Tales of Chinatown, Sax Rohmer [mobile ebook reader .TXT] 📗

“Oh! it was broken right enough—by two drunken sailormen 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 hiding?”

“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 greetings with the detective on duty hard by the house of Kwen Lung, we presently found ourselves in the presence 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.

“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 removed from before the shattered window, but otherwise 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 bloodstains 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 composition 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 accidental.

When finally we quitted the house of the missing Kwen Lung, and when, Harley having curtly acknowledged “good night” from the detective on duty, we came 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 character 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 remembered 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?”

Harley shook his head.

“It seems like fate,” he declared, “that this thing should have been sent to me this morning.” He indicated 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 expression changed, and so suddenly as to startle me. He sprang up from the table, and:

“Have you an hour to spare, Knox?” he cried excitedly.

“I can spare an hour, but what for?”

“For Kwen Lung!”

Four minutes later we were speeding in the direction 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 story in unbroken silence, but at its termination he brought his hand down sharply on my knee.

“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 explanation 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 operating 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!

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