A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The Orange Yellow Diamond

J >> J. S. Fletcher >> The Orange Yellow Diamond




Levendale turned once more to the Japanese, who smiled on him.

"Look you here, Mr. Yada," said Levendale, "I don't know who you are
beyond what I'm told--your card tells me nothing except that you live--
lodge, I suppose--in Gower Street. You've got mixed up in this, somehow,
and you've got knowledge to dispose of. Now, I don't buy unless I know
first what it is I'm buying. So--let's know what you've got to sell?"

Yada swept the room with a glance.

"Before these gentlemen?" he asked. "In open market, eh?"

"They're all either police, or detectives, or concerned," retorted
Levendale. "There's no secret. I repeat--what have you got to sell?
Specify it!"

Yada lifted his hands and began to check off points on the tips of his
fingers.

"Three items, then, Mr. Levendale," he replied cheerfully. "First--the
knowledge of who has got the diamond and the money. Second--the knowledge
of where he is at this moment, and will be for some hours. Third--the
knowledge of how you can successfully take him and recover your property.
Three good, saleable items, I think--yes?"

Purdie watched carefully for some sign of greed or avarice in the
informer's wily countenance. To his surprise, he saw none. Instead, Yada
assumed an almost sanctimonious air. He seemed to consider matters--though
his answer was speedy.

"I don't want to profit--unduly--by this affair," he said. "At the same
time, from all I've heard, I'm rendering you and your friend a very
important service, and I think it only fair that I should be remunerated.
Give me something towards the expenses of my medical education, Mr.
Levendale: give me five hundred pounds."

With the briefest exchange of glances with Stephen Purvis, Levendale
pulled out a cheque-book, dashed off a cash cheque, and handed it over to
the Japanese, who slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.

"Now--your information!" said Levendale.

"To be sure," replied Yada. "Very well. Chang Li has the diamond and the
money. And he is at this moment where he has been for some days, in
hiding. He is in a secret room at a place called Pilmansey's Tea Rooms, in
Tottenham Court Road--a place much frequented by medical students from our
college. The fact of the case is, Mr. Policeman, and the rest of you
generally, there is a secret opium den at Pilmansey's, though nobody knows
of it but a few frequenters. And there!--there you will find Chang Li."

"You've seen him there?" demanded Levendale.

"I saw him there during last night--I know him to be there--he will be
there, either until you take him, or until his arrangements are made for
getting out of this country," answered Yada.

Levendale jumped up, as if for instant action. But the Inspector quietly
tapped him on the elbow.

"He promised to tell you how to take him, Mr. Levendale," he said. "Let's
know all we can--we shall have to be in with you on this, you know."

"Mr. Police-Inspector is right," said Yada. "You will have to conduct what
you call a raid. Now, do precisely what I tell you to do. Pilmansey's is
an old-fashioned place, a very old house as regards its architecture, on
the right-hand side of Tottenham Court Road. Go there today--this mid-day
--a little before one--when there are always plenty of customers. Go with
plenty of your plain-clothes men, like Mr. Ayscough there. Drop in, don't
you see, as if you were customers--let there be plenty of you, I repeat.
There are two Pilmanseys--men--middle-aged, sly, smooth, crafty men. When
you are all there, take your own lines--close the place, the doors, if you
like--but get hold of the Pilmansey men, tell them you are police, insist
on being taken to the top floor and shown their opium den. They will
object, they will lie, they will resist--you will use your own methods.
But--in that opium den you will find Chang Li--and your property!"

He had been drawing on his gloves as he spoke, and now, picking up his hat
and umbrella, Yada bowed politely to the circle and moved to the door.

"You will excuse me, now?" he said. "I have an important lecture at the
medical school which I must not miss. I shall be at Pilmansey's, myself, a
little before one--please oblige me by not taking any notice of me. I do
not want to figure--actively--in your business."

Then he was gone--and the rest of them were so deeply taken with the news
which he had communicated that no one noticed that just before Yada
fastened his last glove-button, Melky Rubinstein slipped from his corner
and glided quietly out of the room.



CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


PILMANSEY'S TEA ROOMS

Two hours later, it being then a quarter-to-one o'clock, Purdie and
Lauriston got out of a taxi-cab at the north-end of Tottenham Court Road
and walked down the right-hand side of that busy thoroughfare, keeping
apparently careless but really vigilant eyes open for a first glimpse of
the appointed rendezvous. But Pilmansey's Tea Rooms required little
searching out. In the midst of the big modern warehouses, chiefly given up
to furniture and upholstery, there stood at that time a block of old
property which was ancient even for London. The buildings were plainly
early eighteenth century: old redbrick erections with narrow windows in
the fronts and dormer windows in the high, sloping roofs. Some of them
were already doomed to immediate dismantlement; the tenants had cleared
out, there were hoardings raised to protect passers-by from falling
masonry, and bills and posters on the threatened walls announced that
during the rebuilding, business would be carried on as usual at some other
specified address. But Pilmansey's, so far, remained untouched, and the
two searchers saw that customers were going in and out, all unaware that
before evening their favourite resort for a light mid-day meal would
attain a fame and notoriety not at all promised by its very ordinary and
commonplace exterior.

"An excellent example of the truth of the old saying that you should never
judge by appearances, Andie, my man!" remarked Purdie, as they took a
quick view of the place. "Who'd imagine that crime, dark secrets, and all
the rest of it lies concealed behind this?--behind the promise of tea and
muffins, milk and buns! It's a queer world, this London!--you never know
what lies behind any single bit of the whole microcosm. But let's see
what's to be seen inside."

The first thing to be seen inside the ground floor room into which they
stepped was the man from New Scotland Yard, who, in company with another
very ordinary-looking individual was seated at a little table just inside
the entrance, leisurely consuming coffee and beef sandwiches. He glanced
at the two men as if he had never seen them in his life, and they,
preserving equally stolid expressions with credit if not with the
detective's ready and trained ability, passed further on--only to
recognize Levendale and Stephen Purvis, who had found accommodation in a
quiet corner half-way down the room. They, too, showed no signs of
recognition, and Purdie, passing by them, steered his companion to an
unoccupied table and bade him be seated.

"Let's get our bearings," he whispered as they dropped into their seats.
"Looks as innocent and commonplace within as it appeared without, Andie.
But use your eyes--it ought to make good copy for you, this."

Lauriston glanced about him. The room in which they sat was a long, low-
ceiling apartment, extending from the street door to a sort of bar-counter
at the rear, beyond which was a smaller room that was evidently given up
to store and serving purposes. On the counter were set out provisions--
rounds of beef, hams, tongues, bread, cakes, confectionery; behind it
stood two men whom the watchers at once set down as the proprietors. Young
women, neatly gowned in black and wearing white caps and aprons, flitted
to and fro between the counter and the customers. As for the customers
they were of both sexes, and the larger proportion of them young. There
was apparently no objection to smoking at Pilmansey's--a huge cloud of
blue smoke ascended from many cigarettes, and the scent of Turkish tobacco
mingled with the fragrance of freshly-ground coffee. It was plain that
Pilmansey's was the sort of place wherein you could get a good sandwich,
good tea or coffee, smoke a cigarette or two, and idle away an hour in
light chatter with your friends between your morning and afternoon
labours.

But Lauriston's attention was mainly directed to the two men who stood
behind the bar-counter, superintending and directing their neat
assistants. Sly, smooth, crafty men--so they had been described by Mr.
Mori Yada: Lauriston's opinion coincided with that of the Japanese, on
first, outer evidence and impression. They were middle-aged, plump men who
might be, and probably were, twins, favouring mutton chop whiskers, and
good linen and black neckcloths--they might have been strong, highly-
respectable butlers. Each had his coat off; each wore a spotless linen
apron; each wielded carving knives and forks; each was busy in carving
plates of ham or tongue or beef; each contrived, while thus engaged, to
keep his sharp, beady eyes on the doings in the room in front of the
counter. Evidently a well-to-do, old-established business, this, and
highly prosperous men who owned it: Lauriston wondered that they should
run any risks by hiding away a secret opium den somewhere on their ancient
premises.

In the midst of their reflections one of the waitresses came to the table
at which the two friends sat: Lauriston quicker of wit than Purdie in such
matters immediately ordered coffee and sandwiches and until they came,
lighted a cigarette and pretended to be at ease, though he was inwardly
highly excited.

"It's as if one were waiting for an explosion to take place!" he muttered
to Purdie. "Even now I don't know what's going to happen."

"Here's Ayscough, anyway," said Purdie. "He looks as if nothing was about
to happen."

Ayscough, another man with him, was making his way unconcernedly down the
shop. He passed the man from New Scotland Yard without so much as a wink:
he ignored Levendale and Stephen Purvis; he stared blankly at Purdie and
Lauriston, and led his companion to two vacant seats near the counter. And
they had only just dropped into them when in came Mr. Killick, with John
Purvis and Guyler and slipped quietly into seats in the middle of the
room. Here then, said Lauriston to himself, were eleven men, all in a
secret--and there were doubtless others amongst the company whom he did
not know.

"But where's Melky Rubinstein?" he whispered suddenly. "I should have
thought he'd have turned up--he's been so keen on finding things out."

"There's time enough yet," answered Purdie. "It's not one. I don't see the
Jap, either. But--here's the Inspector--done up in plain clothes."

The Inspector came in with a man whom neither Purdie nor Lauriston had
ever seen before--a quietly but well-dressed man about whom there was a
distinct air of authority. They walked down the room to a table near the
counter, ordered coffee and lighted cigarettes--and the two young
Scotsmen, watching them closely, saw that they took a careful look round
as if to ascertain the strength of their forces. And suddenly, as
Lauriston was eating his second sandwich, the Inspector rose, quietly
walked to the counter and bending over it, spoke to one of the white-
aproned men behind.

"The game's begun!" whispered Lauriston. "Look!"

But Purdie's eyes were already fixed on the Pilmanseys, whom he recognized
as important actors in the drama about to be played. One of them slightly
taller, slightly greyer than the other, was leaning forward to the
Inspector, and was evidently amazed at what was being said to him, for he
started, glanced questioningly at his visitor, exchanged a hurried word or
two with him and then turned to his brother. A second later, both men laid
down their great knives and forks, left their counter, and beckoned the
Inspector to follow them into a room at the rear of the shop. And the
Inspector in his turn, beckoned Ayscough with a mere glance, and Ayscough
in his, made an inviting movement to the rest of the party.

"Come on!" said Purdie. "Let's hear what's happening."

The proprietors of the tea-rooms had led the Inspector and the man who was
with him into what was evidently a private room--and when Lauriston and
Purdie reached the door they were standing on the hearth rug, side by
side, each in a very evident state of amazement, staring at a document
which the Inspector was displaying to them. They looked up from it to
glance with annoyance, at the other men who came quietly and expectantly
crowding into the room.

"More of your people?" asked the elder man, querulously. "Look here, you
know!--we don't see the need for all this fuss, not for your interrupting
our business in this way! One or two of you, surely, would have been
enough without bringing a troop of people on to our premises--all this is
unnecessary!"

"You'll allow us to be the best judge of what's necessary and what isn't,
Mr. Pilmansey," retorted the Inspector. "There'll be no fuss, no bother--
needn't be, anyway, if you tell us what we want to know, and don't oppose
us in what we've got power to do. Here's a warrant--granted on certain
information--to search your premises. If you'll let us do that quietly."

"But for what reason?" demanded the younger man. "Our premises, indeed!
Been established here a good hundred years, and never a word against us.
What do you want to search for?"

"I'll tell you that at once," answered the Inspector. "We want a young
Chinaman, one Chang Li, who, we are informed, is concealed here, and has
valuable stolen property on him. Now, then, do you know anything about
him? Is he here?"

The two men exchanged glances. For a moment they remained silent--then the
elder man spoke, running his eye over the expectant faces watching him.

"Before I say any more," he answered, "I should just like to know where
you got your information from?"

"No!" replied the Inspector, firmly. "I shan't tell you. But I'll tell you
this much--this Chang Li is wanted on a very serious charge as it is, and
we may charge him with something much more serious. We've positive
information that he's here--and I'm only giving you sound advice when I
say that if he is here, you'll do well to show us where he is. Now, come,
Mr. Pilmansey, is he here?"

The elder Pilmansey shook his head--but the shake was more one of doubt
than of denial.

"I can't say," he answered. "He might be."

"What's that mean?" demanded the Inspector. "Might be? Surely you know
who's in your own house!"

"No!" said the elder man, "I can't say. It's this way--we've a certain
number of foreigners come here. There are few--just a few--Chinese and
Japanese--medical students, you know. Now, some time ago--a couple of
years ago--some of them asked us if we couldn't let them have three or
four rooms at the top of the house in which to start a sort of little club
of their own, so that they could have a place for their meetings, you
understand. They were all quiet, very respectable young fellows--so we
did. They have the top floor of this house. They furnished and fitted it
up themselves. There's a separate entrance--at the side of the shop. Each
of them has a latch-key of his own. So they can go in and out as they
like--they never bother us. But, as a matter of fact, there are only four
or five of them who are members now--the others have all left. That's the
real truth--and I tell you I don't know if Mr. Chang Li might be up there
or not. We know nothing about what they do in their rooms--they're only
our tenants."

"Let me ask you one question," said the Inspector, "Have either of you
ever been in those rooms since you let them to these people!"

"No!" answered the elder man. "Neither of us--at anytime!"

"Then," commanded the Inspector, "I'll thank you to come up with us to
them--now!"



CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


CHANG LI

Not without some grumbling as to waste of time and interference with
business, the Pilmansey brothers led the way to a side door which opened
into a passage that ran along the side of the shop and from whence a
staircase rose to the upper regions of the house. The elder pointed,
significantly, to the street door at the end.

"You'll take notice that these young fellows I told you of get to the
rooms we let them through that?" he observed. "That door's always locked--
they all have latch-keys to it. They never come through the shop--we've
nothing to do with them, and we don't know anything about whatever they
may do in their rooms--all we're concerned with is that they pay their
rent and behave themselves. And quiet enough they've always been--we've
had no reason to complain."

"And, as they all have latch-keys, I suppose they can get into the place
at any hour of the day--or night?" suggested the Inspector. "There's no
bar against them coming here at night?"

"They can come in--and go out--whenever they please," answered the elder
man. "I tell you we've nothing to do with them--except as their
landlords."

"Where do you live--yourselves?" asked the Inspector. "On these premises?"

"No, we don't," replied the younger brother, who, of the two, had showed
the keenest, if most silent, resentment at the police proceedings. "We
live--elsewhere. This establishment is opened at eight in the morning, and
closed at seven in the evening. We're never here after seven--either of
us."

"So that you never see anything of these foreigners at night-time?" asked
the Inspector. "Don't know what they do, I suppose?"

"We never see anything of 'em at any time," said the elder brother. "As
you see, this passage and staircase is outside the shop. We know nothing
whatever about them beyond what I've told you."

"Well--take us up, and we'll see what we can find out," commanded the
Inspector. "We're going to examine those rooms, Mr. Pilmansey, so we'll
get it done at once."

The intervening rooms between the lower and the top floors of the old
house appeared to be given up to stores--the open doors revealed casks,
cases, barrels, piles of biscuit and confectionery boxes--nothing to
conceal there, decided the lynx-eyed men who trooped up the dingy stairs
after the grumbling proprietors. But the door on the top floor was closed
--and when Ayscough turned its handle he found it to be locked from
within.

"They've keys of their own for that, too," remarked the younger Pilmansey.
"I don't see how you're going to get in, if there's nobody inside."

"We're going in there whether there's anybody or not," said the Inspector.
"Knock, Ayscough!--knock loudly!"

The group of men gathered behind the leaders, and filling the whole of the
lobby outside the closed door, waited, expectant and excited, in the
silence which followed on Ayscough's loud beating on the upper panel. A
couple of minutes went by: the detective knocked again, more insistently.
And suddenly, and silently, the door was opened--first, an inch or two,
then a little wider, and as Ayscough slipped a stoutly booted foot inside
the crack a yellow face, lighted by a pair of narrow-slitted dark eyes,
looked out--and immediately vanished.

"In with you!" said the Inspector. "Careful, now!"

Ayscough pushed the door open and walked in, the rest crowding on his
heels. And Purdie, who was one of the foremost to enter, was immediately
cognizant of two distinct odours--one, the scent of fragrant tea, the
other of a certain heavy, narcotic something which presently overpowered
the fragrance of the tea and left an acid and bitter taste.

"Opium," he whispered to Lauriston, who was close at his elbow. "Opium!
Smell it?"

But Lauriston was more eyes than nose just then. He, like the rest of his
companions, was staring at the scene on which they had entered. The room
was of a good size--evidently, from its sloping ceilings, part of the
attic story of the old house. The walls were hung with soft, clinging,
Oriental draperies and curtains; a few easy chairs of wickerwork, a few
small tables of like make, were disposed here and there: there was an
abundance of rugs and cushions: in one corner a gas-stove was alight, and
on it stood a kettle, singing merrily.

The young man who had opened the door had retreated towards this stove;
Purdie noticed that in one hand he held a small tea-pot. And in the left-
hand corner, bent over a little table, and absorbed in their game, sat two
other young men, correctly attired in English clothes, but obviously
Chinese from their eyebrows to their toes, playing chess.

The holder of the tea-pot cast a quick glance at the disturbance of this
peaceful scene, and set down his tea-pot; the chess-players looked up for
one second, showed not the faintest sign of perturbation--and looked down
again. Then the man of the tea-pot spoke--one word.

"Yes?" he said.

"The fact is, Mister," said the elder Pilmansey, "these are police-
officers. They want one of your friends--Mr. Chang Li."

The three occupants of the room appeared to pay no attention. The chess-
players went on playing; the other man reached for a canister, and
mechanically emptied tea out of it into his pot.

"Shut and lock that door, Ayscough," said the Inspector. "Let somebody
stand by it. Now," he continued, turning to the three Chinese, "is one of
you gentlemen Mr. Chang Li?"

"No!" replied one of the chess-players. "Not one of us!"

"Is he here?" demanded the Inspector. Then seeing that he was to be met by
Oriental impassivity, he turned to the Pilmanseys. "What other rooms are
there here?" he asked.

"Two," answered the elder brother, pointing to the curtains at the rear of
the room. "One there--the other there. Behind those hangings--two smaller
rooms."

The Inspector strode forward and tore the curtains aside. He flung open
the first of the doors--and started back, catching his breath.

"Phew!" he said.

The heavy, narcotic odour which Purdie had noticed at once on entering the
rooms came afresh, out of the newly-opened door, in a thick wave. And as
the rest of them crowded after the Inspector, they saw why. This was a
small room, hung like the first one with curiously-figured curtains, and
lighted only by a sky-light, over which a square of blue stuff had been
draped. In the subdued life they saw that there was nothing in that room
but a lounge well fitted with soft cushions and pillows--and on it, his
spare figure wrapped in a loose gown, lay a young Chinaman, who, as the
foremost advanced upon him, blinked in their wondering faces out of eyes
the pupils of which were still contracted. Near him lay an opium pipe--
close by, on a tiny stand, the materials for more consumption of the drug.

The man who had accompanied the Inspector in his entrance to the tea-shop
strode forward and seized the recumbent figure by the shoulder, shaking
him gently.

"Now then!" he said, sharply, "wake up, my man! Are you Chang Li?"

The glazed eyes lifted themselves a little wonderingly; the dry lips
moved.

"Yes," he muttered. "Chang Li--yes. You want me?"

"How long have you been here?" demanded the questioner.

"How long--yes? Oh--I don't know. What do you want?" asked Chang Li. "I
don't know you."

The tea-maker thrust his head inside the room.

"He can't tell you anything," he said, with a grin. "He has been--what you
call on the break-out--with opium--ever so many days. He has--attacks that
way. Takes a fit of it--just as some of your people take to the drink.
He's coming out of it, now--and he'll be very, very unhappy tomorrow."

The Inspector twisted round on the informant.

"Look here!" he said. "Do you know how long he's been here--stupifying
himself? Is it a day--or days?"

One of the chess-players lifted a stolid face.

"He has been here--like that--several days," he said. "It's useless trying
to do anything with him when he takes the fit--the craving, you
understand?--into his head. If you want any information out of him, you'd
better call again in a few hours."

"Do you mean to tell me he's been here--like that--several days?" demanded
the Inspector.

"The young man with the tea-pot grinned again.

"He's never been at a class at the medical school since the 17th," he
announced. "I know that--he's in some classes with me. He's been here--all
the time since then."

The Inspector turned sharply on Ayscough.

"The 17th!" he exclaimed. "And that affair was on the 18th! Then--"

Chang Li was fumbling in a pocket of his gown. He found something there,
raised a hand to his lips, swallowed something. And in a few seconds, as
his eyes grew brighter, he turned a suspicious and sullen glance on the
group which stood watching him.

"What do you want?" he growled. "Who are you?"

"We want some information from you," said the Inspector. "When did you
last see your brother, or friend, or whatever he is--Chen Li?"

Chang Li shook his head--it was obvious that he had no clear recollection.

"Don't know," he answered. "Perhaps just now--perhaps tomorrow--perhaps
not for a long time."

"When were you last at home--in Maida Vale?" asked the Inspector.

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.