LEES SOLVES A MYSTERY
In the president's office at the Bank of California, Benito found his
son, pale but intrepid. He was being questioned by William Sharon and a
postoffice inspector. Ralston, hands crammed into trousers pockets,
paced the room disturbedly.
"You admit, then, that the envelope was given you?" Sharon was asking
truculently as Benito entered.
"Yes," said Robert, "I remember seeing such a letter as I packed my
mail."
"Humph!" exclaimed Sharon. He seemed about to ask another question, but
the postal official anticipated him. "Explain what happened after you
left the mail station."
"Nothing much ... I walked up Washington street as usual. On the edge of
Chinatown a woman stopped me ... asked me how to get to Market street."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that's all," said Robert. "She seemed confused by our criss-cross
streets. I had to tell her several times ... to point the way before she
understood."
"And nothing else happened?"
"Nothing else--except that Mr. Ralston asked me for the letter. Said he
was expecting it.... I searched my bag but couldn't find it."
"Tell us more about this woman. Give us a description of her."
"Spanish type," said Robert tersely. "Very pleasant; smiled a lot and
had gold fillings in her teeth. Must have been quite handsome when she
was young."
The inspector stroked his chin reflectively. "Didn't set the bag down,
did you? ... when you pointed out the way, for instance?"
"Let me see.... Why, yes--I did. I hadn't thought of that...."
* * * * *
Captain of Detectives I.W. Lees was making a record for himself among
the nation's crime-detectors. He was a swarthy little man, implacable as
an Indian and as pertinacious on a trail. He never forgot a face and no
amount of disguise could hide its identity from his penetrating glance.
Without great vision or imagination, he knew criminals as did few other
men; could reason from cause to effect within certain channels,
unerringly. He was heartless, ruthless--some said venal. But he caught
and convicted felons, solved the problems of his office by a dogged
perseverance that ignored defeat. For, with a mind essentially tricky,
he anticipated tricksters--unless their operations were beyond
his scope.
It was 10 o'clock at night, but he was still at work upon a case which,
up to now, had baffled him--a case of opium smuggling--when Robert and
Benito entered. At first he listened to them inattentively. But at
Robert's story of the woman, he became electrified.
"Rose Terranza! Dance hall girl back in the Eldorado days! Queen of the
Night Life under half a dozen names! Smiling Rose, some called her. Good
clothes and gold in her teeth! I've her picture--wait a minute." He
pulled a cord; a bell jangled somewhere. An officer entered.
* * * * *
Chinatown at midnight. Dark and narrow streets; fat, round paper
lanterns here and there above dim doorways; silent forms,
soft-shuffling, warily alert.
"Wait one minee," said Po Lun. "I find 'em door."
Following the Chinaman were Captain Lees, with his half a dozen "plain
clothes men," Benito, Robert and the mail inspector. Presently Po spoke
again. "Jus' alound co'ne'" (corner), he whispered. "Me go ahead. Plitty
soon you come. You hea' me makem noise ... allee same cat."
Lees descried him as he paused before a dimly lighted door. Evidently he
was challenged; gave a countersign. For the door swung back. Po Lun
passed through. Nothing happened for a time. Then a piercing feline wail
stabbed through the night.
"M-i-i-a-o-w-r-r-r!"
Lees sprang forward, pressed his weight against the partly-open portal;
flashed his dark lantern on two figures struggling violently. His hand
fell on the collar of Po Lun's antagonist; a policeman's "billy" cracked
upon his skull. "Tie and gag him," said the captain. "Leave a man on
guard.... The rest of you come on."
Po Lun leading, they went, single file through utter blackness. Now and
then the white disc of Lees' lantern, now in Po Lun's hand, gleamed like
a guiding will-o-wisp upon the tortuous path.
Suddenly Benito felt the presence of new personalities. They seemed to
be in a room with other people. Several dark lamps flashed at Po Lun's
signal. They revealed a room sumptuously furnished. Teakwood chairs,
with red embroidered backs and cushions, stood about the walls. Handsome
gilded grillwork screened a boudoir worthy of a queen. Clad in the
laciest of robes de chambre, a dark-skinned woman sat on the edge of a
canopied bed. She was past her first youth, but still of remarkable
beauty. At the foot of the bed stood McTurpin--pale ghost of his former
self. He looked like a cornered rat ... and quite as dangerous. Two
Chinese were crouched against a lacquered screen.
"What do you want?" asked the woman, her voice shrill with anger.
"Take your hand out from under that pillow!" ordered Lees. "No nonsense,
Smiling Rose."
Reluctantly the ringed and tapered fingers that had clutched apparently
a hidden weapon came into view. "Light the lamps," said Lees, and one of
his men performed this office.
"That's the woman, father," spoke young Robert, unexpectedly.
"Put the bracelets on her," ordered Lees, "and search the place." A man
stepped forward.
But they had not counted on McTurpin. "Let her be," he screamed. A
pistol flashed. The officer went down at Rose's feet.
Instantly there was confusion. The room was filled with shuffling
Oriental figures. The lights went out. Powder-flashes leaped like
fireflies in the darkness. Through it all Lees could be heard profanely
giving orders.
Then, as swiftly, it was over. Somewhere a door closed. Lees leaped
forward just in time to hear an iron bar clang into place.
"Gone," he muttered, as his light searched vainly for the woman.
"Who's that on the bed?" asked Benito.
"The cursed opium-wreck, McTurpin," Lees replied impatiently. "I planted
him when I saw Dick go down." He bent above the wounded officer while
Benito relighted the lamps and examined curiously the body of his
ancient enemy. For McTurpin was dead. He had evidently tried to reach
the woman as he fell. His clawlike fingers clutched, in rigor mortis,
her abandoned robe. On the floor, where it had fallen from her bosom,
doubtless in the hasty flight, there lay a crumpled, bloodstained
envelope. Robert springing forward, seized it with an exclamation. It
was addressed to William C. Ralston.