“I can't help thinking, Chief Inspector,” said the officer in charge at
Limehouse Station, “that you take unnecessary risks.”
“Can't you?” said Kerry, tilting his bowler farther forward and staring
truculently at the speaker.
“No, I can't. Since you cleaned up the dope gang down here you've been
a marked man. These murders in the Chinatown area, of which this one
to-night makes the third, have got some kind of big influence behind
them. Yet you wander about in the fog without even a gun in your
pocket.”
“I don't believe in guns,” rapped Kerry. “My bare hands are good enough
for any yellow smart in this area. And if they give out I can kick like
a mule.”
The other laughed, shaking his head.
“It's silly, all the same,” he persisted. “The man who did the job out
there in the fog to-night might have knifed you or shot you long before
you could have got here.”
“He might,” snapped Kerry, “but he didn't.”
Yet, remembering his wife, who would be waiting for him in the cosy
sitting-room he knew a sudden pang. Perhaps he did take unnecessary
chances. Others had said so. Hard upon the thought came the memory of
his boy, and of the telephone message which the episodes of the night
had prevented him from sending.
He remembered, too, something which his fearless nature had prompted him
to forget: he remembered how, just as he had arisen from beside the body
of the murdered man, oblique eyes had regarded him swiftly out of the
fog. He had lashed out with a boxer's instinct, but his knuckles had
encountered nothing but empty air. No sound had come to tell him that
the thing had not been an illusion. Only, once again, as he groped his
way through the shuttered streets of Chinatown and the silence of
the yellow mist, something had prompted him to turn; and again he had
detected the glint of oblique eyes, and faintly had discerned the form
of one who followed him.
Kerry chewed viciously, then:
“I think I'll 'phone the wife,” he said abruptly. “She'll be expecting
me.”
Almost before he had finished speaking the 'phone bell rang, and a few
moments later:
“Someone to speak to you, Chief Inspector,” cried the officer in charge.
“Ah!” exclaimed Kerry, his fierce eyes lighting up. “That will be from
home.”
“I don't think so,” was the reply. “But see who it is.”
“Hello!” he called.
He was answered by an unfamiliar voice, a voice which had a queer,
guttural intonation. It was the sort of voice he had learned to loathe.
“Is that Chief Inspector Kerry?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“May I take it that what I have to say will be treated in confidence?”
“Certainly not.”
“Think again, Chief Inspector,” the voice continued. “You are a man
within sight of the ambition of years, and although you may be unaware
of the fact, you stand upon the edge of a disaster. I appreciate your
sense of duty and respect it. But there are times when diplomacy is a
more potent weapon than force.”
Kerry, listening, became aware that the speaker was a man of cultured
intellect. He wondered greatly, but:
“My time is valuable,” he said rapidly. “Come to the point. What do you
want and who are you?”
“One moment, Chief Inspector. An opportunity to make your fortune
without interfering with your career has come in your way. You have
obtained possession of what you believe to be a clue to a murder.”
The voice ceased, and Kerry remaining silent, immediately continued:
“Knowing your personal character, I doubt if you have communicated the
fact of your possessing this evidence to anyone else. I suggest, in your
own interests, that before doing so you interview me.”
Kerry thought rapidly, and then:
“I don't say you're right,” he rapped back. “But if I come to see you,
I shall leave a sealed statement in possession of the officer in charge
here.”
“To this I have no objection,” the guttural voice replied, “but I beg of
you to bring the evidence with you.”
“I'm not to be bought,” warned Kerry. “Don't think it and don't suggest
it, or when I get to you I'll break you in half.”
His red moustache positively bristled, and he clutched the receiver so
tightly that it quivered against his ear.
“You mistake me,” replied the speaker. “My name is Zani Chada. You know
where I live. I shall not detain you more than five minutes if you will
do me the honour of calling upon me.”
Kerry chewed furiously for ten momentous seconds, then:
“I'll come!” he said.
He replaced the receiver on the hook, and, walking across to the charge
desk, took an official form and a pen. On the back of the form he
scribbled rapidly, watched with curiosity by the officer in charge.
“Give me an envelope,” he directed.
An envelope was found and handed to him. He placed the paper in the
envelope, gummed down the lapel, and addressed it in large, bold writing
to the Assistant Commissioner of the Criminal Investigation Department,
who was his chief. Finally:
“I'm going out,” he explained.
“After what I've said?”
“After what you've said. I'm going out. If I don't come back or don't
telephone within the next hour, you will know what to do with this.”
The Limehouse official stared perplexedly.
“But meanwhile,” he protested, “what steps am I to take about the
murder? Durham will be back with the body at any moment now, and you say
you've got a clue to the murderer.”
“I have,” said Kerry, “but I'm going to get definite evidence. Do
nothing until you hear from me.”
“Very good,” answered the other, and Kerry, tucking his malacca cane
under his arm, strode out into the fog.
His knowledge of the Limehouse area was extensive and peculiar, so that
twenty minutes later, having made only one mistake in the darkness, he
was pressing an electric bell set beside a door which alone broke the
expanse of a long and dreary brick wall, lining a street which neither
by day nor night would have seemed inviting to the casual visitor.
The door was opened by a Chinaman wearing national dress, revealing
a small, square lobby, warmly lighted and furnished Orientally. Kerry
stepped in briskly.
“I want to see Mr. Zani Chada. Tell him I am here. Chief Inspector Kerry
is my name.”
The Chinaman bowed, crossed the lobby, and, drawing some curtains aside,
walked up four carpeted stairs and disappeared into a short passage
revealed by the raising of the tapestry. As he did so Kerry stared about
him curiously.
He had never before entered the mystery house of Zani Chada, nor had he
personally encountered the Eurasian, reputed to be a millionaire,
but who chose, for some obscure reason, to make his abode in this old
rambling building, once a country mansion, which to-day was closely
invested by dockland and the narrow alleys of Chinatown. It was
curiously still in the lobby, and, as he determined, curiously Eastern.
He was conscious of a sense of exhilaration. That Zani Chada controlled
powerful influences, he knew well. But, reviewing the precautions
which he had taken, Kerry determined that the trump card was in his
possession.
The Chinese servant descended the stairs again and intimated that the
visitor should follow him. Kerry, carrying his hat and cane, mounted the
stairs, walked along the carpeted passage, and was ushered into a queer,
low room furnished as a library.
It was lined with shelves containing strange-looking books, none of
which appeared to be English. Upon the top of the shelves were grotesque
figures of gods, pieces of Chinese pottery and other Oriental ornaments.
Arms there were in the room, and rich carpets, carven furniture, and an
air of luxury peculiarly exotic. Furthermore, he detected a faint smell
of opium from which fact he divined that Zani Chada was addicted to the
national vice of China.
Seated before a long narrow table was the notorious Eurasian. The table
contained a number of strange and unfamiliar objects, as well as a small
rack of books. An opium pipe rested in a porcelain bowl.
Zani Chada, wearing a blue robe, sat in a cushioned chair, staring
toward the Chief Inspector. With one slender yellow hand he brushed his
untidy gray hair. His long magnetic eyes were half closed.
“Good evening, Chief Inspector Kerry,” he said. “Won't you be seated?”
“Thanks, I'm not staying. I can hear what you've got to say standing.”
The long eyes grew a little more narrow--the only change of expression
that Zani Chada allowed himself.
“As you wish. I have no occasion to detain you long.”
In that queer, perfumed room, with the suggestion of something sinister
underlying its exotic luxury, arose a kind of astral clash as the
powerful personality of the Eurasian came in contact with that of Kerry.
In a sense it was a contest of rapier and battle-axe; an insidious but
powerful will enlisted against the bulldog force of the Chief Inspector.
Still through half-closed eyes Zani Chada watched his visitor, who
stood, feet apart and chin thrust forward aggressively, staring with
wide open, fierce blue eyes at the other.
“I'm going to say one thing,” declared Kerry, snapping out the words
in a manner little short of ferocious. He laid his hat and cane upon a
chair and took a step in the direction of the narrow, laden table. “Make
me any kind of offer to buy back the evidence you think I've got, and
I'll bash your face as flat as a frying-pan.”
The yellow hands of Zani Chada clutched the metal knobs which ornamented
the arms of the chair in which he was seated. The long eyes now
presented the appearance of being entirely closed; otherwise he remained
immovable.
Following a short, portentous silence:
“How grossly you misunderstood me, Chief Inspector,” Chada replied,
speaking very softly. “You are shortly to be promoted to a post which no
one is better fitted to occupy. You enjoy great domestic happiness, and
you possess a son in whom you repose great hopes. In this respect Chief
Inspector, I resemble you.”
Kerry's nostrils were widely dilated, but he did not speak.
“You see,” continued the Eurasian, “I know many things about you.
Indeed, I have watched your career with interest. Now, to be brief, a
great scandal may be averted and a woman's reputation preserved if you
and I, as men of the world, can succeed in understanding one another.”
“I don't want to understand you,” said Kerry bluntly. “But you've said
enough already to justify me in blowing this whistle.” He drew a police
whistle from his overcoat pocket. “This house is being watched.”
“I am aware of the fact,” murmured Zani Chada.
“There are two people in it I want for two different reasons. If you say
much more there may be three.”
Chada raised his hand slowly.
“Put back your whistle, Chief Inspector.”
There was a curious restraint in the Eurasian's manner which Kerry
distrusted, but for which at the time he was at a loss to account. Then
suddenly he determined that the man was waiting for something, listening
for some sound. As if to confirm this reasoning, just at that moment a
sound indeed broke the silence of the room.
Somewhere far away in the distance of the big house a gong was beaten
three times softly. Kerry's fierce glance searched the face of Zani
Chada, but it remained mask-like, immovable. Yet that this had been a
signal of some kind the Chief Inspector did not doubt, and:
“You can't trick me,” he said fiercely. “No one can leave this house
without my knowledge, and because of what happened out there in the fog
my hands are untied.”
He took up his hat and cane from the chair.
“I'm going to search the premises,” he declared.
Zani Chada stood up slowly.
“Chief Inspector,” he said, “I advise you to do nothing until you have
consulted your wife.”
“Consulted my wife?” snapped Kerry. “What the devil do you mean?”
“I mean that any steps you may take now can only lead to disaster for
many, and in your own case to great sorrow.”
Kerry took a step forward, two steps, then paused. He was considering
certain words which the Eurasian had spoken. Without fearing the man
in the physical sense, he was not fool enough to underestimate his
potentialities for evil and his power to strike darkly.
“Act as you please,” added Zani Chada, speaking even more softly. “But
I have not advised lightly. I will receive you, Chief Inspector, at any
hour of the night you care to return. By to-morrow, if you wish, you may
be independent of everybody.”
Kerry clenched his fists.
“And great sorrow may be spared to others,” concluded the Eurasian.
Kerry's teeth snapped together audibly; then, putting on his hat, he
turned and walked straight to the door.
V