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Page 43
Keith went out, his pulse quickening to the significance of the iron
man's words, and wondering what the "mine" was that McDowell had
promised to explode, but which he had not.
XVII
Keith lost no time in heading for Shan Tung's. He was like a man
playing chess, and the moves were becoming so swift and so intricate
that his mind had no rest. Each hour brought forth its fresh
necessities and its new alternatives. It was McDowell who had given him
his last cue, perhaps the surest and safest method of all for winning
his game. The iron man, that disciple of the Law who was merciless in
his demand of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, had let him
understand that the world would be better off without Shan Tung. This
man, who never in his life had found an excuse for the killer, now
maneuvered subtly the suggestion for a killing.
Keith was both shocked and amazed. "If anything happens, let it be in
the open and not on Shan Tung's premises," he had warned him. That
implied in McDowell's mind a cool and calculating premeditation, the
assumption that if Shan Tung was killed it would be in self-defense.
And Keith's blood leaped to the thrill of it. He had not only found the
depths of McDowell's personal interest in Miriam Kirkstone, but a last
weapon had been placed in his hands, a weapon which he could use this
day if it became necessary. Cornered, with no other hope of saving
himself, he could as a last resort kill Shan Tung--and McDowell would
stand behind him!
He went directly to Shan Tung's cafe and sauntered in. There were large
changes in it since four years ago. The moment he passed through its
screened vestibule, he felt its oriental exclusiveness, the sleek and
mysterious quietness of it. One might have found such a place catering
to the elite of a big city. It spoke sumptuously of a large expenditure
of money, yet there was nothing bizarre or irritating to the senses.
Its heavily-carved tables were almost oppressive in their solidity.
Linen and silver, like Shan Tung himself, were immaculate.
Magnificently embroidered screens were so cleverly arranged that one
saw not all of the place at once, but caught vistas of it. The few
voices that Keith heard in this pre-lunch hour were subdued, and the
speakers were concealed by screens. Two orientals, as immaculate as the
silver and linen, were moving about with the silence of velvet-padded
lynxes. A third, far in the rear, stood motionless as one of the carven
tables, smoking a cigarette and watchful as a ferret. This was Li King,
Shan Tung's right-hand man.
Keith approached him. When he was near enough, Li King gave the
slightest inclination to his head and took the cigarette from his
mouth. Without movement or speech he registered the question, "What do
you want?"
Keith knew this to be a bit of oriental guile. In his mind there was no
doubt that Li King had been fully instructed by his master and that he
had been expecting him, even watching for him. Convinced of this, he
gave him one of Conniston's cards and said,
"Take this to Shan Tung. He is expecting me."
Li King looked at the card, studied it for a moment with apparent
stupidity, and shook his head. "Shan Tung no home. Gone away."
That was all. Where he had gone or when he would return Keith could not
discover from Li King. Of all other matters except that he had gone
away the manager of Shan Tung's affairs was ignorant. Keith felt like
taking the yellow-skinned hypocrite by the throat and choking something
out of him, but he realized that Li King was studying and watching him,
and that he would report to Shan Tung every expression that had passed
over his face. So he looked at his watch, bought a cigar at the glass
case near the cash register, and departed with a cheerful nod, saying
that he would call again.
Ten minutes later he determined on a bold stroke. There was no time for
indecision or compromise. He must find Shan Tung and find him quickly.
And he believed that Miriam Kirkstone could give him a pretty good tip
as to his whereabouts. He steeled himself to the demand he was about to
make as he strode up to the house on the hill. He was disappointed
again. Miss Kirkstone was not at home. If she was, she did not answer
to his knocking and bell ringing.
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