Dope
CHAPTER XXXIV. ABOVE AND BELOW
"Thank the guid God I see ye alive, Dan," said Mary Kerry.
Having her husband's dressing-gown over her night attire, and herusually neat hair in great disorder, she stood just within the doorwayof the little dining-room at Spenser Road, her face haggard and the feylight in her eyes. Kerry, seated in the armchair dressed as he had comein from the street, a parody of his neat self with mud on his shoes andstreaks of green slime on his overall, raised his face from his handsand stared at her wearily.
"I awakened wi' a cry at some hour afore the dawn," she whisperedstretching out her hands and looking like a wild-eyed prophetess of old."My hairt beat sair fast and then grew caud. I droppit on my knees andprayed as I ha' ne'er prayed afore. Dan, Dan, I thought ye were genefrom me."
"I nearly was," said Kerry, a faint spark of his old truculency lightingup the weary eyes. "The man from Whitehall only missed me by a miracle."
"'Twas the miracle o' prayer, Dan," declared his wife in a low,awe-stricken voice. "For as I prayed, a great comfort came to me an'a great peace. The second sight was wi' me, Dan, and I saw, no'yersel'--whereby I seemed to ken that ye were safe--but a puir dyingsoul stretched on a bed o' sorrow. At the fuit o' the bed was standing afearsome figure o' a man--yellow and wicked, wi' his hands tuckit in hissleeves. I thought 'twas a veesion that was opening up tee me and thata' was about to be made clear, when as though a curtain had been droppitbefore my een, it went awe' an' I kenned it nae more; but plain--plain,I heerd the howling o' a dog."
Kerry started and clutched the arms of the chair.
"A dog!" he said. "A dog!"
"The howling o' a sma' dog," declared his wife; "and I thought 'twas aportent, an' the great fear came o'er me again. But as I prayed 'twasunfolder to me that the portent was no' for yersel' but for her--thepuir weak hairt ye ha' tee save."
She ceased speaking and the strange fey light left her eyes. She droppedupon her knees beside Kerry, bending her head and throwing her armsabout him. He glanced down at her tenderly and laid his hands upon hershoulders; but he was preoccupied, and the next moment, his jaws movingmechanically, he was staring straight before him.
"A dog," he muttered, "a dog!"
Mary Kerry did not move; until, a light of understanding coming intoKerry's fierce eyes, he slowly raised her and stood upright himself.
"I have it!" he said. "Mary, the case is won! Twenty men have spent thenight and early morning beating the river bank so that the very ratshave been driven from their holes. Twenty men have failed where a dogwould have succeeded. Mary, I must be off."
"Ye're no goin' out again, Dan. Ye're weary tee death."
"I must, my dear, and it's you who send me."
"But, Dan, where are ye goin'?"
Kerry grabbed his hat and cane from the sideboard upon which they lay,and:
"I'm going for the dog!" he rapped.
Weary as he was and travel-stained, for once neglectful of that neatnessupon which he prided himself, he set out, hope reborn in his heart. Hisassertion that the very rats had been driven from their holes was scarcean exaggeration. A search-party of twenty men, hastily mustered andconducted by Kerry and Seton Pasha, had explored every house, everyshop, every wharf, and, as Kerry believed, every cellar adjoining thebank, between Limehouse Basin and the dock gates. Where access had beendenied them or where no one had resided they had never hesitated toforce an entrance. But no trace had they found of those whom theysought.
For the first time within Kerry's memory, or, indeed, within thememory of any member of the Criminal Investigation Department,Detective-Sergeant Coombes had ceased to smile when the appalling truthwas revealed to him that Sin Sin Wa had vanished--that Sin Sin Wa hadmysteriously joined that invisible company which included Kazmah,Mrs. Sin and Mrs. Monte Irvin. Not a word of reprimand did the ChiefInspector utter, but his eyes seemed to emit sparks. Hands plungeddeeply in his pockets he had turned away, and not even Seton Pasha haddared to speak to him for fully five minutes.
Kerry began to regard the one-eyed Chinaman with a superstitious fearwhich he strove in vain to stifle. That any man could have succeeded inconverting a chandu-khan such as that described by Mollie Gretna into afilthy deserted dwelling such as that visited by Kerry, within thespace of some thirty-six hours, was well nigh incredible. But the ChiefInspector had deduced (correctly) that the exotic appointments depictedby Mollie were all of a detachable nature--merely masking the filthinessbeneath; so that at the shortest notice the House of a Hundred Rapturescould be dismantled. The communicating door was a larger proposition,but that it was one within the compass of Sin Sin Wa its effectualdisappearance sufficiently demonstrated.
Doubtless (Kerry mused savagely) the appointments of the opium-house hadbeen smuggled into that magically hidden cache which now concealed theconjurer Sin Sin Wa as well as the other members of the Kazmah company.How any man of flesh and blood could have escaped from a six-roomedhouse surrounded by detectives surpassed Kerry's powers of imagination.How any apartment large enough to contain a mouse, much less half adozen human beings, could exist anywhere within the area covered by thesearch-party he failed to understand, nor was he prepared to admit ithumanly possible.
Kerry chartered a taxicab by Brixton Town Hall and directed the manto drive to Prince's Gate. To the curious glances of certain of hisneighbors who had never before seen the Chief Inspector otherwise thana model of cleanliness and spruceness he was indifferent. But the mannerin which the taxi-driver looked him up and down penetrated through theveil of abstraction which hitherto had rendered Kerry impervious to allexternal impressions, and:
"Give me another look like that, my lad," he snapped furiously, "andI'll bash your head through your blasted wind-screen."
A ready retort trembled upon the cabman's tongue, but a glance into thesavage blue eyes reduced him to fearful silence. Kerry entered the caband banged the door; and the man drove off positively trembling withindignation.
Deep in reflection the Chief Inspector was driven westward through theearly morning traffic. Fine rain was falling, and the streets presentedthat curiously drab appearance which only London streets can presentin all its dreary perfection. Workers bound Cityward fought for placesinside trams and buses. A hundred human comedies and tragedies were tobe witnessed upon the highways; but to all of them Kerry was blind ashe was deaf to the din of workaday Babylon. In spirit he was roamingthe bank of old Father Thames where the river sweeps eastward belowLimehouse Causeway--wonder-stricken before the magic of the one-eyedwizard who could at will efface himself as an artist rubs out a drawing,who could camouflage a drug warehouse so successfully that human skill,however closely addressed to the task, failed utterly to detect itswhereabouts. Above the discord of the busy streets he heard again andagain that cry in the night which had come from a hapless prisoner whomthey were powerless to succor. He beat his cane upon the floor of thecab and swore savagely and loudly. The intimidated cabman, believingthese demonstrations designed to urge him to a greater speed, performedfeats of driving calculated to jeopardize his license. But still thesavage passenger stamped and cursed, so that the cabby began to believethat a madman was seated behind him.
At the corner of Kennington Oval Kerry was effectually aroused to therealities. A little runabout car passed his cab, coming from a southerlydirection. Proceeding at a rapid speed it was lost in the traffic ahead.Unconsciously Kerry had glanced at the occupants and had recognizedMargaret Halley and Seton Pasha. The old spirit of rivalry betweenhimself and the man from Whitehall leapt up hotly within Kerry's breast.
"Now where the hell has he been!" he muttered.
As a matter of fact, Seton Pasha, acting upon a suggestion of Margaret'shad been to Brixton Prison to interview Juan Mareno who lay there underarrest. Contents bills announcing this arrest as the latest publicdevelopment in the Bond Street murder case were to be seen upon everynewstand; yet the problem of that which had brought Seton to the southof London was one with which Kerry grapp
led in vain. He had partedfrom the Home office agent in the early hours of the morning, and theirparting had been one of mutual despair which neither had sought todisguise.
It was a coincidence which a student of human nature might have regardedas significant, that whereas Kerry had taken his troubles home to hiswife, Seton Pasha had sought inspiration from Margaret Halley; andwhereas the guidance of Mary Kerry had led the Chief Inspector to hurryin quest of Rita Irvin's spaniel, the result of Seton's interview withMargaret had been an equally hurried journey to the big jail.
Unhappily Seton had failed to elicit the slightest information from thesaturnine Mareno. Unmoved alike by promises or threats, he had coollyadhered to his original evidence.
So, while the authorities worked feverishly and all England reading ofthe arrest of Mareno inquired indignantly, "But who is Kazmah, and whereis Mrs. Monte Irvin?" Sin Sin Wa placidly pursued his arrangements forimmediate departure to the paddyfields of Ho-Nan, and sometimes in theweird crooning voice with which he addressed the raven he would sing amonotonous chant dealing with the valley of the Yellow River where theopium-poppy grows. Hidden in the cunning vault, the search had passedabove him; and watchful on a quay on the Surrey shore whereto his dinghywas fastened, George Martin awaited the signal which should tell himthat Kazmah and Company were ready to leave. Any time after dark heexpected to see the waving lantern and to collect his last payment fromthe traffic.
At the very hour that Kerry was hastening to Prince's Gate, Sin Sin Wasat before the stove in the drug cache, the green-eyed joss upon hisknee. With a fragment of chamois leather he lovingly polished theleering idol, crooning softly to himself and smiling his mirthlesssmile. Perched upon his shoulder the raven studied this operation withapparent interest, his solitary eye glittering bead-like. Upon theopposite side of the stove sat the ancient Sam Tuk and at intervals offive minutes or more he would slowly nod his hairless head.
The sliding door which concealed the inner room was partly open,and from the opening there shone forth a dim red light, cast by thepaper-shaded lamp which illuminated the place. The coarse voice ofthe Cuban-Jewess rose and fell in a ceaseless half-muttered soliloquy,indescribably unpleasant but to which Sin Sin Wa was evidentlyindifferent.
Propped up amid cushions on the divan which once had formed part ofthe furniture of the House of a Hundred Raptures, Mrs. Sin was smokingopium. The long bamboo pipe had fallen from her listless fingers, andher dark eyes were partly glazed. Buddha-like immobility was claimingher, but it had not yet effaced that expression of murderous malice withwhich the smoker contemplated the unconscious woman who lay upon the bedat the other end of the room.
As the moments passed the eyes of Mrs. Sin grew more and more glazed.Her harsh voice became softened, and presently: "Ah!" she whispered; "soyou wait to smoke with me?"
Immobile she sat propped up amid the cushions, and only her full lipsmoved.
"Two pipes are nothing to Cy," she murmured. "He smokes five. But youare not going to smoke?"
Again she paused, then:
"Ah, my Lucy. You smoke with me?" she whispered coaxingly.
Chandu had opened the poppy gates. Mrs. Sin was conversing with her deadlover.
"Something has changed you," she sighed. "You are different--lately.You have lots of money now. Your investments have been good. You want tobecome--respectable, eh?"
Slightly--ever so slightly--the red lips curled upwards. No sound oflife came from the woman lying white and still in the bed. But throughthe partly open door crept snatches of Sin Sin Wa's crooning melody.
"Yet once," she murmured, "yet once I seemed beautiful to you, Lucy. ForLa Belle Lola you forgot that English pride." She laughed softly."You forgot Sin Sin Wa. If there had been no Lola you would never haveescaped from Buenos Ayres with your life, my Lucy. You forgot thatEnglish pride, and did not ask me where I got them from--the tenthousand dollars to buy your 'honor' back."
She became silent, as if listening to the dead man's reply. Finally:
"No--I do not reproach you, my dear," she whispered. "You have paid meback a thousand fold, and Sin Sin Wa, the old fox, grows rich and fat.Today we hold the traffic in our hands, Lucy. The old fox cares only forhis money. Before it is too late let us go--you and I. Do you rememberHavana, and the two months of heaven we spent there? Oh, let us go backto Havana, Lucy. Kazmah has made us rich. Let Kazmah die.... You smokewith me?"
Again she became silent, then:
"Very likely," she murmured; "very likely I know why you don't smoke.You have promised your pretty little friend that you will stay awake andsee that nobody tries to cut her sweet white throat."
She paused momentarily, then muttered something rapidly in Spanish,followed by a short, guttural phrase in Chinese.
"Why do you bring her to the house?" she whispered hoarsely. "And youbrought her to Kazmah's. Ah! I see. Now everybody says you are changed.Yes. She is a charming friend."
The Buddha-like face became suddenly contorted, and as suddenly grewplacid again.
"I know! I know!" Mrs. Sin muttered harshly. "Do you think I am blind!If she had been like any of the others, do you suppose it would havemattered to me? But you respect her--you respect...." Her voice diedaway to an almost inaudible whisper: "I don't believe you. You aretelling me lies. But you have always told me lies; one more does notmatter, I suppose.... How strong you are. You have hurt my wrists. Youwill smoke with me now?"
She ceased speaking abruptly, and abruptly resumed again:
"And I do as you wish--I do as you wish. How can I keep her from itexcept by making the price so high that she cannot afford to buy it? Itell you I do it. I bargain for the pink and white boy, Quentin, becauseI want her to be indebted to him--because I want her to be so sorry forhim that she lets him take her away from you! Why should you respecther--"
Silence fell upon the drugged speaker. Sin Sin Wa could be heardcrooning softly about the Yellow River and the mountain gods who sent itsweeping down through the valleys where the opium-poppy grows.
"Go, Juan," hissed Mrs. Sin. "I say--go!"
Her voice changed eerily to a deep, mocking bass; and Rita Irvin lying,a pallid wraith of her once lovely self, upon the untidy bed, stirredslightly--her lashes quivering. Her eyes opened and stared straightlyupward at the low, dirty ceiling, horror growing in their shadowydepths.