Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 23, 2025
"It must have been a devil of a fight!" he added savagely. "Meanwhile," said I, "where is old Kwen Lung hiding?" "But more particularly," cried Harley, "where has he hidden the poor victim? Come along, Knox! I'm going down there for a final look round." "Of course the premises are being watched?" "Of course and also, of course, I shall be the laughing stock of Scotland Yard if nothing results."
This was Ma Lorenzo, who for many years had lived at that address with old Kwen Lung, of whom strange stories were told in Chinatown. As Bill Jones, A.B., my friend, Paul Harley, was well known to Ma Lorenzo as he was well known to many others in that strange colony which clusters round the London docks.
"Is Kwen Lung in?" asked Harley sternly. The woman shook her head. "No," she replied; "he sometimes stop away a whole week." "Does he?" jerked Harley. "Come in, Knox; we'll take another look round." A moment later I found myself again in the room of the golden joss. The red curtain had been removed from before the shattered window, but otherwise the place looked exactly as it had looked before.
The Chinese are subtle, Knox. If Kwen Lung has killed his daughter, it may require all the resources of Scotland Yard to prove it." "But " "There is no 'but' about it. Chinatown is the one district of London which possesses the property of swallowing people up."
But even as he uttered the words his whole expression changed, and so suddenly as to startle me. He sprang up from the table, and: "Have you an hour to spare, Knox?" he cried excitedly. "I can spare an hour, but what for?" "For Kwen Lung!"
Do you think the man's story was true?" "I think nothing. I am going to look at Kwen Lung's joss." Without another word he led the way downstairs and out into the deserted street. The first gray halftones of dawn were creeping into the sky, so that the outlines of Limehouse loomed like dim silhouettes about us.
It was close on midnight when once more I found myself in Pennyfields. Carried away by Harley's irritable excitement I had quite forgotten the romance of Captain Dan; and when, having exchanged greetings with the detective on duty hard by the house of Kwen Lung, we presently found ourselves in the presence of Ma Lorenzo, I scarcely knew for a moment if I were "Jim" or my proper self.
The Kwen or Cwen nation, was that now called Finlanders, from whom that sea received this ancient appellation. Forst. East Francan in the original. The eastern Franks dwelt in that part of Germany between the Rhine and the Sala, in the north reaching to the Ruhre and Cassel, and in the south, almost to the Necker; according to Eginhard, inhabiting from Saxony to the Danube.
"I want you to run down to Pennyfields with me." "Some development in the Kwen Lung business?" "Hardly a development, but I'm not satisfied, Knox. I hate to be beaten." Twenty minutes later I was sitting in Harley's study, watching him restlessly promenading up and down before the fire. "The police searched Kwen Lung's place from foundation to tiles," he said. "I was there myself.
I tell you no more." "One thing more," said Harley sternly; "the name of the man who killed Kwen Lung?" At that Ma Lorenzo slowly raised her head and folded her arms across her bosom. There was something one could never forget in the expression of her fat face. "Not if you burn me alive!" she answered in a low voice. "No one ever knows that from me."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking