On Secret Service

by William Nelson Taft

  XIV

  WAH LEE AND THE FLOWER OF HEAVEN

  "Yes, there's quite a story attached to that," remarked Bill Quinn oneevening as the conversation first lagged and then drifted away intosilence. We were seated in his den at the time--the "library" which hehad ornamented with relics of a score or more of cases in which thevarious governmental detective services had distinguishedthemselves--and I came to with a start.

  "What?" I exclaimed. "Story in what?"

  "In that hatchet--the one on the wall there that you were speculatingabout. It didn't take a psychological sleuth to follow your eyes andread the look of speculation in them. That's a trick that a 'sparrowcop' could pull!"

  "Well, then, suppose you pay the penalty for your wisdom--and spin theyarn," I retorted, none the less glad of the opportunity to hear thefacts behind the sinister red stain which appeared on the blade of theChinese weapon, for I knew that Quinn could give them to me if hewished.

  "Frankly, I don't know the full history of the hatchet," came the answerfrom the other side of the fireplace. "Possibly it goes back to the Mingdynasty--whenever that was--or possibly it was purchased from amail-order house in Chicago. Chop suey isn't the only Chinese articlemade in this country, you know. But my interest in it commenced with thenight when Ezra Marks--

  "However, let's start at the beginning."

  * * * * *

  Marks [continued the former operative] was, as you probably recall, oneof the best men ever connected with the Customs Service. It was he whosolved the biggest diamond-smuggling case on record, and he was alsoresponsible for the discovery of the manner in which thirty thousandyards of very valuable silk was being run into the country every yearwithout visiting the custom office. That's a piece of the silk up there,over the picture of Mrs. Armitage....

  It wasn't many months before the affair of the Dillingham diamonds thatofficial Washington in general and the offices of the Customs Service inparticular grew quite excited over the fact that a lot of opium wasfinding its way into California. Of course, there's always a fair amountof "hop" on the market, provided you know where to look for it, and thegovernment has about as much chance of keeping it out altogether as ithas of breaking up the trade in moonshine whisky. The mountaineer isgoing to have his "licker" and the Chink is going to have his dope--nomatter what you do. But it's up to the Internal Revenue Bureau and theCustoms Service to see that neither one arrives in wholesale quantities.And that was just what was happening on the Coast.

  In fact, it was coming in so fast that the price was dropping every dayand the California authorities fairly burned up the wires 'crosscontinent with their howls for help.

  At that time Marks--Ezra by name and "E. Z." by nickname--wascomparatively a new member of the force. He had rendered valuableservice in Boston, however, and the chief sent for him and put the wholething in his hands.

  "Get out to San Diego as quickly as you know how," snapped the chief,tossing over a sheaf of yellow telegraph slips. "There's all theinformation we have, and apparently you won't get much more outthere--unless you dig it up for yourself. All they seem to know is thatthe stuff is coming in by the carload and is being peddled in all thehop joints at a lower price than ever before. It's up to you to get thedetails. Any help you need will be supplied from the San Franciscooffice, but my advice is to play a lone hand--you're likely to getfurther than if you have a gang with you all the time."

  "That's my idear, Chief," drawled Ezra, who hailed from Vermont and hadall the New Englander's affection for single-handed effort, not becausehe had the least objection to sharing the glory, but simply because heconsidered it the most efficient way to work. "I'll get right out thereand see how the land lays."

  "Needn't bother to report until you discover something worth while,"added the chief. "I'll know that you're on the job and the farther youkeep away from headquarters the less suspicion you're likely to arouse."

  This was the reason that, beyond the fact they knew that an operativenamed Marks had been sent from Washington to look into the opium matter,the government agents on the Coast were completely in the dark as to theway in which the affair was being handled. In fact, the chief himselfwas pretty well worried when two months slipped by without a word fromEzra....

  But the big, raw-boned Yankee was having troubles of his own. Likewise,he took his instructions very seriously and didn't see the least reasonfor informing Washington of the very patent fact that he had gottennowhere and found out nothing.

  "They know where they can reach me," he argued to himself one night,about the time that the chief began to wonder if his man were floatingaround the bay with a piece of Chinese rope about his neck. "Unless Iget a wire they won't hear anything until I have at least a line on thisgang."

  Then, on going over the evidence which he had collected during the weeksthat he had been in San Diego, he found that there was extremely littleof it. Discreet questioning had developed the fact, which he alreadyknew, that opium was plentiful all along the Coast, and that,presumably, it was supplied from a point in the south of the state. Butall his efforts to locate the source of the drug brought him up againsta blank wall.

  In order to conduct his investigations with a minimum of suspicion,Marks had elected to enter San Diego in the guise of a derelict--acharacter which he had played to such perfection that two weeks after hearrived he found himself in court on the charge of vagrancy. Only thefact that the presiding magistrate did not believe in sentencing firstoffenders saved him from ten days in the workhouse, an opportunity whichhe was rather sorry to miss because he figured that he might pick upsome valuable leads from the opium addicts among his fellow prisoners.

  The only new point which he had developed during his stay in theunderworld was that some one named Sprague, presumably an American, wasthe brains of the opium ring and had perfected the entire plan. But whoSprague was or where he might be found were matters which were kept invery watchful secrecy.

  "I give it up," muttered the operative, shrugging his arms into athreadbare coat and shambling out of the disreputable rooming housewhich passed for home. "Work doesn't seem to get me anywhere. Guess I'llhave to trust to luck," and he wandered out for his nightly strollthrough the Chinese quarter, hoping against hope that something wouldhappen.

  It did--in bunches!

  Possibly it was luck, possibly it was fate--which, after all, is onlyanother name for luck--that brought him into an especially unsavoryportion of the city shortly after midnight.

  He had wandered along for three hours or more, with no objective in viewsave occasional visits to dives where he was known, when he heardsomething which caused him to whirl and automatically reach for his hippocket. It was the cry of a woman, shrill and clear--the cry of a womanin mortal danger!

  It had only sounded once, but there was a peculiar muffled quality atthe end of the note, suggestive of a hand or a gag having been placedover the woman's mouth. Then--silence, so still as to be almostoppressive.

  Puzzled, Marks stood stock still and waited. So far as he could rememberthat was the first time that he had heard anything of the kind inChinatown. He knew that there were women there, but they were kept wellin the background and, apparently, were content with their lot. Thewoman who had screamed, however, was in danger of her life. Behind oneof those flimsy walls some drama was being enacted in defiance of thelaw--something was being done which meant danger of the most deadly kindto him who dared to interfere.

  For a full minute Marks weighed the importance of his official missionagainst his sense of humanity. Should he take a chance on losing hisprey merely to try to save a woman's life? Should he attempt to find thehouse from which the scream had come and force the door? Should he....

  But the question was solved for him in a manner even more startling thanthe cry in the night.

  While he was still debating the door of a house directly in front of himopened wide and a blinding glare of light spread fanwise into thestreet. Across this there shot the
figure of what Marks at first took tobe a man--a figure attired in a long, heavily embroidered jacket andsilken trousers. As it neared him, however, the operative sensed that itwas a woman, and an instant later he knew that it was the woman whosestifled scream had halted him only a moment before.

  Straight toward Marks she came and, close behind her--their faces set ina look of deadly implacable rage--raced two large Chinamen.

  Probably realizing that she stood no chance of escape in the openstreet, the woman darted behind Marks and prepared to dodge herpursuers. As she did so the operative caught her panting appeal: "Saveme! For the sake of the God, save me!"

  That was all that was necessary. Ezra sensed in an instant the fact thathe had become embroiled in what bade fair to be a tragedy and bracedhimself for action. He knew that he had no chance for holding off bothmen, particularly as he did not care to precipitate gun play, but therewas the hope that he might divert them until the girl escaped.

  As the first of the two men leaped toward him, Marks swung straight forhis jaw, but his assailant ducked with what was almost professionalrapidity and the blow was only a glancing one. Before the operative hadtime to get set the other man was upon him and, in utter silence savefor their labored breathing and dull thuds as blows went home, theyfought their way back to the far side of the street. As he retreated,Marks became conscious that instead of making her escape, the girl wasstill behind him. The reason for this became apparent when the larger ofthe Chinamen suddenly raised his arm and the light from the open doorwayglinted on the blade of a murderous short-handled axe--the favoriteweapon of Tong warfare. Straight for his head the blade descended, butthe girl's arm, thrust out of the darkness behind him, diverted the blowand the hatchet fairly whistled as it passed within an inch of his body.

  Realizing that his only hope of safety lay in reaching the opposite sideof the sidewalk, where he would be able to fight with his back againstthe wall, Marks resumed his retreat, his arms moving like flails, hisfists crashing home blows that lost much of their power by reason of theheavily padded jackets of his opponents. Finally, after seconds thatseemed like hours, one of his blows found the jaw of the man nearesthim, and Marks wheeled to set himself for the onrush of the other--theman with the hatchet.

  But just at that moment his foot struck the uneven curbing and threw himoff his balance. He was conscious of an arc of light as the blade sangthrough the air; he heard a high, half-muffled cry from the girl besidehim; and he remembered trying to throw himself out of the way of thehatchet. Then there was a stinging, smarting pain in the side of hishead and in his left shoulder--followed by the blackness of oblivion.

  From somewhere, apparently a long distance off, there came a voice whichbrought back at least a part of the operative's fast failingconsciousness, a voice which called a name vaguely familiar to him:

  "Sprague! Sprague!"

  "Sprague?" muttered Marks, trying to collect himself."Who--is--Sprague?"

  Then, as he put it later, he "went off."

  How much time elapsed before he came to he was unable to say, butsubsequent developments indicated that it was at least a day and anight. He hadn't the slightest idea what had occurred meanwhile--he onlyknew that he seemed to drift back to consciousness and a realizationthat his head was splitting as if it would burst. Mechanically hestretched his legs and tried to rise, only to find that what appeared tobe a wooden wall closed him in on all sides, leaving an opening onlydirectly above him.

  For an appreciable time he lay still, trying to collect his thoughts. Herecalled the fight in the open street, the intervention of the girl, thefall over the curb and then--there was something that he couldn'tremember, something vital that had occurred just after he had tried tododge the hatchet blade.

  "Yes," he murmured, as memory returned, "it was some one calling for'Sprague--Sprague!'"

  "Hush!" came a whispered command out of the darkness which surroundedhim, and a hand, soft and very evidently feminine, covered his mouth."You must not mention that name here. It means the death, instant andterrible! They are discussing your fate in there now, but if they hadthought that you knew Wah Lee your life would not be worth a yen."

  "Wah Lee? Who is he?" Marks replied, his voice pitched in an undertone."I don't remember any Wah Lee. And who are you?"

  "Who I am does not matter," came out of the darkness, "but Wah Lee--heis the master of life and death--the high priest of the Flower ofHeaven. Had it not been for him you would have been dead before this."

  "But I thought--"

  "That he desired your life? So he did--and does. But they have to planthe way in which it is to be taken and the disposition which is to bemade of your body. That was what gave me my opportunity for binding upyour wound and watching for you to wake."

  In spite of himself Marks could not repress a slight shudder. So theywere saving him for the sacrifice, eh? They were going to keep him hereuntil their arrangements were complete and then make away with him, werethey?

  Moving cautiously, so as to avoid attracting attention, the operativeslipped his right hand toward his hip pocket, only to find that hisautomatic was missing. As he settled back with a half moan, he feltsomething cold slipped into the box beside him, and the girl's voicewhispered:

  "Your revolver. I secured it when they brought you in here. I thoughtyou might need it later. But be very careful. They must not suspect thatyou have wakened."

  "I will," promised Marks, "but who are you? Why should you take such aninterest in me?"

  "You tried to save me from something that is worse than death," repliedthe girl. "You failed, but it was not your fault. Could I do less thanto help you?"

  "But what was it you feared?"

  "Marriage! Marriage to the man I loathe above all others--the man who isresponsible for the opium that is drugging my people--the man who isknown as Wah Lee, but who is really an American." Here she hesitated fora moment and then hissed:

  "Sprague!"

  "Sprague?" Marks echoed, sitting bolt upright. But the girl had gone,swallowed up somewhere in the impenetrable darkness which filled theroom.

  His brain cleared by the realization that he had blundered into theheart of the opium-runners' den, it took Ezra only a few seconds toformulate a plan of action. The first thing, of course, was to get away.But how could that be accomplished when he did not even know where hewas or anything about the house? The girl had said something about thefact that "they were considering his fate." Who were "they" and wherewere they?

  Obviously, the only way to find this out was to do a little scouting onhis own account, so, slowly and carefully, he raised himself clear ofthe boxlike arrangement in which he had been placed and tried to figureout his surroundings. His hand, groping over the side, came into almostinstant contact with the floor and he found it a simple matter to stepout into what appeared to be a cleared space in the center of acomparatively large room. Then, curious as to the place where he hadbeen concealed, he felt the box from one end to the other. The sideswere about two feet high and slightly sloping, with an angle near thehead. In fact, both ends of the affair were narrower than the portionwhich had been occupied by his shoulders. Piled up at either end of thisbox were others, of the same shape and size. What could their purposebe? Why the odd shape?

  Suddenly the solution of the mystery flashed across the operative'smind--coffins! Coffins which appeared to be piled up on all sides of thestoreroom. Was this the warehouse for a Chinese undertaker or was it--

  One coffin over which he nearly tripped gave him the answer. It waspartly filled with cans, unlabeled and quite heavy--containers whichMarks felt certain were packed full of opium and smuggled in some mannerinside the coffins.

  Just as he arrived at this conclusion Marks' eye was caught by a tinystreak of light filtering through the wall on the opposite side of theroom. Making his way carefully toward this, he found that the crackpresented a fairly complete view of an adjoining apartment in whichthree Chinese, evidently of high degree, were sorting money and en
teringaccounts in large books.

  As he looked, a fourth figure entered the room--a man who caused him tocatch his breath and flatten himself against the wall, for he recognizedthe larger of the two Chinamen who had attacked him the night before--orwhenever it was. This was the man to whom the girl had alluded as "WahLee, High Priest of the Flower of Heaven"--which was merely another wayof saying that he had charge of the opium shipments.

  As he entered the others rose and remained standing until he had seatedhimself. Then one of them commenced to speak in rapid, undistinguishableChinese. Before he had had time to pronounce more than a few words,however, Wah Lee interrupted him with a command couched in English to:"Cut that out! You know I don't understand that gibberish well enough tofollow you."

  "Beg pardon," replied the other. "I always forget. You are so like oneof us that, even in private, I find it hard to remember."

  Wah Lee said nothing, but, slipping off his silken jacket, settled backat his ease. A moment later Marks was amazed to see him remove hismandarin's cap, and with it came a wig of coal-black hair!

  For the first time the government agent realized what the girl had meantwhen she intimated that Wah Lee and Sprague were one and the same--anAmerican who was masquerading as Chinese in order to further hissmuggling plans!

  "Word has just arrived," continued the man who had first spoken, "thatthe boat will be off Point Banda to-night. That will allow us to pick upthe coffins before daybreak and bury them until such time as theAmerican hounds are off their guard."

  "Yes," grunted Sprague, "and let's hope that that's soon. We must havefifty thousand dollars' worth of the stuff cached on the other side ofthe border and orders are coming in faster than we can fill them. Ithink it would be best to run this cargo right in. We can stage afuneral, if necessary, and avoid suspicion in that way. Wait a minute!I've got a hunch! What about the bum we carried in here last night--theone that tried to help Anita in her getaway?"

  "Anita?"

  "Yes, my girl. I can't remember that rigmarole you people call her.Anita's her name from now on."

  "He is in the next room, unconscious. Two of the men dumped him in oneof the empty coffins and let him stay there."

  "Good," chuckled Sprague. "We'll just let him remain--run him across theborder, and bring his body back in a big hearse. The coffin and the bodywill be real, but there'll be enough cans of dope packed in and aroundhim and in the carriages of the 'mourners' to make us all rich. It's thechance of a lifetime for a big play, because no one will ever suspect usor even inquire into his identity."

  Behind the thin wall which separated him from the next room Marksstiffened and his fingers wound themselves even more tightly around thebutt of his automatic. It is not given to many men to hear their deathsentence pronounced in a manner as dramatic and cold-blooded as were thewords which came from the outer apartment. By listening intently, Ezralearned that the coup would be sprung sometime within the next fewhours, the conspirators feeling that it would not be safe to delay, asthe opium shipment was due before dawn.

  Moving silently and aided somewhat by the fact that his eyes had becomea little accustomed to the inky blackness, Marks made his way back tothe place where he had awakened. He knew that that was where they wouldexpect to find him and he also knew that this was the one place toavoid. So he located the door and, finding it bolted from the outside,placed himself where he would be at least partly sheltered when theparty entered.

  After what seemed to be an interminable time he finally heard a soundfrom the hallway--the soft slip-slip of felt shoes approaching. Then thebolt was withdrawn and the door opened, admitting the four men whom hehad seen in the other room, and behind them, carrying a lantern, camethe girl.

  Nerving himself for a supreme leap, Marks waited until all five visitorswere inside the room, and then started to slip through the open doorway.But his movement attracted the attention of the man called Sprague and,with a cry of warning, he wheeled and fired before the operative couldgain the safety of the hall. Knowing that his body, outlined against thelight from outside, would make an ideal target, Ezra dropped to thefloor and swung his automatic into action. As he did so the girlextinguished the lantern with a single swift blow, leaving the room intotal blackness, save for the path made by the light in the hallway.

  For probably twenty seconds there wasn't a sound. Then Marks caught aglimpse of a moving figure and fired, leaping to one side as he did soin order to avoid the fusillade directed at the flash of his revolver.By a cry from the other side of the room he knew that his shot had gonehome, and a moment later he had an opportunity to wing another of hisassailants, again drawing a volley of shots. The last shot in his clipwas fired with a prayer--but it evidently went home, for only silence,punctuated by moans from the opposite side of the room, ensued.

  * * * * *

  "That night," concluded Quinn, "a big sailing vessel was met off PointBanda and they found a full month's supply of opium aboard of her. Asearch of Lower California, near the border, also disclosed a buryingground with many of the graves packed with cans of the drug. The raid,of course, was a violation of Mexican neutrality--but they got away withit."

  "The girl?" I cut in. "What became of her?"

  "When the police reached the house a few moments after Marks had firedthe last shot, they found that Sprague was dead with one of Ezra'sbullets through his brain. The three Chinamen were wounded, but notfatally. The girl, however, was huddled in a corner, dead. No one everdiscovered whether she stopped one of the bullets from Marks's revolveror whether she was killed by Sprague's men as a penalty for putting outthe lantern. Undoubtedly, that saved Ezra's life--which was the reasonthat he saw that she was given a decent funeral and an adequate memorialerected over her grave.

  "He also kept her jacket as a memento of the affair, turning the hatchetover to me for my collection. Under it you will find a copy of the wirehe sent the chief."

  Curious, I went over and read the yellow slip framed beneath the weapon:

  Opium smuggled in coffins. American, at head of ring, dead. Gang broken up. Opium seized. What next?

  MARKS.

  "Didn't wait long for another assignment, did he?" I inquired.

  "No," was the response. "When you're working for Uncle Sam you come tofind that excitement is about the only thing that keeps your nervesquiet. Sometimes, as in Marks's case, it's the thrill of the actualcombat. But more often it's the search for a tangible clue--the gropingin the dark for something you know exists but which you can't lay yourhands on. That was the trouble with the Cheney case...."