by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXXIX. THE EMPTY WHARF
The suspected area of Limehouse was closely invested as any fortress ofold when Seton Pasha once more found himself approaching that painfullyfamiliar neighborhood. He had spoken to several pickets, and hadgathered no news of interest, except that none of them had seen ChiefInspector Kerry since some time shortly before dusk. Seton, newly frommore genial climes, shivered as he contemplated the misty, rain-sweptstreets, deserted and but dimly lighted by an occasional lamp. Thehooting of a steam siren on the river seemed to be in harmony with theprevailing gloom, and the most confirmed optimist must have suffereddepression amid those surroundings.
He had no definite plan of action. Every line of inquiry hithertofollowed had led to nothing but disappointment. With most of thedetails concerning the elaborate organization of the Kazmah group eithergathered or in sight, the whereabouts of the surviving members remaineda profound mystery. From the Chinese no information could be obtained.Distrust of the police resides deep within the Chinese heart; for theChinaman, and not unjustly, regards the police as ever ready to accusehim and ever unwilling to defend him; knows himself for a pariah capableof the worst crimes, and who may therefore be robbed, beaten and evenmurdered by his white neighbors with impunity. But when the police seekinformation from Chinatown, Chinatown takes its revenge--and is silent.
Out on the river, above and below Limehouse, patrols watched for signalsfrom the Asiatic quarter, and from a carefully selected spot onthe Surrey side George Martin watched also. Not even the lure of aneighboring tavern could draw him from his post. Hour after hour hewaited patiently--for Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices, and tonight he boughtneither opium nor cocaine, but liberty.
Seton Pasha, passing from point to point, and nowhere receiving news ofKerry, began to experience a certain anxiety respecting the safety ofthe intrepid Chief Inspector. His mind filled with troubled conjectures,he passed the house formerly occupied by the one-eyed Chinaman--where hefound Detective-Sergeant Coombes on duty and very much on the alert--andfollowed the bank of the Thames in the direction of Limehouse Basin.The narrow, ill-lighted street was quite deserted. Bad weather and thepresence of many police had driven the Asiatic inhabitants indoors.But from the river and the docks arose the incessant din of industry.Whistles shrieked and machinery clanked, and sometimes remotely came thesound of human voices.
Musing upon the sordid mystery which seems to underlie the whole ofthis dingy quarter, Seton pursued his way, crossing inlets and circlingaround basins dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flankedby high eyeless walls, and again to the left, finally to emerge nearlyopposite a dilapidated gateway giving access to a small wharf.
All unconsciously, he was traversing the same route as that recentlypursued by the fugitive Sin Sin Wa; but now he paused, staring atthe empty wharf. The annexed building, a mere shell, had not escapedexamination by the search party, and it was with no very definitepurpose in view that Seton pushed open the rickety gate. DoubtlessKismet, of which the Arabs speak, dictated that he should do so.
The tide was high, and the water whispered ghostly under thepile-supported structure. Seton experienced a new sense of chill whichdid not seem to be entirely physical as he stared out at the gloomyriver prospect and listened to the uncanny whisperings of the tide. Hewas about to turn back when another sound attracted his attention. A dogwas whimpering somewhere near him.
At first he was disposed to believe that the sound was due to some othercause, for the deserted wharf was not a likely spot in which to finda dog, but when to the faint whimpering there was added a scratchingsound, Seton's last doubts vanished.
"It's a dog," he said, "a small dog."
Like Kerry, he always carried an electric pocket-lamp, and now hedirected its rays into the interior of the building.
A tiny spaniel, whining excitedly, was engaged in scratching with itspaws upon the dirty floor as though determined to dig its way through.As the light shone upon it the dog crouched affrightedly, and, glancingin Seton's direction, revealed its teeth. He saw that it was coveredwith mud from head to tail, presenting a most woe-begone appearance, andthe mystery of its presence there came home to him forcibly.
It was a toy spaniel of a breed very popular among ladies of fashion,and to its collar was still attached a tattered and muddy fragment ofribbon.
The little animal crouched in a manner which unmistakably pointed tothe fact that it apprehended ill-treatment, but these personal fears hadonly a secondary place in its mind, and with one eye on the intruder itcontinued to scratch madly at the floor.
Seton acted promptly. He snapped off the light, and, replacing the lampin his pocket, stepped into the building and dropped down upon his kneesbeside the dog. He next lay prone, and having rapidly cleared a spacewith his sleeve of some of the dirt which coated it, he applied his earto the floor.
In spite of that iron control which habitually he imposed upon himself,he became aware of the fact that his heart was beating rapidly. He hadlearned at Leman Street that Kerry had brought Mrs. Irvin's dog fromPrince's Gate to aid in the search for the missing woman. He did notdoubt that this was the dog which snarled and scratched excitedly besidehim. Dimly he divined something of the truth. Kerry had fallen into thehands of the gang, but the dog, evidently not without difficulty, hadescaped. What lay below the wharf?
Holding his breath, he crouched, listening; but not a sound could hedetect.
"There's nothing here, old chap," he said to the dog.
Responsive to the friendly tone, the little animal began barking loudlywith high staccato notes, which must have been audible on the Surreyshore.
Seton was profoundly mystified by the animal's behavior. He hadpersonally searched every foot of this particular building, and wasconfident that it afforded no hiding-place. The behavior of the dog,however, was susceptible of only one explanation; and Seton recognizingthat the clue to the mystery lay somewhere within this ramshacklebuilding, became seized with a conviction that he was being watched.
Standing upright, he paused for a moment, irresolute, thinking that hehad detected a muffled shriek. But the riverside noises were misleadingand his imagination was on fire.
That almost superstitious respect for the powers of Sin Sin Wa, whichhad led Chief Inspector Kerry to look upon the Chinaman as a beingmore than humanly endowed, began to take possession of Seton Pasha. Heregretted having entered the place so overtly, he regretted having showna light. Keen eyes, vigilant, regarded him. It was perhaps a delusion,bred of the mournful night sounds, the gloom, and the uncannyresourcefulness, already proven, of the Kazmah group. But it operatedpowerfully.
Theories, wild, improbable, flocked to his mind. The great dope cachelay beneath his feet--and there must be some hidden entrance to it whichhad escaped the attention of the search-party. This in itself was notimprobable, since they had devoted no more time to this building than toany other in the vicinity. That wild cry in the night which had struckso mournful a chill to the hearts of the watchers on the river hadseemed to come out of the void of the blackness, had given but slightclue to the location of the place of captivity. Indeed, they could onlysurmise that it had been uttered by the missing woman. Yet in theirhearts neither had doubted it.
He determined to cause the place to be searched again, as secretly aspossible; he determined to set so close a guard over it and over itsapproaches that none could enter or leave unobserved.
Yet Kismet, in whose omnipotence he more than half believed, hadordained otherwise; for man is merely an instrument in the hand of Fate.