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"And have someone 'phone for a taxi; they are to keep on till they get one. Where is Sergeant Durham?" "At the mortuary." "Ah!" "Any developments, Chief Inspector?" "Yes. But apart from keeping a close watch upon the house of Zani Chada you are to do nothing until you hear from me again." "Very good," said the inspector. "Are you going to wait for Durham's report?" "No.
Was he entitled to disregard the happiness of his wife, the life of his boy, the honourable name of Sir Noel Rourke, because an outcast like Peters had come to a fitting end because a treacherous Malay and a renegade Chinaman had, earlier, gone the same way, sped, as he suspected, by the same hand? "My resources are unusual," added Chada, speaking almost in a whisper.
"Go," commanded his father. "Remain at Kwee's house until I send for you. Let Ah Fang go to the room above and see that the woman is silent. An outcry would ruin our last chance." Lou Chada raised his hands, brushing the hair back from his wet forehead, then, staring haggardly at his father, turned and ran from the room. A minute later Kerry was ushered in by the Chinese servant.
"I am aware of the fact," murmured Zani Chada. "There are two people in it I want for two different reasons. If you say much more there may be three." Chada raised his hand slowly. "Put back your whistle, Chief Inspector." There was a curious restraint in the Eurasian's manner which Kerry distrusted, but for which at the time he was at a loss to account.
I was hanging about there, thinking I might get some information. I think she was doped." "Why?" snapped Kerry. "Well, I was standing over on the other side of the street. Lou Chada opened the door with a key; and when the light shone out I saw him carry her in." "Carry her in?" "Yes. She was in evening dress, with a swell cloak." "The car?"
"This is where we run!" In such fashion was Zani Chada interrupted, the interruption taking the form of a sudden, shrill outcry: "Dad! dad! Where are you, dad?" Kerry spun about as a man galvanized. His face became transfigured. "This way, Dan!" he cried. "This way, boy!"
But it was equally certain that no further harm would come to her at the hands of her captors, since she had been traced there and since Zani Chada was well aware of the fact. Of the whereabouts of Lou Chada he could not be certain. If he was in the house, they had him.
But Chief Inspector Kerry experienced an unfamiliar chill as his uncompromising stare met the cold hatred which blazed out of the black eyes, narrowed, now, and serpentine, of Zani Chada. Leaving the dock gates behind me I tramped through the steady drizzle, going parallel with the river and making for the Chinese quarter.
Then suddenly he determined that the man was waiting for something, listening for some sound. As if to confirm this reasoning, just at that moment a sound indeed broke the silence of the room. Somewhere far away in the distance of the big house a gong was beaten three times softly. Kerry's fierce glance searched the face of Zani Chada, but it remained mask-like, immovable.
The handsome, cultured young Eurasian, fresh from a distinguished university career and pampered by a certain section of smart society, did not conform to Detective Sergeant Durham's idea of a suspect. He knew that Lou was the son of Zani Chada, and he knew that Zani Chada was one of the wealthiest men in Limehouse.
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