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Ah-Fang-Fu reappeared behind him. "Catchee dlunk ev'ly time for comee here," he chattered. "'Taint 'umanly possible," declared the new arrival, staggering down the steps, "fer a 'ealthy sailorman to git drunk on coloured water just 'cause the publican calls it beer! I ain't drunk; I'm only miserable. Gimmee a pipe, Pidgin." Ah-Fang-Fu barred the door and ascended.
"A retired Chinese sailor called Ah-Fang-Fu, but better known as 'Pidgin. His establishment is called locally 'The Pidgin House." "Ah." The Commissioner lighted a cigarette. "And you know of no other house which might be selected for such a purpose as I have mentioned?" "I can't say I do, sir.
"In that bag," he continued, "is a suit of clothes such as habitues of 'The Pidgin House' rejoice to wear. I, who have studied disguise almost as deeply as the great Willy Clarkson, will transform you into a perfect ruffian. It is important, you understand, that someone should be inside the house of Ah-Fang-Fu, as otherwise by means of some secret exit the man we seek may escape.
Then Ah-Fang-Fu, leaving the lantern in the shop, descended the four steps and crossing the room began to arrange two mats with round head-cushions near to the empty packing-cases. Stuart and Max remained by the door. "You see," whispered Max, "he has taken you on trust! And he did not appear to recognise me. It is as I thought.
Sh! what is that!" A moaning voice from one of the bunks came. "Cheal kegur-men, mas ka dheer!" "A native adage," whispered Stuart. "He is dreaming. 'There is always meat in a kite's nest." "Eh bien! very true and I think the kite is at home!" The head of Ah-Fang-Fu vanished. A moment later the curtains opened again slightly and the old woman came out, ushering the brown man.
I know pretty well all the business affairs of that neighbourhood, and none of the houses inside your circle have changed hands during the past twelve months. Between ourselves, sir, nearly all the property in the district belongs to Ah-Fang-Fu, and anything that goes on in Chinatown he knows about!" "Ah, I see. Then in any event he is the man we want to watch?"
"Mon Dieu! it is uncanny!" whispered Max. "Brr! do you hear those rats? I am wondering in what order we shall be admitted to the 'Scorpion's' presence, or if we shall see him together." "He may come in here." "All the better." "Gimme 'nother pipe, Pidgin," drawled a very drowsy voice from Bill Bean's corner. Ah-Fang-Fu left his eternal arranging and rearranging of the cards and crossed the room.
"Do you forget so soon what happen last week?" "No sabby." "Some one comes here we do not know how close he comes; perhaps he comes in and he is of the police." Ah-Fang-Fu shuffled uneasily in his chair. "No police chop for Pidgin!" he muttered. "Same feller tumble in liver?" "He is killed yes; but suppose they find the writing he has made!
There came a crash of broken glass from the shop. Uttering a piercing cry, the old woman staggered from the door near which she had been standing as if stricken helpless, during the lightning moments in which these things had happened and advanced in the direction of Ah-Fang-Fu. "Ah, God! You kill him! You kill him?" she moaned. "Through the window, Sowerby! This way!" came Dunbar's voice. "Max!
Chunda Las started also, but almost immediately smiled and his smile was tender as a woman's. "It is the voice of the black smoke that speaks, Miska. We are alone. Those are dead men speaking from their tombs." "Ah-Fang-Fu is in the shop," whispered Miska. "And there he remain." "But what of ... him!" Miska pointed toward the eastern wall of the room in which they stood.
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