THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume)
we're not keeping you up, Mr. Pickens," said Menzies pleasantly. "Been good of you to put up with our crowd. Still, I suppose it's been good for trade. Can't grumble, eh?"
He passed over his cigar-case.
The publican grunted, inspected the cigars with deliberation and finally selected one which met his approval. "Don't do the neighbourhood no good this kind of thing," he growled as he clipped off the end. He spoke as though the reputation of a high-class residential district had been ruined.
Menzies leaned an elbow on the bar and crossed his legs. "A pity, a pity," he said indolently. "Still we have to take it as it comes. Wonder what made those rotters pitch on this street?" he pursued speculatively.
"Talking about queer characters, Mr. Pickens, do you ever get any Chinese in here?"
"Not one in a blue moon."
"I was wondering if this dope shop hit you hard?"
"Y' mean opium, don't you? Naw, that don't touch me!"
"None of your regulars hit the pipe, then? There used to be a lot of it round here ten years ago." Pickens had said that he had only had the house seven years. Menzies could hazard the statement.
"That so? The only bloke I know that touches it now is old.Chawley Bates. Comes 'ome this way early of a mornin' sometimes, and regular swills cawfee. Reckon it pulls him together."
Menzies sized up his man. He wished now he had made a few enquiries about Pickens from the local men. "The Three Kings "was known as a resort of persons who had no great love for the police. Still, the keeper of a pub may have the shadiest customers and yet be an entirely straight man. The detective determined to chance it. He took some gold out of his pocket and slowly and absently dropped ten sovereigns from one hand to the other. Then he fixed his eyes on the other man.
"It's worth just ten quid to me," he said distinctly, "to find out where this opium shop is. No one will ever know who told me." He held the closed fist containing the gold out at arm's length.
Pickens' eyes glistened and he straightened himself out to full length. "I'm on," he said. "You'd better leave it to me. If old Chawley's at 'ome I'll git it out of 'im." He was putting on his jacket as he spoke.
He refused the detective's company and went out. Menzies did not rejoin Hallett and Royal, but reclining with one elbow on the counter smoked stolidly and thoughtfully till his return. Pickens was back within half an hour. He took a dirty scrap of paper from his waistcoat pocket and passed it to the detective.
"There y' are," he said. "I wrote it dahn to make sure. It's a little general shop kept by a Chink Sing Loo. All you've got to do is to knock at the side door and ask if they can oblige you with a bottle of limejuice and a screw o' shag. That's the pass-word. Where's that tenner?"
Menzies put the money into his hand and moved swiftly to where Hallett and Royal awaited him. In a little they were out in the, by now, almost deserted street. The chief inspector set the pace and they moved at a swift walk. No one spoke for a while. Once Menzies stopped a policeman with an enquiry as to direction and five minutes later they entered a short street bounded on one side by a high blank factory wall and on the other by a few small shuttered shops.
"That's the joint," said Menzies in a low voice, keeping his head straight in front of him. "Mark it as we go by. That one with 'Sing Loo' on the facia."
They swung by at a smart pace and took the first turning to the right. Not until they had walked for ten minutes did Menzies speak again. "Either of you chaps got a gun?"
Royal thrust a bull-dog revolver into his hands.
"Not for me," said Menzies. "You got one, Hallett?"
"Not here," said Jimmie.
"You take this, then; I wouldn't know how to hit anything with it, anyhow." He halted and shook a warning forefinger. "Don't get using it unless you've got to. I want Ling alive. Now, Royal, you'll have to hang about and use your own discretion once we're in
Hello! What the blazes is a taxi doing in this quarter at this time of night?"
A taxi-cab whizzed by them in the direction from which they had come. It is not a mode of conveyance largely favoured by the inhabitants of the back streets of Shadwell, even in the daytime. In the small hours of the morning it is probably as rare as an aeroplane.
As though the same thought had simultaneously occurred to each of them, the three raced after the retreating vehicle. It was, of course, a hopeless chase, but there are moments when men do not stop to reason. Menzies was the first to pull up.
"Take it steady, boys," he said. "We're only wasting breath. The thing's a mile away by now."
"Likely enough it's nothing to do with us," said Royal optimistically.
"I've got a sort of feeling that it has, all the same. Well I'll be petrified! Here it comes again. Stop it."
They spread across the road, Royal flashing an electric torch as he moved. The three bawled fiercely to the driver. For a moment he slackened speed as though about to stop. Then, as if he had changed his mind, the vehicle leapt swiftly forward.
Jimmie had a scant five seconds of time in which to make up his mind. His hand closed on the revolver and it occurred to him that there was only one thing I to do. The bonnet of the car was within a yard of him when he leapt aside and pulled the trigger. With a shivering rattle the vehicle stopped. Menzies was at the driver's side in an instant.
"Why didn't you stop when you were ordered?" he demanded in a blaze of wrath. "What's your number?"
"Why should I stop? Who are you? What business is it of yours anyway? If you've smashed my radiator The man's voice was less certain than his words.
"We're police officers," said Menzies curtly. "Why what's the matter, Royal?"
Royal had opened the door and his cry now interrupted his chief. Menzies dropped back to him and followed the segment of light directed from the sergeant's pocket lamp to the interior of the cab. It fell full on the white lifeless face of a woman leaning huddled up in one of the corners. He gave an ejaculation of surprise. The driver had descended from his seat and was peering over the shoulders of the three.
"Good Gawd!" he exclaimed. "She's fainted."
"She's dead," said Menzies.
He wheeled and his strong fingers bit deep into the driver's shoulders. "Where did you pick her up?" he demanded. "Speak the truth or I'll shake it out of you."
The man gazed helplessly up at him. "Strike me lucky, guv'nor, I don't know nothing about it," he declared. "She was alive two minutes ago. There was a bloke with her. Where's he gone?"
Jimmie felt an eerie sensation along his scalp. He had gazed at the dead face, ghastly in the rays of the pocket torch which picked it out against the darkness of the upholstering and, like the others, he had recognised at once the features of Gwennie Lyne.
He had expected, he knew not what, when he peered into the cab perhaps Ling himself. Certainly not that grim dead face with the staring eyes. He shuddered.
"Tell us all about it quick," ordered Menzies. "We've no time to waste. Come on, out with it." He shook the man fiercely. "Everything, mind you, and get to the point,"
"I don't know anything about it," repeated the man again. "I was called by telephone from the cab rank in Aldgate told how to get here and everything."
"Get where?"
"Why, to that Chinaman's place--"
"Sing Loo?"
"Yes. That's the name. There was a couple of fares there they said wanted to get to Shepherd's Bush. So I come along here. Seems like they were waiting for me, because directly I touched the bell the door opened and there was a tall bloke and her." He jerked his head towards the cab. "The bloke had his arm round her and she walked with him to the cab. He helped her in and then came round to me. ' The lady isn't very well,