E. Hoffmann Price's Two-Fisted Detectives

by E. Hoffmann Price

  “They came in handy,” said Grant, as he briefly explained how the girl had rescued him from the sacrificial altar of the On Leon Tong.

  Tin Yuk’s flashlight and gun clattered to the pavement, and she swayed unsteadily against Grant. He caught her in his arms, and felt hot sticky blood against his fingers “She’s wounded!” he exclaimed. “Come on, Yang, we must take her to a doctor. Torchy, you and Mike can get into the fight, if you want to.”

  He picked up the girl, and strode toward the alley. But, as he reached it, there came an echoing crash from behind.

  CHAPTER XII

  Good Night, Nurse!

  Grant wheeled and glanced back. But it was only Mike Novak, blasting down the door of the house with pineapples.

  He found the car where he had ordered it left. As he was gently placing Tin Yuk on the rear seat, she opened her eyes and murmured, “I know I look a perfect fright”

  Grant grinned. “You can’t be very badly hurt, dear,” he said. “And you look great to me.” He laid her down, and kissed her, to the very evident horror of Hop Wang.

  Then he drove to the house of Dr. Wu, who attended to the girl, and informed Grant that all that was the matter with her was a few superficial cuts.

  “I’m glad,” said Grant “And now I must get back to that fight.”

  But just then, Buddy Slesson arrived to report the On Leons completely vanquished, and their headquarters sacked from garrett to sub-sub-cellar.

  “Any sign of Slim Hammond and a handsome masked marvel in evening clothes?” asked Grant.

  “Not a trace,” Slesson replied. “But dere was plenty of Slim’s gorillas. We took dere rods, an’ all identifications offen ’em. Just in case—”

  “A wise move,” Grant agreed. “But I wish we’d got those other two. They were evidently too yellow to stay and fight.”

  Dr. Wu interpolated, “Not necessarily. For, as Kung-Fu-Tsze says, It is better to be a live dog than a dead lion.”

  Just then his son interrupted to announce, “A female person is on the telephone asking for Mr. Grant.”

  “A lady?” Grant exclaimed.

  Hop Wang shook his head. “She uses language which proclaims that she is not a lady. She says her name is Julia.”

  “Now, how has she got wise to where I am?”

  “My son,” Dr. Wu directed Hop Wang, “tell the insistent female person that our honored guest is very ill, and is forbidden to see anyone. And now, Mr. Grant, I prescribe a bath and sleep. Mr. Slesson, you stand guard and permit no one to disturb your master.”

  “He ain’t my master,” Slesson grumbled, “but it’s okay by me.”

  Grant found his bath all drawn, and his pajamas laid out. At last, much rested, he sat back, pajama-clad, in a comfortable chair and lit a cigarette.

  One of the tapestries parted, and Tin Yuk stood before him. Tin Yuk, in a wholly American street dress of black, relieved by a splash of vermilion at the left shoulder. Her sleek blue-hair was drawn back off her high forehead and gathered in shimmering coils with tall, curiously carved teakwood combs. From her ears hung long pendants of jade. In spite of her American dress, she was more deliciously exotic and Oriental than ever.

  Grant sighed with appreciation, as his eyes ran over her trim figure. “Now don’t tell me that you hate everything Chinese,” he said, “and that your name is not Tin Yuk, the Heavenly Jewel. For I can’t think of any name that would be half as appropriate.”

  He motioned to a chair, but she swept over to him, and curled up on his knee like a contented kitten. The gleam in her dark eyes, the sultry pressure of her hungry lips, and the clinging contact of her slender, exquisitely curved body left little to be imagined.

  Grant’s brain became a whirling confusion. The insidious, exotic fascination of this strange girl, neither Oriental nor Western, aroused him as no occidental woman could have done, yet in some wholly inexplicable way the situation became intolerable.

  “Listen, Tin Yuk,” he hoarsely muttered in her ear, “we can’t go on with this—”

  Her eyes widened for an instant, and he felt her draw away. Then her slender arms possessively closed about him, Grant finally broke away from her questing lips and said, “Don’t you understand—after what you did for me—Damn it, I can’t play with you—take you for an evening, and then—”

  “Don’t be stupid, Jim,” she murmured, caressingly hesitating over his name. “I don’t want to own you. I’m not asking for any claim on you. Don’t I know that that just couldn’t ever work out right? Forget me when you leave San Francisco—if you live long enough. This is tonight. Tomorrow may never come for either of us.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Grant, chilled by the sombre note in her whispering voice.

  “The On Leons know that it was I who tricked them. I’m as good as dead. So don’t be silly—forget your notions—” Then, bitterly, “Or do you feel too fine to waste a moment on a yellow woman?”

  “Good God! No!” exclaimed Grant “But—just because Hop Ching sent you here, just because I rescued you in San Jose—haven’t you more than evened the score?”

  “It is you who owe the obligation,—Jim. When you rescued me, you became responsible for me. Has not the sage Hop Ching so stated?”

  “That’s just why I can’t take advantage of you,” Grant exploded.

  “Don’t you want me?” wistfully.

  Grant extricated himself from her twining arms, and set her roughly upon her feet “Certainly I want you,” he angrily exclaimed. “Good Lord, you’re the most exquisitely loyal creature I’ve ever seen, and I’m only human. But—. But—

  “You don’t like me,” she sobbed. “Because—I’m—only a Chink—and a slave-girl. Because you think I’ve been pawed over: But I haven’t been! I haven’t! Though I would have, if you hadn’t saved me.”

  The accusation of race prejudice hurt him—especially as there was some truth in it And yet—race-prejudice against this exquisite creature who had saved his life, and fought at his side?

  “You’re gorgeous!” he breathed. “And I don’t deserve what you offer.”

  “I’m nothing but a dirty little yellow Chink!” she stormed. “I thought you’d like me better in American clothes, but you don’t. And so I hate them—and you!”

  With one wriggle of her slim shoulders, the vermilion-splashed dress slid to the floor about her feet, and was kicked into a corner. Only the thin wisps of a flesh-pink dance set, edged with smoke-colored lace, remained to conceal the golden ivory curves of her slender hips and firm rounded breasts.

  “I’ll get into some Chink clothes,” she cried, making for the door. “I’m nothing but a Chink.”

  “But you can’t run around the house that way,” Grant objected. “Buddy Slesson will—” He bounded after her, and managed to seize her, just as her slim-tipped fingers touched the door-knob.

  Unresisting she turned and crumpled in his arms. Her sobbing ceased. The tear-jeweled eyes that gazed up at him were not the least bit reddened.

  He had pursued and captured her, and it was this fact, more than even the silken contact of her lithe body, that conquered his scruples.

  The Heavenly Jewel, wise in the ancient wisdom, must have known this—known that Grant’s protective instinct would trip him, make him, in spite of himself, the seeker instead of the sought. She murmured, and faintly protested as his arms closed about her and Grant, his senses in a swirl, scarcely realized that he was being led toward the embroidered dragons—.

  But he snapped out of it, as he heard the turning of the doorknob. His hand flashed toward the tabouret on which his automatics lay holstered; and then he laughed, and called, “Get out, you sap! I’m busy—tell me about it by wire!”

  But it was not Buddy Slesson who yanked the door open, although his voice could be heard, shouting, “Hey, fer cripes sake, no one but the nurse
can go in there—doctor’s orders!”

  Julia Dorni stood in the frame of the doorway. She was carrying an overnight bag and in one hand she held a small derringer. Her jeweled fingers froze on the grip. Her oval olive-skinned face was struggling in the grasp of mixed emotions. She was relieved, incredulous, and at the same time, ablaze with double-edged wrath. And then she found her tongue!

  “Oh, you dirty so-and so!” she screamed. “Doctor’s orders—delirious, are you? So delirious you didn’t know you’re with that Chinese twist! Get outa here, you yellow-bellied floozy! Get out, or—”

  Julia hurled her bag into a corner, showering the room with cosmetics, mules, and a silken froth of negligee and night gowns. She streaked across the room like a cat.

  “Nurse, eh? Why, you dirty, slant-eyed—”

  But the Heavenly Jewel stood her ground beside Jim Grant. She smiled maliciously, bared her dainty claws—and then, she closed in. Grant, still feeling foolish, knew that he had never before witnessed any real action in all his life. Tong War was nothing to this!

  Buddy Slesson, who had snatched Julia’s gun, doubled up with laughter, fairly howled his gleeful encouragement to both sides alike. Before Grant could think of what Chinese etiquette prescribed for the situation, the ladies had amply refuted Kipling’s statement that the East and West shall never meet.

  They met, and plenty! Julia had started fully dressed; but before Grant could collect his wits, the Heavenly Jewel had her Latin rival peeled down to a few shreds.

  “Kee-ripes, ain’t this the berries!” howled Buddy Slesson.

  “Shut up and grab one of ’em!” commanded Grant.

  Sharp nails raked his and Buddy’s cheeks, but the two men finally pried them apart. Tin Yuk pulled into place what few shreds of her pink-and-smoke dance-set still clung to her. Then she slipped demurely into Grant’s lounge-robe. But Julia, oblivious of her nakedness, still required holding.

  “You dirty louse, Jim Grant!” she raged. “I wish that that Swede had killed you! The next time, I’ll tell him—”

  She checked herself. Grant caught her change of expression, and knew she had narrowly missed telling something.

  “Will you pipe down, or do I have to tie you?” he demanded. “Julia, get yourself straightened out so I can send you back to your hotel.”

  “So you can have the rest of your night in China?” she bitterly demanded; “I’m staying right here, and you just try and throw me out!”

  “Suit yourself,” said Grant, reaching for his shoulder holsters. “As for me, I’m going to find myself a nice quiet tong war somewhere. Maybe the On Leons will let me sleep on their council table, or something.”

  Buddy Slesson stripped a blanket off the bed, threw it around the flaming Latin, picked her up in his arms, and carried her; kicking and struggling, from the room. Tin Yuk smiled sadly and caught Grant’s eye.

  “I’m sorry, Jim—awfully sorry about embarrassing you,” she said. “But I’m glad for your sake that she came when she did.”

  The door, slamming behind Buddy Slesson and the struggling Julia, drew Grant’s attention in that direction for an instant. And, when he turned again Tin Yuk was gone.

  One of the tapestries was swaying slightly. Her discarded American dress still lay where she had kicked it. A faint exotic scent hung in the air. But Tin Yuk was gone.

  Nor could Grant fathom the mystery of the secret panel beneath the swaying hangings.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Payoff

  Grant suddenly realized how utterly tired he was. He piled into bed, and immediately dropped off into the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion. Around noon the next day, he was awakened by a gentle tapping on his door. Instantly alert, he called, “Who is it?”

  Back came the voice of Hop Wang, “Worthy uncle, our honorable ancestor will be here, with other men, for a conference, in half an hour.”

  “Okay, Wang,” Grant replied, piling out of bed. He felt rested, but sore and lame all over.

  He washed, shaved and dressed, and then strolled out into the living room, to find seated there the venerable Hop Ching, and with him of—all persons!—Joe Murray and Pug Dorni.

  “Jim, me bye,” said Murray, his large pale face beaming, “yez done a good job. But me friend Pug here misdoubted yez would not, an’ so he flew on here ter check up on yez, an’ Oi came along, sort av ter kape him company.”

  Dorni’s bashed-in face contorted into a scowl. “I came ter see dat yer didn’t double-cross Julia,” he bluntly asserted.

  The Chinese sage stroked his drooping moustaches, but remained silent.

  Grant slumped into a chair, and ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. In the excitement of the recent fighting, he had forgotten that he had bargained to marry Julia Dorni if, as and when the rescue of Foo Yong had been completed. He shifted his broad shoulders uneasily in his Norfolk jacket.

  But just then the tension was relieved by the entry of Hop Ching’s grandson, who announced a message from Slim Hammond. The message was brief and to the point:

  Grant, we hold Mary Smith a prisoner. What’s the use of us fighting? There are tongs enough for everybody. Will you have a meeting to fix things up? If not, there is an On Leon elder who will give me good money for Mary.

  HAMMOND.

  “It’s a trick!” said Grant, bitterly. “Mary has teamed up with a Hammond rodman named Gus Svenson, and has been responsible for nine-tenths of all our troubles. Julia Dorni gave me the lowdown, on the way out here.”

  “Is that so?” exploded Joe Murray. “Well, git a load av this, Jim. An’ you, too, Pug Th’ detectives, McGillicuddy & Sharpe, hov rayported that th’ beautiful Julia was at th’ House av a Thousand Dragons, whin it was shot up, an’ she tipped Hammond off as ter who Jim Grant was. An’ then Julia hid th’ Hammond mob in a room over Mary’s apartment, so as Mary cud get kidnapped. Then, she havin’ double-crossed iverybody else, Slim Hammond proceeds ter double-cross her an’ try an’ blot her out so as she wouldn’t squeal.”

  “Well, of all de—!” words failed Pug Dorni.

  “Under the circumstances, Pug,” said Grant levelly, “I don’t just see how you can expect me to marry your sister.”

  “You won’t have to!” bellowed Pug. “Of all the low-down double-crossin’—! Say, I wouldn’t disgrace even a rat by lettin’ him marry dat dirty—!” words failed him again.

  “Was you speakin’ of me, Pug dear?” asked a cool voice from the doorway. There stood Julia, perfectly poised, her dark eyes narrowed, and a peculiar smile on her carmined lips. Buddy Slesson, looking much embarrassed, stood beside her.

  “You—! You—!” sputtered her brother. “I was just telling Jim here dat he needn’t marry you, and—.”

  “And I wouldn’t marry him, if he were the last man on earth!” Julia exploded. “Why, the dirty louse!”

  Grant, much relieved, grinned at her. She caught his glance, and paused abruptly.

  “Well,” said Joe Murray, beaming, “that makes it unanimous.”

  “He gets my nanny too,” Julia agreed, a little more calmly. “And, besides, I’ve got a new boyfriend.”

  And she slipped one hand through Buddy Slesson’s arm, and nestled against him.

  Grant raised his eyebrows. “The fellow who could take it or leave it,” he announced, with a wave of the hand toward the discomfited Slesson, who scowled belligerently back at him, but did nothing about it.

  “Are yez lavin’ me mob ter join Dorni’s?” asked Murray with concern.

  “He is not!” said Julia. “It’s me that’s leavin’ Pug.”

  “And its good riddance of bad rubbish,” her brother asserted. “I don’t mind tellin’ youse, Julia, dat yer goin’ fer a ride as soon as I can make arrangements.”

  “Look here, Pug—,” Buddy Slesson began, reaching beneath his coat.

 
But Julia grabbed his wrist, and scornfully cut in with, “Don’t pay no attention to Pug. I can handle him as I always done.”

  “An’ now that iverything is happily settled,” Murray gently reminded them, “phwat about little Mary Smith?”

  “My God, that’s right!” Grant exclaimed “We must send back a message to Slim Hammond, and then follow the messenger. Is he an American or a Chinaman?”

  “He is what you would call a gorilla, honorable uncle,” the young Hop Wang replied. “And with him are two other gorillas as guards. They await in the front hallway, close and convenient to the door.”

  Grant asked for pen and paper; and wrote for a while. Then read aloud:

  Dear Slim: We’ve got you licked, and you know it. If you will bring Mary Smith to my house, and turn her over to me unconditionally, THEN I’ll talk. And, by the way, give, my regards to our mutual friend from Long Island.

  JAMES GRANT.

  “Do yez ixpict th’ snake-oied louse ter agree?” asked Murray in surprise.

  “Certainly not! And I put in that dig about Long Island, so as to make sure that he won’t. We’d look pretty, wouldn’t we, fixing up a deal, on any terms, with Slim Hammond!—Hop Ching, can you have one of your hatchet-men follow the messengers, and another one follow him, and so on—about ten in all—and then’ll come Hop Wang and Torchy and Mike Novak with a suitcase full of pineapples and me. And, after us, all of Pug’s and Joe’s men, and the rest of your tong warriors. Also I want a good big load of coal, if that can be arranged.”

  “My son plans wisely,” agreed the sage. “It shall be done.”

  So Grant’s letter was handed to the waiting messenger; and, as he and his guards left the house, a shadowlike hatchet man slipped out and followed them. Another and another left at intervals, until ten were on the trail. Then came Grant and Hop Wang and Cullinane and Mike Novak, all on foot, the big Polack lugging a heavy suitcase.

  The trail led out to Market Street, then down to the water-front, where the hatchet man, whom Grant was following, turned to the right. Finally Grant saw another Chinaman, coming toward the hatchet man, stop and speak to him. Then the two approached Grant and his three friends.