As the swordsman staggered away with the short sword embedded in him, Killigrew snatched up the scimitar he had dropped and braced himself to meet the man with the flail. The killer whirled his flail until one of the chains wrapped itself about the scimitar’s hilt. He pulled on the flail and Killigrew, refusing to relinquish his grip, was almost jerked off his feet. The killer flicked the other end of the flail and a blow to the back of Killigrew’s head nearly robbed himself of his senses. His legs crumpled and he sank to his knees. He twisted on to his back and pulled the killer down on top of him. Then he let go of the sword and gripped the central rod of the flail in both hands. The two of them rolled over and over, gripping the flail between them. The killer rolled on top and pushed the rod hard against Killigrew’s throat, throttling him. As his consciousness faded, Killigrew lifted a knee into the killer’s crotch. The killer relaxed enough for Killigrew to smash the rod against the bridge of his nose and throw him off.
Gripping the flail, the lieutenant rose to his feet. The killer lunged for the fallen scimitar but Killigrew kicked it into one of the ponds. He tried to swing the flail at his opponent but his handling was clumsy and he succeeded only in clipping himself across the head. As he staggered forwards, the killer smashed a fist into his chest and tore the flail from his grip. He whirled it expertly about his head and shoulders, under one arm and over the other, creating a fence of blurred steel between himself and the lieutenant. Killigrew held up a warning finger. The killer frowned in bewilderment, and Killigrew turned and ran.
At the far side of the courtyard he jumped on to the wooden handrail at the edge of the veranda, gripping a wooden support post for balance. The killer swung the flail at Killigrew’s legs. He jumped over the bar, swung himself round the support post and kicked the man in the face. Then he jumped down and retreated into the shrine.
There was no sign of the old priest. Killigrew turned back to face the door and jumped up to grab hold of one of the bamboo cones. He intended to kick the killer in the chest with both feet as he came through the door, but his weight was too great and the cone broke away from the array from which it had been suspended. Killigrew landed on his feet as the killer charged through the door, whirling the flail. The lieutenant dropped the bamboo cone over his head like a cage and side-stepped.
The killer dropped the flail and drove a fist through the hoops of bamboo. Killigrew caught him by the wrist and swung him against a wooden pillar. The hoops splintered and Killigrew rammed the killer’s head against the pillar until he lost consciousness.
The lieutenant was dusting his hands off when two Sikh police constables – one with a turban, the other bare-headed – charged through the door.
‘Who says you can never find a bobby when you need one?’ asked Killigrew.
To his astonishment, the burly constables seized him and clapped a pair of handcuffs over his wrists.
* * *
Killigrew was taken to the police office in Victoria and made to wait, still handcuffed, while one of the constables sat across the table from him with his brawny arms folded and a grim expression on his face.
‘If I’m under arrest, you have to tell me what the charge is,’ Killigrew told him.
Assistant Superintendent Cargill strode briskly through the door with a sheaf of papers under one arm. ‘How about murder, to be going on with?’
‘I acted in self-defence. Those two men attacked me without provocation.’
‘Without provocation!’ Cargill laughed harshly. ‘You wander alone and unarmed into Tai-ping-shan and, as if that were not foolhardy enough, you blunder into a Chinese joss house and insult them by making a mockery of their religion. My job’s difficult enough as it is, without Europeans making things worse for me. I have over twenty-thousand Chinese in my jurisdiction. Half of them are Triads or criminals, and the other half have no faith in British justice. If we’re ever going to win their trust they have to see that Westerners and Chinese get the same treatment. Can’t have one law for Europeans and another for the yellow-bellies. What the deuce were you doing? Sight-seeing?’
‘I was dining at an eating stall when I saw Sir Dadabhoy Framjee’s comprador, Li Cheng. I followed him on a suspicion he was up to no good and he led me to that joss house.’
‘There’s no law against going to joss houses, Killigrew.’
‘When he was there I overheard him say, “Fan Ch’ing, fu Ming” to a priest. You know what that means?’
Cargill’s demeanour changed at once. ‘ “Overthrow the Ch’ing and restore the Ming”,’ he said, brushing his whiskers thoughtfully. ‘The Triads’ watchword. Take off the darbies, constable.’
The constable unlocked the handcuffs and Killigrew rubbed his chafed wrists. ‘How come your men arrived so quickly?’
‘Sheer luck,’ said Cargill. ‘They were patrolling Hollywood Road when some damned yellow-belly decided to play knock the topper off the peeler, Hong Kong-fashion.’
None the wiser, Killigrew arched an eyebrow quizzically.
‘He stole Constable Gopal’s turban,’ the assistant superintendent explained. ‘They chased him into the joss house, where he disappeared. They were about to give up the chase when one of the attendants reported a disturbance in the courtyard.’
‘What about the man I knocked unconscious?’
‘Don’t you worry about him. He’s being brought in for questioning too.’
‘And the joss house? It’s obviously a Triad lair. Aren’t you going to raid it?’
‘You haven’t given me enough for a search warrant. But I can arrange for a watch to be maintained on it. I have Chinese informers who can be trusted. We’ll see who comes and goes. Perhaps it may lead us somewhere very interesting indeed.’
‘What about Li Cheng?’
‘Did you see him talk to either of the men who attacked you?’
‘No.’
‘I can have him brought in for questioning, but there’s nothing I can charge him with.’
‘You could warn Sir Dadabhoy that his comprador is suspected of having links with the Triads, if not actually a Triad himself.’
Cargill grinned. ‘I’ll leave that to you. You seem to be in with our Parsi friend and his daughter. Once you’ve done that, I want you to steer clear of this whole business, apart from coming in to identify the man who attacked you. This is a police matter. You let me worry about the Triads and I’ll leave you to deal with any pilongs who think they can fill Zhai Jing-mu’s boots.’
‘Did it ever occur to you that the pilongs and the Triads might be working together?’
‘You’ve been talking to Framjee, haven’t you? I’m well aware of his pet theories about a link between Zhai Jing-mu and the Brotherhood of Heaven, Earth and Man. But I’m a police officer. That means I deal in facts I can prove, not vague theories. If you come up with hard and fast proof of any links, let me know. Until then, I’ll worry about my jurisdiction and leave you to worry about yours.’
‘By all means. Before I go, do you have somewhere where I can scrub up?’ He held up his bloodied right hand.
‘Of course.’ Cargill showed him to a back room with a washstand and ordered a servant to bring a pail of water. Killigrew washed his hand and checked his reflection in the polished surface of his tin cheroot case. He still looked dishevelled after his bout with the two Triads, but after patting his hair back into place and hoiking his high collar a couple of inches higher to conceal the bruises on his throat, he looked presentable enough.
He returned to Cargill’s office to take his leave, and at that moment Constable Gopal entered, looking agitated. ‘Cargill Sahib? The Triad we arrested at the joss house…?’
‘Put him in a cell on his own, Constable. I’ll deal with him in due course.’
‘That is just the problem, sahib. He’s escaped.’
Cargill closed his eyes as if in pain.
Killigrew had the good grace not to smirk. ‘Since you seem to have everything in hand, Assistant Superintendent…’
Killigrew nodded and left.
It was a short walk from the gaol to Caine Road, on the lower slopes of Victoria Peak: straight up the aptly named Ladder Street. It was tempting to ride on a Chinese wheelbarrow, but Killigrew had not spent two years fighting slavers on the Guinea Coast only to use his fellow human beings as beasts of burden. Caine Road was the residential area for most of Hong Kong Society – a term which was understood to mean the white fraction of the island’s population. The Framjee residence was set back from the main road, up a winding path through a forest of bamboo and stunted Chinese pines. The house itself was surprisingly modest for the residence of one of the wealthiest men in the world, and looked more like one of the so-called villas that were springing up all over the suburbs of London.
Killigrew rang the bell and presently the door was opened by a Sikh butler with a broken nose who looked down at him snootily. ‘Yes, sahib?’
Td like to speak to Sir Dadabhoy Framjee if I may, please.’
‘Sir Dadabhoy is not at home, sahib. If you will leave your card I shall tell him you called.’
‘Who is it, Gobinda?’ Peri’s voice called from somewhere inside.
‘A gentleman calling to see your father, memsahib.’
‘Is that you, Mr Killigrew? Show him in, Gobinda.’ Peri stood halfway down the main staircase, wearing a saffron sari and with a book held in one hand at her side. ‘Did you come on foot, Mr Killigrew? It is a steep climb; you must be exhausted. Can I offer you a glass of sherbet? Or perhaps you would prefer tea?’
‘Sherbet sounds perfect, Miss Dadabhoy.’
‘Father will be home soon. You might as well wait. We shall take the sherbet on the lawn, Gobinda.’
‘Yes, Miss Peri.’ The butler closed the door behind Killigrew before disappearing towards the back of the house.
If Killigrew had been expecting the interior of Framjee’s house to resemble a sultan’s palace he was disappointed. The hallway was decorated very much à l’Anglais: oil paintings on the wall, all manner of knick-knacks cluttering every surface – Staffordshire pottery vying for space higgledy-piggledy with jade horses (Tang Dynasty, unless Killigrew was very much mistaken) – and an elephant’s foot umbrella stand just inside the door.
‘You’ll have to forgive Gobinda.’ Peri led the way into the drawing room. ‘He is a terrible snob, but he means well.’
‘Has he been with the family long?’
‘As long as I can remember. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, just making polite conversation.’ Killigrew followed her through the French windows out on to the terrace at the side of the house. He waited for her to sit down at the cast-iron lawn table before taking his place opposite her. ‘May I ask what you’re reading?’
She held up the volume she had placed on the table so he could read the spine for himself. ‘Marmion. Sir Walter Scott.’
‘You like Scott?’
‘A little. I prefer Omar Khayyám.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t claim to be familiar with his work.’
‘I do not think it has been translated into English.’
‘Perhaps you should try to translate it yourself?’
‘I?’
‘Why not?’
She shook her head. ‘I do not think I could do it justice.’
‘Have you tried? You should have more faith in yourself.’
Gobinda emerged with a jug of sherbet and two crystal goblets, poured out the fruit drink, and retreated inside. Killigrew sipped his sherbet and gazed about the garden. ‘This is a lovely spot.’
Peri smiled thinly. ‘My father’s idea of an English country garden.’
‘I’ll trade him this view for an English country garden any day of the week.’
She put her elbows on the table, interlinked her fingers and rested her chin on the backs of her hands. ‘And of all the places you have seen in your travels, which would you say is your favourite?’
‘Oh, it depends on what mood I’m in. And the time of day, of course.’
‘The time of day?’
He nodded. ‘My perfect day would start in the Levant, with the cry of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. Much better than those damned church bells we have in Britain. Then, a morning walk in China in spring, with the mist amongst the orange blossoms. For luncheon, a table outside a Greek taverna overlooking the Aegean with a plate of kebabs cooked over a charcoal fire, a side salad of crisp white chopped onions and flavoursome tomatoes, and a glass of properly chilled dry white wine…’
‘I thought one drank only red wine with red meat?’
‘Only if you’re a snob. In the afternoon, home to the Cornish coast in high summer, where the sea breeze takes the bite out of the worst of the sun. Then to Java to watch the sunset. Have you ever been?’ She shook her head. ‘You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the sun set over the Sunda Strait.’
‘And in the evening?’
‘Oh, it has to be London. The theatre – something light and witty, Sheridan or Molière for preference – and a little supper at Rules with the companion of my choice.’
‘And who would that be?’
‘If you’re ever in London, I’d be honoured if you’d let me escort you around town.’
‘I think I would like that.’
The clop of horses’ hoofs and the rattle of a carriage sounded from the front of the house. ‘That will be my father returning,’ said Peri, and the two of them waited until Framjee emerged on to the terrace.
Killigrew rose to his feet and bowed. ‘Sir Dadabhoy. Peri was merely keeping me entertained while we awaited your return.’
The Parsi glanced from Killigrew to Peri. ‘Mr Killigrew. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I was wondering if I might have a word with you?’
‘By all means.’
‘In private?’
Framjee joined them at the table. ‘There are no secrets between my daughter and me, Mr Killigrew. Anything you consider fitting enough for my ears you must also consider fitting enough for hers.’
Killigrew resumed his seat. ‘It’s about your comprador, Sir Dadabhoy. Li Cheng—’
‘He is no longer my comprador.’
‘Meaning?’
‘When I arrived at my offices this morning I found his letter of resignation waiting on my desk. Effective as of midnight last night.’
‘An abrupt departure. Could he have been a spy for the pilongs?’
‘It is perfectly possible. Why do you ask?’
‘I saw him in Tai-ping-shan this afternoon. Some instinct made me follow him into a joss house. I heard him use a Triad watchword, and then he disappeared. I tried to follow him, but I was attacked by a couple of Chinese thugs.’
Peri’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Mr Killigrew! Why did you not say something sooner? Are you hurt?’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘I’m quite unharmed, miss. Fortunately for me the police arrived. There’s no need for concern, I assure you.’
‘If you have earned the enmity of the Triads, Mr Killigrew, I fear there is every need for concern,’ said Framjee.
‘It’s yourself I’m concerned for, Sir Dadabhoy. You and Peri. You should know Zhai Jing-mu vowed to be avenged on Lieutenant Dwyer of the Ceylon Rifles, as well as myself, Assistant Superintendent Cargill and—’
‘Me, Mr Killigrew?’ Peri suggested with equanimity.
‘I’m afraid so, miss.’
Framjee looked worried. ‘Perhaps you should return to Bombay, my dear,’ he suggested.
She shook her head. ‘I will not allow myself to be ruled by fear, Father. Am I to abandon you, simply because a defeated pirate makes a hollow threat? Besides, what can he do while he is locked up in the gaol, awaiting trial?’
‘Nothing, himself,’ said Ki
lligrew. ‘But if he has friends in the Triads, Sir Dadabhoy, and if Li Cheng is somehow involved with them, if not actually a member of their society—’
‘That is a great many ifs, Mr Killigrew,’ said Peri. ‘And you have not convinced me that Mr Li is a Triad. He was always very civil to me when I met him.’
‘I’m sure the spider was very civil to the fly when he invited him into his parlour,’ said Killigrew.
She laughed. ‘I am grateful for your concern on my behalf, Mr Killigrew, but I am sure it is quite unfounded. Would you not agree, Father?’
‘They did try to take you hostage, my child.’
‘But they did not try to harm me. And they failed, and now Zhai Jing-mu is in gaol, awaiting certain execution. I do not think they would be so foolish as to try any such thing again. What could they possibly gain from it?’
‘She has a point, Mr Killigrew,’ said Framjee. ‘Are you quite certain you are not merely jumping at shadows? With all due respect, you do have a reputation for being… how can I put this? Excitable?’
Killigrew grimaced. ‘A legacy of my Greek mother.’ He looked at them both in turn, smiling happily beneath the warm sun in the genteel surroundings of the garden. It was difficult to believe that anything so terrible as kidnapping could happen here. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘I just want to be cautious, that’s all. At least promise me you’ll be vigilant?’
‘I always am, Mr Killigrew,’ said Framjee, and the lieutenant saw a steely glint in the Parsi’s eye that reminded him here was a man who had built up two commercial empires against stiff competition. ‘And we are not entirely without protection here. All of my menservants have served the Honourable East India Company as sepoys, and they are loyal to me. If Mr Li should return here looking for trouble, I can assure you he will receive a very warm reception.’
Killigrew stayed for tiffin and then took his leave of them, feeling reassured. As he walked down to Harbour Master’s Wharf he saw a vessel sailing into the harbour which took his mind off his earlier concerns: one of the biggest junks he had ever seen. Amidships she had more than twenty feet of freeboard between the waterline and the top of the bulwarks, the lowest part of the bulwark which curved up sharply towards the forecastle. The poop deck towered far higher than any three-decker of Nelson’s day and the mainmast stretched so high that the yellow streamers which flew from it seemed to tickle the underside of the clouds. He took out his pocket telescope and counted a dozen gun ports in one broadside. He could tell from the three tigers’ heads painted on the stern it was the flagship of an Imperial admiral. He frowned: if the Governor of Canton had sent an Imperial man-o’-war to Hong Kong it might mean trouble. He transferred his attention to the decks of the Tisiphone and the Hastings. Everything seemed quiet enough: their anchor watches were in place and there was no sign of any ships beating to quarters.
Killigrew and the Golden Dragon Page 9
