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Page 46
"This way, Dan!" he cried. "This way, boy!"
Came a clatter of hurrying feet, and into the low, perfumed room
burst Dan Kerry, junior, tightly clasping the hand of a pale-
faced, dishevelled woman in evening dress. It was Lady Rourke;
and although she seemed to be in a nearly fainting condition, Dan
dragged her, half running, into the room.
Kerry gave one glance at the pair, then, instantly, he turned to
face Zani Chada. The latter, like a man of stone, sat in his
carved chair, eyes nearly closed. The Chief Inspector whipped
out a whistle and raised it to his lips. He blew three blasts
upon it.
From one--two--three--four points around the house the signal was
answered.
Zani Chada fully opened his long, basilisk eyes.
"You win, Chief Inspector," he said. "But much may be done by
clever counsel. If all fails------"
"Well?" rapped Kerry fiercely, at the same time throwing his arm
around the boy.
"I may continue to take an interest in your affairs."
A tremendous uproar arose, within and without the house. The
police were raiding the place. Lady Rourke sank down, slowly,
almost at the Eurasian's feet.
But Chief Inspector Kerry experienced an unfamiliar chill as his
uncompromising stare met the cold hatred which blazed out of the
black eyes, narrowed, now, and serpentine, of Zani Chada.
THE PIGTAIL OF HI WING HO
I
HOW I OBTAINED IT
Leaving the dock gates behind me I tramped through the steady
drizzle, going parallel with the river and making for the Chinese
quarter. The hour was about half-past eleven on one of those
September nights when, in such a locality as this, a stifling
quality seems to enter the atmosphere, rendering it all but
unbreathable. A mist floated over the river, and it was
difficult to say if the rain was still falling, indeed, or if the
ample moisture upon my garments was traceable only to the fog.
Sounds were muffled, lights dimmed, and the frequent hooting of
sirens from the river added another touch of weirdness to the
scene.
Even when the peculiar duties of my friend, Paul Harley, called
him away from England, the lure of this miniature Orient which I
had first explored under his guidance, often called me from my
chambers. In the house with the two doors in Wade Street,
Limehouse, I would discard the armour of respectability, and,
dressed in a manner unlikely to provoke comment in dockland,
would haunt those dreary ways sometimes from midnight until close
upon dawn. Yet, well as I knew the district and the strange and
often dangerous creatures lurking in its many burrows, I
experienced a chill partly physical and partly of apprehension
to-night; indeed, strange though it may sound, I hastened my
footsteps in order the sooner to reach the low den for which I
was bound--Malay Jack's--a spot marked plainly on the crimes-map
and which few respectable travellers would have regarded as a
haven of refuge.
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