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Updated: May 13, 2025
Pee-wee's first impulse was to shout, but on second thought it occurred to him that the army of invasion consisting of two, one of them might make a flank move on hearing his warning voice, and that one detective could thus drive the criminals into the very arms of the other, as they passed through the back yard of Chin Foo's laundry. Chin Foo's back yard was a sort of trap.
And now will you answer a question of mine? Where have you hidden them?" Jane did not answer, but rose and left the dining salon. Silence fell upon the men until she returned. In her hand she held Ling Foo's brass hand warmer. She set it on the table and pried back the jigsawed lid. From the heap of punk and charcoal ashes she rescued the beads and laid them on the cloth. "Very clever.
He knew Chang Foo's well as he knew the ins and outs of every den and place he frequented, knew them as a man knows such things when his life at any moment might hang upon his knowledge. He was in another passage now, and this, in a few steps, brought him to a door. Here he halted, and stood for a full five minutes, absolutely motionless, absolutely still, listening. There was nothing not a sound.
The suburban inhabitants all seem to keep poultry, and all these fowls were of the same breed small white bantams. So, to identify his own property, Ching Wan dyed all his chickens' tails orange, whilst Hung To's fowls scratched about with mauve tails, and Kyang Foo's hens gave themselves great airs on the strength of their crimson tail feathers.
Know de place?" Jimmie Dale shook his head. "I ain't much wise to New York," he explained. "Aw, dat's easy," whispered the barkeeper. "Go down to Chatham Square, an' den any guy'll show youse Chang Foo's." He winked confidentially. "I guess youse won't bump yer head none gettin' around inside." Jimmie Dale nodded, grinned back, emptied his glass, and dug for a coin.
Murder blazed up in Ling Foo's heart, but his face remained smilingly bland. "What I can get for it. But if the lady wishes I will give it to her in exchange for the glass beads. I had no right to sell the beads," Ling Foo went on with a deprecating gesture. "I thought the man who owned them would never claim them. But he came this noon. Something belonging to his ancestor and he demands it."
Cunningham explored the muddy gutters all the way from Ling Foo's to Moy's tea house, where the meeting had taken place. He found nothing, and went into Moy's to wait. Ling Foo would have to pass the restaurant. A boy who knew the merchant stood outside to watch. Jane woke at nine. The brightness of the window shade told her that the sun was clear.
If not, the police had not a hope of getting him if he kept his head; for back in Chang Foo's proper, which would be quite closed off now, Chang Foo would be blandly submitting to arrest, offering himself as a sort of glorified sacrifice while the police confiscated opium and fan-tan layouts.
A slow smile broke the brass-like stillness of Tsang Foo's face: "Pipe," he gasped softly, "opium velly good, make land and sea all same by an' by!" Judging from appearances Miss Lucinda Perkins was justifying her reason for being by conforming absolutely to her environment.
The moisture oozed again to Jimmie Dale's forehead. God, if he could get that letter before it was opened before they KNEW! If he could only get the chance to fight for it against ANY odds! Life! Life was a pitiful consideration against the alternative that faced him now! From the Blue Dragon to Chang Foo's was not far; and Jimmie Dale covered the distance in well under five minutes.
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