Dope

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Kerry smiled savagely.

"I've got half a dozen good men doing every dive from Wapping to
Gravesend," he answered. "But if you think it worth looking into
personally, say the word."

"Well, my dear sir,"--Seton Pasha tossed the end of his cheroot into
the empty grate--"what else can we do?"

Kerry banged his fist on the table.

"You're right!" he snapped. "We're stuck! But anything's better than
nothing. We'll start here and now; and the first joint we'll make for
is Dougal's."

"Dougal's?" echoed Seton Pasha.

"That's it--Dougal's. A danger spot on the Isle of Dogs used by the
lowest type of sea-faring men and not barred to Arabs, Chinks, and
other gaily-colored fowl. If there's any chat going on about dope,
we'll hear it in Dougal's."

Seton Pasha stood up, smiling grimly. "Dougal's it shall be," he said.

CHAPTER XXXII

ON THE ISLE OF DOGS

As the police beat left Limehouse Pier, a clammy south-easterly breeze
blowing up-stream lifted the fog in clearly defined layers, an effect
very singular to behold. At one moment a great arc-lamp burning above
the Lavender Pond of the Surrey Commercial Dock shot out a yellowish
light across the Thames. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the light
vanished again as a stratum of mist floated before it.

The creaking of the oars sounded muffled and ghostly, and none of the
men in the boat seemed to be inclined to converse. Heading across
stream they made for the unseen promontory of the Isle of Dogs.
Navigation was suspended, and they reached midstream without seeing a
ship's light. Then came the damp wind again to lift the fog, and ahead
of them they discerned one of the General Steam Navigation Company's
boats awaiting an opportunity to make her dock at the head of Deptford
Creek. The clamor of an ironworks on the Millwall shore burst loudly
upon their ears, and away astern the lights of the Surrey Dock shone
out once more. Hugging the bank they pursued a southerly course, and
from Limehouse Reach crept down to Greenwich Reach.

Fog closed in upon them, a curtain obscuring both light and sound.
When the breeze came again it had gathered force, and it drove the
mist before it in wreathing banks, and brought to their ears a dull
lowing and to their nostrils a farmyard odor from the cattle pens.
Ghostly flames, leaping and falling, leaping and falling, showed where
a gasworks lay on the Greenwich bank ahead.

Eastward swept the river now, and fresher blew the breeze. As they
rounded the blunt point of the "Isle" the fog banks went swirling past
them astern, and the lights on either shore showed clearly ahead. A
ship's siren began to roar somewhere behind them. The steamer which
they had passed was about to pursue her course.

Closer in-shore drew the boat, passing a series of wharves, and beyond
these a tract of waste, desolate bank very gloomy in the half light
and apparently boasting no habitation of man. The activities of the
Greenwich bank seemed remote, and the desolation of the Isle of Dogs
very near, touching them intimately with its peculiar gloom.

A light sprang into view some little distance inland, notable because
it shone lonely in an expanse of utter blackness. Kerry broke the long
silence.

"Dougal's," he said. "Put us ashore here."

The police boat was pulled in under a rickety wooden structure,
beneath which the Thames water whispered eerily; and Kerry and Seton
disembarked, mounting a short flight of slimy wooden steps and
crossing a roughly planked place on to a shingly slope. Climbing this,
they were on damp waste ground, pathless and uninviting.

"Dougal's is being watched," said Kerry. "I think I told you?"

"Yes," replied Seton. "But I have formed the opinion that the dope
gang is too clever for the ordinary type of man. Sin Sin Wa is an
instance of what I mean. Neither you nor I doubt that he is a receiver
of drugs--perhaps the receiver; but where is our case? The only real
link connecting him with the West-End habitue is his wife. And she has
conveniently deserted him! We cannot possibly prove that she hasn't
while he chooses to maintain that she has."

"H'm," grunted Kerry, abruptly changing the subject. "I hope I'm not
recognized here."

"Have you visited the place before?"

"Some years ago. Unless there are any old hands on view tonight, I
don't think I shall be spotted."

He wore a heavy and threadbare overcoat, which was several sizes too
large for him, a muffler, and a weed cap--the outfit supplied by Seton
Pasha; and he had a very vivid and unpleasant recollection of his
appearance as viewed in his little pocket-mirror before leaving
Seton's room. As they proceeded across the muddy wilderness towards
the light which marked the site of Dougal's, they presented a picture
of a sufficiently villainous pair.

The ground was irregular, and the path wound sinuously about mounds of
rubbish; so that often the guiding light was lost, and they stumbled
blindly among nondescript litter, which apparently represented the
accumulation of centuries. But finally they turned a corner formed by
a stack of rusty scrap iron, and found a long, low building before
them. From a ground-floor window light streamed out upon the fragments
of rubbish strewing the ground, from amid which sickly weeds uprose as
if in defiance of nature's laws. Seton paused, and:

"What is Dougal's exactly?" he asked; "a public house?"

"No," rapped Kerry. "It's a coffee-shop used by the dockers. You'll
see when we get inside. The place never closes so far as I know, and
if we made 'em close there would be a dock strike."

He crossed and pushed open the swing door. As Seton entered at his
heels, a babel of coarse voices struck upon his ears and he found
himself in a superheated atmosphere suggestive of shag, stale spirits,
and imperfectly washed humanity.

Dougal's proved to be a kind of hut of wood and corrugated iron, not
unlike an army canteen. There were two counters, one at either end,
and two large American stoves. Oil lamps hung from the beams, and the
furniture was made up of trestle tables, rough wooden chairs, and
empty barrels. Coarse, thick curtains covered all the windows but one.
The counter further from the entrance was laden with articles of food,
such as pies, tins of bully-beef, and "saveloys," while the other was
devoted to liquid refreshment in the form of ginger-beer and cider (or
so the casks were conspicuously labelled), tea, coffee, and cocoa.

The place was uncomfortably crowded; the patrons congregating more
especially around the two stoves. There were men who looked like dock
laborers, seamen, and riverside loafers; lascars, Chinese, Arabs, and
dagoes; and at the "solid" counter there presided a red-armed, brawny
woman, fierce of mien and ready of tongue, while a huge Irishman,
possessing a broken nose and deficient teeth, ruled the "liquid"
department with a rod of iron and a flow of language which shocked
even Kerry. This formidable ruffian, a retired warrior of the ring,
was Dougal, said to be the strongest man from Tower Hill to the River
Lea.

As they entered, several of the patrons glanced at them curiously, but
no one seemed to be particularly interested. Kerry wore his cap pulled
well down over his fierce eyes, and had the collar of his topcoat
turned up.

He looked about him, as if expecting to recognize someone; and as they
made their way to Dougal's counter, a big fellow dressed in the manner
of a dock laborer stepped up to the Chief Inspector and clapped him on
the shoulder.

"Have one with me, Mike," he said, winking. "The coffee's good."

Kerry bent towards him swiftly, and:

"Anybody here, Jervis?" he whispered.

"George Martin is at the bar. I've had the tip that he 'traffics.'
You'll remember he figured in my last report, sir."

Kerry nodded, and the trio elbowed their way to the counter. The
pseudo-dock hand was a detective attached to Leman Street, and one who
knew the night birds of East End London as few men outside their own
circles knew them.

"Three coffees, Pat," he cried, leaning across the shoulder of a
heavy, red-headed fellow who lolled against the counter. "And two
lumps of sugar in each."

"To hell wid yer sugar!" roared Dougal, grasping three cups deftly in
one hairy hand and filling them from a steaming urn. "There's no more
sugar tonight."

"Not any brown sugar?" asked the customer.

"Yez can have one tayspoon of brown, and no more tonight," cried
Dougal.

He stooped rapidly below the counter, then pushed the three cups of
coffee towards the detective. The latter tossed a shilling down, at
which Dougal glared ferociously.

"'Twas wid sugar ye said!" he roared.

A second shilling followed. Dougal swept both coins into a drawer and
turned to another customer, who was also clamoring for coffee.
Securing their cups with difficulty, for the red-headed man surlily
refused to budge, they retired to a comparatively quiet spot, and
Seton tasted the hot beverage.

"H'm," he said. "Rum! Good rum, too!"

"It's a nice position for me," snapped Kerry. "I don't think I would
remind you that there's a police station actually on this blessed
island. If there was a dive like Dougal's anywhere West it would be
raided as a matter of course. But to shut Dougal's would be to raise
hell. There are two laws in England, sir; one for Piccadilly and the
other for the Isle of Dogs!" He sipped his coffee with appreciation.
Jervis looked about him cautiously, and:

"That's George--the red-headed hooligan against the counter," he said.
"He's been liquoring up pretty freely, and I shouldn't be surprised to
find that he's got a job on tonight. He has a skiff beached below
here, and I think he's waiting for the tide."

"Good!" rapped Kerry. "Where can we find a boat?"

"Well," Jervis smiled. "There are several lying there if you didn't
come in an R.P. boat."

"We did. But I'll dismiss it. We want a small boat."

"Very good, sir. We shall have to pinch one!"

"That doesn't matter," declared Kerry glancing at Seton with a sudden
twinkle discernible in his steely eyes. "What do you say, sir?"

"I agree with you entirely," replied Seton quietly. "We must find a
boat, and lie off somewhere to watch for George. He should be worth
following."

"We'll be moving, then," said the Leman Street detective. "It will be
high tide in an hour."

They finished their coffee as quickly as possible; the stuff was not
far below boiling-point. Then Jervis returned the cups to the counter.
"Good night, Pat!" he cried, and rejoined Seton and Kerry.

As they came out into the desolation of the scrap heaps, the last
traces of fog had disappeared and a steady breeze came up the river,
fresh and salty from the Nore. Jervis led them in a north-easterly
direction, threading a way through pyramids of rubbish, until with the
wind in their teeth they came out upon the river bank at a point where
the shore shelved steeply downwards. A number of boats lay on the
shingle.

"We're pretty well opposite Greenwich Marshes," said Jervis. "You can
just see one of the big gasometers. The end boat is George's."

"Have you searched it?" rapped Kerry, placing a fresh piece of
chewing-gum between his teeth.

"I have, sir. Oh, he's too wise for that!"

"I propose," said Seton briskly, "that we borrow one of the other
boats and pull down stream to where that short pier juts out. We can
hide behind it and watch for our man. I take it he'll be bound up-
stream, and the tide will help us to follow him quietly."

"Right," said Kerry. "We'll take the small dinghy. It's big enough."

He turned to Jervis.

"Nip across to the wooden stairs," he directed, "and tell Inspector
White to stand by, but to keep out of sight. If we've started before
you return, go back and join him."

"Very good, sir."

Jervis turned and disappeared into the mazes of rubbish, as Seton and
Kerry grasped the boat and ran it down into the rising tide. Kerry
boarding, Seton thrust it out into the river and climbed in over the
stern.

"Phew! The current drags like a tow-boat!" said Kerry.

They were being drawn rapidly up-stream. But as Kerry seized the oars
and began to pull steadily, this progress was checked. He could make
little actual headway, however.

"The tide races round this bend like fury," he said. "Bear on the
oars, sir."

Seton thereupon came to Kerry's assistance, and gradually the dinghy
crept upon its course, until, below the little pier, they found a
sheltered spot, where it was possible to run in and lie hidden. As
they won this haven:

"Quiet!" said Seton. "Don't move the oars. Look! We were only just in
time!"

Immediately above them, where the boats were beached, a man was coming
down the slope, carrying a hurricane lantern. As Kerry and Seton
watched, the man raised the lantern and swung it to and fro.

"Watch!" whispered Seton. "He's signalling to the Greenwich bank!"

Kerry's teeth snapped savagely together, and he chewed but made no
reply, until:

"There it is!" he said rapidly. "On the marshes!"

A speck of light in the darkness it showed, a distant moving lantern
on the curtain of the night. Although few would have credited Kerry
with the virtue, he was a man of cultured imagination, and it seemed
to him, as it seemed to Seton Pasha, that the dim light symbolized the
life of the missing woman, of the woman who hovered between the gay
world from which tragically she had vanished and some Chinese hell
upon whose brink she hovered. Neither of the watchers was thinking of
the crime and the criminal, of Sir Lucien Pyne or Kazmah, but of Mrs.
Monte Irvin, mysterious victim of a mysterious tragedy. "Oh, Dan! ye
must find her! ye must find her! Puir weak hairt--dinna ye ken how she
is suffering!" Clairvoyantly, to Kerry's ears was borne an echo of his
wife's words.

"The traffic!" he whispered. "If we lose George Martin tonight we
deserve to lose the case!"

"I agree, Chief Inspector," said Seton quietly.

The grating sound made by a boat thrust out from a shingle beach came
to their ears above the whispering of the tide. A ghostly figure in
the dim light, George Martin clambered into his craft and took to the
oars.

"If he's for the Greenwich bank," said Seton grimly, "he has a stiff
task."

But for the Greenwich bank the boat was headed; and pulling mightily
against the current, the man struck out into mid-stream. They watched
him for some time, silently, noting how he fought against the tide,
sturdily heading for the point at which the signal had shown. Then:

"What do you suggest?" asked Seton. "He may follow the Surrey bank up-
stream."

"I suggest," said Kerry, "that we drift. Once in Limehouse Reach we'll
hear him. There are no pleasure parties punting about that stretch."

"Let us pull out, then. I propose that we wait for him at some
convenient point between the West India Dock and Limehouse Basin."

"Good," rapped Kerry, thrusting the boat out into the fierce current.
"You may have spent a long time in the East, sir, but you're fairly
wise on the geography of the lower Thames."

Gripped in the strongly running tide they were borne smoothly up-
stream, using the oars merely for the purpose of steering. The gloomy
mystery of the London river claimed them and imposed silence upon
them, until familiar landmarks told of the northern bend of the
Thames, and the light above the Lavender Pond shone out upon the
unctuously moving water.

Each pulling a scull they headed in for the left bank.

"There's a wharf ahead," said Seton, looking back over his shoulder.
"If we put in beside it we can wait there unobserved."

"Good enough," said Kerry.

They bent to the oars, stealing stroke by stroke out of the grip of
the tide, and presently came to a tiny pool above the wharf structure,
where it was possible to lie undisturbed by the eager current.

Those limitations which are common to all humanity and that guile
which is peculiar to the Chinese veiled the fact from their ken that
the deserted wharf, in whose shelter they lay, was at once the roof
and the gateway of Sin Sin Wa's receiving office!

As the boat drew in to the bank, a Chinese boy who was standing on the
wharf retired into the shadows. From a spot visible down-stream but
invisible to the men in the boat, he signalled constantly with a
hurricane lantern.

Three men from New Scotland Yard were watching the house of Sin Sin
Wa, and Sin Sin Wa had given no sign of animation since, some hours
earlier, he had extinguished his bedroom light. Yet George, drifting
noiselessly up-stream, received a signal to the effect "police" while
Seton Pasha and Chief Inspector Kerry lay below the biggest dope cache
in London. Seton sometimes swore under his breath. Kerry chewed
incessantly. But George never came.

At that eerie hour of the night when all things living, from the
lowest to the highest, nor excepting Mother Earth herself, grow
chilled, when all Nature's perishable handiwork feels the touch of
death--a wild, sudden cry rang out, a wailing, sorrowful cry, that
seemed to come from nowhere, from everywhere, from the bank, from the
stream; that rose and fell and died sobbing into the hushed whisper of
the tide.

Seton's hand fastened like a vise on to Kerry's shoulder, and:

"Merciful God!" he whispered; "what was it? Who was it?"

"If it wasn't a spirit it was a woman," replied Kerry hoarsely; "and a
woman very near to her end."

"Kerry!"--Seton Pasha had dropped all formality--"Kerry--if it calls
for all the men that Scotland Yard can muster, we must search every
building, down to the smallest rathole in the floor, on this bank--and
do it by dawn!"

"We'll do it," rapped Kerry.

PART FOURTH

THE EYE OF SIN SIN WA

CHAPTER XXXII

CHINESE MAGIC

Detective-Sergeant Coombes and three assistants watched the house of
Sin Sin Wa, and any one of the three would have been prepared to swear
"on the Book" that Sin Sin Wa was sleeping. But he who watches a
Chinaman watches an illusionist. He must approach his task in the
spirit of a psychical inquirer who seeks to trap a bogus medium. The
great Robert Houdin, one of the master wizards of modern times,
quitted Petrograd by two gates at the same hour according to credible
witnesses; but his performance sinks into insignificance beside that
of a Chinese predecessor who flourished under one of the Ming
emperors. The palace of this potentate was approached by gates, each
having twelve locks, and each being watched by twelve guards.
Nevertheless a distinguished member of the wizard family not only
gained access to the imperial presence but also departed again unseen
by any of the guards, and leaving all the gates locked behind him! If
Detective-Sergeant Coombes had known this story he might not have
experienced such complete confidence.

That door of Sin Sin Wa's establishment which gave upon a little
backyard was oiled both lock and hinge so that it opened noiselessly.
Like a shadow, like a ghost, Sin Sin Wa crept forth, closing the door
behind him. He carried a sort of canvas kit-bag, so that one observing
him might have concluded that he was "moving."

Resting his bag against the end wall, he climbed up by means of holes
in the neglected brickwork until he could peer over the top. A faint
smell of tobacco smoke greeted him: a detective was standing in the
lane below. Soundlessly, Sin Sin Wa descended again. Raising his bag
he lifted it lovingly until it rested upright upon the top of the wall
and against the side of the house. The night was dark and still. Only
a confused beating sound on the Surrey bank rose above the murmur of
sleeping London.

From the rubbish amid which he stood, Sin Sin Wa selected a piece of
rusty barrel-hoop. Cautiously he mounted upon a wooden structure built
against the end wall and raised himself upright, surveying the
prospect. Then he hurled the fragment of iron far along the lane, so
that it bounded upon a strip of corrugated roofing in a yard twice
removed from his own, and fell clattering among a neighbor's rubbish.

A short exclamation came from the detective in the lane. He could be
heard walking swiftly away in the direction of the disturbance. And
ere he had gone six paces, Sin Sin Wa was bending like an inverted U
over the wall and was lowering his precious bag to the ground. Like a
cat he sprang across and dropped noiselessly beside it.

"Hello! Who's there?" cried the detective, standing by the wall of the
house which Sin Sin Wa had selected as a target.

Sin Sin Wa, bag in hand, trotted, soft of foot, across the lane and
into the shadow of the dock-building. By the time that the C.I.D. man
had decided to climb up and investigate the mysterious noise, Sin Sin
Wa was on the other side of the canal and rapping gently upon the door
of Sam Tuk's hairdressing establishment.

The door was opened so quickly as to suggest that someone had been
posted there for the purpose. Sin Sin Wa entered and the door was
closed again.

"Light, Ah Fung," he said in Chinese. "What news?"

The boy who had admitted him took a lamp from under a sort of rough
counter and turned to Sin Sin Wa.

"George came with the boat, master, but I signalled to him that the
red policeman and the agent who has hired the end room were watching."

"They are gone?"

"They gather men at the head depot and are searching house from house.
She who sleeps below awoke and cried out. They heard her cry."

"George waits?"

"He waits, master. He will wait long if the gain is great."

"Good."

Sin Sin Wa shuffled across to the cellar stairs, followed by Ah Fung
with the lamp. He descended, and, brushing away the carefully spread
coal dust, inserted the piece of bent wire into the crevice and raised
the secret trap. Bearing his bag upon his shoulder he went down into
the tunnel.

"Reclose the door, Ah Fung," he said softly; "and be watchful."

As the boy replaced the stone trap, Sin Sin Wa struck a match. Then,
having the lighted match held in one hand and carrying the bag in the
other, he crept along the low passage to the door of the cache.
Dropping the smouldering match-end, he opened the door and entered
that secret warehouse for which so many people were seeking.

Seated in a cane chair by the oil-stove was the shrivelled figure of
Sam Tuk, his bald head lolling sideways so that his big horn-rimmed
spectacles resembled a figure 8. On the counter was set a ship's
lantern. As Sin Sin Wa came in Sam Tuk slowly raised his head.

No greetings were exchanged, but Sin Sin Wa untied the neck of his
kit-bag and drew out a large wicker cage. Thereupon: "Hello! hello!"
remarked the occupant drowsily. "Number one p'lice chop lo! Sin Sin
Wa--Sin Sin. . . ."

"Come, my Tling-a-Ling," crooned Sin Sin Wa.

He opened the front of the cage and out stepped the raven onto his
wrist. Sin Sin Wa raised his arm and Tling-a-Ling settled himself
contentedly upon his master's shoulder.

Placing the empty cage on the counter. Sin Sin Wa plunged his hand
down into the bag and drew out the gleaming wooden joss. This he set
beside the cage. With never a glance at the mummy figure of Sam Tuk,
he walked around the counter, raven on shoulder, and grasping the end
of the laden shelves, he pulled the last section smoothly to the left,
showing that it was attached to a sliding door. The establishments of
Sin Sin Wa were as full of surprises as a Sicilian trinketbox.

The double purpose of the timbering which had been added to this old
storage vault was now revealed. It not only served to enlarge the
store-room, but also shut off from view a second portion of the
cellar, smaller than the first, and containing appointments which
indicated that it was sometimes inhabited.

There was an oil-stove in the room, which, like that adjoining it, was
evidently unprovided with any proper means of ventilation. A paper-
shaded lamp hung from the low roof. The floor was covered with
matting, and there were arm-chairs, a divan and other items of
furniture, which had been removed from Mrs. Sin's sanctum in the
dismantled House of a Hundred Raptures. In a recess a bed was placed,
and as Sin Sin Wa came in Mrs. Sin was standing by the bed looking
down at a woman who lay there.

Mrs. Sin wore her kimona of embroidered green silk and made a striking
picture in that sordid setting. Her black hair she had dyed a
fashionable shade of red. She glanced rapidly across her shoulder at
Sin Sin Wa--a glance of contempt with which was mingled faint
distrust.

"So," she said, in Chinese, "you have come at last." Sin Sin Wa
smiled. "They watched the old fox," he replied. "But their eyes were
as the eyes of the mole."

Still aside, contemptuously, the woman regarded him, and:

"Suppose they are keener than you think?" she said. "Are you sure you
have not led them--here?"

"The snail may not pursue the hawk," murmured Sin Sin Wa; "nor the eye
of the bat follow his flight."

"Smartest leg," remarked the raven.

"Yes, yes, my little friend," crooned Sin Sin Wa, "very soon now you
shall see the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan and watch the great Yellow River
sweeping eastward to the sea."

"Pah!" said Mrs. Sin. "Much--very much--you care about the paddy-
fields of Ho-Nan, and little, oh, very little, about the dollars and
the traffic! You have my papers?"

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