It seemed that he sensed this feeling, for, suddenly, his manner changed, and he shook his head.
“No,” he muttered, “that will not do. There are many hands who can make strokes of the pen... Here. This is better. There is only one of it.”
His yellow-nailed hand slipped a ring from his middle finger. It was a ring I had noticed before, a ring of soft, yellow gold, and on it was a jade dragon, a dragon of exquisite workmanship. There were fiery rubies for eyes, small diamonds for teeth, a long ruby for a tongue. The rest was jade and gold. It was a huge affair, and I fancied it had been used as a seal once or twice, a seal to imprint a signature which all Chinatown respected and obeyed.
“Take this. Wear it,” he said. “I am weary. I would not talk more tonight. My daughter will escort you to a safe exit. There was much I would have asked, but I shall remain silent. It is better so. Ah Klim and Soo Hoo Duck will meet in the future as casual acquaintances, but here you have sanctuary. Here you have friends. Yet, beware of Chuck Gee. Good night.”
There was a finality in his tone which allowed no argument. I wanted to mutter some thanks, to make a formal farewell after the fashion of the Cantonese, but the hand of the girl was on my sleeve, and there was something in the atmosphere of the place which made me remain silent. I bowed, and followed the girl.
We went through two rooms, each of which was furnished with lavish splendor. As we walked, I studied her, and, as I studied her, I came to like her. There was a blending of the ancient and modem in an entirely incomprehensible manner. She was a baffling combination.
We left the magnificent rooms, entered a gloomy corridor of bare boards, and I spoke to her.
“Ngat T’oy,” I said, using the language of the Chinese, “one who finds a pomegranate upon a raspberry bush thinks it is a raspberry. If you would have Fa K’ei Mends who will respect you, you must get away from Chinatown.”
She stopped. There in the dim light of the echoing corridor she came close to me.
“Thanks for those kind words.”
Her speech was in English.
I made no comment. I would wait and see what her next move might be.
“You see, my father has his life here. I wouldn’t want to buy my happiness at the expense of his. And your white society snobs don’t pick up Chink women for friends.”
She was right at that. The old man enjoyed his power. White society might receive her, but only when she had found an open sesame. It would never open to the old man. After all, it was none of my affair. There remained the fact that both she and her father had used English as the language in which to address me.
It was as though she read my thoughts.
“You might as well take off the mask, Ed Jenkins.”
“Yes?” was all I said, but I was tensed, ready for anything at that moment.
“Yes,” she said with a low laugh. “My father thought you were in disguise. He felt it would be a bad thing for Chinatown to have you hiding here, and he was going to surrender you. But he knew Chuck Gee intended to kill you. He felt you were entitled to be turned over alive to the police. I liked your voice and tried to save you. Perhaps I could have done so, perhaps not. Of course we were not sure it was you until after you whipped those two rowdies. A Chinaman would not have done that.”
I remained silent. She was right. Anyone who had seen that incident or heard of it would know that the man who struck those blows was not a Chinaman. And Chuck Gee had been watching.
“Come,” she said, simply.
I followed, followed with wary steps. In the dark passages of Chinatown many things happen. I was an outlaw. A price was on my head dead or alive, and the word had been passed that I was not to be taken alive.
The Chinese love to make secret passages. It is racial habit. They make ’em even when there’s no reason. Usually there’s a reason. I wasn’t surprised to find that the entire block was honeycombed by little runways. I’d have been surprised if it hadn’t been.
“There is this flight of stairs to the alley,” she said.
With the words she stopped at the head of a narrow stairway, slid back a panel in the wall and peered without. Then her hand strayed back to my sleeve, groped up it to my elbow, and gently pulled me to the peep-hole.
I peered through—
Below appeared the dimly lit alley. At first I could see nothing except streaks of weak, reddish light, blotches of dark shadow. Then something moved. Someone coughed, a suppressed cough that seemed bit off in the middle. The shadows were alive with men.
Again a pressure on my sleeve. I was pulled gently back and the window closed.
“I am afraid it was because of the blow,” she said, and there was something almost tender in her voice.
I felt that might have something to do with it, but in reality it was the newspaper article, Chuck Gee and his confounded spy system, that and unlimited quantities of money which were being poured into Chinatown. The police must have me at any price. Paul Boardman, whose word was law, must have my lips sealed by death.
The girl showed a calm efficiency. Technically she was an accessory after the fact, could be held on a most serious charge, sent to San Quentin for what she was doing. And she was smart enough to know it, must also have known she would later be called to account; but she was as cool and calm as though she had been merely showing a visitor through her house.
“There is another way over the roof and down to a basement that comes out on the next corner,” she said in that queer, lilting voice of hers.
No wonder her father had christened her “Little Sun.” It was a name I liked and I addressed her by it.
“Listen, Little Sun, you don’t need to pilot me around. You may make trouble for yourself. I’ll work my own way out of this, thanks, all the same.”
She paused in the door of a passageway; slender, graceful, attired in semitransparent silk that emphasized the slim lines of her pose, she reminded me of a deer poised for flight from pursuing hunters.
“You don’t know just what you’re up against,” she remarked, casually, and again led the way.
She was wrong. I knew what I was up against — the combined efforts of the police and Chinese. Those blows had established my identity as well as though I had left my calling card. A Chinaman who tackled two rowdies and smashed them into the gutter was pretty likely not to be a Chinaman at all, and then there had been the matter of Chuck Gee... The police had learned too much of my reputation. I might have earned the nickname of The Phantom Crook in the East because of my ability to slip through the fingers of the police, but they were taking steps to see to it I did not live up to the name here.
I knew exactly what we should find before we found it — the other corner was watched. A veritable cordon of men were thrown about the entire block. There were police and Chinese gunmen. As yet they had not entered the houses for a search. They preferred to catch me on the outside. Why?
Of course it would be more difficult searching each nook and corner... but that would hardly be the real reason. Nor did the men without seem anxious. They acted as though they were waiting for something, some new development in the situation.
I stretched, yawned, and tapped the girl on the shoulder.
“Listen, Little Sun, I’ve been interested in seeing how far you would go to help me. I’ve found out, and I thank you. Now is no time for experiments. I’m getting tired of so much police interference. I’m on my way, and it’s going to be no place for a lady, so you beat it back to your dad, give him my compliments and tell him I’ll see him again some day.”