Works of Sax Rohmer

by Sax Rohmer

  A whimpering cry came to Kerry’s ears; and because beneath the mask of ferocity which he wore a humane man was concealed: “Flames!” he snapped; “perhaps I’ve broken the poor little devil’s leg.”

  Shaking a cascade of water from the brim of his neat bowler, he set off through the murk towards the spot from whence the cries of the spaniel seemed to proceed. A few paces brought him to the door of a dirty little shop. In a window close beside it appeared the legend:

  SAM TUK

  BARBER.

  The spaniel crouched by the door whining and scratching, and as Kerry came up it raised its beady black eyes to him with a look which, while it was not unfearful, held an unmistakable appeal. Kerry stood watching the dog for a moment, and as he watched he became conscious of an exhilarated pulse.

  He tried the door and found it to be open. Thereupon he entered a dirty little shop, which he remembered to have searched in person in the grey dawn of the day which now was entering upon a premature dusk. The dog ran in past him, crossed the gloomy shop, and raced down into a tiny coal cellar, which likewise had been submitted during the early hours of the morning to careful scrutiny under the directions of the Chief Inspector.

  A Chinese boy, who had been the only occupant of the place on that occasion and who had given his name as Ah Fung, was surprised by the sudden entrance of man and dog in the act of spreading coal dust with his fingers upon a portion of the paved floor. He came to his feet with a leap and confronted Kerry. The spaniel began to scratch feverishly upon the spot where the coal dust had been artificially spread. Kerry’s eyes gleamed like steel. He shot out his hand and grasped the Chinaman by his long hair. “Open that trap,” he said, “or I’ll break you in half!”

  Ah Fung’s oblique eyes regarded him with an expression difficult to analyze, but partly it was murder. He made no attempt to obey the order. Meanwhile the dog, whining and scratching furiously, had exposed the greater part of a stone slab somewhat larger than those adjoining it, and having a large crack or fissure in one end.

  “For the last time,” said Kerry, drawing the man’s head back so that his breath began to whistle through his nostrils, “open that trap.”

  As he spoke he released Ah Fung, and Ah Fung made one wild leap towards the stairs. Kerry’s fist caught him behind the ear as he sprang, and he went down like a dead man upon a small heap of coal which filled the angle of the cellar.

  Breathing rapidly and having his teeth so tightly clenched that his maxillary muscles protruded lumpishly, Kerry stood looking at the fallen man. But Ah Fung did not move. The dog had ceased to scratch, and now stood uttering short staccato barks and looking up at the Chief Inspector. Otherwise there was no sound in the house, above or below.

  Kerry stooped, and with his handkerchief scrupulously dusted the stone slab. The spaniel, resentment forgotten, danced excitedly beside him and barked continuously.

  “There’s some sort of hook to fit in that crack,” muttered Kerry.

  He began to hunt about among the debris which littered one end of the cellar, testing fragment after fragment, but failing to find any piece of scrap to suit his purpose. By sheer perseverance rather than by any process of reasoning, he finally hit upon the piece of bent wire which was the key to this door of Sin Sin Wa’s drug warehouse.

  One short exclamation of triumph he muttered at the moment that his glance rested upon it, and five seconds later he had the trapdoor open and was peering down into the narrow pit in which wooden steps rested. The spaniel began to bark wildly, whereupon Kerry grasped him, tucked him under his arm, and ran up to the room above, where he deposited the furiously wriggling animal. He stepped quickly back again and closed the upper door. By this act he plunged the cellar into complete darkness, and accordingly he took out from the pocket of his rain-drenched overall the electric torch which he always carried. Directing its ray downwards into the cellar, he perceived Ah Fung move and toss his hand above his head. He also detected a faint rattling sound.

  “Ah!” said Kerry.

  He descended, and stooping over the unconscious man extracted from the pocket of his baggy blue trousers four keys upon a ring. At these Kerry stared eagerly. Two of them belonged to yale locks; the third was a simple English barrel-key, which probably fitted a padlock; but the fourth was large and complicated.

  “Looks like the key of a jail,” he said aloud.

  He spoke with unconscious prescience. This was the key of the door of the vault. Removing his overall, Kerry laid it with his cane upon the scrap-heap, then he climbed down the ladder and found himself in the mouth of that low timbered tunnel, like a trenchwork, which owed its existence to the cunning craftsmanship of Sin Sin Wa. Stooping uncomfortably, he made his way along the passage until the massive door confronted him. He was in no doubt as to which key to employ; his mental condition was such that he was indifferent to the dangers which probably lay before him.

  The well-oiled lock operated smoothly. Kerry pushed the door open and stepped briskly into the vault.

  His movements, from the moment that he had opened the trap, had been swift and as nearly noiseless as the difficulties of the task had permitted. Nevertheless, they had not been so silent as to escape the attention of the preternaturally acute Sin Sin Wa. Kerry found the place occupied only by the aged Sam Tuk. A bright fire burned in the stove, and a ship’s lantern stood upon the counter. Dense chemical fumes rendered the air difficult to breathe; but the shelves, once laden with the largest illicit collection of drugs in London, were bare.

  Kerry’s fierce eyes moved right and left; his jaws worked automatically. Sam Tuk sat motionless, his hands concealed in his sleeves, bending decrepitly forward in his chair. Then:

  “Hi! Guy Fawkes!” rapped Kerry, striding forward. “Who’s been letting off fire-works?”

  Sam Tuk nodded senilely, but spoke not a word.

  Kerry stooped and stared into the heart of the fire. A dense coat of white ash lay upon the embers. He grasped the shoulder of the aged Chinaman, and pushed him back so that he could look into the bleared eyes behind the owlish spectacles.

  “Been cleaning up the ‘evidence,’ eh?” he shouted. “This joint stinks of opium and a score of other dopes. Where are the gang?” He shook the yielding, ancient frame. “Where’s the smart with one eye?”

  But Sam Tuk merely nodded, and as Kerry released his hold sank forward again, nodding incessantly.

  “H’m, you’re a hard case,” said the Chief Inspector. “A couple of witnesses like you and the jury would retire to Bedlam!”

  He stood glaring fiercely at the limp frame of the old Chinaman, and as he glared his expression changed. Lying on the dirty floor not a yard from Sam Tuk’s feet was a ball of leaf opium!

  “Ha!” exclaimed Kerry, and he stooped to pick it up.

  As he did so, with a lightning movement of which the most astute observer could never have supposed him capable, Sam Tuk whipped a loaded rubber tube from his sleeve and struck Kerry a shrewd blow across the back of the skull.

  The Chief Inspector, without word or cry, collapsed upon his knees, and then fell gently forward — forward — and toppled face downwards before his assailant. His bowler fell off and rolled across the dirty floor.

  Sam Tuk sank deeply into his chair, and his toothless jaws worked convulsively. The skinny hand which clutched the piece of tubing twitched and shook, so that the primitive deadly weapon fell from its wielder’s grasp.

  Silently, that set of empty shelves nearest to the inner wall of the vault slid open, and Sin Sin Wa came out. He, too, carried his hands tucked in his sleeves, and his yellow, pock-marked face wore its eternal smile.

  “Well done,” he crooned softly in Chinese. “Well done, bald father of wisdom. The dogs draw near, but the old fox sleeps not.”

  CHAPTER XXXVII. SETON PASHA REPORTS

  At about the time that the fearless Chief Inspector was entering the establishment of Sam Tuk Seton Pasha was reporting to Lord Wrexborough in Whitehall. His nautical
disguise had served its purpose, and he had now finally abandoned it, recognizing that he had to deal with a criminal of genius to whom disguise merely afforded matter for amusement.

  In his proper person, as Greville Seton, he afforded a marked contrast to that John Smiles, seaman, who had sat in a top room in Limehouse with Chief Inspector Kerry. And although he had to report failure, the grim, bronzed face and bright grey eyes must have inspired in the heart of any thoughtful observer confidence in ultimate success. Lord Wrexborough, silver-haired, florid and dignified, sat before a vast table laden with neatly arranged dispatch-boxes, books, documents tied with red tape, and the other impressive impedimenta which characterize the table of a Secretary of State. Quentin Gray, unable to conceal his condition of nervous excitement, stared from a window down into Whitehall.

  “I take it, then, Seton,” Lord Wrexborough was saying, “that in your opinion — although perhaps it is somewhat hastily formed — there is and has been no connivance between officials and receivers of drugs?”

  “That is my opinion, sir. The traffic has gradually and ingeniously been ‘ringed’ by a wealthy group. Smaller dealers have been bought out or driven out, and today I believe it would be difficult, if not impossible, to obtain opium, cocaine, or veronal illicitly anywhere in London. Kazmah and Company had the available stock cornered. Of course, now that they are out of business, no doubt others will step in. It is a trade that can never be suppressed under existing laws.”

  “I see, I see,” muttered Lord Wrexborough, adjusting his pince-nez. “You also believe that Kazmah and Company are in hiding within what you term” — he consulted a written page— “the ‘Causeway area’? And you believe that the man called Sin Sin Wa is the head of the organization?”

  “I believe the late Sir Lucien Pyne was the actual head of the group,” said Seton bluntly. “But Sin Sin Wa is the acting head. In view of his physical peculiarities, I don’t quite see how he’s going to escape us, either, sir. His wife has a fighting chance, and as for Mohammed el-Kazmah, he might sail for anywhere tomorrow, and we should never know. You see, we have no description of the man.”

  “His passports?” murmured Lord Wrexborough.

  Seton Pasha smiled grimly.

  “Not an insurmountable difficulty, sir,” he replied, “but Sin Sin Wa is a marked man. He has the longest and thickest pigtail which I ever saw on a human scalp. I take it he is a Southerner of the old school; therefore, he won’t cut it off. He has also only one eye, and while there are many one-eyed Chinamen, there are few one-eyed Chinamen who possess pigtails like a battleship’s hawser. Furthermore, he travels with a talking raven, and I’ll swear he won’t leave it behind. On the other hand, he is endowed with an amount of craft which comes very near to genius.”

  “And — Mrs. Monte Irvin?”

  Quentin Gray turned suddenly, and his boyish face was very pale.

  “Seton, Seton!” he said. “For God’s sake tell me the truth! Do you think—”

  He stopped, choking emotionally. Seton Pasha watched him with that cool, confident stare which could either soothe or irritate; and:

  “She was alive this morning, Gray,” he replied quietly, “we heard her. You may take it from me that they will offer her no violence. I shall say no more.”

  Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and took up a document from the table.

  “Your remark raises another point, Quentin,” he said sternly, “which has to be settled today. Your appointment to Cairo was confirmed this morning. You sail on Tuesday.”

  Quentin Gray turned again abruptly and stared out of the window.

  “You’re practically kicking me out, sir,” he said. “I don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “You have done nothing,” replied Lord Wrexborough “which an honorable man may not do. But in common with many others similarly circumstanced, you seem inclined, now that your military duties are at an end, to regard life as a sort of perpetual ‘leave.’ I speak frankly before Seton because I know that he agrees with me. My friend the Foreign Secretary has generously offered you an appointment which opens up a career that should not — I repeat, that should not prove less successful than his own.”

  Gray turned, and his face had flushed deeply.

  “I know that Margaret has been scaring you about Rita Irvin,” he said, “but on my word, sir, there was no need to do it.”

  He met Seton Pasha’s cool regard, and:

  “Margaret’s one of the best,” he added. “I know you agree with me?”

  A faint suggestion of added color came into Seton’s tanned cheeks.

  “I do, Gray,” he answered quietly. “I believe you are good enough to look upon me as a real friend; therefore allow me to add my advice, for what it is worth, to that of Lord Wrexborough and your cousin: take the Egyptian appointment. I know where it will lead. You can do no good by remaining in London; and when we find Mrs. Irvin your presence would be an embarrassment to the unhappy man who waits for news at Prince’s Gate. I am frank, but it’s my way.”

  He held out his hand, smiling. Quentin Gray’s mercurial complexion was changing again, but:

  “Good old Seton!” he said, rather huskily, and gripped the outstretched hand. “For Irvin’s sake, save her!”

  He turned to his father.

  “Thank you, sir,” he added, “you are always right. I shall be ready on Tuesday. I suppose you are off again, Seton?”

  “I am,” was the reply. “Chief Inspector Kerry is moving heaven and earth to find the Kazmah establishment, and I don’t want to come in a poor second.”

  Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and turned in the padded revolving chair.

  “Honestly, Seton,” he said, “what do you think of your chance of success?”

  Seton Pasha smiled grimly.

  “Many ascribe success to wit,” he replied, “and failure to bad luck; but the Arab says ‘Kismet.’”

  CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SONG OF SIN SIN WA

  Mrs. Sin, aroused by her husband from the deep opium sleep, came out into the fume-laden vault. Her dyed hair was disarranged, and her dark eyes stared glassily before her; but even in this half-drugged state she bore herself with the lithe carriage of a dancer, swinging her hips lazily and pointing the toes of her high-heeled slippers.

  “Awake, my wife,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. “Only a fool seeks the black smoke when the jackals sit in a ring.”

  Mrs. Sin gave him a glance of smiling contempt — a glance which, passing him, rested finally upon the prone body of Chief Inspector Kerry lying stretched upon the floor before the stove. Her pupils contracted to mere pin-points and then dilated blackly. She recoiled a step, fighting with the stupor which her ill-timed indulgence had left behind.

  At this moment Kerry groaned loudly, tossed his arm out with a convulsive movement, and rolled over on to his side, drawing up his knees.

  The eye of Sin Sin Wa gleamed strangely, but he did not move, and Sam Tuk who sat huddled in his chair where his feet almost touched the fallen man, stirred never a muscle. But Mrs. Sin, who still moved in a semi-phantasmagoric world, swiftly raised the hem of her kimona, affording a glimpse of a shapely silk-clad limb. From a sheath attached to her garter she drew a thin stilletto. Curiously feline, she crouched, as if about to spring.

  Sin Sin Wa extended his hand, grasping his wife’s wrist.

  “No, woman of indifferent intelligence,” he said in his queer sibilant language, “since when has murder gone unpunished in these British dominions?”

  Mrs. Sin snatched her wrist from his grasp, falling back wild-eyed.

  “Yellow ape! yellow ape!” she said hoarsely. “One more does not matter — now.”

  “One more?” crooned Sin Sin Wa, glancing curiously at Kerry.

  “They are here! We are trapped!”

  “No, no,” said Sin Sin Wa. “He is a brave man; he comes alone.”

  He paused, and then suddenly resumed in pidgin English:

  “You likee killa him, eh?”

/>   Perhaps unconscious that she did so, Mrs. Sin replied also in English:

  “No, I am mad. Let me think, old fool!”

  She dropped the stiletto and raised her hand dazedly to her brow.

  “You gotchee tired of knifee chop, eh?” murmured Sin Sin Wa.

  Mrs. Sin clenched her hands, holding them rigidly against her hips; and, nostrils dilated, she stared at the smiling Chinaman.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded.

  Sin Sin Wa performed his curious oriental shrug.

  “You putta topside pidgin on Sir Lucy alla lightee,” he murmured. “Givee him hell alla velly proper.”

  The pupils of the woman’s eyes contracted again, and remained so. She laughed hoarsely and tossed her head.

  “Who told you that?” she asked contemptuously. “It was the doll-woman who killed him — I have said so.”

  “You tella me so — hoi, hoi! But old Sin Sin Wa catchee wonder. Lo!” — he extended a yellow forefinger, pointing at his wife— “Mrs. Sin make him catchee die! No bhobbery, no palaber. Sin Sin Wa gotchee you sized up allee timee.”

  Mrs. Sin snapped her fingers under his nose then stooped, picked up the stiletto, and swiftly restored it to its sheath. Her hands resting upon her hips, she came forward, until her dark evil face almost touched the yellow, smiling face of Sin Sin Wa.

  “Listen, old fool,” she said in a low, husky voice; “I have done with you, ape-man, for good! Yes! I killed Lucy, I killed him! He belonged to me — until that pink and white thing took him away. I am glad I killed him. If I cannot have him neither can she. But I was mad all the same.”

  She glanced down at Kerry, and:

  “Tie him up,” she directed, “and send him to sleep. And understand, Sin, we’ve shared out for the last time — You go your way and I go mine. No stinking Yellow River for me. New York is good enough until it’s safe to go to Buenos Ayres.”

  “Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres,” croaked the raven from his wicker cage, which was set upon the counter.