Tales of Chinatown by Sax Rohmer (good books to read for 12 year olds TXT) π
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- Author: Sax Rohmer
Read book online Β«Tales of Chinatown by Sax Rohmer (good books to read for 12 year olds TXT) πΒ». Author - Sax Rohmer
Lady Pat started to her feet with a wild, swift action which must have reminded a beholder of a startled gazelle. The drapery masking the door which she had first investigated was drawn aside. A man entered and dropped the curtain behind him.
Exactly what she had expected she could not have defined, but the presence of this perfect stranger was a complete surprise. The man, who wore embroidered slippers and a sort of long blue robe, stood there regarding her with an expression which, even in her frantic condition, she found to be puzzling. He had long, untidy gray hair brushed back from his low brow; eyes strangely like the eyes of Lou Chada, except that they were more heavy-lidded; but his skin was as yellow as a guinea, and his gaunt, cleanshaven face was the face of an Oriental.
The slender hands, too, which he held clasped before him, were yellow, and possessed a curiously arresting quality. Pat imagined them clasped about her white throat, and her very soul seemed to shrink from the man who stood there looking at her with those long, magnetic, inscrutable eyes.
She wondered why she was surprised, and suddenly realized that it was because of the expression in his eyes, for it was an expression of cold anger. Then the intruder spoke.
βWho are you?β he demanded, speaking with an accent which was unfamiliar to her, but in a voice which was not unlike the voice of Lou Chada. βWho brought you here?β
This was so wholly unexpected that for a moment she found herself unable to reply, but finally:
βHow dare you!β she cried, her native courage reasserting itself. βI have been drugged and brought to this place. You shall pay for it. How dare you!β
βAh!β The long, dark eyes regarded her unmovingly. βBut who are you?β
βI am Lady Rourke. Open the door. You shall bitterly regret this outrage.β
βYou are Lady Rourke?β the man repeated. βBefore you speak of regrets, answer the question which I have asked: Who brought you here?β
βLou Chada.β
βAh!β There was no alteration of pose, no change of expression, but slightly the intonation had varied.
βI don't know who you are, but I demand to be released from this place instantly.β
The man standing before the curtained door slightly inclined his head.
βYou shall be released,β he replied, βbut not instantly. I will see the one who brought you here. He may not be entirely to blame. Before you leave we shall understand one another.β
Tone and glance were coldly angry. Then, before the frightened woman could say another word, the man in the blue robe robe withdrew, the curtain was dropped again, and she heard the grating of a key in the lock. She ran to the door, beating upon it with her clenched hands.
βLet me go!β she cried, half hysterically. βLet me go! You shall pay for this! Oh, you shall pay for this!β
No one answered, and, turning, she leaned back against the curtain, breathing heavily and fighting for composure, for strength.
IV ZANI CHADA, THE EURASIAN
βI can't help thinking, Chief Inspector,β said the officer in charge at Limehouse Station, βthat you take unnecessary risks.β
βCan't you?β said Kerry, tilting his bowler farther forward and staring truculently at the speaker.
βNo, I can't. Since you cleaned up the dope gang down here you've been a marked man. These murders in the Chinatown area, of which this one to-night makes the third, have got some kind of big influence behind them. Yet you wander about in the fog without even a gun in your pocket.β
βI don't believe in guns,β rapped Kerry. βMy bare hands are good enough for any yellow smart in this area. And if they give out I can kick like a mule.β
The other laughed, shaking his head.
βIt's silly, all the same,β he persisted. βThe man who did the job out there in the fog to-night might have knifed you or shot you long before you could have got here.β
βHe might,β snapped Kerry, βbut he didn't.β
Yet, remembering his wife, who would be waiting for him in the cosy sitting-room he knew a sudden pang. Perhaps he did take unnecessary chances. Others had said so. Hard upon the thought came the memory of his boy, and of the telephone message which the episodes of the night had prevented him from sending.
He remembered, too, something which his fearless nature had prompted him to forget: he remembered how, just as he had arisen from beside the body of the murdered man, oblique eyes had regarded him swiftly out of the fog. He had lashed out with a boxer's instinct, but his knuckles had encountered nothing but empty air. No sound had come to tell him that the thing had not been an illusion. Only, once again, as he groped his way through the shuttered streets of Chinatown and the silence of the yellow mist, something had prompted him to turn; and again he had detected the glint of oblique eyes, and faintly had discerned the form of one who followed him.
Kerry chewed viciously, then:
βI think I'll 'phone the wife,β he said abruptly. βShe'll be expecting me.β
Almost before he had finished speaking the 'phone bell rang, and a few moments later:
βSomeone to speak to you, Chief Inspector,β cried the officer in charge.
βAh!β exclaimed Kerry, his fierce eyes lighting up. βThat will be from home.β
βI don't think so,β was the reply. βBut see who it is.β
βHello!β he called.
He was answered by an unfamiliar voice, a voice which had a queer, guttural intonation. It was the sort of voice he had learned to loathe.
βIs that Chief Inspector Kerry?β
βYes,β he snapped.
βMay I take it that what I have to say will be treated in confidence?β
βCertainly not.β
βThink again, Chief Inspector,β the voice continued. βYou are a man within sight of the ambition of years, and although you may be unaware of the fact, you stand upon the edge of a disaster. I appreciate your sense of duty and respect it. But there are times when diplomacy is a more potent weapon than force.β
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