“If someone was going to attack us from these rooms, they already would’ve.”
At the end of the hall, they came to a Tee-intersection. The door to the right labeled properties, the door left labeled gallery, and the entrance in front of them marked costumes, Doyle paused at the intersection inspecting the three doors.
“Which do you want to investigate first?” Doyle asked.
“Always forward I guess,” Helena answered after inspecting the three doors.
To which Doyle quickly answered by opening the door on the right.
Helena muttered something very unladylike under her breath and Doyle fought back the urge to chuckle. Yet, when he opened the door that said properties, he was overwhelmed by an avalanche of clothing that came tumbling out from behind the door; filling the small vestibule and making closing the door impossible.
“That will teach you, rogue,” Helena smirked at his predicament.
“Great, you can open the next-door.”
Helena was beginning to think this was simply an old empty theatre, yet she couldn’t help wondering, why the wagon had delivered the kidnapped woman here, and why so many lights were left on, then she opened the next-door.
The next room opened up like a scene from a Thousand and One Arabian Nights, a Sultan’s throne room. All the costumes had been moved out, most of them stuffed into the property closet that Doyle opened. The left-hand wall had been knocked down opening the room to a series of wooden pillars that held up the stage floor above. Strung between the posts, the walls, the ceilings, on what looked like every imaginable surface, yards upon yards of soft goods, silks, satins, and velvets all bleached white and hung like laundry day. The floor had been covered with every conceivable rug and carpet the occupant could find. It appeared every Asian country had been represented by the display of floor covering, wide piles of pillows stacked chaotically around the room.
“What is this place?” Helena asked. In answer, Doyle shook his head. Estimating the size of the room was impossible, the cloth flowed like the wings of a white dove in an unnatural breeze making it difficult to judge distance by sight or sound. As far as Helena could tell the room went on forever. The pair took one step at a time testing the floor trying to find an end to the space. She continued, “It’s beautiful.”
A sultry female voice spoke out of nothing with a slight lisp, “Thank you, I do enjoy my decorationsss.”
She couldn’t help but jump from the voice, “I’m sorry we’re intruding. We are looking for a friend and thought she might have found her way in here. May I ask who we’re speaking to?”
“You may call me Sssissster Ping,” the sumptuous voice spoke back. Helena wasn’t sure where the sound came from at one moment she thought it came from in front of her the next from behind.
“Sister Ping, have you seen a woman named Missy?”
“What an odd way you Laowai ussse to call one another,” the hissing continued.
“We shouldn’t be here, we need to leave now,” Helena said turning to Doyle.
“About time you got here. Disssarm her.”
Helena turned to inspect the white drapes then back with a questioning look wondering if Doyle was the one that Cade had warned her about.
Doyle glanced back at her as perplexed as she was and shrugged his shoulders.
“Mistress I need you and the Detective to please drop your weapons, so I don’t have to kill you here,” Helena recognized Lane’s voice immediately. She spun around and found him standing ten paces behind them, his Navy revolver out aimed at the pair.
“Lane, what you are doing here? Why are you pointing that gun at me?” Helena asked.
“Helena drop your walking stick. Detective, do the same with your pistol. Then kick them both towards me.”
“Lane, what is going on?” Helena still not comprehending what was happening, she had known Lane for the past seven years, more like an older brother to her, than a driver.
“Lane I’m not very happy with you right now,” said the hissing voice.
In shock, Helena did as she was told kicking her cane towards Lane’s feet. The Detective, a little bolder waited for a few beats longer until Lane pointed the gun directly at Helena’s face to which he took a step backward. Given little choice Doyle acquiesced, slowly removing his pistol dropping it to the floor and kicking the weapon towards Lane.
“It’sss about time you arrived, why are you ssso late? I thought I wasss going to need to kill thessse two. Now we can harvessst them like we’ve done the othersss,” she gave an evil laugh, a hiss filled sniggering at her own inside joke.
“Yes Sister, I am sorry I was late, this brat gave me the slip last night during the riot. I was coming to inform you I was unable to find her.”
Doyle began rattling off something in Chinese, Helena had no understanding what he said.
“Do not ssspeak Cantonessse to me, I ssspeak English perfectly I’ve been in this country for many yearsss. Besidesss I speak Mandarin.”
“In that case, I put you under arrest for the murder the four yet identified women in San Francisco.”
“You, I bet you are wonderful at partiesss. Everyone in Sssan Francisssco isss responsssible for murdersss. It jussst dependsss on how you define the act.”
Helena became convinced the voice had moved closer, she almost made out the figure of a woman gliding out of visual range. She found her voice, “Lane, you are the traitor that reprobate Cade warned me about?”
Lane shifted the gun to Doyle, expecting him to lunge. “I am sorry Helena, I wish I could explain,” Lane’s face covered with an expression of pain and heartbreak.
“Lane, however, you had one job, to keep this girl busssy and out of my hair until all the preparationsss were made. You failed. I don’t think I will be needing your ssservicesss any longer.”
“Mistress please I’ve done everything you asked. If not for the riot last night she would still be chasing her
