THE TRAFFIC
Sir Lucien came out into the alley wearing a greasy cloth cap pulled
down over his eyes and an old overall, the collar turned up about a red
woollen muffler which enveloped the lower part of his face. The odor of
the outfit was disgusting, but this man’s double life had brought him
so frequently in contact with all forms of uncleanness, including that
of the Far East, compared with which the dirt of the West is hygienic,
that he suffered it without complaint.
A Chinese “boy” of indeterminable age, wearing a slop-shop suit and a
cap, was waiting outside the door, and when Sin Sin Wa appeared,
carefully locking up, he muttered something rapidly in his own sibilant
language.
Sin Sin Wa made no reply. To his indoor attire he had added a
pea-jacket and a bowler hat; and the oddly assorted trio set off
westward, following the bank of the Thames in the direction of
Limehouse Basin. The narrow, ill-lighted streets were quite deserted,
but from the river and the riverside arose that ceaseless jangle of
industry which belongs to the great port of London. On the Surrey shore
whistles shrieked, and endless moving chains sent up their monstrous
clangor into the night. Human voices sometimes rose above the din of
machinery.
In silence the three pursued their way, crossing inlets and circling
around basins dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flanked
by high, eyeless walls, and again to the left, finally to emerge nearly
opposite a dilapidated gateway giving access to a small wharf, on the
rickety gates bills were posted announcing, “This Wharf to Let.” The
annexed building appeared to be a mere shell. To the right again they
turned, and once more to the left, halting before a two-story brick
house which had apparently been converted into a barber’s shop. In one
of the grimy windows were some loose packets of cigarettes, a
soapmaker’s advertisement, and a card:
SAM TÛK
BARBER
Opening the door with a key which he carried, the boy admitted Sir
Lucien and Sin Sin Wa to the dimly-lighted interior of a room the
pretensions of which to be regarded as a shaving saloon were supported
by the presence of two chairs, a filthy towel, and a broken mug. Sin
Sin Wa shuffled across to another door, and, followed by Sir Lucien,
descended a stone stair to a little cellar apparently intended for
storing coal. A tin lamp stood upon the bottom step.
Removing the lamp from the step, Sin Sin Wa set it on the cellar floor,
which was black with coal dust, then closed and bolted the door. A heap
of nondescript litter lay piled in a corner of the cellar. This Sin Sin
Wa disturbed sufficiently to reveal a movable slab in the roughly paved
floor. It was so ingeniously concealed by coal dust that one who had
sought it unaided must have experienced great difficulty in detecting
it. Furthermore, it could only be raised in the following manner:
A piece of strong iron wire, which lay among the other litter, was
inserted in a narrow slot, apparently a crack in the stone. About an
inch of the end of the wire being bent outward to form a right angle,
when the seemingly useless piece of scrap-iron had been thrust through
the slab and turned, it formed a handle by means of which the trap
could be raised.
Again Sin Sin Wa took up the lamp, placing it at the brink of the
opening revealed. A pair of wooden steps rested below, and Sir Lucien,
who evidently was no stranger to the establishment, descended
awkwardly, since there was barely room for a big man to pass. He found
himself in the mouth of a low passage, unpaved and shored up with rough
timbers in the manner of a mine-working. Sin Sin Wa followed with the
lamp, drawing the slab down into its place behind him.
Stooping forward and bending his knees, Sir Lucien made his way along
the passage, the Chinaman following. It was of considerable length, and
terminated before a strong door bearing a massive lock. Sin Sin Wa
reached over the stooping figure of Sir Lucien and unfastened the lock.
The two emerged in a kind of dug-out. Part of it had evidently been in
existence before the ingenious Sin Sin Wa had exercised his skill upon
it, and was of solid brickwork and stone-paved; palpably a storage
vault. But it had been altered to suit the Chinaman’s purpose, and one
end—that in which the passage came out—was timbered. It contained a
long counter and many shelves; also a large oil-stove and a number of
pots, pans, and queer-looking jars. On the counter stood a ship’s
lantern. The shelves were laden with packages and bottles. Behind the
counter sat a venerable and perfectly bald Chinaman. The only trace of
hair upon his countenance grew on the shrunken upper lip—mere wisps of
white down. His skin was shrivelled like that of a preserved fig, and
he wore big horn-rimmed spectacles. He never once exhibited the
slightest evidence of life, and his head and face, and the horn-rimmed
spectacles, might quite easily have passed for those of an unwrapped
mummy. This was Sam Tûk.
Bending over a box upon which rested a canvas-bound package was a burly
seaman engaged in unknotting the twine with which the canvas was kept
in place. As Sin Sin Wa and Sir Lucien came in he looked up, revealing
a red-bearded, ugly face, very puffy under the eyes.
“Wotcher, Sin Sin!” he said gruffly. “Who’s your long pal?”
“Friend,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently. “You gotchee _pukka_ stuff
thisee time, George?”
“I allus brings the _pukka_ stuff!” roared the seaman, ceasing to
fumble with the knots and glaring at Sin Sin Wa. “Wotcher mean—_pukka_
stuff?”
“Gotchee no use for bran,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Gotchee no use for
tin-tack. Gotchee no use for glue.”
“Bran!” roared the man, his glance and pose very menacing. “Tin-tacks
and glue! Who the flamin’ ’ell ever tried to sell _you_ glue?”
“Me only wantchee lemindee you,” said Sin Sin Wa. “No pidgin.”
“George” glared for a moment, breathing heavily; then he stooped and
resumed his task, Sin Sin Wa and Sir Lucien watching him in silence. A
sound of lapping water was faintly audible.
Opening the canvas wrappings, the man began to take out and place upon
the counter a number of reddish balls of “leaf” opium, varying in
weight from about eight ounces to a pound or more.
“H’m!” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Smyrna stuff.”
From a pocket of his pea-jacket he drew a long bodkin, and taking up
one of the largest balls he thrust the bodkin in and then withdrew it,
the steel stained a coffee color. Sin Sin Wa smelled and tasted the
substance adhering to the bodkin, weighed the ball reflectively in his
yellow palm, and then set it aside. He took up a second, whereupon:
“’Alf a mo’, guvnor!” cried the seaman furiously. “D’you think I’m
going to wait ’ere while you prods about in all the blasted lot? It’s
damn near high tide—I shan’t get out. ’Alf time! Savvy? Shove it on the
scales!”
Sin Sin Wa shook his head.
“Too muchee slick. Too muchee bhobbery,” he murmured. “Sin Sin Wa
gotchee sabby what him catchee buy or no pidgin.”
“What’s the game?” inquired George menacingly. “Don’t you know a cake
o’ Smyrna when you smells it?”
“No sabby lead chop till ploddem withee dipper,” explained the
Chinaman, imperturbably.
“Lead!” shouted the man. “There ain’t no bloody lead in ’em!”
“H’m,” murmured Sin Sin Wa smilingly. “So fashion, eh? All velly
proper.”
He calmly inserted the bodkin in the second cake; seemed to meet with
some obstruction, and laid the ball down upon the counter. From beneath
his jacket he took out a clasp-knife attached to a steel chain.
Undeterred by a savage roar from the purveyor, he cut the sticky mass
in half, and digging his long nails into one of the halves, brought out
two lead shots. He directed a glance of his beady eye upon the man.
“Bloody liar,” he murmured sweetly. “Lobber.”
“Who’s a robber?” shouted George, his face flushing darkly, and
apparently not resenting the earlier innuendo; “Who’s a robber?”
“One sarcee Smyrna feller packee stuff so fashion,” murmured Sin Sin
Wa. “Thief-feller lobbee poor sailorman.”
George jerked his peaked cap from his head, revealing a tangle of
unkempt red hair. He scratched his skull with savage vigor.
“Blimey!” he said pathetically. “’Ere’s a go! I been done brown,
guv’nor.”
“Lough luck,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, and resumed his examination of the
cakes of opium.
The man watched him now in silence, only broken by exclamations of
“Blimey” and “Flaming hell” when more shot was discovered. The tests
concluded:
“Gotchee some more?” asked Sin Sin Wa.
From the canvas wrapping George took out and tossed on the counter a
square packet wrapped in grease-paper.
“H’m,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “Patna. Where you catchee?”
“Off of a lascar,” growled the man.
The cake of Indian opium was submitted to the same careful scrutiny as
that which the balls of Turkish had already undergone, but the Patna
opium proved to be unadulterated. Reaching over the counter Sin Sin Wa
produced a pair of scales, and, watched keenly by George, weighed the
leaf and then the cake.
“Ten-six Smyrna; one ’leben Patna,” muttered Sin Sin Wa. “You catchee
eighty jimmies.”
“Eh?” roared George. “Eighty quid! Eighty quid! Flamin’ blind o’ Riley!
D’you think I’m up the pole? Eighty quid? You’re barmy!”
“Eighty-ten,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Eighty jimmies opium; ten bob
lead.”
“I give more’n that for it!” cried the seaman. “An’ I damn near hit a
police boat comin’ in, too!”
Sir Lucien spoke a few words rapidly in Chinese. Sin Sin Wa performed
his curious oriental shrug, and taking a fat leather wallet from his
hip-pocket, counted out the sum of eighty-five pounds upon the counter.
“You catchee eighty-five,” he murmured. “Too muchee price.”
The man grabbed the money and pocketed it without a word of
acknowledgment. He turned and strode along the room, his heavy,
iron-clamped boots ringing on the paved floor.
“Fetch a grim, Sin Sin,” he cried. “I’ll never get out if I don’t jump
to it.”
Sin Sin Wa took the lantern from the counter and followed. Opening a
door at the further end of the place, he set the lantern at the head of
three descending wooden steps discovered. With the opening of the door
the sound of lapping water had grown perceptibly louder. George
clattered down the steps, which led to a second but much stouter door.
Sin Sin Wa followed, nearly closing the first door, so that only a
faint streak of light crept down to them.
The second door was opened, and the clangor of the Surrey shore
suddenly proclaimed itself. Cold, damp air touched them, and the faint
light of the lantern above cast their shadows over unctuous gliding
water, which lapped the step upon which they stood. Slimy shapes uprose
dim and ghostly from its darkly moving surface.
A boat was swinging from a ring beside the door, and into it George
tumbled. He unhitched the lashings, and strongly thrust the boat out
upon the water. Coming to the first of the dim shapes, he grasped it
and thereby propelled the skiff to another beyond. These indistinct
shapes were the piles supporting the structure of a wharf.
“Good night, guv’nor!” he cried hoarsely
“So-long,” muttered Sin Sin Wa.
He waited until the boat was swallowed in the deeper shadows, then
reclosed the water-gate and ascended to the room where Sir Lucien
awaited. Such was the receiving office of Sin Sin Wa. While the wharf
remained untenanted it was not likely to be discovered by the
authorities, for even at low tide the river-door was invisible from
passing craft. Prospective lessees who had taken the trouble to inquire
about the rental had learned that it was so high as to be prohibitive.
Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices and paid cash. This was no more than a
commercial necessity. For those who have opium, cocaine, veronal, or
heroin to sell can always find a ready market in London and elsewhere.
But one sufficiently curious and clever enough to have solved the
riddle of the vacant wharf would have discovered that the mysterious
owner who showed himself so loath to accept reasonable offers for the
property could well afford to be thus independent. Those who control
“the traffic” control El Dorado—a city of gold which, unlike the fabled
Manoa, actually exists and yields its riches to the unscrupulous
adventurer.
Smiling his mirthless, eternal smile, Sin Sin Wa placed the newly
purchased stock upon a shelf immediately behind Sam Tûk; and Sam Tûk
exhibited the first evidence of animation which had escaped him
throughout the progress of the “deal.” He slowly nodded his hairless
head.