“Easy, Bill,” I whispered. “Somebody’s unboltin’ this door from the other side.”
Standing there silently, we plainly heard the sound of bolts being drawn. Then the door began opening and a crack of light showed. We flattened ourselves on either side of the door and waited, nerves tense and jumping.
Right then my white bulldog, Mike, could ‘a’ been able to help, if he hadn’t been laid up with distemper.
The door opened. A Chinaman stuck his head in, grinning nastily. He had a electric torch in his hand and he was flashing it around over the floor — to locate the corpses, I reckon.
Before he had time to realize they wasn’t no corpses, I grabbed him by the neck and jerked him headlong into the room. Bill connected a heavy right swing with his jaw. The Chinee stiffened, out cold. I let him fall careless- like to the floor. He’d dropped the light when Bill socked him. It went out when it hit the floor, but Bill groped around, and found it and flashed it on.
“Let’s go,” said Bill, so we went into the dark corridor outside and shut the door and bolted it. Bill flashed his light around, for it was dark in the corridor. We went along it and come through a door. Lights was on in that chamber, and in them adjoining it, but everything was still and deserted. We stole very warily through the rooms but we seen nobody, neither coolies, servants nor girls.
The house was kind of disheveled and tumbled about. Some of the hangings and things was gone. Things was kind of jerked around like the people had left all of a sudden, taking part of their belongings with ‘em.
“By golly,” said Bill. “This here’s uncanny. They’ve moved out and left it with us.”
I was opening a door and started to answer, then stopped short. In the room beyond, almost within arm’s length, as I seen through the half open door, was Yuen Tang. But he wasn’t dressed in servant’s clothes no more. He looked like a regular mandarin. He had a golden pipe case in his hands and he was gloating over it like a miser over his gold.
“There’s Yuen Tang,” I whispered.
“Yuen Tang my pet pig’s knuckle,” snorted Bill. “That’s Tung Yin hisself.”
The Chinaman heard us and his head jerked up. His eyes flared and then narrowed wickedly. He stuck the case back in his blouse, quick but fumbling, like anybody does when they’re in a desperate hurry to keep somebody from seeing something.
His other hand went inside his waist-sash and come out with a snub-nosed pistol. But before he could use it, me and Bill hit him simultaneous, one on the jaw and one behind the ear. Either punch woulda settled his hash. The both of ’em together dropped him like a pole-axed steer. The gun flew outa his hand and he hit the floor so hard the golden pipe case dropped outa his blouse and fell open on the floor.
“Let’s get going before he comes to,” said I impatiently, but Bill had stopped and was stooping with his hands on his knees, eying the pipe case covetously.
“Boy, oh boy,” he said. “Ain’t that some outfit? I betcha it cost three or four hundred bucks. I wisht I was rich. Them Chinee merchant princes sure spread theirselves when it comes to elegance.”
I looked into the case which laid open on the floor. They was a small pipe with a slender amber stem and a ivory bowl, finely carved and yellow with age, some extra stems, a small silver box of them funny looking Chinese matches, and a golden rod for cleaning the pipe.
“By golly,” said Bill, “I always wanted one of them ivory pipes.”
“Hey,” I said, “You can’t hook Tung Yin’s pipe. He ain’t a-goin’ to like it.”
“Aw, it won’t be stealin’,” said Bill. “I’ll leave him mine. ‘Course it’s made outa bone instead of ivory, but it cost me a dollar’n a half. Wonder you didn’t bust it while ago when we was fightin’. I’ll change pipes with him and he won’t notice it till we’re outa his reach.”
“Well, hustle, then,” I said impatiently. “I don’t hold with no such graft, but what can you expect of a mutt from the Dutchman?Hurry up, before Tung Yin comes to and cuts our heads off.”
So Bill took the ivory pipe and put his pipe in the case and shut the case up and stuck it back in Tung Yin’s blouse. And we hustled. We come out into the courtyard. They wasn’t no lanterns hanging there, or if they was they wasn’t lighted, but the moon had come up and it was bright as day.
And we ran right smack into Miss Kit Worley. There she was, dressed in flying togs and carrying a helmet in her hand. She gasped when she seen us.
“Good heavens,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I come here to see you, Miss Worley,” I said. “And Tung Yin made out like he was a servant tryin’ to save me from his master, and gimme a gun and sent me into a dark room and, meanwhile, Bill had come buttin’ in where he hadn’t no business and they worked the same gag on him and we purty near kilt each other before we found out who we was.”
She nodded, kind of bewildered, and then her eyes gleamed.
“I see,” she said. “I see.” She stood there twirling her helmet a minute, kind of studying, then she laid her hands on our shoulders and smiled very kindly and said: “Boys, I wish you’d do me a favor. I’m leaving in a few minutes by plane and I have a package that must be delivered. Will you boys deliver it?”
“Sure,” we said. So she took out a small square package and said: “Take this to the Red Dragon. You know where that is? Sure you would. Well, go in and give it to the proprietor, Kang Woon. Don’t give it to anyone else. And when you hand it to him, say, ‘Tung Yin salutes you.’ Got that straight?”
“Yeah,” said Bill. “But gee whiz, Miss Worley, we can’t leave you here to the mercy of them yellow-skinned cut-throats.”
“Don’t worry.” She smiled. “I can handle Tung Yin. Go now, please. And thank you.”
Well, she turned and went on in the house. We listened a minute and heard somebody howling and cussing in Chinese, and knowed Tung Yin had come to. We was fixing to go in and rescue Miss Worley, when we heard her talking to him, sharp and hard-like. He quieted down purty quick, so we looked at each other plumb mystified, and went on out in the garden and found the gate Bill come in at and went through it. We hadn’t gone but a few yards when Bill says: “Dern it, Steve, I’ve lost that pipe I took offa Tung Yin.”
“Well, gee whiz,” I said disgustedly. “You ain’t goin’ back to look for it.”
“I had it just before we come outa the garden,” he insisted. So I went back with him, though highly disgusted, and he opened the gate and said: “Yeah, here it is. I musta dropped it as I started through the gate. Got a hole in my pocket.”
About that time we seen three figgers in the moonlight crossing the garden — Miss Worley, Tung Yin and a slim, dark young fellow I knowed must be Clanry, the Australian aviator. All of ’em was dressed for flying, though Tung Yin looked like he’d just dragged on his togs recent. He looked kind of disrupted generally. As we looked we seen Miss Worley grab his arm and point and as Tung Yin turned his head, Clanry hit him from behind, hard, with a blackjack. For the second time that night the merchant prince took the count.
Miss Worley bent over him, tore his jacket open and jerked out that same golden pipe case. Then her and Clanry ran for a gate on the opposite side of the garden. They went through, leaving it open in their haste and then we saw ’em running through the moonlight to the plane, which lay amongst the orange groves. They reached it and right away we heard the roar of the propeller. They took off perfect and soared away towards the stars and outa sight.
As we watched, we heard the sound of fast driving autos. They pulled up in front of the place. We heard voices shouting commands in English and Chinese. Then Tung Yin stirred and staggered up, holding his head. From inside the house come the sound of doors being busted open and a general ruckus. Tung Yin felt groggily inside his blouse, then tore his hair, shook his fists at the sky, and run staggeringly across the garden to vanish through the other gate.
“What you reckon this is all about?” wondered Bill. “How come Miss W
orley wanted Tung Yin’s pipe, you reckon?”
“How should I know?” I replied. “Come on. This ain’t any of our business. We got to deliver this package to Kang Woon.”
So we faded away. And as we done so a backward look showed men in uniform ransacking the house and estate of Tung Yin.
No ‘rickshas being available, we was purty tired when we come to the Red Dragon, in the early hours of morning. It was a low class dive on the waterfront which stayed open all night. Just then, unusual activity was going on. A bunch of natives was buzzing around the entrance and some Chinese police was shoving them back.
“Looks like Kang Woon’s been raided,” I grunted.
“That’s it,” said Bill. “Well, I been expectin’ it, the dirty rat. I know he sells opium and I got a good suspicion he’s a fence, too.”
We went up to the door and the Chinese cops wasn’t going to let us in. We was about to haul off and sock ‘em, when some autos drove up and stopped and a gang of soldiers with a Chinese officer and a English officer got out. They had a battered looking Chinaman with ’em in handcuffs. He was the one me and Bill socked and locked up in the murder room. They all went in and we fell in behind ’em and was in the dive before the cops knowed what we was doing.
It was a raid all right. The place was full of men in the uniform of the Federal army and the Chinese constabulary. Some of ’em — officers, I reckon — was questioning the drunks and beggars they’d found in the place. Over on one side was a cluster of Chinamen in irons, amongst them Kang Woon, looking like a big sullen spider. He was being questioned, but his little beady black eyes glinted dull with murder and he kept his mouth shut.
“There’s the mutt which butted in, on our fight,” grunted Bill in disgust.
One of the men questioning Kang Woon was Sir Peter Brent; the others was a high rank Chinese officer and a plain clothes official of some sort.
The British officer we’d followed in saluted and said: “I regret to report, Sir Peter, that the birds have flown the bally coop. We found the house deserted and showing signs of a recent and hurried evacuation. We found this Chinaman lying unconscious in an inner chamber which was locked from the outside, but we’ve gotten nothing out of him. We heard a plane just as we entered the house and I greatly fear that the criminals have escaped by air. Of Tung Yin and the others we found no trace at all, and though we made a careful search of the premises, we did not discover the gem.”
“We did not spring the trap quick enough,” said Sir Peter. “I should have suspected that they would be warned.”
Well, while they was talking, me and Bill went up to Kang Woon and handed him the package. He shrunk back and glared like we was trying to hand him a snake, but we’d been told to give it to him, so we dropped it into his lap and said: “Tung Yin salutes you,” just like Miss Worley had told us. The next minute we was grabbed by a horde of cops and soldiers.
“Hey,” yelled Bill wrathfully. “What kinda game is this?” And he stood one of ’em on the back of his neck with a beautiful left hook.
I’m a man of few words and quick action. I hit one of ’em in the solar plexus and he curled up like a snake. We was fixing to wade through them deluded heathens like a whirlwind through a cornfield when Sir Peter sprang forward.
“Hold hard a bit, lads,” he ordered. “Let those men go.”
They fell away from us and me and Bill faced the whole gang belligerently, snorting fire and defiance.
“I know these men.” he said. “They’re honest American sailors.”
“But they gave this to the prisoner,” said the Chinese official, holding up the package.
“I know,” said Sir Peter. “But if they’re mixed up in this affair, I’m certain it’s through ignorance rather than intent. They’re rather dumb, you know.”
Me and Bill was speechless with rage. The official said: “I’m not so sure.”
The official opened the package and said: “Ah, just as I suspected. The very case in which the gem was stolen.”
He held it up and it was a jewel case with the arms of the old Chinese empire worked on it in gold. Kang Woon glowered at it and his eyes was Hell’s fire itself.
“Now look.” The official opened it and we all gasped. Inside was a large white gem which sparkled and glittered like ice on fire. The handcuffed Chinaman gave a howl and kind of collapsed.
“The Royal Crystal,” cried the official in delight. “The stolen gem itself. Who gave you men this package?”
“None of your blamed business,” I growled and Bill snarled agreement.
“Arrest them,” exclaimed the official, but Sir Peter interposed again. “Wait.” And he said to us: “Now, lads, I believe you’re straight, but you’d best come clean, you know.”
We didn’t say nothing and he said: “Perhaps you don’t know the facts of the case. This stone — which is of immense value — was stolen from the governmental museum. We know that it was stolen by a gang of international thieves who have been masquerading as honest merchants and traders. This gang consisted of Tung Yin, Clanry the aviator, a number of lesser crooks who pretended to be in Tung Yin’s employ, and a girl called Clever Kit Worley.”
“Hey, you,” said Bill. “You lay offa Miss Worley.”
“Aha,” said Sir Peter, “I fancied I’d strike fire there. Now come, lads, didn’t Clever Kit give you that stone?”
We still didn’t say nothing. About that time the Chinaman the soldiers had brung with them hollered: “I’ll tell. I’ll tell it all. They’ve betrayed me and left me to go to prison alone, have they? Curse them all!”
He was kind of hysterical, but talked perfect English — was educated at Oxford, I learned later. Everybody looked at him and he spilled the beans so fast his words tripped over each other: “Tung Yin, Clanry and the Worley woman stole the Royal Crystal. They were equal partners in all the crimes they committed. We — the coolies, the dancing girls and I — were but servants, doing their bidding, getting no share of the loot, but being paid higher salaries than we could have earned honestly. Oh, it was a business proposition, I tell you.
“Tonight we got the tip that the place was to be raided — Tung Yin has plenty of spies. No sooner had we received this information than these sailors came blundering in, hunting Kit Worley, who had charmed them as she has so many men. The woman and Clanry were not in the house. They were preparing the plane for a hurried flight. Tung Yin supposed these men to be spies of the government, so he sent some of his servants to beguile the one, while he donned a disguise of menial garments and befooled the other. We sent them into a dark chamber to slay each other. And, meanwhile, we hurried our plans for escape.
“Clanry, the Worley woman and Tung Yin were planning to escape in the plane, and they promised to take me with them. Tung Yin told the coolies and dancing girls to save themselves as best they could. They scattered, looting the house as they fled. Then Tung Yin told me to look into the death chamber and see if the two foreign devils had killed each other. I did so — and was knocked senseless. What happened then I can only guess, but that Tung Yin, Clanry and Kit Worley escaped in the plane, I am certain, though how these men came to have the gem is more than I can say.”
“I believe I can answer that,” said Sir Peter. “I happen to know that Kang Woon here has been handling stolen goods for the Tung Yin gang. That’s why we raided him tonight at the same time we sent a squad to nab the others at Tung Yin’s place. But as you’ve seen, we were a bit too late. Kang Woon had advanced them quite a bit of money already for the privilege of handling the stone for them — the amount to be added to his commission when the gem was sold. The sale would have made them all rich, even though they found it necessary to cut it up and sell it in smaller pieces. They dared not skip without sending this stone to Kang Woon, for he knew too much. But watch.”
He laid the gem on a table and hit it with his pistol butt and smashed it into bits. Everybody gawped. Kang Woon gnashed his teeth with fury.
“A fak
e, you see,” said Sir Peter. “I doubt if any but an expert could have told the difference. I happen to have had quite a bit of experience in that line, don’t you know. Yes, Tung Yin and Kit Worley and Clanry planned to double-cross Kang Woon. They sent him this fake, knowing that they would be out of his reach before he learned of the fraud. He’s an expert crook, but not a jewel expert, you know. And now I suppose Tung Yin and his pals are safely out of our reach with the Royal Crystal.”
While we was listening Bill took out the pipe he’d stole from Tung Yin and began to cram tobaccer in it. He cussed disgustedly.
“Hey, Steve,” said he. “What you think? Somebody’s gone and crammed a big piece of glass into this pipe bowl.” He was trying to work it loose.
“Gimme that pipe,” I hollered and jerked it outa his hands. Disregarding his wrathful protests, I opened my knife and pried and gouged at the pipe bowl until the piece of glass rolled into my hand. I held it up and it caught the candle lights with a thousand gleams and glittering sparkles.
“The Royal Crystal,” howled the Chinese. And Sir Peter grabbed it.
“By Jove,” he exclaimed. “It’s the real gem, right enough. Where did you get it?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ll tell you. Seein’ as how Miss Worley is done got away and you can’t catch her and put her in jail — and I don’t mind tellin’ you I’m glad of it, ‘cause she mighta been a crook but she was nice to me. I see now why she and Clanry wanted that pipe case. It was a slick place to hide the gem in, but nothin’s safe from one of them thieves offa the Dutchman. Tung Yin was goin’ to double-cross Kang Woon and Clanry and Miss Worley double-crossed Tung Yin, but I betcha they look funny when they open that golden pipe case and find nothin’ in it but Bill’s old pipe.”
“Aw,” said Bill, “I betcha she keeps it to remember me by. I betcha she’ll treasure it amongst her dearest soovernears.”
Sir Peter kind of tore his hair and moaned: “Will you blighters tell us what it’s all about and how you came by that gem?”
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 187