Читать книгу Hop Lee, The Chinese Slave Dealer; Old and Young King Brady and the Opium Fiends - Francis Worcester Doughty - Страница 4

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The two King Bradys had come to San Francisco on a mission of friendship, for which they meant to accept no reward save the gratitude of the sister of an old friend.

The celebrated officers had now been in San Francisco for twenty-four hours. Shortly after their arrival they had called on the chief of police, who accorded them a friendly welcome.

And when a few remarks had been exchanged, Old King Brady said:

“At the request of Miss Clara Moore, the sister of my old friend, Blake Moore, the San Francisco detective, we have come to your city to try to ferret out the mystery of the officer’s death and bring his assassins to justice.”

“I shall be glad to render you all the assistance I can; but you know from the newspapers that my men have failed to get at the truth,” said the chief.

“I know; but you have some clews, I suppose?”

“We only know that Blake Moore had spotted a certain house in the Chinese quarter which was, he believed, the den of Mongolian slave dealers and opium smugglers. One night Moore went to that house disguised as a Chinaman. He was never seen alive again. Next day Moore failed to report. Then I raided the house to which I knew he had gone. Not a Chinaman was found in it. The place had the appearance of having been hastily abandoned; but we found the dead body of Blake Moore in the Chinese den.”

“And the newspapers have informed me that there were no marks of violence on the body of my dead friend?” said Old King Brady.

“No, there were none. It seemed that Moore had died a natural death. But the circumstances were suspicious. Moore was in excellent health. His sister, Miss Clara, would have it that he was murdered in some mysterious way, so I had a post mortem made, and experts made tests for poison in the remains. The result was that they could find no trace of any known poison. But the dead man’s brain was found to be congested in a peculiar way. As no one could say this was the result of poison, the case has remained a mystery to this day.”

“I believe two other detectives were found dead on the streets of Chinatown not far from the house in which the remains of Moore were discovered?”

“Yes. Those men were found dead as you say before Moore met his untimely fate. They were working with him, seeking to ferret out the Chinese slave dealers. And strangely enough, no marks of violence were found upon either of them.”

“I am sure there is a criminal mystery in all this, and I mean to get at the secret of it. I do not doubt that Moore and the other two officers were really murdered by the Chinese.”

“I have always thought so,” assented the chief.

“You should know,” he continued, “that there is a regular traffic in slaves carried on by some Mongolian rascal in Chinatown. We have the proof that he is engaged in smuggling Chinese girls into this country, and that he sells them in this and other cities to the highest bidder.”

“Probably Moore thought he was on the trail of the Chinese slave dealer when he met his death,” answered Old King Brady.

“I am sure of that. Now, since I have promised to render you all the assistance in my power, I will give you this map of Chinatown,” said the chief.

With that he spread out the map alluded to, and pointing at a number marked with a red cross, he added:

“That is the house in which we found the dead body of your friend, Blake Moore. Now, if you mean to go there, I will provide you with a guide who knows Chinatown well.”

“Thank you for the map,” replied Old King Brady, as he put it in his pocket, “but at present I will not accept your offer of a guide. I suspect the cunning Chinese know the men who are familiar with their quarter of the city.”

“As you please, but as you mean to make investigations in that quarter, I take it that your coming at this time is most fortunate for me, if I can induce you to take a case which has just been placed in my hands.”

“What is it? If it will not interfere with my work to bring the murderer of Blake to justice, I may take hold of it.”

“The case is one that involves a great fortune, I suspect. Briefly stated, it is as follows: A number of years ago a man called Donald Morton deserted his wife and daughter here in San Francisco, and they lost all trace of him. The wife died a few years ago, and those who knew the daughter, whose name is 4 Edna Morton, say she disappeared from her old haunts about three months ago.”

The chief paused, and having consulted his case book for a moment, continued:

“It now comes out through his lawyers that Donald Morton died in Leadville recently, possessed of great wealth which he acquired in mine speculations. In Leadville Morton was called the Bonanza King. By will he left all his fortune to his daughter Edna, and his lawyers have advertised for her in vain.”

“I see,” said Old King Brady, “you want me to find the missing heiress?”

“Yes. There is a large reward offered for her discovery, and if she is not found her father’s fortune will go to the State, for it appears that he has no relatives save the girl Edna.”

“Well, what has my proposed investigation in Chinatown to do with the missing heiress?” asked the veteran detective.

“Simply this: My agents have found out that Edna Morton was last seen in Chinatown by a young man who knew her well. He saw the missing girl on the street in company with a gentlemanly-looking American. The pair entered an opium den. My informant was shocked, for he knew that Edna Morton bore the name of being a good and respectable girl.”

“Did your informant go into the den which he saw the girl enter?”

“He attempted to do so, but the Chinese proprietor refused to admit him.”

“Did you obtain a description of the girl’s companion?”

“Yes. He was a tall, dark-eyed and dark-haired man, with a long, flowing mustache of the same color, and he had the pale, dead-white complexion of an opium fiend. He was elegantly dressed, wore a silk hat and diamonds, and carried an ivory-handled cane.”

“Have you any suspicions regarding the identity of this man?”

“Not the slightest.”

“Have you a picture of the missing girl?”

“Yes. Here it is.”

“Thank you,” said the veteran, and he inspected the photograph.

“She is a beauty. Don’t you say so, Harry?” he added, handing the picture to his pupil and partner.

“Indeed she is,” replied the young officer, and he returned the photograph to his partner.

“Edna Morton was employed as a model in a fashionable cloak house at the time of her disappearance. Her employers and her associates both say she was a good, honest girl. So far as known she had no favored suitor, and she told no one that she meant to go away. At the cloak house my men failed to find anyone who knew the man who was seen with the girl in Chinatown. But come, what do you say? Will you try to find the missing heiress?” said the chief.

Old King Brady drew a large plug of tobacco from his pocket. Having cut off a chew and placed it in his mouth, he turned to Harry, and asked:

“What’s your opinion, my lad?”

“I don’t presume to offer you advice, but since you ask for my views I will say that I think we may as well agree to try to find the heiress if she is in Chinatown, and the search for her will not interfere with our work to ferret out the secret of Blake Moore’s death,” answered Harry.

“Very well. We will do as Harry says,” the elder officer remarked.

“By the way, please give me the name and address of the young man who saw Edna Morton in Chinatown,” he added.

The chief complied with the request, and the detective made a memorandum in his notebook. Then he said:

“If you have nothing further of importance to make known we’ll go.”

“I know of nothing more that I can tell you which will serve you. Of course, it is not necessary to warn you that Chinatown is full of peril for strangers. The Mongolians are naturally suspicious, and there are many desperate criminals among them. Then, too, San Francisco’s Chinese quarters is the stronghold of the Mongolian murder league called the Highbinders.”

“We have worked against the Highbinders in the Chinese quarter of New York City, and we know a good deal about the rascals and Chinese habits and customs. Harry is one of the best Chinese impersonators in the country, and we both understand the language of the Celestials to some extent, so we are well fitted to venture among them anywhere,” answered Old King Brady.

A little later he and Harry were on the street.

And it was after this that Captain Barnabas spotted them and followed them to their hotel, as we have heard him relate to Hop Lee.

But now we return to the two detectives, as some hours subsequently they paused before the door of the residence on K—— street as already stated.

Ascending the steps accompanied by Harry, Old King Brady rang the bell.

Directly the door opened.

A handsome young girl appeared.

She was dressed in deep mourning and her fair face showed signs of grief.

“You see, my dear Miss Clara, we have come at last,” said Old King Brady, as the young lady shook hands with him and Harry, and welcomed them like the old and valued friends they were.

The sister of the unfortunate San Francisco officer ushered the detectives into the parlor, and a conversation immediately ensued.

“I received your letter which assured me that you would come, and I have been very impatient for your arrival. As I wrote you, I firmly believe my poor brother’s death was caused in some way by Chinese criminals, and I have vowed that the assassins shall be punished,” said Clara Moore.

Then at Old King Brady’s request she related all that she knew about her brother’s death.

But from this the detectives gathered nothing new—nothing that the chief of police had not already told them.

After conversing with Miss Clara for an hour or so the two detectives left her.

But before they withdrew Old King Brady said:

“To-night Harry and I mean to go to the house in Chinatown in which poor Blake was found dead.”