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Roy Glashan's Library
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All Around Magazine, May 1916,
with "Two Gentlemen From San Francisco"
"The Amazing Mr. Bunn," Macdonald & Co., London, 1949,
with "Two Gentlemen From San Francisco"
WITH his accustomed silence and dexterity, Sing-Song, the Chinese servant, whom Mr. Smiler Bunn had recently engaged, completed the clearing away of the dinner things, and went out into the kitchen of the small but comfortable little flat in Soho Square, in which Mr. Bunn had just settled down, in order to prepare coffee.
His master lay well back in his easy chair, smoking a very excellent cigar peacefully, and with every appearance of profound though slightly somnolent enjoyment. Mr. Bunn never minded risking dozing after dinner, for he knew that Sing-Song was to be relied upon punctually to appear with strong black coffee at that critical after-dinner moment when a man, hovering upon the threshold of slumber, stands in peril of sacrificing a good cigar for a somewhat unsatisfactory "snooze."
True to habit, Sing-Song stole in a few moments later with his tray. But, having poured his master's coffee and crème de menthe—latterly Smiler had taken to crème de menthe, under the mistaken impression that it would reduce his weight—the Chinaman did not proceed to shuffle noiselessly back to his own place, as a well-conducted Chink should. He "hung about"—as Smiler would have described the attitude of respectful but bland expectancy into which he had adjusted himself.
"Well, Sing, my son," said Mr. Bunn benevolently, "what d'ye want?"
Sing-Song's beady eyes twinkled faintly.
"Mastel not folgetting plitty lady—allee same lady callee on mastel at Tollington Tellace?" he inquired. He referred to a call made by Kate the Gun upon Mr. Bunn at the flat he had previously occupied in Torrington Terrace.
He took a puff at his cigar.
"No, Sing," he said thoughtfully. "I haven't exactly forgotten it. It might—or it mightn't—have grown a little kind of hazy in my mind, but I haven't what you might call forgotten. Would you forget it, my lad, if a woman like her called and threatened to murder you if you interfered with her affairs? Or would anybody"—his voice rose suddenly—"forget it but a fat-headed fool?" He calmed down again. "Why?" he asked.
"And mastel not folgetting the men—fliends of plitty lady?"
Evidently Sing meant the two "plug-uglies" and an ex-detective who composed the gang of Kate the Gun.
"No fear," said Smiler emphatically. "One of 'em would have sandbagged me if I hadn't got out of the door just in time. What about that lovely little lot?"
"They tlying killee soon—hatchet-men coming San Flancisco," said the Chinaman with a gentle smile.
Smiler sat up. This was pleasant news—very pleasant news indeed.
"Sit down, Sing. Take a cigar. Somebody going to kill Kate the Gun, d'you say?"
"Yess," Sing-Song smiled.
"Good; take two cigars. And they're going to mop up the rest of the gang as well? Is that it?"
Sing-Song nodded.
"Take the box. This is the best news I've had for many a day. Now, make yourself comfortable; have a drink, gimme a match, and we'll have a cosy little half-hour talking it over."
Sing-Song, with a slow, expressive gesture, silently acknowledged his sense of the condescension, and took a cigar, which he placed somewhere in his clothes. It looked rather more like a conjuring trick than the pocketing of a cigar. He remained standing. His smile grew wider, blander, and rather less attractive.
"See Yup tong San Flancisco angly against plitty lady and lady's men," he explained lucidly. Mr. Bunn sat up straight.
"Now look here, Sing, my son: is this a new kind of language puzzle? Is it my move now? Have I got to say a word or two that you don't understand as a kind of answer to that string of language that I don't understand? To put it straight—what d'ye mean?"
"Tong—tong at San Flan—sent hatchet-men for killee lady," he said anxiously.
"Tong? How tong? What d'ye mean by tong? Whose tong?"
Sing moved his hands in a helpless sort of way.
"Tong allee samee club—hundleds of men—allee samee belong to tong. Club of men—Chinamen—allee ovel wold. Hundleds tongs. See Yup tong one tong. See Yen tong anothel tong. See Tee tong anothel tong—hundleds tongs."
Smiler began to understand.
"Kind of Freemasons, I suppose. A tong is a branch of a big society. What's the main tong called?"
"Not main tong," said Sing-Song. "All tongs diffelent. I belong See Yup tong," he explained. "See Yups muchee killee See Yens—hatee See Yens. Mastel undelstanding?"
Smiler nodded doubtfully.
"Yes. Sort of friendly societies, I reckon. Kind of leagues. Well, what about 'em?" Sing-Song nodded.
"Long time ago plitty lady and two men livee in San Flancisco. They findee some Chinamen belong See Yup tong smuggle opium into San Flancisco for sellee Chinamen. So plitty lady's men watchee See Yups go meetee China mail in launch outside halboul. Men on China mail steamel thlow packets opium ovelboard into watel. See Yup men pickee up opium in launch, steamee into halboul, and take opium ashole—no payee duty. Mastel undelstanding?"
Smiler drank a cup of coffee and recapitulated.
"Let's look," he said slowly. "Kate the Gun and her gang found out that some Chinamen who were members of the See Yup society were smuggling opium off the mail steamers into San Francisco. Well, what did the pretty lady do?"
"Take anothel launch one nightee, follow See Yup's men launch, waitee till See Yups pickee up opium, then boald Chinamen's launch and stealee opium—takee opium on plitty lady's launch—then lam Chinamen's launch—all samee cut See Yup's launch in half—sinkee launch—and lun away—steamee back to halboul and takee five thousand dollal's value of opium. See Yups sinkee in watel—die—thlee dead men—dlown—allee gone!"
Sing-Song made a curiously expressive gesture with his hands and waited for Smiler to grasp it. Things seemed clearer now. In plain English, Kate and her gang had chartered another launch, and steamed quietly out of the harbour one night. Presently they encountered the launch with the Chinamen, probably returning to the harbour with the opium on board, and promptly had boarded it, taken about a thousand pounds' worth of the drug, and then, in cold blood, rammed the launch of the unfortunate smugglers, and sunk it. Smiler nodded as he thought it over—it sounded like Kate and Co. But apparently it was a mistake to interfere with the affairs of "high-binder tongs" (or criminal societies). Smiler signed to Sing-Song to proceed.
"See Yup tong findee out—one Chinaman not dlowned. Pickee up by ship and go Austlalia. Long time aftel this Chinaman come home San Flancisco and tellee See Yup tong. See Yup tong lich—plentee money—they tly findee plitty lady. Findee in London. So they send two hatchet-men killee lady and men. Hatchet-men coming mail-boat."
"Well, what'll they do?" asked Smiler, deeply interested.
"Makee plitty lady—Katey—pay ten thousand dollals—two thousand soveleigns—and plomise not killee. But when Katey finish payee two thousand soveleigns—they killee allee samee."
"Well, that's a dashed dirty trick. If Kate parts with two thousand quid on a promise that they won't hurt her, and after getting it they kill her and her gang, why, that's rotten!" said Smiler.
"Allee samee lotten tlick dlown Chinamen San Flancisco," replied Sing-Song impassively. Then he flashed a quick meaning look at his master. "Mastel glad?" he inquired simply. "Katey hate mastel. Sometime pelhaps she killee mastel. Hatchet-men coming stop Katey killee mastel. Mastel glad?"
Smiler looked serious. He remembered the threats of Kate when she had called on him.
"Well, I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I ought to be, I suppose. But these dashed high-binders with their hatchets sound very hot stuff."
Sing came a step nearer.
"Mastel thanking me?" he continued softly, with his bland smile. "I blinging hatchet-men, I belong See Yup tong, and I lecognize Katey when she call at Tollington Tellace. I send lettel to tong at San Flancisco, and they send hatchet-men. Mastel thanking me?"
Then Smiler saw what the Chinaman was driving at.
"Oh, yes, my son, I'm thanking you all right. But not in cash, Sing-Song—not by any means in ready money. It sounds to me as though you're getting your whack some other way. How much will the tong give you as reward for finding Kate?"
"Hundled pounds," admitted Sing.
"Well, then, don't be a greedy hog. Do you want to be paid twice over for landing the woman? Never heard of such a thing. Go and make some more coffee and keep your place. D'ye hear—keep your place! Don't come planning murder with me. Damme, for two pins I'd kick you out of the flat."
Still smiling his simple "child-like" smile, Sing-Song bowed and departed for the kitchen, but had hardly left the room before Smiler called him back.
"D'you know where Kate the Gun and her gang are living now?" inquired Smiler.
"Gleat Lussell Stleet—numbel five hundled and ten," answered the Chinaman.
Smiler took out a five-pound note.
"Ah, well, here you are. You're a good lad, Sing—as long as you go straight with me. I don't want to be mixed up in your private affairs—they're your look-out—but you do your professional duty to me and I'll look after you. Only, if you come any funny business with me I'll have you locked up before you can say 'opium.' Have you got that well into your head?"
Sing indicated that he had, and proceeded serenely out to the kitchen.
Smiler lighted a fresh cigar.
"A very interestin yarn," he mused. "Very interestin' and probably a lot of Chinese lies. There's no doubt Sing-Song'd make a very effective liar. But what I want is a very effective cook. I can do the lyin' myself. However, if it's true, there ought to be a bit in it for me somewhere. Why should I be left out in the cold when there's thousands of pounds knockin' about? But I don't much like the sound of these high-binders."
HE was turning the thing over in his mind when Sing-Song
entered again.
"Lady and gentleman asking seeing Mastel. I bling them?" he asked.
"All right," said Smiler, moving to a writing-desk and opening a drawer, from which he took something. He had an idea that it might be Kate the Gun paying another of her little friendly calls. But when he saw who his visitors were he dropped the pistol back into its drawer and smiled.
"What, Tony—and Fanchon?" he said warmly. "Why, hallo! How are you? Come in—come in! There's a first-rate cold chicken and half a ham, and a bottle of claret or two, and Sing-Song'll get a salad somewhere—although, mind you, it's a bad time of year for salad. Sit down, Fanchon, my girl; you're looking like a rose. How long have you two been in England?"
The new-comers were Smiler Bunn's brother, Tony Bunn—Bohun he called himself—and his wife. They made a very attractive pair. As Smiler was in the habit of saying to himself, people who saw the brothers together must have been reminded of a stout mule and a lean thoroughbred—Smiler being the mule. And Fanchon was delicious—about the last girl in the world one would imagine to be a lady detective.
"We got in yesterday, Jack," Tony said, taking off his coat and smiling at the obvious pleasure with which his brother was helping Fanchon remove her furs.
He knew that Smiler had been inclined to fall in love with her himself once upon a time. But they were all the better friends for that. Smiler entertained no delusions as to Fanchon's good taste in preferring the distinguished-looking and kindly Tony. In fact, he was proud of her judgment.
"And, Jack, you've got to help us, this time," said Fanchon. "We've come over for Kate the Gun and her gang." She looked at her husband. "Tell him all about it, Tony. We'll have supper afterwards."
"No, Fan," he said, "it's your yarn, and you can tell it better. I'll have a cigar and listen."
He reached out for the box, and Smiler pushed a siphon and whisky towards him.
"Wait a minute," said Smiler, and rang the bell. Sing-Song appeared. "Get those Japanese cigarettes, Sing-Song, and then take a walk for half an hour."
Sing-Song produced a box of dainty-looking cigarettes, which he placed, with a bow, at Fanchon's elbow, and left the room. A few seconds later the outer door of the flat closed quietly behind him.
"He's a downy bird, that Chink," said Smiler. "And I don't want him listening. Go ahead with those cigarettes, Fanchon. I've been keeping 'em specially for you."
Fanchon lighted one and began her story.
"You know that when Tony and I met I was over here after Kate the Gun. Well, when she was arrested, I left her in charge of the other detective from Westerton's who was over here also, and took a holiday, during which Tony and I were married. I took no further interest in Kate—we were on our honeymoon, and had quite enough other things to think about." She looked meaningly at Smiler. "Well, after the honeymoon, Tony and I sailed for New York. We went straight to Westerton's, and, on the strength of having run Kate the Gun down, I naturally expected they'd give Tony a berth. But I got a shock then and there. Kate the Gun, whom I had left in charge of Miller, the other detective, had never arrived. From the moment I left Kate's flat nothing more was heard of them—by Westerton's, anyway. The chief was very sarcastic about it.
"'You've got nerve, Miss Grey, to ask us to put your husband on the staff,' he said. 'We sent you to England for Kate the Gun, and you bring us a husband. Very nice husband, no doubt, but—he—ain't—little Kate! Haven't you got mixed a trifle? Where's Kate?'
"'Kate!' I said. 'With Miller, of course. I left her with him, safe enough. I think I'll ask you a question now; "Where's Miller?"'
"The chief nodded and laughed. I won that deal comfortably, for Miller was my superior. They had specially impressed that on me when we started for Kate.
"'To tell the truth,' said the chief, 'I don't know.'
"'Well, I can guess,' I said. 'Kate's with Miller all right, but Miller's her devout lover now, not her guard. You haven't forgotten how Kate coaxed that detective in St. Louis four years ago? She ruined that man, and now she's bluffed Miller. What you'd better do is to send my husband and me across again to get her. If we don't we won't trouble Westerton's again. We'll pay all our own expenses and draw no salary until we call in here within three months with Kate in tow. But when we do bring her you shall refund expenses and pay us salary dating from to-day. What do you say, chief?'
"He thought it over. Then he stood up.
"'That's a go,' he said, and made himself pleasant. And so, Jack, here we are. We want Kate, and you must help us get her. Do you know where she is?" concluded Fanchon. Smiler shook his head slowly.
"Well, I can't say at the moment," he answered cautiously. "But leave it to me for a day or two, and perhaps I can manage something for you. I've had one or two glimpses of her lately, and very likely I shall have another soon. All you two need do is just to take it easy and enjoy yourselves until you hear from me. I'm glad to see you both, and I want you to look on this flat as a kind of Liberty Hall. I know you won't interfere with me if I don't interfere with you. But I'd like to ask you a question before supper."
"Well?"
"Suppose—only suppose, mind—you'd offended one of these high-binder tongs the Chinese have got among them—particularly the Chinks in San Francisco, I'm told—and this tong was a rich tong, and had sent a couple of hatchet-men over here for you, what would you do?"
Fanchon and Tony glanced at each other. They seemed in perfect agreement when Fanchon replied, quite seriously:
"I'd strike out for the North Pole in a balloon—or else buy a private well and live at the bottom of it. But even then I shouldn't consider myself safe. They're half men and half demons, some of these high-binders. They're not after you, Jack, are they?"
Smiler noted the look in her eyes and smiled.
"Oh, no!" he said airily; "I'm after them. I'll tell you in a few days' time. And now for a bit of supper. I'm a bit peckish myself. Touch that bell, Tony, old man."
And with that the two had to be content, for that evening at any rate.
ON the following morning Mr. Bunn, having safely disposed of an alarming breakfast, bade Sing-Song be seated and listen attentively.
"I suppose, Sing-Song, my lad, these high-binders stick to one another—the members of the tongs, I mean? Take you, for instance. You belong to the See Yup tong, the same as these hatchet-men—so you say, anyhow."
"Yes, mastel."
Sing-Song's face was perfectly impassive.
"And you're going to get a hundred pounds for helping them get Kate—when she pays up the ten thousand dollars they mean to fine her—before killing her?"
"Yes, mastel."
Sing seemed quite unconcerned.
"But suppose I were to promise you two hundred pounds to betray your high-binder pals, you'd do it like a bird, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, yes, mastel."
The Chink's eyes lighted up.
"Jump at the chance, in fact?"
"Yes, mastel; velly quick jumpee!"
Smiler stared a little.
"Well, Sing-Song, you're a dam' villain. 'Pon me soul, you're the blooming limit. I've got a good mind to knock your head off. I suppose you'd betray me like a lark, if you had the chance?"
But Sing-Song shook his head indignantly.
"No, no. Nevel betlay mastel. Mastel kind—givee me work, money, food, when me hungly, livee in guttel. Nevel betlay mastel!"
He lapsed earnestly into a rapid string of Chinese oaths. It seemed as though he was swearing fidelity to Smiler upon the souls of his ancestors—if he had any. It was perfectly true that Smiler had literally rescued him from the gutter at the time he had engaged him.
"Oh, all right, then," said Smiler, to pacify him. "You'd betray anybody but me: let it go at that. Now, I want Kate the Gun. She'd be wasted on those two high-binders. But she seems to have the price of a fine—if she'll pay it. Think she will?"
"Oh, yes, mastel. She 'flaid of hatchet-men."
"Oh, that's news to me. She ain't the sort to be afraid; of anybody," demurred Smiler.
"'Flaid of hatchet-men," repeated Sing confidently. "Eyelybody 'flaid hatchet-men."
But Mr. Bunn took exception to this sweeping statement.
"That," he said, "is where you make your blooming little error, my lad. I ain't. I'm afraid of a good many things—an underdone potato, for instance—but I ain't by any means afraid of any measly Chink, and don't you run away with the idea that I am. See? You get rid of your superstitions about that, Sing, my son. Now, I've got a plan. What's the name of these hatchet-handlers, and where'll they live while they're after Kate? And when do they arrive?"
"They come in two-thlee days. Yung Kow one man, Lung Sling othel man. They livee in house neal docks—mastel knows house—I livee in allee samee house some time."
Smiler nodded.
"Very good," he said. "Now you listen to me, and don't forget what I'm going to say to you—if you want to handle that two hundred quid."
The Chinaman fell into an attitude of attention while Smiler issued instructions.
TWO mornings later Mr. Bunn chanced to be approaching a café in the West End when he saw a well-dressed woman a few yards in front of him turn into the restaurant. He saw just enough of her profile to recognize Kate the Gun. On the impulse of the moment he followed her in. The place was moderately full. She took a seat at a small table and ordered something American to drink. There was a chair vacant at her table, and Smiler proceeded to occupy it.
"Morning, Kate!" he said cheerily. "How goes it? How's trade?"
Kate stared bitterly at him. She looked worried.
"Aw, cut it out!" she said slowly.
There was a long pause, during which Kate surveyed him with brooding, baleful eyes. Presently she gave a shrug.
"I ought to have outed you at the start," she said. "You're a Jonah. One way and another, you've spoiled my trip to Europe. I'm only waiting here for one thing now, and that's to spoil you," she added, with sudden malevolence. She looked so dangerous that Smiler decided to leave well alone. He rose.
"Ah, well; good luck, my girl," he said gravely. "See you again," and left. Then he seemed to think of something, and came back to the table. "Oh, how's Miller?" he asked.
Kate sneered at him and turned her back.
Smiler smiled and moved out. He knew where Miller was. Tony and Fanchon had recognized him in a crowd on the previous day, and had given him in charge. The police had entered the charge as one of picking pockets, but since then the New York cable had been in use, and the police had received enough information from Westerton's to justify their acceding to Tony and Fanchon's request for applying for a remand. Certainly Miller was safe.
It remained now to deal with Kate and her "plug-uglies"—the two remaining members of her gang.
At breakfast on the following morning Sing brought in with the melon, with which Mr. Bunn liked to begin his meal, a smile that resembled the Japanese flag.
"Hullo, what's bit you?" asked Smiler, surprised.
"Yung Kow and Lung Sling reachee Englin yestelday, mastel," he said. And his smile broadened.
"Oh, did they? Have you seen 'em?"
"No, mastel."
"Well, how d'ye know they're here, then? Seen it in the Society column of the Morning Post, I suppose?" he added satirically.
"Not Molning Post—anothel papel. Look!"
He opened that morning's Daily Whaup—Smiler's favourite newspaper—and pointed with a yellow finger to a paragraph.
Smiler looked—and stiffened a little.
One word of the heading of the paragraph stood out blackly— MURDER! Something vaguely cold fluttered for an instant down the spine of Mr. Bunn—just as the sight of at least three other words, if suddenly brought to the notice of any "crook," causes that "crook" to wince a little. They are REWARD! WANTED! and ARREST!
"Hum!" said Smiler: "let's look."
He took the paper and read the paragraph. It was quite brief, and described the finding of the body of an unknown man at about one o'clock that morning. A constable had found the body huddled up in the area of a house at the corner of Great Russell Street. His skull was fractured, and he had been stabbed in the back. His pockets had been rifled, and contained nothing. Scrawled on the inside of his hat was his name, "Michael Duloon." The paragraph concluded with the time-honoured optimism to the effect that the police were engaged upon a clue.
Smiler nodded sombrely as he put down the paper. He knew who Michael Duloon was, and his knowledge increased his respect for the swift but effective methods of the "high-binder."
Michael Duloon was one of Kate the Gun's "plug-uglies," the "tough" from Chicago who had once tried to sandbag Mr. Bunn. But Michael would wield no more sandbags.
"Pass me that sole, Sing," said Smiler quietly, and proceeded with his breakfast.
He was not remotely sorry for Michael. He was only a little surprised—that the "plug-ugly" had not been dealt with in that fashion years before.
"That leaves Kate and the Bishop," he murmured to himself. Then he suddenly fixed Sing-Song with his eye. "Kate's mine!" he said grimly. "You understand that?"
"Yes, mastel."
"Don't you forget it, then! Pass me the kidneys and fill my cup, you high-binder!"
Sing-Song hastened to attend to his work, and the procession that formed Mr. Bunn's morning meal passed steadily along until Sing-Song finally held a match for his master's cigar, and Smiler strolled to the window to smoke it. As a rule he watched the sparrows while smoking, but this morning he had other things to occupy his attention.
Kate the Gun and the only member of her gang remaining to her were standing outside, looking up at the window. They were talking earnestly.
It occurred to Smiler that they attributed the death of Michael to him.
"H'm! Didn't take long to find out where I lived!" Then it suddenly dawned upon him that Kate had shadowed him home the day before. He shook his head.
"That's was a fool of a thing to do. I must be getting careless," he muttered.
In a second or so the two had moved away. "It's a good job they daren't go to the police, or I should be in charge in about ten minutes," mused Smiler.
Then suddenly his eyes narrowed. Coming slowly round the square were two men—short, squat, thick-set men, with dark yellowish-brown faces and evil, almond-shaped eyes.
"Strike me glorious, 'ere's the 'igh-binders!" ejaculated Smiler, startled for a moment into the illiterate speech of which during the past two years, by dint of fearful effort, he had largely cured himself.
He stepped back a little, watching the men. One was exceedingly well-dressed in the English style—morning coat, silk hat, grey trousers—and the other looked like a Mongol who had stolen and put on a complete outfit of a touring American's clothes. But all the clothes in the world could not make them look like anything but murderers—at any rate, to English eyes. They passed quietly on, following the direction taken a minute before by Kate the Gun and her companion.
Smiler leaned out of the window, watching them go, and he heard at his back the voice of Sing-Song.
"Mastel see them—Yung Kow velly smalt dlessee. Lung Sling dlessee allee samee Amelican man?" asked the Chinaman.
"I did," said Smiler, "and I don't like the look of 'em." He went to his writing-desk and took an automatic pistol from a drawer. "You can clear off down to the Docks now. See? It's just half-past ten. I shall be there at twelve sharp," he said quietly. "And listen just once more." He twisted Sing-Song round with a grip that surprised the Chinaman—"No funny work! You're in with me, my lad, and I want Kate—and I won't wait!"
"Yes, mastel," said Sing-Song.
"Sling your hook then!"
Sing-Song slung it, and Smiler put on his hat and fur coat, and hurried away to the nearest telephone, where he rang up the hotel at which Tony and Fanchon were staying. He spoke earnestly into the receiver for many minutes, and then hastened out and took a taxi.
He was bound for a certain weird old rabbit-warren of a house down by the docks, which was tenanted chiefly by rats and Chinese. It was partly lodging-house for Chinese sailors (or any other sailors that were sufficiently foolish to stay there), and partly opium den. Sing-Song was very fond of the place, and was rather popular there. It was he who had first introduced Smiler Bunn to the house. The proprietor—an elderly, oblique-eyed villain—respected Smiler extremely. He always paid so well and, at the same time, was so very capable of taking care of himself and his possessions. Smiler was perfectly safe in that house, and knew a good deal about it. But he was one of a very select few. It was at this cheerful resort that the high-binders were staying.
Chung Loo, the proprietor, was expecting Smiler. He received him in a cellar, which, by the simple process of white-washing the walls and putting in a table or so, he had fitted up as a sort of underground casino for the use of a cut-throat looking crew of fan-tan players.
Chung Loo drew Smiler into a superior kind of coal-hole, which adjoined the cellar, and which he used as his private study, and, with Sing-Song, they began to talk.
Chang Loo was also a member of the See Yup tong, whose headquarters, it appeared, were in San Francisco. He listened attentively to the proposal which Smiler and Sing-Song made to him, and shook his head.
"You askee me betlay Yung Kow and Lung Sling," he said, recapitulating the offer they had made. "You say you givee me hundled pounds to savee lady flom them and givee lady to you?" He shook his head. "I am See Yup man. I cannot betlay See Yup hatchet-men."
"But why not, Chung?" urged Smiler, rather surprised at such loyalty.
Chung Loo grinned.
"Yung Kow givee me thlee hundled pounds when lady pay," he said.
Smiler shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, you chinks are all alike!" he said disgustedly. "I'll pay you four hundred, then."
Chung Loo beamed.
"Velly nice," he said. "Velly pleased." He glanced over his shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Yung Kow and Lung Sling muldelels. Policee come, pelhaps—if they killee lady. Chung Loo 'flaid policee!"
"That's all right; very natural feelin'," said Smiler. "Now, I don't want any fuss. What you've got to do is easy. Sing and I reckon these high-binders will blow in any minute now with the lady. Anyhow, we're going to wait until they do. Well, when they come in, persuade them to lock her in a room alone for an hour or so. Raise an alarm of police or something—see? But I've got to be in the room they lock the lady in, and it's got to be a room with an exit to the river. Understand that. Have you got such a room in the house?"
Chung Loo nodded.
"Very well, then—that's all. I'll leave it to you. There's somewhere in the room where I can hide, I suppose?"
"Big chest—camphol wood—sailol's chest," said Chung Loo.
"Big enough for me?" Chung Loo nodded again.
"All right—that'll do. You're sure you'll be able to persuade Yung Kow and Slung Lung, or whatever they call themselves?"
"Plenty easy. Dlug them, pelhaps—cly 'Policee!' pelhaps. See bimeby."
"Good!"
Smiler took a pencil and paper and wrote a hasty note. This he gave to Sing-Song.
"Slip out to the wharf, Sing," he instructed the Chinaman, "and hand it to the man in the motor-boat that you'll find edged in round the corner. If he asks, tell him he might have to wait until midnight. Ask if he's got any food. If he says 'No,' tell him I'll send him out some rat pie, or whatever it is you Chinks consider a delicacy in this house, later on." He slipped off his fur coat. "Give this to the lady in the boat. It'll be cold out there towards evening. Got it all? Hop along!"
And Smiler turned away with Chung Loo to inspect his chest in the room which had an exit to the river. This done, he lay comfortably down on a big couch in one of the inner rooms on the ground floor, and smoked in silence. He had a presentiment so pronounced as to be an instinct that the two evil-eyed high-binders would trap Kate the Gun and probably "the Bishop" that day. The amazing speed with which they had settled the old score of the See Yups with "the Bishop's" fellow "plug-ugly," proved that they were in desperate earnest, and were prepared to take risks.
The afternoon wore on to twilight, and the twilight to dark, but there was no sound of the sudden arrival that Smiler lay expecting. Chinamen passed silently in and out of the house, mute, mysterious yellow men, who went noiselessly upstairs or downstairs according to their destination. Chung Loo, sitting quietly at his account-books in a tiny recess near the entrance door of the house, noted each one, but he made no sign. He knew his customers.
In the inside room Smiler consumed cigar after cigar with Sing-Song sitting patiently on the floor by the lounge. The darkness thickened, and Sing-Song got up, went silently out, and returned with an ill-smelling lamp.
"Verry long, mastel. Lady velly clevel," said Sing softly, as he reseated himself.
Smiler grunted.
"Yung Kow velly patient, allee same time."
"Dry up," remarked Smiler politely. Sing dried.
Twice Smiler had sent out food to Tony and Fanchon in the motor-boat under the wharf, and he was thinking of sending a fresh supply when suddenly Sing-Song rose softly as a leopard rises.
"Mastel!" he said.
A tiny bell hanging from the wall at Smiler's side tinkled softly, in a secretive sort of way, and Smiler slid off the couch.
"Quick, mastel!" whispered Sing.
They hurried from the room and passed swiftly downstairs. As they went they heard a slight shuffle and a flutter of woman's clothes in the hall-way above. Smiler and Sing-Song hurried downstairs until they must have been three stories underground. Then Sing-Song glided away down a dark, narrow passage, and Smiler entered a small, cellar-like room opening out into the passage. It was pitch-black, but he had an electric torch. By its glow he climbed carefully into a huge chest that stood against the wall, let down the lid, and waited.
But he was not kept waiting long. Within five minutes he heard the door of the room suddenly flung open, the rapid shuffling of feet on the floor, a hasty whisper of "Policee! Policee! Quick!" (that was the voice of Chung Loo), a muttering in Chinese, the closing of the door, and finally the scrape of a rusty key.
He flung back the lid of the chest with his shoulder and, with a repeating pistol in one hand and his electric torch in the other, he peered out.
A woman, gagged and bound, lay on the floor. Her eyes appealed to him over the gag. It was Kate the Gun.
Smiler removed the gag.
"Hallo, Kate!" he said cheerfully. "You're up against it, this time. But don't worry—your little Smiler's here."
He helped her to her feet. "We've got to be quick. Now, look here, you've got to choose. These high-binders—they're after you for that opium-smuggling job in San Francisco—mean to get your money, and then kill you—see? They seem pretty serious over it; but you know more about 'em than I do. Well, I can get you out of their way all right; but I can only turn you over into Fanchon's hands. You know her—she arrested you once before, but Miller got you off. She's come over from New York on purpose for you. Well, you can take your choice. Which'll you go to? The high-binders or the detectives?"
Kate gasped. She was white and sick with fear.
"Get me out of this—anywhere," she said. "Good God! They strangled 'the Bishop' before my eyes without a sound. In my own flat!"
She trembled shockingly. "Hurry!" she implored,
Smiler pitied her. She had despised him, insulted him, hated him, and, finally, tried to kill him: but Smiler suddenly forgot it all.
"Come on, then," he said, and added, almost apologetically, "Sorry about the detectives; but, well, there it is, you know. Can't have everything just as we'd like it, can we?"
He did not unbind her hands.
He tapped three times on the door. The key turned and the door opened. Sing-Song was standing outside.
"This way, please," he said. They followed him into the blackness of the passage.
Three minutes later they were in the motor-launch, and Tony was steering out into the open river.
It was quite ten minutes before Kate recovered herself.
"Well, Fanchon, that was a close call," she said. "But you've got me for fair this time."
Her face was white in the moonlight. Fanchon nodded.
"You're well out of that," she said, and Kate shuddered,
"It's the first time I've ever been scared. But I was scared good. Ah, well; I'm not so broken-hearted about my finish, after all! I was tired of the crooked game. There's nothing in it. You roll pretty high while it lasts, but you burn out quick. Give me a quiet corner in some nice jail now, and I shan't cry any."
She turned her brilliant eyes on Smiler.
"You're a wise old bird," she said flippantly, "and you've queered me for fair; but I guess I'll forgive you. I've got a pretty thick wad of notes left. But I shan't want more than half where I'm going. You'd better have the odd half."
Her voice was suddenly one of pure gratitude. The place with the Chinamen had frightened her nearly to madness.
Smiler shook his head.
"To tell you the truth, Kate, I meant having the lot, before turning you over to Fanchon and Tony here. But—back in that cellar—it seemed a bit too low down. You can pay Chung Loo four hundred and Sing-Song two hundred, if you want to ease your mind. It's due to them more than to me that you're alive now. I promised 'em that."
Kate's eyes glistened.
"Sure, I'll pay it," she said, and lapsed into silence.
They landed at a river police-station below Blackfriars, and as they prepared to leave, Kate turned to Smiler.
"Well, so long," she said.
"So long," said Smiler.
And that was the last he saw of her.
She sent a packet of bank-notes to him next morning by Fanchon for the two Chinamen who had helped Smiler.
Fanchon told Smiler that she seemed suddenly to have lost interest in things. They were sailing for New York on the following day, Kate having made no trouble in the matter of extradition. The murder of her two "plug-uglies" and her own experience with the high-binders seemed to have unnerved her entirely.
"Ah, well," said Smiler, with a sigh of relief, "so that's settled!"
Then he strolled round to the hotel to eat a farewell lunch with Tony and his wife.
"I think I'll take a holiday after this," he said as they went.
"Why not?" said Fanchon.
"I've made a good deal of money lately. I can afford it, and I consider I've earned it. And so, my girl, I will."
And he did.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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