he was perfectly well assured.
Doubts were to come later when he was away from her, when he had had leisure to consider that she might regard him in the light of a third potential rifler of her father's treasure-house. But at the moment, looking down into her dark eyes, he reproached himself and wondered where his true duty lay.
'It is so gray and dull and sordid here,' said the girl, looking down the darkened street. 'There is no one much to talk to.'
'But you have your business interests to keep you employed during the day, after all.'
'I hate it all. I hate it all.'
'But you seem to have perfect freedom?'
'Yes. My mother, you see, was not Chinese.'
'But you wish to leave Limehouse?'
'I do. I do. Just now it is not so bad, but in the winter how I tire of the gray skies, the endless drizzling rain. Oh!' She shrank back into the shadow of a doorway, clutching at Durham 's arm. 'Don't let Ah Fu see me.'
'Ah Fu? Who is Ah Fu?' asked Durham, also drawing back as a furtive figure went slinking down the opposite side of the street.
'My father's servant. He let you in this morning.'
'And why must he not see you?'
'I don't trust him. I think he tells my father things.'
'What is it that he carries in his hand?'
'A birdcage, I expect.'
'A birdcage?'
'Yes!'
He caught the gleam of her eyes as she looked up at him out of the shadow.
'Is he, then, a bird-fancier?'
'No, no, I can't explain because I don't understand myself. But Ah Fu goes to a place in Shadwell regularly and buys young birds, always very young ones and very little ones.'
'For what or for whom?'
'I don't know.'
'Have you an aviary in your house?'
'No.'
'Do you mean that they disappear, these purchases of Ah Fu's?'
'I often see him carrying a cage of young birds, but we have no birds in the house.'
'How perfectly extraordinary!' muttered Durham.
'I distrust Ah Fu,' whispered the girl. 'I am glad he did not see me with you.'
'Young birds,' murmured Durham absently. 'What kind of young birds? Any particular breed?'
'No; canaries, linnets-all sorts. Isn't it funny?' The girl laughed in a childish way. 'And now I think Ah Fu will have gone in, so I must say good night.'
But when presently Detective Durham found himself walking back along West India Dock Road, his mind's eye was set upon the slinking figure of a Chinaman carrying a birdcage.
VI. A HINT OF INCENSE
One Chinaman more or less does not make any very great difference to the authorities responsible for maintaining law and order in Limehouse. Asiatic settlers are at liberty to follow their national propensities, and to knife one another within reason. This is wisdom. Such recreations are allowed, if not encouraged, by all wise rulers of Eastern peoples.
'Found drowned,' too, is a verdict which has covered many a dark mystery of old Thames, but 'Found in the river, death having been due to the action of some poison unknown,' is a finding which even in the case of a Chinaman is calculated to stimulate the jaded official mind.
New Scotland Yard had given Durham a roving commission, and had been justified in the fact that the second victim, and this time not a Chinaman, had been found under almost identical conditions. The link with the establishment of Huang Chow was incomplete, and Durham fully recognized that it was up to him to make it sound and incontestable.
Jim Poland was not the only man in the East End who knew that the dead Chinaman had been in negotiation with Huang Chow. Kerry knew it, and had passed the information on to Durham.
Some mystery surrounded the life of the old dealer, who was said to be a mandarin of high rank, but his exact association with the deaths first of the Chinaman Pi Lung, and second of Cohen, remained to be proved. Certain critics have declared the Metropolitan detective service to be obsolete and inefficient. Kerry, as a potential superintendent, resented these criticisms, and in his protege Durham, perceived a member of the new generation who was likely in time to produce results calculated to remove this stigma.
Durham recognized that a greater responsibility rested upon his shoulders than the actual importance of the case might have indicated; and now, proceeding warily along the deserted streets, he found his brain to be extraordinarily active and his imagination very much alive.
There is a night life in Limehouse, as he had learned, but it is a mole life, a subterranean life, of which no sign appears above ground after a certain hour. Nevertheless, as he entered the area which harbours those strange, hidden resorts the rumour of which has served to create the glamour of Chinatown, he found himself to be thinking of the great influence said to be wielded by Huang Chow, and wondering if unseen spies watched his movements.
Lala was Oriental, and now, alone in the night, distrust leapt into being within him. He had been attracted by her and had pitied her. He told himself now that this was because of her dark beauty and the essentially feminine appeal which she made. She was perhaps a vampire of the most dangerous sort, one who lured men to strange deaths for some sinister object beyond reach of a Western imagination.
He found himself doubting the success of those tactics upon which, earlier in the day, he had congratulated himself. Perhaps beneath the guise of Hampden, who bought antique furniture on commission, those cunning old eyes beneath the horn-rimmed spectacles had perceived the detective hidden, or at least had marked subterfuge.
While he could not count Lala a conquest-for he had not even attempted to make love to her-the ease with which he had developed the acquaintance now, afforded matter for suspicion.
At the entrance to the court communicating with the establishment of Huang Chow he paused, looking cautiously about him. The men on the Limehouse beats had been warned of the investigation afoot tonight, and there was a plain-clothes man on point duty at no great distance away, although carefully hidden, so that Durham had quite failed to detect his presence.
Durham wore rough clothes and rubber-soled shoes; and now, as he entered the court, he was thinking of the official report of the police sergeant who, not so many hours before, had paid a visit to the house of Huang Chow in order to question him respecting his knowledge of the dead man Cohen, and to learn when last he had seen him.
Old Huang, who had received his caller in the large room upstairs, the room which boasted the presence of the writing- dais, had exhibited no trace of confusion, assuring the sergeant that he had not seen the man Cohen for several days. Cohen had come to him with an American introduction, which he, Huang, believed to be forged, and had wanted him to undertake a shady agency, respecting the details of which he remained peculiarly reticent. In short, nothing had been gained by this official interrogation, and Huang blandly denied any knowledge of an attempted burglary of his establishment.
'What have I to lose?' he had asked the inquirer. 'A lot of old lumber which I have accumulated during many years, and a reputation for being wealthy, due to my lonely habits and to the ignorance
