by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXII
THE SECRET OF THE WHARF
I sat in the evil-smelling little room with its low, blackened ceiling,and strove to avoid making the slightest noise; but the crazy boardscreaked beneath me with every movement. The moon hung low in an almostcloudless sky; for, following the spell of damp and foggy weather, afall in temperature had taken place, and there was a frosty snap inthe air to-night.
Through the open window the moonlight poured in and spilled its pureluminance upon the filthy floor; but I kept religiously within theshadows, so posted, however, that I could command an uninterruptedview of the street from the point where it crossed the creek to thatwhere it terminated at the gates of the deserted wharf.
Above and below me the crazy building formerly known as the Joy-Shopand once the nightly resort of the Asiatic riff-raff from the docks--was silent, save for the squealing and scuffling of the rats. Themelancholy lapping of the water frequently reached my ears, and a moreor less continuous din from the wharves and workshops upon the furtherbank of the Thames; but in the narrow, dingy streets immediatelysurrounding the house, quietude reigned and no solitary footstepdisturbed it.
Once, looking down in the direction of the bridge, I gave a greatstart, for a black patch of shadow moved swiftly across the path andmerged into the other shadows bordering a high wall. My heart leaptmomentarily, then, in another instant, the explanation of the mysterybecame apparent--in the presence of a gaunt and prowling cat. Bestowinga suspicious glance upward in my direction, the animal slunk away towardthe path bordering the cutting.
By a devious route amid ghostly gasometers I had crept to my post inthe early dusk, before the moon was risen, and already I was heartilyweary of my passive part in the affair of the night. I had never beforeappreciated the multitudinous sounds, all of them weird and many ofthem horrible, which are within the compass of those great black ratswho find their way to England with cargoes from Russia and elsewhere.From the rafters above my head, from the wall recesses about me, fromthe floor beneath my feet, proceeded a continuous and nerve-shatteringconcert, an unholy symphony which seemingly accompanied the eternaldance of the rats.
Sometimes a faint splash from below would tell of one of the revelerstaking the water, but save for the more distant throbbing of riversideindustry, and rarer note of shipping, the mad discords of this ratsaturnalia alone claimed the ear.
The hour was nigh now, when matters should begin to develop. Ifollowed the chimes from the clock of some church nearby--I have neverlearnt its name; and was conscious of a thrill of excitement whenthey warned me that the hour was actually arrived....
A strange figure appeared noiselessly, from I knew not where, andstood fully within view upon the bridge crossing the cutting, peeringto right and left, in an attitude of listening. It was the figure ofa bedraggled old woman, gray-haired, and carrying a large bundle tiedup in what appeared to be a red shawl. Of her face I could see little,since it was shaded by the brim of her black bonnet, but she restedher bundle upon the low wall of the bridge, and to my intensesurprise, sat down upon it!
She evidently intended to remain there.
I drew back further into the darkness; for the presence of thissingular old woman at such a place, and at that hour, could not wellbe accidental. I was convinced that the first actor in the drama hadalready taken the stage. Whether I was mistaken or not must shortlyappear.
Crisp footsteps sounded upon the roadway; distantly, and from myleft. Nearer they approached and nearer. I saw the old woman, in theshadow of the wall, glance once rapidly in the direction of theapproaching pedestrian. For some occult reason, the chorus of therats was stilled. Only that firm and regular tread broke the intimatesilence of the dreary spot.
Now the pedestrian came within my range of sight. It was Nayland Smith!
He wore a long tweed overcoat with which I was familiar, and a softfelt hat, the brim pulled down all around in a fashion characteristicof him, and probably acquired during the years spent beneath themerciless sun of Burma. He carried a heavy walking-cane which I knewto be a formidable weapon that he could wield to good effect. But,despite the stillness about me, a stillness which had reigneduninterruptedly (save for the _danse macabre_ of the rats) since thecoming of dusk, some voice within, ignoring these physical evidencesof solitude, spoke urgently of lurking assassins; of murderousEasterns armed with those curved knives which sometimes flashedbefore my eyes in dreams; of a deathly menace which hid in theshadows about me, in the many shadows cloaking the holes and cornersof the ramshackle building, draping arches, crannies and portals towhich the moonlight could not penetrate.
He was abreast of the Joy-Shop now, and in sight of the ominous oldwitch huddled upon the bridge. He pulled up suddenly and stoodlooking at her. Coincident with his doing so, she began to moan andsway her body to right and left as if in pain; then--
"Kind gentleman," she whined in a sing-song voice, "thank God you camethis way to help a poor old woman."
"What is the matter?" said Smith tersely, approaching her.
I clenched my fists. I could have cried out; I was indeed hard put toit to refrain from crying out--from warning him. But his injunctionshad been explicit, and I restrained myself by a great effort,preserving silence and crouching there at the window, but with everymuscle tensed and a desire for action strong upon me.
"I tripped up on a rough stone, sir," whined the old creature, "andhere I've been sitting waiting for a policeman or someone to help me,for more than an hour, I have."
Smith stood looking down at her, his arms behind him, and in onegloved hand swinging the cane.
"Where do you live, then?" he asked.
"Not a hundred steps from here, kind gentleman," she replied in themonotonous voice; "but I can't move my left foot. It's only justthrough the gates yonder."
"What!" snapped Smith, "on the wharf?"
"They let me have a room in the old building until it's let," sheexplained. "Be helping a poor old woman, and God bless you."
"Come along, then!"
Stooping, Smith placed his arm around her shoulders, and assisted herto her feet. She groaned as if in great pain, but gripped her redbundle, and leaning heavily upon the supporting arm, hobbled offacross the bridge in the direction of the wharf gates at the end ofthe lane.
Now at last a little action became possible, and having seen my friendpush open one of the gates and assist the old woman to enter, I creptrapidly across the crazy floor, found the doorway, and, with littlenoise, for I wore rubber-soled shoes, stole down the stairs into whathad formerly been the reception-room of the Joy-Shop, the malodoroussanctum of the old Chinaman, John Ki.
Utter darkness prevailed there, but momentarily flicking the light ofa pocket-lamp upon the floor before me, I discovered the further stepsthat were to be negotiated, and descended into the square yard whichgave access to the path skirting the creek.
The moonlight drew a sharp line of shadow along the wall of the houseabove me, but the yard itself was a well of darkness. I stumbled underthe rotting brick archway, and stepped gingerly upon the muddy paththat I must follow. One hand pressed to the damp wall, I worked my waycautiously along, for a false step had precipitated me into the foulwater of the creek. In this fashion and still enveloped by denseshadows, I reached the angle of the building. Then--at risk of beingperceived, for the wharf and the river both were bathed in moonlight--I peered along to the left....
Out onto the paved pathway communicating with the wharf came Smith,shepherding his tottering charge. I was too far away to hear anyconversation that might take place between the two, but, unless Smithgave the pre-arranged signal, I must approach no closer. Thus, as onesees a drama upon the screen, I saw what now occurred--occurred withdramatic, lightning swiftness.
Releasing Smith's arm, the old woman suddenly stepped back ... at theinstant that another figure, a repellent figure which approached,stooping, apish, with a sort of loping gait, crossed from some spotinvisible to me, and sprang like a wild animal
upon Smith's back!
It was a Chinaman, wearing a short loose garment of the smock pattern,and having his head bare, so that I could see his pigtail coiled uponhis yellow crown. That he carried a cord, I perceived in the instantof his spring, and that he had whipped it about Smith's throat withunerring dexterity was evidenced by the one, short, strangled cry thatcame from my friend's lips.
Then Smith was down, prone upon the crazy planking, with the ape-likefigure of the Chinaman perched between his shoulders--bending forward--the wicked yellow fingers at work, tightening--tightening--tighteningthe strangling-cord!
Uttering a loud cry of horror, I went racing along the gangway whichprojected actually over the moving Thames waters, and gained the wharf.But, swift as I had been, another had been swifter!
A tall figure (despite the brilliant moon, I doubted the evidence ofmy sight), wearing a tweed overcoat and a soft felt hat with the brimturned down, sprang up, from nowhere as it seemed, swooped upon thehorrible figure squatting, simianesque, between Smith's shoulder-blades,and grasped him by the neck.
I pulled up shortly, one foot set upon the wharf. The new-comer wasthe double of Nayland Smith!
Seemingly exerting no effort whatever, he lifted the strangler in thatremorseless grasp, so that the Chinaman's hands, after one quickconvulsive upward movement, hung limply beside him like the paws of arat in the grip of a terrier.
"You damned murderous swine!" I heard in a repressed, savage undertone."The knife failed, so now the cord has an innings! Go after your pal!"
Releasing one hand from the neck of the limp figure, the speakergrasped the Chinaman by his loose, smock-like garment, swung him back,once--a mighty swing--and hurled him far out into the river as onemight hurl a sack of rubbish!
