Gregory’s first impulse was to dart into the warehouse and attempt to seize the murderer, but he promptly checked it. The man had already withdrawn from sight and he was three floors up. This could be no case of personal malice so he had obviously acted under instructions. He was probably the ‘hatchet-man’ of one of the Tongs. Anyhow, the other coolies would cover up for him and all say they could not remember who had been standing by the opening at the moment the rope parted. The deadly ambush must have been carefully planned and already the assassin would be making off by a pre-arranged escape route. Even if he could still be intercepted by a swift dash up the stairs, after only one brief glimpse it would be impossible to swear to his identity.
As Gregory ran forward to lend a hand in dragging the broken crates of bananas from on top of the Mandarin, another good reason occurred to him for refraining from any immediate attempt to pin the crime on its perpetrator. There seemed good grounds to suppose that he had been the intended victim. If so, and somebody was out to kill him, it would be to his advantage to continue to appear unaware that his life was threatened. Were he to proclaim his knowledge that the rope had been sliced through, it might be assumed that he had also tumbled to it that the murderous attack had been intended for himself. In that case any second attempt to bring about his death would be made by even more subtle means, so be more likely to succeed. Far better to say nothing, but make the utmost use of the warning he had been given, and hope by constant vigilance to foil an enemy made over-confident by believing him still ignorant of his danger.
Jabbering excitedly in a mixture of American and Chinese the little crowd that had swiftly gathered uncovered Tsai-Ping’s grotesquely twisted body. His cranium had been smashed like an egg-shell, and he must have died instantaneously. A policeman shouldered his way through the crush and began to take notes. A few minutes later an ambulance drove up to collect the corpse. Wu-ming, who appeared quite distraught by his uncle’s death, went off with it. Kâo had already been questioned by the cop, and when Gregory’s turn came he said nothing to upset the general assumption that their companion had been killed as the result of an accident. Then, on Kâo whispering to him that it would not now be seemly for them to pursue their intention of interviewing Quong-Yü, they returned in silence to the yacht.
A-lu-te was much surprised to see them back so soon, and when she heard the reason her eyes opened wide with shocked dismay; but for a woman to have made any comment or asked questions in such circumstances would have been a breach of good manners; so, bowing her head in a token of respectful grief, she at once retired to her cabin.
Within ten minutes the whole ship’s company was absorbed in the rituals of formal mourning, and Gregory learned that for the next twenty-seven hours no meals would be served in the saloon, or any conversation be entered upon apart from necessary exchanges among the officers concerning the running of the ship. His own narrow escape from death being so recent he was by no means averse to an evening’s solitude in which to think matters over quietly; and, having made himself comfortable in his cabin, he began to cogitate on a variety of factors which might have contributed to Tsai-Ping’s body having been so suddenly deprived of its spirit.
Gregory had one fact only to go on which he regarded as entirely beyond dispute. It was that, although he had not actually seen the coolie cut the rope, the man had done so. One glance at its end, as it lay where it had fallen in the gutter, had confirmed that. It had not frayed and finally parted after long wear. A sharp blade had sliced through two of its strands; only a part of the third was ragged and ravelled from having snapped under the strain. That partially severed end had been evidence enough on which to call in the homicide squad; but, for what at the time had seemed good reasons, Gregory had refrained from pointing it out to the policeman.
He wondered now if they were good reasons. His decision to say nothing had been taken with the thought fresh in his mind that the attack had really been directed against himself. It had seemed so obvious that had he not stopped to tie up his shoe-lace the crates would have fallen on his head. But on calmer reflection he realised that there was no certainty about that. If he had walked on, the coolie, staring down from above to identify the man he had been posted there to kill, might have waited another few seconds before slashing the rope. Then, just as had happened, Tsai-Ping would have been the one to be struck down.
Gregory’s thoughts turned to the unknown person on whose orders the coolie must have acted. If that person’s identity were known it would make it very much easier to formulate a sound guess about whom he had planned to have murdered. Although it was pure speculation, for the part of ‘villain off’ the first candidate to spring to mind was Quong-Yü.
The Tong boss certainly had an obvious motive for preventing anyone from poking their nose into his affairs; and, even more significant in this matter, professional killers in his service who were bound by oath to do his will. Yet it seemed to be going a little far to resort to murder before he had even been questioned. Again, did he even know what the visitors he expected were going to question him about?
Of course it was just possible that Kâo had told him over the telephone that they were searching for Josephine Août, and that a Mr. Sallust had secured information from the F.B.I. that he, Quong, had snatched her; but for Chinese like Kâo—brought up in tradition of circumlocution, prevarication, and a fundamental belief in postponing rather than facing issues—to have done so, seemed most unlikely.
If Kâo had spilled the beans, and Quong was holding Josephine in some hide-out for his own pleasure, he would certainly regard Gregory as his most dangerous enemy. Therefore, should his passion for Josephine have decided him to hold on to her at all costs, it was against Gregory that he would direct his killers.
But no! That did not make sense. Unless Quong was stark staring mad, Gregory was the one person whom he would not dare to attack. Gregory was linked with the F.B.I. If he died in mysterious circumstances, knowing that Quong had a reason for wishing him out of the way the Tong boss was the first person they would pull in; and they would grill him until they had checked up on his every action for the past week. He would never be fool enough to take such a risk.
Perhaps then it really was Tsai-Ping whom Quong had planned to kill. But why? Against Kâo or Wu-ming, both of whom he knew, Quong might have had some old grudge; but he had never met Tsai-Ping, and the Mandarin had never even spent a night in San Francisco.
Another thing—if Quong was endeavouring to stall off a hunt for Josephine, what point would there be in his killing one of the investigating part when three others would survive to continue the inquiry?
Yet if Quong had not organised the ambush, who had? Kâo and Wu-ming had both had the opportunity to do so; and, as they had been walking side by side ahead of Gregory and Tsai-Ping, either could easily have ensured that the whole party took such turnings on the way to Quong-Yü’s as would necessitate their passing the warehouse from which the bananas were being loaded. Quong, on the other hand, could not possibly have played any part in directing them down one particular street out of a choice of three or four; and that very fact now seemed to eliminate him from the rôle of ‘probable villain’.
Kâo and Tsai-Ping were undoubtedly antipathic personalities. Both were ambitious men, and, although it was never referred to openly, Gregory had learned from A-lu-te that in secret the two of them had been waging a bitter struggle for power to influence appointments in the island. Could Kâo, knowing San Francisco and its Tongs, have taken advantage of this visit to the city to arrange for the liquidation of his rival?
That was certainly a possibility. But the word ‘rival’ passing through Gregory’s mind conjured up another thought. What of Wu-ming Loo? He too had a rival—not in the uncle whom he revered, but in the Englishman who had consistently come between him and the lady A-lu-te. Wu-ming also knew San Francisco and its Tongs. A Chinese of his wealth and influence would have known quite well how to set about securing the services of an assassin; and, on the excuse of catching up with his work, he had spent that morning alone in the city.
Visualising the scene of the crime, Gregory endeavoured to live again those few terrifying moments. While doing so he sought for any detail that he had registered then which might since have escaped him. Kâo and Wu-ming had been walking down the narrow street a good dozen paces ahead of himself and Tsai-Ping. As the two former fell into Indian file and stepped on to the pavement, to pass the lorry, he recalled now that he had noticed Wu-ming look upward. He had followed his glance and seen the rope net holding the crates of bananas slowly revolving a good thirty feet above the pavement. A moment later his shoe-lace coming undone had caused him to look down; then, on reaching the pavement, he had stopped to tie it up, while Tsai-Ping walked past him to his death.
When about to pass a lorry that was being loaded from above anyone might have glanced upward; so it was no proof of Wu-ming’s guilt that he should have done so. Yet if a man had planted a murderous ambush there he would hardly be able to resist the temptation to assure himself that the trap was ready to be sprung. Perhaps, therefore, it was not altogether without significance that whereas Kâo had not looked up, Wu-ming had.
Considering the matter further it occurred to Gregory that he had not so far given sufficient importance to the time factor. As the crates had been swinging some thirty feet above the ground, the assassin would have had to allow a couple of seconds for their fall. Had he intended to kill Tsai-Ping he would have waited until Gregory was beneath the crates before cutting the rope. As it was he must have timed the cutting for them to fall on Gregory, and seen too late that Tsai-Ping had stepped forward into his place.
Another small point emerged as Gregory was attempting to picture the scene as the murderer must have looked down upon it from above. To have picked out any one of the three Chinamen could not have been easy, as they were all wearing soft felt hats; but since his second day in San Francisco he had been wearing a panama. Its light-coloured straw and broad brim would have identified him beyond all doubt, making him the perfect target.
Later that night, before going to sleep, he went over the whole wicked business again, but could think of no other factor which might throw further light on it. There was, he knew, nothing concrete to go on except the fact that the coolie had deliberately cut the rope with intent to murder someone. Yet all his speculations led him to the belief that the ‘someone’ had been himself; and that it was Wu-ming, goaded into taking desperate measures by his insane jealousy, who had planned the attempt upon him.
It was not until the following evening that Gregory saw Wu-ming again, and when he did his belief was strengthened. The young man’s usually impeccable clothes looked as if he had slept in them, his face was haggard and his widely-space eyes were dim from weeping. Kâo and A-lu-te, who were condoling with him when Gregory came upon them in the upper-deck lounge, accepted as quite natural his hesitant explanation that his extreme grief was due to his having as a small boy cherished a deep affection for his uncle. But as Gregory had never seen him display the least trace of such a feeling towards Tsai-Ping, he thought it much more probable that his acute distress arose from a very different cause.
As ancestor worshippers, the Chinese regard patricide as the most appalling of all crimes, and next to it they rank the murder of any other male relative of a senior generation. Moreover, Wu-ming had been born and bred among an island polulation specially dedicated to preserve China’s ancient traditions. If, therefore, even unintentionally, he had caused his uncle to be killed it was not grief which had reduced him to this parlous state, but terror and remorse.
That, in spite of the years he had spent among unbelievers, he was still dominated by Confucian ideas soon became apparent by the concern he showed about the proper disposal of his uncle’s body. He had temporarily lodged it in San Francisco’s most expensive mortician’s parlour, where it was now in process of being embalmed. The purpose of his visit to the yacht that evening was to arrange for a suitable mortuary chapel to be fitted up on board; so that the Mandarin’s remains could be conveyed in a fitting manner back to the island for burial.
Kâo at once agreed that the honourable spirit of Tsai-Ping would know no rest until his bones reposed beside those of his honourable father—who had been the original head of one of the Seven Families responsible for colonising the island—and said that he would personally supervise the furnishing of a mortuary chapel. After a moment he added thoughtfully:
‘So far the Council’s decision to invite the Princess Josephine to become our Empress has resulted in nothing but disappointment and ill fortune. I am convinced that my instinct to abandon the project after her disappearance was a sound one. The Council’s having overruled me and sent me back to renew the search for her has now deprived us of the wise and upright Tsai-Ping. Clearly the whole venture is subject to the most evil influences. Therefore I am most averse to tempting providence further. In fact, I feel that the wisest course would be for me to accept the Mandarin’s death as an omen and bear his honourable remains home with a minimum of delay; then humbly submit to the Council that they should devise some other means of providing for the succession.’
Somewhat to Gregory’s surprise this defeatist pronouncement by Kâo was immediately countered by excited protests from both A-lu-te and Wu-ming. It was the former who got in first.
‘But Uncle!’ she exclaimed. ‘You cannot have forgotten what happened when the Council was faced with this problem before. It had got to its wits’ end, and almost despaired of finding a solution until the proposal of making Josephine Empress was put forward. That happy way out of our trouble met with everyone’s approval; and since we are now convinced that she is still alive how can we possibly return without her?’—‘I entirely agree!’ Wu-ming cried with heat. ‘To disappoint our countrymen with no better justification than the fear that some misfortune might come upon us while endeavouring to carry out their wishes would be shameful.’
Such plain speaking by a Chinaman was quite exceptional, as even in the smallest transactions of daily life it is their custom to go to almost any pains to save one another from loss of ‘face’. It was inexcusable, even allowing for Wu-ming’s overwrought state, and Gregory was not surprised to see Kâo’s eyes go dark with anger at this open imputation of cowardice. But A-lu-te saved the situation by swiftly putting in:
‘You must not allow your concern for us to prejudice your judgment, Uncle. Your proposal to sacrifice your own principles in order to carry us out of danger does you much honour, but we could not agree to it.’
The fat man eagerly seized upon the come-back she had given him, and nodded vigorously. ‘You are right, my child. It was of you younger people that I was thinking.’
‘Of course I realised that, Sir,’ Wu-ming diplomatically completed the face-saving process. ‘But however evil the influences we have to combat, we must see this matter through. We owe that now not only to ourselves but to the dead. You are all aware how conscientiously my honourable uncle devoted his energies to tracing the Princess, and how alone among us he concentrated his every thought upon that duty. Since his death I have been greatly oppressed by recalling how little aid I gave him, and I feel that to make good that neglect is a debt I owe to his spirit. While standing by his bier this morning I took an oath that I would not engage in any other undertaking until this mission with which the Council charged him and yourself is completed.’
Kâo bowed gravely. ‘I should be grateful for your help; but permit me to point out that as our Export Manager there must be many other matters requiring your attention.’
‘There is nothing that cannot wait,’ replied Wu-ming with a shrug. ‘At banks in a dozen cities we have large credit balances, and many other considerable sums are due to us. If we made no further sales for a year the Council would still be in no danger of running short of funds. In fact, as a long-term policy, it would prove to our advantage to stop selling altogether for a while, as that would create a shortage of our products in the world’s markets and later enable us to raise our prices. In any case my sense of guilt led me to take this oath to my uncle’s spirit, so I must now abide by it.’
As Wu-ming ceased speaking, Gregory thought to himself, ‘This oath that he has taken clinches matters. He would never have committed himself so deeply simply because he failed to give his uncle all the help he could. The sense of guilt he talks about is really fear that unless he does his utmost to atone for Tsai-Ping’s murder the old boy’s spirit will revenge itself upon him.’
Meanwhile A-lu-te was declaring with an earnestness that equalled Wu-ming’s, ‘I too, have reason to reproach myself. The novel delights of this American city led me to forget how much hangs upon the success of our mission. Instead of frittering away my time in vain amusements I should have been keeping a record of the inquiry and writing many of the letters in connection with it.’
‘Oh come!’ Gregory protested. ‘You are being much too hard on yourself. Right up till the day before yesterday, when I received the F.B.I. report, you believed Josephine to be living happily with her boy-friend. No one could possibly blame you for feeling that there was no great urgency about tracing her, and in the meantime taking the opportunity to enjoy life here while you had the chance.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘What I believed is no excuse. We know now that the Princess was kidnapped. All this time that poor dumb girl may have been suffering acutely both in mind and body; yet I—the person who was sent here specially to act as her friend and companion—have not lifted a finger to help her. Still worse, for my selfish ends I have monopolised your time and a great deal of Mr. Wu-ming Loo’s, when both of you should have been concentrating on the search.’
‘If we had, we wouldn’t have got anywhere. Before I went to Washington the inquiry had already reached a dead-end.’
‘If we had all helped it might not have been necessary for you to go to Washington. One of us might have hit on a trail leading to Quong-Yü weeks ago. Had we done so the honourable Tsai-Ping would not have been on the spot where he lost his life yesterday.’ She paused a moment, then added sharply, ‘Why do you smile?’
‘Forgive me. I was impious enough to find amusement in the fact that the Gods should have elected to strike down the worker of the party rather than one of us drones.’ As Gregory told his bland lie he was careful to include Kâo as well as Wu-ming in his glance.
‘I see nothing at all funny about that,’ A-lu-te replied coldly. ‘On the contrary, the Gods could have chosen no more serious way of reminding us of our duty. For myself, I applaud the oath that our companion Wu-ming has taken, and I now pledge my word that I will not concern myself with any other interest until we have freed the Princess and invited her to return with us.’
Greatly as Gregory was intrigued by the reactions of these Orientals to a crisis that one of them, unknown to the others, had brought about, he found the high sentiments that were being aired somewhat theatrical. But he could see that A-lu-te had been deeply moved and was very much in earnest so without a hint of mockery, he said:
‘I am the lady A-lu-te’s obedient servant, and whenever she desires the inquiry to be resumed she has only to tell me so.’
‘In a case like this I think we ought to ignore the fact that we are in mourning, and resume it at once,’ she replied with a rather dubious glance at her uncle.
He shook his head. ‘For us to take up any worldly activity before we have received the honourable remains of Tsai-Ping on board would be most unfitting.’
‘Now that Quong-Yü is expecting a visit from us I cannot help feeling that the sooner he is interviewed the better,’ Wu-ming said with an uneasy frown. ‘But if you feel, Sir, that my uncle’s spirit would take offence should we fail to adhere strictly to the formalities, I must be ruled by your greater experience.’
‘This seems to me a case in which you can eat your cake and have it too,’ Gregory remarked. ‘Since convention requires you to remain temporarily inactive why not observe it, and leave Quong to me. I am quite willing to tackle him on my own, and I see no reason why I should not get as much out of him as would any of you.’
‘That is an excellent idea!’ exclaimed A-lu-te; but the two Chinamen considered the suggestion in silence for a moment, until Wu-ming said:
‘I see nothing against it; although I would have liked to hear for myself what Quong has to say.’
Kâo nodded. ‘So would I.’ But with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he went on, ‘No matter. Let us accept it. I shall have to go ashore tomorrow morning to purchase funeral furnishings for the mortuary chapel. I will then ring up Quong-Yü and make an appointment with him for Mr. Sallust.’
‘You are most kind; but I too shall be going ashore, so I can save you that trouble. The mention of your name when I ring up should be quite sufficient to ensure Quong-Yü’s granting me an interview.’
Gregory’s polite little speech displayed no trace of guile; or hint of the importance he attached to it; but, in view of his narrow escape the previous day, he had made up his mind that no one should know in advance the hour at which he meant to call on Quong, and so be given the opportunity to lay a second ambush for him.
He felt that if he was correct in his belief that Wu-ming had laid the first, the shock he had sustained from murdering his uncle by mistake was so severe that it would be a long time before he screwed up his courage again to hire an assassin. But one could not be certain of that, or even that Wu-ming was definitely the villain of the piece. It was just possible that Quong-Yü, having the full resources of the most powerful Tong in Chinatown at his command, might have laid three or four ambushes—one to cover each approach to his dwelling.
With this in mind Gregory gave very considerable thought to measures for his own protection, and when the yacht’s launch put him ashore the following day he went straight to the office of the F.B.I. After a short wait he was shown in to Mr. Edgar C. Grace, who listened attentively to all he had to say. Feeling that no useful purpose could be served by reporting Tsai-Ping’s murder, Gregory refrained from mentioning it; but he told Mr. Grace that he intended to visit Quong-Yü, and that he had reason to suppose that on entering Chinatown his life might be in danger. He then suggested a means by which the risk he had to run could be minimised, providing Mr. Grace was willing to give him a little unorthodox co-operation.
The American cocked an eyebrow and asked with a friendly grin, ‘Would you say doing as you wish would come under the phrase “render any reasonable assistance”?’
‘I certainly would,’ Gregory grinned back.
‘Then if I refused I’d be going contrary to the terms of reference I received about you from Washington. And if I did that I might get my top taken off, mightn’t I?’
‘I’m afraid you might,’ Gregory agreed solemnly. ‘And that would be very hard, seeing how much you’ve helped me already.’
‘Seems then I’ve no alternative but to go on, and fix this thing for you.’
‘That’s about it. Joking apart, though, I’d be awfully grateful if you will.’
‘Sure I will. Come back around three o’clock and I’ll have everything ready.’
As a result of this conversation, Gregory left the F.B.I. headquarters at a little before four o’clock dressed in the uniform of a Californian State policeman. His change of costume also changed his bearing as, habitually, he was inclined to walk with his head thrust forward, whereas now that he was again in a uniform he instinctively held himself erect. As a disguise it could hardly have been bettered; it had the additional advantage of enabling him to go to his meeting not only armed but actually displaying the fact that he had a gun, and yet further, would, he hoped, solve for him the problem of how to reach Quong-Yü without having made any appointment at all.
From the F.B.I. headquarters he took a taxi to the top end of Grant Avenue. On the way he acknowledged to himself that the precautions he had taken to prevent anyone recognising him, or knowing the time he meant to call on Quong-Yü, were probably quite unnecessary; but he was none the less glad that Mr. Grace had enabled him to take them, as he was far too old a bird to run risks when they were avoidable and, moreover, the very fact that he was disguised now gave him the initiative.
At the inland end of Grant Avenue he slipped a piece of chewing-gum into his mouth before paying off the taxi; then, with the brisk and purposeful step of an American cop, he made his way into Chinatown. Mr. Grace had given him particulars of Quong-Yü’s abode, and advised him that the most suitable of its numerous entrances to use would be one through a tailor’s shop in Mimosa Street.
Gregory found the shop without difficulty. A bell tinkled as he pushed open its glass-panelled door, and a Chinaman came forward to its streaked and pitted counter, one end of which was piled high with bales of cloth.
‘Good evening!’ Gregory rolled the chewing gum round his tongue. ‘Go tell the Boss I want a word with him—an’ make it snappy.’
The Chinaman gave a bland smile. ‘This one-man shop. Me boss, and pleased to make you very nice suit, very cheap too.’
‘Can that! It’s old man Quong I’m here to see.’
‘You come wrong place then.’
‘You heard me. Get moving.’
‘You make big mistake. Mr. Quong-Yü, he …’
Gregory brought his fist down on the counter with a crash, leaned over it and thrust his face within a few inches of the unoffending tailor’s. ‘Listen you! Either you get inside and tell Quong-Yü I want to see him, or I’m pulling you in for obstruction.’
With a shrug the Chinaman drew back, then turned and shuffled off through a doorway at the rear of the shop. He was away for about ten minutes and when he reappeared he was followed by an older man.
The newcomer displayed a much more challenging manner, and asked coldly, ‘What is your reason for wishing to see Mr. Quong-Yü?’
‘That’s my business,’ retorted Gregory. ‘An’ unless you want trouble around here you’d best not keep me waiting.’
‘You will not make trouble for very long, and unless you answer you get no further. It is not the custom of Mr. Quong-Yü to speak with Patrolmen. Any business he has with police he transact with Captain of the quarter.’
There was no rudeness in the man’s tone but it held the quiet assurance of a superior fully confident of his ground addressing an inferior. Gregory saw that he must change his tactics; so, by the symbolical gesture of removing the gum from his mouth and flicking it into the street, he abandoned his role of tough cop as seen on the movies, and said in his normal voice:
‘I’m sorry. Let’s start again, shall we? My name is Sallust and I was coming here two evenings ago with Mr. Kâo Hsüan. If you tell Mr. Quong-Yü that I think he will see me.’
The elder of the two celestials gave him a long unwinking stare; then, without a word, he turned and disappeared through the door at the back of the shop. After an absence of nearly a quarter of an hour he returned, bowed and said with cold politeness:
‘Mr. Quong-Yü consents to receive you. But first a small formality. Please to place your pistol on the counter. It will be given back to you when you leave.’
Gregory was not at all surprised by the request. In fact he had thought it highly probable that, should he fail to bluff his way straight to Quong-Yü, the Tong boss’s guardians would insist on his giving up his weapon before allowing him to enter the presence of their chief. But now that he was inside the Tong headquarters he had much less fear of being attacked; so he surrendered his pistol to the tailor, and followed the other Chinaman out through the back of the premises.
Beyond the shop the place proved to be a positive rabbit warren of narrow twisting passages and short flights of stairs; which made it apparent that although the exterior of the block had been modernised the interior had not. Its tortuous ways only dimly lit by hanging lanterns, dragon-scrolled sliding panels, entrances screened by bead curtains, and faintly spicy smell, all combined to give it a truly Oriental atmosphere. This was just the sort of thing Gregory had expected to find on first entering San Francisco’s Chinatown, and it intrigued him to think that on passing through the tailor’s shop he had stepped back fifty years in time to the real Chinatown, which had simply gone underground.
After some minutes his guide brought him to a small room panelled in pink silk, on which there was a faint design of tortoises by a river. Its only furniture consisted of two lacquered arm-chairs and a low table. There, having told him to wait, the man left him.
Sitting down he looked about him, admiring the colouring of the Kang-he vase that had been converted to a table-lamp, the pattern of the thick carpet and the effectiveness of the simple design of the tortoises on the silk panelling. It was only then that it struck him that the silk on one wall seemed to be a slightly different colour and consistency from that on the others. As he peered at it again, two of the large panels began to move noiselessly apart, leaving a wide gap between floor and ceiling.
Beyond the gap was another, much larger, room. At its far end on a low dais a man sat hunched up in a throne-like chair of elaborately carved ebony. At his feet a girl was crouching. She had the broad head and heart-shaped face of a Southern Chinese, and was very lovely, but probably not more than fifteen. Beside the big cushion on which she squatted cross-legged was a small lamp. In its flame, on a needle point, she was preparing a pellet of opium for her master, whom Gregory assumed to be Quong-Yü.
He was much older than Gregory had expected. His magnificent robe, gaily embroidered with dragons, peacocks and butterflies, hung in loose folds about his shrunken figure. His face was as wizened as a monkey’s, and many of the grey hairs had evidently fallen out of his drooping moustache, as one side of it was longer than the other; but his blue silk cap was set at a jaunty angle on his bald head, his black eyes held a lively sparkle, and his voice betrayed no sign of senility as he called out in good English:
‘Come forward and tell me what you wish to see me about.’
As Gregory stepped through the aperture he caught just the whisper of a hiss, resulting from the release of hydraulic pressure as the panels slid to behind him. It caused him to glance over his shoulder and he was amused to see that the silk had been specially treated in some manner which rendered it transparent when seen from the larger room; thus enabling Quong-Yü to have a good look at any visitors who were waiting to see him in the ante-room before admitting them to his presence.
Feeling now how unsuitable his Patrolman’s uniform was for such an interview, Gregory bowed and said:
‘Venerable one; no doubt you will be aware that when the honourable Kâo Hsüan proposed to pay his respects to you two evenings ago he intended to bring three friends with him. I was one of those friends.’
Quong-Yü shook his head. ‘With Mr. Kâo Hsüan I have been acquainted for many years; but I know nothing of his recent activities.’ Waving his ivory fan towards a low stool, he added, ‘Please be seated, and continue.’
Accepting the invitation, Gregory said, ‘Am I to understand that you are still unaware of the reason why Mr. Kâo Hsüan and his friends were anxious to have a talk with you?’
‘Entirely,’ came the bland reply. ‘As they never arrived here why should you suppose me to be aware of it?’
‘I thought perhaps that Mr. Kâo Hsüan might have dropped some hint of it while speaking to you on the telephone.’
‘He said no more than that he wished to consult me about a matter in which only I could help him. Why did he fail to keep the appointment I gave him, and why does he now send you to me instead of coming himself?’
‘You must have heard about the accident which occurred only just round the corner from here,’ Gregory replied. ‘A man was killed by the fall of some crates of bananas. The victim was one of our companions, and he was struck down when we were on our way to see you. Naturally we were too upset to keep the appointment; and it is through being still occupied with the mourning rites for his compatriot that prevented Mr. Kâo Hsüan from coming here this evening.’
Quong-Yü nodded gravely, but his small dark eyes remained quite expressionless as he said, ‘A most distressing occurrence; but I heard nothing of it. You see, at my age I find it wise to confine my thoughts to matters which interest me; so I have long forbidden my people to bother me with local gossip.’
Gregory felt certain that the old man was lying. It was just possible that he might not have heard about a genuine accident, but as a Tong boss it was his business to know of all the criminal activities which took place in his area; so it seemed most improbable that he had remained ignorant of a violent death almost on his own door-step. Evidently it was just because he knew it had been murder that he had decided to deny all knowledge of the affair. So shrewd a man would be quick to realise that the victim’s companions might have their suspicions that it had not been an accident, and, if so, even suspect that one of his ‘hatchet-men’ had been the murderer; so to appear to know nothing whatever about the matter was clearly the best defence against possibly awkward questions.
As soon as Gregory had appeared the young girl had laid aside her opium pellet and turned her attention to making fresh tea. She now bent before Gregory, offering him a tiny egg-shell-thin cup of the new brew, thereby giving him time to develop his recent line of thought and wonder if Quong-Yü had actually given orders for the ambush at the request of Wu-ming. After all, if Wu-ming had paid anyone to do the job Quong was the most likely person to whom he would have gone. If so, Quong had lied again when implying that he knew nothing of Kâo Hsüan’s companions, and he must be aware that he was now facing the man he had been paid to have killed. With a view to checking any idea that this might be a favourable opportunity for Quong to make good his part of such a bargain, Gregory said:
‘I must apologise, Venerable one, for presenting myself to you in these clothes; but friends of mine at Police headquarters insisted on lending them to me.’
‘It is an honourable uniform, if lowly,’ remarked Quong-Yü, ‘and it had certainly appeared strange to me that Mr. Kâo Hsüan should select an ordinary Patrolman as his ambassador. However, if your observation was intended to disclose your reason for adopting this form of dress, I fear my dull mind has failed to grasp it.’
‘Forgive me!’ Gregory hastened to answer the question he had incited. ‘I should have told you that I had some reason to fear being killed in mistake for another on my way here, and it seemed much less likely that would happen if I wore this uniform.’
Far from appearing the least disconcerted at this thrust, the old man’s face wrinkled into a wintry smile, and he murmured, ‘I trust you will soon be free of this annoyance. In any case I cannot allow even an acquaintance to be killed on leaving my abode; so as an additional precaution you must permit me to provide you with an escort when you leave.’
Gregory smiled back. ‘You are most kind; but I shall be quite safe without it. In half an hour’s time, my friend at Police Headquarters will be waiting in his car just round the corner from the tailor’s shop to collect me.’
Having made it clear that he was under police protection, Gregory accepted a second cup of tea from the flower-faced hand-maiden. In recent months he had become accustomed to discriminating between the finer varieties of Chinese tea; so, as he sipped the fragrant straw-coloured liquid, it was easy for him to frame a suitable compliment on its excellence.
Quong-Yü bowed. ‘It is rare to find such delicate appreciation of our national beverage in a Caucasian, and I am much flattered; although I feel sure you have enjoyed many better infusions with our mutual friend Mr. Kâo Hsüan.’
This apparently pointless dragging in of Kâo’s name Gregory took to be a sign that he might now go ahead with the real business that had brought him there; so he said, ‘None of them was superior to this; but the last time we drank tea together we were discussing the disappearance of Miss Josephine Août. It was about that we wished to consult you.’
The dark little eyes peeping out from between creased layers of flesh, like those of a tortoise, never wavered, and the reply came with unhurried promptness. ‘The name you mention is vaguely familiar, but in what connection I cannot recall. I fear there is nothing I can tell you about this lady.’
Gregory knew well that he would never get anywhere unless he provided Quong-Yü with the means to save face; so he said diplomatically, ‘It is not at all surprising that anyone with your Excellency’s innumerable interests and responsibilities should have temporarily forgotten the details of a transaction which occurred some months ago. Permit me to recall the circumstances in which you took Miss Août, er—under your protection.’
‘Women,’ declared the aged Chinaman, ‘are as numerous as the sands of the sea, and of as little value. If she had the right to claim the protection of the Tong you may be sure it was afforded her, but no record would have been kept of the matter.’
‘This was hardly a case of that kind, Miss Août was not an inhabitant of Chinatown. She was of noble Manchu blood and lived with her mother in an apartment off Golden Gate Park. On the morning of May the 18th her mother was run down by a car and killed. That afternoon Miss Août disappeared, and it has proved impossible to trace her movements since. However, we know that a wealthy Chinese merchant wished to marry her and it was thought possible that, learning that she had lost her natural protector, he might have sought your good offices to secure her compliance.’
Gregory felt quite certain that everything he had so far said was already known to the Tong boss; but he counted on his final sentence jerking him out of his passivity, and he uttered it with an air of unchallengeable authority. ‘Anyhow, the one thing we do know for certain is that you took charge of her. You see, the F.B.I. has proof of that.’
For a moment there was complete silence in the warm, dimly-lit room, then Quong-Yü said, ‘I hope there is no suggestion that any of my people kidnapped this young woman?’
‘I fear there may be’—Gregory twisted the screw a little—‘unless you can clear them by recalling what has happened to her. Mr. Kâo Hsüan and his friends have a very special interest in Josephine Août. They have no desire at all to make trouble for your Tong, but they are determined to solve the mystery of her disappearance. If you cannot help them get her back, what alternative will they have but to ask the further help of the F.B.I.?’
‘There have been riddles before now which even the F.B.I. has failed to solve,’ remarked Quong-Yü with sudden acidity.
‘True,’ replied Gregory quietly. ‘But should they believe that you are withholding information from them, they might cause you considerable inconvenience. I don’t think I mentioned that the man who is coming to pick me up in—yes, in about a quarter of an hour’s time—is not just a Police captain, but Mr. Edgar C. Grace, whose name is, I think, known to you.’
The loose folds of Quong-Yü’s multi-coloured robe rustled as he suddenly sat forward in his big chair and asked, ‘Who are you? What interest have you in all this?’
Gregory shrugged. ‘I’m just an Englishman who has specialised in getting to the bottom of various odd affairs. At the moment I have nothing much to do, so I promised some Chinese friends of mine to help them find Josephine Août; then I took a trip to Washington and some people there ordered Mr. Edgar C. Grace to give me his assistance. I found that he was very well disposed towards you, but all the same he’s got to produce the goods or answer for his failure to the boys on top. He is hoping that you will give me all the information that you can, otherwise in about ten minutes’ time, instead of going off to enjoy a good dinner with me he may feel compelled to spend his evening looking into what goes on in that lamp shop of yours.’
Having fired his big broadside Gregory sat calmly waiting for results. They were not long in coming. Quong-Yü’s wrinkled face remained expressionless, but he said a little wistfully, ‘If only I could remember this Miss Août. Perhaps you could describe her to me?’
It was the final measure for face-saving, and Gregory had deliberately left that door open by refraining from any mention of Josephine’s affliction. Without the suggestion of a smile he said, ‘She is now twenty years of age and reported to be very good-looking; but unfortunately, owing to a surgeon bungling an operation on her throat when she was a child, she is completely dumb.’
‘Ah!’ Quong-Yü gave a well-simulated sigh of relief. ‘Now I recall this Miss Août and can tell you what happened to her. Does the name Lin Wân convey anything to you?’
‘It will to Mr. Kâo Hsüan and your other Chinese friends. Lin Wân comes of an old family and possesses great wealth. He is what you would call a Merchant Prince. It seems that he was in close touch with the Aoûts, for on the day of the mother’s death he came to me and said that the daughter’s now being alone in the world, and a girl of noble lineage, he wished to offer her his protection. I had that offer conveyed to her and she accepted it.’
‘Might that perhaps be interpreted to mean that he has taken her as a wife or concubine?’ Gregory asked.
Quong-Yü shook his head. ‘Oh no. I feel sure that Mr. Lin Wân had no thought of marrying her; and, as you are doubtless aware, the lady’s lineage was so exalted that it placed her above any thought of concubinage.’
Gregory smiled. ‘In that case Mr. Lin Wân has fulfilled to wards her the true functions of a protector. I am most grateful for the information you have given me. Now it remains only for Mr. Grace and myself to check up on these particulars. We should be able to do that before dinner this evening, if you will be good enough to give me Mr. Lin Wân’s address.
For a moment Quong-Yü remained silent, then he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed until the tears ran out of the slits that now concealed his eyes. His beautiful little hand-maiden threw Gregory an angry look and lifting her aged master up in his big chair began gently to pat his back. At last from sheer exhaustion his laughter ceased and opening his eyes he wheezed:
‘Check up if you wish but it will not be this evening. The great House of Lin is near Yen-an, and it is there that he will have taken the dumb Princess. To find her you must cross the Pacific, travel eight hundred miles up the Hwang Ho, and then by camel caravan right across northern China, almost to the wall beyond which lie only the deserts of Mongolia.’