“I have brought disrespect upon my house. Yet it is the only way. I placed a sleeping powder in the tea of my father.”
I frowned.
“What was the big idea in doing that?”
She unwrapped the pasteboard box which had been under her arm.
“And I brought you his clothes, his spectacles, his hat.”
As she spoke she took the articles from the box and laid them on the table.
“You are to dress as my father. For the evening you will be safe. I have seen something of your skill in disguises and you should be able to make yourself look enough like him to leave the café unmolested.”
It was a good idea. Perhaps it was desperate, but it was the best chance that offered. Having Ngat T’oy with me, I would not be subjected to as close scrutiny as though I had tried the disguise unaccompanied.
“I will turn my back while you make your change, and do not hesitate,” she went on; and then, suddenly snapped back into her flapper manner. “In other words, make it snappy.”
I waited for no second invitation. No false modesty was going to stand between me and my freedom. My dress suit came off in record time and I slipped the loose blouse, the wide-sleeved jacket and the baggy trousers on, adjusted the spectacles, took out my make-up outfit and put on the finishing touches, the grease-paint about the eyes, the puckers over the lips, the gray on the hair.
In a pinch I’d get by — as long as the girl was with me.
She turned out the light over the table so that the booth was illuminated only by the lights from without.
“That’s better,” she said.
With the words there came an increase in the light, a shadow danced about the booth, and I looked up to find a form in the doorway.
Police Captain Mansfield, the hypocrite, the fixer, the framer, known and hated by every crook in the profession, stood upon the threshold.
“Well, what’s the idea of the darkness? Come on. Let’s have a look at you. The police are making a search. Turn on that light.”
Ngat T’oy turned toward him, partly arose from her stool, stood in such a position that her shoulder was between the detective and myself.
“The subdued light is for the resting of my father’s eyes,” she said. “He has a headache. Your assumption of the right to order us about as though we were cattle will doubtless go far toward curing it.”
He peered at her, then laughed.
“Hello, Ngat T’oy. How’s the little spitfire? I didn’t know you folks were here. We’re after Jenkins again.”
“Again?”
His eyes narrowed.
“All right, yet, if you want it that way.”
I thought it best to add a word to the conversation. I have always had the gift of mimicry. A voice which I have once heard I can imitate fairly well, particularly if it has some individuality of timbre.
“That which is worth finding is worth seeking,” I husked, imitating the dry, almost expressionless, tone of Soo Hoo Duck.
Mansfield’s reply was casual. Already he had accepted me. By monopolizing the conversation at the start, the girl had drawn his attention. Now he accepted me without bothering to even look closely.
“Yeah, you birds are great on philosophy. I’m strong on results... Say, Soo Hoo Duck, you and I can talk a little business profitably.”
Ngat T’oy swung about with a lithe motion, interposing her body between the detective and myself.
“You forget that we came here to eat, and that my father has a headache.”
Mansfield’s smile faded from his lips as though the grinning veneer had melted under the heat of his wrath.
“Say, listen, don’t hand me no razzberry because I won’t stand for it. You folks may be pretty high an’ mighty in Chinatown, but you need the police back of you, see? When I say I want to talk, I mean I want to talk, see? This is important. If your dad has got a headache he can turn out every damn light in the place if he wants to. But I want to talk, savvy?”
I knew there was truth in what he said. Soo Hoo Duck needed the friendship of the police. Moreover, if he should penetrate my disguise now, he could arrest Ngat T’oy as an accessory after the fact. All in all, it was a pretty kettle of fish.
And I needed Ngat T’oy there with me.
So long as her vivid personality dominated the situation Mansfield would take me for granted. With her gone, he stood a good chance of penetrating my disguise. The dim light was a protection. It had enabled us to get by so far — that was all.
I glanced through the slit in the curtain again.
The café swarmed with activity. Plain-clothes men were making a swift search, peering into the faces of the diners, looking into the curtained booths. They had trailed me to the café, and they were determined that The Phantom Crook should not escape them this time.
Once more the light grew stronger. The curtains were being parted. I raised my hand as though to shield my eyes, and, by doing so, covered my features.
A plain-clothes officer was in the doorway.
“Here, turn on that light... Oh, it’s you, Captain Mansfield. Pardon me, I didn’t get yuh at first. Nope, we haven’t anything so far, but the place is surrounded. He wouldn’t be here in the main dining-room, anyhow. We’ll catch him in one of the passages. Chuck Gee’s watching all the dark spots. We’re going through the light places. Savvy?”
Mansfield nodded.
“Yeah. That’s all right. Make a good job of it.”
The curtain dropped back into place and I lowered my hand. Any minute now he might discover the truth. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light. I must work fast.
The officer’s eyes suddenly grew frosty as he turned to me.
“Soo Hoo Duck, there’s a rumor about Chinatown that you’re helpin’ Ed Jenkins in his getaways, see? We know that he knocked down a couple of wise crackers that tried to get fresh with Ngat T’oy on the street, an’ yuh probably felt grateful to him for that little turn. I know how you Chinks are. Yuh love your friends and hate your enemies, an’ when a bird doesyuh some little good turn like that yuh think yuh have to cut off your head if he needs it.
“Well, forget it. That’s out of the picture. The word s gone out that Jenkins is all through, see? Don’t mix around with him. You play ball with me an’ I’ll see yuh through; but yuh try any funny business an I’ll make Chinatown too hot to hold yuh, see?”
It was vital that I say something, yet I wondered just what they had on Soo Hoo Duck. He had helped me. Ngat T’oy more than the old Chinaman. There had been the matter of that jade dragon ring Soo Hoo Duck had given me...
I got my feet in under me and toyed with a water glass, ready to crash it down on his head at the first sign of suspicion.
Then — “What you hear about Soo Hoo Duck?” I asked, following the custom of many of the Chinese in referring to themselves in the third person during a conversation in which they have little interest.
His eyes narrowed.
“Well, for one thing, you had a ring that represents some heathen power, some sort of a combination of all the tongs. It’s supposed to be a symbol that every Chink has to obey. If what I hear’s true, that ring got into Ed Jenkins’ possession somehow. Now suppose you just tell me how.”
I fumbled within my blouse, hoping that the shadows would conceal the lines of my hand.
“Daughter, show the man that which he seeks,” I said, and tossed the ring over to Ngat T’oy.
She was quick to perceive the situation.
Calmly, the girl took the ring, slipped it securely upon her middle finger, then thrust her delicate hand into the tobacco-stained fingers of the detective.
“Observe,” she said.
He held her hand while he studied the ring intently.
“Humph,” he said, at length, and released the hand.