BY C. W. DOYLE
I.
THAT TWO EYES ARE BETTER THAN ONE IN THE DARK.
“Thou hast the writings of Le Toy, Wau Shun?” asked Sam Lee of his brother-highbinder, as the latter issued from the receiving hospital of San Francisco.
“Verily, or thou hadst heard my dogs bark within,” replied Wau Shun.
“And Lee Toy?”
“Lee Toy died babbling of wings, and of the white babe whose life he saved from fire this day at the price of his own, and whose father stood beside him weeping like a woman.”
“Was ever the like seen before!” exclaimed Sam Lee. “That Lee Toy, the bravest of the brave, the keenest hatchet of our ‘tong,’ should fail his brethren, and break his oaths, and worship the white babe whose abduction he had undertaken—and that the babe’s father should weep for one of our people!”
“Ay, and, what is of more importance, that Lee Toy should have given me the writings that would have hanged us, who compassed his passing! Eh, Sam Lee?”
“Yea, Wau Shun; and compassed also the hanging of Quong Lung—nay, turn not so suddenly in a narrow lane, my brother, for I have but one eye, as thou knowest, and that can not abide swift movement in the dark on the part of a man whose life is forfeit”; and Sam Lee drew a darkling revolver from his blouse.
With a deft movement, Wau Shun, who had the advantage of two eyes—though they looked in different directions and were hard to meet—threw Sam Lee’s hand up, and snatched the pistol from him.
“’Twere easy to slay thee now, Sam Lee; and ’twere profitable, too—if only Quong Lung were out of the way.”
“Ay, if Quong Lung were only out of the way; but Quong Lung lives and waxes fat, and Wau Shun is his slave!”
No more was said. They turned into a narrow alley near the top of Jackson Street, Wau Shun walking in the rear. As soon as they had entered the shadow produced by the narrowness of the lane and by its angle to the lighted main street, there was a sharp report, and Sam Lee fell on his face, and coughed like one who is stricken through the lungs.
The swarms that inhabit Chinatown began to buzz. In a few minutes the alley was crowded with curious coolies jabbering excitedly, and in the fifth or sixth row of those who stood round Sam Lee was Wau Shun, watching the blood that welled from the mouth of the dying man and prevented speech.
After Wau Shun had seen the corpse of his brother-highbinder laid out on a slab at the morgue, he treated himself to a couple of jorums of “hot-Scotch,” and sought his den in Cum Cook Alley.
Lighting a dim candle, he proceeded to barricade himself, and to conceal his light, by means of a coverlet that was held in its place, on his side of the door, by iron bars that crossed and recrossed each other.
When all was snug, he drew from an inner pocket the roll of papers given to him by Lee Toy, which set forth the names of the several highbinders who belonged to his “tong,” the various loppings accomplished by their “hatchets,” and, in a special supplement, the instigations to certain notorious crimes by their master-mind, Quong Lung.
Lighting a brazier, he tore out his own record from the writing, and committed it to the flames. But that which related to Quong Lung he placed in a receptacle cunningly concealed in the threshold of the door.
Then, extinguishing his light, he sallied forth with the rest of Lee Toy’s confessions in his pocket, to speak with Quong Lung, who had awaited him these many hours with patience—and wrath.
II.
THE LESSER DISCIPLINE.
The dawn of Christmas Day was rosy when Wau Shun reached Quong Lung’s store. The bells throughout the city of San Francisco were once more frantically announcing the birth of the Babe of Bethlehem, as Wau Shun gave the signal of “The Brethren” on Quong Lung’s electric bell. It was answered by a deep voice that came through a speaking-tube, the end of which was so cleverly hidden that none but the initiated could find it: “Peace attend thy feet! What brother needs succor?”
“Thy servant, Wau Shun.”
“Enter, Wau Shun,” and the door was opened by some mechanical contrivance, and closed, as soon as Wau Shun had crossed the threshold, with a snap suggestive of a steel trap. Pressing a concealed button, Wau Shun lit an incandescent lamp that showed him how to avoid the thread, the breaking of which would have precipitated a hundred-weight of iron on the head of an intruder. At the end of the passage thus illuminated was a door, to which he applied his pass-key and entered an apartment that was a reflex of its occupant, in whom East and West were met. The room was decorated and furnished in accordance with the tastes of a Chinese gentleman of high culture; but the illumination was supplied by electricity, and a long-distance telephone, of the latest pattern, stood at the elbow of the stout, spectacled Chinese merchant, who sat on a great ebony chair, gravely smoking a cigar.
This was Quong Lung, the famous head of the high-binders of the See Yups—the most powerful “tong” in San Francisco—and who owed his bad preëminence to the fact that he was absolutely unscrupulous, using even his devoted friends as stepping-stones to his ambitions. Then, too, he was a “Native Son of the Golden West,” and used the idioms and swore with the ease of a born Californian. He had friends—old school-fellows and college chums—among the executive of San Francisco, and, by means of his more intimate knowledge of what was happening, he was enabled to humiliate his rivals and punish his enemies.
“Thou hast done well, Wau Shun,” he began, “and deservest well—but dry tongues can not speak.”
Pouring out some whisky for himself, he pushed the bottle across to Wau Shun, who had now seated himself on the other side of the table.
“Thy servant is enriched by thy approbation, Most Powerful,” replied Wau Shun, draining his glass after Quong Lung had drunk.
“The passing of Lee Toy by way of fire was excellently done, Wau Shun—most excellently done. And where is Sam Lee?”
“He is aweary and sleepeth, Great Master,” answered Wau Shun, whose squinting was suddenly accentuated.
“May his sleep refresh him! But the end of Lee Toy, as I have already said, was surpassingly excellent, Wau Shun. I learnt by this”—and Quong Lung pointed with his cigar to the telephone—“I learnt by this of the firing of the house of the white devil, whose babe Lee Toy guarded, and how Lee Toy died to save the devilkin.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” interrupted Wau Shun, chuckling softly, and helping himself again from the bottle.
“And the writings of Lee Toy?” asked Quong Lung, after a while.
Without a word Wau Shun laid a packet on the table.
“But these pertain to Sam Lee only,” exclaimed Quong Lung, after he had examined the roll of papers; and his nostrils dilated slightly. “Thou hast, doubtless, others that relate to thee and to me.”
“Now, nay, All-Seeing; the packet is as Lee Toy gave it to me—so Sam Lee will tell thee.”
“If the dead may speak,” said Quong Lung, deliberately.
The other turned toward him with amazement and horror in his looks. It was admirably done, but it did not even attract the attention of Quong Lung, who quietly flicked the ash from his cigar, and went on: “And thou wast seen by two of our brethren in the crowd that witnessed the end of Sam Lee; and ’twere easy, too, to find witnesses who saw thee slay Sam Lee.” Then, after a pause, he went on: “Moreover, only fools tell lies to such as me. None may sit on that chair and lie to me—only lift not thy voice at the proof of it, lest death come to thee suddenly!”
The next moment the horror-stricken highbinder was writhing under the spell of an electric current, strong enough to prevent him from relaxing his hold on the arms of his chair, which he had grasped as he tried to spring to his feet.
After Quong Lung had disarmed his victim, he said: “Thou wilt be here two days hence, and at the same hour, with the other writings of Lee Toy! Two of thy brethren await thee on the street, and will see to thy punctuality. Drink once more, Wau Shun, thou hast need. Ho, ho!”
III.
SWEET COUNSEL AND “BLACK SMOKE.”
“Roast turkey, cranberry sauce, mince pies, plum pudding, cheese-straws, a choice between beer and champagne! Well, Quong Lung, and what do you want of me, you prince of plotters?”
The speaker had all the outward and visible signs of one who was a slave to opium; but under the influence of Quong Lung’s Christmas dinner his eyes sparkled and his spirits rose to a high pitch.
“Nothing, nothing, Jim—at least nothing to speak of; and we won’t speak of it until we have had a small black coffee, and—a small black pipe. By the way,” he went on, “Miss Ah Moy and Miss Shun Sen will come in presently with the coffee and pipes.”
Quong Lung’s guest, James Ray, was lank, and sallow, and of uncertain age, because of his terrible vice, and his hair was prematurely gray. He had been an electrical engineer of high promise until he became an opium-fiend. Even his clothes betrayed his failing, no less than his scanty and feeble beard and mustache and his leaden complexion. He had attended the same Eastern college as Quong Lung, and had imbued the latter with a taste for Shakespeare and Byron and the Psalms of David; together they had graduated from Yale; and then Quong Lung, recognizing the ability of his friend and the possibilities of electricity in the career of a highbinder, had introduced Ray to the fascination of opium-smoking; and so—through the uses of adversity—he held the latter in pawn for his own nefarious ends.
“Why all this magnificence, Quong Lung?” inquired Ray, after Ah Moy and her colleague had brought in the coffee and the implements pertaining to “black smoke.” “You have but to say the word, old man, and, like Ariel, ‘I’ll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.’”
Now the hiring of Ah Moy and Shun Sen to twang their samyens for the delectation of white devils, and hand them coffee and sing to them, “came high,” for the damsels were famous in their way and in great demand.
“This is too small a thing for you to notice, Jim,” replied Quong Lung; “nothing is too good for my friend.”
“Why didn’t you add, ‘the earth is my lord’s and the fullness thereof,’ and crush me with your compliments? As though I were a damned coolie!”
There was some petulance in Ray’s voice, as he gave way to the feeble irritability that attends the constant use of narcotics and stimulants by all except Orientals. He rose to his elbow from the mat on which he was smoking, and threw the pipe on its tray, like a spoiled child. But Quong Lung took no notice of the little outbreak, and Ah Moy put the pipe to his lips with her own fair hands and soon coaxed him into complacency. When a look of contentment had once more settled on his face, Ray said, deprecatingly: “It was the ‘dope’ that spoke, Quong Lung, and not I; forgive me, old man! And now, what do you want?”
Quong Lung motioned to the girls to withdraw, and when he was alone with Ray he said: “Jim, I shall hang unless you help me.”
“You must be in a bad fix, indeed, Quong Lung, if you depend on my small arts to help you. Explain.”
“Certain papers implicating me are in the possession of one of my blood-hounds, who has shown himself recalcitrant and ungrateful—the damned dog! By means of the battery yonder, which you rigged up for me, I frightened the brute considerably this morning, and he will be here again two nights hence with such of the papers as his fears may compel him to part with; but if his courage should revive, as it may, and if he should come without the documents, I want to put him under the stress of telling me where they are to be found, and then I desire that he should never speak again!”
Quong Lung darted a look full of dangerous meaning at Ray.
“Why don’t you employ your regular bull-dogs to attend to this unpleasant affair, Quong Lung?”
“Because their methods are coarse and their weapons clumsy.”
“But it is deuced risky to be an accessory before the fact in a murder case, my friend.”
“No, no, Jim, not murder! Call it, rather, ‘the sudden death of an unknown coolie, from unknown causes.’”
“And the consideration for me?”
“Two hundred dollars now,” said Quong Lung, laying a pile of notes on the platform on which they were smoking, “and two hundred more after the thing is over.”
“And if I refuse?”
Quong Lung shrugged his shoulders, and said, in an indifferent tone of voice: “Life without opium, and without means of obtaining it, were hell, as you know. Besides, so many accidents are constantly happening in Chinatown.”
“Very well,” replied the other, rising languidly to his feet and thrusting the notes into his pocket; “very well. You must let me have entire possession of this room for the next two days, and provide such assistance and implements as I may require.”
As he was leaving the room he stopped to smell a tuberose that stood on a bamboo flower-stand. The passing act seemed to give him an idea, for he turned suddenly to Quong Lung, saying: “See to it, Quong Lung, that you provide plenty of punk-sticks for the eventful night. You will need them, I am thinking. And be good to this green brother,” pointing to the tuberose.
IV.
CONCERNING CHERRIES AND TUBEROSES.
An hour before the time set for the arrival of Wau Shun, Ray called Quong Lung into the room wherein he had labored almost incessantly during the past two days.
“All’s done,” he said, “save only the payment of my dues.”
“Proceed,” returned Quong Lung, laying ten double eagles on the table and seating himself on his favorite ebony chair.
Ray eyed him curiously while he pocketed the money, and the Chinaman, who seemed to notice everything, rose quickly from the chair and said, with a smile:
“‘How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes ill deeds done!’
Eh Jim? Now show me your trick.”
“Should somebody you dislike sit on the chair you have just left, Quong Lung, pressure on this button”—pointing to an innocent-looking cherry painted on a panel that hung on the wall—“would connect the chair with the electric-light wires that pass over your house, and make your objectionable guest the recipient of—say, three thousand volts.”
“And then?”
“And then—slightly altering the words of your favorite poet, to describe the result—‘his heart would once heave, and forever stand still’; and nobody would know how your highbinder died.”
As Ray left the room, he was again attracted to the tuberose. After smelling it, he turned round and called to Quong Lung, saying: “But you will not leave this innocent in the room, Quong Lung; its odor would be ruined by the punks you will burn, and by other savors.”
Then gravely saluting Quong Lung, James Ray left the Chinaman’s house, and made his way to the office of the chief of police of San Francisco, for even a dope-fiend has a fragmentary conscience.
V.
THE GREATER DISCIPLINE.
While Ray told his story to the chief of police, with all the circumstances and detail that would exonerate him and implicate Quong Lung, the latter met Wau Shun at his outer door, and, holding him by the hand, escorted him to his chamber, which was dim with the smoke of many burning punks, the odor of which filled the air.
“Those who are true to me, Wau Shun, will always find that my ‘ways are ways of pleasantness, and all my paths are peace,’” said Quong Lung, softly, misquoting the Psalmist.
“Thy house, Far Reacher, is the well-known dwelling of pleasantness and peace.”
When Quong Lung would have seated Wau Shun on the chair of which the highbinder had such a lively recollection, the coolie shook his head, saying: “Nay, who is thy slave that he should sit in the presence of the Most Powerful. The ground thou treadest is good enough for him.” And Wau Shun squatted on the floor before his chief.
“There is no harm in the chair, Wau Shun,” said Quong Lung, seating himself on it carelessly, “no harm unless, indeed, the sitter tells lies or have deceit in his heart.” Then, after a pause, he went on: “The writings of Lee Toy—thou hast brought them?”
“Of a surety,” replied Wau Shun, producing a packet of papers from his blouse.
After Quong Lung had looked through them, and satisfied himself that they were authentic and complete, he said: “Wau Shun, the white devils say that virtue is its own reward; but that would be poor reward for such virtuous actions as thine. Thou shalt drink with me first, and then expound to me how I may lighten the burden of obligations thou hast laid on me.”
He went to the table, and pouring out two glasses of spirits, he advanced with them on a tray to the squatting coolie.
After they had drunk, Quong Lung resumed his seat, and lighting a cigar, he said: “It is not meet that he who hath saved my life this day should crouch on the ground like a dog. Let Wau Shun take my own particular chair, whereon none have sat save those I would honor—nay, I insist”; and Quong Lung pointed to the great chair of ebony, broad enough to accommodate two men such as himself. It was adorned with a shield of bronze, richly carved and inlaid, that formed its back; and it stood on a dais of burnished copper, and might have been the throne of an Oriental potentate; and behind it was a mirror which reflected the exquisite carving on its back.
When Wau Shun, after much protestation, had ensconced himself in a corner of the great chair, Quong Lung once more filled the glasses, and again they drank in silence.
“And now, Wau Shun, though I can not weigh my gold against thy services to me, yet, I pray thee, name some reward that will not put me to shame to bestow on thee.”
“Will the payment of fifty dollars afflict thee, my lord?”
“Nay, Wau Shun, that is the due of but a part of thy merits—the slaying of Sam Lee, for instance. Here is more for thy other many good deeds,” and Quong Lung tossed on the table a heavy bag that chinked opulently. “Moreover,” he continued, “now that Lee Toy, our keenest hatchet, is dead, some worthy successor to him must be found, and who so worthy as Wau Shun, the slayer of the uncommon slain, Lee Toy?”
“Further, Instigator,” interrupted Wau Shun, squinting atrociously, for the liquor had begun to mount to his head; “further, it seems to me that if anything happened to thee—which God forbid!—I might be found worthy to sit in this thy chair by reason of thy recommendation, and—my worthiness.”
“Of course, of course,” said Quong Lung, looking at the point of his cigar and crossing his knees. “The See Yups have need of strong men, and who so strong as Wau Shun! Drink once more to thy worthiness.”
After they had disposed of the liquor and smoked awhile, Wau Shun said, familiarly and half-insolently: “Quong Lung, thou owest me reparation for thy insults of two nights ago; and seeing thou art seated on the chair of humiliation” (here Wau Shun lapsed into impudent vernacular), “you must needs do as I say or be twisted out of shape.”
“What!” exclaimed Quong Lung, putting one hand carelessly behind his head and resting the other against the adjacent wall, whereon was a painted panel that glowed with cherries—“what! wouldst thou plague me?”
“Nay, but I would discipline you,” said Wau Shun, thickly; “I would discipline you with cramps, if need were.”
“And cramps only?” asked Quong Lung, toying with the flower-painted panel. “’Twere dangerous to play with me so lightly. Cramps can not touch me and are for fools alone.”
“Then I would kill you otherwise, smooth, fat hog!”
“Have at thee, Wau Shun!” exclaimed Quong Lung, fiercely, pressing the fatal cherry; and Wau Shun, sitting in the corner of the gorgeous chair, stiffened into a frightful attitude, and then began writhing dreadfully. To the heavy, punk-laden atmosphere of the room was added an odor of burning flesh.
Quong Lung rose from his seat and crossed the room to where his victim was being electrocuted. “Ho, ho, ho!” he laughed softly; “excellent Jim, most excellent Jim!”
As he watched the grim murder enacting before him, he saw, reflected in the mirror behind the chair of doom, the door that led into the room slowly open, and James Ray and a detective well known to Quong Lung entered swiftly.
“Throw up your hands, Quong Lung!” commanded the officer, as he covered the Chinaman with his pistol.
Taken in the midst of his crime, Quong Lung started and, backing against the fatal chair, he fell on the seat beside his victim, with a yell, as the tremendous current shot through him, killing him instantly.
“Turn off the current, Ray. For God’s sake, be quick!” shouted the officer, as the bodies writhed and twisted on the chair of death.
“Yes, yes,” came the leisurely reply, as Ray took the tuberose from the flower-stand; “there will be plenty of time after I have removed this sweet tenderling from this horrible atmosphere.”