_The Man Who Knew_
There are several members of the New York police force who think they
know their Chinatown; there are several slum workers who think they do;
there are many ugly guides, real guides, who think they do, but Beefy
Saul, ex-newspaper man, ex-United States Chinese immigration inspector,
and finally of the Secret Service, really does. This is because Beefy
Saul knows not only the bad, but the good Chinamen; because he knows
not only the ins and outs of Chinatown, but the ins and outs of New
York; because he knows not only the wiles and weaknesses of Chinamen,
the wiles and weaknesses of ugly souled guides (and of slum workers),
but best of all, because he knows the several members of the New York
police department who think they know their Chinatown. But like men
who know less, Beefy Saul enjoys his sleep and naturally objects to
being roused at three o'clock in the morning, even though in the east
the silver is showing through the black, as Donaldson pointed out, like
the eyes of a certain lady when she smiles (as Donaldson did not point
out). Beefy came down in answer to the insistent bell which connected
with his modest flat--it ought to be called a suite, for the lower hall
boasted only six speaking tubes--and he swore like a pirate as he came.
Finally the broad shoulders, which gave him his name, filled the door
frame.
"I don't give a tinker's dam who you are," he growled before he had
made out the features before him, "it's a blasted outrage! Hello, Don,
what in thunder brings you out at this time of night? You look white,
man, what's the trouble?"
Saul hitched up his trousers, his round sleepy face that of a
good-natured farmer.
"I want you to do me a favor if you will, Beefy. I know it 's a darned
shame to get you out at this hour."
"Tut, tut, man. If a friend can't get up for another friend, he ain't
much of a friend. Tell your troubles."
"I 'm looking for a man, Beefy, who 's down there somewhere among your
Chinks."
"Hitting the pipe?"
"I 'm afraid so."
"Have n't any address I suppose--don't know his favorite joint?"
"I don't know a thing about him except that he has been down there
before--that he lit out again a little over an hour ago, half mad--and
that I must find him."
"An hour ago, eh? That helps, some. There 's only a few of 'em open
to the public at that time. But say, is there any special hurry? He's
had time to get his dope by now. I 've got some work there in the
morning."
"There's a girl waiting for him, Beefy, a girl who is paying big for
every hour he's gone."
"So? Well, m' boy, guess we 'll have to get him then. I 'll be down
in ten minutes. Make yourself at home on the doorstep."
Donaldson waited in the taxicab. For the first time in his life he
computed the value of one-sixth of an hour. So long as he had been
with the girl--or so long as he had been active in her behalf--the
minutes were filled with sufficient interest to make them pass
unreckoned. But to sit here and wait, to sit here and watch the
seconds wasted, to sit here and be conscious of each one of them as it
bit, like a thieving wharf rat, into his dwindling Present and carried
the morsel of time back to the greedy Past, was a different matter.
When finally Saul appeared with a fat cigar in one corner of his chubby
mouth, Donaldson was halfway across the sidewalk to meet him.
"Good Lord!" he laughed excitedly, almost pushing the big man toward
the cab, "I thought you were lost up there."
Saul paused with one foot already on the step. Then turning back, he
struck a match for his cigar. The flare revealed Donaldson's eager
eyes, his tense mouth. He carelessly snapped the burnt match to the
lapel of Donaldson's coat and stooping to pick it off took occasion to
whiff the latter's breath.
"The sooner we start--" suggested Donaldson, impatiently.
Saul stepped in, his two hundred pounds making the springs squeak, and
sinking into a corner waited to see what he might learn from
Donaldson's talk. The suspicion had crossed his mind that possibly the
latter had got into some such way himself--it was over a year since he
had seen him--and was taking this method to hunt up an all-night opium
joint. His experience made him constantly suspicious, but unlike the
regular police, a suspicion with him remained a suspicion until proven.
It never gained strength merely by being in his thought. At the end of
five minutes he had discarded this theory. Stopping the machine, he
gave the cabby a real address in the place of the fictitious one he had
first given in Donaldson's hearing. The latter's mind, supernormally
alert, detected the ruse instantly. He placed a hand upon Saul's knee.
"Beefy, you didn't suspect me, did you?"
"What the devil is the matter with you then?" demanded Saul.
"Nothing. What makes you think there is?"
"The mouth, man, the mouth! You don't get those wrinkles in the corner
and a tight chin by being left alone five minutes, if all that is
troubling you is a lost friend."
"You 're too confounded suspicious. It's only that I 've so many
things to do, Beefy."
"Business picked up?"
Donaldson smiled. Saul had known his Grub Street life. As the cab
sped on he regained his self-control. Action, movement was all he
needed. For the next ten minutes he surprised Saul with his enthusiasm
and loquacity. The latter having known him as a quiet and rather
reserved fellow, finally decided that it was a clear case of woman.
The questions he asked about young Arsdale, in securing a minute
description of the man, confirmed this impression.
The cab turned into the narrow cobbled streets of Chinatown, past the
dark windows, Chinese stores and restaurants, a region that, deserted
now, appeared in the early morning quiet ominous rather than peaceful.
Dark alleys opened out frequently--alleys which coiled like snakes past
cellar entrances, noisome rears of tottering tenements, to
grease-fingered doors as impassive as the stolid faces of guards who
drowsed behind them asleep to all save those who knew the deadly
pass-word. Paradoxical doors which shut in, instead of out, danger!
But Saul knew them and they knew Saul. He knew further the haunts of
beginners, where opium is high and the surroundings are fairly clean,
he knew the haunts of the confirmed, where opium is cheaper and where
surroundings do not matter at all. Also he knew Wun Chung, who does
not smoke, but who, being rich, controls the trade and so keeps in
touch with all who buy.
On the way to Chung's Saul made one stop. With Donaldson at his heels,
he darted down a side street, pushed open, without knocking, a dingy
door, went up a flight of stairs, along a dark hallway and down another
flight, where he was stopped by a shadow. The big man spoke his name,
and the shadow turned instantly from a guard to an obsequious servant.
He opened the door and Saul strode across a narrow yard, stooping to
brush beneath the stout clothes-line hung with blankets, an innocent
appearing wash, which however served as an effective barrier to any one
who might approach at a run. They entered the rear of a second
tenement which faced a parallel street, but which, oddly enough, had no
entrance to its rear rooms from the front. Another shadow rose before
them only to vanish as the round red face of Saul appeared. He pushed
on into a long, low-ceilinged room lined with bunks, the air heavy with
the acrid dead smoke of opium.
"Light," demanded Saul.
The sleepy proprietor brought a kerosene lamp, the chimney befouled
with soot and grease. It was an old trick. These fellows protect
their customers and through a sooted chimney the feeble light makes
scarcely more than shadows in which it is very difficult to identify a
man. Seizing the slant-eyed ghoul by the arm Saul held the lamp within
an inch of the yellow face, so close that it burned.
"Don't try such fool things on me, Tong," he warned. "Bring me a
light."
The Chinaman squirmed in terror, and when loosed was back again in a
hurry with a lamp that lighted the whole room. Saul took it and
examined the nearest bunk. Donaldson glanced at the first face. That
was enough. He retreated to the door for fresh air. Down the line
went Saul, looking like some devil in Hell making tally of lost souls.
He reached in and turned them, one after the other, face to the light,
while Donaldson stood outside, dreading the call that should force him
to look again. He was no man of the world and the reek of the place
appalled him. Nothing he had ever read conveyed anything of the plain
sordidness of it,--the unrelieved pall of it which burdened like the
weary dead stretch of an alkali desert. The scene did not even become
romantic to him, until glancing up, he saw above the irregular
roof-tops, the stars still bright in the virgin purple, saw the
unfouled spaces of the planet fields between them. What had such clean
things as the stars to do with this mired world below? This jeweled
roof was not intended for so squalid a floor. But the stars above
brought him back to the girl again, and she to her brother, and her
brother to this. Strange cycle! Then the stars and the blue gathered
them all into one. Strange one!
"Not here," announced Saul, wiping the oil from his fingers. Donaldson
breathed more freely. Without delay they hurried back to the cab.
"I had sort of a hunch that we 'd find him there," said Saul, "but we
did n't. Now we 'll have a cup of tea with Chung and set him to work.
It's a darned sight easier and a lot swifter way when you have n't any
clue at all to work on."
"And pleasanter," returned Donaldson. "I 've seen enough of this."
"Not so bad when you get used to 'em," answered Saul, lighting a fresh
cigar. "But I know how you feel; I 'm just that queer about morgues.
Can't get used to 'em nohow. Get the creeps every time I step inside a
morgue. But then I don't hanker after murder work of any sort like
some of the boys. It would be just my chance to get a taste of it
before I 'm done with the Riverside robberies."
"What are the Riverside robberies?" inquired Donaldson, with a faint
remembrance of the name.
"You been out of town?"
"No, but I don't read the papers much."
"I should say not. Four hold-ups in three weeks, all within half a
mile of one another on Riverside Drive."
"Riverside Drive?"
He remembered now. The Arsdale home was near Riverside Drive. Barstow
had spoken of these crimes.
"You on the case?" he asked indifferently,
"Yes," answered Saul. "I 'm on the case and if another one breaks, the
case and the Chief will be on me."
The cab had stopped before an unlighted store. The street light
revealed a window filled with a medley of china, teas, silks, and
joss-sticks. Above, in big gilt letters, was the sign "Wun Chung and
Co."
It was surprising how quickly in response to Saul's knocking a door to
the left of the main entrance, and leading upstairs, opened. After a
few words with the moon-faced attendant, the light was switched on and
the three ascended to a small room, brilliant with gaudy Oriental
colors and heavy with ebony furnishings. A group of three or four
Chinamen sat at a small table soberly drinking their tea with the
exaggerated innocence of those who have a deck of cards up their
sleeves. The proprietor himself, fat as a butter ball, toddled up to
Saul with a grin upon his round, colorless face. He ordered tea for
all and they sat down. In two minutes Saul had explained what he
wished, and in five a couple of the silent group near had taken Chung's
orders and stolen out like ghosts.
Saul swallowed his tea boiling hot and glanced at his watch. It was
half-past four.
"Now," he said, "I 'm going back for a wink of sleep. You can sit on
here or you can have Chung notify you at your hotel, eh, Chung?"
"Allee light," nodded the proprietor.
"How long do you think it will take?" asked Donaldson quickly.
"Might take till noon to search every place--and then we might not find
him if he's an old hand at the game," answered Saul.
"Till noon!" exclaimed Donaldson irritably. "Good Lord, that's eight
hours!"
Saul placed his hand affectionately upon Donaldson's shoulder.
"See here, Don," he replied earnestly. "Take my advice and get some
sleep."
"Do you think I can waste time in sleep?"
"Better take a little now or you 'll be having a long one coming to
you."
"That's just it," retorted Donaldson. "I 've got all eternity for
sleep."
"So? Well, I 'll take mine here and now, thanks. I want to wake up!"
The older man's sober common-sense brought Donaldson to himself.
"Guess you 're right," he admitted.
He took out a card and scribbled two addresses, one of the Waldorf and
the other of the Arsdale house.
"You will notify me at one of these places as soon as you learn
anything?"
"Allee light."
"_At once_, you understand?"
Saul insisted upon landing Donaldson at his hotel before going on to
his own home. The latter grasped the big hand of his friend.
"Beefy," he said, "if ever I can give _her_ a chance to thank you, I
'll bet you 'll think your trouble worth while."
"Turn in and give her a chance to thank _you_ in the morning. I reckon
she 'll appreciate that more than an opportunity to thank me."
The cab bearing the big detective glided off. Donaldson watched it
melt down the dwindling vista until finally, dissolved altogether, it
became one with the dark.