Authors: Rhys Bowen
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but I think I must have left my gloves up there when I came out with Captain Sullivan a few minutes ago. Would it be all right if I popped up to retrieve them?”
“I don’t see why not, miss,” he said genially. “Just don’t go touching anything or I’ll be in the soup.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be very careful,” I said. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but they are new gloves and they cost so much these days, don’t they?”
“Doesn’t everything,” he said.
I gave him a beaming smile and ran up the steps, opened the front door, and moved cautiously around the screen. Then I sprinted across the room to the cabinet and opened it, using my handkerchief to hold the key and then the side of the door. I tried to remember in which of the drawers I had seen the signature. Over on the left, about halfway up.… I was conscious of the need to hurry or the constable would come up to see what was delaying me. I pulled open a drawer. It was literally stuffed full of papers—a daunting prospect. Obviously I couldn’t go through them all. But the one I wanted had been sticking out. Surely it would have been shoved back hastily when the cabinet was closed. I examined one drawer, then another. I pushed it back, but it didn’t seem to go all the way in. On impulse, I pulled the drawer completely out and hit pay dirt. Several papers had been pushed behind the drawer, and one of them contained the signature I had seen.
I held it in my hand. The writing was all in Chinese characters but it was clearly some kind of IOU.
“Perfect,” I said, closed the cabinet carefully, and turned to leave.
“I’ll take that, thank you,” said a low, smooth voice and I turned to see Monty standing by the screen. He came toward me. “You really are a most annoying woman, you know. Give me the paper.”
“Did you just owe him money for opium or was he blackmailing you?” I asked.
“The latter,” Monty said. “Threatened to tell Sarah’s family about my unfortunate habit. Now I’ll just take this—” He went to snatch it from me. I stepped aside. “And then off to the border,” he added.
“There’s no point, you know,” I said. “There’s a constable at the bottom of the steps. You can’t go anywhere.”
“I can return the way I came,” he said. He took another step toward me. For a second I glanced down at his feet. “Oh,” I said. “Climbing boots. Of course. Sarah told me you were a keen mountaineer.”
“Sarah talks too much for her own good,” he said. “She was only too keen to tell me the whole story of those Chinese girls.” He paused smiling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “On second thought,” he said, “I think I’d better take you with me. Just in case.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I started moving toward the screen. He went to grab me, expecting me to be the usual kind of helpless miss. But I had been well schooled by experience in my profession as well as by my future bridegroom. I delivered a savage kick to his shin, then brought my elbow up to his windpipe. I heard the thin fabric of my dress ripping under the arm but I didn’t care. Monty gasped and reeled backward. I only needed that half second to run around the screen and down the stairs.
“He’s in there!” I shouted to the constable. “Quickly. The murderer is in there. Don’t let him get away.”
The constable rushed up the stairs. I stood below, holding my breath. But a few minutes later the constable reappeared. “There was nobody there, miss. You must have imagined it.”
“Then he escaped over the rooftop again,” I said. “But he can’t go too far. He’ll have to come down a fire escape on the building behind. Blow your whistle and get help.”
He was now looking at me strangely. “Are you sure about this, miss? You didn’t just imagine that you saw someone. I don’t want to look like a fool if this is for nothing.”
“Of course it’s not for nothing,” I said. “He tried to grab me and I ripped my dress, see?” I demonstrated, not caring that it was unladylike to reveal flesh to a strange man. “And he got into the apartment across the roofs—the way he got in before. He’s wearing climbing boots.”
“And you say he’ll have jumped across to the next roof?”
“Yes, around the corner on Pell Street.”
“Right. I’ll get help then.” He blew his whistle as he headed in that direction. I was very tempted to follow but I saw that there was nothing useful I could do and I certainly didn’t want to find myself taken hostage by a desperate man. I should go straight to police headquarters to await Daniel. I set off back up Mott Street. As I passed the narrow arched entrance beside Lee’s emporium I thought I saw a flash of something light in the darkness beyond. Surely Monty couldn’t have climbed down from the roof already and taken refuge in there? I didn’t know where the arcade led, but it didn’t seem the brightest move to me, seeing that he could be trapped so easily. I peered into the darkness. Had I really…?
A hand came over my mouth and I was yanked backward. I tried to struggle but the hand clamped over my mouth and nose, making it impossible to breathe. I hadn’t realized how strong he was. I was being half dragged, half carried backward down a sort of tunnel. I flailed, fought, and tried to breathe. I could feel singing in my head. Spots danced in front of my eyes and my only thought was one of fury—that I had let this man get the better of me, and that I was going to die before my wedding.
“Damnation,” I heard Monty mutter before I blacked out.
* * *
I gradually came back to consciousness, like a swimmer coming up from deep water. I was lying on a hard surface in almost total darkness. I lay there, gasping for breath like a landed fish. As I breathed I was conscious of a cloying smoky smell that I couldn’t place. My eyes became used to the darkness and I saw a wooden ceiling, only a foot or two above my head. A moment of panic shot through me that I was lying in a coffin. Then I noticed a fire was glowing nearby. As my lungs tried to work properly again I felt something hard and foul-tasting in my mouth. I gasped in smoke, making me cough and retch.
I knew where I was now—an opium den and not the mock kind of Mr. Connors’s. The cold hard object in my mouth appeared to be the long stem of a pipe, the bowl of which was propped over a glowing brazier. I saw similar pinpoints of light in similar cubicles around the walls and the darker shape of figures lying in tiers around the walls. I tried to move my hand, but my limbs felt lethargic as if they didn’t fully belong to me. If I managed to get my mouth free and shouted for help, would anyone here be awake enough to help me? My eyes wanted to close. I fought the sleep that was overcoming me. Was Monty still here, watching me? Enjoying the spectacle of my being drugged by opium, or had he merely half suffocated me and then left me to give the appearance of an opium addict while he made his getaway?
I had no idea how long I had been unconscious or how much opium I had already breathed in. I was horribly aware of the singing in my head and that my arms and legs were no longer obeying me. If Monty was still watching me, my only course was to breathe as little as possible, feign sleep, and hope that he’d leave.
I shut my eyes and let my mouth droop open, making what I hoped were the snoring noises of one on opium. I think I may have drifted off because suddenly I was floating, my body completely weightless and my arms propelling me though the bluest of skies with no effort at all like swimming in a warm ocean. Brilliantly green fields were below me, greener than anything I had seen in Ireland, and the air felt sweet and fresh. It came to me that there was nothing to worry about. All would be well.
Except a word hovered at the back of my consciousness.
Daniel. Daniel.
I repeated it and forced my eyes open.
Something I had to tell Daniel.
I tried to sit up and banged my head hard on that ceiling of the bunk above mine. The pain was enough to bring me back to some degree of consciousness.
Daniel. Had to tell Daniel …
I tried to get to my feet. My legs felt as if they were remote objects over which I had no control, and I had to cling onto the edge of my bunk while the world swung around me. Have to get out.
Get out,
I muttered. I staggered across to the wall and felt my way around until I came to a door. It took me a long time to find a latch and make my fingers lift it, then to push open the door. I stepped outside, trying to see where I was going, but I couldn’t focus on anything. In truth I didn’t know where I was. Just two things, darkness and Daniel, echoed through the hollow of my mind.
There was a bad smell in my dark passage and that helped to bring me to some kind of reality, but I still couldn’t make my brain function enough to tell me where I was or where I needed to go. I staggered forward, feeling the rough brickwork of the arched wall on my hand. I heard noises ahead—voices, harsh and loud; the chink of crockery; a fiddle played badly. As I stepped out to see what it was, a burst of gunfire sounded right beside me. I leaped back, half fell, and was grabbed by strong arms. I fought myself free.
“Okay, missie. Only firecracker. Firecracker for holiday,” a voice said.
Firecracker.
My fuzzy mind played with the word. Another burst made me jump again. Danger. Had to get away from here. But I wasn’t sure in which direction safety lay. I started to walk. Then I heard a voice.
“Follow me, if you please, ladies and gentlemen. We are now in the heart of Chinatown. There is danger and depravity all around us, so please stay close to me. We wouldn’t want the little ladies to be shipped off as white slaves, would we?”
Even in my befuddled state I recognized the voice. Connors. Slumming tours. I was saved. I staggered toward him.
“Mr. Connors, I need help,” I tried to say. But the words only came out as a moaning jumble of sounds with no discernible consonants. Instead of offering help, Connors shepherded his group hastily to one side, steering them past me like a herd of sheep.
“There you are, that’s one of them,” Connors said, his voice booming through a megaphone. “I promised you’d see opium addicts and there you are. You can see how low ordinary white folks have fallen, under the spell of this awful drug.”
“No wait, listen,” I tried to say, but they swept past me and away.
Then another hand grabbed my arm. “You poor dear woman,” a voice said. “Have no fear. I’ve come to save you. Yes, there is salvation in the Lord. Come back to the mission with me and I’ll help you break the bonds of the devil’s drug.” I could vaguely make out a trim shape of woman in a gray outfit and old-fashioned gray bonnet. “Come on,” she said again. “Let me take you to the mission. I promise you won’t regret it. The Lord has sent me to find you and lead you on the road to recovery.”
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell her I was Molly Murphy, private investigator and about to be married to a respectable police captain, but again my mouth made only animal-like sounds. One thing was clear. I didn’t want to go with her. Had to find Daniel and tell him … I couldn’t remember what I had to tell him, but it was important.
She was just trying to drag me away when I heard another voice. “Miss Murphy! Holy Mother of God, it’s Miss Murphy, Albert. What has happened to you, my dear? Albert, take her arm. We must get her into the house.”
And I was half carried in through a front door. “Are you sick, my dear? Has someone attacked you? Your dress is all torn.”
I tried to tell her with my useless lips, again producing only the incomprehensible words one makes when half asleep.
“Looks to me as if she’s been drugged,” a male voice said.
“Then we’d better leave her to sleep it off,” said the woman’s voice. “Wasn’t it lucky that the wind got up and we came back from the picnic early, or who knows what might have happened to her?”
Someone put a cup to my lips and I sipped water.
“It’s coffee she needs,” the male voice said. “If coffee can cure a hangover, it should help with other drugs, shouldn’t it?”
They lay me down and tucked a blanket around me. “It’s all right, my dear. You’re quite safe now,” the woman said.
I closed my eyes. Quite safe now. I knew there was some reason I shouldn’t sleep, but it had gone again. I closed my eyes and retreated into dreams.
Thirty-three
It was the smell of coffee that aroused me. It crept into the peaceful landscape in which I was residing until my brain formed the word “coffee” and I came to consciousness. Aileen Chiu was standing in front of me, holding a cup.
“I let you sleep it off,” she said, “but I guess you’d now like a nice cup of coffee to clear your head.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“A little past nine in the evening.”
“That’s terrible,” I said as memory returned. “I’ll be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To stop him from crossing the border and getting away.” I sat up, closing my eyes as the world swung around. “The murderer,” I added. “Can you send someone to police headquarters and get Captain Sullivan?”
“Why yes, I’ll send my son, Joe, right away,” she said, “but what’s this about a murderer?”
“The man who killed Mr. Lee. He dragged me into an opium den and drugged me while he got away,” I said.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she muttered, crossing herself. “You poor dear. What an experience. You’re lucky to have escaped with your life.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, realizing as I spoke the words how true they were. I was alive and soon Daniel was going to come and all would be well—except that I’d slept so long that Monty Warrington-Chase would be in Canada and nobody would bother to pursue someone who killed Chinese people. At least Sarah would be safe now—an awful thought struck me. Had he taken her with him?
I sipped the coffee, feeling normality returning. I was conscious of voices, a door slamming; then I lay back again until I heard a voice I recognized. “Where is she? Is she all right?”
And Daniel burst into the room. He dropped to his knees, enveloping me in his arms. “Thank God,” he murmured, burying his face in my hair. “Thank God. I was going out of my mind with worry. I’ve had men combing the city for you.” And then as he held me away I saw that his eyes were moist with tears. “Where the devil did you get to? I thought I told you to go straight home and wait for me.”