The Orange-Yellow Diamond Part 39

The Inspector strode forward and tore the curtains aside. He flung open the first of the doors--and started back, catching his breath.

"Phew!" he said.

The heavy, narcotic odour which Purdie had noticed at once on entering the rooms came afresh, out of the newly-opened door, in a thick wave.

And as the rest of them crowded after the Inspector, they saw why. This was a small room, hung like the first one with curiously-figured curtains, and lighted only by a sky-light, over which a square of blue stuff had been draped. In the subdued life they saw that there was nothing in that room but a lounge well fitted with soft cus.h.i.+ons and pillows--and on it, his spare figure wrapped in a loose gown, lay a young Chinaman, who, as the foremost advanced upon him, blinked in their wondering faces out of eyes the pupils of which were still contracted. Near him lay an opium pipe--close by, on a tiny stand, the materials for more consumption of the drug.

The man who had accompanied the Inspector in his entrance to the tea-shop strode forward and seized the rec.u.mbent figure by the shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Now then!" he said, sharply, "wake up, my man! Are you Chang Li?"

The glazed eyes lifted themselves a little wonderingly; the dry lips moved.

"Yes," he muttered. "Chang Li--yes. You want me?"

"How long have you been here?" demanded the questioner.

"How long--yes? Oh--I don't know. What do you want?" asked Chang Li. "I don't know you."

The tea-maker thrust his head inside the room.

"He can't tell you anything," he said, with a grin. "He has been--what you call on the break-out--with opium--ever so many days. He has--attacks that way. Takes a fit of it--just as some of your people take to the drink. He's coming out of it, now--and he'll be very, very unhappy tomorrow."

The Inspector twisted round on the informant.

"Look here!" he said. "Do you know how long he's been here--stupifying himself? Is it a day--or days?"

One of the chess-players lifted a stolid face.

"He has been here--like that--several days," he said. "It's useless trying to do anything with him when he takes the fit--the craving, you understand?--into his head. If you want any information out of him, you'd better call again in a few hours."

"Do you mean to tell me he's been here--like that--several days?"

demanded the Inspector.

"The young man with the tea-pot grinned again.

"He's never been at a cla.s.s at the medical school since the 17th," he announced. "I know that--he's in some cla.s.ses with me. He's been here--all the time since then."

The Inspector turned sharply on Ayscough.

"The 17th!" he exclaimed. "And that affair was on the 18th! Then--"

Chang Li was fumbling in a pocket of his gown. He found something there, raised a hand to his lips, swallowed something. And in a few seconds, as his eyes grew brighter, he turned a suspicious and sullen glance on the group which stood watching him.

"What do you want?" he growled. "Who are you?"

"We want some information from you," said the Inspector. "When did you last see your brother, or friend, or whatever he is--Chen Li?"

Chang Li shook his head--it was obvious that he had no clear recollection.

"Don't know," he answered. "Perhaps just now--perhaps tomorrow--perhaps not for a long time."

"When were you last at home--in Maida Vale?" asked the Inspector.

But Chang Li gave no answer to that beyond a frown, and it was evident that as his wits cleared his temper was becoming ugly. He began to look round with more intelligence, scanning one face after another with growing dislike, and presently he muttered certain observations to himself which, though not in English, sounded anything but complimentary to those who watched him. And Ayscough suddenly turned to the superior officials.

"If this man's been here ever since the 17th," he said, "he can't have had anything to do with the affairs in Praed Street and Maida Vale!

Supposing, now--I'm only supposing--that young j.a.p's been lying all the time?" He turned again--this time on the two chess-players, who had now interrupted their game and were leaning back in their chairs, evidently amused at the baffled faces of the searchers. "Here!" he said, "do you know one Yada--Mori Yada--a j.a.panese? Is he one of you?"

"Oh, yes!" answered one of the chess-players. "Yada,--yes! We know him--a very smart fellow, Yada. You know him--too?"

But before Ayscough could reply to this somewhat vexatious question, a man who had been left in the tearooms came hurrying up the staircase and burst in upon them. He made straight for the Inspector.

"Man from the office, sir, outside in a taxi!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "You're on the wrong track--you're to get to Multenius's shop in Praed Street at once. The real man's there!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE JEW AND THE j.a.p

When Melky Rubinstein slipped quietly out of the police-station, he crossed the street, and taking up a position just within a narrow alley on the other side, set himself to watch the door which he had just quitted. There was a deep design in his mind, and he meant to carry it out--alone.

Mr. Mori Yada, apparently as cool and unconcerned as ever, presently tripped down the steps of the police-station and went leisurely off, swinging his neatly rolled umbrella. As long as he was within sight of the police-station windows he kept up the same gentle pace--but as soon as he had turned the first corner his steps were quickened, and he made for a spot to which Melky had expected him to make--a cab-rank, on which two or three taxi-cabs were drawn up. He had reached the first, and was addressing the driver, when Melky, who had kept a few yards in the rear, stole gently up to his side and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Mister!" said Melky. "A word--in private!"

Yada turned on his interrupter with the swiftness of a snake, and for a second his white teeth showed themselves in an unmistakable snarl, and a savage gleam came into his dark eyes. Both snarl and gleam pa.s.sed as quickly as they had come, and the next instant he was smiling--as blandly as ever.

"Oh, yes!" he said. "It is you--how do you do? Perhaps you are going my way--I can give you a lift--Yes?"

Melky drew his man away a yard or two, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Mister!" he said, with a note of deep confidence which made Yada look at him with a sudden sense of fear. "Mister!--I wouldn't go no way at all if I was you--just now. You're in danger, mister--you shoved your head into the lions' den when you walked in where I've just seen you!

Deep, deep is them fellows, mister!--they're having you on toast. I know where you're thinking of going, mister, in that cab. Don't go--take my tip!"

"How do you know where I'm going?" demanded Yada.

"I was looking over Levendale's shoulder when he wrote that bit of a cheque, mister," answered Melky, in his quietest accents. "You're off to his bank to turn it into cash. And--if you walk into that bank--well, you'll never walk out again, alone! Mister!--they're going to collar you there--there's a trap laid for you!"

Melky was watching Yada's face out of his own eye-corners, and he saw the olive-tinted skin pale a little, and the crafty eyes contract. And on the instant he pursued his tactics and his advantage. He had purposely steered the j.a.panese into a more crowded part of the street, and now he edged him into a bye-alley which led to a rookery of narrow bye-streets beyond. He felt that Yada was yielding--oppressed by a fear of the unknown. But suddenly Yada paused--drawing back from the hand which Melky had kept on his arm.

"What are you after?" he demanded. "What is your game, eh? You think to alarm me!--what do you want?"

"Nothing unreasonable, mister," answered Melky. "You'll easily satisfy me. Game? Come, now, mister--I know your game! Bank first--to get some ready--then somewhere to pick up a bit of luggage--then, a railway station. That's it, ain't it, now? No blooming good, mister--they're ready for you the minute you walk into that bank! If they don't take you then, they'll only wait to follow you to the station. Mister!--you ain't a cat's chance!--you're done--if you don't make it worth my while to help you! See?"

Yada looked round, doubtfully. They had turned two or three corners by that time, and were in a main street, which lay at the back of Praed Street. He glanced at Melky's face--which suggested just then nothing but cunning and stratagem.