by Evelyn James
He led Clara along a corridor and to a small room that was fractionally warmer than the reception. It was cramped because of the numerous filing cabinets and bookshelves propping up the walls. A desk just about squeezed into the middle and it was somewhat remarkable that Arran was able to move around it to reach his chair. He sat down nearly elbowing over a leafy plant growing in a large pot beside the desk, and motioned for Clara to do the same. Now facing each other, he rested his arms upon the desk.
“Park-Coombs says you are a private detective?”
“I am…” Clara said, but the rest of her statement was lost as Arran continued quickly.
“He says you are looking into an old case for someone. A Mr Jacobs, who lost his uncle several years ago?”
“It would have been the late 1860s or early 1870s,” Clara added. “It was ruled an accident at the time.”
“But you have reason to believe it was something else?”
Clara paused. Did she have a reason?
“Mr Edmund Jacobs was the unwitting recipient of stolen goods while travelling in Japan. The goods were from the Imperial Palace and agents were sent to retrieve them. This I have on sound authority from the Japanese ambassador. However, Edmund Jacobs died and the agents disappeared,” Clara tilted her head a little to the side. “Coincidences bother me, Inspector, perhaps they bother you too. A man being pursued by dangerous agents of a foreign power suddenly dies and those agents vanish too? Such events cause me to pause and question.”
Arran smiled at her.
“Park-Coombs said you had good instincts. He reckons that if you were a man you would be a police inspector yourself.”
“Unfortunately, such an avenue is denied to me,” Clara replied. “So I must dabble at the edges, and run the risk of being criticised as a nosy, interfering busybody.”
“He said you were that too,” Arran now grinned. “But he also said you were worth listening to, especially as you seem to be on the verge of solving a crime his own force has not the time or resources to investigate sufficiently.”
“The Inspector is a very good policeman,” Clara hastily added. “He has my full respect and it is truly not his fault that he is under-funded and under-staffed.”
“I wasn’t criticising him,” Arran reassured her. “I know the limitations we police must face. You have the opportunity to step around some of those obstacles.”
“And yet I am often faced with others,” Clara added. “Which is why I value the relationship I have with the police.”
“You need not convince me,” Arran waved a hand at her. “I was convinced by Park-Coombs. We trained together, you know. Now, I pulled out the old file on the Edmund Jacobs’ accident. It was investigated at the time and the file was rather interesting. It would appear that the police also had their doubts about the accident, but did not have the evidence to prove anything.”
Arran pulled out a drawer and removed the file.
“It was 21 August 1871, nine o’clock in the morning. Edmund Jacobs was staying in his London flat and had informed his butler that he was going out to speak to his banker. He left the house alone and on foot around half past eight. By nine he was on one of the main thoroughfares waiting to cross the road. Witnesses remarked that he seemed agitated, one fellow who saw the accident said that Jacobs constantly kept looking behind him. Then suddenly, as if he saw something or someone who frightened him, he started into the road straight into the path of a coal cart. The whole thing was over in seconds. The horse managed to dodge him, but he slipped straight under the cartwheel and was crushed.”
“It sounds as though Jacobs was not as unaware of his pursuers as I had imagined,” Clara noted. “I had assumed he was oblivious to them, but now it appears he was alert to them.”
“These Japanese agents?” Arran considered the possibility. “From what I gather, Edmund Jacobs paid a flying visit to his brother in Brighton before returning to London. I would suggest he guessed he was being followed and probably knew why. So he went to Brighton, ahead of his pursuers, hoping to briefly shake them while he placed the stolen dragon into his nephew’s hands. Then he went back to London. That is my policeman’s instinct. If Jacobs knew he was being hunted before leaving Japan, he would have made efforts to avoid being on the same ship as his pursuers. That would buy him time to hide the dragon. When they arrived in London, he would already be back and there would be no evidence of his hasty visit to his brother.”
“And he was just an Englishman who they knew nothing about,” Clara added to his theory. “They did not know if he had family. Even if they knew his name, the number of Jacobs in this country would have defied a search for relatives.”
“And the funeral was private,” Arran persisted. “Invited guests only. There were over a hundred of them, I might add. Private does not mean small, but it does mean the Japanese agents could not have attended and located family members. And, as it happens, the Jacobs clan is quite extensive. To have ascertained who precisely he gave the dragon to would have been quite challenging. I doubt they succeeded, just as I doubt they spoke a great deal of English. Trusted agents for the imperial palace would not necessarily be fluent with foreign tongues.”
Clara agreed with all this. With the death of Edmund Jacobs, the agents for the emperor would have lost their one means of locating the dragon. Faced with this fact, they would have found themselves in a dreadful situation.
“Jacobs’ flat was burgled shortly after the funeral,” Arran continued. “It was one of the things that alerted the police to everything not being as simple as it seemed. That and the testimony of witnesses who said Jacobs seemed anxious.”
“It all pointed to something being amiss,” Clara could see that plainly. “But there was not enough to take the matter further.”
“The police poked around, but resources are tight at the best of times and there was no suggestion that Jacobs was pushed. He might have been frightened into stepping into the roadway, but that does not make for murder. It doesn’t make for manslaughter. No crime had actually been committed.”
Clara pondered over all this for a moment. Arran opened the file and showed her several witness statements. There was the one from the cart driver who had tried to avoid Jacobs and failed. There was the statement of the old man who thought Jacobs seemed agitated, and there was one from a nurse who was waiting to cross the road with her young charge, who also thought Jacobs seemed on-edge and constantly looking behind him. No one had expected him to step out into the road, however.
“I suppose it is too much to ask if anyone saw a Japanese man on the scene?”
Arran grinned and shook his head, that would have been too obvious. None of the witnesses had noticed such a man, though, on the whole, they were more worried about what was happening in the road than on the pavement. Edmund Jacobs had lived for around ten minutes after the cartwheel went over his torso. A heavy load of coal is easily of sufficient weight to crush a man, especially when that force is centred down onto a narrow wheel. But Jacobs did not die at once. He gasped and cried out. A woman bent down by him and held his hand while someone went to summon a doctor. A police constable was spotted and beckoned over. The road drew to a standstill as the aftermath of the tragedy emerged. Jacobs lay between the front and back wheels of the coal cart and the driver could not move his vehicle without further injuring the man. His horse was restless, upset by the incident and he had to drop from his cart seat and soothe the fretful creature. All in all, those ten minutes had been ghastly for everyone present and agonising for Jacobs as he tried to draw breath through his mangled chest, little guessing that his ribs had pierced his lungs in multiple places and each breath drew him unerringly towards his demise.
He did not live to see the doctor who was hastily brought to him.
“The one thing I conclude from all this,” Arran remarked thoughtfully. “Is that Edmund Jacobs not only knew he was being pursued, but also why. He placed the jade dragon into the hands of his nephew for safe keeping,
but none of his other treasures from Japan. Those were still in a steam trunk at the docks when he died. They were only delivered the day after.”
Clara had also come to the conclusion that Jacobs had known the dragon was stolen, if not at the time he bought it, certainly afterwards. Why else would men chase him down? Ordinary thieves do not follow a man across the ocean. Jacobs could have saved himself by doing the honourable thing of restoring the dragon to the Japanese authorities.
“There is one other thing,” Inspector Arran pulled a second file from his desk. “There is a reference note in Jacobs’ file. My predecessor who investigated the case sensed a Japanese link to the affair and kept an ear open for any crimes he thought might be related. A few days after the burglary on Edmund Jacobs’ house, where, in particular, his steam trunk containing Japanese antiques was ransacked, two bodies were dragged from the Thames. They were the corpses of two men, both Japanese by their clothing and appearance. They carried no English money nor anything that would suggest they had been in the country a while. One still had a ticket on him for a steamer. He had arrived a day after Jacobs returned home.
“There was not much to go on, but one of the men wore a shoe with a distinctive pattern on the sole. The same pattern had been noted in a muddy print found in the flowerbeds outside Jacobs’ flat. The surmise was that this man had been involved in the burglary. But since nothing was taken, it would appear that whatever he was looking for was not there. Both men had drowned in the river.”
“Because they had failed in their mission,” Clara observed. “The Japanese take honour very seriously.”
Well, at least Clara did not have to fear that the agents were still alive. So who was after the dragon? She had another man to visit, one she was much less looking forward to seeing than Inspector Arran. She thanked the policeman for his time and effort, and he made her promise to update him once the case was solved. He didn’t seem to doubt she would find the dragon and his confidence in her was elating and unexpected.
Clara set forth from Scotland Yard with a new resolve in her stride.
Chapter Twenty-Five
How to confront a master criminal in his own domain? As it turned out, Clara found making an appointment the simplest of strategies. Brilliant Chang operated a legitimate business as a front to his illegal activities. To many people Brilliant Chang was an aspiring entrepreneur who ran Chang Emporium, a large multi-level shop that specialised in exotic goods. People could wander into Chang Emporium and come away with a Japanese porcelain vase, or Indian fire screen or any number of foreign novelties for their homes. This friendly, respectable façade aided Chang in hiding his less salubrious activities.
Clara had telephoned Chang Emporium before leaving for London and had arranged an appointment with the man himself. Her excuse for the meeting was that she was seeking an unusual exotic object for a client and wanted to ask Brilliant if he could locate the thing for her. The girl who she had spoken with had tried to convince Clara that Chang Emporium sold absolutely everything, and if she only came down to see for herself she was bound to find the object she wanted. Clara had politely pointed out that this was hugely unlikely; the object was rare and expensive, but she hoped Mr Chang would be able to source it for her, if only she could meet with him personally to explain. Finally the girl conceded defeat and arranged an appointment.
Clara arrived at Chang Emporium with her entourage. She had made it very plain she would speak to Chang alone and would only call for them if she needed them. Bob had accepted this statement without question. Tommy had grumped about feeling useless, but had eventually agreed. O’Harris was the challenging one;
“He is a dangerous criminal!” he hissed in Clara’s ear as they looked at a window display of Chinese fans and silk kimonos.
“Not here he isn’t,” Clara explained persistently. “Besides, I am no threat to him. In fact, I might be able to offer him a business proposition. He won’t wish me harm.”
“What if he doesn’t trust you?” O’Harris demanded. “He might expect betrayal.”
“I imagine Mr Chang always expects betrayal,” Clara shrugged. “I shall have to convince him it is not in my interest to betray him.”
Tommy could see the two were at an impasse, so he intervened.
“We will be nearby, old man,” he told O’Harris. “Clara can scream loud if she needs too. Better he doesn’t know we are there, else he will make arrangements to deal with us before Clara, if it comes to that. Which it won’t.”
The captain was not impressed, but he eventually backed down. Clara was not going to be dissuaded. The matter resolved, Clara went inside ahead of them to meet with Chang.
The Emporium was a glittery place of exotic oddities. Some were beautiful, some were ugly and others were downright strange. Clara wandered past a carved wooden elephant that stood as tall as her waist and found herself face-to-face with some growling Indian god with too many arms and a face like an irate mastiff. Dodging around these she found herself among a display of Chinese silks in vivid blues, reds and greens. Cranes and deer were embroidered across the shimmering fabric, and danced among flowers and trees.
Clara finally removed herself from this attractive display and came instead to a long counter where a Chinese girl smiled at her brightly.
“I have an appointment to see Mr Chang,” Clara explained.
“You see his secretary,” the girl answered, then held up a finger to indicate Clara should bear with her a moment. She picked up a telephone from behind her counter, which was apparently an internal one that connected with the other floors in the shop. After a moment the girl spoke in Chinese to someone else. Clara could not understand a word.
“She come,” the girl said with that same bright smile when she put down the telephone.
Clara moved to one side to wait and was intrigued to see how busy the Emporium was. During the brief time she was awaiting the secretary, several customers came to the desk with their purchases. Most of the people were English and Clara was mildly surprised at the strange oddities that seemed to attract them. One woman, a respectable looking matron who you might imagine an almost permanent fixture at her local church, came to the counter with a smaller version of the ghastly Indian god Clara had stumbled upon. She bought it without a glimmer of embarrassment or concern for what her neighbours might think. Clara was amused. London was so different to her little town.
A woman appeared. She was also Chinese and older than the girl. Clara found it hard to judge her age, but she was certainly mature. She was slender and wearing English clothing, and her hair was pulled back into a Chinese style bun.
“Miss Fitzgerald?” she asked Clara in perfect English.
Clara admitted she was.
“This way. Mr Chang is ready for you,” the secretary led Clara to a staircase that ran up the middle of the Emporium. They went up three floors and finally came to the private section of the shop, where the offices and storerooms stood. Clara was shown to a door with the name ‘Chang’ on a brass plate.
“Here,” the secretary opened the door and showed Clara in.
The room was spacious, far more spacious than the cramped confines of poor Inspector Arran’s office. Exotic art lined the walls. Everything from a giant Arabian decorated tile to Chinese parchment and Japanese watercolours. Clara found her eyes wandering all about the room as she walked from the door to Chang’s desk. It was a surprisingly long distance, or so it seemed. When Clara finally dragged her eyes from the walls, she was looking at the man who had so confounded her the previous year and had escaped the hands of justice.
Brilliant Chang was good looking and charming. He had a large smile and seemed always amused. He slicked his hair back in the latest English style and wore expensively tailored suits. Clara had seen photographs of him mingling with the rich and famous. Landed gentry asked Chang to their dinner parties, politicians met him for a drink, celebrities hung off his every word. Chang was, right in that instant, the most wanted man in Engla
nd – for a variety of reasons.
“Miss Fitzgerald, this is a nice surprise. Take a seat.”
Clara sat in the chair at the far side of the desk. Her eyes dropped to an ivory tiger sitting on Chang’s desk and roaring pointlessly at thin air.
“You want to buy something unusual?” Chang asked, leaning across the desk and grinning from ear-to-ear. “Or do you want to try and implicate me in some crime?”
“I was honest about my reasons for coming here,” Clara promised. “I am looking for a rare item, and I do believe you are the best placed person to find it for me. Whether you will or not is another matter.”
“You intrigue me,” Chang leaned back in his chair. “What might I be able to help you with?”
Clara studied his face. She was unconvinced that Chang was so ignorant of her purpose. She did not doubt for a moment that word had spread to him of a female private detective looking for a stolen jade netsuke. Even if Simon Clark had not spoken, there were plenty of witnesses to her enquiries, not to mention the other men she had talked to. And then there was Albert Pear, who was clever enough to think to warn his boss about the woman seeking him.
“The green jade dragon netsuke,” Clara told him bluntly. “The one you arranged to steal. I want to arrange for its return. No doubt you will want a good price for it.”
Chang’s smile broadened, an almost impossible feat as he already seemed to have stretched his cheeks to the limit. He steepled his fingers before him, like he was contemplating a subtle chess move.
“I am a businessman. I don’t go around stealing things,” he said.
“I am not interested in the crime itself,” Clara brushed aside his statement. “Only what it will cost to restore the dragon to Mr Jacobs. I have a feeling you did not steal it for yourself, but rather with a buyer in mind.”
“Why would you say that?” Chang asked, dropping the pretence that he knew nothing about a burglary.
“You are not Japanese. What does their heritage matter to you? But the value of the dragon would not have escaped you. Perhaps you might consider adding it to your collection here, but I rather fancy you are too pragmatic for that. The dragon attracts some dangerous people.”
