by P. J. Lozito
“So, you have joined my fight against the devil doctor. Wish I could have coordinated sooner. Progress?”
“We have finished Siam Khan. He’s in Ward X, as we say at the hospital,” explained Doc.
“Ward X?”
“Dead,” clarified Trixie.
“Oh, your colourful Yankee idioms,” smiled Sir Dennis.
“Meanwhile, I have engaged the services of a Chinese-American detective, one James Lee Wong, to go undercover for us,” said Doc.
“Good show. Siam Khan finished, eh?”
“Yes, sir, there’s another vacancy on the Cabal of Seven. My plan is to have Mr. Wong infiltrate Hanoi Tsin’s organization,” said Doc.
“With Siam Khan dead, along with Ed Kelly, Ling Chan, Alexander Kentov and maybe that sub damaged by Trixie’s depth charges, I’d say Hanoi Tsin’s organization is in disarray,” noted Allred.
“Precisely,” said Sir Dennis. “You have driven the devil doctor out of New York. It may be years before we hear from him again.”
“Now then, Sir Dennis, what firsthand information can you tell us about him?” inquired Doc. “I hear from Corrigan that Hanoi Tsin considers you Enemy Number One.”
“Suppose it is some honor,” Sir Dennis conceded. He readjusted his long, lean frame back into the easy chair, “Fiend has gone by many names over the years: Lord of Strange Deaths, Mr. King, Wu Fang, Sun Ah Poy. Can’t really say which his real one is.
“Megalomaniac, certainly. Veteran of the Second Opium War, he heads a vast criminal organization called Fi-San, older than Buddhism. Spin-off in Japan is Black Dragon Gang. Controls the Hashishin.”
“Root word for ‘assassin,’” offered Doc Wylie.
“Precisely,” exclaimed Sir Dennis. “He has pioneered transplanting of bodily organs and blood from condemned Chinese criminals and of animals in bid to extend natural lifespan. President of the Cabal of Seven; wish I knew names of others. Tried to finance Irish Freedom Fighters with fei qian, flying money. The harps hate the British, but even they wouldn’t throw in with a monster such as he.”
Sir Dennis paused to relight his pipe, “The man is more than human, I tell you flatly. Just about the only thing he wasn’t behind was the San Francisco plague of ’00.”
“For which the Chinese were blamed anyway,” noted Allred.
“Know your history, eh? You’ll pardon me if I express doubts about that incident nonetheless. Hanoi Tsin’s knowledge of venomous insects, poisons, deadly fungi is unsurpassed. He tried to kidnap leaders of the League of Nations. Was able to secure a dirigible for a local criminal he code-named Golden Ziggurat. This Ziggurat fellow was a protégé of a super-criminal called the Lightning, a known Cabal of Seven member who first struck in Shanghai.”
Doc Wylie said, “Yes, the Lightning developed a way to miniaturize electrical parts. Apparently, Luciferro acquired his ‘sound cannon.’ A devastating weapon,” he concluded, remembering it being turned on the Albatross.
Wylie didn’t bother mentioning that he and his men had stopped the Golden Ziggurat. His own “Wing” aircraft was based on plans they found among that criminal’s effects. But he recalled that episode very well; the Ziggurat, too, had succeeded in creating beast men, using electricity to affect the pituitary gland. It was apparent now that he had had help. Instead, Doc said, “Speaking of which, is the date of Hanoi Tsin’s birth really 1840?”
“It is, Dr. Wylie. Hard to believe? That is because of the Elixir Vitae he takes. Was sixty-four when he began in earnest to research it. Would have gotten it sooner than ‘29 if he hadn’t lost his trusted sage Wu Chang over forty years before. Wasn’t until ’04 that he snagged some valuable research into it. Notes of a chap named Dr. Henry Jekyll. Englishman,” he added, as if that explained everything.
“Strange case,” said Wylie. “It was hushed up when the authorities concluded it inspired the Ripper murders.”
“Wait a minute,” declared Allred. “The Ripper was real. Jekyll was just a character in a book.”
“Was he? My tutor investigated the case,” pointed out Wylie.
“Ah, the world’s first consulting detective,” declared Sir Dennis. “So you know Joseph and Mycroft? Petrie had quite the adventure with Joseph Bell fighting Hanoi Tsin ten years beyond his retirement.”
“Incidentally, I expected your associate, Dr. Petrie,” began Doc.
“Off to see distant relations in… New Rochelle,” offered Sir Dennis.
“Let’s back up a bit. This formerly fictional Jekyll had the elixir earlier? What become of him?” asked Allred.
“Don’t know. Imagine he got the axe. Knew too much.”
Allred realized some of these outrageous crimes, though cold cases must have left some trace. He’d put that kid, the cub reporter --what was his name?--Karel Kolchak onto them. He was always interested in cover-ups.
“We have some knowledge of Wu Chang,” said Doc. “Apparently, he found out how truly evil his patron was and fled. He came to ground in the American Western Territories, hiding among coolies, if you can believe it.”
“Recently found that out. Look,” Sir Dennis pulled a ragged old magazine from his valise by the side of the chair. “He is mentioned in this story paper.” He waved another copy of The Silver Manticore dime novel.
“Yes, there was a Silver Manticore in 1870s and ‘80s. Rode about your Old West, attempting to tame it; Red Indian for a companion and all that. Pair often consulted Wu Chang, who did the odd chare,” said Sir Dennis cavalierly. “Apparently, he put the two wise to a few Oriental tricks of fighting.”
Allred stepped in closer, “Is that Part Two, sir? May I ask where you got it?”
“Part One, young man, prize from merchant marine in Liverpool. Mentions Wu Chang even left family to make good his escape. Imagine that.”
Bako spoke up, “His number one son deplores the adopted father’s way and, humbly, is attached to the Honolulu Police Force.”
Sir Dennis lit his pipe again, “Interesting. How do you come to have this information, my good man?”
“I have had occasion to work closely with the son of this man some half a dozen years ago,” said Bako.
“Actually, my friend Sally Treat has had recent contact with both,” put in Trixie. “On a confidential mission she undertook for us.”
Allred saw no reason to mention the visit he and Bako paid to those beautiful islands in 1940. In fact, he had been struck by Hawaiian culture ever since the Pan-Pacific International Exposition in 1915, right before he shipped out on his Russian assignment.
Sir Dennis mulled this information over, with more rapping of his pipe. Then he continued, “Hanoi Tsin had a natural child, too. A daughter, named Fah Lo Su in 1896. Means ‘Sweet Perfume.’ ”
“Hmm,” Allred mused. “One year younger than me.”
“Young man, you certainly don’t look forty-six,” exclaimed Sir Dennis, removing the pipe from his mouth. “A ‘years thief’ they call people such as yourself in the Near East.”
“Well, I practice Tibetan seammi-jasaini and I’m careful about what I eat and drink, sir.”
“Hopefully not the elixir,” Sir Dennis joked. “You don’t want that.”
“Why? What’s in it?”
Before Sir Dennis could answer, Chuck interrupted, “And who was Fah Lo Su’s mother, Sir Denis?”
“Russian the name of Sonya Karaloff. Fah Lo Su herself now has a son named Julius. Don’t believe that Hanoi Tsin knows of his existence. Kept secret. A nobody. Father somehow connected to hated rivals, the Circle of Life. Surely the old boy would blow a gasket over that.”
“Harm an innocent child? Would even Hanoi Tsin stoop so low?” asked Jericho.
“That child would be in his thirties by now, my good fellow. Maybe not so innocent,” answered Sir Dennis, pointing to Jericho with his pipe. “Evil blood flows through his veins.”
Allred ran that name “Karaloff” through his head but couldn’t come up with anything. Bako gave him an odd look. Did
he know her?
“Speaking of sons, doctor, your life isn’t worth a plugged shilling. Hanoi Tsin considered Siam Khan a son. He will seek revenge.”
“Let him try,” stated Doc. “There is absolutely no way for him to get in here.”
“I daresay his dacoits won’t be scaling this tower, wot?” chuckled Sir Dennis.
“Blazes, Sir Dennis, what’s Hanoi Tsin’s beef with the rest o’ the world?” blurted out Levvy.
“Hanoi Tsin seeks to restore Cathay, that is, China, to former glory, using what he calls ‘best brains.’ Employs scientists believed dead, but working for him. First wife killed by Westerners, don’t you know.”
Sir Dennis puffed and continued: “To that end entered into a partnership with British underworld while in London’s Limehouse. Didn’t last. By 1898, he was forcibly ejected by his British cronies. Set up shop in Paris. By ’06, he and his Continental cohorts, namely Fantomal and Dr. Maboose, had themselves a real crime spree. Financed his fantastic researches. Fantomal suggested Paris as a base of operations.”
“Yes, my friend, Jacques Le Grandon, knew about Fantomal,” said Doc.
“Ah, old Le Grandon. What does he theorize?”
“He suspects Hanoi Tsin and/or Fantomal of murdering a Parisian crimebuster named Judex.”
“Judex? Means ‘judge,’” said Sir Dennis around his pipe stem.
Brent Allred knew this was the time to ask: “Do you know if they also had any dealings with an American named John Allred?”
“Haven’t come across that name before. Your father?”
“My uncle. He disappeared in Paris around then.”
“I’m sorry. Can’t help. Will look into it. Perhaps when I get back to Westminster Court. Can recommend London detective named Pons. Has some little experience with Hanoi Tsin. Half-brother of mine, actually.” Sir Denis picked up his narrative, “By 1913, Hanoi Tsin was back in England. Took advantage of the disappearance of his old nemesis.”
“Moriarty?”
“Correct. Yet the professor’s organization ran on well without him. He had gathered together various experts, first to oust Hanoi Tsin, then to build the Circle of Life. Years later, Circle has made overtures to him, perhaps not knowing their absent leader’s enmity for the devil doctor, I dare say.”
“Moriarty was right here in this city in 1901, bedeviling our friend Joseph Bell, here on a case,” stated Doc. “He told me Moriarty somehow hooked up with a crackpot with the lofty name ‘Robur the Conqueror.’ Moriarty owed him his life. Apparently, this Robur was responsible for the mysterious airship sightings of 1897.”
“Blazes, Doc, wasn’t you busy bein’ borned in ’01?” quipped Levvy.
“I was told this by Dr. Bell later,” replied Doc. He turned back to the Englishman, “What do you know about Moriarty’s organization, sir? They seem to be waiting out the war.”
“Correct. One was theft of Thornite nerve gas from Russian spy named Kosloff. Really put them on the map. I was at the time posted to Scotland Yard. Man in Department ‘Z’ -- Waverly --kept tabs on them, sharing intelligence with us.”
Allred and Bako had exchanged looks at the mention of “Kosloff.”
“Do you know what became of this Kosloff?” asked Allred.
“Death happened to him,” replied Sir Dennis.
Allred looked heartbroken. Kosloff dead.
“Hanoi Tsin almost started a profitable little war between Russia and Japan in 1916. He lost some valuable piece of hardware that year,” continued Sir Dennis, not catching Allred shoot a smile to Bako. He bowed slightly in return.
“At the time, I had no idea he was still alive,” Sir Dennis paused to puff on his briar. “Oddly, the man who stopped it, a Yank soldier-of-fortune named Kentov, was found dead in this very city, at the cinema, just recently.”
Corrigan looked at Allred and then said, “Actually, we had one of our men impersonate Kentov in Russia. That was the real Kentov got killed at the movie house.”
“Very interesting,” exclaimed Sir Dennis.
“Do you know of any weaknesses of Hanoi Tsin we can exploit?”
“Needs Elixir Vitae every twenty-one years. Next dose is,” he looked up, “eight years from now. At that time, he is at his weakest. If he doesn’t get it, he ages rapidly… and dies.”
Sir Dennis continued: “Worse, that devil used a distillation of the same elixir to create barely controllable beast men in ’32. Same year, Fah Lo Su turned. For a time, I thought her dead. Instead, her father wiped her mind as punishment for trying to wrest Fi-San from him. Ironic, since she, like her father, is master hypnotist. He began calling her Khoreani.”
The narrative held the audience in rapt attention.
“Has since tried to gain foothold here in the Colonies. First in San Francisco, now, here in New York. In both places, Hanoi Tsin has been held to a standstill by another criminal, using name ‘Silver Manticore,’ who fancies dressing up like that dime novel hero of yore.”
A wave of his pipe indicated his magazine which Allred still held, frowning at it. “Imagine he is Cabal of Seven renegade.”
“Getting back to those ‘barely controllable beast men,’ I think I crossed swords with one of them at the Flatiron Building,” pondered Doc.
“Quite. Apparently, they turned on Cabal member Dr. Moreau and tore him apart,” Sir Denis knocked the briar into an ashtray. “These people switch sides easily. An Asiatic Indian prince named Dakkar, master of an advanced submarine, once against Hanoi Tsin, has joined him,” said Sir Dennis. “Hullo, I’ve just realized we have probably named all seven cabal members.”
“Vacancy or two there, no doubt,” claimed Allred.
“No doubt,” agreed Sir Dennis. “Maboose was welcomed with a dose of elixir after he brought Hanoi Tsin notebooks of an old scientist, Dr. Kueffstein. Apparently, this man reanimated corpse using elixir.”
“Excuse me, sir? I don’t follow you,” said Doc.
“Hanoi Tsin has notebooks of some Boche who tried to bring life back to dead tissue. If that fellow at the Flatiron Building wasn’t covered in fur, he could be the result of the devil doctor’s own work on same.”
Doc Wylie started, “Do you mean to say that Hanoi Tsin intends to bring Siam Khan back to life? Why, that’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Like Haitian zombies, yew trees, obeah and voodoo? That is precisely what Hanoi Tsin would have you believe,” snapped Sir Dennis. “The fiend has explored those avenues, too.”
“I examined Siam Khan’s body. No unusual substances,” said Doc.
“So Siam Khan never got the elixir, eh? Maybe that’s why you were able to finish him off,” rapped Sir Dennis. “It’s Hanoi Tsin that will be hard to kill.”
“How so?” asked Allred.
“The reason old Wu Chang fled Hanoi Tsin. That potion in his veins that keeps him young and sturdy requires fresh human blood.”
END OF PART 1
PART TWO
TO FIGHT CRIMINALS AND VILLAINS
WHO TRY TO DESTROY OUR SOCIETY
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
COMMANDER J
“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is J, Commander J. I’m from Universal Export. I am to meet Mr. Maurice Klaw.”
There was a slight Scots burr. It was not necessary the girl knew Universal Export was a cover for the British Secret Service.
“Of course, commander. Father will be out presently. Please call me Venus.”
“Mind if I smoke, Venus?” he smiled.
“Please do, Commander J,” she answered, thinking he looked not unlike Hoagy Carmichael. “An unusual name,” Venus Klaw added, as she declined his offer of a cigarette.
“No more than yours.”
“Mine is not code,” she laughed in a way that J found fascinating. He found most women to be fascinating, in fact. She was little, dark and mysterious. J, in turn, was appraised by her. Venus Klaw saw an impeccably dressed slim and fit young man who had a military bearing about him. She estimated him
to be about twenty-five or twenty-six. He had clear blue-gray eyes and a straight nose with dark, cruel looks that beguiled her.
Venus noted the scar on his right cheek. It was hard to miss. His hair was parted on the left and fell to his right eye in a comma. J looked to be one hundred-eighty three centimeters tall. From an upstairs window, the girl had noticed him alighting from a pristine ’33 Bentley parked across the street.
J noted Venus had a slight French accent as he set fire to his Turkish- Balkan blend with a black Ronson. The cigarette bore three gold bands, Venus noted. She had never seen one like it before despite her worldly travels. They must be specially made.
Commander J entered the Wapping Old Stairs curio shop of Maurice Klaw like a ghost. Appropriate, since the musty, poorly lit place gave the impression that spirits of the dead collected there. The typical English shop, J mused.
It was 1945. The war was over. He had earned the right to place R.N.V.R. behind his name but didn’t bother. J was there to see Klaw on the behalf of a Yank scientist, surgeon and criminologist, if his information was right. That’s quite the C.V., the commander thought. As J entered, a large, gray parrot announced: “Maurice Klaw! Maurice Klaw! The devil’s come for you!”
“Talkative bit of poultry, eh,” J mused, his head indicating the bird.
Miss Klaw excused herself, for her father would soon be calling for refreshments. Left to his own devices, J examined the goods in the curio shop. He knew where there’s muck, there’s occasional diamonds. What caught his eye were the books: a unique library of criminology. An American edition of Boucher’s Pocket Book of True Crime was there. Also here were many books on the supernatural. Here was an account of Helen Duncan, the only person successfully tried as a witch in England. And here was Maeterlinck’s Life of the Bee. That reminded him; old Mycroft had him bringing Wylie some queen bees’ royal jelly. J knew only that it originated with an elderly, though spry, Sussex beekeeper Mycroft had vouched for.