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Updated: May 21, 2025
Never before had the thought of it risen so strongly to tempt him. His for the mere scratch of a pen! In the lobby he found the manager pacing nervously, while Ling Foo sat patiently and inscrutably. "Why do you wait?" inquired Dennison, irritably. "The lady has some jade of mine," returned Ling Foo, placidly. "It was a grave mistake." "What was?" "That you interfered this afternoon.
His initial terror had drawn for him three white patches where faces should have been. For several minutes Ling Foo stared at the oblong blackness; then with a hysterical gurgle he ran to the door, slammed and bolted it, and leaned against the jamb, sick and faint, yet oddly relieved. He would not now have to account to the police for the body of an unknown white man. A queer business.
Here, one, hard pressed, might find refuge from the law; here a pipe and pill were at one's command; here one might hide his stolen goods, or hatch his projected crime, or gamble, or debauch at will it was the entree only that was hard to obtain at Foo Sen's! Jimmie Dale's lips twisted in a grim smile.
"Noa: I never cast eyes on un. He warn't here 'bove a foo minits 'fore he slipped away, none of 'em knaws where or how. He was warned not to go anighst you," he added after a moment's pause; "so I reckon you knaws no more of un than us does." "And Eve and Joan? were they let into the secret?" asked Adam; and the sound of his harsh voice grated even on Zebedee's dulled ears.
Slue-Foot for so Ling Foo named his visitor would not dare molest him, since he, Ling Foo, could go to the authorities and state that murder had been done. Those tiger eyes in a boy's face! His spine grew cold. Nevertheless, he set about his game. With his hands in his sleeves, his chin down, he paced the passage between the two counters.
That morning he had returned to his shop in a contented frame of mind. He stood clear of the tragedy of the night before. That had never happened; he had dreamed it. Of course he would be wondering whether or not the man had died. When Ling Foo went forth with his business in his pack he always closed the shop. Here in upper Woosung Road it would not have paid him to hire a clerk.
But I dunnot know; for he's sich a bowster-yed, mon, that aw'll be sunken if aw think he knows th' difference between a weshin'-machine an' a church organ, when he's at th' sharpest. But let that leet as it will. What dun yo think but th' blunderin' foo, at after o' that had bin said to him, went and 'liver't th' weshin'-machine at th' church, an' th' organ at th' Hollins Farm."
Ling Foo did not stir. It was not possible for him to move. The suddenness of the spectacle had disconnected thought from action. He saw all this, memorized it, even speculated upon it; but he could not move. The door was still open. The rain slanted across the black oblong space. He saw it strike the windows, pause, then trickle down.
She sighed and went out to give dinner orders to Sam Foo. If she could only go to her husband and talk as they had been able to talk things over at first. But there had grown up between them a deadly restraint. She supposed that was inevitable. Both chafed under conditions they could not change or would not for stubbornness and pride.
When the vertigo went out of his legs, Ling Foo cat-stepped over to the scattered embroidered jackets and began mechanically to replace them on the counter all but two, for these were speckled with blood. He contemplated them for a space, and at last picked them up daintily and tossed them into a far corner. When the blood dried he would wash them out himself.
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