Chiao Tai wiped the sweat off his forehead.
'Just the sight for a fellow who has been drinking happily!’ he muttered. 'If this isn't the worst way to sober up! It's the bastard I saw in the wine-house. But where's that ugly dwarf?'
He quickly let the light of the lamp fall on the opposite end of the passage. A dark staircase led down from there, but everything was as quiet as the grave. He put the lamp on the floor, stepped over the body of the dead Arab, and began to tug at the thin cord that was fastened to an iron hook under the sill. Slowly he hauled the bearded man up. His horribly distorted face appeared in the window, blood trickling from its grinning mouth.
Chiao Tai dragged the still-warm body inside and laid it on the floor, next to the Arab's. The noose had bitten deeply into its scraggy throat, and the neck appeared to have been broken. He rushed down the steps at the other end of the passage. Half a dozen steps down there was a low door. Chiao Tai gave it a thunderous knocking. When there was no answer, he threw himself against it. The old, wormeaten planks broke, and he tumbled into a semi-dark room, amidst a clatter of plates and pots and getting entangled with pieces of wood.
CHIAO TAI LOSES A COMPANION
He was on his feet again in a flash. An old Arab hag, huddled in the centre of the small room, looked up at him, her toothless mouth open in speechless fright. The light of a brass oil lamp hanging from age-blackened rafters shone on a young Arab woman squatting in the corner, feeding the baby at her breast. With a piercing scream of terror she covered her bare bosom with part of her ragged cloak. Chiao Tai was about to address them, but then the door opposite swung open and two gaunt Arabs rushed in brandishing curved daggers. They stopped abruptly when Chiao Tai ripped the lapels of his jacket apart, revealing his golden badge.
As the Arabs stood there hesitating, a third one, much younger, pushed them aside and stepped up to Chiao Tai. He asked in halting Chinese:
'What do you mean by forcing your way into our women's quarters, mister officer?'
'Two men were murdered in the passage outside,' Chiao Tai barked. 'Speak up! Who did it?'
The youngster gave the battered door a quick look. Then he said sullenly, 'What happens in that passage across the street is no concern of ours.'
'It connects with your house, you son of a dog!’ Chiao Tai growled. 'There are two dead men there, I tell you. Speak up, or I'll have all of you arrested and questioned on the rack!’
'If you would kindly take a closer look, sir,' the young Arab said contemptuously, 'you'll see that the door you battered in hasn't been open for years.'
Chiao Tai turned round. The pieces of wood he had become entangled with were the remains of a high cupboard. One glance at the dusty spot in front of the door-opening and the rusty lock he had shattered, proved that the man was right. The door leading to the passage had indeed been out of use for a long time.
'If someone was murdered in the passage over the street,' the youngster resumed, 'any passer-by could have done it. A staircase leads up to it from the street on either side, and the doors below are never locked, as far as I know.'
'What is that passage used for, then?'
'Until six years ago, my father, the merchant Abdallah, also owned the house opposite. After he had sold it, the door at the other end was walled up.'
'Did you hear anything?' Chiao Tai asked the young woman. She made no reply, looking up at him in uncomprehending fear. As the youngster quickly translated, she shook her head emphatically. He said to Chiao Tai:
'The walls are thick, and since the cupboard was standing in front of that old door...' He raised his hands in an eloquent gesture.
The two other Arabs had put their daggers back into their belts. As they began a whispered conversation, the old hag came to life and began to deliver a long harangue in shrill Arabic, pointing at the shards on the floor.
'Tell her she'll be compensated!’ Chiao Tai said. 'Come along, you!'
He stooped and passed through the door-opening, followed by the youngster. When they were standing in the passage, he pointed at the dead Arab and asked:
'Who is this man?'
The youngster squatted by the dead body. After a casual look at the distorted face he pried loose the silk scarf that had been knotted tightly round the dead man's throat. Then he felt with his nimble fingers in the folds of the turban. Righting himself, he said slowly:
'He did not carry any money or papers. I have never seen him before, but he must be from South Arabia, for they are expert there at throwing the short javelin.' Handing the scarf to Chiao Tai, he went on, 'It was no Arab that killed him, though. Do you see that silver coin tied to the scarf's corner? It weights it, thus enabling the strangler to swing it round the victim's neck from behind. It is a coward's weapon. We Arabs keep to our spears, swords and daggers — for the greater glory of Allah and his Prophet.'
'Amen,' Chiao Tai said sourly. He looked thoughtfully at the two dead bodies. He understood now what had happened. The Arab had meant to murder not only the bearded stranger, but also him. He had been lying in wait for them, at the window. He had let him pass underneath, but when his companion followed and stood waiting there while Chiao Tai knocked, he had thrown the noose over his head and hoisted him up with a fearful jerk. Then he had tied the end of the noose to the hook and taken his javelin. But when he was about to push open the window opposite in order to throw the javelin into his second victim's back, a third person had strangled him from behind with the scarf, then fled.
Chiao pushed the window open and looked down into the street.
'As I was standing there knocking on that blasted door, I must have made a perfect target!’ he muttered. 'And that thin point would have gone right through my coat of mail too! I owe my life to that unknown benefactor.' Turning to the young Arab, he said gruffly, 'Tell someone to run to the main street and rent a large litter!’
When the youngster had shouted something through the broken-down door, Chiao Tai searched the corpse of the bearded Chinese. But there was nothing to identify him by. He shook his head disconsolately.
They waited in an uneasy silence till they heard lusty shouts in the street below. Chiao Tai leaned out of the window and saw four litter bearers, carrying smoking torches. Slinging the dead Chinese over his shoulder, he ordered the youngster:
'Stand guard here by the body of your countryman till the constables come to fetch it. You and your entire family will be held responsible if anything should happen to it!’
Carrying his burden, he carefully trudged down the narrow staircase.
III
Tao Gan had walked back to the custom-house. Having passed underneath its high archway, he watched for a while the clerks who were still busily sorting out piles of bales and boxes. There was a pungent smell of foreign spices. He left by the back door, cast a brief glance at his dismal inn, then entered the city by the south gate.
Strolling along in the teeming crowd, he noticed with satisfaction that he was able to identify most of the larger buildings he passed. Evidently Canton had not changed much in the twenty odd years since he had been there last.
He recognised the large temple that rose on his right; it was dedicated to the God of War. He detached himself from the crowd and walked up the broad marble steps to the high gatehouse, its double doors flanked by two huge stone lions, each crouching on an octagonal pedestal. As usual the male lion on the left scowled down with tightly closed mouth, while the female on the right kept its large head raised, her jaws wide open.