The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. Ah Cum
patrolled the length of the boat innumerable times, but never
letting his glance stray far from the gangplank. This was
automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. His mind was
busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events.
The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Of
course, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor,
and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. But
the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge--rather
profound--of human impulses. Somehow logic could not explain her.
Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was
nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be
able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical?
Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be
the more accurate application. Besides, he was a Yale man. He might
be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. The Yale spirit!
Ah Cum smiled whimsically. After fifteen years, to find that
peculiarly Occidental attribute--college loyalty--still alive in
his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was
merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm!
With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation
over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol.
"Hey, you!"
Ah Cum stopped and turned. Framed in one of the square ports of the
packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical
mask. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the
other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed.
"Speak English?" boomed the voice.
"Yes; I speak English."
"Fine! I'll be wanting a guide. Where can I get one?" asked
O'Higgins.
"I am one."
"All right. I'll be with you in a jiffy." Quarter of an hour later
O'Higgins stepped off the gangplank. He carried a small bag. "This
your regular business?"
"For the present. Will you be wanting me alone?" asked Ah Cum. "I
generally take a party."
"What'll it cost to have you all to myself for the day?"
Ah Cum named the sum. He smiled inwardly. Here was one of those
Americans who would make him breathless before sundown. The booming
voice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry.
"You're on," said O'Higgins. "Now, lead me to a hotel where I can
get breakfast. Wait a moment. I've got an address here."
O'Higgins emptied an inside pocket--and purposely let the battered
photograph fall to the ground. He pretended to be unaware of the
mishap. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph. He
rose slowly and extended it. An ancient smile lay on his lips.
"You dropped this, sir."
"Oh. Thanks." O'Higgins, bitten with disappointment, returned the
photograph to his pocket. "Victoria; that's the hotel."
"That's but a short distance from here, sir."
"O'Higgins is the name."
"Mr. O'Higgins. Let me take the satchel, sir."
"It's light. I'll tote it myself. Say, ever see any one resembling
that photograph I dropped?"
"So many come and go," said Ah Cum, shrugging. "Few stay more than
a day. And there are other guides."
"Uh-huh. Well, let's beat it to the hotel. I'm hungry."
"This way, sir."
"What's your name?"
Ah Cum got out his black-bordered card and offered it.
"Aw Come. That sounds kind of funny," said O'Higgins. Smiling, the
Chinaman gave the correct pronunciation. "I see. Ah Coom. What's
the idea of the black border?"
"My father recently died, sir."
"But that style isn't Oriental."
"I was educated in America."
"Where?"
"At Yale."
"Well, well! This part of the world is jammed full of surprises. I
met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man."
"Will you be taking a pole-chair?"
"If that's the racket. I naturally want to do it up in proper
style."
"Very well, sir. I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty."
Ten minutes' walk brought them to the hotel. As O'Higgins signed
the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures.
"Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. "I'm not
particular about rooms. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I
have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat."
"Come this way, Mr. O'Higgins," said the manager, amusedly.
O'Higgins followed him into the dining room. That register would be
easy to get at; comforting thought. It did not matter in the least
what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle
O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. There was something fatalistic
about the letter H. The individual twist was always there, even in
the cleverest forgeries.
The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had
the least conception of what the coffee bean was for. Always as
black and bitter as gall. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a
guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it.
Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. After a
while one began to talk.
"The manager says there is still some doubt. The change will come
to-day. Ah Cum had no business taking him into the city last night.
The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was."
O'Higgins extracted a cigar from a pocket and inspected it. Henry
Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New
York. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles
from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. He
heard the woman talking again.
"I feel guilty, going away and leaving that ignorant child; but our
days have been so planned that we dare not change the schedule.
Didn't understand me when I said she would be compromised! He won't
be able to leave his bed under four weeks; and she said she hadn't
much money. If she had once known him, if he were some former
neighbour, it would be comprehensible. But an individual she never
laid eyes on day before yesterday! And the minute he gets up, he'll
head for the public bar. There's something queer about that young
man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. I don't
believe his name is Taber."
O'Higgins tore free the scarlet band of his perfecto, the end of
which he bit off with strong white teeth, and smiled. You certainly
had to hand it to these Chinks. Picked up the photograph, looked at
it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear
as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the
race itself. He hadn't patrolled old Pell Street as a plain clothes
man without getting a glimmer of the ancient truth that East is
East and West is West. He would have some sport with Mr. Ah Cum
before the day was over, slyly baiting him. But what had young
Spurlock done for Ah Cum in the space of twenty-four hours that had
engaged Ah Cum's loyalty, not only engaged it but put it on guard?
For O'Higgins, receiving light from the next table, had no doubt
regarding the identity of the subject of this old maid's
observations.
A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary
case of man-hunt. He had certain orders from which on no account
was he to deviate. But this made the chase all the more exciting.
What was the matter with Spurlock that was to keep him in bed three
or four weeks? He would dig that out of the hotel manager. Anyhow,
there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry
would be for the next three weeks.
There was now a girl in the picture, so it seemed. Well, this was
the side of the world where things like that happened. The boy
would naturally attract the women, if the women were at all
romantic. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew
sentimental females. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as
thick as flies over here--dizzy blondes. That is, if Spurlock had
been throwing money about, which was more than likely.
"As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence
declared.
"Out of a family album, you said," Angelina reminded her sister.
O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing
upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters.
"Beg pardon," he said, "but isn't smoking allowed in the dining
room?"
"It probably is," answered Prudence, "but that in no wise mitigates
the odiousness of the procedure."
"Plumb in the eye!" said O'Higgins, rising. "I'll tote the
odiousness outside."
He was delighted to find the office deserted. He inspected the
formidable array of rifles and at length walked over to the
register. Howard Taber. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow
letter. Quickly he compared the Hs. They were so nearly alike that
the difference would be due to a shaky hand. But for perfect
satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. Humph. A crisis
of some kind was toward. It might be that the boy had taken one
drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. The
Oriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff.
But that Chink, Ah Cum! O'Higgins chuckled as he passed into the
hall and rested his hand on the newel-post of the staircase. He'd
have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out.
O'Higgins mounted the stairs, his step extraordinarily light for
one so heavy. In the upper hall he paused to listen. There was
absolute quiet. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and
entered. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became
genuine.
The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an
oblong block of mote-swimming light. In the midst of this light
stood a young woman. To O'Higgins--for all his sordid business he
was not insensible to beauty--to O'Higgins she appeared to have
entered the room with the light. Above her head was an aura of
white fire. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance
striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in
European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of
the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. He
recognized the face instantly.
There came to O'Higgins the discouraging knowledge that upon the
heels of a wonderful chase--blindman's buff in the dark--would come
a stretch of dull inaction. He would have to sit down here in
Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. Certainly he could not move now
other than to announce the fact that he had found his man.
"I beg pardon," he said. "Got the rooms mixed."
The young woman laid a finger on her lips, cautioning O'Higgins to
silence. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door
without sound.
Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth
blue chin. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days all
there was to see of Canton. After the sights he would have to
twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. All at once he saw a
way out of the threatening doldrums. Some trustworthy Chinaman to
watch, for a small bribe, while he, James Boyle O'Higgins, enjoyed
himself in Hong-Kong, seeing the spring races, the boxing matches,
and hobnobbing with Yankee sailors. Canton was something like a
blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere
except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh.
Satisfied that he had solved his difficulty, he proceeded to his
room. At nine-thirty he climbed into the chair and signified to Ah
Cum that he was ready.
"You speak English better than I do," said O'Higgins, as the
coolies jogged across the bridge toward the gate. "Where did you
pick it up?"
"I believe I told you; at Yale."
O'Higgins laughed. "I'd forgotten. But that explains everything."
"Everything." It was not uttered interrogatively; rather as though
Ah Cum did not like the significance of the word and was turning it
over and about in speculation.
"Ye-ah," said O'Higgins, jovially. "Why you pretended not to
recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these
diggings all day yesterday."
Many wrinkles appeared at the corners of Ah Cum's slant eyes--as if
the sun hurt--but the rest of his face remained as passive as a
graven Buddha's.