The Greatest Thrillers of Edgar Wallace. Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
Chu nodded.
“It is true, master,” he said. “The Little Narcissus, or as the foreigners called her, the Little Daffodil, was my sister. She became a dancer in a tea-house against my wish, our parents being dead. She was a very good girl, master, and as pretty as a sprig of almond blossom. Chinese women are not pretty to the foreigner’s eyes, but little Daffodil was like something cast in porcelain, and she had the virtues of a thousand years.”
Tarling nodded.
“She was a good girl?” he repeated, this time speaking in Chinese and using a phrase which had a more delicate shade of meaning.
“She lived good and she died good,” said the Chinaman calmly. “The speech of the Englishman offended her, and he called her many bad names because she would not come and sit on his knee; and if he put shame upon her by embracing her before the eyes of men, she was yet good, and she died very honourably.”
Another interval of silence.
“I see,” said Tarling quietly. “And when you said you would come with me to England, did you expect to meet — the bad Englishman?”
Ling Chu shook his head.
“I had put it from my mind,” he said, “until I saw him that day in the big shop. Then the evil spirit which I had thought was all burnt out inside me, blazed up again.” He stopped.
“And you desired his death?” said Tarling, and a nod was his answer.
“You shall tell me all, Ling Chu,” said Tarling.
The man was now pacing the room with restless strides, his emotion betrayed only by the convulsive clutching and unclutching of his hands.
“The Little Daffodil was very dear to me,” he said. “Soon I think she would have married and have had children, and her name would have been blessed after the fashion of our people; for did not the Great Master say: ‘What is more worshipful than the mother of children?’ And when she died, master, my heart was empty, for there was no other love in my life. And then the Ho Sing murder was committed, and I went into the interior to search for Lu Fang, and that helped me to forget. I had forgotten till I saw him again. Then the old sorrow grew large in my soul, and I went out—”
“To kill him,” said Tarling quietly.
“To kill him,” repeated the man.
“Tell me all,” said Tarling, drawing a long breath.
“It was the night you went to the little girl,” said Ling Chu (Tarling knew that he spoke of Odette Rider). “I had made up my mind to go out, but I could not find an excuse because, master, you have given me orders that I must not leave this place whilst you are out. So I asked if I might go with you to the house of many houses.”
“To the flat?” nodded Tarling. “Yes, go on.”
“I had taken your quick-quick pistol and had loaded it and put it in my overcoat pocket. You told me to trail you, but when I had seen you on your way I left you and went to the big shop.”
“To the big shop?” said Tarling in surprise. “But Lyne did not live in his stores!”
“So I discovered,” said Ling Chu simply. “I thought in such a large house he would have built himself a beautiful room. In China many masters live in their shops. So I went to the big store to search it.”
“Did you get in?” asked Tarling in surprise, and again Ling Chu smiled.
“That was very easy,” he said. “The master knows how well I climb, and there were long iron pipes leading to the roof. Up one of these I climbed. Two sides of the shop are on big streets. One side is on a smaller street, and the fourth side is in a very smallpiece street with few lights. It was up this side that I went. On the roof were many doors, and to such a man as me there was no difficulty.”
“Go on,” said Tarling again.
“I came down from floor to floor, always in darkness, but each floor I searched carefully, but found nothing but great bundles and packing-cases and long bars—”
“Counters,” corrected Tarling.
“Yes,” nodded Ling Chu, “they are called counters. And then at last I came to the floor where I had seen The Man.” He paused. “First I went to the great room where we had met him, and that was locked. I opened it with a key, but it was in darkness, and I knew nobody was there. Then I went along a passage very carefully, because there was a light at the other end, and I came to an office.”
“Empty, of course?”
“It was empty,” said the Chinaman, “but a light was burning, and the desk cover was open. I thought he must be there, and I slipped behind the bureau, taking the pistol from my pocket. Presently I heard a footstep. I peeped out and saw the big white-faced man.”
“Milburgh!” said Tarling.
“So he is called,” replied the Chinaman. “He sat at the young man’s desk. I knew it was the young man’s desk, because there were many pictures upon it and flowers, such as he would have. The big man had his back to me.”
“What was he doing?” asked Tarling.
“He was searching the desk, looking for something. Presently I saw him take from one of the drawers, which he opened, an envelope. From where I stood I could see into the drawer, and there were many little things such as tourists buy in China. From the envelope he took the Hong.”
Tarling started. He knew of the Hong to which the man referred. It was the little red slip of paper bearing the Chinese characters which was found upon Thornton Lyne’s body that memorable morning in Hyde Park.
“Yes, yes,” he said eagerly. “What happened then?”
“He put the envelope in his pocket and went out. I heard him walking along the passage, and then I crept out from my hiding place and I also looked at the desk. I put the revolver down by my side, because I wanted both hands for the search, but I found nothing — only one little piece book that the master uses to write down from day to day all that happens to him.”
“A diary?” thought Tarling. “Well, and what next?” he asked.
“I got up to search the room and tripped over a wire. It must have been the wire attached to the electric light above the desk, for the room suddenly became dark, and at that moment I heard the big man’s footsteps returning and slipped out of the door. And that is all, master,” said Ling Chu simply. “I went back to the roof quickly for fear I should be discovered and it should bring dishonour to you.”
Tarling whistled.
“And left the pistol behind?” he said.
“That is nothing but the truth,” said Ling Chu. “I have dishonoured myself in your eyes, and in my heart I am a murderer, for I went to that place to kill the man who had brought shame to me and to my honourable relation.”
“And left the pistol behind?” said Tarling again. “And Milburgh found it!”
XX. Mr. Milburgh Sees It Through
Ling Chu’s story was not difficult to believe. It was less difficult to believe that he was lying. There is no inventor in the world so clever, so circumstantial, so exact as to detail, as the Chinaman. He is a born teller of stories and piecer together of circumstances that fit so closely that it is difficult to see the joints. Yet the man had been frank, straightforward, patently honest. He had even placed himself in Tarling’s power by his confession of his murderous intention.
Tarling could reconstruct the scene after the Chinaman had left. Milburgh stumbling in in the dark, striking