“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m here to see Mr. Frederick Lee,” I said and held out the calling card. “My name is Molly Murphy. I gather he has a business assignment for me.”
His expression didn’t change, but he bowed slightly. “I am Mr. Lee. So you came back to town after all. Your neighbors did not think you would be available to assist my employer.”
“I have been staying out in Westchester County,” I said. “Luckily I came back to attend a function and my neighbors told me of your visit. They seemed to think it was most urgent.”
“It is,” he said. “We are honored that you have decided to give up your valuable time to help us. Please come into my office, Miss Murphy.”
He ushered me inside and pulled up a chair for me. “Please sit down. I hope you managed to find me without too much inconvenience.” He also took a seat behind the desk. His flowery politeness was beginning to annoy me, especially as I could sense that he was in no way honored by my presence. “None at all,” I said coldly. “I have conducted cases in this part of the city before.”
“Ah. That will be useful in this particular matter.”
I looked around the room. Apart from the desk and chairs it was sparsely furnished with a large mahogany cabinet on one wall and shelves containing file boxes behind the desk. Suddenly there was a rumble and the whole place shuddered. It took me a second to register that the elevated railway ran by right outside his window. Hardly the sort of place where a rich client would choose to work or even keep an office.
“I understand that you are representing an influential gentleman,” I said. “Are you his lawyer?”
“Oh, no. Merely his secretary.”
“Then may I ask the nature of this assignment?” I asked.
“As to that, he will wish to tell you about it himself.”
“Then please escort me to him.” There was only the one door through which I had entered, and I came to the conclusion that this was an outpost of an empire, with Mr. Frederick Lee being among the lower ranks of employees. “I take it he is not in this building.”
“Indeed no.” Frederick Lee stood up. “I will be honored to escort you to him. He will be pleased that you have decided to assist him in this little matter.”
“I haven’t decided anything,” I said. “I’ll need to hear the nature of the case and the fee he is offering before I make any decisions.”
“My employer does not readily take no for an answer,” Mr. Lee said. “He is used to having his wishes fulfilled and his orders obeyed.”
“Then perhaps I should leave right away,” I said, “because I don’t take kindly to being bullied or ordered around. I run my own business and I’m not anybody’s lackey, Mr. Lee.” I rose to my feet. “Good day to you.”
He leaped ahead of me to bar the doorway. “I’m sorry. I spoke hastily, Miss Murphy. Please forgive me. Of course my employer appreciates your expertise and status, otherwise he would not have sent me to find you. This is a matter of great delicacy and he needs a detective with your kind of experience and finesse. Please at least let me take you to him and hear what he has to say. He is a very rich man and his generosity to those who help him knows no bounds. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”
I opened my mouth to point out that his generosity to his employee clearly knew quite narrow bounds, if this office was anything to go by, but I swallowed back the words at the last moment. I have to confess that I was intrigued and challenged. The least I could do was to meet this man, and if I didn’t like what I saw, then I was free to walk away.
“Very well,” I said. “Lead me to him.”
He took his derby hat from a hat stand in the outer office. “This way, if you please. It is only a short walk. I hope you won’t find the heat too oppressive, but it makes little sense to hail a cab for such a small distance.” He led the way down the stairs. Another train rumbled past overhead as we came out onto the street.
“This way. Please watch your step. The street is not the cleanest, I’m afraid.” He took my arm, gripping it firmly above the elbow, and steered me across the street, between a trolley and a knife grinder’s wagon. When we safely reached the curb he released me. “It’s always an adventure crossing the Bowery, isn’t it?” he said. “Never mind, we’ll soon be out of the hubbub.”
I was curious to know where we were going. There was nowhere within walking distance of the Bowery that I could think of as a respectable residence for a rich man, so I presumed we’d be going to another office. Maybe we’d be heading south to Wall Street and my client would be a wealthy banker. Or perhaps he was in shipping, but surely we were walking away from the docks.
“Up here,” he said and steered me into a side street. I looked up and read the street name: Mott Street. I also noticed immediately that it was unnaturally quiet and empty after the hustle and bustle of the Bowery. And looked different, somehow. Brightly colored balconies festooned the buildings, which were topped with ornate curved roof gables. Some of the balconies were gilded and carved with what looked like mythical beasts. Lanterns and bird cages hung on them. Then I noticed the names over stores and restaurants. Yee Hing Co., Precious Jade Chop Suey House, On Leong Merchants’ Association, and notices pasted up on poles and billboards in Chinese characters. I was being taken into a place I had only heard about until now: Chinatown.
Four
At that moment a door opened in a building to our right. A man poked his head out and looked up and down the street before darting out of the doorway and scurrying fast down the block as if the hounds of hell were after him. He was dressed in baggy pants and a dark blue cotton jacket. On his head was a skullcap and down his back hung a long pigtail. It was my first glimpse of a Chinaman and I watched him with interest.
Then all the rumors I had heard about the Chinese and their habits rushed into my head. They smoked opium. They ate puppies. They stole women for the white slave trade. I glanced uneasily at Frederick Lee. Was it possible that I was being stupidly naïve and was being lured into captivity? My rational brain quashed this instantly. If anyone wanted to capture white women for prostitution, there would be no need to seek out someone who lived miles away in Greenwich Village when there were plenty of girls who were willing and able and already offering their services just around the corner.
“Why do you think that man is running like that?” I asked Mr. Lee. “He looked as if he was in some kind of danger.”
“No Chinese likes to be out on the street longer than he has to,” Mr. Lee said. “Surely you know that our Italian neighbors on Mulberry take great delight at beating and kicking us, even setting our queues on fire.”
“Your what?”
“The pigtails that Chinese men wear. They are a constant torment. Small boys love to tug at them. Larger louts even try to cut them off.”
We passed a storefront. What appeared to be scrawny cooked ducks hung by the necks in a row, and in front was a tank full of live fish swimming around. Two older men were chatting at the doorway, both wearing similar long pigtails.
“Then why continue to wear them if they pose such danger? They do make the Chinese stand out as different, don’t they?”