Daniel Multenius had met his death by violence, we did not give one
second's thought to that aspect and side of the affair--we concentrated
on the recovery of our property. I knew the house in which these
Chinese lived. That evening, Purvis and I went there. We have both been
accustomed, in our time, to various secret dealings and manoeuvres, and
we entered the grounds of that house without any one being the wiser.
It did not take long to convince us that the house was empty. It
remained empty that night--Purvis kept guard over it, in an outhouse in
the garden. No one either entered or left it between our going to it
and Purvis coming away from it next morning--he stayed there, watching
until it was time to keep an appointment with me in Hyde Park. Before I
met him, I had been called upon by Detective Ayscough, Mr. Rubinstein,
and Mr. Lauriston--they know what I said to them. I could not at that
time say anything else--I had my own concerns to think of.
"When Purvis and I met we had another consultation, and we determined,
in view of all the revelations which had come out and had been
published in the papers, that the suspicion cast on young Mr. Lauriston
was the very best thing that could happen for us; it would reassure our
Chinaman. And we made up our minds that the house in Maida Vale would
not be found untenanted that night, and we arranged to meet there at
eleven o'clock. We felt so sure that our man would have read all the
news in the papers, and would feel safe, and that we should find him.
But, mark you, we had no idea as to which of the two Chinamen it was
that we wanted. Of one fact, however, we were certain--whichever it was
that I had seen slip round the corner of Iron Gate Wharf the previous
day, whether it was Chang Li or Chen Li, he would have kept his secret
to himself! The thing was--to get into that house; to get into
conversation with both; to decide which was the guilty man, and
then--to take our own course. We knew what to do--and we went fully
prepared.
"Now we come to this--our second visit to the house in Maida Vale. To
be exact, it was between eleven and twelve on the second night after
the disappearance of the diamond. As on the previous night, we gained
access to the garden by the door at the back--that, on each occasion,
was unfastened, while the gate giving access to the road in Maida Vale
was securely locked. And, as on the previous night, we quickly found
that up to then at any rate, the house was empty. But not so the
garden! While I was looking round the further side of the house, Purvis
took a careful look round the garden. And presently he came to me and
drew away to the asphalted path which runs from the front gate to the
front door. The moon had risen above the houses and trees--and in its
light he pointed to bloodstains. It did not take a second look,
gentlemen, to see that they were recent--in fact, fresh. Somebody had
been murdered in that garden not many minutes--literally,
minutes!--before our arrival. And within two minutes more we found the
murdered man lying behind some shrubbery on the left of the path. I
knew him for the younger of the two Chinese--the man called Chen Li.
"This discovery, of course, made us aware that we were now face to face
with a new development. We were not long in arriving at a conclusion
about that. Chang Li had found out that his friend had become possessed
of these valuable--he might have discovered the matter of the diamond,
or of the bank-notes or both--how was immaterial. But we were
convinced, putting everything together, that he had made this
discovery, had probably laid in wait for Chen Li as he returned home
that night, had run a knife into him as he went up the garden, had
dragged the body into the shrubbery, possessed himself of the loot, and
made off. And now we were face to face with what was going, as we knew,
to be the stiffest part of our work--the finding of Chang Li. We set to
work on that without a moment's delay.
"I have told you that Purvis and I have a pretty accurate knowledge of
Chinamen; we have both had deep and intimate experience of them and
their ways. I, personally, know a good deal of the Chinese Colony in
London: I have done business with Chinamen, both in London and South
Africa, for years. I had a good idea of what Chang Li's procedure would
be. He would hide--if need be, for months, until the first heat of the
hue and cry which he knew would be sure to be raised, would have cooled
down. There are several underground warrens--so to speak--in the East
End, in which he could go to earth, comfortably and safely, until there
was a chance of slipping out of the country unobserved. I know already
of some of them. I would get to know of others.
"Purvis and I got on that track--such as it was, at once. We went along
to the East End there and then--before morning I had shaved off my
beard and mustache, disguised myself in old clothes, and was beginning
my work. First thing next morning I did two things--one was to cause a
telegram to be sent from Spring Street to my butler explaining my
probable absence; the other to secretly warn the Bank of England about
the bank-notes. But I had no expectation that Chang Li would try to
negotiate those--all his energies, I knew, would be concentrated on the
diamond. Nevertheless, he might try--and would, if he
tried--succeed--in changing one note, and it was as well to take that
precaution.
"Now then, next day, Purvis and I being, in our different ways, at work
in the East End, we heard the news about the Praed Street tradesman,
Parslett. That seemed to me remarkable proof of my theory. As the
successive editions of the newspapers came out during that day, and
next day, we learnt all about the Parslett affair. I saw through it at
once. Parslett, being next-door neighbour to Daniel Multenius, had
probably seen Chen Li--whom we now believed to have been the actual
thief--slip away from Multenius's door, and, when the news of Daniel's
death came out, had put two and two together, and, knowing where the
Chinamen lived, had gone to the house in Maida Vale to blackmail them.
I guessed what had happened then--Parslett, to quieten him for the
moment, had been put off with fifty pounds in gold, and promised
more--and he had also been skilfully poisoned in such a fashion that he
would get safely away from the premises but die before he got home. And
when he was safe away, Chang Li had murdered Chen Li, and made off.
So--as I still think--all our theories were correct, and the only thing
to do was to find Chang."
But here Levendale paused, glanced at Stephen Purvis, and spread out
his hands with a gesture which indicated failure and disappointment.
His glance moved from Stephen Purvis to the police officials.
"All no good!" he exclaimed. "It's useless to deny it. I have been in
every Chinese den and haunt in East London--I'm certain that Chang Li
is nowhere down there. I have spent money like water--employed Chinese
and Easterns on whom I could depend--there isn't a trace of him! And
so--we gave up last night. Purvis and I--baffled. We've come to you
police people--"
"You should have done that before, Mr. Levendale," said the Inspector
severely. "You haven't given us much credit, I think, and if you'd told
all this at first--"
Before the Inspector could say more, a constable tapped at the door and
put his head into the room. His eyes sought Ayscough.
"There's a young gentleman--foreigner--asking for you, Mr. Ayscough,"
he said. "Wants to see you at once--name of Mr. Yada."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
YADA TAKES CHARGE
Ayscough had only time to give a warning look and a word to the others
before Mr. Mori Yada was ushered in. Every eye was turned on him as he
entered--some of the men present looking at him with wonder, some with
curiosity, two, at any rate--Levendale and Stephen Purvis--with doubt.
But Yada himself was to all outward appearance utterly indifferent to
the glances thrown in his direction: it seemed to John Purdie, who was
remembering all he had heard the night before, that the young Japanese
medical student was a singularly cool and self-possessed hand. Yada,
indeed, might have been walking in on an assemblage of personal
friends, specially gathered together in his honour. Melky Rubinstein,
who was also watching him closely, noticed at once that he had
evidently made a very careful toilet that morning. Yada's dark
overcoat, thrown negligently open, revealed a smart grey lounge suit;
in one gloved hand he carried a new bowler hat, in the other a
carefully rolled umbrella. He looked as prosperous and as severely in
mode as if no mysteries and underground affairs had power to touch him,
and the ready smile with which he greeted Ayscough was ingenuous and
candid enough to disarm the most suspicious.
"Good morning, Mr. Detective," he began, as he crossed the threshold
and looked first at Ayscough and then at the ring of attentive faces.
"I want to speak to you on that little affair of last night, you know.
I suppose you are discussing it with these gentlemen? Well, perhaps I
can now give you some information that will be useful."
"Glad to hear anything, Mr. Yada," said Ayscough, who was striving hard
to conceal his surprise. "Anything that you can tell us. You've heard
something during the night, then?"
Yada laughed pleasantly, showing his white teeth. He dropped into the
chair which Ayscough pushed forward, and slowly drew off his gloves.
"I assured myself of something last night--after you left me," he said,
with a knowing look. "I used your card to advantage, Mr. Detective. I
went to the mortuary."
Ayscough contrived to signal to the Inspector to leave the talking to
him. He put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, assumed an
easy attitude as he leaned against the door, and looked speculatively
at the new comer.
"Aye?--and what made you do that now, Mr. Yada?" he asked,
half-carelessly. "A bit of curiosity, eh?"
"Not idle curiosity, Mr. Detective," replied Yada. "I wanted to know,
to make certain, which of the two Chinamen it really was who was
there--dead. I saw him. Now I know. Chen Li!"
"Well?" said Ayscough.
Yada suddenly twisted round in his chair, and slowly glanced at the
listening men on either side of the desk. They were cool, bold,
half-insolent eyes which received face after face, showing no
recognition of any until they encountered Melky Rubinstein's watchful
countenance. And to Melky, Yada accorded a slight nod--and turned to
Ayscough again.
"Which," he asked calmly, "which of these gentlemen is the owner of the
diamond? Which is the one who has lost eighty thousand pounds in
bank-notes? That is what I want to know before I say more."
In the silence which followed upon Ayscough's obvious doubt about
answering this direct question, Levendale let out a sharp,
half-irritable exclamation:
"In God's name!" he said, "who is this young man? What does he know
about the diamond and the money?"
Yada turned and faced his questioner--and suddenly smiling, thrust his
hand in his breast pocket and drew out a card-case. With a polite bow
he handed a card in Levendale's direction.
"Permit me, sir," he said suavely. "My card. As for the rest, perhaps
Mr. Detective here will tell you."
"It's this way, you see, Mr. Levendale," remarked Ayscough. "Acting on
information received from Dr. Pittery, one of the junior house-surgeons
at University College Hospital, who told me that Mr. Yada was a
fellow-student of those two Chinese, and a bit of a friend of theirs, I
called on Mr. Yada last night to make enquiries. And of course I had to
tell him about the missing property--though to be sure, that's news
that's common to everybody now--through the papers. And--what else have
you to tell, Mr. Yada?"
But Yada was watching Levendale--who, on his part, was just as narrowly
watching Yada. The other men in the room watched these
two--recognizing, as if by instinct, that from that moment matters lay
between Levendale and Yada, and not between Yada and Ayscough. They
were mutually inspecting and appraising each other, and in spite of
their impassive faces, it was plain that each was wondering about his
next move.
It was Levendale who spoke first--spoke as if he and the young Japanese
were the only people in the room, as if nothing else mattered. He bent
forward to Yada.
"How much do you know?" he demanded.
Yada showed his white teeth again.
"A plain--and a wide question, Mr. Levendale!" he answered, with a
laugh. "I see that you are anxious to enlist my services. Evidently,
you believe that I do know something. But--you are not the owner of the
diamond! Which of these gentlemen is?"
Levendale made a half impatient gesture towards Stephen Purvis, who
nodded at Yada but remained silent.
"He is!" said Levendale, testily. "But you--can do your talking to me.
Again--how much do you know in this matter?"
"Enough to make it worth your while to negotiate with me," answered
Yada. "Is that as plain as your question?"
"It's what I expected," said Levendale. "You want to sell your
knowledge."
"Well?" assented Yada, "I am very sure you are willing to purchase."
Once more that duel of the eyes--and to John Purdie, who prided himself
on being a judge of expressions, it was evident that the younger man
was more than the equal of the older. It was Levendale who gave
way--and when he took his eyes off Yada, it was to turn to Stephen
Purvis.
Stephen Purvis nodded his head once more--and growled a little.
"Make terms with him!" he muttered. "Case of have to, I reckon!"
Levendale turned once more to the Japanese, who smiled on him.
"Look you here, Mr. Yada," said Levendale, "I don't know who you are
beyond what I'm told--your card tells me nothing except that you
live--lodge, I suppose--in Gower Street. You've got mixed up in this,
somehow, and you've got knowledge to dispose of. Now, I don't buy
unless I know first what it is I'm buying. So--let's know what you've
got to sell?"
Yada swept the room with a glance.
"Before these gentlemen?" he asked. "In open market, eh?"
"They're all either police, or detectives, or concerned," retorted
Levendale. "There's no secret. I repeat--what have you got to sell?
Specify it!"
Yada lifted his hands and began to check off points on the tips of his
fingers.
"Three items, then, Mr. Levendale," he replied cheerfully. "First--the
knowledge of who has got the diamond and the money. Second--the
knowledge of where he is at this moment, and will be for some hours.
Third--the knowledge of how you can successfully take him and recover
your property. Three good, saleable items, I think--yes?"
Purdie watched carefully for some sign of greed or avarice in the
informer's wily countenance. To his surprise, he saw none. Instead,
Yada assumed an almost sanctimonious air. He seemed to consider
matters--though his answer was speedy.
"I don't want to profit--unduly--by this affair," he said. "At the same
time, from all I've heard, I'm rendering you and your friend a very
important service, and I think it only fair that I should be
remunerated. Give me something towards the expenses of my medical
education, Mr. Levendale: give me five hundred pounds."
With the briefest exchange of glances with Stephen Purvis, Levendale
pulled out a cheque-book, dashed off a cash cheque, and handed it over
to the Japanese, who slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.
"Now--your information!" said Levendale.
"To be sure," replied Yada. "Very well. Chang Li has the diamond and
the money. And he is at this moment where he has been for some days, in
hiding. He is in a secret room at a place called Pilmansey's Tea Rooms,
in Tottenham Court Road--a place much frequented by medical students
from our college. The fact of the case is, Mr. Policeman, and the rest
of you generally, there is a secret opium den at Pilmansey's, though
nobody knows of it but a few frequenters. And there!--there you will
find Chang Li."
"You've seen him there?" demanded Levendale.
"I saw him there during last night--I know him to be there--he will be
there, either until you take him, or until his arrangements are made
for getting out of this country," answered Yada.
Levendale jumped up, as if for instant action. But the Inspector
quietly tapped him on the elbow.
"He promised to tell you how to take him, Mr. Levendale," he said.
"Let's know all we can--we shall have to be in with you on this, you
know."
"Mr. Police-Inspector is right," said Yada. "You will have to conduct
what you call a raid. Now, do precisely what I tell you to do.
Pilmansey's is an old-fashioned place, a very old house as regards its
architecture, on the right-hand side of Tottenham Court Road. Go there
today--this mid-day--a little before one--when there are always plenty
of customers. Go with plenty of your plain-clothes men, like Mr.
Ayscough there. Drop in, don't you see, as if you were customers--let
there be plenty of you, I repeat. There are two
Pilmanseys--men--middle-aged, sly, smooth, crafty men. When you are all
there, take your own lines--close the place, the doors, if you
like--but get hold of the Pilmansey men, tell them you are police,
insist on being taken to the top floor and shown their opium den. They
will object, they will lie, they will resist--you will use your own
methods. But--in that opium den you will find Chang Li--and your
property!"
He had been drawing on his gloves as he spoke, and now, picking up his
hat and umbrella, Yada bowed politely to the circle and moved to the
door.
"You will excuse me, now?" he said. "I have an important lecture at the
medical school which I must not miss. I shall be at Pilmansey's,
myself, a little before one--please oblige me by not taking any notice
of me. I do not want to figure--actively--in your business."
Then he was gone--and the rest of them were so deeply taken with the
news which he had communicated that no one noticed that just before
Yada fastened his last glove-button, Melky Rubinstein slipped from his
corner and glided quietly out of the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PILMANSEY'S TEA ROOMS
Two hours later, it being then a quarter-to-one o'clock, Purdie and
Lauriston got out of a taxi-cab at the north-end of Tottenham Court
Road and walked down the right-hand side of that busy thoroughfare,
keeping apparently careless but really vigilant eyes open for a first
glimpse of the appointed rendezvous. But Pilmansey's Tea Rooms required
little searching out. In the midst of the big modern warehouses,
chiefly given up to furniture and upholstery, there stood at that time
a block of old property which was ancient even for London. The
buildings were plainly early eighteenth century: old redbrick erections
with narrow windows in the fronts and dormer windows in the high,
sloping roofs. Some of them were already doomed to immediate
dismantlement; the tenants had cleared out, there were hoardings raised
to protect passers-by from falling masonry, and bills and posters on
the threatened walls announced that during the rebuilding, business
would be carried on as usual at some other specified address. But
Pilmansey's, so far, remained untouched, and the two searchers saw that
customers were going in and out, all unaware that before evening their
favourite resort for a light mid-day meal would attain a fame and
notoriety not at all promised by its very ordinary and commonplace
exterior.
"An excellent example of the truth of the old saying that you should
never judge by appearances, Andie, my man!" remarked Purdie, as they
took a quick view of the place. "Who'd imagine that crime, dark
secrets, and all the rest of it lies concealed behind this?--behind the
promise of tea and muffins, milk and buns! It's a queer world, this
London!--you never know what lies behind any single bit of the whole
microcosm. But let's see what's to be seen inside."
The first thing to be seen inside the ground floor room into which they
stepped was the man from New Scotland Yard, who, in company with
another very ordinary-looking individual was seated at a little table
just inside the entrance, leisurely consuming coffee and beef
sandwiches. He glanced at the two men as if he had never seen them in
his life, and they, preserving equally stolid expressions with credit
if not with the detective's ready and trained ability, passed further
on--only to recognize Levendale and Stephen Purvis, who had found
accommodation in a quiet corner half-way down the room. They, too,
showed no signs of recognition, and Purdie, passing by them, steered
his companion to an unoccupied table and bade him be seated.
"Let's get our bearings," he whispered as they dropped into their
seats. "Looks as innocent and commonplace within as it appeared
without, Andie. But use your eyes--it ought to make good copy for you,
this."
Lauriston glanced about him. The room in which they sat was a long,
low-ceiling apartment, extending from the street door to a sort of
bar-counter at the rear, beyond which was a smaller room that was
evidently given up to store and serving purposes. On the counter were
set out provisions--rounds of beef, hams, tongues, bread, cakes,
confectionery; behind it stood two men whom the watchers at once set
down as the proprietors. Young women, neatly gowned in black and
wearing white caps and aprons, flitted to and fro between the counter
and the customers. As for the customers they were of both sexes, and
the larger proportion of them young. There was apparently no objection
to smoking at Pilmansey's--a huge cloud of blue smoke ascended from
many cigarettes, and the scent of Turkish tobacco mingled with the
fragrance of freshly-ground coffee. It was plain that Pilmansey's was
the sort of place wherein you could get a good sandwich, good tea or
coffee, smoke a cigarette or two, and idle away an hour in light
chatter with your friends between your morning and afternoon labours.
But Lauriston's attention was mainly directed to the two men who stood
behind the bar-counter, superintending and directing their neat
assistants. Sly, smooth, crafty men--so they had been described by Mr.
Mori Yada: Lauriston's opinion coincided with that of the Japanese, on
first, outer evidence and impression. They were middle-aged, plump men
who might be, and probably were, twins, favouring mutton chop whiskers,
and good linen and black neckcloths--they might have been strong,
highly-respectable butlers. Each had his coat off; each wore a spotless
linen apron; each wielded carving knives and forks; each was busy in
carving plates of ham or tongue or beef; each contrived, while thus
engaged, to keep his sharp, beady eyes on the doings in the room in
front of the counter. Evidently a well-to-do, old-established business,
this, and highly prosperous men who owned it: Lauriston wondered that
they should run any risks by hiding away a secret opium den somewhere
on their ancient premises.
In the midst of their reflections one of the waitresses came to the
table at which the two friends sat: Lauriston quicker of wit than
Purdie in such matters immediately ordered coffee and sandwiches and
until they came, lighted a cigarette and pretended to be at ease,
though he was inwardly highly excited.
"It's as if one were waiting for an explosion to take place!" he
muttered to Purdie. "Even now I don't know what's going to happen."
"Here's Ayscough, anyway," said Purdie. "He looks as if nothing was
about to happen."
Ayscough, another man with him, was making his way unconcernedly down
the shop. He passed the man from New Scotland Yard without so much as a
wink: he ignored Levendale and Stephen Purvis; he stared blankly at
Purdie and Lauriston, and led his companion to two vacant seats near
the counter. And they had only just dropped into them when in came Mr.
Killick, with John Purvis and Guyler and slipped quietly into seats in
the middle of the room. Here then, said Lauriston to himself, were
eleven men, all in a secret--and there were doubtless others amongst
the company whom he did not know.
"But where's Melky Rubinstein?" he whispered suddenly. "I should have
thought he'd have turned up--he's been so keen on finding things out."
"There's time enough yet," answered Purdie. "It's not one. I don't see
the Jap, either. But--here's the Inspector--done up in plain clothes."