
 
 "Yes! yes!" cried Meyer, and his astonishment 
 was patently unfeigned. "It is a friend of yours?" 
 
 "A friend of mine, yes," said Harley absently, but 
 his expression was very grim. "What time did he 
 finally leave?" 
 
 "He waited until after eleven o'clock. The dinner 
 is spoilt. He pays, but does not complain." 
 
 "No," said Harley musingly, "he had nothing to 
 complain about. One more question, my friend. 
 When the lady escaped hurriedly on Wednesday 
 night, what was it that she left behind and what 
 price are you trying to extort from her for re- 
 turning it?" 
 
 At that the man collapsed entirely. 
 
 "Ah, Gott!" he cried, and raised his hand to his 
 clammy forehead. "You will ruin me. I am a 
 ruined man. I don't try to extort anything. I run 
 an honest business " 
 
 "And one of the most profitable in the world," 
 idded Harley, "since the days of Thais to our own. 
 
THE WHITE HAT 247 
 
 Even at Bond Street rentals I assume that a house of 
 assignation is a golden enterprise." 
 
 "Ah 1" groaned Meyer, "I am ruined, so what does 
 it matter? I tell you everything. I know Mr. De 
 Lana who engages my room regularly, but I don't 
 know who the lady is who meets him here. No ! I 
 swear it I But always it is the same lady. When he 
 falls I am downstairs in my office, and I hear him cry 
 out. The lady comes running from the room and begs 
 of me to get her away without being seen and to keep 
 all mention of her out of the matter." 
 "What did she pay you?" asked Harley. 
 "Pay me?" muttered Meyer, pulled up thus shortly 
 in the midst of his statement. 
 
 "Pay you. Exactly. Don't argue; answer." 
 The man delivered himself of a guttural, choking 
 sound, and finally: 
 
 "She promised one hundred pounds," he confessed 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "But you surely did not accept a mere promise? 
 Out with it. What did she give you?" 
 "A ring," came the confession at last. 
 "A ring. I see. I will take It with me if you 
 don't mind. And now, finally, what was It that she 
 left behind?" 
 
 "Ah, Gott!" moaned the man, dropping into a 
 
 chair and resting his arms upon the table. "It Is all 
 
 a great panic, you see. I hurry her out by the back 
 
 stair from this landing and she forgets her bag." 
 
 "Her bag? Good." 
 
 "Then I clear away the remains of dinner so I can 
 
248 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 say Mr. De Lana is dining alone. It is as much my 
 interest as the lady's." 
 
 "Of course I I quite understand. I will trouble 
 you no more, Mr. Meyer, except to step into your 
 office and to relieve you of that incriminating evidence, 
 the lady's bag and her ring." 
 
IV 
 
 THE SLANTING EYES 
 
 DO YOU understand, Knox?" said Harley as 
 the cab bore us toward Hamilton Place. "Do 
 you grasp the details of this cunning scheme?" 
 
 "On the contrary," I replied, "I am hopelessly at 
 sea." 
 
 Nevertheless, I had forgotten that I was hungry in 
 the excitement which now claimed me. For although 
 the thread upon which these seemingly disconnected 
 things hung was invisible to me, I recognized that 
 Bampton, the city clerk, the bearded stranger who 
 had made so singular a proposition to him, the white- 
 hatted major, the dead stockbroker, and the mys- 
 terious woman whose presence in the case the clear 
 sight of Harley had promptly detected, all were linked 
 together by some subtle chain. I was convinced, 
 too, that my friend held at least one end of that chain 
 in his grip. 
 
 "In order to prepare your mind for the interview 
 which I hope to obtain this evening," continued Harley, 
 "let me enlighten you upon one or two points which 
 may seem obscure. In the first place you recognize 
 that anyone leaning out of the window on the second 
 floor would almost automatically rest his weight upon 
 
 249 
 
250 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 the iron bar which was placed there for that very- 
 purpose, since the ledge is unusually low?" 
 
 "Quite," I replied, "and it also follows that if the 
 bar gave way anyone thus leaning on it would be 
 pitched into the street." 
 
 "Your reasoning is correct." 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," said I, "how could such an 
 accident have been foreseen?" 
 
 "You speak of an accident. This was no acci- 
 dent! One end of the bar had been filed completely 
 through, although the file marks had been carefully 
 concealed with rust and dirt; and the other end had 
 been wrenched out from its socket and then replaced 
 in such a way that anyone leaning upon the bar could 
 not fail to be precipitated into the street!" 
 
 "Good heavens! Then you mean " 
 
 "I mean, Knox, that the man who occupied the 
 supper room on the night before the tragedy — the dark 
 man, tanned and bearded, with slightly oblique eyes — 
 spent his time in filing through that bar — in short, in 
 preparing a death trap !" 
 
 I was almost dumbfounded. 
 
 "But, Harley," I said,' "assuming that he knew his 
 victim would be the next occupant of the room, how 
 could he know ?" 
 
 I stopped. Suddenly, as if a curtain had been 
 raised, the details of what I now perceived to be a 
 fiendishly cunning murder were revealed to me. 
 
 "According to his own account, Knox," resumed 
 Harley, "Major Ragstaff regularly passed along that 
 street with military punctuality at the same hour every 
 
THE WHITE HAT 251 
 
 night. You may take it for granted that the murderer 
 was well aware of this. As a matter of fact, I hap- 
 pen to know that he was. We must also take it for 
 granted that the murderer knew of these little dinners 
 for two which took place in the private room above 
 the Cafe Dame every Wednesday — and sometimes on 
 Friday. Around the figure of the methodical major 
 — with his conspicuous white hat as a sort of focus — 
 was built up one of the most ingenious schemes of 
 murder with which I have ever come in contact. The 
 victim literally killed himself." 
 
 "But, Harley, the victim might have ignored the 
 disturbance." 
 
 "That is where I first detected the touch of genius, 
 Knox. He recognized the voice of one of the com- 
 batants — or his companion did. Here we are." 
 
 The cab drew up before the house in Hamilton 
 Place. We alighted, and Harley pressed the bell. 
 The same footman whom I had seen admit the 
 woman opened the door. 
 
 "Is Lady Ireton at home?" asked Harley. 
 
 As he uttered the name I literally held my breath. 
 We had come to the house of Major Ragstafi's 
 daughter, the Marchioness of Ireton, one of society's 
 most celebrated and beautiful hostesses! — the wife of 
 a peer famed alike as sportsman, soldier, and scholar. 
 
 "I believe she is dining at home, sir," said the man. 
 "Shall I inquire?" 
 
 "Be good enough to do so," replied Harley, and 
 gave him a card. "Inform her that I wish to return 
 to her a handbag which she lost a few days ago." 
 
252 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 The man ushered us into an anteroom opening off 
 the lofty and rather gloomy hall, and as the door 
 closed : 
 
 "Harley," I said in a stage whisper, "am I to 
 believe " 
 
 "Can you doubt it?" returned Harley with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 A few moments later we were shown into a charm- 
 ingly intimate little boudoir in which Lady Ireton was 
 waiting to receive us. She was a strikingly handsome 
 brunette, but to-night her face, which normally, I 
 think, possessed rich colouring, was almost pallid, and 
 there was a hunted look in her dark eyes which made 
 me wish to be anywhere rather than where I found 
 myself. Without preamble she rose and addressed 
 Harley: 
 
 "I fail to understand your message, sir," she said, 
 and I admired the imperious courage with which she 
 faced him. "You say you have recovered a handbag 
 which I had lost?" 
 
 Harley bowed, and from the pocket of his great- 
 coat took but a sllken-tasselled bag. 
 
 "The one which you left in the Cafe Dame, Lady 
 Ireton," he replied. "Here also I have" — from an- 
 other pocket he drew out a diamond ring — -"some- 
 thing which was extorted from you by the fellow 
 Meyer." 
 
 Without touching her recovered property. Lady 
 Ireton sank slowly down into the chair from which 
 she had arisen, her gaze fixed as if hypnotically upon 
 the speaker. 
 
THE WHITE HAT . 253 
 
 "My friend, Mr. Knox, is avrare of all the cir- 
 cumstances," continued the latter, "but he is as anxious 
 as I am to terminate this painful interview. I sur- 
 mise that what occurred on Wednesday night was 
 this — (correct me if I am wrong) : While dining with 
 Mr. De Lana you heard sounds of altercation in the 
 street below. May I suggest that you recognized 
 one of the voices?" 
 
 Lady Ireton, still staring straight before her at 
 Harley, inclined her head in assent. 
 
 "I heard my father's voice," she said hoarsely. 
 
 "Quite so," he continued. "I am aware that Major 
 Ragstaff is your father." He turned to me: "Do 
 you recognize the touch of genius at last?" Then, 
 again addressing Lady Ireton: "You naturally sug- 
 gested to your companion that he should look out of 
 the window in order to learn what was taking place. 
 The next thing you knew was that he had fallen into 
 the street below?" 
 
 Lady Ireton shuddered and raised her hands to her 
 face. 
 
 "It is retribution," she whispered. "I have brought 
 this ruin upon myself. But he does not deserve " 
 
 Her voice faded into silence, and : 
 
 "You refer to your husband^ Lord Ireton?" said 
 Harley. 
 
 Lady Ireton nodded, and again rocorcring power 
 of speech: 
 
 "It was to have been our last mcetiag," she said, 
 looking up at Harley. 
 
 She shuddered, and her eyes blazed into sudden 
 
254 lALIib OF CHINA'IXDWN 
 
 fierceness. Then, clenching her hands, she looked 
 aside. 
 
 "Oh, God, the shame of this hour 1" she whispered. 
 
 And I would have given much to have been spared 
 the spectacle of this proud, erring woman's humilia- 
 tion. But Paul Harley was scientifically remorseless. 
 I could detect no pity in his glance. 
 
 "I would give my life willingly to spare my husband 
 the knowledge of what has been," said Lady Ireton in 
 a low, monotonous voice. "Three times I sent my 
 maid to Meyer to recover my bag, but he demanded a 
 price which even / could not pay. Now It is all dis- 
 covered, and Harry will know." 
 
 "That, I fear, is unavoidable, Lady Ireton," de- 
 clared Harley. "May I ask where Lord Ireton is at 
 present?" 
 
 "He is in Africa after big game." 
 
 "H'rii," said Harley, "in Africa, and after big game? 
 I can offer you one consolation. Lady Ireton. In his 
 own interests Meyer will stick to his first assertion 
 that Mr. De Lana was dining alone." 
 
 A strange, horribly pathetic look came into the 
 woman's haunted eyes. 
 
 "You — ^you — are not acting for ?" she began. 
 
 "I am acting for no one," replied Harley tersely. 
 "Upon my friend's discretion you may rely as upon 
 my own." 
 
 "Then why should he ever know?" she whispered. 
 
 "Why, indeed," murmured Harley, "since he is in 
 Africa?" 
 
 As we descended the stair to the hall my^ trxenA 
 
THE WHITE HAT 255 
 
 paused and pointed to a life-sized oil painting by 
 London's most fashionable portrait painter. It was 
 that of a man in the uniform of a Guards officer, a 
 dark man, slightly gray at the temples; his face very 
 tanned as if by exposure to the sun. 
 
 "Having had no occasion for disguise when the 
 portrait was painted," said Harley, "Lord Ireton ap- 
 pears here without the beard; and as he is not repre- 
 sented smiling one cannot see the gold tooth. But 
 the painter, if anything, has accentuated the slanting 
 eyes. You see, the fourth marquis — the present Lord 
 Ireton's father — married one of the world-famous 
 Yen Sun girls, daughters of the mandarin of that name 
 by an Irish wife. Hence, the eyes. And hence " 
 
 "But, Harley — it was murder!" 
 
 "Not within the meaning of the law, Knox. It was 
 a recrudescence of Chinese humour! Lord Ireton is 
 officially in Africa (and he went actually after 'big 
 game'). The counsel is not born who could secure 
 a conviction. We are somewhat late, but shall there- 
 fore have less difficulty in finding a table at Prince's." 
 
TCHERIAPIN 
 
TCHERIAPIN 
 I 
 
 THE ROSE 
 
 EXAMINE it closely," said the man in the 
 unusual caped overcoat. "It will repay ex- 
 amination." 
 
 I held the little object in the palm of my hand, 
 bending forward over the marble-topped table and 
 looking down at it with deep curiosity. The babel of 
 tongues so characteristic of Malay Jack's, and that 
 mingled odour of stale spirits, greasy humanity, 
 tobacco, cheap perfume, and opium, which distin- 
 guish the establishment faded from my ken. A 
 sense of loneliness came to me. 
 
 Perhaps I should say that it became complete. I 
 had grown conscious of its approach at the very 
 moment that the cadaverous white-haired man had 
 addressed me. There was a quality in his steadfast 
 gaze and in his oddly pitched deep voice which from 
 the first had wrapped me about — as though he were 
 cloaking me in his queer personality and withdrawing 
 me from the common plane. 
 
 Having stared for some moments at the object in 
 my palm, I touched it gingerly; whereupon my ac- 
 quaintance laughed — a short bass laugh. 
 
 2S9 
 
,26o TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "It looks fragile," he said. "But have no fear. 
 It is nearly as hard as a diamond." 
 
 Thus encouraged, I took the thing up between 
 finger and thumb, and held it before my eyes. For 
 long enough I looked at it, and looking, ray wonder 
 grew. I thought that here was the most wonderful 
 example of the lapidary's art which I had ever met 
 with, east or west. 
 
 It was a tiny pink rose, no larger than the nail of 
 my little finger. Stalk and leaves were there, and 
 golden pollen lay in its delicate heart. Each fairy- 
 petal blushed with June fire; the frail leaves were 
 exquisitely green. Withal it was as hard and un- 
 bendable as a thing of steel. 
 
 "Allow me," said the masterful voice. 
 
 A powerful lens was passed by my acquaintance. 
 I regarded the rose through the glass, and thereupon 
 I knew, beyond doubt, that there was something 
 phenomenal about the gem — If gem it were. I could 
 plainly trace the veins and texture of every petaL 
 
 I suppose I looked somewhat startled. Although, 
 baldly stated, the fact may not seem calculated to 
 affright, in reality there was something so weird 
 about this unnatural bloom that I dropped It on the 
 table. As I did so I uttered an exclamation; for In 
 spite of the stranger's assurances on the point, I had 
 by no means overcome my Idea of the thing's 
 fragility. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed," he said, meeting my startled 
 gaze. "It would need a steam-hammer to do any 
 serious damage." 
 
TCHERIAPIN 261 
 
 He replaced the jewel in his pocket, and when I 
 returned the lens to him he acknowledged it with a 
 grave inclination of the head. As I looked into his 
 sunken eyes, in which I thought lay a sort of sardonic 
 merriment, the fantastic idea flashed through my 
 mind that I had fallen into the clutches of an expert 
 hypnotist who was amusing himself at my expense, 
 that the miniature rose was a mere hallucination pro- 
 duced by the same means as the notorious Indian rope 
 trick. 
 
 Then, looking around me at the cosmopolitan groups 
 surrounding the many tables, and catching snatches of 
 conversations dealing with subjects so diverse as the 
 quality of whisky in Singapore, the frail beauty of 
 Chinese maidens, and the ways of "bloody greasers," 
 common sense reasserted itself. 
 
 I looked into the gray face of my acquaintance* 
 
 "I cannot believe," I said slowly, "that human in- 
 genuity could so closely duplicate the handiwork of 
 nature. Surely the gem is unique? — ^possibly one of 
 those magical talismans of which we read in Eastern 
 stories?" 
 
 My companion smiled. 
 
 "It is not a gem," he replied, "and while in a sense 
 it is a product of human ingenuity, it is also the handi- 
 work of nature." 
 
 I was badly puzzled, and doubtless revealed the 
 fact, for the stranger laughed in his short fashion, 
 and: 
 
 "I am not trying to mystify you," he assured me. 
 "But the truth is so hard to believe sometimes that in 
 
1,262 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 the present case I hesitate to divulge it. Did you ever 
 meet Tcheriapin?" 
 
 This abrupt change of topic somewhat startled me, 
 but nevertheless : 
 
 "I once heard him play," I replied. "Why do you 
 ask the question?" 
 
 "For this reason: Tcheriapin possessed the only 
 other example of this art which so far as I am aware 
 ever left the laboratory of the inventor. He occa- 
 sionally wore it in his buttonhole." 
 
 "It is then a manufactured product of some sort?" 
 
 "As I have said, in a sense it is; but" — he drew 
 the tiny exquisite ornament from his pocket again and 
 held it up before me — "it is a natural bloom." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "It is a natural bloom," replied my acquaintance, 
 fixing his penetrating gaze upon me. "By a perfectly 
 simple process invented by the cleverest chemist of his 
 age it had been reduced to this gem-like state while 
 retaining unimpaired every one of its natural beauties, 
 every shade of its natural colour. You are incred- 
 ulous?" 
 
 "On the contrary," I replied, "having examined it 
 through a magnifying glass I had already assured 
 myself that no htfman hand had fashioned it. You 
 arouse my curiosity intensely. Such a process, with 
 its endless possibilities, should be worth a fortune to 
 the inventor." 
 
 The stranger nodded grimly and again concealed 
 the rose in his pocket. 
 
 "You are right," he said; "and the secret died with 
 
TCHfiRIAPIN 263 
 
 the man who discovered it — in the great explosion at 
 the Vortex Works in 1917. You recall it? The 
 T.N.T. factory? It shook all London, and frag- 
 ments were cast into three counties." 
 
 "I recall it perfectly well." 
 
 "You remember also the death of Dr. Krcener, 
 the chief chemist? He died in an endeavour to save 
 some of the workpeople." 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "He was the inventor of the process, but it was 
 never put upon the market. He was a singular man, 
 sir; as was once said of him — 'A Don Juan of science.' 
 Dame Nature gave him her heart unwooed. He 
 trifled with science as some men trifle with love, toss- 
 ing aside with a smile discoveries which would have 
 made another famous. This" — tapping his breast 
 pocket — "was one of them." 
 
 "You astound me. Do I understand you to mean 
 that Dr. Kreener had invented a process for reducing 
 any form of plant life to this condition?" 
 
 "Almost any form," was the guarded reply. "And 
 some forms of animal life." 
 
 "What I" 
 
 "If you like" — the stranger leaned forward and 
 grasped my arm — "I will tell you the story of Dr. 
 Kreener's last experiment." 
 
 I was now intensely interested. I had not forgotten 
 the heroic death of the man concerning whose work 
 this chance acquaintance of mine seemed to know so 
 much. And in the cadaverous face of the stranger as 
 he sat there regarding me fixedly there was a promise 
 
264 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 and an allurement. I stood on the verge of strange 
 things; so that, looking into the deep-set eyes, once 
 again I felt the cloak being drawn about me, and I 
 resigned myself willingly to the illusion. 
 
 From the moment when he began to spreak again 
 until that when I rose and followed him from Malay 
 Jack's, as I shall presently relate, I became oblivious 
 of my surroundings. I lived and moved through 
 those last fevered hours in the lives qf Dr. Kreener, 
 Tcheriapin, the violinist, and that other tragic figure 
 around whon; the story centred. I append : 
 
 THE stranger's STORY 
 
 I asked you (said the man in the caped coat) if 
 you had ever seen Tcheriapin, and you replied that 
 you had once heard him play. Having once heard him 
 play you will not have forgotten him. At that time, 
 although war still raged, all musical London was ask- 
 ing where he had come from and to what nation he 
 belonged. Then when he disappeared it was variously 
 reported, you will recall, that he had been shot as a 
 spy and that he had escaped from England and was , 
 serving with the Austrian army. As to his parentage 
 I can enlighten you in a measure. He was a Eurasian. 
 His father was an aristocratic Chinaman, and his 
 mother a Polish ballet-dancer — that was his parent- 
 age; but I would scarcely hesitate to afl&rm that he 
 came from Hell; and I shall presently show you that 
 he has certainly returned there. 
 
 You remember the strange stories current about 
 
TCH^RIAPIN 265 
 
 him. The cunning ones said that he had a clever 
 press agent. This was true enough. One of the 
 most prominent agents in London discovered him 
 playing in a Paris cabaret. Two months later he was 
 playing at the Queen's Hall, and musical London lay 
 at his feet. 
 
 He had something of the personality of Paganini, 
 as you remember, except that he was a smaller man; 
 long, gaunt, yellowish hands and the face of a haggard 
 Mcphistopheles. The critics quarrelled about him, 
 as critics only quarrel about real genius, and while one 
 school proclaimed that Tcheriapin had discovered an 
 entirely new technique, a revolutionary system of 
 violin playing, another school was equally positive in 
 declaring that he could not play at all, that he was a 
 mountebank, a trickster, whose proper place was in 
 a variety theatre. 
 
 There were stories, too, that were never published 
 — not only about Tcheriapin, but concerning the Strad, • 
 upon which he played. If all this atmosphere of 
 mystery which surrounded the man had truly been the 
 work of a press agent, then the agent must havfe been 
 as great a genius as his client. But I can assure you 
 that the stories concerning Tcheriapin, true and absurd 
 alike, were not inspired for business purposes; they 
 grew up around him like fungi. 
 
 I can see him now, a lea,n, almost emaciated figure 
 with slow, sinuous movements and a trick of glancing 
 sideways with those dark, unfathomable, slightly 
 oblique eyes. He could take up his bow in such a 
 way as to create an atmosphere of electrical suspense. 
 
266 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 He was loathsome, yet fascinating. One's mental 
 attitude toward him was one of defence, of being 
 tensely on guard. Then he would play. 
 
 You have heard him play, and it is therefore un- 
 necessary for me to attempt to describe the effect of 
 that music. The only composition which ever bore 
 his name — I refer to "The Black Mass" — affected 
 me on every occasion when I heard it, as no other 
 composition has ever done. 
 
 Perhaps it was Tcheriapin's playing rather than 
 the music itself which reached down into hitherto un- 
 plumbed depths within me and awakened dark things 
 which, unsuspected, lay there sleeping. I never heard 
 "The Black Mass" played by anyone else; indeed, I 
 am not aware that it was ever published. But had it 
 been we should rarely hear it. Like Locke's music to 
 "Macbeth" it bears an unpleasant reputation; to in- 
 clude it in any concert programme would be to court 
 disaster. An idle superstition, perhaps, but there is 
 much naivete in the artistic temperament. 
 
 Men detested Tcheriapin, yet when he chose he 
 could win over his bitterest enemies. Women fol- 
 lowed him as children followed the Pied Piper; he 
 courted none, but was courted by all. He would glance 
 aside with those black, slanting eyes, shrug in his 
 insolent fashion, and turn away. And they would fol- 
 low. God knows how many of them followed — 
 whether through the dens of Limehouse or the more 
 fashionable salons of vice in the West End — they 
 followed — perhaps down to Hell. So much for 
 Tcheriapin. 
 
TCHfiRIAPIN 267 
 
 At the time when the episode occurred to which I 
 have referred, Dr. Kreener occupied a house in 
 Regent's Park, to which, when his duties at the muni- 
 tion works allowed, he would sometimes retire at 
 week-ends. He was a man of complex personality. 
 I think no one ever knew him thoroughly; indeed, 
 I doubt if he knew himself. 
 
 He was hail-fellow-well-met with the painters, 
 sculptors, poets, and social reformers who have made 
 of Soho a new Mecca. No movement in art was so 
 modern that Dr. Kreener was not conversant with it; 
 no development in Bolshevism so violent or so secret 
 that Dr. Kreener could not speak of it complacently 
 and with inside knowledge. 
 
 These were his Bohemian friends, these dreamers 
 and schemers. Of this side of his life his scientific 
 colleagues knew little or nothing, but in his hours of 
 leisure at Regent's Park it was with these dreamers 
 that he loved to surround himself rather than with his 
 brethren of the laboratory. I think if Dr. Kreener 
 had not been a great chemist he would have been a 
 great painter, or perhaps a politician, or even a poet. 
 Triumph was his birthright, and the fruits for which 
 lesser men reached out in vain fell ripe into his hands. 
 
 The favourite meeting-place for these oddly 
 assorted boon companions was the doctor's laboratory, 
 which was divided from the house by a moderately 
 large garden. Here on a Sunday evening one might 
 meet the very "latest" composer, the sculptor bring- 
 ing a new "message," or the man destined to supplant 
 with the ballet the time-worn operatic tradition. 
 
268 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 But while some of these would come and go, so 
 that one could never count with certainty upon meet- 
 ing them, there was one who never failed to be present 
 when such an informal reception was held. Of him 
 I must speak at greater length, for a reason which 
 will shortly appear. 
 
 Andrews was the name by which he was known to 
 the circles in which he moved. No one, from Sir John 
 Tennier, the fashionable portrait painter, to Kruski, 
 of the Russian ballet, disputed Andrews's right to be 
 counted one of the elect. Yet it was known, nor did 
 he trouble to hide the fact, that Andrews was 
 employed at a large printing works in South London, 
 designing advertisements. He was a great, red- 
 bearded, unkempt Scotsman, and only once can I re- 
 member to have seen him strictly sober; but to hear 
 him talk about painters and painting in' his thick 
 Caledonian accent was to look into the soul of an 
 artist. 
 
 He was as sour as an unripe grape-fruit, cynical, 
 embittered, a man savagely disappointed with life and 
 the world ; and tragedy was written all over him. If 
 anyone knew the secret of his wasted life it was Dr. 
 Kreener, and Dr. Kreener was a reliquary of so many 
 secrets that this one was safe as if the grave had 
 swallowed it. 
 
 One Sunday Tcheriapin joined the party. That he 
 would gravitate there sooner or later was inevitable, 
 for the laboratory in the garden was a Kaaba to which 
 all such spirits made at least one pilgrimage. He had 
 just set musical London on fire with his barbaric play- 
 
TCHERIAPIN 269 
 
 ing, and already those stories to which I have referred 
 were creeping into circulation. 
 
 Although Dr. Kreener never expected anything of 
 his guests beyond an interchange of ideas, it was a 
 fact that the laboratory contained an almost unique 
 collection of pencil and charcoal studies by famous 
 artists, done upon the spot; of statuettes in wax, putty, 
 soap and other extemporized materials, by the newest 
 sculptors. While often enough from the drawing 
 room which opened upon the other end of the garden 
 had issued the strains of masterly piano-playing, and 
 it was no uncommon thing for little groups to gather 
 in the neighbouring road to listen, gratis, to the voice 
 of some great vocalist. 
 
 From the first moment of their meeting an intense 
 antagonism sprang up between Tcheriapin and 
 Andrews. Neither troubled very much to veil it. In 
 Tcheriapin it found expression in covert sneers and 
 sidelong glances, while the big, lion-maned Scots- 
 man snorted open contempt of the Eurasian 
 violinist. However, what I was about to say was 
 that Tcheriapin on the occasion of his first visit brought 
 his violin. 
 
 It was there, amid these incongruous surroundings, 
 that I first had my spirit tortured by the strains of 
 "The Black Mass." 
 
 There were five of us present, including Tcheriapin, 
 and not one of the four listeners was unaffected by the 
 music. But the influence which it exercised upon 
 Andrews was so extraordinary as almost to reach the 
 phenomenal. He literally writhed in his chair, and 
 
270 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 finally interrupted the performance by staggering 
 rather than walking out of the laboratory. 
 
 I remember that he upset a jar of acid in his 
 stumbling exit. It flowed across the floor almost to 
 the feet of Tcheriapin, and the way in which the little 
 black-haired man skipped, squealing, out of the path 
 of the corroding fluid was curiously like that of a 
 startled rabbit. Order was restored in due course, 
 but we could not induce Tcheriapin to play again, nor 
 did Andrews return until the violinist had taken his 
 departure. We found him in the dining room, a 
 nearly empty whisky-bottle beside him. 
 
 "I had to gang awa'," he explained thickly; "he 
 was temptin' me to murder him. I should ha' had to 
 do it if I had stayed. Damn his hell-music." 
 
 Tcheriapin revisited Dr. Kreener on many occa- 
 sions afterward, although for a long time he did not 
 bring his violin again. The doctor had prevailed 
 upon Andrews to tolerate the Eurasian's company, 
 and I could not help noticing how Tcheriapin skilfully 
 and deliberately goaded the Scotsman, seeming to 
 take a fiendish delight in disagreeing with his pet 
 theories and in discussing any topic which he had 
 found to be distasteful to Andrews. 
 
 Chief among these was that sort or irreverent 
 criticism of women in which male parties so often in- 
 dulge. Bitter cynic though he was, women were 
 sacred to Andrews. To speak disrespectfully of a 
 woman in his presence was like uttering blasphemy 
 in the study of a cardinal. Tcheriapin very quickly 
 detected the Scotsman's weakness, and one night he 
 
TCHfiRIAPIN 271 
 
 launched out into a series of amorous adventures which 
 set Andrews writhing as he had writhed under the 
 torture of "The Black Mass." 
 
 On this occasion the party was only a small one, 
 comprising myself, Dr. Kreener, Andrews and 
 Tcheriapin. I could feel the storm brewing, but was 
 powerless to check it. How presently it was to break 
 in tragic violence I could not foresee. Fate had not 
 meant that I should foresee it. 
 
 Allowing for the free play of an extravagant 
 artistic mind, Tcheriapln's career on his own showing 
 had been that of a callous blackguard. I began by 
 being disgusted and ended by being fascinated, not 
 by the man's scandalous adventures, but by the 
 scarcely hunjan psychology of the narrator. 
 
 From Warsaw to Budapesth, Shanghai to Paris, 
 and Cairo to London he passed, leaving ruin behind 
 him with a smile — airily flicking cigarette ash upon 
 the floor to indicate the termination of each "episode." 
 
 Andrews watched him in a lowering way which I 
 did not like at all. He had ceased to snort his scorn ; 
 indeed, for ten minutes or so he had uttered no word 
 or sound; but there was something In the pose of his 
 ungainly body which strangely suggested that of a 
 great dog preparing to spring. Presently the violinist 
 recalled what he termed a "charming idyll of 
 Normandy." 
 
 "There is one poor fool in the world," he said, 
 shrugging his slight shoulders, "who never knew how 
 badly he should hate me. Ha! ha! of him I shall 
 tell you. Do you remember, my friends, some few 
 
272 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 years ago, a picture that was published in Paris and 
 London? Everybody bought it; everybody said: 'He 
 is a made man, this fellovr who can paint so fine.' " 
 
 "To what picture do yon refer?" asked Dr. 
 Kreener. » 
 
 "It was called 'A Dream at Dawn.' " 
 
 As he spoke the words I saw Andrews start for- 
 ward, and Dr. Kreener exchanged a swift glance with 
 him. But the Scotsman, unseen by the vainglorious 
 half-caste, shook his head fiercely. 
 
 The picture to which Tcheriapin referred will, of 
 course, be perfectly familiar to you. It had phenom- 
 enal popularity some eight years ago. Nothing was 
 known of the painter — ^whose name was Colquhoun — 
 and nothing has been seen of his work -since. The 
 original painting was never sold, and after a time this 
 promising new artist was, of course, forgotten. 
 
 Presently Tcheriapin continued: 
 
 "It is the figure of a slender girl — ah! angels of 
 grace! — what a girl!" He kissed his hand raptur- 
 ously. "She is posed bending gracefully forward, and 
 looking down at her own lovely reflection in the water. 
 It is a seashore, you remember, and the little ripples 
 play about her ankles. The first blush of the dawn 
 robes her white body in a transparent mantle of light. 
 Ah! God's mercy! it was as she stood so, in a little 
 cove of Normandy, that I saw her!" 
 
 He paused, rolling his dark eyes; and I could hear 
 Andrews's heavy breathing ; then : 
 
 "It was the "new art'^ — the posing of the model not 
 in at lighted studio, but in the scene to be depicted. 
 
TCHERIAPIN 273 
 
 And the fellow who painted her I — the man with the 
 barbarous name! Bah I he was big — ^as big as our 
 Mr. Andrews — and ugly — ^poohl uglier than he! A 
 moon-face, with cropped skull like a prize-fighter and 
 no soul. But, yes, he could paint. 'A Dream at 
 Dawn' was genius — ^yes, some soul he must have had. 
 
 "He could paint, dear friendst but he could not 
 love. Him I counted as — ^puff !" 
 
 He blew imaginary down into space. 
 
 "Her I sought out, and presently found. She told 
 me, in those sweet stolen rambles along the shore, 
 when the moonlight made her look like a Madonna, 
 that she was his inspiration — his art — his life. And 
 she wept ; she wept, and I kissed her tears away. 
 
 "To please her I waited until 'A Dream at Dawn' 
 was finished. With the finish of the picture, finished 
 also his dream of dawn — the moon-faced one's." 
 
 Tcheriapin laughed, and lighted a fresh cigarette. 
 
 "Can you believe that a man could be so stupid? 
 He never knew of my existence, this big, red booby. 
 He never knew that I existed until — until his 'dream' 
 had fled — ^with me I In a week we were in Paris, that 
 dream-girl and I — in a month we had quarrelled. I 
 always end these matters with a quarrel ; it makes the 
 complete finish. She struck me in the face — ^and I 
 laughed. She turned and went away. We were 
 tired of one another. 
 
 "Ah!" Again he airily kissed his hand. "There 
 were others after I had gone. I heard for a time^ 
 But her memory is like a rose, fresh and fair and sweet. 
 I am glad I can remember her so, and not as she after- 
 
274 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ward became. That is the art of love. She killed 
 herself with absinthe, my friends. She died in Mar- 
 seilles in the first year of the great war." 
 
 Thus far Tcheriapin had proceeded, and was in 
 the act of airily flicking ash upon the floor, when, 
 uttering a sound which I can only describe as a 
 roar, Andrews hurled himself upon the smiling 
 violinist. 
 
 His great red hands clutching Tcheriapin's throat, 
 the insane Scotsman, for insane he was at that mo- 
 ment, forced the other back upon the settee from 
 which he had half arisen. In vain I sought to drag 
 him away from the writhing body, but I doubt that 
 any man could have relaxed that deadly grip. Tcheria- 
 pin's eyes protruded hideously and his tongue lolled 
 forth from his mouth. One could hear the breath 
 whistling through his nostrils as Andrews silently, de- 
 liberately, squeezed the life out of him. 
 
 It all occupied only a few minutes, and then 
 Andrews, slowly opening his rigidly crooked fingers, 
 stood panting and looking down at the distorted face 
 of the dead man. 
 
 For once in his life the Scotsman was sober, and 
 turning to Dr. Kreener: 
 
 "I have waited seven long years for this," he said, 
 "and I'll hang wi' contentment." 
 
 I can never forget the ensuing moments, in which, 
 amid a horrible silence broken only by the ticking of 
 a clock and the heavy breathing of Colquhoun (so 
 long known to us as Andrews) we stood watching the 
 contorted body on the settee. 
 
TCHERIAPIN 275 
 
 And as we watched, slowly the rigid limbs began 
 to relax, and Tcheriapin slid gently on to the floor, 
 collapsing there with a soft thud, where he squatted 
 like some hideous Buddha, resting back against the 
 cushions, one spectral yellow hand upraised, the fin- 
 gers still clutching a big gold tassel. 
 
 Andrews (for so I always think of him) was seized 
 with a violent fit of trembling, and he dropped into 
 the chair, muttering to himself and looking down wild- 
 eyed at his twitching fingers. Then he began to laugh, 
 high-pitched laughter, in little short peals. 
 
 "Here I" cried the doctor sharply. "Drop thatl" 
 
 Crossing to Andrews, he grasped him by the shoul- 
 ders and shook him roughly. 
 
 The laughter ceased, and: 
 
 "Send for the police," said Andrews in a queer, 
 shaky voice. "DInna fear but I'm ready. I'm only 
 sorry it happened here." 
 
 "You ought to be glad," said Dr. Kreener. 
 
 There was a covert meaning in the words — a fact 
 which penetrated even to the dulled intelligence of 
 the Scotsman, for he glanced up haggardly at his 
 friend. 
 
 "You ought to be glad," repeated Dr. Kreener. 
 
 Turning, he walked to the laboratory door and 
 locked it. He next lowered all the blinds. 
 
 "I pray that we have not been observed," he said, 
 "but we must chance it." 
 
 He mixed a drink for Andrews and himself. His 
 quiet, decisive manner had had its effect, and Andrews 
 was now more composed. Indeed, he seemed to be 
 
276 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 in a half-dazed condition ; but he persistently kept his 
 back turned to the crouching figure propped up against 
 the settee. 
 
 "If you think you can follow me," said Dr. Kreener 
 abruptly, "I will show you the result of a recent ex- 
 periment." 
 
 Unlocking a cupboard, he took out a tiny figure 
 some two inches long by one inch high, mounted upon 
 a polished wooden pedestal. It was that of a guinea- 
 pig. The flaky fur gleamed like the finest silk, and 
 one felt that the coat of the minute creature would be 
 as floss to the touch; whereas in reality it possessed 
 the rigidity of steel. Literally one could have done 
 it little damage with a hammer. Its weight was ex- 
 traordinary. 
 
 "I am learning new things about this process every 
 day," continued Dr. Kreener, placing the little figure 
 upon a table. "For instance, while it seems to oper- 
 ate uniformly upon vegetable matter, there are curious 
 modifications when one applies it to animal and min- 
 eral substances. I have now definitely decided that 
 the result of this particular inquiry must never be pub- 
 lished. You, Colquhoun, I believe, possess an ex- 
 ample of the process, a tiger lily, I think? I must 
 ask you to return it to me. Our late friend, Tcheria- 
 pin, wears a pink rose in his coat which I have treated 
 in the same way- I am going to take the liberty of 
 removing it." 
 
 He spoke in the hard, incisive manner which I had 
 heard him use in the lecture theatre, and it was evi- 
 dent enough that his design was to prepare Andrews 
 
TCHERIAPIN 277 
 
 for something which he contemplated. Facing the 
 Scotsman where he sat hunched up in the big arm- 
 chair, dully watching the' speaker : 
 
 "There is one experiment," said Dr. Krecner, speak- 
 ing very deliberately, "which I have never before had 
 a suitable opportunity of attempting. Of its result I 
 am personally confident, but science always demands 
 proof." 
 
 His voice rang now with a note of repressed ex- 
 citement. He paused for a moment, and then: 
 
 "If you were to examine this little specimen very 
 closely," he said, and rested his finger upon the tiny 
 figure of the guinea-pig, "you would find that in one 
 particular it is imperfect. Although a diamond drllj 
 would have to be employed to demonstrate the fact, 
 the animal's organs, despite their having undergone a 
 chemical change quite new to science, are intact, per- 
 fect down to the smallest detail. One part of the 
 creature's structure alone defied my process. In short, 
 dental enamel is impervious to it. This little animal, 
 otherwise as complete as when it lived and breathed, 
 has no teeth. I found it necessary to extract them 
 before submitting the body to the rcductionary pro- 
 
 cess." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "Shall I go on?" he asked. 
 
 Andrews, to whose mind, I think, no conception of 
 the doctor's project had yet penetrated, shuddered, 
 but slowly nodded his head. 
 
 Dr. Krecner glanced across the laboratory at the 
 crouching figure of Tcheriapin, then, resting his hands 
 
278 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 upon Andrews's shoulders, he pushed him back In the 
 chair and stared into his dull eyes. 
 
 "Brace yourself, Colquhou'n," he said tersely. 
 
 Turning, he crossed to a small mahogany cabinet at 
 the farther end of the room. Pulling out a glass tray 
 he judicially selected a pair of dental forceps. 
 
II 
 
 "the black mass" 
 
 THUS far the stranger's appalling story had 
 progressed when that singular cloak in which 
 hypnotically he had enwrapped me seemed to 
 drop, and I found myself clutching the edge of the 
 table and staring into the gray face of the speaker. 
 
 I became suddenly aware of the babel of voices 
 about me, of the noisome smell of Malay Jack's, and 
 of the presence of Jack in person, who was inquiring 
 if there were any further orders. I was conscious of 
 nausea. 
 
 "Excuse me," I said, rising unsteadily, "but I fear 
 the oppressive atmosphere is affecting me." 
 
 "If you prefer to go out," said my acquaintance, 
 in that deep voice which throughout the dreadful 
 story had rendered me oblivious of my surroundings, 
 "I should be much favoured if you would accompany 
 me to a spot not five hundred yards from here." 
 
 Seeing me hesitate: 
 
 "I have a particular reason for asking," he added. 
 
 "Very well," I replied, inclining my head, "if you 
 wish it. But certainly I must seek the fresh air." 
 
 Going up the steps and out through the door above 
 which the blue lantern burned, we came to the street, 
 
 279 
 
28o TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 turned to the left, to the left again, and soon were 
 threading that maze of narrow ways which compli- 
 cates the map of Pennyficlds. 
 
 I felt somewhat recovered. Here, in the narrow 
 but familiar highways the spell of my singular ac- 
 quaintance lost much of its potency, and already I 
 found myself doubting the story of Dr. Kreener and 
 Tcheriapin. Indeed, I began to laugh at myself, con- 
 ceiving that I had fallen into the hands of some 
 comedian who was making sport of me ; although why 
 such a person should visit Malay Jack's was not ap- 
 parent. 
 
 1 was about to give expression to these new and 
 saner ideas when my companion paused before a door 
 half hidden in a little alley which divided the back of 
 a Chinese restaurant from the tawdry-looking estab- 
 lishment of a cigar merchant. He apparently held 
 the key, for although I did not actually hear the turn- 
 ing of the lock I saw that he had opened the door. 
 
 "May I request you to follow me ?" came his deep 
 voice out of the darkness. "I will show you some- 
 thing which will repay your trouble." 
 
 Again the cloak touched me, but it was without 
 entirely resigning myself to the compelling influence 
 that I followed my mysterious acquaintance up an yn- 
 carpeted and nearly dark stair. On the landing above 
 a gas lamp was burning, and opening a door immedi- 
 ately facing the stair the stranger conducted me into a 
 barely furnished and untidy room. 
 
 The atmosphere smelled like that of a pot-house, 
 the odours of stale Spirits and of tobacco mingling 
 
TCHERIAPIN 281 
 
 unpleasantly. As my guide removed his hat and 
 stood there, a square, gaunt figure in his queer, caped 
 overcoat, I secured for the first time a view of his 
 face in. profile; and found it to be startlingly unfa- 
 miliar. Seen thus, my acquaintance was another man. 
 I realized that there was something unnatural about 
 the long, white hair, the gray face ; that the sharp out- 
 line of brow, nose, and chin was that of a much 
 younger man than I had supposed him to be. 
 
 All this came to me in a momentary flash of per- 
 ception, for immediately my attention was riveted 
 upon a figure hunched up on a dilapidated sofa on the 
 opposite side of the room. It was that of a big man, 
 bearded and very heavily built, but whose face was 
 scarred as by years of suffering, and whose eyes con- 
 firmed the story indicated by the smell of stale spirits 
 with which the air of the room was laden. A nearly 
 empty bottle stood on a table at his elbow, a glass 
 beside it, and a pipe lay in a saucer full of ashes near 
 the glass. 
 
 As we entered, the glazed eyes of the man opened 
 widely and he clutched at the table with big red hands, 
 leaning forward and staring horribly. 
 
 Save for this derelict figure and some few dirty uten- 
 sils and scattered garments which indicated that the 
 apartment was used both as sleeping and living room, 
 there was so little of interest in the place that auto- 
 matically my wandering gaze strayed from the figure 
 on the sofa to a large oil painting, unframed, which 
 rested upon the mantelpiece above the dirty grate, in 
 which the fire had become extinguished. 
 
282 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 I uttered a stifled exclamation. It was " A Dream 
 at Dawn" — evidently the original painting ! 
 
 On the left of it, from a nail in the wall, hung a 
 violin and bow, and on the right stood a sort of cylin- 
 drical glass case or closed jar, upon a wooden base. 
 
 From the moment that I perceived the contents of 
 this glass case a sense of fantasy claimed me, and I 
 ceased to know where reality ended and mirage began. 
 
 It contained a tiny and perfect figure of a man. 
 He was arrayed in a beautifully fitting dress-suit such 
 as a doll might have worn, and he was posed as if in 
 the act of playing a violin, although no violin was 
 present. At the elfin black hair and Mephistophelian 
 face of this horrible, wonderful image, I stared fas- 
 cinatedly. 
 
 I looked and looked at the dwarfed figure of . . . 
 TcheriapinI 
 
 All these impressions came to me in the space of a 
 few hectic moments, when in upon my mental tumult 
 intruded a husky whisper from the man on the sofa. 
 
 "Kreener!" he said. "Kreener!" 
 
 At the sound of that name, and because of the way 
 in which It was pronounced, I felt my blood running 
 cold. The speaker was staring straight at my com- 
 panion. 
 
 I clutched at the open door. I felt that there was 
 still some crowning horror to come. I wanted to 
 escape from that reeking room, but my muscles re- 
 fused to obey me, and there I stood while : 
 
 "Kreener!" repeated the husky voice, and I saw 
 that the speaker was rising unsteadily to his feet. 
 
TCHERIAPIN 283 
 
 "You have brought him again. Why have you 
 brought him again? He will play. He will play me 
 a step nearer to Hell." 
 
 "Brace yourself, Colquhoun," said the voice of my 
 companion. "Brace yourself." 
 
 "Take him awa' !" came in a sudden frenzied shriek. 
 "Take him awa' ! He's there at your elbow, Kreener, 
 mockin' me, and pointing to that damned violin." 
 
 "Here!" said the stranger, a high note of com- 
 mand in his voice. "Drop that! Sit down at once." 
 
 Even as the, other obeyed him, the cloaked stranger, 
 stepping to the mantelpiece, opened a small box which 
 lay there beside the glass case. He turned to me; 
 and I tried to shrink away from him. For I knew — I 
 knew — ^yet I loathed to look upon — ^what was in the 
 box. Muffled as though reaching me through fog, I 
 heard the words : 
 
 "A perfect human body ... in miniature 
 . . . every organ intact by means of . . 
 process . . . rendered indestructible. Tcheria- 
 pin as he was in life may be seen by the curious ten 
 thousand years hence. Incomplete . . . one 
 respect . . . here in this box . . ," 
 
 The spell was broken by a horrifying shriek from 
 the man whom my companion had addressed as Colqu- 
 houn, and whom I could only suppose to be the painter 
 of the celebrated picture which rested upon the man- 
 telshelf. 
 
 "Take him awa', Kreener I He is reaching for thg 
 iviolinl" 
 
 Animation returned to me, and I fell rather tHwi 
 
284 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 ran down the darkened stair. How I opened the 
 street door I know not, but even as I stepped out into 
 the squalid alleys of Pennyfields the cloaked figure 
 was beside me, A hand was laid upon my shoulder. 
 
 "Listen!" commanded a deep voice. 
 
 Clearly, with an eerie sweetness, an evil, hellish 
 beauty indescribable, the wailing of a Stradivarius 
 violin crept to my ears from the room above. Slowly 
 — slowly the music began, and my soul rose up in 
 revolt. 
 
 "Listen !" repeated the voice. "Listen 1 It is 'The 
 Black Mass' I" 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 
 I 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE AGAPOULOS 
 
 HASSAN came in and began very deliberately 
 to light the four lamps. He muttered to 
 himself and often smiled in the childish man- 
 ner which characterizes some Egyptians. Hassan 
 wore a red cap, and a white robe confined at the waist 
 by a red sash. On his brown feet he wore loose slip- 
 pers, also of red. He had good features and made a 
 very picturesque figure moving slowly about his work. 
 
 As he lighted lamp after lamp and soft illumination 
 crept about the big room, because of the heavy shad- 
 ows created the place seemed to become mysteriously 
 enlarged. That it was an Eastern apartment cun- 
 ningly devised to appeal to the Western eye, one famil- 
 iar with Arab households must have seen at once. It 
 was a traditional Oriental interior, a stage setting 
 rather than the nondescript and generally uninterest- 
 ing environment of the modern Egyptian at home. 
 
 Brightly coloured divans there were and many 
 silken cushions of strange pattern and design. The 
 hanging lamps were of perforated brass with little 
 coloured glass panels. In carved wooden cabinets 
 
 287 ' 
 
288 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 stood beautiful porcelain jars, trays, and vessels of 
 silver and copper ware. Rich carpets were spread 
 about the floor, and the draperies were elegant and 
 costly, while two deep windows projecting over the 
 court represented the best period of Arab architecture. 
 Their intricate carven woodwork had once adorned 
 the palace of a Grand Wazir. Agapoulos had bought 
 them in Cairo and had had them fitted to his house in 
 Chinatown. A smaller brass lamp of very delicate 
 workmanship was suspended in each of the recesses. 
 
 As Hassan, having lighted the four larger lanterns, 
 was proceeding leisurely to light the first of the smaller 
 ones, draperies before a door at the east end of the 
 room were parted and Agapoulos came in. Aga- 
 poulos was a short but portly Greek whom the care- 
 less observer might easily have mistaken for a Jew. 
 He had much of the appearance of a bank manager, 
 having the manners of, one used to making himself 
 agreeable, but also possessing the money-eye and that 
 comprehensive glance which belongs to the successful 
 man of commerce. 
 
 Standing in the centre, of the place he brushed his 
 neat black moustache with a plump forefinger. A 
 diamond ring which he wore glittered brilliantly in 
 the coloured rays of the lanterns. With his right 
 hand, which rested in his trouser pocket, he rattled 
 keys. His glance roved about the room appraisingly. 
 Walking to a beautifully carved Arab cabinet he re- 
 arranged three pieces of Persian copperware which 
 stood upon it. He moved several cushions, and tak- 
 ing up a leopard skin which lay upon the floor he 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 289 
 
 draped it over an ebony chair which was inlaid intri- 
 cately with ivory. 
 
 The drooping eyelids of M. Agapoulos drooped 
 lower, as returning to the centre of the room he criti- 
 cally surveyed the effect of these master touches. At 
 the moment he resembled a window-dresser, or, rather, 
 one of those high-salaried artists who beautify the 
 great establishments of Regent Street, the Rue de la 
 Paix, and Ruination Avenue, New York. 
 
 Hassan lighted the sixth lamp, muttering smilingly 
 all the time. He was about to depart when Agapou- 
 los addressed him in Arabic. 
 
 "There will be a party down from the Savoy to- 
 night, Hassan. No one else is to come unless I am 
 told. That accursed red policeman, Kerry, has been 
 about here of late. Be very careful." 
 
 Hassan saluted him gravely and retired through 
 one of the draped openings. In his hand he held the 
 taper with which he had lighted the lamps. In order 
 that the draperies should not be singed he had to hold 
 them widely apart. For it had not occurred to Has- 
 san to extinguish the taper. The Egyptian mind is 
 complex in its simplicity. 
 
 M. Agapoulos from a gold case extracted a ciga- 
 rette, and lighting it, inhaled the smoke contentedly, 
 looking about him- The window-dresser was lost again 
 in the bank manager who has arranged a profitable 
 overdraft. Somewhere a bell rang. Hassan, treading 
 silently, reappeared, crossed the room, and opening a 
 finely carved door walked along a corridor which it had 
 concealed. He still carried the lighted taper. 
 
290 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Presently there entered a man whose well-cut serge 
 suit revealed the figure of a soldier. He wore a soft 
 gray felt hat and carried light gloves and a cane. His 
 dark face, bronzed by recent exposure to the Egyp- 
 tian sun, was handsome in a saturnine fashion, and a 
 touch of gray at the temples tended to enhance his 
 good looks. He carried himself in that kind of non- 
 chalant manner which is not only insular but almost 
 insolent. 
 
 M. Agapoulos bowed extravagantly. As he laid 
 his plump hand upon his breast the diamond ring 
 sparkled in a way most opulent and impressive. 
 
 "I greet you. Major Grantham," he said. "Be- 
 hold" — he waved his hand glitteringly — "all is pre- 
 pared." 
 
 "Oh, yes," murmured the other, glancing around 
 without interest; "good. You are beginning to get 
 straight in your new quarters." 
 
 Agapoulos extended the prosperous cigarette-case, 
 and Major Grantham took and lighted a superior 
 cigarette. 
 
 "How many in the party?" inquired the Greek 
 smilingly. 
 
 "Three and myself." 
 
 A shadow of a frown appeared upon the face of 
 Agapoulos. 
 
 "Only three," he muttered. 
 
 Major Grantham laughed. 
 
 "You should know me by this time, Agapoulos," 
 he said. "The party is small but exclusive, you under- 
 stand?" 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 291 
 
 He spoke wearily, as a tired man speaks of dis- 
 tasteful work which he must do. There was contempt 
 in his voice ; contempt of Agapoulos, and contempt of 
 himself. 
 
 "Ah I" cried the Greek, brightening; "do I know 
 any of them?" 
 
 "Probably. General Sir Francis Payne, Mr. Eddie, 
 and Sir Horace Tipton." 
 
 "An Anglo-American party, eh?" 
 
 "Quite. Mr. Eddie is the proprietor of the well- 
 known group of American hotels justly celebrated for 
 their great height and poisonous cuisine; while Sir 
 Horace Tipton alike as sportsman, globe-ti-otter, and 
 soap manufacturer, is characteristically British. Of 
 General Sir Francis Payne I need only say that his 
 home services during the war did incalculable harm to 
 our prestige throughout the Empire." 
 
 He spoke with all the bitterness of a man who has 
 made a failure of life. Agapoulos was quite restored 
 to good humour. 
 
 "Ahl" he exclaimed, brushing his moustache and 
 rattling his keys; "sportsmen, eh?" 
 
 Majot Grantham dropped into the carven chair 
 upon which the Greek had draped the leopard skin. 
 Momentarily the window-dresser leapt into life as 
 Agapoulos beheld one of his cunning effects destroyed, 
 but he forced a smile when Grantham, shrugging his 
 shoulders, replied: 
 
 "If they are fools enough to play — the usual 5 per 
 cent, on the bank's takings." 
 
 He paused, glancing at some ash upon the tip of 
 
292 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 his cigarette. Agapoulos swiftly produced an ash- 
 tray and received the ash on it in the manner of a 
 churchwarden collecting half, a crown from a pew- 
 holder. 
 
 "I think," continued Grantham indifferently, "that 
 it will be the dances. Two of them are over fifty." 
 
 "Ah!" said Agapoulos thoughtfully; "not, of 
 course, the ordinary programme?" 
 
 Major Grantham looked up at him with lazy in- 
 solence. 
 
 "Why ask?" he inquired. "Does LucuUus crave 
 for sausages? Do philosophers play marbles?" 
 
 He laughed again, noting the rather blank look of 
 Agapoulos. 
 
 "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" 
 he added. ''I mean to say that these men have been 
 everywhere and done everything. They have drunk 
 wine sweet and sour and have swallowed the dregs. / 
 am bringing them. It is enough." 
 
 "More than enough," declared the Greek with 
 enthusiasm. He bowed, although Grantham was hot 
 looking at him. "In the little matter of fees I can rely 
 upon your discretion, as always. Is it not sard that a 
 good dragoman is a desirable husband?" 
 
 Major Grantham resettled himself in his chair. 
 
 "M. Agapoulos," he said icily, "we have done 
 shady business together for years, both in Port Said 
 and in London, and have remained the best of friends ; 
 two blackguards linked by our common villainy. But 
 if this pleasant commercial acquaintance is to con- 
 tinue let there be no misunderstanding between us, M. 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 293 
 
 Agapoulos. I may know I'm a dragoman; but in 
 future, old friend" — he turned lazy eyes upon the 
 Greek — "for your guidance, don't remind me of the 
 fact or I'll wring your neck." 
 
 The drooping eyelids of M. Agapoulos flickered 
 significantly, but it was with a flourish more grand 
 than usual that he bowed. 
 
 "Pardon, pardon," he murmured. "You speak 
 harshly of yourself, but ah, you do not mean it. We 
 understand each other, eh?" 
 
 "I understand you perfectly," drawled Grantham; 
 "I was merely advising you to endeavour to under- 
 stand me. My party will arrive at nine o'clock, Aga- 
 poulos, and I am going back to the Savoy shortly to 
 dress. Meanwhile, if Hassan would bring me a 
 whisky and soda I should be obliged." 
 
 "Of course, of course. He shall do so at once," 
 cried Agapoulos. "I will tell him." 
 
 Palpably glad* to escape, the fat Greek retired, 
 leaving Major Grantham lolling there upon the leop- 
 ard skin, his hat, cane and gloves upon the carpet be- 
 side him; and a few moments later Hassan the silent 
 glided into the extravagant apartment bearing re- 
 freshments. Placing his tray upon a little coffee-table 
 beside Major Grantham, he departed. 
 
 There was a faint smell of perfume in the room, a 
 heavy voluptuous smell in which the odour of sandal- 
 wood mingled with the pungency of myrrh. It was 
 very silent, so that when Grantham mixed a drink the 
 pleasant chink of glass upon glass rang out sharply. 
 
II 
 
 ZAHARA 
 
 ZAHARA had overheard the latter part of the 
 conversation from her own apartment. Once 
 she had even crept across to the carven screen 
 in order that she might peep through into the big, 
 softly lighted room. She had interrupted her toilet 
 to do so, and having satisfied herself that Grantham 
 was one of the speakers (although she had really 
 known this already), she had returned and stared at 
 herself critically in the mirror. 
 
 Zahara, whose father had been a Frenchman, pos- 
 sessed skin of a subtle cream colour very far removed 
 from the warm brown of her Egyptian mother, but 
 yet not white. At night it appeared dazzling, for she 
 enhanced its smooth, creamy pallor with a wonderful 
 liquid solution which came from Paris. It was hard, 
 Zahara had learned, to avoid a certain streaky appear- 
 ance, but much practice had made her an adept. 
 
 This portion of her toilet she had already com- 
 pleted and studying her own reflection she wondered, 
 as she had always wondered, what Agapoulos could 
 see in Safiyeh. Safiyeh was as brown as a berry; 
 quite pretty for an Egyptian girl, as Zahara admitted 
 scornfully, but brown — ^brown. It was a great puzzle 
 
 Z94 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 295 
 
 to Zahara. The mystery of life indeed had puzzled 
 little Zahara very much from the moment when she 
 had first begun to notice things with those big, sur- 
 prising blue eyes of hers, right up to the present 
 twenty-fourth year of her life. She had an uneasy 
 feeling that Safiyeh, who was only sixteen, knew more 
 of this mystery than she did. Once, shortly after the 
 Egyptian girl had come to the house of Agapoulos, 
 Zahara had playfully placed her round white arm 
 against that of the more dusky beauty, and : 
 
 "Look!" she had exclaimed. "I am cream and you 
 are coffee." 
 
 "It is true," the other had admitted in her prac- 
 tical, serious way, "but some men do not like cream. 
 All men like coffee;" 
 
 Zahara rested her elbows upon the table and sur- 
 veyed the reflection of her perfect shoulders with 
 disapproval. She had been taught at her mother's 
 knee that men did not understand women, and she, 
 who had been born and reared in that quarter of 
 Cairo where there is no day but one long night, had 
 lived to learn the truth of the lesson. Yet she was 
 not surprised that this was so ; for Zahara did not 
 understand herself. Her desires were so simple and 
 so seemingly natural, yet it would appear that they 
 were contrary to the established order of things. 
 
 She was proud to think that she was French, al- 
 though someone had told her that the French, though 
 brave, were mercenary. Zahara admired the French 
 for being brave, and thought it very sensible that they 
 should be mercenary. For there was nothing that 
 
296 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Zahara wanted of the world that money could not ob- 
 tain (or 80 she believed), and she knew no higher 
 philosophy than the quest of happiness. Because 
 others did not seem to share this philosophy she often 
 wondered if she could be uBusuaL She had come to 
 the conclusion that she was ignorant. If only Harry 
 Grantham would talk to her she felt sure he could 
 teach her so much. 
 
 There were so many things that puzzled her. She 
 knew that at twenty-four she was young for a French 
 girl, although as an Egyptian she would have been 
 considered old- She had been taught that gold was 
 the key to happiness ^nd that man was the ogre 
 from whom this key must be wheedled. A ready 
 pupil, Zahara had early acquired the art of attracting, 
 and now at twenty-four she was a past mistress of the 
 Great Craft, and as her mirror told her, more beauti- 
 ful than she had ever been. 
 
 Therefore, what did Agapoulos see in Safiyeh? • 
 
 It was a problem which made Zahara's head ache. 
 She could not understand why as her power of win- 
 ning men Increased her power to hold them diminished. 
 Safiyeh was a mere Inexperienced child — ^yct Agapou- 
 los had brought her to the house, and Zahara, wise ui 
 woman's lore, had recognized the familiar change of 
 manner. 
 
 It was a great problem, the age-old problem which 
 doubtless set the first silver thread among Phryne's 
 red-gold locks and which now brought a little perplexed 
 wrinkle between Zahara's delicately pencilled brows. 
 
 It had not always been io. In those early days in 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 297 
 
 Cairo there had been an American boy. Zahara had 
 never forgotten. Her beauty had bewildered him. 
 He had wanted to take her to New York; and oh I 
 how she had wanted to go. But her mother, who was 
 then alive, had held other views, and he had gone 
 alone. Heavens ! How old she felt. How many 
 had come and gone since that Egyptian winter, but 
 now, although admiration was fatally easy to win how 
 few were so sincere as that fresh-faced boy from be- 
 yond the Atlantic. 
 
 Zahara, staring into the mirror, observed that there 
 was not a wrinkle upon her face, not a flaw upon her 
 perfect skin. Nor in this was she blinded by vanity. 
 Nature, indeed, had cast her in a rare mould, and 
 from her unusual hair, which was like dull gold, to her 
 slender ankles and tiny feet, she was one of the most 
 perfectly fashioned human beings who ever added to 
 the beauty of the world. 
 
 Yet Agapoulos preferred Safiyeh. Zahara could 
 hear him coming to her room even as she sat there, 
 chin in hands, staring at her own bewitching reflec- 
 tion. Presently she would slip out and speak to 
 Harry Grantham. Twice she had read in his eyes that 
 sort of interest which she knew so well how to detect. 
 She liked him very much, but because of a sense of 
 loyalty to Agapoulos (a sentiment purely Egyptian 
 which she longed to crush) Zahara had never so much 
 as glanced at Grantham in the Right Way. She was 
 glad, though, that he had not gone, and she hoped that 
 Agapoulos would not detain her long. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the Greek's manner was even 
 
298 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 more cold than usual. He rested his hand upon her 
 shoulder for a moment, and meeting her glance re- 
 flected in the mirror: 
 
 "There will be a lot of money here to-night," he 
 said. "Make the best of your opportunities. China- 
 town is foggy, yes — ^but it pays better than Port Said." 
 
 He ran fat fingers carelessly through her hair, the 
 big diamond glittering effectively in the wavy gold, 
 then turned and went out. Sitting listening intently, 
 Zahara could hear him talking in a subdued voice to 
 Safiyeh, and could detect the Egyptian's low-spoken 
 replies. 
 
 Grantham looked up with a start. A new and 
 subtle perfume had added itself to that with which the 
 air of the room was already laden. He found Zahara 
 standing beside him. 
 
 His glance travelled upward from a pair of ab- 
 surdly tiny brocaded shoes past slender white ankles 
 to the embroidered edge of a wonderful mandarin 
 robe decorated with the figures of peacocks; upward 
 again to a little bejewelled hand which held the robe 
 confined about the slender figure of Zahara, and up- 
 ward to where, sideways upon a bare shoulder peeping 
 impudently out from Chinese embroidery, rested the 
 half-mocking and half-serious face of the girl. 
 
 "Hallo 1" he said, smiling, "I didn't hear you come 
 in." 
 
 "I walk very soft," explained Zahara, "because I 
 am not supposed to be here." 
 
 She looked at him quizzically. "I don't see you 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 299 
 
 for a long time," she added, and in the tone of her 
 voice there was a caress. "I saw you more often in 
 Port Said than here." 
 
 "No," replied Grantham, "I have been giving Aga- 
 poulos a rest. Besides, there has been nobody worth 
 while at any of the hotels or clubs during the last fort- 
 night." 
 
 "Somebody worth while coming to-night?" asked 
 Zahara with professional interest. 
 
 At the very moment that she uttered the words she 
 recognized her error, for she saw Grantham's expres- 
 sion change. Yet to her strange soul there was a 
 challenge in his coldness and the joy of contest in the 
 task of melting the ice of this English reserve. 
 
 "Lots of money," he said bitterly; "we shall all do 
 well to-night." 
 
 Zahara did not reply for a moment. She wished 
 to close this line of conversation which inadvertently 
 she had opened up. So that, presently : 
 
 "You look very lonely and bored," she said softly. 
 
 As a matter of fact, it was she who was bored of 
 the life she led in Limehouse — in chilly, misty Lime- 
 house — and who had grown so very lonely since 
 Safiyeh had come. In the dark gray eyes looking 
 up at her she read recognition of her secret. Here 
 was a man possessing that rare masculine attribute, 
 intuition. Zahara knew a fear that was half delight- 
 ful. Fear because she might fail in either of two 
 ways and delight because the contest was equal. 
 
 "Yes," he replied slowly, "my looks tell the truth. 
 How did you know?" 
 
300 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Zahara observed that his curiosity had not yet be- 
 come actual interest. She toyed with the silken tassel 
 on her robe, tying and untying it with quick nervous 
 fingers and resting the while against the side of the 
 carved chair. 
 
 "Perhaps because I am so lonely myself," she said. 
 "I matter to no one. What I do, where I go, if I live 
 or die. It is all " 
 
 She spread her small hands eloquently and shrugged 
 so that another white shoulder escaped from the 
 Chinese wrapping. Thereupon Zahara demurely 
 drew her robe about her with a naive air of modesty 
 which nine out of ten beholding must have supposed to 
 be affected; 
 
 In reality it was a perfectly natural, instinctive 
 movement. To .Zahara her own beauty was a com- 
 monplace to be displayed or concealed as circum- 
 stances might dictate. In a certain sense, which few 
 could appreciate, this half-caste dancing girl and 
 daughter of El Wasr was as innocent as a baby. It 
 was one of the things which men did not understand. 
 She thought that if Harry Grantham asked her to go 
 away with him it would be nice to go. Suddenly she 
 realized how deep was her loathing of this Limehouse 
 and of the people she met there, who were all alike. 
 
 He sat looking at her for some time, and then: 
 "Perhaps you are wrong," he said. "There may be 
 some who could understand." 
 
 And because he had answered her thoughts rather 
 than her words, the fear within Zahara grew greater 
 than the joy of the contest. 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 301 
 
 Awhile longer she stayed, seeking for a chink in the 
 armour. But she failed to kindle the light in his eyes 
 which — unless she had deluded herself — she had seen 
 there in the past; and because she failed and could 
 detect no note of tenderness in his impersonal 
 curiosity: 
 
 "You are lonely because yoU are so English, so 
 cold," she exclaimed, drawing her robe about her and 
 glancing sideways toward the door by which Agapou- 
 los might be expected to enter. "You are bored, yes. 
 Of course. You look on at life. It is not exciting, 
 that game — except for the players." 
 
 Never once had she looked at him in the Right Way; 
 for to have done so and to have evoked only that 
 amused yet compassionate smile would have meant 
 hatred, and Zahara had been taught that such hatred 
 was fatal because it was a confession of defeat. 
 
 "I shall see you again to-night, shall I not?" he said 
 as she turned away. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I shall be — on show. I hope you will ap- 
 prove." 
 
 She tossed her head like a petulant child, turned, 
 and with never another glance in his direction, walked 
 from the room. She was very graceful, he thought. 
 
 Yet it was not entirely of this strange half-caste, 
 whose beauty was provoking, although he resolutely 
 repelled her tentative advances, that Grantham was 
 thinking. In that last gesture when she had scorn- 
 fully tossed her head in turning aside, had lain a bitter 
 memory. Grantham stood for a moment watching 
 the swaying draperies. Then, dropping the end of his 
 
302 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 cigarette into a little brass ash-tray, he took up his hat, 
 gloves, and cane from the floor, and walked toward 
 the doorway through which he had entered. 
 
 A bell rang somewhere, and Grantham paused. A 
 close observer might have been puzzled by his expres- 
 sion. Evidently changing his mind, he crossed the 
 room, opened the door and Went out, leaving the 
 house of Agapoulos by a side entrance. Crossing the 
 little courtyard below he hurried in the direction of 
 the main street, seeming to doubt the shadows which 
 dusk was painting in the narrow ways. 
 
 Many men who know Chinatown disti-ust its shad- 
 ows, but the furtive fear of which Grantham had be- 
 come aware was due not to anticipation but to memory 
 — to a memory conjured up by that gesture of Za- 
 hara's. 
 
 There were few people in London or elsewhere who 
 knew the history of this scallywag Englishman. That 
 he had held the King's commission at some time was 
 generally assumed to be the fact, but that his real 
 name was not Grantham equally was taken for 
 granted. His continuing, nevertheless, to style him- 
 self "Major" was sufiicient evidence to those inter- 
 ested that Grantham lived by his wits ; and from the 
 fact that he lived well and dressed well one might have 
 deduced that his wits were bright if his morals were 
 turbid. 
 
 Now, the gesture of a woman piqued had called up 
 the deathless past. Hurrying through nearly empty 
 squalid streets, he found himself longing to pronounce 
 a name, to hear it spoken that he might linger over its 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 303 
 
 bitter sweetness. To this longing he presently suc- 
 cumbed, and: 
 
 "Inez," he whispered, and again more loudly, 
 "Inez." 
 
 Such a wave of lonely wretchedness and remorse 
 swept up about his heart that he was almost over- 
 whelmed by it, yet he resigned himself to its ruthless 
 cruelty with a sort of savage joy. The shadowed 
 ways of Limehouse ceased to exist for him, and in 
 spirit he stood once more in a queer, climbing, sun- 
 bathed street of Gibraltar looking out across that blue 
 ribbon of the Straits to where the African coast lay 
 hidden in the haze. 
 
 "I never knew," he said aloud. And one meeting 
 this man who hurried along and muttered to himself 
 must have supposed him to be mad. "I never knew. 
 Oh, God! if I had only known." 
 
 But he was one of those to whom knowledge comes 
 as a bitter aftermath. When his regiment had re- 
 ceived orders to move from the Rock, and he had in- 
 formed Inez of his departure, she had turned aside, 
 just as Zahara had done; scornfully and in silence. 
 Because of his disbelief in her he had guarded his 
 heart against this beautiful Spanish girl who (as he 
 realized too late) had brought him the only real hap- 
 piness he had ever known. Often she had told him of 
 her brother, Miguel, who would kill her — would kill 
 them both — if he so much as suspected their meetings ; 
 of her affianced husband, absent in Tunis, whose jeal- 
 ousy knew no bounds. 
 
 He had pretended to believe, had even wanted to 
 
304 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 believe ;but the witchery of the girl's presence removed, 
 he had laughed — at himself and at Inez. She was 
 playing the Great GamC; skilfully, exquisitely. When 
 he was gone— there would soon be someone else. 
 Yet he had never told her that he doubted. He Had 
 promised many things — and had left her. 
 
 She died by her own hand on the night of his de- 
 parture. 
 
 Now, as a wandering taxi came into view: "Inez!" 
 he moaned — "I never knew." 
 
 That brother whom he had counted a myth had suc- 
 ceeded in getting on board the transport. Before 
 Grantham's inner vision the whole dreadful scene now 
 Was reenacted: the struggle in the stateroom; he even 
 seemed to hear the sound of the shot, to see the Span- 
 iard, drenched with blood from a wound in his fore- 
 head, to hear his cry: 
 
 "I cannot seel I cannot seel Mother of Mercy! 
 I have lost ray sight I'* 
 
 It had broken Grantham. The scandal was hushed 
 up, but retirement was inevitable. He knew, too, that 
 the light had gone out of the world for him as it had 
 gone for Miguel da Mura. 
 
 It is sometimes thus that a scallywag is made. 
 
IV 
 
 THE STAR OF EGYPT 
 
 AS GRANTHAM went out by the side door, Has- 
 /jk san, soft of foot, appeared. Crossing to the 
 ^ -^ main door he opened it a'nd walked down the 
 narrow corridor beyond. Presently came the tap, 
 tap, tap of a shds. and a sound of muttered conversa- 
 tion in some place below. 
 
 Hassan reentered and went in through the curtained 
 doorway to summon Agapoulos. Agapoalos was 
 dressing and would not be disturbed. Hassan went 
 back to those who waited, but ere long returned again 
 chattering volubly to himself. Going behind the car- 
 ven screen he rapped upon the door of Zahara's room, 
 and she directed him to come in. To Zahara, Hassan 
 was no more than a piece of furniture, and she thought 
 as little of his intruding while she was in the midst of 
 her toilet as another woman would have thought of 
 the entrance of a maid. 
 
 "Two men," reported Hassan, "who won't go away 
 until they see somebody." 
 
 "Whom do they want to see?" she inquired indiffer- 
 raitly, adjusting the line of her eyebrow with an artisti- 
 cally pointed penciL 
 
 "They say whoever belongs here." 
 
 30s 
 
3o6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Zahara invariably spoke either French or English 
 to natives, and if Hassan had addressed her in Arabic 
 she would not have replied, although she spoke that 
 language better than she spoke any other. 
 
 "What are they like? Not — ^police?" 
 
 "Foreign," replied Hassan vaguely. 
 
 "English — ^American ?" 
 
 "No, not American or English. Very black hair, 
 dark skin." 
 
 Zahara, a student of men, became aware of a mild 
 Interest. These swarthy visitors should prove an 
 agreeable antidote to the poisonous calm of Harry 
 Grantham. She was trying with all the strength of 
 her strange, stifled soul not to think of Grantham, 
 and she was incapable of recognizing the fact that she 
 could think of nothing else and had thought of little 
 else for a long time past. Even now it was because 
 of him that she determined to interview the foreign 
 visitors. The mystery of her emotions puzzled her 
 more than ever. 
 
 She descended to a small, barely furnished room 
 on the ground floor, close beside the door opening 
 upon the street. It was lighted by one hanging lamp. 
 On the divan which constituted the principal item of 
 furniture a small man, slenderly built, was sitting. 
 He wore a broad-brimmed hat, so broad of brim that 
 it threw the whole of the upper part of his face into 
 shadow. It was impossible to see his eyes. Beside 
 him rested a heavy walking-stick. 
 
 As Zahara entered, a wonderful, gaily coloured 
 figure, this man did not move in the slightest, but sat, 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 307 
 
 chin on breast, his small, muscular, brown hands rest- 
 ing on his knees. His companion, however, a person 
 of more massive build, elegantly dressed and hand- 
 some in a swarthy fashion, bowed gravely and re- 
 moved his hat. Zahara liked his eyes, which were 
 dark and very bold looking. 
 
 "M. Agapoulos is engaged," she said, speaking in 
 French. "What is it you wish to know?" 
 
 The man regarded her fixedly, and: 
 
 "Seiiorita," he replied, "I will be frank with you." 
 
 Save for his use of the word "senorita" he also 
 spoke in French. Zahara drew her robe more closely 
 about her and adopted her most stately manner. 
 
 "My name," continued the other, "does not matter, 
 but my business. is to look into the affairs of other peo- 
 ple, you understand?" 
 
 Zahara, who understood from this that the man was 
 some kind of inquiry agent, opened her blue eyes very 
 widely and at the same time shook her head. 
 
 "No," she protested; "what do you mean?" 
 
 "A certain gentleman came here a short time ago, 
 came into this house and must be here now. Don't 
 be afraid. He has done nothing very dreadful," he 
 added reassuringly. 
 
 Zahara retreated a step, and a little wrinkle of dis- 
 approval appeared between her pencilled brows. She 
 no longer liked the man's eyes, she decided. They 
 were deceitful eyes. His companion had taken up 
 the heavy stick and was restlessly tapping the floor. 
 
 "There is no one here," said Zahara calmly, "ex- 
 cept the people who live in the house." 
 
3o8 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "He Is here, he Is here," muttered the man seated 
 on the divan. 
 
 The tapping of his stick had grown more rapid, 
 but as he had spoken in Spanish, Zahara, who was 
 ignorant of that language, had no idea what he had 
 said. 
 
 "My friend," continued the Spaniard, bowing 
 slightly in the direction of the slender man who so 
 persistently kept his broad-brimmed hat on his head, 
 "chanced to hear the voice of this gentleman as he 
 spoke to your porter on entering the door. And al- 
 though the door was closed too soon for us actually 
 to see him, we are convinced that he is the person we 
 seek." 
 
 "I think you are mistaken," said Zahara coolly. 
 "But what do you want him for?" 
 
 As she uttered the words she realized that even 
 the memory of Grantham was sufficient to cause her 
 to betray herself. She had betrayed her interest to 
 the man himself, and now she had betrayed it to this 
 dark-faced stranger whose manner was so mysterious. 
 The Spaniard recognized the fact, and, imlike Gran- 
 tham, acted upon it promptly. 
 
 "He has taken away the wife of another, Senorita," 
 he said simply, and watched her as he spoke the 
 lie. 
 
 She listened in silence, wide-eyed. Her lower lip 
 twitched, and $he bit It fiercely. 
 
 "He went first to Port Said and then came to Lon- 
 don with this woman," continued the Spaniard re- 
 morselessly. "We come from her husband to ask bei;' 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 309 
 
 to return. Yes, he will forgive her — or he offers her 
 freedom." 
 
 Rapidly but comprehensively the speaker's bold 
 glance travelled over Zahara, from her golden head to 
 her tiny embroidered shoes. 
 
 "If you can help us in this matter it will be worth 
 fifty English pounds to you," he concluded. 
 
 Zahara was breathing rapidly. The fatal hatred 
 which she had sought to stifle gained a new ritality. 
 Another woman — another woman actually here in 
 London I So there was someone upon whom he did 
 not look in that half-amused and half-compassionate 
 manner. How she hated him! How she hated the 
 woman to whom he had but a moment ago returned ! 
 
 "Then he will marry this other one?" she said sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Oh, no. Already he neglects heir. We think she 
 will go back." 
 
 Zahara experienced a swift change of sentiment. 
 She seemed to be compounded of two separate per- 
 sons, one of whom laughed cruelly at the foUy of the 
 other. 
 
 "What is the name of this man you think your friend 
 has recognized?" she asked. 
 
 The big stick was rapping furiously during this 
 colloquy. 
 
 "We are both sure, Senorita. His name is Major 
 %)alding." 
 
 That Spalding and Grantham were neighbooring 
 towns in Lincolnshire Zahara did not know, bat: 
 
 "No one of that name comes here," she replied* 
 
3IO TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "The one you heard and — ^who has gone — is not called 
 by that name." She spoke with forced calm. It was 
 Grantham they sought I "But what happens if I 
 show you this one who is not called Spalding?" 
 
 ' "No matter ! Point him out to me," answered the 
 Spaniard eagerly — and his dark eyes seemed to be on 
 fire — "point him Out to me and fifty pounds of English 
 money is yours I" 
 
 "Let me see." 
 
 He drew out a wallet and held up a number of notes. 
 
 "Fifty," he said, in a subdued voice, "when you 
 point him out." 
 
 For a long moment Zahara hesitated, then: 
 
 "Sixty," she corrected him — "nowl Then I will 
 do it to-night — if you tell what happens." 
 
 Exhibiting a sort of eager impatience the man dis- 
 played a bunch of oiEcial-looking documents. 
 
 "I give him these," he explained, "and my work is 
 done." 
 
 "H'm," said Zahara. "He must not know that 
 it is I who have shown him to you. To-night he will 
 be here at nine o'clock, and I shall dance. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Then," said the Spaniard eagerly, "this is what 
 you will do." 
 
 And speaking close to her ear he rapidly outlined 
 a plan ; but presently she interrupted him. 
 
 "Pooh! It is Spanish, the rose. I dance the 
 dances of Egypt." 
 
 "But to-night," he persisted, "it will not matter." 
 
 Awhile longer they talked, the rapping of the stick' 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 311 
 
 upon the tiled floor growing ever faster and faster. 
 But finally: 
 
 "I will tell Hassan that you are to be admitted," 
 said Zahara, and she held out her hand for the notes. 
 
 When, presently, the visitors departed, she learned 
 that the smaller man was blind; for his companion led 
 him out of the room and out of the house. She stopd 
 awhile listening to the tap, tap, tap of the heavy stick 
 receding along the street. What she did not hear, 
 and could not have understood had she heard, since it 
 was uttered in Spanish, was the cry of exultant ha- 
 tred which came from the lips of the taller man : 
 
 "At last, Miguel I at last 1 Though blind, you have 
 found him! You have not failed. / shall not faill" 
 
 :)f ^ :(: :|c :f£ 
 
 Zahara peeped through the carved screen at the as- 
 sembled company. They were smoking and drinking 
 and seemed to be in high good humour. Safiyeh had 
 danced and they had applauded the performance, but 
 had' complained to M. Agapoulos that they had seen 
 scores of such dances and dancers. Safiyeh, who had 
 very little English, had not understood this, and be- 
 cause presently she was to play upon the a'ood while 
 Zahara danced *the Dance of the Veils, X^h'&TZ had 
 avoided informing her of the verdict of the company. 
 
 Now as she peeped through the lattice In the screen 
 she could see the Greek haggling with Grantham and 
 a tall gray-haired man whom she supposed to be Sir 
 Horace Tipton. They were debating the additional 
 fees to be paid If Zahara, the Star of Egypt, was to 
 present the secret and wonderful dance of which all 
 
312 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 men had heard but which only a true daughter of the 
 ancient tribe of the Ghawazi could perform. 
 
 Sometimes Zahara was proud of her descent from a 
 dancing-girl of Kenneh. This wa^ always at night, 
 when a sort of barbaric excitement possessed her 
 which came from the blood of her mother. Then, a 
 new light entered her eyes and they seemed to grow 
 long and languid and dark, so that no one would have 
 suspected that in daylight they were blue. 
 
 A wild pagan abandon claimed her, and she seemed 
 to hear the wailing of reed instnmients and the throb 
 of the ancient drums which were played of old before 
 the kings of Eg3rpt Safiyeh was not a true dancing- 
 girl, and because she knew none of those fine frenzies, 
 she danced without inspiration, like a brown puppet 
 moved by strings. But she could play upon an a'ooi 
 much better than Zahara, and therefore must not be 
 upset until she had played for the Dance of the Veils- 
 Seeing that the bargain was all but concluded, 
 Zahara stole back to her room. Her lightly clad body 
 gleamed like that of some statue become animate. 
 
 Her cheeks flushed as she took up the veils, of 
 which she alone knew the symbolic meaning ; the white 
 veil, the purple veil: each had its story to tcU her; 
 and the veil of burning scarlet. 
 
 In a comer of the big room on a divan near the 
 door she had seen the Spaniard, a handsome, swarthy 
 figure in his well-fitting dress clothes, and now, open- 
 ing a drawer, she glanced at the little pile of notes 
 which represented her share of the bargain. There 
 were fifty. She had told Agapoulos that a distin- 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 313 
 
 gulshed foreigner with an introduction from someone 
 she knew had paid ten pounds to be present. And 
 because she had given Agapoulos the ten pounds, 
 Agapoulos had agreed to admit the visitor. 
 
 She could hear the Greek approaching now, but 
 she was thinking of Grantham whom she had last seen 
 in laughing conversation with the tall, gray-haired 
 man. His laughter had appeared forced. Doubtless 
 he grew weary of the woman he had brought to 
 London. 
 
 "Dance to-night with all the devil that is in you, 
 my beautiful," said Agapoulos, hurrying into the room. 
 
 Zahara turned aside, toying with the veils. 
 
 "They are rich, eh?" she said indifferently. 
 
 She was thinking of the fifty pounds which she had 
 earned so easily ;> and after all (how strangely her 
 mind wandered) perhaps he was really tired of the 
 woman. The Spaniard had said so. 
 
 "Very rich," murmured Agapoulos complacently. 
 
 He brushed his moustache and rattled keys In his 
 pocket. In his dress clothes he looked like the man- 
 ager of a prosperous picture palace. "Safiyehl" he 
 called. 
 
 When presently the music commenced, the players 
 concealed behind the tall screen, an expectant hush 
 fell upon the wine-flushed company. Hassan, who 
 played the darabukkeh, could modulate Its throbbing 
 so wonderfully. 
 
 Zahara entered the room, enveloped from shoulders 
 to ankles In a flame-coloured cloak. Between her hps 
 she held a red rose. 
 
314 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "By God, what a beauty!" said a husky voice. 
 
 Zahara did not know which of the party had 
 spoken, but she was conscious of the fact that by virtue 
 of the strange witchcraft which became hers on such 
 nights she held them all spell-bound. They were her 
 slaves. 
 
 Slowly she walked across the apartment while the 
 throbbing of the Arab drum grew softer and softer, 
 producing a weird effect of space and distance. All 
 eyes were fixed upon her, and meeting Grantham's 
 gaze she saw at last the Light there which she knew. 
 This sudden knowledge of triumph almost unnerved 
 her, and the rose which she had taken from between 
 her lips trembled in her white fingers. Two of the 
 petals fell upon the carpet, which was cream-coloured 
 from the looms of Ispahan. Like blood spots the 
 petals lay upon the cream surface. 
 
 Zahara swung sharply about. Agapoulos, seated 
 alone in the chair over which he had draped the 
 leopard skin, was busily brushing his moustache and 
 glancing sideways toward the screen which concealed 
 Safiyeh. Zahara tilted her head on to her shoulder 
 and cast a languorous glance into the shadows mask- 
 ing the watchful Spaniard. 
 
 She could see his eyes gleaming like those of a wild 
 beast. An icy finger seemed to touch her heart. He 
 had lied to her! She knew it, suddenly, intuitively. 
 Well, she would see. She also had guile. 
 
 With a little scornful laugh Zahara tossed the rose 
 on to the knees — of Agapoulos. 
 
 The sound of three revolver shots fired in quick 
 
THE DANCE OF THE VEILS 3 1 5 
 
 succession rang out above the throbbing music. 
 Agapoulos clutched at his shirt front with both hands, 
 uttered a stifled scream and tried to stand up. He 
 coughed, and glaring straight in front of him fell 
 forward across a little coffee table laden with cham- 
 pagne bottles and glasses. 
 
 Coincident with the crash made by his falling body- 
 came the loud bang of a door. The Spaniard had 
 gone. 
 
 "By God, sir! It's murder, it's murder!" cried 
 the same husky voice which had commented upon the 
 beauty of Zahara. 
 
 There was a mingling, purposeless movement. 
 Someone ran to the door — to find that it was locked 
 from the outside. Mr. Eddie, now recognizable by 
 his accent, came toward the prone man, dazed, horri- 
 fied, and grown very white. Zahara, a beautiful, 
 tragic figure, in her flaming cloak, stood looking down 
 at the dead man. Safiyeh was peeping round from 
 behind the screen, her face a brown mask of terror. 
 Hassan, holding his drum, appeared behind her, star- 
 ing stupidly. To the smell of cigar smoke and per- 
 fume a new and acrid odour was added. 
 
 Vaguely the truth was stealing in upon the mind 
 of the dancing-girl that she had been made party to a 
 plot to murder Grantham. She had saved his life. 
 He belonged to her now. She could hear him speak- 
 ing, although for some reason she could not see him. 
 A haze had come, blotting out everything but the still, 
 ungainly figure which lay so near her upon the carpet, 
 one clutching, fat hand, upon which a diamond glit- 
 
31 6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 tered, outstretched so that It nearly touched her bare 
 white feet. 
 
 "We must get out this way! The side door to the 
 courtyard ! None of us can afford to be mixed up in 
 an affair of this sort." 
 
 There was more confused movement and a buzz of 
 excited voices — meaningless, chaotic. Zahara could 
 feel the draught from the newly opened door. A thin 
 stream of blood was stealing across the carpet. It 
 had almost reached the fallen rose petals, which it 
 strangely resembled in colour under the light of the 
 lanterns. 
 
 As though dispersed by the draught, the haze lifted, 
 and Zahara saw Grantham standing by the open door- 
 way through which he had ushered out the other 
 visitors. 
 
 Wide-eyed and piteous she met his glance. She 
 had seen that night the Look in his eyes. She had 
 saved his life, and there was much, so much, that she 
 wanted to tell him. A thousand yearnings, InexpHc' 
 able, hitherto unknown, deep mysteries of her soul, 
 looked out of those great eyes. 
 
 "Don't think," he said tensely, "that I was deceived. 
 I saw the trick with the rose ! You are as guilty as 
 your villainous lover! Murderess!" 
 
 He went out and closed the door. The flame- 
 coloured cloak slowly slipped from Zahara's shoulders, 
 and the veils, like falling petals, began to drop gently 
 one by one upon the blood-stained carpet. 
 
THE HAND OF THE MANDARIN QUONG 
 
THE HAND OF THE MANDARIN QUONG 
 
 I 
 
 THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 
 
 SINGAPORE is by no means herself again," de- 
 clared Jennings, looking about the lounge of the 
 Hotel de I'Europe. "Don't you agree, Knox?" 
 
 Burton fixed his lazy stare upon the speaker. 
 
 "Don't blame poor old Singapore," he said. "There 
 is no spot in this battered world that I have succeeded 
 in discovering which is not changed for the worse." 
 
 Dr. Matheson flicked ash from his cigar and smiled 
 in that peculiarly happy manner which characterizes a 
 certain American type and which lent a boyish charm 
 to his personality, 
 
 "You are a pair of pessimists," he pronounced. 
 "For some reason best known to themselves Jennings 
 and Knox have decided upon a Busman's Holiday^ 
 Very welL Why grumble?" 
 
 "You are quite right, Doctor," Jennings admitted. 
 "When I was on service here in the Straits Settlements 
 I declared heaven knows how often that the country 
 would never see me again once I was demobbed. Yet 
 here you see I am; Burton belongs here; but here's 
 Knox, and we are all as fed up as we can be!" 
 
 319 
 
320 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "Yes," said Burton slowly. "I may be a bit tired 
 of Singapore. It's a queer thing, though, that you 
 fellows have drifted back here again. The call of 
 the East is no fable. It's a call that one hears for'' 
 ever." 
 
 The conversation drifted into another channel, and 
 all sorts of topics were discussed, from racing to the 
 latest feminine fashions, from ballroom dances to the 
 merits and demerits of coalition government. Then 
 suddenly : 
 
 "What became of Adderley?" asked Jennings. 
 
 There were several men in the party who had been 
 cronies of ours during the time that we were stationed 
 in Singapore, and at Jennings's words a sort of hush 
 seemed to fall on those who had known Adderley. I 
 cannot say if Jennings noticed this, but it was per- 
 fectly evident to me that Dr. Matheson had perceived 
 it, for he glanced swiftly across in my direction in an 
 ■oddly significant way. 
 
 "I don't know," replied Burton, who was an 
 engineer. "He was rather an unsavoury sort of char- 
 acter in some ways, but I heard that he came to a 
 sticky end." 
 
 "What do you mean?" I asked with curiosity, for 
 I myself had often wondered what had become of 
 Adderley. 
 
 "Well, he was reported to his C. O., or something, 
 wasn't he, just before the time for his demobilization? 
 I don't know the particulars; I thought perhaps you 
 did, as he was in your regiment." 
 
 "I have heard nothing whatever about it," I replied. 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 321 
 
 "You mean Sidney Adderley, the man who was so 
 indecently rich?" someone interjected. "Had a place 
 at Katong, and was always talking about his father's 
 millions?" 
 
 "That's the fellow." 
 
 "Yes," said Jennings, "there was some scandal, I 
 know, but it was after my time here." 
 
 "Something about an old mandarin out Johore 
 Bahru way, was it not?" asked Burton. "The last 
 thing I heard qbout Adderley was that he had dis- 
 appeared." 
 
 "Nobody would have cared much if he had," de- 
 clared Jennings. "I know of several who would have 
 been jolly glad. There was a lot of the brute about 
 Adderley, apart from the fact that he had more money 
 than was good for him. His culture was a veneer. 
 It was his check-book that spoke all the time." 
 
 "Everybody would have forgiven Adderley his 
 vulgarity," said Dr. Matheson, quietly, "if the man's 
 heart had been in the right place." 
 
 "Surely an instance of trying to make a silk purse 
 out of a sow's ear," someone murmured. 
 
 Burton gazed rather hard at the last speaker. 
 
 "So far as I am aware," he said, "the poor devil 
 is dead, so go easy." 
 
 "Are you sure he is dead?" asked Dr. Matheson, 
 glancing at Burton in that quizzical, amused way of 
 his. 
 
 "No, I am not sure; I am merely speaking from 
 hearsay. And now I come to think of it, the informa- 
 tion was rather vague. But I gathered that he ha4 
 
322 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 vanished, at any rate, and remembering certain earlier 
 episodes in his career, I was led to suppose that this 
 vanishing meant " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders significantly. 
 
 "You mean the old mandarin?" suggested Dr, 
 Matheson. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Was there really anything In that story, or was it 
 suggested by the unpleasant reputation of Adderley?" 
 Jennings asked. 
 
 "I can settle any doubts upon that point," said I; 
 whereupon I immediately became a focus of general 
 attention. 
 
 "What! were you ever at that place of Adderley's 
 at Katong?" asked Jennings with intense curiosity. 
 
 I nodded, lighting a fresh cigarette in a manner that 
 may have been unduly leisurely. 
 
 "Did you see her?" 
 
 Again I nodded. 
 
 "Really!" 
 
 "I must have been peculiarly favoured, but certainly 
 I had that pleasure." 
 
 "You speak of seeing her," said one of the party, 
 now entering the conversation for the first time. "To 
 whom do you refer?" 
 
 "Well," replied Burton, "it's really a sort of fairy 
 tale — unless Knox" — glacing across in my direction; — 
 "can confirm It. But there was a story current during 
 the latter part of Adderley's stay In Singapore to the 
 effect that he had made the acquaintance of the wife, 
 pr some member of the household, of an old gentleman 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 323 
 
 out Johorc Bahra way — sort of mandarin or big pot 
 among the Chinks." 
 
 "It was rumoured that he had bolted with her," 
 added another speaker. 
 
 "I think it was more than a rumour." 
 
 "Why do you say so?" 
 
 "WeU, representations were made to the authori- 
 ties, I know for an absolute certainty, and I have an 
 idea that Addcrley was kicked out of the Service as a 
 consequence of the scandal which resulted." 
 
 "How is it one never heard of this?" 
 
 "Money speaks, my dear fellow," cried Burton, 
 "even when it is possessed by such a peculiar out- 
 sider as Adderley. The thing was hushed up. It 
 was a very nasty business. But Knox was telling us 
 that he had actually seen the lady. Please carry on, 
 Knox, for I must admit that I am intensely curious." 
 
 "I can only say that I saw her on one occasion." 
 
 "With Adderley?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "At his place at Katong." 
 
 "I even thought his place at that resort was some- 
 thing of a myth," declared Jennings. "He never 
 asked me to go there, but, then, I took that as a 
 compliment. Pardon the apparent innuendo, Knox," 
 he added, laughing. "But you say you actually visited 
 the establishment?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied slowly, "I met him here in this 
 very hotel one evening in the winter of '15, after the 
 natives' attempt to mutiny. He had been drinking 
 
324 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 rather heavily, a fact which he was quite unable to 
 (disguise. He was never by any means a real friend 
 of mine ; in fact, I doubt that he had a true friend in 
 the world. Anyhow, I could see that he was lonely, 
 and as I chanced to be at a loose end I accepted an 
 invitation to go over to what he termed his 'little place 
 at Katong.' 
 
 "His little place proved to be a veritable palace. 
 The man privately, or rather, secretly, to be exact, 
 kept up a sort of pagan state. He had any number of 
 servants. Of course he became practically a million- 
 aire after the death of his father, as you will re- 
 member; and given more congenial company, I must 
 confess that I might have spent a most enjoyable even- 
 ing there. 
 
 "Adderley insisted upon priming me with cham- 
 pagne, and after a while I may as well admit that I 
 lost something of my former reserve, and began in a 
 fashion to feel that I was having a fairly good time. 
 By the way, my host was not quite frankly drunk. 
 He got into that objectionable and dangerous mood 
 which some of you will recall, and I could see by the 
 light in his eyes that there was mischief brewing, 
 although at the time I did not know its nature. 
 
 "I should explain that we were amusing ourselves 
 in a room which was nearly as large as the lounge of 
 this hotel, and furnished in a somewhat similar 
 manner. There were carved pillars and stained glass 
 domjs, a little fountain, and all those other peculiari- 
 ties of an Eastern household. 
 
 "Presently, Adderley gave an order to one of his 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 3251 
 
 servants, and glanced at me with that sort of mocking, 
 dare-devil look in his eyes which I loathed, which 
 everybody loathed who ever met the man. Of course 
 I had no idea what all this portended, but I was very 
 shortly to learn. 
 
 "While he was still looking at me, but stealing 
 side-glances at a doorway before which was draped 
 a most wonderful curtain of a sort of flamingo colour, 
 this curtain was suddenly pulled aside, and a girl 
 came in. 
 
 "Of course, you must remember that at the time of 
 which I am speaking the scandal respecting the man- 
 darin had not yet come to light. Consequently I had 
 no idea who the girl could be. I saw she was a 
 Eurasian. But of her striking beauty there could be 
 no doubt whatever. She was dressed in magnificent 
 robes, and she literally glittered with jewels. She 
 even wore jewels upon the toes of her little bare feet. 
 But the first thing that struck me at the moment of her 
 appearance was that her presence there was contrary 
 to her wishes and inclinations. I have never seen a 
 similar expression in any woman's eyes. She looked 
 at Adderley as though she would gladly have slain him I 
 
 "Seeing this look, his mocking smile in which there 
 was something of triumph — of the joy of possession 
 — turned to a scowl of positive brutality. He clenched 
 his fists in a way that set me bristling. He advanced 
 toward the girl — and although the width of the room 
 divided them, she recoiled — and the significance of 
 expression and gesture was unmistakable. Adderley 
 paused. 
 
326 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 " 'So you have piade up your mind to dance after 
 all?' he shouted. 
 
 "The look in the girl's dark eyes wus pitiful, and 
 she turned to me with a glance of dumb entreaty. 
 
 "'No, no!' she cried. 'No, no! Why do you 
 bring me here ?' 
 
 "'Dance!' roared Adderley. 'Dance! That's 
 what I want you to do.' 
 
 "Rebellion leapt again to the wonderful eyes, and 
 she started back with a perfectly splendid gesture of 
 defiance. At that my brutal and drunken host leapt 
 In her direction. I was on my feet now, but before I 
 could act the girl said a thing which checked him, 
 sobered him, which pulled him up short, as though 
 he had encountered a stone wall. 
 
 "'Ah, God!' she said. (She was speaking, of 
 course, in her native tongue. ) 'His hand ! His hand ! 
 Look! His hand!' 
 
 "To me her words were meaningless, naturally, but 
 following the direction of her positively agonized 
 glance I saw that she was watching what seemed to 
 me to be the shadow of someone moving behind the 
 flame-like curtain which produced an elect not unlike 
 that of a huge, outstretched hand, the fingers crooked, 
 claw-fashion. 
 
 " 'Knox, Knoxl' whispered Adderley, grasping me 
 by the shoulder. 
 
 "He pointed with a quivering finger toward this 
 indistinct sha,dow upon the curtain, and : 
 
 " 'Do you see it — dp you see it?' he said huskily. 
 'It is his hand — it is his hand !' 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 32^ 
 
 "Of the pair, I think, the man was the more 
 frightened. But the girl, uttering a frightful shriek, 
 ran out of the room as though pursued by a demon. 
 As she did so whoever had been moving behind the 
 curtain evidently went away. The shadow disap- 
 peared, and Adderley, still staring as if hypnotized at 
 the spot where it had been, continued to hold my 
 shoulder as in a vise. Then, sinking down upon a 
 heap of cushions beside me, he loudly and shakily 
 ordered more champagne. 
 
 "Utterly mystified by the incident, I finally left him 
 in a state of stupor, and returned to my quarters, 
 wondering whether I had dreamed half of the episode 
 or the whole of it, whether he did really possess that 
 wonderful palace, or whether he had borrowed it to 
 impress me." 
 
 I ceased speaking, and my story was received in 
 absolute silence, until: 
 
 "And that is all you know?" said Burton, 
 "Absolutely all. I had to leave about that time, 
 you remember, and afterward went to France." 
 
 "Yes, I remember. It was while you were away 
 that the scandal arose respecting the mandarin. Extra- 
 ordinary story, Knox. I should like to know what it 
 all meant, and what the end of it was." 
 Dr. Mathcson broke his long silence. 
 "Although I am afraid I cannot enlighten you re- 
 specting the end of the story," he said quietly, "per- 
 haps I can carry it a step further." 
 
 "Really, Doctor? What do you know about thq 
 matter?" 
 
328 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "I accidentally became Implicated as follows," re- 
 plied the American: "I was, as you know, doing 
 voluntary surgical work near Singapore at the time, 
 and one evening, presumably about the same period 
 of which Knox is speaking, I was returning from the 
 hospital at Katong, at which I acted sometimes as 
 anaesthetist, to my quarters in Singapore; just drift- 
 ing along, leisurely by the edge of the gardens admir- 
 ing the beauty of the mangroves and the deceitful peace 
 of the Eastern night. 
 
 "The hour was fairly late and not a soul was about. 
 Nothing disturbed the silence except those vague 
 sibilant sounds which are so characteristic of the 
 country. Presently, as I rambled on with my thoughts 
 wandering back to the dim ages, I literally fell over 
 a man who lay in the road. 
 
 "I was naturally startled, but I carried an electric 
 pocket torch, and by its light I discovered that the 
 person over whom I had fallen was a dignified-looking 
 Chinaitaan, somewhat past middle age. His clothes, 
 which were of good quality, were covered with dirt 
 and blood, and he bore all the appearance of having 
 recently been engaged in a very tough struggle. His 
 face was notable only for its possession of an unusually 
 long jet-black moustache. He had swooned from 
 loss of blood." 
 
 "Why, was he wounded?" exclaimed Jennings. 
 
 "His hand had been nearly severed from his wrist!" 
 
 "Merciful heavens 1" 
 
 "I realized the impossibility of carrying him so far 
 as the hospital, and accordingly I extemporized a 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 329 
 
 rough tourniquet and left him under a palm tree by 
 the road until I obtained assistance. Later, at the 
 hospital, following a consultation, we found it neces- 
 sary to amputate." 
 
 "I should say he objected fiercely?" 
 
 "He was past objecting to anything, otherwise I 
 have no doubt he would have objected furiously. The 
 index finger of the injured hand had one of those pre- 
 ternaturally long nails, protected by an engraved 
 golden case. However, at least I gave him a chance 
 of life. He was under my care for some time, but I 
 doubt if ever he was properly grateful. He had an 
 iron constitution, though, and I finally allowed him 
 to depart. One queer stipulation he had made — that 
 the severed hand, with its golden nail-case, should be 
 given to him when he left hospital. And this bargain 
 I faithfully carried out." 
 
 "Most extraordinary," I said. "Did you ever learn 
 the identity of the old gentleman?" 
 
 "He was very reticent, but I made a number of 
 inquiries, and finally learned with absolute certainty, 
 I think, that he was the Mandarin Quong Mi Su from 
 Johore Bahru, a person of great repute among the 
 Chinese there, and rather a big man in China. He 
 was known locally as the Mandarin Quong." 
 
 "Did you learn anything respecting how he had 
 come by his injury. Doctor?" 
 
 Matheson smiled in his quiet fashion, and selected 
 a fresh cigar with great deliberation. Then: 
 
 "I suppose it is scarcely a case of betraying a pro- 
 fessional secret," he said, "but during the time that my 
 
330 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 patient was recovering from the effects of the anjes- 
 thetic he unconsciously gave mc several clues to the 
 nature of the episode. Putting two and two together 
 I gathered that someone, although the name of this 
 person never once passed the lips of the mandarin, 
 had abducted his favourite wife." 
 
 "Good heavens ! truly amazing," I exclaimed. 
 
 "Is it not? How small a place the world is. My 
 old mandarin had traced the abductor and presumably 
 the girl to some house which I gathered to be in the 
 neighbourhood of Katong. In an attempt to force an 
 entrance — doubtless with the amiable purpose of 
 slaying them both — ^he had been detected by the prime 
 object of his hatred. In hurriedly descending from a 
 window he had been attacked by some weapon, pos- 
 sibly a sword, and had only made good his escape in 
 the condition in which I found him. How far he had 
 proceeded I cannot say, but I should imagine that the 
 house to which he had been was no great distance from 
 the spot where I found him." 
 
 "Comment is really superfluous^" remarked Burton. 
 "He was looking for Adderley." 
 
 "I agree," said Jennings. 
 
 "And," I added, "it was evidently after this episode 
 that I had the privilege of visiting that interesting 
 establishment." 
 
 There was a short interval of silence ; then : 
 
 "You probably retain no very clear impression of 
 the shadow which you saw," said Dr. Matheson, with 
 great deliberation. "At the time perhaps you had less 
 occasion particularly to study it. But are you satisfied 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 331 
 
 that it was really caused by someone moving behind 
 the curtain?" 
 
 I considered his question for a few moments. 
 
 "I am not," I confessed. "Your story, Doctor, 
 makes me wonder whether it may not have been due 
 to something else." 
 
 "What else can it have been due to?" exclaimed 
 Jennings contemptuously — "unless to the champagne?" 
 
 "I won't quote Shakespeare," said Dr. Matheson, 
 smiling in his odd way. "The famous lines, though 
 appropriate, are somewhat overworked. But I will 
 quote Kipling: 'East is East, and West is West' " 
 
II 
 
 THE LADY OF KATONG 
 
 FULLY six months had elapsed, and on returning 
 from Singapore I had forgotten all about Add- 
 erley and the unsavoury stories connected with 
 his reputation. Then, one evening as I was strolling 
 aimlessly along St. James's Street, wondering how I 
 was going to kill time — for almost everyone I knew 
 was out of town, including Paul Harley, and London 
 can be infinitely more lonely under such conditions than 
 any desert — I saw a thick-set figure approaching along 
 the other side of the street. 
 
 The swing of the shoulders, the aggressive turn of 
 the head, were vaguely familiar, and while I was 
 searching my memory and endeavouring to obtain a 
 view of the man's face, he stared across in my direction. 
 
 It was Adderley. 
 
 He looked even more debauched than I remem- 
 bered him, for whereas in Singapore he had had a 
 tanned skin, now he looked unhealthily pallid and 
 blotchy. He raised his hand, and : 
 
 "Knox!" he cried, and ran across to greet me. 
 
 His boisterous manner and a sort of coarse geniality 
 which he possessed had made him popular with a 
 certain set in former days, but I, who knew that this 
 
 332 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 333 
 
 geniality was forced, and assumed to conceal a sort of 
 appalling animalism, had never been deceived by it. 
 Most people found Adderley out sooner or later, but 
 I had detected the man's true nature from the very 
 beginning. His eyes alone were danger signals for 
 any amateur psychologist. However, I greeted him 
 civilly enough : 
 
 "Bless my soul, you are looking as fit as a fiddle !" 
 he cried. "Where have you been, and what have you 
 been doing since I saw you last?" 
 
 "Nothing much," I replied, "beyond trying to settle 
 down in a reformed world." 
 
 "Reformed world!" echoed Adderley. "More like 
 a ruined world it has seemed to me." 
 
 He laughed loudly. That he had already explored 
 several bottles was palpable. 
 
 We were silent for a while, mentally weighing one 
 another up, as it were. Then: 
 
 "Are you living in town?" asked Adderley. 
 
 "I am staying at the Carlton at the moment," I 
 replied. "My chambers are in the hands of the 
 decorators. It's awkward. Interferes with my 
 work." 
 
 ' "Work!" cried Adderley. "Work! It's a nasty 
 word, Knox. Are you doing anything now?" 
 
 "Nothing, until eight o'clock, when I have an ap- 
 pointment." 
 
 "Come along to my place," he suggested, "and have 
 a cup of tea, or a whisky and soda if you prefer it." 
 
 Probably I should have refused, but even as he 
 spoke I was mentally translated to the lounge of the 
 
334 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Hotel de I'Europe, and prompted by a very human 
 curiosity I determined to accept his invitation. I 
 wondered if Fate had thrown an opportunity in my 
 way of learning the end of the peCuliair story which 
 had been related on that occasion. 
 
 I accompanied Adderley to his chambers, which 
 were within a stone's throw of the spot where I had 
 met him. That this gift for making himself unpop- 
 ular with all and sundry, high and low, had not 
 deserted him, was illustrated by the attitude of the 
 liftman as we entered the hall of the chambers. He 
 was barely civil to Adderley and even regarded my- 
 self with marked disfavour. 
 
 We were admitted by Adderley's man, whom I had 
 not seen before, but who was some kind of foreigner, 
 I think a Portuguese. It was characteristic of Ad- 
 derley. No Englishman would ever serve him for 
 long, and there had been more than one man in 
 his old Company who had openly avowed his inten- 
 tion of dealing with Adderley on the first available 
 occasion. 
 
 His chambers were ornately furnished; Indeed, the 
 room in which we sat more closely resembled a scene 
 from an Oscar Asche production than a normal man's 
 study. There was something unreal about it all. I 
 have since thought that this unreality extended to the 
 person of the man himself. Grossly material, he yet 
 possessed an aura of mystery, mystery of an unsavoury 
 sort. There was something furtive, secretive, about 
 Adderley's entire mode of life. 
 
 I had never felt at ease In his company, and now 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 335 
 
 as I sat Btaring wonderingly at the strange and costly 
 ornaments with which the room was overladen I be- 
 thought me of the object of my visit. How I should 
 have brought the conversation back to our Singapore 
 days I know not, but a suitable opening was presently 
 offered by Adderley himself. 
 
 "Do you ever see any of the old gang?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 "I was in Singapore about six months ago," I 
 replied, "and I met some of them again." 
 
 "What 1 Had they drifted back to the East after 
 aU?" 
 
 "Two or three of them were taking what Dr. Mathn 
 esbn described as a Busman's Holiday." 
 
 At mention of Dr. Matheson's name Adderley 
 visibly started. 
 
 "So you know Mathcson," he murmured. "I 
 didn't know you had ever met him." 
 
 Plainly to hide his confusion he stood up, and 
 crossing the room drew my attention to a rather fine 
 silver bowl of early Persian ware. He was displaying 
 its peculiar virtues and showing a certain acquaintance 
 with his subject when he was interrupted. A door 
 opened suddenly and a girl came in. Adderley put 
 down the bowl and turned rapidly as I rose from my 
 seat. 
 
 It was the lady of Katong! 
 
 I recognized her at once, although she wore a very 
 up-to-date gown. While it did not suit her dark good 
 looks so well as the native dress which she had worn 
 at Singapore, yet it could not conceal the fact that in 
 a barbaric way she was a very beautiful woman. On 
 
336 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 finding a visitor in the room she became covered with 
 confusion. 
 
 "Oh," she said, speaking in Hindustani. "Why 
 did you not tell me there was someone here?" 
 
 Adderley's reply was characteristically brutal. 
 
 "Get out," he said. "You fool." 
 
 I turned to go, for I was conscious of an intense 
 desire to attack my host. But : 
 
 "Don't go, Knox, don't go !" he cried. "I am sorry, 
 I am damned sorry, I " 
 
 He paused, and looked at me in a queer sort of 
 appealing way. The girl, her big eyes widely open, 
 retreated again to the door, with curious lithe steps, 
 characteristically Oriental. The door regained, she 
 paused for a moment and extended one small hand 
 in Adderley's direction. 
 
 "I hate you," she said slowly, "hate you! Hate 
 you!" 
 
 She went out, quietly closing the door behind her. 
 Adderley turned to me with an embarrassed laugh. 
 
 "I know you think I am a brute and an outsider," 
 he said, "and perhaps I am. Everybody says I am, 
 so I suppose there must be something in it. But if 
 ever a man paid for his mistakes I have paid for mine, 
 Knox. Good God, I haven't a friend in the world." 
 
 "You probably don't deserve one," I retorted. 
 
 "I know I don't, and that's the tragedy of it," he 
 replied. "You may not believe it, Knox; I don't 
 expect anybody to believe me; but for more than a 
 •year I have been walking on the edge of Hell. Do 
 you know where I have been since I saw you last?" 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 337 
 
 I shook my head in answer. 
 
 "I have been half round the world, Knox, trying to 
 find peace." 
 
 "You don't know where to look for it," I said. 
 
 "If only you knew," he whispered. "If only you 
 knew," and sank down upon the settee, ruffling his 
 hair with his hands and looking the picture of hag- 
 gard misery. Seeing that I was still set upon depar- 
 ture: 
 
 "Hold on a bit, Knox," he implored. "Don't go 
 yet. There is something I want to ask you, something 
 very important." 
 
 He crossed to a sideboard and mixed himself a stifE 
 whisky-and-soda. He asked me to join him, but I 
 refused. 
 
 "Won't you sit down again?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You came to my place at Katong once," he began 
 abruptly. "I was damned drunk, I admit it. But 
 something happened, do you remember?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "This is what I want to ask you: Did you, or did 
 you not, see that shadow?" 
 
 I stared him hard in the face. 
 
 "I remember the episode to which you refer," I 
 replied. "I certainly saw a shadow." 
 
 "But what sort of shadow?" 
 
 "To me it seemed an indefinite, shapeless thing, as 
 though caused by someone moving behind the cur- 
 tain." 
 
 "It didn't look to you like — the shadow of a hand?" 
 
338 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "It might have been, but I could not be positive." 
 
 Adderley groaned. 
 
 "Knox," he said, "money is a curse. It has been 
 a curse to me. If I have had my fun, God knows I 
 have paid for it." 
 
 "Your idea of fun Is probably a peculiar one," I 
 said dryly. 
 
 Let me confess that I was only suffering the man's 
 society because of an intense curiosity which now 
 possessed me on learning that the lady of Katong was 
 still in Adderley's company. 
 
 Whether my repugnance for his society would have 
 enabled me to remain any longer I cannot say. But 
 as if Fate had deliberately planned that I should be- 
 come a witness of the conchiding phases of this secret 
 drama, we were now interrupted a second time, and 
 again in a dramatic fashion. 
 
 Adderley's nondescript valet came in with letters 
 and a rather large brown paper parcel sealed and 
 fastened with great care. 
 
 As the man went out : 
 
 "Surely that is from Singapore," muttered Adder- 
 ley, taking up the parcel. 
 
 He seemed to become temporarily oblivious of my 
 presence, and his face grew even more haggard as he 
 studied the writing upon the wrapper. With unsteady 
 fingers he untied it, and I lingered, watching curi- 
 ously. Presently out from the wrappings he took 
 a very beautiful casket of ebony and ivory, cun- 
 ningly curved and standing upon four claw-like ivory 
 legs. 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 339 
 
 "What the devil's this?" he muttered. 
 He opened the box, which was lined with sandal- 
 wood, and thereupon started back with a great cry, 
 recoiling from the casket as though it had contained 
 an adder. My former sentiments forgotten, I stepped 
 forward and peered into the interior. Then I, in 
 turn, recoiled. 
 
 In the box lay a shrivelled yellow hand — ^with long 
 tapering and well-manicured nails — neatly severed at 
 the wrist 1 
 
 The nail of the Index finger was enclosed in a tiny, 
 delicately fashioned case of gold, upon which were 
 engraved a number of Chinese characters. 
 
 Adderley sank down again upon the settee. 
 
 "My Godl" he whispered, "his hand! His hand! 
 He has sent me his hand/" 
 
 He began laughing. Whereupon, since I could see 
 that the man was practically hysterical because of his 
 mysterious fears: 
 
 "Stop that," I said sharply. "Pull yourself to- 
 gether, Adderley. What the deuce Is the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 "Take It away!" he moaned, "take it away. Take 
 the accursed thing away!" 
 
 "I admit it is an unpleasant gift to send to anybody," 
 I said, "but probably you know more about it than I 
 do." 
 
 "Take It away," he repeated. "Take it away, for 
 God's sake, take it away, Knox!" 
 
 He was quite beyond reason, and therefore: 
 
 "Very well," I said, and wrapped the casket In the 
 
340 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 brown paper in which it had come. "What do you 
 want me to do with it?" 
 
 "Throw it in the river," he answered. "Burn it. 
 Do anything you like with it, but take it out of my 
 sight!" 
 
Ill 
 
 THE GOLD-CASED NAIL 
 
 ^S I descended to the street the liftman regarded 
 /-\ me In a curious and rather significant way. 
 ■^ -^ Finally, just as I was about to step out into 
 the hall: 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," he said, having evidently decided 
 that I was a fit person to converse with, "but are you 
 a friend of Mr. Adderley's?" 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Well, sir, I hope you will excuse me, but at times 
 I have thought the gentleman was just a little bit 
 queer, like." 
 
 "You mean insane?" I asked sharply. 
 
 "Well, sir, I don't know, but he is always asking 
 me if I can see shadows and things in the lift, and 
 sometimes when he comes in late of a night he abso- 
 lutely gives me the cold shivers, he does." 
 
 I lingered, the box under my arm, reluctant to ob- 
 tain confidences from a servant, but at the same time 
 keenly interested. Thus encouraged: 
 
 "Then there's that lady friend of his who is always 
 coming here," the man continued. "She's haunted by 
 shadows, too." He paused, watching me narrowly. 
 
 341 
 
342 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "There's nothing better in this world than a clean 
 conscience, sir," he concluded. 
 
 :(c ^ sf: sf: :4c 
 
 Having returned to my room at the hotel, I set 
 down the mysterious parcel, surveying it with much 
 disfavour. That it contained the hand of the Man- 
 darin Quong I could not doubt, the hand which had 
 been amputated by Dr. Matheson. Its appearance 
 in that dramatic fashion confirmed Matheson's idea 
 that the mandarin's injury had been received at the 
 hands of Adderley. What did all this portend, unless 
 that the Mandarin Quong was dead? And if he were 
 dead why was Adderley more afraid of him dead than 
 he had been of him living? 
 
 I thought of the haunting shadow, I thought of the 
 night at Katong, and I thought of Dr. Matheson's 
 words when he had told us of his discovery of the 
 Chinaman lying in the road that night outside Singa- 
 pore. 
 
 I felt strangely disinclined to touch the relic, and 
 it was only after some moments' hesitation that I 
 undid the wrappings and raised the lid of the casket. 
 Dusk was very near and I had not yet lighted the 
 lamps ; therefore at first I doubted the evidence of my 
 senses. But having lighted up and peered long and 
 anxiously into the sandal-wood lining of the casket I 
 could doubt no longer. 
 
 The casket was empty! 
 
 It was like a conjuring trick. That the hand had 
 been in the box when I had taken it up from Adder- 
 ley's table I could have sworn before any jury. When 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 343 
 
 and by whom it had been removed was a puzzle be- 
 yond my powers of unravelling. I stepped toward 
 the telephone — and then remembered that Paul Harley 
 was out of London. Vaguely wondering if Adderley 
 had played me a particularly gruesome practical joke, 
 I put the box on a sideboard and again contemplated 
 the telephone doubtfully for a moment. It was in my 
 mind to ring him up. Finally, taking all things into 
 consideration, I determined that I would have nothing 
 further to do with the man's unsavoury and mys- 
 terious affairs. 
 
 It was in vain, however, that I endeavoured to dis- 
 miss the matter from my mind; and throughout the 
 evening, which I spent at a theatre with some Ameri- 
 can friends, I found myself constantly thinking of 
 Adderley and the ivory casket, of the mandarin of 
 Johore Bahru, and of the mystery of the shrivelled 
 yellow hand. 
 
 I had been back in my room about half an hour, 
 I suppose, and it was long past midnight, when I was 
 startled by a ringing of my telephone bell. I took up 
 the receiver, and : 
 
 "Knox! Knox!" came a choking cry. 
 
 "Yes, who Is speaking?" 
 
 "It is I, Adderley. For God's sake come round 
 to my place at once I" 
 
 His words were scarcely intelligible. Undoubtedly 
 he was in the grip of intense emotion. 
 
 "What do you mean? What is the matter?" 
 
 "It is here, Knox, it is here! It is knocking on 
 the door! Knocking! Knocking!" 
 
344 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "You have been drinking," I said sternly. "Where 
 is your man?" 
 
 "The cur has bolted. He bolted the moment he 
 heard that damned knocking. I am all alone ; I have 
 no one else to appeal to." There came a choking 
 sound, then: "My God, Knox, it is getting in! I can 
 see . . . the shadow on the blind . . ." 
 
 Convinced that Adderley's secret fears had driven 
 him mad, I nevertheless felt called upon to attend to 
 his urgent call, and without a moment's delay I hurried 
 around to St. James's Street. The liftman was not 
 on duty, the lower hall was in darkness, but I raced 
 up the stairs and found to my astonishment that Adder- 
 ley's door was wide open. 
 
 "Adderley!" I cried. "Adderley!" 
 
 There was no reply, and without further ceremony 
 I entered and searched the chambers. They were 
 empty. Deeply mystified, I was about to go out 
 again when there came a ring at the door-bell. I 
 walked to the door and a policeman was standing 
 upon the landing. 
 
 "Good evening, sir," he said, and then paused, 
 staring at me curiously. 
 
 "Good evening, constable," I replied. 
 
 "You are not the gentleman who ran out awhile 
 ago," he said, a note of suspicion coming into his 
 voice. 
 
 I handed him my card and explained what had 
 occurred, then: 
 
 "It must have been Mr. Adderley I saw," muttered 
 the con^ble. 
 
HAND OF MANDARIN QUONG 345 
 
 'Tou saw — ^when?" 
 
 "Just before you arrived, sir. He came racing 
 out into St. James's Street and dashed off like a mad- 
 man." 
 
 "In which direction was he going?" 
 
 "Toward Pall Mall." 
 
 The neighbourhood was practically deserted at that 
 hour. But from the guard on duty before the palace 
 we obtained our first evidence of Adderley's move- 
 ments. He had raced by some five mmutes before, 
 frantically looking back over his shoulder and behav- 
 ing like a man flying for his life. No one else had 
 seen him. No one else ever did see him alive. At 
 two o'clock there was no news, but I had informed 
 Scotland Yard and official inquiries had been set afoot 
 
 Nothing further came to light that night, but as all 
 readers of the daily press will remember, Adderley's 
 body was taken out of the pond in St. James's Park 
 on the following day. Death was due to drowning, 
 but his throat was greatly discoloured as though it 
 had been clutched in a fierce grip. 
 
 It was I who identified the body, and as many 
 people will know, in spite of the closest inquiries, the 
 mystery of Adderley's death has not been properly 
 cleared up to this day. The identity of the lady who 
 visited him at his chambers was never discovered. 
 She completely disappeared. 
 
 The ebony and ivory casket lies on my table at this 
 present moment, visible evidence of an invisible menace 
 from which Adderley had fled around the world. 
 
346 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 Doubtless the truth will never be known now. A 
 significant discovery, however, was made some days 
 after the recovery of Adderley's body. 
 
 From the bottom of the pond in St. James's Park 
 a patient Scotland Yard official brought up the gold 
 nail-case with its mysterious engravings — and it con- 
 tained, torn at the root, the incredibly long finger-nail 
 of the Mandarin Qiiong I 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE OF HEAVEN 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE OF HEAVEN 
 
 I 
 
 THE KEEPER OF THE KEY 
 
 THE note of a silver bell quivered musically 
 through the scented air of the ante-room. 
 Madame de Medici stirred slightly upon the 
 divan with its many silken cushions, turning her head 
 toward the closed door with the languorous, almost 
 insolent, indifference which one perceives in the move- 
 ments of a tigress. Below, in the lobby, where the 
 pillars of Mokattam alabaster upheld the painted 
 roof, the little yellow man from Pekin shivered 
 slightly, although the air was warm for Limehouse, 
 and always turned his mysterious eyes toward a corner 
 of the great staircase which was visible from where he 
 sat, coiled up, a lonely figure in the mushrabiyeh chair, 
 Madame blew a wreath of smoke from her lips, and, 
 through half-closed eyes, watched it ascend, unbroken, 
 toward the canopy of cloth-of-gold which masked the 
 ceiling. A Madonna by Leonardo da Vinci faced her 
 across the apartment, the painted figure seeming to 
 watch the living one upon the divan. Madame 
 smiled into the eyes of the Madonna. Surely even the 
 great Leonardo must have failed to reproduce that 
 
 .34.9 
 
350 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 smile — the great Leonardo whose supreme art has 
 captured the smile of Mona Lisa. Madame had the 
 smile of Cleopatra, which, it is said, made Caesar mad, 
 though in repose the beauty of Egypt's queen left him 
 cold. A robe of Kashmiri silk, fine with a phantom 
 fineness, draped her exquisite shape as the art of 
 Cellini draped the classic figures which he wrought in 
 gold and silver ; it seemed incorporate with her beauty. 
 
 A second wreath of smoke curled upward to the 
 canopy, and Madame watched this one also through 
 the veil of her curved black lashes, as the Eastern 
 woman watches the world through her veil. Those 
 eyes were notable even in so lovely a setting, for they 
 were of a hue rarely seen in human eyes, being like the 
 eyes of a tigress; yet they could seem voluptuously 
 soft, twin pools of liquid amber, in whose depths a 
 man might lose his soul. 
 
 Again the silver bell sounded in the ante-room, 
 and, below, the little yellow man shivered sympathet- 
 ically. Again Madame stirred with that high disdain 
 that so became her, who had the eyes of a tigress. 
 Her carmine lips possessed the antique curve which 
 we are told distinguished the lips of the Comtesse de 
 Cagliostro; her cheeks had the freshness of flowers, 
 and her hair the blackness of ebony, enhancing the 
 miracle of her skin, which had the whiteness of ivory 
 — ^not of African ivory, but of that fossil ivory which 
 has lain for untold ages beneath the snows of Siberia. 
 ' She dropped the cigarette from her tapered fingers 
 into a little silver bowl upon a table at her side, then 
 lightly touched the bell which stood there also. Its 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 351 
 
 soft note answered to the bell in the ante-room; a 
 white-robed Chinese servant silently descended the 
 great staircase, his soft red slippers sinking into the 
 rich pile of the carpet ; and the little yellow man from 
 the great temple in Pekin followed him back up the 
 stairway and was ushered into the presence of 
 Madame de Medici. 
 
 The servant closed the door silently and the little 
 yellow man, fixing his eyes upon the beautiful woman 
 before him, fell upon his knees and bowed his fore- 
 head to the carpet. 
 
 Madame's lovely lips curved again in the disdainful 
 smile, and she extended one bare ivory arm toward the 
 visitor who knelt as a suppliant at her feet. 
 
 "Rise, my friend!" she said, in purest Chinese, 
 which fell from her lips with the music of a crystal 
 spring. "How may I serve you?" 
 
 The yellow man rose and advanced a step nearer to 
 the divan, but the strange beauty of Madame had 
 spoken straight to his Eastern heart, had awakened 
 his soul to a new life. His glance travelled over the 
 vision before him, from the little Persian slipper that 
 peeped below the drapery of Kashmiri silk to the small 
 classic head with its crown of ebon locks ; yet he dared 
 not meet the glance of the amber eyes. 
 
 "Sit here beside me," directed Madame, and she 
 slightly changed her position with that languorous 
 and lithe grace suggestive of a creature of the jungle. 
 Breathing rapidly betwixt the importance of his 
 mission and a new, intoxicatmg emotion which had 
 come upon him at the moment of entering the per- 
 
352 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 fumed room, the yellow man obeyed, but always with 
 glance averted from the taunting face of Madame. A 
 golden incense-burner stood upon the floor, over be- 
 tween the high, draped windows, and a faint pencil 
 from its dying fires stole grayly upward. Upon the 
 scented smoke the Buddhist priest fixed his eyes, and 
 began, with a rapidity that grew as he proceeded, to 
 pour out his tale. Seated beside him, one round arm 
 resting upon the cushions so as almost to touch him, 
 Madame listened, watching the averted yellow face, 
 and always smiling — smiling. 
 
 The tale was done at last; the incense-burner was 
 cold, and breathlessly the Buddhist clutched his knees 
 with lean, clawish fingers and swayed to and fro, 
 striving to conquer the emotions that whirled and 
 fought within him. Selecting another cigarette from 
 the box beside her, and lighting it deliberately, 
 Madame de Medici spoke. 
 
 "My friend of old," she said, and of the language 
 of China she made strange music, "you come to me 
 from your home in the secret city, because you know 
 that I can serve you. It is enough." 
 
 She touched the bell upon the table, and the white- 
 robed servant reentered, and, bowing low, held open 
 the door. The little yellow man, first kneeling upon 
 the carpet before the divan as before an altar, hurried 
 from the apartment. As the door was reclosed, and 
 Madame found herself alone again, she laughed 
 lightly, as Calypso laughed when Ulysses' ship ap- 
 peared off the shores of her isle. 
 
 God fashions few such women. It is well. 
 
II 
 
 THE TIGER LADY 
 
 BY HEAVENS, Annesleyl" whispered RenS 
 Deacon, "what eyes that woman has t" 
 His companion, following the direction of 
 Deacon's glance, nodded rather grimly. 
 
 "The eyes of a Circe, or at times the eyes of a 
 tigress." 
 
 "She is magnificent!" murmured Deacon raptur- 
 ously. "I have never seen so beautiful a woman." 
 
 His glance followed the tall figure as it passed into 
 a smaller salon on the left; nor was he alone in his. 
 regard. Fashionable society was well represented in 
 the gallery — where a collection of pictures by a cele- 
 brated artist was being shown; and prior to the 
 entrance of the lady in the strangely fashioned tiger- 
 skin cloak, the somewhat extraordinary works of art 
 had engaged the interest even of the most fickle, but, 
 from the moment the tiger-lady made her appearance, 
 even the most daring canvases were forgotten. 
 
 "She wears tiger-skin shoes!" whispered one. 
 
 "She is like a design for a poster !" laughed another. 
 
 "I have never seen anything so flashy in my life,"' 
 was the acrid comment of a third. 
 
 353 
 
354 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 "What a dazzlingly beautiful woman I" remarked 
 another — this one a man. While: 
 
 "Who is she?" arose upon all sides. 
 
 Judging from the isolation of the barbaric figure, 
 it would seem that society did not know the tiger- 
 lady, but Deacon, seizing his companion by the arm 
 and almost dragging him into the small salon which 
 the lady had entered, turned in the doorway and 
 looked into Annesley's eyes. Anhesley palpably 
 sought to evade the glance. 
 
 "You know everybody" whispered Deacon. "You 
 ■must be acquainted with her." 
 
 A great number of people were now thronging into 
 the room, not so much because of the pictures it 
 <:ontained, but rather out of curiosity respecting the 
 beautiful unknown. Annesley tried to withdraw; his 
 uneasiness grew momentarily greater. 
 
 "I scarcely know her well enough," he protested, 
 "to present you. Moreover " 
 
 "But she's smiling at you I" interrupted Deacon 
 ■eagerly. 
 
 His handsome but rather weak face was flushed ; 
 Tie was, as an old clubman had recently said of him, 
 "so very young." He lacked the restraint usual in 
 <:ultured Englishmen, and had the frankly passionate 
 manner which one associates with the South. His 
 uncle. Colonel Deacon, a mordant wit, would say 
 apologetically : 
 
 "Reggie" (Deacon's father)' "married a Gascon 
 woman. She was delightfully pretty. Poor Reggie I" 
 
 Certainly Rene was impetuous to an embarrassing 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 355 
 
 degree, nor lightly to be thwarted. Boldly meeting 
 the glance of the woman of the amber eyes, he pushed 
 Annesley forward, not troubling to disguise his anxiety 
 to be presented to the tiger-lady. She turned her head 
 languidly, with that wild-animal grace of hers, and 
 unsmiling now, regarded Annesley, 
 
 "So you forget me so soon, Mr. Annesley," she 
 murmured, "or is it that you play the good shep- 
 herd?" 
 
 "My dear Madame," said Annesley, recovering 
 with an effort his wonted sang-froid, "I was merely 
 endeavouring to calm the rhapsodies of my friend, 
 who seemed disposed to throw himself at your feet in 
 knight-errant fashion." 
 
 "He is a very handsome boy," murmured Madame; 
 and as the great eyes were turned upon Deacon the 
 carmine lips curved again in the Cleopatrian smile. 
 
 She was indeed wonderful, for while she spoke as 
 the woman of the world to the boy, there was nothing 
 maternal in her patrona*ge, and her eyes were twin 
 flambeaux, luring — luring, and her sweet voice was a 
 siren's song. 
 
 "May I beg leave to present my friend, Mr. Rene 
 Deacon, Madame de Medici?" said Annesley; and 
 as the two exchanged glances — the boy's a glance of 
 undisguised passionate admiration, the woman's a 
 glance unfathomable — he slightly shrugged his shoul- 
 ders and stood aside. 
 
 There were others in the salon, who, perceiving that 
 the unknown beauty was acquainted with Annesley, 
 began to move from canvas to canvas toward that end 
 
3S6 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 of the room where the trio stood. But Madame did 
 not appear anxious to make new acquaintances. 
 
 "I have seen quite enough of this very entertaining 
 exhibition," she said languidly, toying with a great 
 unset emerald which swung by a thin gold chain about 
 her neck. "Might I entreat you to take pity upon a 
 very lonely woman and return with me to tea?" 
 
 Annesley seemed on the point of refusing, when : 
 
 "I have acquired a reputed Leonardo," continued 
 Madame, "and I wish you to see it." 
 
 There was something so like a command in the 
 words that Deacon stared at his companion in frank 
 surprise. The latter avoided his glance, and: 
 
 "Come!" said Madame de Medici. 
 
 As of old the great Catherine of her name might 
 have withdrawn with her suite, so now the lady of the 
 tiger skins withdrew from the gallery, the two men 
 following obediently, and one of them at least a happy 
 courtier. 
 
ni 
 
 TWIN POOLS OF AMBER 
 
 THE white-robed Chinese servant entered and 
 placed fresh perfume upon the burning char- 
 coal of the silver incense-burner. As the 
 scented smoke began to rise he withdrew, and a second 
 servant entered, who facially, in dress, in figure and 
 bearing, was a duplicate of the first. This one carried 
 a large tray upon which was set an exquisite porcelain 
 tea-service. He placed the tray upon a low table 
 beside the divan, and in turn withdrew. 
 
 Deacon, seated in a great ebony chair, smoked 
 rapidly and nervously — looking about the strangely 
 appointed room with its huge picture of the Madonna, 
 its jade Buddha surmounting a gilded Burmese cabinet, 
 its Persian canopy and Egyptian divan, at the thou- 
 sand and one costly curiosities which it displayed, at 
 this mingling of East and West, of Christianity and 
 paganism, with a growing wonder. 
 
 To one of his blood there was delight, intoxication, 
 in that room; but something of apprehension, too, 
 now grew up within him. 
 
 Madame de Medici entered. The garish motor- 
 coat was discarded now, and her supple figure was 
 seen to best advantage in one of those dark silken 
 
 3S7 
 
358 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 gowns which she affected, and which had a seeming 
 of the ultra-fashionable because they defied fashion. 
 She held in her hand an orchid, its structure that of 
 an odontoglossum, but of a delicate green colour 
 heavily splashed with scarlet — a weird and unnatural- 
 looking bloom. 
 
 Just within the doorway she paused, as Deacon 
 leaped up, and looked at him through the veil of the 
 curved lashes. 
 
 "For you," she said, twirling the blossom between 
 her fingers and gliding toward him with her tigerish 
 step. 
 
 He spoke no word, but, face flushed, sought to look 
 into her eyes as she pinned the orchid in the button- 
 hole of his coat. Her hands were flawless in shape 
 and colouring, being beautiful as the sculptured hands 
 preserved in the works of Phidias. 
 
 The slight draught occasioned by the opening of 
 the door caused the smoke from the incense-burner 
 to be wafted toward the centre of the room. Like 
 a blue-gray phantom it coiled about the two standing 
 there upon a red and gold Bedouin rug, and the heavy 
 perfume, or the close proximity of this singularly 
 lovely woman, wrought upon the high-strung sensi- 
 bilities of Deacon to such an extent that he was con- 
 scious of a growing faintness. 
 
 "Ah! You are not welll" exclaimed Madame witK 
 deep concern. "It is the perfume which that foolisK 
 Ah Li has lighted. He forgets that we are in 
 England." 
 
 "Not at all," protested Deacon faintly, and con- 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 359 
 
 scious that he was making a fool of himself. "I think 
 I have perhaps been overdoing it rather of late. For- 
 give me if I sit down." 
 
 He sank on the cushioned divan, his heart beating 
 furiously, while Madame touched the little bell, where- 
 upon one of the servants entered. 
 
 She spoke in Chinese, pointing to the incense-burner. 
 
 Ah Li bowed and removed the censer. As the door 
 softly reclosed: 
 
 "You are better?" she whispered, sweetly solicitous, 
 and, seating herself beside Deacon, she laid her hand 
 lightly upon his arm. 
 
 "Quite," he replied hoarsely; "please do not worry 
 about me. I am wondering what has become of 
 Annesley." 
 
 "Ah, the poor man I" exclaimed Madame, with a 
 silver laugh, and began to busy herself with the tea- 
 cups. "He remembered, as he was looking at my 
 new Leonardo, an appointment which he had quite 
 forgotten." 
 
 "I can understand his forgetting anything under 
 the circumstances." 
 
 Madame de Medici raised a tiny cup and bent 
 slightly toward him. He felt that he was losing con- 
 trol of himself, and, averting his eyes, he stooped and 
 smelled the orchid in his buttonhole. Then, accepting 
 the cup, he was about to utter some light commonplace 
 when the faintness returned overwhelmingly, and, 
 hurriedly replacing the cup upon the tray, he fell back 
 among the cushions. The stifling perfume of the 
 place seemed to be choking him. 
 
36o TALES OP CHINATOWN 
 
 "Ah, poor boy! You are really not at all well. 
 How sorry I am!" 
 
 The sweet tones reached him as from a great 
 distance; but as one dying In the desert turns his face 
 toward the distant oasis, Deacon turned weakly to the 
 speaker. She placed one fair arm behind his head, 
 pillowing him, and with a peacock fan which had lain 
 amid the cushions fanned his face. The strange scene 
 became wholly unreal to him; he thought himself some 
 dying barbaric chief. 
 
 "Rest there," murmured the sweet voice. 
 
 The great eyes, unveiled now by the black lashes, 
 Were two twin lakes of fairest amber. They seemed 
 to merge together, so that he stood upon the brink of 
 an unfathomable amber pool — ^which swallowed him 
 up- — ^which swallowed him up. 
 
 He awoke to an instantaneous consciousness of the 
 fact that he had been guilty of inexcusably bad form. 
 He could not account for his faintness, and reclining 
 there amid the silken cushions, with Madame de 
 Medici watching him anxiously, he felt a hot flush' 
 stealing over his face. 
 
 "What is the matter with me!" he exclaimed, and 
 sprang to his feet. "I feel quite well now." 
 
 She watched him, smiling, but did not speak. He 
 was a "very young man" again, and badly embarrassed. 
 He glanced at his wrist-watch. 
 
 "Gracious heavens!" he cried, and noted that the 
 tea-tray had been removed, "there must be something 
 radically wrong with my health. It Is nearly seveo 
 o'clock!" 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 361 
 
 The note of the silver bell sounded in the ante-room. 
 
 "Can you forgive me?" he said. 
 
 But Madame, rising to her feet, leaned lightly upon 
 his shoulder, toying with the petals of the orchid in 
 his buttonhole. 
 
 "I think it was the perfume which that foolish Ah 
 Li lighted," she whispered, looking intently into his 
 eyes, "and it is you who have to forgive me. But you 
 will, I know !" The silver bell rang again. "When 
 you have come to see me again — many, many times, 
 you will grow to love it — ^because I love it." 
 
 She touched the bell upon the table, and Ah Li 
 entered silently. When Madame de Medici held out 
 her hand to him Deacon raised the white fingers to 
 his lips and kissed them rapturously; then he turned, 
 the Gascon within him uppermost again, and ran from 
 the room. 
 
 A purple curtain was drawn across the lobby, 
 screening the caller newly arrived from the one so 
 hurriedly departing. 
 
IV 
 
 THE LIVING BUDDHA 
 
 IT WAS past midnight when Colonel Deacon re- 
 turned to the house. Rene was waiting for him, 
 pacing up and down the big library. Their 
 relationship was curious, as subsisting between ward 
 and guardian, for these two, despite the disparity of 
 their ages, had few secrets from one another. Rene 
 burned to pour out his story of the wonderful Madame 
 de Medici, of the secret house in Chinatown with its 
 deceptively mean exterior and its gorgeous interior, 
 to the shrewd and worldly elder man. That was his 
 way. But Fate had an oddly bitter moment in store 
 for him. 
 
 "Hallo, boy I" cried the Colonel, looking into the 
 library; "glad you're home. I might not see you in 
 the morning, and I want to tell you about — er — a lady 
 who will be coming here in the afternoon." 
 
 The words died upon Rene's lips unspoken, and he 
 stared blankly at the Colonel. 
 
 "I thought I knew aU there was to know about 
 pictures, antiques, and all that sort of lumber," con- 
 tinued Colonel Deacon in his rapid and off-hand man- 
 ner. "Thought there weren't many men in London 
 could teach me anything; certainly never suspected a 
 
 36» 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 363 
 
 woman could. But I've met one, boy 1 Gad ! What 
 a splendid creature! You know there isn't much in 
 the world I haven't seen — north, south, east and west. 
 I know all the advertised beauties of Europe and 
 Asia — stage, opera, and ballet, and all the rest of 
 them. But this one — Gadl" 
 
 He dropped into an arm-chair, clapping both his 
 hands upon his knees. Rene stood at the farther end 
 of the library, in the shadow, watching him. 
 
 "She's coming here to-morrow, boy — coming here. 
 Gad! you dogl You'll fall in love with her the 
 moment you see her — sure to, sure to I / did, and 
 I'm three times your age !" 
 
 "Who is this lady, sir?" asked Rene, very quietly. 
 
 "God knows, boyl Everybody's mad to meet her, 
 but nobody knows who she is. But wait till you see 
 her. Lady Dascot seems to be acquainted with her, 
 but you will see when they come to-morrow — see 
 for yourself. Gad, boyl . . . what did you 
 say?" 
 
 "I did not speak." 
 
 "Thought you did. Have a whisky-and-soda ?" 
 
 "No, thank you, sir— -good night." 
 
 "Good night, boyl" cried the Colonel. "Good 
 night. Don't forget to be in to-morrow afternoon or 
 you'll miss meeting the loveliest woman in London, 
 and the most brilliant." 
 
 "What is her name?" 
 
 "Eh ? She calls herself Madame de Medici. She's 
 a mystery, but what a splendid creature 1" 
 
 Rene Deacon walked slowly upstairs, entered his 
 
364 [TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 bedroom, and for fully an hour sat in the darkness, 
 thinking — thinking. 
 
 "Am I going mad?" he murmured. "Or is this 
 witch driving all London mad?" 
 
 He strove to recover something of the glamour 
 which had mastered him when in the presence of 
 Madame de Medici, but failed. Yet he knew that, 
 once near her again, it would all return. His reflec- 
 tions were bitter, and when at last wearily he undressed 
 and went to bed it was to toss restlessly far into the 
 small hours ere sleep came to soothe his troubled 
 mind. 
 
 But his sleep was disturbed: a series of dreadfully 
 realistic dreams danced through his brain. First he 
 seemed to be standing upon a high mountain peak with 
 eternal snows stretched all about him. He looked 
 down, past the snow line, past the fir woods, into the 
 depths of a lovely lake, far down in the valley below. 
 It was a lake of liquid amber, and as he looked it 
 seemed to become two lakes, and they were like two 
 great eyes looking up at him and summoning him to 
 leap. He thought that he leaped, a prodigious leap, 
 far out into space; then fell — fell — fell. When he 
 splashed into the amber deeps they became churned up 
 in a milky foam, and this closed about him with a 
 strangle grip. But it was no longer foam, but the 
 clinging arms of Madame de Medici ! . . . 
 
 Then he stood upon a fragile bridge of bamboo 
 spanning a raging torrent. Right and left of the 
 torrent below were jungles in which moved tigerish 
 shapes. Upon the farther side of the bridge Madame 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 365 
 
 de Medici, clad in a single garment of flame-coloured 
 silk, beckoned to him. He sought to cross the bridge, 
 but it collapsed, and he fell near the edge of the 
 torrent. Below were the raging waters, and ever 
 nearing him the tigerish shapes, which now Madame 
 was calling to as to a pack of hounds. They were 
 about to devour him, when 
 
 He was crouching upon a ledge, high above a street 
 which seemed to be vaguely familiar. He could not 
 see very well, because of a silk mask tied upon his 
 face, and the eyeholes of which were badly cut. From 
 the ledge he stepped to another, perilously. He 
 gained it, and crouching there, where there was scarce 
 foothold for a cat, he managed fully to raise a win- 
 dow which already was raised some six inches. Then 
 softly and silently — for he was bare-footed — he en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 Someone slept in a bed facing the window by which 
 he had entered, and upon a table at the side of the 
 sleeper lay a purse, a bunch of keys, an electric torch, 
 and a Service revolver. Gliding to the table Rene 
 took the keys and the electric torch, unlocked the door 
 of the room, and crept down a thickly carpeted stair 
 to a room below. The door of this also he opened 
 with one of the keys in the bunch, and by the light of 
 the torch found his way through a quantity of antique 
 furniture and piled up curiosities to a safe set in the 
 farther wall. 
 
 He seemed, in his dream, to be familiar with the 
 lock combination, and, selecting the correct key from 
 the bunch, he soon had the safe open. The shelves 
 
366 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 within were laden principally with antique jewellery, 
 statuettes, medals, scarabs; and a number of little 
 leather-covered boxes were there also. One of these 
 he abstracted, relocked the safe, and stepped out of 
 the room, locking the door behind him. Up the stairs 
 he mounted to the bedroom wherein he had left the 
 sleeper. Having entered, he locked the door from 
 within, placed the keys and the torch upon the table, 
 and crept out again upon the dizzy ledge. 
 
 Poised there, high above the thoroughfare below, 
 a great nausea attacked him. Glancing to the right, 
 in the direction of the window through which he had 
 come, he perceived Madame de Medici leaning out 
 and beckoning to him. Her arm gleamed whitely in 
 the faint light. A new courage came to him. He 
 succeeded, crouched there upon the narrow ledge, in 
 relowering the window, and leaving it in the state in 
 which he had found it, he stood up and essayed that 
 sickly stride to the adjoining ledge. He accom- 
 plished it, knelt, and crept back into the room from 
 which he had started. . . . 
 
 The head of an ivory image of Buddha loomed up 
 out of the utter darkness, growing and growing until 
 it seemed like a great mountain. He could not believe 
 that there was so much ivory in the world, and he felt 
 it with his fingers, wondcringly. As he did so it began 
 to shrink, and shrink, and shrink, and shrink, until it 
 was no larger that a seated human figure. Then be- 
 neath his trembling hands it became animate ; it moved, 
 extended ivory ^arms, and wrapped them about his 
 neck. Its lips became carmine — ^perfumed ; they bent 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 367 
 
 to him . . . and he was looking into the bewitch- 
 ing face of Madame de Medici I 
 
 He awoke, gasping for air and bathed in cold per- 
 spiration. The dawn was just breaking over London 
 and stealing grayly from object to object in his bed- 
 room. 
 
THE IVORY GOD 
 
 THE great car, with its fittings of gold and 
 ivory, drew up at the door of Colonel Deacon's 
 house. The interior was ablaze with tiger 
 lilies, and out from their midst stepped the fairest of 
 them all — Madame de Medici, and swept queenly up 
 the steps upon the arm of the cavalierly soldier. 
 
 All connoisseurs esteemed it a privilege to view the 
 Deacon collection, and this afternoon there was a 
 goodly gathering. Chairs and little white tables were 
 dotted about the lawn in shady spots, and the majority 
 of the company were already assembled; but when, in 
 a wonderful golden robe, Madame de Medici glided 
 across the lawn, the babel ceased abruptly as if by 
 magic. She pulled off one glove and began twirling a 
 great emerald between her slim fingers. It was sus- 
 pended from a thin gold chain. Presently, descrying 
 Annesley seated at a table with Lady Dascot, she 
 raised the jewel languidly and peered through it at 
 ^he two. 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Rene Deacon, who stood close 
 beside her, "that was a trick of Nero's 1" 
 Madame laughed musically. 
 
 368 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 369 
 
 "One might take a worse model," she said softly; 
 "at least he enjoyed life." 
 
 Colonel Deacon, wl '^ listened to her every word 
 as to the utterance of a Cumaean oracle, laughed with 
 extraordinary approbation. 
 
 There was scarce a woman present who regarded 
 Madame with a friendly eye, nor a man who did not 
 aspire to become her devoted slave. She brought an 
 atmosphere of unreality with her, dominating old and 
 young alike by virtue of her splendid pagan beauty. 
 The lawn, with its very modern appointments, became 
 as some garden of the Golden House, a pleasure 
 ground of an emperor. 
 
 But later, when the company entered the house, and 
 Colonel Deacon sought to monopolize the society of 
 Madame, an unhealthy spirit of jealousy arose be- 
 tween Rene and his guardian. It was strange, gro- 
 tesque, horrible almost. Annesley watched from afar, 
 and there was something very like anger in his glance. 
 
 "And this," said the Colonel presently, taking up an 
 exquisitely carved ivory Buddha, "has a strange his- 
 tory. In some way a legend has grown up around it 
 — it is of very great age — to the effect that it must 
 always cause its owner to lose his most cherished 
 possession." 
 
 "I wonder," said the silvern voice, "that you, who 
 possess so many beautiful things, should consent to 
 have so ill-omened a curiosity in your house." 
 
 "I do not fear the evil charm of this little ivory 
 image," said Colonel Deacon, "although its history 
 goes far to bear out the truth of the legend. Its last 
 
370 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 possessor lost his most cherished possession a month 
 after the Buddha came into his hands. He fell down 
 his own stairs — and lost his life I" 
 
 Madame de Medici languidly surveyed the figure 
 through the upraised emerald. 
 
 "Really!" she murmured. "And the one from 
 whom he procured it?" 
 
 "A Hindu usurer of Simla," replied the Colonel. 
 "His daughter stole it from her father together with 
 many other things, and took them to her lover, with 
 whom she fledl" 
 
 Madame dc Medici seemed to be slightly interested. 
 
 "I should love to possess so weird a thing," she 
 said softly. 
 
 "It is yours!" exclaimed the Colonel, and placed it 
 in her hands. 
 
 "Oh, but really," she protested. 
 
 "But really I insist — in order that you may not 
 forget your first visit to my house !" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "How very kind you are, Colonel Deacon," she 
 said, "to a rival collector!" 
 
 "Now that the menace is removed," said Colonel 
 Deacon with laboured humour, "I will show you my 
 most treasured possession." 
 
 "Sol I am greatly interested." 
 
 "Not even this rascal Rene," said the Colonel, 
 stopping before a safe set in the wall, "has seen what 
 I am about to show you !" 
 
 Rene started slightly and watched with intense in- 
 terest the unlocking of the safe. 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 371 
 
 "If I am not superstitious about the ivory Buddha," 
 continued the Colonel, "I must plead guilty in the case 
 of the Key of the Temple of Heaven 1" 
 
 "The Key of the Temple of Heaven!" murmured 
 a lady standing immediately behind Madame de 
 Medici. "And what is the Key of the Temple of 
 Heaven?" 
 
 The Colonel, having unlocked the safe, straight- 
 ened himself, and while everyone was waiting to see 
 what he had to show, began to speak again pompously : 
 
 "The Temple of Heaven stands in the outer or 
 Chinese City of Pekin, and is fabulously wealthy. 
 No European, I can swear, had ever entered its secret 
 chambers until last year. One of its most famous 
 treasures was this Key. It was used only to open the 
 special entrance reserved for the Emperor when he 
 came to worship after his succession to the throne — 
 that was, of course, before China became a Republic. 
 The Key is studded almost all over with precious 
 stones. Last year a certain naval man — I'll not 
 mention his name — discovered the secret of Its hiding- 
 place. How he came by that knowledge does not 
 matter at present. One very dark night he crept up 
 to the temple. He found the Keeper of the Key — a 
 Buddhist priest — to be sleeping, and he succeeded, 
 therefore. In gaining access and becoming possessed 
 of the Key." 
 
 A chorus of excited exclamations greeted this 
 dramatic point of the story. 
 
 "The object of this outrage," continued the Colonel, 
 "for an outrage I cannot deny It to have been, was 
 
372 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 not a romantic one. The poor chap wanted money, 
 and he thought he could sell the Key to one of the 
 native jewellers. But he was mistaken. He got back 
 safely, and secretly offered it in various directions. 
 No one would touch the thing ; moreover, although of 
 great value, the stones were very far from flawless, 
 and not really worth the risks which he had run to 
 secure them. Don't misunderstand me; the Key would 
 fetch a big sum, but not a fortune." 
 
 "Yes?" said Madame de Medici, smiling, for the 
 Colonel paused. 
 
 "He packed it up and addressed it to me, together 
 with a letter. The price that he asked was quite a 
 moderate one, and when the Key arrived in England 
 I dispatched a check immediately. It never reached 
 him." 
 
 "Why?" cried many whom this strange story had 
 profoundly interested. 
 
 "He was found dead at the back of the native 
 cantonments, with a knife in his heart I" 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Lady Dascot. "How positively 
 ghastly! I don't think I want to see the dreadful 
 thing!" 
 
 "Really!" murmured Madame de Medici, turning 
 languidly to the speaker. "/ do." 
 
 The Colonel stooped and reached into the safe. 
 Then he began to take out object after object, box 
 after box. Finally, he straightened himself again, and 
 all saw that his face was oddly blanched. 
 
 "It's gone!" he whispered hoarsely. "The Key 
 of the Temple of Heaven has been stolen!" 
 
VI 
 
 MADAME SMILES 
 
 RENfi entered his bedroom, locked the door, and 
 seated himself on the bed ; then he lowered his 
 - head into his hands and clutched at his hair 
 distractedly. Since, on his uncle's own showing, no 
 one knew that the Key of the Temple of Heaven had 
 been in the safe, since, excepting himself (Rene) and 
 the Colonel, no one else knew the lock combination, 
 how the Key had been stolen was a mystery which de- 
 fied conjecture. No one but the Colonel had ap- 
 proached within several yards of the safe at the time 
 it was opened ; so that clearly the theft had been com- 
 mitted prior to that time. 
 
 Now Rene sought to recall the details of a strange 
 dream which he had dreamed immediately before 
 awakening on the previous night; but he sought 
 in vain. His memory could supply only blurred 
 images. There had been a safe in his dream, and he 
 — ^was it he or another ? — had unlocked it. Also there 
 had been an enormous ivory Buddha. . , . Yet, 
 stay ! it had not been enormous ; it had been . . . 
 He groaned at his own impotency to recall the cir- 
 cumstances of that mysterious, perhaps prophetic 
 dream; then in despair he gave it up, and stooping 
 
 373 
 
374 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 to a little secretaire, unlocked it with the idea of 
 sending a note round to Annesley's chambers. As he 
 did so he uttered a loud cry. 
 
 Lying in one of the pigeon-holes was a long piece 
 of black silk, apparently torn from the lining of an 
 opera hat. In it two holes were cut as if it were 
 intended to be used as a mask. Beside it lay a little 
 leather-covered box. He snatched it out and opened 
 it. It was empty! 
 
 "Am I going mad?" he groaned. "Or " 
 
 "You are wanted on the 'phone, sir." 
 
 It was the butler who had interrupted him. Rene 
 descended to the telephone, dazedly, but, recognizing 
 the voice of Annesley, roused himself. ' 
 
 "I'm leaving town to-night, Deacon," said Annesley, 
 "for — well, many reasons. But before I go I must 
 give you a warning, though I rely on you never to 
 mention my name in the matter. Avoid the woman 
 who calls herself Madame de Medici ; she'll break you. 
 She's an adventuress, and has a dangerous acquaintance 
 with Eastern cults, and ... I can't explain 
 properly. . . ." 
 
 "Annesley! the Key!" 
 
 "It's the theft of the Key that has prompted me to 
 speak. Deacon. Madame has some sort of power — 
 hypnotic power. She employed it on me once, to my 
 cost! Paul Harley, of Chancery Lane, can tell you 
 more about her. The house she's living in temporarily 
 used to belong to a notorious Eurasian, Zani Chada. 
 To make a clean breast of it I daren't thwart her 
 openly; but I felt it up to me to tell you that she 
 
THE KEY OF THE TEMPLE 375 
 
 possesses the secret of post-hypnotic suggestion. I 
 may be wrong, but I think you stole that Key I" 
 
 "I!" 
 
 "She hypnotized you at some time, and, by means 
 of this uncanny power of hers, ordered you to steal 
 the Key of the Temple of Heaven in such and such a 
 fashion at a certain hour in the night . . ." 
 
 "I had a strange seizure while I was at her 
 house. . . ." 
 
 "Exactly! During that time you were receiving 
 your hypnotic orders. You would remember nothing 
 of them until the time to execute them — ^which would 
 probably be during sleep. In a state of artificial som- 
 nambulism, and under the direction of Madame's will, 
 you became a burglar!" 
 
 As Madame de Medici's car drove off from the 
 house of Colonel Deacon, and Madame seated herself 
 in the cushioned corner, up from amid the furs upon 
 the floor, where, dog-like, he had lain concealed, rose 
 the little yellow man from the Temple of Heaven. 
 He extended eager hands toward her, kneeling there, 
 and spoke : 
 
 "Quick ! quick !" he breathed. "You have it? The 
 Key of the Temple." 
 
 Madame held in her hand an ivory Buddha. In- 
 verting it she unscrewed the pedestal, and out from 
 the hollow inside the image dropped a gleaming 
 Key. 
 
 "Ah!" breathed the yellow man, and would have 
 clutched it; but Madame disdainfully raised her right 
 
570 TALES OF CHINATOWN 
 
 hand which held the treasure, and with her left hand 
 thrust down the clutching yellow fingers. 
 
 She dropped the Key between her white skin and 
 the bodice of her gown, tossing the ivory figure con- 
 temptuously amid the fur. 
 
 "Ah!" repeated the yellow man in a different tone, 
 and his eyes gleamed with the flame of fanaticism. 
 He slowly uprose, a sinister figure, and with distended 
 fingers prepared to seize Madame by the throat. His 
 eyes were bloodshot, his nostrils were dilated, and his 
 teeth were exposed like the fangs of a wolf. 
 
 But she pulled off her glove and stretched out her 
 bare white hand to him as a queen to a subject; she 
 raised the long curved lashes, and the great amber 
 eyes looked into the angry bloodshot eyes. 
 
 The little yellow man began to breathe more and 
 more rapidly; soon he was panting like one in a fight 
 to the death who is all but conquered. At last he 
 dropped on his knees amid the fur . . . and the 
 curling lashes were lowered again over the blazing 
 amber eyes that had conquered. 
 
 Madame de Medici lowered her beautiful white 
 hand, and the little yellow man seized it in both his 
 own and showered rapturous kisses upon it. 
 
 Madame smiled slightly. 
 
 "Poor little yellow man!"_she murmured in sibilant 
 Chinese, "you shall never return to the Temple of 
 Heaven I" 
 
 THE END