Читать книгу Hop Lee, The Chinese Slave Dealer; Old and Young King Brady and the Opium Fiends - Francis Worcester Doughty - Страница 3

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Chinatown, San Francisco, is a strange place, and the visitor might easily fancy, as he traversed its narrow, intricate streets, that he had been suddenly transported to the native land of the Mongolians.

One afternoon, in the month of September, two men, who presented the utmost diversity in appearance, were going rapidly along Clay street in the heart of the Chinese quarter.

One of the pair who claims our attention was a tall and elegantly dressed American, whose regular features were lighted up by a pair of keen, bright eyes, and whose luxuriant black hair and large, sweeping mustache well accentuated the strange, unhealthy pallor of his complexion.

Diamonds glittered on his immaculate shirt front, and his well-brushed hat shone like a mirror. In his hand he carried a peculiar-looking cane, mounted with an ivory handle, whose beautiful carving indicated the work of some Chinese ivory carver.

The companion of this personage who presented all the outward appearance of wealth was a Chinaman of burly and evidently exceedingly muscular frame. He, too, was very richly dressed, but in the Chinese costume. His face was marked horribly by the scars of smallpox, and taken all in all, he was about as ugly a Mongolian as could be found in San Francisco’s Chinatown, which is saying a good deal.

His well-oiled braid of long, black hair hung down his back over a silken blouse, and his ugly yellow visage was of course devoid of hair. The pair of small pig-like eyes with which he seemed to glance in every direction with a peculiar alertness, had in them an expression of cunning which the physiognomist would have taken as an indication of his character.

The oddly assorted pair would have attracted attention anywhere but in the Chinese quarter, for in other sections of San Francisco it would be an unusual thing to see a gentlemanly-looking American in company with, and evidently on extremely friendly and familiar terms with a Celestial.

But in Chinatown the appearance of the tall American in company with the burly, ill-favored Mongolian, seemed to be taken as a matter of course. And the pig-tailed, yellow-faced men on the street did not evince that show of suspicion and distrust toward this particular “Melican man” with which they regarded most strangers of his nationality.

Indeed, the Chinamen who were seated at the shop doors, or who lounged along the street, exchanged knowing winks as the oddly assorted companions passed them.

And glances of recognition which were cast upon the American as well as upon his Mongolian companion showed that the former was well known in Chinatown.

One of two Celestials who were lounging at the door of a fan-tan gambling den, which purported to be an innocent tobacco shop, exchanged a peculiar sign with the huge Mongolian who walked beside the American.

And when the pair had passed, the yellow rascal remarked to his friend, as a knowing grin expanded his large mouth:

“Hum! Cap Barnabas come to see Hop Lee. Big Melican man an’ great chief of Highbinders muchee friends, ’cause um both makee heap much money by opium trade.”

“Melican man muchee smart man, else Hop Lee no be friend,” replied the other Celestial.

Just then the chief of the dreaded Chinese secret order of assassins, and the man called Captain Barnabas entered an alley near the fan-tan den.

Following them one would have presently seen the pair gain admission to a large house on the alley, whose door was opened by a dwarf Chinaman with a hump between his shoulders.

Through a narrow hall Hop Lee led his companion, and they passed into an apartment at the rear of it. 2 This room was luxuriously fitted up as an opium smoking saloon. Oriental draperies hung upon the walls, velvet carpets covered the floor, divans on which the smokers of the fatal but seductive Chinese drug reclined when they hit the pipe, were ranged along the walls.

Hop Lee closed the door, and he and Captain Barnabas were alone.

“Now we can talk in safety; eh, Hop Lee?” said Captain Barnabas, becoming seated on one of the elegant divans.

“Yes, now we talk,” answered the Chinaman, in perfect English.

“But,” he added, indicating an opium pipe on a stand, “you can smoke while we talk.”

“No, Hop Lee, none of the dope for me to-day. The cursed stuff has taken too strong a hold on me already. I’m a slave of the dope, and I want it badly enough, but I’ve got to keep my head clear, you know why.”

“Yes, and you’re right, Cap Barnabas. Now, tell me all about why you told me on the street you had bad news for me.”

“I can do that easily. The fact is, to-day I saw two of the greatest Secret Service detectives of America on a street of San Francisco. I recognized those man-hunters, who were not in disguise. They are Old and Young King Brady.”

“I’ve heard of them,” said Hop Lee. “The Highbinders of New York have told me about them. Do you think they are after us?”

“Hop Lee,” answered the other, “I am almost sure that Old King Brady and his partner have come to San Francisco to do detective work in Chinatown.”

The Mongolian gave a quick start as he asked in anxious tones:

“How do you come to think that?”

“I followed the detectives to their hotel.”

“You found out something there?”

“Yes, I saw the two detectives in a private room. I spied upon them through the ventilator over the door.”

“What did you see?”

“The two officers were poring over a map of San Francisco’s Chinatown.”

“Ha! They were getting the lay of the land!”

“I believe so. But what assured me that they were after us, was because I saw Old King Brady point out the house in Chinatown, which used to be the receiving station of our band of opium smugglers and your gang of slavers.”

At that, Hop Lee exclaimed fiercely:

“Well, let them come to the old receiving house. Yes, let them come, and they will never leave the house alive! You know we were posted some time ago that the police had spotted the old den, so we shifted our quarters, but we have since made a pretense of using the old place, merely to fool the police.”

“Yes. But I saw something in the hand of Old King Brady besides the map of Chinatown.”

“What was it?”

“A photograph of a beautiful girl, whom we both know.”

Again Hop Lee started.

“You don’t mean Edna Morton, the American girl?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, but I do!”

“Then there’s cause for alarm.”

“Yes, for I believe Old and Young King Brady have come to San Francisco to search for that girl.”

“If they find her our scheme to get hold of the girl’s great fortune will fall through.”

“Of course. But I made a further discovery which seems to indicate that the two detectives have more than one motive for coming to San Francisco.”

“How so?”

“When they were looking at the map and the photograph I heard Old King Brady say: ‘Now we will go to see Clara Moore.’”

“Ha! The sister of Blake Moore, the San Francisco detective, who undertook to ferret out the slave dealers of Chinatown.”

“The same. Now, I ask you, Hop Lee, what can the Secret Service men want of Blake Moore’s sister, unless they mean to get from her all the facts about the death of that officer?”

“I think you are right. But to-day all the Chinamen of the Highbinders League shall be warned. My gang of slavers, too, shall be told to look out. Ha! The mysterious death shall be ready for the spies at the old receiving station!”

“I take it the Bradys will go there. It was a good idea of ours to make a show of using the house, though we know it has been marked by the police. Now, the old house will serve as a bait to decoy the detectives into our power.”

“That’s it; no white man, save yourself, knows the secret of the means of swift and certain death which the old retreat contains. The great American detectives cannot guard against it. They shall die in the old house. Ah, if they think to run Hop Lee, the great Chinese slave dealer, to earth, they will perish in the attempt.”

“Just as Blake Moore and two other detectives have perished, eh?”

“Yes, sure, silent, almost invisible is the means of doom which my band of slavers brought me from China.”

“But I warn you that the two King Bradys are men of extraordinary cunning and bravery. I am not known to them. But during a recent trip to New York they were pointed out to me by our agent in New York’s Chinatown, and I was informed that they had never yet failed to bring any case they took to a successful end.”

“All right, Cap Barnabas. But we are scheming for the millions of the Bonanza King’s daughter, and our great money making business of slave dealing and opium smuggling is imperiled. So you may be sure Hop Lee will prove too much for the detectives, assisted by you and all my gang. I am a king in 3 Chinatown. All men fear me here, all will do my bidding,” answered the Chinese slave dealer, vauntingly.

“Then let us make our preparations. I rather anticipate that Old King Brady and his partner will visit Chinatown to-night.”

“Come. We will go to the old house in which we used to keep smuggled dope, and which served as your slave mart before the police got onto the place,” added Captain Barnabas.

“Yes, we’ll go there at once,” assented the Chinaman.

Captain Barnabas arose, and Hop Lee preceded him out of the room. They passed out of the opium joint and walked rapidly away.

* * * * * * * *

At about the same hour Old King Brady and Harry Brady, his partner, were walking along K—— street. The two detectives were dressed much as usual. Old King Brady wore his favorite high-cut coat, old-fashioned stock, and wide hat. Harry was dressed in a similar way. Presently they paused at the door of a residence.