Dope

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE ISLE OF DOGS

  As the police boat left Limehouse Pier, a clammy south-easterly breezeblowing up-stream lifted the fog in clearly defined layers, an effectvery singular to behold. At one moment a great arc-lamp burning abovethe Lavender Pond of the Surrey Commercial Dock shot out a yellowishlight across the Thames. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the lightvanished again as a stratum of mist floated before it.

  The creaking of the oars sounded muffled and ghostly, and none of themen in the boat seemed to be inclined to converse. Heading across streamthey made for the unseen promontory of the Isle of Dogs. Navigation wassuspended, and they reached midstream without seeing a ship's light.Then came the damp wind again to lift the fog, and ahead of them theydiscerned one of the General Steam Navigation Company's boats awaitingan opportunity to make her dock at the head of Deptford Creek. Theclamor of an ironworks on the Millwall shore burst loudly upon theirears, and away astern the lights of the Surrey Dock shone out once more.Hugging the bank they pursued a southerly course, and from LimehouseReach crept down to Greenwich Reach.

  Fog closed in upon them, a curtain obscuring both light and sound.When the breeze came again it had gathered force, and it drove the mistbefore it in wreathing banks, and brought to their ears a dull lowingand to their nostrils a farmyard odor from the cattle pens. Ghostlyflames, leaping and falling, leaping and falling, showed where agasworks lay on the Greenwich bank ahead.

  Eastward swept the river now, and fresher blew the breeze. As theyrounded the blunt point of the "Isle" the fog banks went swirling pastthem astern, and the lights on either shore showed clearly ahead. Aship's siren began to roar somewhere behind them. The steamer which theyhad passed was about to pursue her course.

  Closer in-shore drew the boat, passing a series of wharves, and beyondthese a tract of waste, desolate bank very gloomy in the half lightand apparently boasting no habitation of man. The activities of theGreenwich bank seemed remote, and the desolation of the Isle of Dogsvery near, touching them intimately with its peculiar gloom.

  A light sprang into view some little distance inland, notable becauseit shone lonely in an expanse of utter blackness. Kerry broke the longsilence.

  "Dougal's," he said. "Put us ashore here."

  The police boat was pulled in under a rickety wooden structure,beneath which the Thames water whispered eerily; and Kerry and Setondisembarked, mounting a short flight of slimy wooden steps and crossinga roughly planked place on to a shingly slope. Climbing this, they wereon damp waste ground, pathless and uninviting.

  "Dougal's is being watched," said Kerry. "I think I told you?"

  "Yes," replied Seton. "But I have formed the opinion that the dope gangis too clever for the ordinary type of man. Sin Sin Wa is an instanceof what I mean. Neither you nor I doubt that he is a receiver ofdrugs--perhaps the receiver; but where is our case? The only reallink connecting him with the West-End habitue is his wife. And she hasconveniently deserted him! We cannot possibly prove that she hasn'twhile he chooses to maintain that she has."

  "H'm," grunted Kerry, abruptly changing the subject. "I hope I'm notrecognized here."

  "Have you visited the place before?"

  "Some years ago. Unless there are any old hands on view tonight, I don'tthink I shall be spotted."

  He wore a heavy and threadbare overcoat, which was several sizes toolarge for him, a muffler, and a weed cap--the outfit supplied by SetonPasha; and he had a very vivid and unpleasant recollection of hisappearance as viewed in his little pocket-mirror before leaving Seton'sroom. As they proceeded across the muddy wilderness towards the lightwhich marked the site of Dougal's, they presented a picture of asufficiently villainous pair.

  The ground was irregular, and the path wound sinuously about mounds ofrubbish; so that often the guiding light was lost, and they stumbledblindly among nondescript litter, which apparently represented theaccumulation of centuries. But finally they turned a corner formed by astack of rusty scrap iron, and found a long, low building before them.From a ground-floor window light streamed out upon the fragments ofrubbish strewing the ground, from amid which sickly weeds uprose as ifin defiance of nature's laws. Seton paused, and:

  "What is Dougal's exactly?" he asked; "a public house?"

  "No," rapped Kerry. "It's a coffee-shop used by the dockers. You'll seewhen we get inside. The place never closes so far as I know, and if wemade 'em close there would be a dock strike."

  He crossed and pushed open the swing door. As Seton entered at hisheels, a babel of coarse voices struck upon his ears and he foundhimself in a superheated atmosphere suggestive of shag, stale spirits,and imperfectly washed humanity.

  Dougal's proved to be a kind of hut of wood and corrugated iron, notunlike an army canteen. There were two counters, one at either end,and two large American stoves. Oil lamps hung from the beams, and thefurniture was made up of trestle tables, rough wooden chairs, and emptybarrels. Coarse, thick curtains covered all the windows but one. Thecounter further from the entrance was laden with articles of food, suchas pies, tins of bully-beef, and "saveloys," while the other was devotedto liquid refreshment in the form of ginger-beer and cider (or so thecasks were conspicuously labelled), tea, coffee, and cocoa.

  The place was uncomfortably crowded; the patrons congregating moreespecially around the two stoves. There were men who looked like docklaborers, seamen, and riverside loafers; lascars, Chinese, Arabs, anddagoes; and at the "solid" counter there presided a red-armed, brawnywoman, fierce of mien and ready of tongue, while a huge Irishman,possessing a broken nose and deficient teeth, ruled the "liquid"department with a rod of iron and a flow of language which shockedeven Kerry. This formidable ruffian, a retired warrior of the ring, wasDougal, said to be the strongest man from Tower Hill to the River Lea.

  As they entered, several of the patrons glanced at them curiously, butno one seemed to be particularly interested. Kerry wore his cap pulledwell down over his fierce eyes, and had the collar of his topcoat turnedup.

  He looked about him, as if expecting to recognize someone; and as theymade their way to Dougal's counter, a big fellow dressed in the mannerof a dock laborer stepped up to the Chief Inspector and clapped him onthe shoulder.

  "Have one with me, Mike," he said, winking. "The coffee's good."

  Kerry bent towards him swiftly, and:

  "Anybody here, Jervis?" he whispered.

  "George Martin is at the bar. I've had the tip that he 'traffics.'You'll remember he figured in my last report, sir."

  Kerry nodded, and the trio elbowed their way to the counter. Thepseudo-dock hand was a detective attached to Leman Street, and one whoknew the night birds of East End London as few men outside their owncircles knew them.

  "Three coffees, Pat," he cried, leaning across the shoulder of a heavy,red-headed fellow who lolled against the counter. "And two lumps ofsugar in each."

  "To hell wid yer sugar!" roared Dougal, grasping three cups deftly inone hairy hand and filling them from a steaming urn. "There's no moresugar tonight."

  "Not any brown sugar?" asked the customer.

  "Yez can have one tayspoon of brown, and no more tonight," cried Dougal.

  He stooped rapidly below the counter, then pushed the three cups ofcoffee towards the detective. The latter tossed a shilling down, atwhich Dougal glared ferociously.

  "'Twas wid sugar ye said!" he roared.

  A second shilling followed. Dougal swept both coins into a drawer andturned to another customer, who was also clamoring for coffee. Securingtheir cups with difficulty, for the red-headed man surlily refused tobudge, they retired to a comparatively quiet spot, and Seton tasted thehot beverage.

  "H'm," he said. "Rum! Good rum, too!"

  "It's a nice position for me," snapped Kerry. "I don't think I wouldremind you that there's a police station actually on this blessedisland. If there was a dive like Dougal's anywhere West it would beraided as a matter of course. But to shut Dougal's would be to raisehell. There are two laws in England, s
ir; one for Piccadilly and theother for the Isle of Dogs!" He sipped his coffee with appreciation.Jervis looked about him cautiously, and:

  "That's George--the red-headed hooligan against the counter," he said."He's been liquoring up pretty freely, and I shouldn't be surprised tofind that he's got a job on tonight. He has a skiff beached below here,and I think he's waiting for the tide."

  "Good!" rapped Kerry. "Where can we find a boat?"

  "Well," Jervis smiled. "There are several lying there if you didn't comein an R.P. boat."

  "We did. But I'll dismiss it. We want a small boat."

  "Very good, sir. We shall have to pinch one!"

  "That doesn't matter," declared Kerry glancing at Seton with a suddentwinkle discernible in his steely eyes. "What do you say, sir?"

  "I agree with you entirely," replied Seton quietly. "We must find aboat, and lie off somewhere to watch for George. He should be worthfollowing."

  "We'll be moving, then," said the Leman Street detective. "It will behigh tide in an hour."

  They finished their coffee as quickly as possible; the stuff was not farbelow boiling-point. Then Jervis returned the cups to the counter. "Goodnight, Pat!" he cried, and rejoined Seton and Kerry.

  As they came out into the desolation of the scrap heaps, the last tracesof fog had disappeared and a steady breeze came up the river, freshand salty from the Nore. Jervis led them in a north-easterly direction,threading a way through pyramids of rubbish, until with the wind intheir teeth they came out upon the river bank at a point where the shoreshelved steeply downwards. A number of boats lay on the shingle.

  "We're pretty well opposite Greenwich Marshes," said Jervis. "You canjust see one of the big gasometers. The end boat is George's."

  "Have you searched it?" rapped Kerry, placing a fresh piece ofchewing-gum between his teeth.

  "I have, sir. Oh, he's too wise for that!"

  "I propose," said Seton briskly, "that we borrow one of the other boatsand pull down stream to where that short pier juts out. We can hidebehind it and watch for our man. I take it he'll be bound up-stream, andthe tide will help us to follow him quietly."

  "Right," said Kerry. "We'll take the small dinghy. It's big enough."

  He turned to Jervis.

  "Nip across to the wooden stairs," he directed, "and tell InspectorWhite to stand by, but to keep out of sight. If we've started before youreturn, go back and join him."

  "Very good, sir."

  Jervis turned and disappeared into the mazes of rubbish, as Seton andKerry grasped the boat and ran it down into the rising tide. Kerryboarding, Seton thrust it out into the river and climbed in over thestern.

  "Phew! The current drags like a tow-boat!" said Kerry.

  They were being drawn rapidly up-stream. But as Kerry seized the oarsand began to pull steadily, this progress was checked. He could makelittle actual headway, however.

  "The tide races round this bend like fury," he said. "Bear on the oars,sir."

  Seton thereupon came to Kerry's assistance, and gradually the dinghycrept upon its course, until, below the little pier, they found asheltered spot, where it was possible to run in and lie hidden. As theywon this haven:

  "Quiet!" said Seton. "Don't move the oars. Look! We were only just intime!"

  Immediately above them, where the boats were beached, a man was comingdown the slope, carrying a hurricane lantern. As Kerry and Setonwatched, the man raised the lantern and swung it to and fro.

  "Watch!" whispered Seton. "He's signalling to the Greenwich bank!"

  Kerry's teeth snapped savagely together, and he chewed but made noreply, until:

  "There it is!" he said rapidly. "On the marshes!"

  A speck of light in the darkness it showed, a distant moving lantern onthe curtain of the night. Although few would have credited Kerry withthe virtue, he was a man of cultured imagination, and it seemed to him,as it seemed to Seton Pasha, that the dim light symbolized the life ofthe missing woman, of the woman who hovered between the gay world fromwhich tragically she had vanished and some Chinese hell upon whose brinkshe hovered. Neither of the watchers was thinking of the crime andthe criminal, of Sir Lucien Pyne or Kazmah, but of Mrs. Monte Irvin,mysterious victim of a mysterious tragedy. "Oh, Dan! ye must find her!ye must find her! Puir weak hairt--dinna ye ken how she is suffering!"Clairvoyantly, to Kerry's ears was borne an echo of his wife's words.

  "The traffic!" he whispered. "If we lose George Martin tonight wedeserve to lose the case!"

  "I agree, Chief Inspector," said Seton quietly.

  The grating sound made by a boat thrust out from a shingle beach came totheir ears above the whispering of the tide. A ghostly figure in the dimlight, George Martin clambered into his craft and took to the oars.

  "If he's for the Greenwich bank," said Seton grimly, "he has a stifftask."

  But for the Greenwich bank the boat was headed; and pulling mightilyagainst the current, the man struck out into mid-stream. They watchedhim for some time, silently, noting how he fought against the tide,sturdily heading for the point at which the signal had shown. Then:

  "What do you suggest?" asked Seton. "He may follow the Surrey bankup-stream."

  "I suggest," said Kerry, "that we drift. Once in Limehouse Reach we'llhear him. There are no pleasure parties punting about that stretch."

  "Let us pull out, then. I propose that we wait for him at someconvenient point between the West India Dock and Limehouse Basin."

  "Good," rapped Kerry, thrusting the boat out into the fierce current."You may have spent a long time in the East, sir, but you're fairly wiseon the geography of the lower Thames."

  Gripped in the strongly running tide they were borne smoothly up-stream,using the oars merely for the purpose of steering. The gloomy mysteryof the London river claimed them and imposed silence upon them, untilfamiliar landmarks told of the northern bend of the Thames, and thelight above the Lavender Pond shone out upon the unctuously movingwater.

  Each pulling a scull they headed in for the left bank.

  "There's a wharf ahead," said Seton, looking back over his shoulder. "Ifwe put in beside it we can wait there unobserved."

  "Good enough," said Kerry.

  They bent to the oars, stealing stroke by stroke out of the grip of thetide, and presently came to a tiny pool above the wharf structure, whereit was possible to lie undisturbed by the eager current.

  Those limitations which are common to all humanity and that guile whichis peculiar to the Chinese veiled the fact from their ken that thedeserted wharf, in whose shelter they lay, was at once the roof and thegateway of Sin Sin Wa's receiving office!

  As the boat drew in to the bank, a Chinese boy who was standing on thewharf retired into the shadows. From a spot visible down-stream butinvisible to the men in the boat, he signalled constantly with ahurricane lantern.

  Three men from New Scotland Yard were watching the house of Sin Sin Wa,and Sin Sin Wa had given no sign of animation since, some hours earlier,he had extinguished his bedroom light. Yet George, drifting noiselesslyup-stream, received a signal to the effect "police" while Seton Pashaand Chief Inspector Kerry lay below the biggest dope cache in London.Seton sometimes swore under his breath. Kerry chewed incessantly. ButGeorge never came.

  At that eerie hour of the night when all things living, from the lowestto the highest, nor excepting Mother Earth herself, grow chilled, whenall Nature's perishable handiwork feels the touch of death--a wild,sudden cry rang out, a wailing, sorrowful cry, that seemed to come fromnowhere, from everywhere, from the bank, from the stream; that rose andfell and died sobbing into the hushed whisper of the tide.

  Seton's hand fastened like a vise on to Kerry's shoulder, and:

  "Merciful God!" he whispered; "what was it? Who was it?"

  "If it wasn't a spirit it was a woman," replied Kerry hoarsely; "and awoman very near to her end."

  "Kerry!"--Seton Pasha had dropped all formality--"Kerry--if it callsfor all the men that Scotland Yard can muster, we must search ever
ybuilding, down to the smallest rathole in the floor, on this bank--anddo it by dawn!"

  "We'll do it," rapped Kerry.

  PART FOURTH--THE EYE OF SIN SIN WA