“The night I was there coolies went through—coming in, not going out. They came from the beach, and they left in machines. Maybe The Whistler is running the guns over for Chang and bringing coolies back. He can get anything from a thousand dollars up for each one he lands. That’s about the how of it. He runs the guns over for Chang, and brings his own stuff—coolies and no doubt some opium—back, getting his big profit on the return trip. There wouldn’t be enough money in the guns to interest him.
“The guns would be loaded at a pier, all regular, masquerading as something else. Your house is used for the return. Chang may or may not be tied up with the coolie and opium game, but it’s a cinch he’ll let The Whistler do whatever he likes if only The Whistler will run his guns across. So, you see, you have been gypped!”
“But—”
“But nothing! You’re helping Chang by taking part in the coolie traffic. And, my guess is, your servants were killed, not because they were spies, but because they wouldn’t sell you out.”
She was white-faced and unsteady on her feet. I didn’t let her recover.
“Do you think Chang trusts The Whistler? Did they seem friendly?”
I knew he couldn’t trust him, but I wanted something specific.
“No‑o‑o,” she said slowly. “There was some talk about a missing boat.”
That was good.
“They still together?”
“Yes.”
“How do I get there?”
“Down these steps, across the cellar—straight across—and up two flights of steps on the other side. They were in a room to the right of the second-floor landing.”
Thank God I had a direct set of instructions for once!
I jumped up on the table and rapped on the ceiling.
“Come on down, Garthorne, and bring your chaperon.”
“Don’t either of you budge out of here until I’m back,” I told the boob and Lillian Shan when we were all together again. “I’m going to take Hsiu Hsiu with me. Come on, sister, I want you to talk to any bad men I meet. We go to see Chang Li Ching, you understand?” I made faces. “One yell out of you, and—” I put my fingers around her collar and pressed them lightly.
She giggled, which spoiled the effect a little.
“To Chang,” I ordered, and, holding her by one shoulder, urged her toward the door.
We went down into the dark cellar, across it, found the other stairs, and started to climb them. Our progress was slow. The girl’s bound feet weren’t made for fast walking.
A dim light burned on the first floor, where we had to turn to go up to the second floor. We had just made the turn when footsteps sounded behind us.
I lifted the girl up two steps, out of the light, and crouched beside her, holding her still. Four Chinese in wrinkled street clothes came down the first-floor hall, passed our stairs without a glance, and started on.
Hsiu Hsiu opened her red flower of a mouth and let out a squeal that could have been heard over in Oakland.
I cursed, turned her loose, and started up the steps. The four Chinese came after me. On the landing ahead one of Chang’s big wrestlers appeared—a foot of thin steel in his paw. I looked back.
Hsiu Hsiu sat on the bottom step, her head over her shoulder, experimenting with different sorts of yells and screams, enjoyment all over her laughing doll’s face. One of the climbing yellow men was loosening an automatic.
My legs pushed me on up toward the man-eater at the head of the steps.
When he crouched close above me I let him have it.
My bullet cut the gullet out of him.
I patted his face with my gun as he tumbled down past me.
A hand caught one of my ankles.
Clinging to the railing, I drove my other foot back. Something stopped my foot. Nothing stopped me.
A bullet flaked some of the ceiling down as I made the head of the stairs and jumped for the door to the right.
Pulling it open, I plunged in.
The other of the big man-eaters caught me—caught my plunging hundred and eighty-some pounds as a boy would catch a rubber ball.
Across the room, Chang Li Ching ran plump fingers through his thin whiskers and smiled at me. Beside him, a man I knew for The Whistler started up from his chair, his beefy face twitching.
“The Prince of Hunters is welcome,” Chang said, and added something in Chinese to the man-eater who held me.
The man-eater set me down on my feet, and turned to shut the door on my pursuers.
The Whistler sat down again, his red-veined eyes shifty on me, his bloated face empty of enjoyment.
I tucked my gun inside my clothes before I started across the room toward Chang. And crossing the room, I noticed something.
Behind The Whistler’s chair the velvet hangings bulged just the least bit, not enough to have been noticed by anyone who hadn’t seen them bulge before. So Chang didn’t trust his confederate at all!
“I have something I want you to see,” I told the old Chinese when I was standing in front of him, or, rather, in front of the table that was in front of him.
“That eye is privileged indeed which may gaze on anything brought by the Father of Avengers.”
“I have heard,” I said, as I put my hand in my pocket, “that all that starts for China doesn’t get there.”
The Whistler jumped up from his chair again, his mouth a snarl, his face a dirty pink. Chang Li Ching looked at him, and he sat down again.
I brought out the photograph of The Whistler standing in a group of Japs, the medal of the Order of the Rising Sun on his chest. Hoping Chang had not heard of the swindle and would not know the medal for a counterfeit, I dropped the photograph on the table.
The Whistler craned his neck, but could not see the picture.
Chang Li Ching looked at
