Tales of Chinatown by Sax Rohmer


Main
- books.jibble.org



My Books
- IRC Hacks

Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare

External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd

books.jibble.org

Previous Page | Next Page

Page 9

For instance, he had discovered--I don't know in what way--that
the dead Chinaman, whose name was Pi Lung, had been in
negotiation with Huang Chow for some sort of job in his
warehouse. Poland had seen the man talking to Huang's daughter,
at the end of the alley which leads to the place. He seemed to
attach extraordinary importance to this fact. At last:

"I'll tell you what it is," he said. "That Chink was a stranger
to Limehouse; I can swear to it. He was a gent of his hands; I
reckon they've got 'em in China as well as here. He went out for
the old boy's money-box, and finished like Cohen finished."

"Make your meaning clearer," I said.

"My meaning's this: Old Huang Chow is the biggest dealer in
stolen and smuggled valuables from overseas we've got in London.
He's something else as well; he's a big swell in China. But
here's the point. He's got business with buyers all over London,
and they have to pay cash--no checks. He doesn't bank it: I've
proved that. He's got it in gold, or diamonds, or something,
being wise to present conditions, hidden there in the house. Pi
Lung was after his hoard. He didn't get it. Cohen and me was
after it. Where's Cohen?"

I agreed that it looked very suspicious, and presently:

"When I went in with Cohen," continued Poland, "I knew one thing
he didn't know--a short cut into the warehouse. He's been
playing pretty-like with Lala, old Huang's daughter, and it's my
belief that he knew where the store was hidden; but he never told
me. We knew there were special men on duty, and we'd arranged
that I was to give a signal when the patrol had passed. Cohen
all the time had planned to double on me. While I was watching
down on the Causeway end he climbed up and got in through the
skylight I'd shown him. When I got there he was missing, but the
skylight was open. I started off after him."

Then Poland clutched me, and his fright was very real.

"I heard a shriek like nothing I ever heard in my life. I saw a
light shine through the trap, and then I heard a sort of moaning.
Last, I heard a bang, and the light went out. I staggered down
the passage half silly, started to run, and ran straight into the
arms of two coppers."

This evidence I thought was conclusive, and in accordance with
your instructions I proceeded to Mr. Isaacs in Dover Street. He
didn't seem too pleased at my suggestion, but when I pointed out
to him that one good turn deserved another, he agreed to give me
an introduction to Huang Chow.

I adopted a very simple disguise, just altering my complexion and
sticking on a moustache with spirit gum, hair by hair, and
trimming it down military fashion. Everything ran smoothly, and
I seemed to make a fairly favourable impression upon Lala Huang,
the Chinaman's daughter, who evidently interviews prospective
customers before they are admitted to the warehouse.

She is a Eurasian and extremely good looking. But when I found
myself in the room where old Huang keeps his treasures, I really
thought I was dreaming. It's a collection that must be worth
thousands. He showed me snuff-bottles, cut out of gems, and with
a little opening no bigger than the hole in a pipe-stem, but with
wonderful paintings done inside the bottles. He'd got a model of
a pagoda made out of human teeth, and a big golden rug woven from
the hair of Circassian slave girls. Excuse this, Chief
Inspector; I know it is what you call the romantic stuff; but I
think it would have impressed you if you had seen it.

Anyway, I bought a little enamelled box, in accordance with Mr.
Isaacs's instructions, although whether I succeeded in convincing
Huang Chow that I knew anything about the matter is more than
doubtful. He got up from a sort of throne he sits on, and led
the way up a broad staircase to a private room above.

"Of course, you have brought the cash, Mr. Hampden?" he said.

He speaks quite faultless English. He walked up three steps to a
sort of raised writing-table in this upstairs room, and I counted
out the money to him. When he sat at the table he faced toward
the room, and I couldn't help thinking that, in his horn-rimmed
spectacles, he looked like some old magistrate. He explained
that he would pack the purchase for me, but that I must
personally take it away. And:

Previous Page | Next Page


Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 28th Apr 2025, 19:24