The Chinese Puzzle

by John Creasey

The cable to Christiansen said:

  “Shop raided last night considerable loss by theft and damage advise your immediate return.”

  The cable to Vansitter said:

  “Serious fire in basement damage over two fifty grand please come home.”

  Mannering walked away from the offices of the cable company, near the new port terminal, with copies of the cables in his pocket, together with copies to the Ho brothers and two more of the dealers. He would not have thought it possible that he could stride through the streets of Kowloon taking no notice of anything in the windows and almost oblivious of the picturesque streets, but he noticed hardly a thing. As he turned into a street within sight of the triangular premises of the Li Chen Brothers’ Kowloon shop, he saw four uniformed policemen, two soldiers, and several plainclothes men close to the windows; this was the first evidence of full security. Policemen were in sight farther along the street, too.

  Madame Li Chen and Raymond were in the shop; there was no sign of the older brother, but two Chinese youths were at the back of the main counter, cleaning a display case. The Li Chens came forward quickly, almost eagerly, and Mannering had a feeling that Raymond had to bite back the first words which came to mind, and force himself to say bitterly: “At least you are still with us, Mr. Mannering.”

  “So you know who’s gone,” said Mannering.

  “Each of them was courteous enough to leave a message for us,” said Raymond Li Chen. He picked up a little sheaf of notes from a small desk, and held them out. “What has happened to them is what happened to you in London: every effort has been made to make sure that they do not visit the exhibition, and that they do not buy from me. If it were not being done on such an enormous scale, I would begin to believe that this was simply an effort to ruin me.”

  His wife said: “Mr. Mannering, answer me, please. Have you come to tell us that you are going back to London?”

  “No,” said Mannering. “Not until the exhibition is over, anyhow.” The relief in the woman’s face seemed quite remarkable. “I came to see if you knew about these, that’s all. Have the Hos returned?”

  “They are still in Kowloon, with two other dealers who do not have very much influence, and who are here, one might say, as a tax manoeuvre,” answered Raymond. “They are none the less welcome, but Mr. Mannering, you are the only true expert in antiques and objets d’art left in Hong Kong. I have no desire to alarm you, but are you positive that every precaution has been taken to make sure of your safety? If anything were now to happen to you, it would be the most tragic time of my life.”

  There was something wrong with his approach to this case, Mannering thought; from the beginning he had felt frustrated, as if he had no freedom to act for himself, and up to a point it was still true. His mind would not work properly, except in flashes of perception. He had been so obsessed by the effect of the latest withdrawals from the Li Chens that he had not thought seriously about the obvious danger to himself. Every attempt had been made to keep him away from here. There had been the one raid which might well have ended in his death, and yet the evidence was clear: someone wanted to make sure that none of the would-be buyers saw the exhibition. If this policy were carried to the obvious conclusion, then another attempt was likely soon to keep him away; and the obvious form of such an attempt would be to kill him. He needed no telling that this was in the minds of the two Chinese who stood in the middle of this beautiful shop, surrounded by rare and precious things. He was vividly aware of the moment when he had seen the “bomb” hurtling towards the window. Was it possible that there would be another bold attack?

  Obviously, Brabazon and Lovelace half expected one on the shop; did they also expect one on him? It was one thing to be shadowed by the police as a security measure, another to feel that these precautions were being taken because the authorities felt sure that he would be attacked.

  “Mr. Mannering, I am sorry indeed if I have alarmed you,” said Raymond Li Chen softly. “But you appear to be so oblivious of danger that I felt that I must try to make you aware of it. I would like to make a suggestion, please. Instead of waiting until tonight, come earlier to the Ho Sun Gallery, so that nothing can happen to prevent you from going.”

  After a moment or two, Mannering asked: “When will you be there?”

  “I shall return at once. I came here this morning only because my wife told me of these messages. My brother Charles is supervising the final arrangements at the exhibition. Will you come, Mr. Mannering?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Treasure House

  Mannering said slowly, almost painfully: “I would like to come early, but not yet.” When Raymond bowed his acceptance of that decision, Mannering went on, trying to keep pace with his thoughts: “Have you been there this morning?”

  “Yes, of course. We live on the island, not far from the Ho Sun Gallery. In the past ten days, while the goods have been taken there, I have spent more time in the galleries than in my shop, except of course for the short time that I was in Bombay. Why do you ask?”

  “Are the security precautions in hand?”

  “Yes,” said Raymond, nodding. His puffy eyes were rather swollen, and he stared at Mannering through sparse spiky lashes; he gave the impression that he was also trying to probe what was going on in Mannering’s mind. “They are excellent. Two hundred men are on duty, in or around the gallery at all times. Each contingent is on guard for four hours, then rests, then takes over again for another four hours. Three senior Army officers, two senior policemen, two American military attachés as well as representatives from the two governments are there. When I saw all that I told myself that it was quite impossible for any successful attack to be made, and yet, I would have thought that other things that have happened were impossible too.”

  “So no one at all can get in without a pass.”

  “And the police are co-operating with my brother in issuing those. Mr. Mannering, be careful, please. Be very careful.”

  Raymond Li Chen’s wife moved forward and touched Mannering’s hand, but she did not speak.

  Mannering left the shop almost immediately, and walked towards Nathan Road. It was a relief to know that he was followed by two policemen whom he recognised, but now he had a more urgent sense of danger, as if an assassin were waiting for him at every corner and in every doorway. A little man with big ears which jutted out came towards him, earnest in manner, and Mannering felt a stab of alarm.

  “I recommend velly good tailor, sir, come this way, please.”

  “No,” Mannering said harshly. He thrust his way forward as the little man stood back and gaped. Mannering reached Nathan Road, making sure that his bodyguard was close behind him. It was as if he had been asleep for a long time, and had only just become aware of the deadly danger.

  Every expert had been lured away from the exhibition except him, and whoever was behind these crimes knew that he would not be lured away, so the obvious thing was—

  He heard a shout from behind. He spun round. He saw the taller of the two policemen flinging himself forward. He heard the sharp crack of a shot. He felt the policeman’s hands at his ankles, exactly as hands had tugged at him on the pier. He crashed down. Falling, he felt sharp, stinging pains in his ankles and in one leg above the knee. People screamed, and footsteps thudded, a car horn hooted, there were two more sharp reports followed almost simultaneously by a loud report, nearer and frightening. Immediately afterwards glass smashed, and Mannering knew that a window had been struck by a bullet. Apart from gasping sounds, as of people who had been running, and footsteps and far away traffic, there was quiet when slowly he picked himself up. Then he saw an awful thing.

  The policeman who had pulled him out of danger had a bloody hole in the back of his head; he lay on his face, completely still; and Mannering needed no telling that in fact he had been killed.

  Brabazon and Lovelace were together in the Commissioner’s office when Mannering reached there, twenty minutes later. By then the dead man�
�s body had been removed in an ambulance, and a squad of police and military were searching the area for the gunman. The second policeman who had been watching Mannering had reported that both of them had seen a man on a roof, pointing a rifle; that was why the now dead officer had shouted a warning.

  “Sooner or later we’ll get the swine,” growled Brabazon. “But it will probably be later, and we need results now.” He drew in a rasping breath. “Sure you’re not hurt?”

  “A few chippings from the pavement stung me, that’s all,” said Mannering. “I didn’t see the sharp-shooter. I almost wish your chaps hadn’t, either.” When Brabazon simply pressed his hands against his forehead and Lovelace shrugged, he went on: “I know one thing now.”

  Lovelace asked: “What’s that?”

  Both of these men were badly shaken, both men hated the fact that one of their policemen had been killed. It was a good thing to see that they were so distressed; it would be bad indeed if they allowed that to affect their actions or their judgment.

  “I want more than ever to see that collection,” Mannering said.

  “We can make sure that no one gets inside the galleries, we can make sure you’re safe when you’re actually on the lawns approaching it,” said Brabazon, taking his hands away. “We can’t be sure that someone else won’t take a potshot at you. Do you know what I think? I think you ought to be confined to a room here, or a room at the hotel, where you can be guarded so that no one can possibly get at you. If they get you after all this, it would be naked defeat. Don’t make any mistake about it. It wouldn’t simply be a case of wounded pride or loss of prestige, it would make it look as if the British weren’t able to look after the Colony properly. It could be disastrous.”

  “Even if it were as bad as that, I’d still say that I’ve got to get into those galleries and check on the genuineness of the goods in the exhibition,” Mannering said stubbornly. “According to Raymond Li Chen there isn’t another consultant here who could do it.”

  “There are dozens of experts in Hong Kong!”

  “Unprejudiced, unbiased, and proof against corruption?” asked Mannering.

  “Hugh,” said Lovelace, forsaking formality in this tension, “I think he’s right.”

  “I know he’s right,” Brabazon said, just as sharply as Mannering. “What I don’t know is whether we can get him to the exhibition alive. Don’t make any mistake about it, this place is so swarming with Chinese that it isn’t possible to watch every spot, it isn’t possible to make sure that someone on a ferry, on a launch, in a sampan, even a skin diver or a rickshaw man, doesn’t have another go. The Chinese know this place like the palms of their hands, and if they mean to stop Mannering getting to the galleries the odds are against getting him there.”

  Lovelace said: “If I know Mannering, he’ll take the chance.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that I ought to let him.”

  “I think you’re making too much of this,” Mannering interpolated. “There shouldn’t be any serious danger if they don’t know who I am. All I need is a uniform to fit me, and an hour with what Lovelace calls my box of tricks. No one can be familiar with all the officers here. If it comes to a point I could be an Army officer. All I need is a permit to go through into the galleries as one of the security forces.”

  Brabazon now stood very still, with his back to the window, and Lovelace was smiling in that crooked way he had.

  “They’ll know the police officers,” he said, “but they can’t know all the Army chaps. We can fix it, Hugh.”

  “One other thing,” Mannering said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Apart from us and one or two Army officers, no one should know what I’m doing,” Mannering said.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Brabazon assured him. “But John, don’t fool yourself, will you? Whatever precautions we take and however careful we are there’s still a grave risk.”

  “Let’s say I still think you exaggerate,” Mannering said, with much more confidence than he felt. “If you can arrange for two or three officers to come here in one car, and to slip in quickly so that no one watching gets a good look at them, I can go out as one of them and the other chap can stay here until after dark. And I’ll need my make-up box from the hotel. It’s still in James C. Mason’s room.”

  “We’ll do that,” Brabazon promised, and turned to Lovelace. “Arrange it, Mike.” Then he looked levelly at Mannering and asked: “Do you suspect anyone?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Who?”

  “The Li Chens.”

  Brabazon began to breathe hard through his nostrils.

  “You mean you think they’re fakes, and the Li Chens don’t mean to allow any experts to see them?”

  “I don’t know what the motives are,” said Mannering. “It’s been fairly obvious for some time that this was someone with limited manpower to call on, and that wouldn’t be true of government-sponsored attacks. The man who attacked me in the bath had raided Li Chen’s gallery only an hour or so earlier, quite probably an attempt to mislead us. Someone who knew who had been invited in the first place did all the cancelling to keep other dealers away and send Christiansen back to London. Raymond Li Chen is almost certainly involved. It’s been obvious – or it’s seemed obvious – that experts were being kept away, and—”

  “The only logical reason is that the so-called treasures are fakes,” interrupted Brabazon. “Can you check in a short time?”

  “I can check,” Mannering said. “But there could be two logical explanations, you know.”

  It was a long time since Mannering had been in the uniform of a captain in the British Army; it seemed an age and was in fact nearly twenty years. The uniform borrowed from a captain in the Royal Engineers fitted him reasonably well, and he did not fear that anyone would notice that the trousers were a trifle short and the sleeves of the coat an inch or so short, too. He felt more conspicuous in the uniform than he had as Mason or as himself; it was as if everyone was staring at him and the three officers who left the police station with him, early in the afternoon. One was Captain Oliver, also in the Royal Engineers, the others were lieutenants in the East London Regiment, then stationed in Hong Kong. As far as Mannering could judge, no one followed them to the ferry. They climbed out of a jeep one after another, the three genuine officers all younger than Mannering, and went briskly towards the entrance gates, paid their ten cents, and pushed their way one at a time past the turnstile. Dozens of people thronged the entrance gates, which were closed. As Mannering’s party reached the back of the crowd, the gates opened. A ferry was being tied alongside by a man who looked too old and too tired to wear any kind of uniform; the rope he used was thicker than his wrist. The crowd thronged forward. Mannering felt himself jostled from all sides, and realised how easy an attack would be. Any one of dozens of Chinese could stick a knife in his ribs. No one seemed remotely interested in him, only in getting a seat. The engine was throbbing, and the big ferry swaying up and down. Hundreds upon hundreds of people poured on board, until every seat was taken. A bell clanged, gates closed, the ferry began to move almost on the instant. All this was done with a slickness and precision which astonished Mannering, even taking his thoughts off the immediate problem.

  They soon came back.

  He looked about the faces and the heads around him. Here and there, sitting alongside the Chinese, was a European. In one place a dozen, obviously from one of the ships in the docks, were staring with awe and fascination at the harbour scene. The water was choppy and small boats were bobbing up and down, some of them coming so close that it was almost as if they were about to attack. An even larger ferry, packed with people and with cars, crossed their bows, with only feet to spare, but no one seemed concerned.

  “Better get moving,” said the youngest officer, who wasn’t long out of his teens. They all stood up, but as the ferry drew alongside the island terminal, every other passenger seemed to stand up and make a beeline for the doors; it
looked as if there was no hope of them going through smoothly, but they seemed to be swallowed up, and there was no great crush. Mannering looked about him, not seriously on edge for himself. The terminal was much newer on this side than on the other, and there were some modern buildings straight ahead, some wide driveways which carried private cars and taxis. A jeep was parked alongside the taxi rank, and a young sergeant sprang to attention as they reached him.

  “I’ll drive,” said one of the lieutenants. “Wait here for instructions, sergeant.”

  “Very good, sir!”

  “The quickest way seems to be the most attractive,” said Captain Oliver. “Like a Cook’s Tour?”

  “Later,” said Mannering.

  “Right.”

  The lieutenant drove towards the main street, where a row of trams was lined up, dark-green anachronisms to any eye fresh from England. Traffic was thick on both sides of the tramlines, the pavements were so crowded that everyone appeared to be walking along at the same pace, carried along by his neighbours. Tram gongs clanged, horns blew, nonchalant-looking Chinese policemen controlled the traffic as if they had all the time in the world. Mannering looked up towards the left, seeing the narrow streets which rose so steeply towards the top of a hill which seemed to reach the pale-blue skyline. On either side were stalls so full of colour and overfull of goods for sale that there seemed no room for anyone to walk; and along these narrow streets there was no motor traffic, although a few cyclists were precariously weaving their way down. Every head in sight seemed to be Chinese. At one corner, a little old woman was sitting on a stool, with a younger woman brushing her hair until it shone like a black mirror. The impressions of colour, of bustle, of plenty, were vivid and yet hopelessly confused in Mannering’s mind.

  They reached a wider point in the road, and traffic moved more freely.

  “Won’t be long now, sir,” said the lieutenant.

  The road now ran uphill. On either side were private houses, not shops, and the higher they went the larger these houses became. All of them stood in their own grounds, all gave Mannering something of the impression of the French Riviera houses at the end of the season. Now and again he caught a glimpse of the harbour, and of Kowloon across the water, but it was gone in a flash.