Tales of Chinatown by Sax Rohmer (good books to read for 12 year olds TXT) 📕

“I am sorry to give you so much trouble, Mr. Meyer,” he said, “but I should like my friend here to see the room above.”

At this moment my attention was attracted by a singular object which lay upon the desk amongst a litter of bills and accounts. This was a piece of rusty iron bar somewhat less than three feet in length, and which once had been painted green.

“You are looking at this tragic fragment, Knox,” said Harley, taking up the bar. “Of course”—he shrugged his shoulders—“it explains the whole unfortunate occurrence. You see there was a flaw in the metal at this end, here”—he indicated the spot—“and the other end had evidently worn loose in its socket.”

“But I don't understand.”

“It will all be made clear at the inquest, no doubt. A most unfortunate thing for you, Mr. Meyer.”

“Most unfortunate,” declared the proprietor of the restaurant, extending his thick hands pathetically. “Most ruinous to my business.”

“We will go upstairs now,” said Harley. “You will kindly lead the way, Mr. Meyer, and the whole thing will be quite clear to you, Knox.”

As the proprietor walked out of the office and upstairs to the second floor Harley whispered in my ear:

“Where did she go?”

“No. —— Hamilton Place,” I replied in an undertone.

“Good God!” muttered my friend, and clutched my arm so tightly that I winced. “Good God! The master touch, Knox! This crime was the work of a genius—of a genius with slightly, very slightly, oblique eyes.”

Opening a door on the second landing, Mr. Meyer admitted us to a small supper-room. Its furniture consisted of a round dining table, several chairs, a couch, and very little else. I observed, however, that the furniture, carpet, and a few other appointments were of a character much more elegant than those of the public room below. A window which overlooked the street was open, so that the plush curtains which had been drawn aside moved slightly to and fro in the draught.

“The window of the tragedy, Knox,” explained Harley.

He crossed the room.

“If you will stand here beside me you will see the gap in the railing caused by the breaking away of the fragment which now lies on Mr. Meyer's desk. Some few yards to the left in the street below is where the assault took place, of which we have heard, and the unfortunate Mr. De Lana, who was dining here alone—an eccentric custom of his—naturally ran to the window upon hearing the disturbance and leaned out, supporting his weight upon the railing. The rail collapsed, and—we know the rest.”

“It will ruin me,” groaned Meyer; “it will give bad repute to my establishment.”

“I fear it will,” agreed Harley sympathetically, “unless we can manage to clear up one or two little difficulties which I have observed. For instance”—he tapped the proprietor on the shoulder confidentially—“have you any idea, any hazy idea, of the identity of the woman who was dining here with Mr. De Lana on Wednesday night?”

The effect of this simple inquiry upon the proprietor was phenomenal. His fat yellow face assumed a sort of leaden hue, and his already prominent eyes protruded abnormally. He licked his lips.

“I tell you—already I tell you,” he muttered, “that Mr. De Lana he engage this room every Wednesday and sometimes also Friday, and dine here by himself.”

“And I tell you,” said Harley sweetly, “that you are an inspired liar. You smuggled her out by the side entrance after the accident.”

“The side entrance?” muttered Meyer. “The side entrance?”

“Exactly; the side entrance. There is something else which I must ask you to tell me. Who had engaged this room on Tuesday night, the night before the accident?”

The proprietor's expression remained uncomprehending, and:

“A gentleman,” he said. “I never see him before.”

“Another solitary diner?” suggested Harley.

“Yes, he is alone all the evening waiting for a friend who does not arrive.”

“Ah,” mused Harley—“alone all the evening, was he? And his friend disappointed him. May I suggest that he was a dark man? Gray at the temples, having a dark beard and moustache, and a very tanned face? His eyes slanted slightly upward?”

“Yes! yes!” cried Meyer, and his astonishment was patently unfeigned. “It is a friend of yours?”

“A friend of mine, yes,” said Harley absently, but his expression was very grim. “What time did he finally leave?”

“He waited until after eleven o'clock. The dinner is spoilt. He pays, but does not complain.”

“No,” said Harley musingly, “he had nothing to complain about. One more question, my friend. When the lady escaped hurriedly on Wednesday night, what was it that she left behind and what price are you trying to extort from her for returning it?”

At that the man collapsed entirely.

“Ah, Gott!” he cried, and raised his hand to his clammy forehead. “You will ruin me. I am a ruined man. I don't try to extort anything. I run an honest business———”

“And one of the most profitable in the world,” added Harley, “since the days of Thais to our own. Even at Bond Street rentals I assume that a house of assignation is a golden enterprise.”

“Ah!” groaned Meyer, “I am ruined, so what does it matter? I tell you everything. I know Mr. De Lana who engages my room regularly, but I don't know who the lady is who meets him here. No! I swear it! But always it is the same lady. When he falls I am downstairs in my office, and I hear him cry out. The lady comes running from the room and begs of me to get her away without being seen and to keep all mention of her out of the matter.”

“What did she pay you?” asked Harley.

“Pay me?” muttered Meyer, pulled up thus shortly in the midst of his statement.

“Pay you. Exactly. Don't argue; answer.”

The man delivered himself of a guttural, choking sound, and finally:

“She promised one hundred pounds,” he confessed hoarsely.

“But you surely did not accept a mere promise? Out with it. What did she give you?”

“A ring,” came the confession at last.

“A ring. I see. I will take it with me if you don't mind. And now, finally, what was it that she left behind?”

“Ah, Gott!” moaned the man, dropping into a chair and resting his arms upon the table. “It is all a great panic, you see. I hurry her out