THE CHINESE PUZZLE

CONSTABLE BRADFORD, on beat in the Netting Dale district, was wondering what could have induced him to join the Metropolitan Police. Although it was Midsummer, Tuesday 25th June being only twenty minutes old, the night was dark and cold, and a misty drizzle was falling. Through it the street lamps shone like so many full moons in a hazy sky. The wheels of such traffic that remained at that hour threw up fine sprays of oily slush.

Everything seemed quiet enough, despite the fact that the reputation of the district was rather more than doubtful. The relations between several of the residents and the police could hardly be described as cordial. Bradford knew most of these by sight, but though he looked closely at the few furtive pedestrians who passed him, he recognised none of his shady acquaintances.

But the quiet was abruptly shattered. As he came to the end of Swanton Street, a narrow thoroughfare with squalid houses on either side, a sudden clamour broke out. At first a squeal, like that of a trapped rabbit, followed by an infuriated bellow. Then a wild chorus, as men women and children, awakened from sleep, joined in the nocturnal fray.

Bradford's first instinct was to blow a resounding blast on his whistle, hoping that one or more of his colleagues on adjoining beats would hear it. Then he pounded up Swanton Street until he reached the source of the clamour, which came from the area of Number Fifteen. He knew the house well, for it was occupied by one Spotty Jim, who had for some time been under police observation. The house had three stories and a basement, the latter opening into the area. Spotty Jim occupied one room on the ground floor. The rest of the accommodation he let to such lodgers as were not too fastidious about such matters as cleanliness and comfort.

The scene, fully revealed as Bradford shone his torch into the area, was intriguing. Two men were struggling together like a pair of all-in wrestlers. The window of a room looking into the area was open, and half a dozen heads, male and female, were straining out of it. From within the room, which seemed to be packed with people, came a babble of confused voices. The only articulate one which Bradford could pick out was that of a woman, who was shrieking “Murder! Murder!” at the highest pitch of her voice.

This kind of thing was no novelty to Bradford, and his approach to the situation was undramatic. “Now then, what's all this about?” he demanded.

His voice, and perhaps the searching rays of his torch, produced an instant silence. The faces, anxious to escape recognition, disappeared from the window. The two struggling men slowly disentangled themselves, until Bradford was able to distinguish them. The bigger, clad in pyjamas, crumpled and torn open at the front, he knew well. The coarse broad face, covered with purple blotches, was that of Spotty Jim. The smaller man, wearing a shabby and ill-fitting lounge suit, was unknown to him. His slanting eyes and flat features proclaimed him an Oriental. In spite of his squirming he was held fast, for Spotty Jim held his wrists firmly behind his back. “Who have you got there, Jim?”Bradford asked.

Since the light of the torch was shining full in his face, Jim could not see the speaker. But the voice must have been familiar to him, for he replied at once. “Don't know his name, Mr. Bradford. One of my lodgers. Tried to slip away without paying. And he's laid out his pal, what's more.”

“Laid him out, has he?” said Bradford. “Well have to see about that.” He opened the area gate and was about to descend, when another constable came up beside him. “Heard your whistle, so I trotted along,” he said. “Do you want a hand?”

“I'd be glad of it,” Bradford replied. “You might look after this chap here, while I go and see what's wrong inside.”

“Best put the bracelets on him,” Jim advised. “He's a slippery customer. Turns and twists like an eel, he does. I had a proper job to hold him.”

The two constables descended the steep stone steps into the area. The newcomer deftly slipped a pair of handcuffs on the smaller man's wrists. “I've got him safe enough now,” he said. “I'll stop here with him while you get to work inside.”

Bradford turned to Jim. “Show me the way,” he said curtly.

Followed by Bradford, Jim took the few steps to the back door, which opened into the area. They entered a stone-flagged passage, which was in darkness but for the light of Bradford's torch. This revealed nobody, but a confused whispering indicated that quite a lot of people must be in hiding nearby. “It's only my lodgers,” Jim explained apologetically. “They're scared, naturally. They aren't used to such goings on in a respectable house like mine.”

“Aren't they?” Bradford replied sarcastically. “Where's this chap you say has been knocked out?”

“This way, Mr. Bradford,” said Jim. A few steps along the passage was an open doorway. They passed through this into a room, dimly lighted by a low-powered electric lamp hung just below the ceiling. The room contained two iron bedsteads, each with a straw palliasse and a tattered greasy rug. On the floor between the two beds a man lay sprawled, bleeding freely from a wound on his forehead. His heavy breathing and the spasmodic movements of his limbs showed that, though unconscious, he was not dead. He was wearing trousers and waistcoat, but his coat had been discarded and lay folded for use as a pillow on one of the beds. And lying close under the window opening on to the area was a very ordinary claw-headed hammer.

Bradford surveyed the figure on the floor. “You know who he is, I suppose?” he asked sharply.

“Why yes, of course I know him, Mr. Bradford,” Jim replied. “He's been lodging with me this six months or more. He's a Chinese gentleman, by name How Ming. Works as a carpenter, and a good man at his trade, I'm told.”

“Better get him to hospital,” said Bradford. “I'll see about that. You stay here, and mind you don't touch anything.”

Establishments of the type of Jim's lodging-house are not fitted with telephones. Bradford returned to the area and spoke to his colleague. “I'll get you to take this chap to the station. Hand him over and send along an ambulance. There's another chap inside, pretty badly hurt, by the look of him.”

The other nodded and set off, keeping a firm grip on his prisoner. Bradford watched for a few moments, half expecting an attempt at escape, but of this there was no sign. As he went back to the room he again became aware of hidden presences. “Those lodgers of yours are a bit too inquisitive,” he said to Jim, who had seated himself on one of the beds. “Just you tell them to make themselves scarce, or they may find themselves in trouble.”

Jim went out and barked into the darkness. Bradford could not catch what he said, but his words had their effect. There was a shuffling of feet, followed by silence. He came back, and Bradford told him to shut the door. As he obeyed, Bradford took his note-book from his pocket. “Now then,” he said. “What do you know about this? I want the truth, mind.”

“I wouldn't tell you anything else, Mr. Bradford,” Jim replied earnestly. “This is How Ming's room, that he's had ever since he's been here. He wanted a room to himself, so I let him have this one, though properly speaking it's meant for two. Nobody else used it till his friend came last evening. I don't know what time they turned in, but it wasn't very late.

“I sleep just above here, on the ground floor. I was in bed before midnight, but I hadn't been to sleep very long before something woke me. I sat up and listened, and in a minute or two I heard footsteps along the passage outside my door. Then the sound of fumbling with the fastenings of the front door. Someone trying to get out, I thought to myself. That didn't worry me overmuch, as before I go to bed I always lock the door and take the key.”

“In case any of your lodgers should sneak away without paying?”Bradford suggested.

“It isn't so much that,” Jim replied. “But I don't want folk creeping into this house without my knowing about it. Anyway, I got up and opened my door. It was dark in the passage, for the light wasn't switched on, and I couldn't see anybody. But I called out, 'Who are you and what are you up to?' The next thing I knew someone brushed past me and bolted down the stairs into the basement.

“I hollered out and went after him. Mind you, I didn't know who he was. There's a man and woman sleeping in the next room to this, and it might have been one of them. I've known them scrap together before now, and it might have been one running away from the other.

“But when I got down to this floor, I found the door of this room wide open. It was dark only for the bit of light that came through the window, and at first I couldn't see anything. But I switched on the light, as you see it now, and then I saw a man's leg just inside the window. The rest of him was already outside.

“I made a run for that leg, and stumbled over something lying on the floor. I didn't stop to look what it was, but jumped forward just in time to lay hold of the ankle as it went over the sill. The chap let out a queer sort of scream, and I hollered to him to come back and not try any games with me.”

“You guessed by this time who the chap was?” Bradford asked.

“Pretty well,” Jim replied. “It must be one of the two sleeping in this room, and I knew that How Ming wouldn't play a trick like that. Whoever it was, he kept on trying to wrench his foot away. I saw that I couldn't drag him back into the room, so I climbed out after him, still hanging on to his foot.

“We'd kicked up a good bit of a row between us, and the other lodgers came scuttling down to see what was up. They didn't offer to lend me a hand, but just crowded in here shouting. I couldn't make out what all the racket was about, till I heard a woman screaming that there was a dead man on the floor. That was while I was struggling with the chap in the area.”

Bradford looked at How Ming. “He's not dead, and that's a mercy. In fact by the look of him I think he's beginning to come round. The ambulance will be here any time now. Well, what next?”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “There's not much to tell after that. As I was getting through the window the chap jerked his foot free, and started to bolt up the area steps. I went after him and dragged him back. But it took me quite a while before I could get a proper hold of him. He wriggled and twisted so that you'd hardly believe it. But at last I got hold of his wrists, and it was then that you came along, Mr. Bradford.”

At this point the ambulance arrived. How Ming was put on a stretcher and, not without difficulty, was carried out by the back door and up the area steps. When the ambulance had driven off with the injured man, Bradford and Jim returned to the basement room. Bradford directed his torch on to the hammer. “Look at that, but don't touch it,” he said. “Does it belong to you?”

Jim stared at the hammer wide-eyed. “Well, I'm blessed!” he exclaimed. “I didn't see that until this moment. That's what the chap must have hit his pal on the head with. No, it's not mine, Mr. Bradford. I've never set eyes on it till this moment.”

A possibility occurred to Bradford. “Didn't you say How Ming was a carpenter? Did he keep his tools here?”

Jim shook his head. “Not that I know of. I've never seen any of them lying about. He keeps them at the place where he works, I expect.”

Under the bed on which the coat was folded was a canvas sack. Bradford drew it out, to find painted on it a device which he took to be Chinese characters. “That belongs to How Ming,” Jim remarked. “He brought it with him when he first came here. I noticed the painting on it at the time. It's his name in Chinese writing, I expect. I can't read the characters myself, though I do speak a bit of Cantonese.”

Bradford looked closely at the hammer, without touching it. The condition of it showed that it was by no means new, and had apparently seen considerable service. On the handle had at some time been branded the initials C.L., but these had become almost obliterated by use. But, which was much more significant, on the head of the hammer were spots of blood, still wet.

Bradford nodded. “That's what he used, all right. I wonder where he got it from?”

“Brought it with him, most likely,” Jim replied. “He wasn't carrying anything when I saw him, but he may have had it stowed about him somewhere.”

“Do you know of any reason why this man should have attacked How Ming?” Bradford asked.

“No I don't, Mr. Bradford,” Jim replied emphatically. “I don't know anything about it, and that's the gospel truth. It was this way. About eight o'clock last evening the front-door bell rang. It's one of those affairs which is fixed inside the door and you wind it up when it runs down. I had it put in so that I could hear it wherever I might be.

“I went to the door and opened it, to find a man standing outside. I could see by his face that he was Chinese, but I'd never set eyes on him before. It isn't always easy to tell by his face what a Chinese is thinking about, but the way this chap looked made me guess he was pretty scared.

“I asked him who he was and what he wanted, but he shook his head as if he didn't understand me. Then he spoke, very slowly, as if he was trying to remember the right words. 'How Ming, him lives here?' I didn't tell him that he did. How Ming is a good chap, and has always kept himself to himself. I told you that he didn't want to share a room with anybody. He mightn't want to see this visitor. I told the chap to stay where he was for a bit. I don't suppose he understood what I said to him, but anyhow I shut the door in his face.

“I knew that How Ming was at home, for I had seen him come in not long before. So I came down here and told him there was a chap outside asking for him. How Ming has been in this country some time, and talks pretty fair English. He said he wasn't expecting anyone, and didn't know who this chap might be. I told him he'd better come and have a look, so we went upstairs and I opened the front door. The chap was still standing outside.”

“Did How Ming recognise him?”Bradford asked.

“I'm not sure that he did,” Jim replied. “But I'm pretty sure that the chap recognised him. They had a few words together in Cantonese, too quickly for me to follow just what they said, but I gathered that the chap was explaining who he was. How Ming seemed satisfied, for he told me that he'd take the chap to his room and have a chat with him.

“Well, down they went. And not long afterwards How Ming came up to see me. He said that his friend wanted a bed for the night, and could I fix him up. I said that I daresay I could manage it, if he had the money to pay. How Ming said that would be all right, for if he hadn't the money he would pay for the bed himself. That was all right with me, for I knew I could trust How Ming. I told him I would find the chap a bed in one of the rooms. I said I didn't suppose he wanted to be bothered with him.

“I was rather surprised when he said that was how it would have to be. His friend had begged to be allowed to sleep in his room. When he had asked him why he was so keen on that, he had said that he daren't sleep in a room with strangers. He had something in his pocket that was worth a lot of money.”

Bradford's suspicions were instantly aroused. “Did he tell How Ming what this something was?” he asked.

“That I couldn't say,” Jim replied. “If he did, How Ming didn't pass the news on to me. And I'm not one to ask too many questions.”

“I wonder,” said Bradford. The whole affair was becoming deeply suspicious. The man had come to the house looking scared. He had told How Ming that he had something in his pocket worth a lot of money. Putting two and two together, it seemed fairly obvious that he had stolen something and was afraid that it would be stolen from him in turn. Spotty Jim had long been suspected of being a receiver of stolen goods. He might well know more about the matter than he saw fit to tell. “While you were having this conversation with How Ming, did he mention the man's name?” Bradford asked.

Jim shook his head. “Never once. He spoke of him only as a friend, and I let it go at that. If he didn't choose to tell me the name, it was no business of mine.”

“Well, it'll be my business,” said Bradford. “Now you slip along up to your room. When I'm ready to go I'll knock you up, and you can let me out by the front door.”

Jim made no objection. Indeed, it seemed to Bradford that he was glad to get away without being questioned further. He left the room, and Bradford listened to the sound of his footsteps ascending the stairs to the ground floor. Then he set to work to investigate.

The first thing to which he directed his attention was the canvas sack. It was secured only by a piece of rope, and he had no difficulty in untying the knot. He turned the sack upside down, and shook out the contents on the floor. Picking these up one by one, he found that they consisted entirely of articles of clothing. No tools of any kind. And, for that matter, no money or valuables in any form.

This last fact struck Bradford as rather curious. An employed carpenter ought to be in possession of some money. Especially so early in the week, as he was probably paid his wages on Fridays. In a pocket of the coat, perhaps. He had made it into a pillow. He might have liked to sleep with his money under his head.

But a search of the coat pockets revealed nothing whatever. Bradford looked round the room for some likely hiding place. But Jim's economy did not provide chests of drawers or wardrobes for the use of his lodgers. The only furniture in the room consisted of a couple of well-worn wooden chairs and a battered tea-chest. This latter had apparently served How Ming as a dressing table, for on it lay a pair of hair-brushes. Inside the chest, which stood on its side, was a pair of blue overalls.

Bradford continued his search, looking for loose floorboards or hidden crannies in the walls. But he found nothing of the kind, and was at last satisfied that no money was concealed in the room. Then he turned his attention to the hammer. The handle, though blackened with use, was still fairly smooth. It should retain finger prints. He looked at it thoughtfully, wondering how he was to pick it up without running any risk of obliteration.

Then he chuckled softly to himself as an idea occurred to him. And a pretty smart one at that, he told himself. He took a piece of string from his pocket, and inserted one end of it between the handle and the floor. Then he tied a slip knot and drew it tight. He lifted the hammer by the string, from which it dangled head uppermost. After one last look round, he left the room and made his way up to the ground floor.

Jim must have been listening for him, for he was standing in the passage when Bradford arrived there. “You've finished then, Mr. Bradford?” he asked.

“For the present, anyhow,” Bradford replied. “You can let me out now.” Jim unlocked the front door, opened it, and stood aside to let Bradford pass. “No objection to my going down and fastening that window, Mr. Bradford? I don't like to think of it being left open so that anyone could get in. There are some queer folks about.”

“You're telling me,” Bradford replied drily. “You can please yourself about the window. You'll be seeing us again before very long.”

He left the house and set out for the police station. He had not very far to go, and arrived there within a few minutes. He was greeted by the sergeant on duty. “Well, here you are at last. I heard you had a job on in Swanton Street. What have you got there?”

Bradford dangled the hammer before the sergeant's eyes. “The weapon with which the job was done, I reckon,” he replied. “I fixed it like this so that I shouldn't have to touch it.”

“Well, hang it up somewhere,” said the sergeant. “We'll get the finger print chaps from the Yard to go over it. Have you found out the name of the injured man?”

“I've only got Spotty Jim's word for it,” Bradford replied. “He says it's How Ming. But he doesn't know, or at all events says he doesn't know, the name of the chap that hit him. This is what he told me.”

He repeated to the sergeant his conversation with Jim, then went on to describe his own investigations. “There's no doubt that the chap you've got here attacked How Ming, but why I can't make out. And what was it he had about him that was worth a lot of money? You put him through it, sergeant?”

The sergeant grunted. “I questioned him, if that's what you mean. But he doesn't understand English, or pretends he doesn't. He just shook his head at everything I asked him. We shall have to get an interpreter along and tackle him again. We searched him, and this is what we found.”

The sergeant opened a drawer of his desk and produced an envelope. From this he extracted first a grimy Post Office Savings book, and then five one pound notes and one of ten shillings. The creases on these showed that they had been folded into four. “The chap howled like a thrashed dog when this lot was taken from him,” the sergeant went on. “Then he started jabbering in some jargon none of us could understand. You can look at that book if you like.”

Bradford picked it up and turned to the first page. Under the words, 'Signature of Depositor' was a mark, not an ordinary cross, but a queer squiggle, which was in fact an ill-drawn Chinese character. Against this had been written, in a clerkly hand, 'Witnessed' followed by an illegible signature and the description of the witness, 'Post Office Clerk.' “The chap couldn't write his own name,” the sergeant commented. “Turn over to the next page.”

Bradford did so. At the head of the page was a space for name and address. In this were entered the name Ah Lock, in block letters, and the address, 5, Rupert Terrace, Cranport.

“The point is, does that book belong to the chap we've got?”the sergeant remarked. “If so, we've got his name and address. As soon as it's a reasonable hour, I'll ring up the Cranport police and ask them to make enquiries. Until then, there's not much more to be done. Except that I'll get on to the Yard and ask them to find us a reliable interpreter.”

Nothing farther occurred until nine o'clock in the morning, when the interpreter, accompanied by Inspector Arnold, of the Criminal Investigation Department, arrived in a police car at the Police station. Superintendent Dewsbury, in charge of the Division, was present, and to him Arnold reported. “I've brought this man along, sir. He's a perfectly respectable Chinese tradesman from Limehouse. His knowledge of English isn't exactly fluent, but it's easy enough to understand what he means.”

“Then we'll go into the charge room and see what we can make of the chap between us,” said Dewsbury. They did so, to find the sergeant and the interpreter already there. The prisoner was sent for, and after a dazed look about him sat down in the chair indicated. “Now then,” said Dewsbury, addressing the interpreter, “see if you can get any sense out of him. Start by asking him who he is and where he comes from.”

The interpreter spoke to the man in Cantonese. The sound of a familiar tongue seemed to electrify him into volubility. He poured out a flood of words in a shrill voice, until the interpreter held up his hand in desperation. “He say a lot,” he said when the prisoner had come to an end of his speech. “He say his name Ah Lock and he come from Cranport. And he say he British subject, born Hong Kong. And he want to know why you take his book and cash. He say that no right.”

“Ask him when he came to London, and why,” said Dewsbury.

The interpreter put the question, to which the prisoner replied rather sulkily. “He say he come yesterday afternoon to see his friend How Ming.” the interpreter translated.

“Give me that hammer, sergeant,” said Dewsbury. It was handed to him by the string, and he held it up before the prisoner's eyes. “Ask him why he brought this with him.”

The interpreter's question brought another flow of words. “He say he no bring it. He never see hammer before. He say it must 'long How Ming. He carpenter.”

“That's nonsense!”Dewsbury exclaimed impatiently. “The man's obviously lying. Ask him why he hit How Ming on the head with the hammer.”

The prisoner howled indignantly before he replied. “He say he no hit How Ming,” said the interpreter. “He say another man hit him, the master.”

“Who the devil does he mean by the master?” Dewsbury demanded.

“The master of the house, I t'ink,” the interpreter replied.

“That would be the landlord. Spotty Jim, sir,” the sergeant put in.

“So that's the yarn,” Dewsbury remarked. “We shall have to try to get the story out of him. Ask him what he was doing when How Ming was attacked.”

This produced a greater flow of volubility than ever. More than once the interpreter tried ineffectually to stem the flood. “He speakee too much,” he said when at last the shrill vociferation came to an end. “He say he asleep when master come in. He wake and see him and How Ming stand up talkee talkee. Then he see master hit How Ming and he fall down.”

“Wait a minute,” Dewsbury interrupted. He turned to/the written report Bradford had made and glanced through it. “Yes, I thought so. The constable says that the room was almost completely dark when he entered it. Ask him how he was able to see all this.”

The question seemed to floor the prisoner for the moment, and his answer came after a perceptible pause. “He say he t'ink light on in room,” said the interpreter.

“That's what he thinks, is it?” said Dewsbury. “Ask him what he did after he saw How Ming knocked down.”

This time the answer was unhesitating and rapidly gabbled. “He say he scared,” the interpreter translated. “He t'ink master hit he too. He bolt by window, but master he catchee him.”

“We know the rest,” said Dewsbury. “All right, that'll do. You can take him away, sergeant. I'm afraid you'll have to stay here, interpreter. We shall want you in court presently.”

CHAPTER II

LATER IN THE DAY the prisoner was brought before the magistrate at the West London police court. Dewsbury and Arnold were present, though they took no part in the proceedings. The case was protracted, for the magistrate instructed the interpreter to translate all the evidence given to the prisoner. He also told him to make it clear to the prisoner that he could question any of the witnesses. Of this liberty, however, the prisoner took no advantage.

The first witness was Bradford, who described his adventures at 15, Swanton Street. He was followed by Spotty Jim, who gave his name as James Whampoa, and his occupation as lodging-house keeper. His story was exactly the same as he had told Bradford.

After him came the sergeant. He had communicated by telephone with the Cranport police, and had had a reply from them. They had informed him that a man of the name of Ah Lock lodged at 5, Rupert Terrace, Cranport. He had not been seen there since midday on the previous Saturday.

The hammer was then produced, and a finger-print expert from Scotland Yard entered the witness box. He had examined the hammer at the police station that morning, and had found well-defined prints on the handle. He had then taken prints of the prisoner's hands. The prints from the right hand corresponded exactly with those on the hammer.

The magistrate then told the interpreter to ask the prisoner if he wished to say anything. A short conversation ensued between them, at the end of which the interpreter spoke. “He say he tell true to the police. He no can say more.”

“Ask him if he understood the evidence regarding the finger prints,” said the magistrate.

The interpreter put the question. “He say he understand, but it a mistake. He never touchee hammer.”

The magistrate remarked that this was a case in which a statement from the injured man was essential. He understood that there was every likelihood of How Ming's recovery. He would therefore remand Ah Lock in custody until such time as How Ming was in a fit state to appear and give evidence.

This concluded the proceedings. The accused was marched off, protesting volubly in his native tongue.

That evening, Arnold called upon a very old friend of his, Desmond Merrion, who had served on the Admiralty Intelligence service during both wars. He was a man of varied experience, and had frequently been able to assist Arnold in his investigations. He lived at The Hall, High Eldersham, but business frequently brought him to London, where he had rooms in St. James's. Arnold knew that he was in London now, for he had had a conversation with him on the telephone the previous day.

He found Merrion at home when he called at his rooms between nine and ten. Merrion welcomed him with his usual cordiality. “I hoped you'd find time to drop in and see me. Come in, and we'll have a chat and a drink together.”

He took Arnold into his sitting-room, and produced beer for Arnold and whisky for himself. “There you are. Sit down, light your pipe, and make yourself comfortable. Is this merely a friendly visit, or have you something on your mind you want to unload on me?”

“I've come to tell you a story that may interest you,” Arnold replied. “Didn't you tell me once that you knew something about the Chinese and their ways?”

“I may have told you that,” said Merrion. “But I hope you didn't assume from what I said that I was an expert. I can't claim to be an Old China Hand, though I have spent a little time in both Hong Kong and Shanghai. Why do you ask me?”

“Because I have been put on to a rather queer case in which a couple of Chinese are concerned. One of them has been charged with unlawfully wounding the other. I'd like to tell you the story, if you'd care to hear it.”

Merrion nodded. “I'm always ready to hear about your cases, you know that. Fill up your glass and go ahead.”

Arnold told him the facts, including the interrogation of Ah Lock at the police station and the evidence given in court. “You see, it's one man's word against another's. Ah Lock says it was Spotty Jim who bashed How Ming on the head. Spotty Jim says that he only arrived on the scene after the bashing. The finger-print business seems to show pretty conclusively that Ah Lock did the job.”

“I quite agree,” said Merrion. “You're inclined to believe Jim's story rather than Ah Lock's? Do you know anything about either of them?”

“Very little about Ah Lock,” Arnold replied. “In “fact nothing so far, beyond his name and the address of the house where he lodged in Cranport. But we know quite a lot about Spotty Jim. He's lived in this country for a good many years, but we believe that he was born in China, the son of an English father by a Chinese mother. But I'm bound to admit that I never knew his name till he gave it in court to-day. James Whampoa! However did he come by an outlandish surname like that?”

“Perhaps it was his birthplace,” Merrion suggested. “Whampoa is a town on the Pearl River, not far from Canton. Am I to gather from your knowing so much about him that he's not above suspicion?”

Arnold laughed. “You remember my trusted subordinate, Detective Sergeant Wighton? You'd better ask him about Spotty Jim. Wighton claims to know every crook in London, and Spotty Jim is one of his particular pets.”

“What form does Jim's crookedness take?”Merrion asked.

“He does business as a fence, in a small way, as a sideline to the lodging-house keeping. We don't interfere with him overmuch, for we find him too valuable. Of course we keep him under observation, and warn him if he's inclined to go too far. You see, he's a nark, and more than once he's given us a useful tip. Besides, 15, Swanton Street is a favourite refuge for crooks. We've often found a man, or woman, for that matter, whom we've wanted, lodging there.”

“It hardly seems that Spotty Jim is a man whose word could be accepted without question,” Merrion remarked.

“He isn't,” Arnold agreed. “How much of the story he tells is strictly true I'm not prepared to say. One point struck me, though it doesn't appear to have struck anyone else. Jim says that, before he went down to the basement, he heard a man trying to open the front door, and that this man brushed past him. Ah Lock says that he bolted straight from the basement room through the window. Whether there is any significance in that discrepancy, I don't know,”

“You've got to remember this,” said Merrion. “The Chinese mind doesn't work on straight and logical lines. An uneducated Chinese has no appreciation of facts as such. He may quite honestly be unable to distinguish a fact from a figment of his own imagination. He will swear to some taradiddle in the firm belief that he is telling the truth.”

“And that may apply to Ah Lock?”Arnold asked.

“I think it quite likely,” Merrion replied. “And there's another thing. Scientific evidence would be utterly beyond him. I don't suppose Ah Lock understood a word of the finger-print man's evidence, in spite of the interpreter's efforts. If he did get the hang of it, he probably thought it was a device of some malignant devil, and therefore to be disregarded. That would account for his disinclination to answer any questions.”

“We shall see what attitude he takes on his next appearance,” said Arnold. “By the way, I rang up the hospital before I came here. They told me that How Ming's condition was satisfactory, and that he ought to be fit enough to appear in court by the end of the week.”

“When he does give evidence, you may care to recall my remarks upon the Chinese mind,” Merrion replied. “I don't suppose his statement will be much more reliable than Ah Lock's.”

“You believe that all Chinese are liars?” Arnold asked.

“Far from it,” Merrion replied. “You seem to have missed my point. To begin with, I am speaking of uneducated Chinese. Although they may make false statements, it does not follow that they are deliberately lying. It is just that they may be incapable of giving an accurate description of the event. The picture of it has become distorted in their memory.”

“It seems to me to come to the same thing,” said Arnold. “But I want to tell you something else. You remember that I told you about a Savings Bank book being found in Ah Lock's possession? I've got it here.”

He took the book from his pocket and laid it on the table beside them. “That book puzzled me from the first. If Ah Lock came up to London merely to see his friend How Ming, why did he bring his Savings Bank book with him?”

Merrion glanced at the book lying on the table. “That seems to me an easy one. Look at the front cover of the book. Do you see what's printed on it? 'Keep this book

in a safe place. Its loss may cause you trouble.' Although I don't suppose that Ah Lock could read that, he had the sense to know that the book was not the sort of thing to leave about. It would be safer in his pocket than in his Cranport lodgings. Besides, he may have wanted to prove to How Ming that he was a man of substance.”

Arnold laughed. “For once, my friend, your imagination has led you astray. That wasn't why he brought the book with him. Although the book and the entries in it appear perfectly genuine, I wanted to make quite sure. So I took it to the Chief Office of the Post Office Savings Department in Blythe Road, Kensington, and showed it to an official there.

“He glanced at the first page and, to my amazement, told me that he had seen this very book before, as recently as yesterday. I asked him how that had come about, and this is the story he told me.”

“Yesterday afternoon, shortly before the office closed, a Chinese man, who apparently had no more than a dozen words of English, came in and produced the book. He said, slowly and indistinctly, 'Me wantee all cash.' The official took this to mean that he wanted to withdraw the whole of the deposit. He gave the man an application form, and made him understand where he wanted a signature, or a mark.”

Merrion picked up the book and glanced at the first page. “I see that the signature of the depositor is a mark, actually a Chinese character, duly witnessed.”

“Exactly,” said Arnold. “The official had seen that, of course. But the man took the pen the official offered him, and laboriously wrote on the form the name Ah Lock.”

“The devil he did!”Merrion exclaimed. “Had he learnt to write his name in English since the book was issued to him? I see that the first deposit was made over three years ago.”

Arnold shook his head. “The man's behaviour hardly suggests that. This is what the official told me. He pointed to the mark in the book and then to the signature the man had written on the form, and shook his head. It took the man a minute or so to tumble to what he meant. Then, instead of making a mark on the form similar to the one in the book, he snatched up the book and bolted from the office.”

“As I have tried to make clear to you, the actions of a Chinese are often difficult to account for. All the same, this is what the incident suggests to me. This man was not the one who had made the mark in the book. And he didn't feel capable of reproducing it with sufficient accuracy.”

“Which is only a roundabout way of saying that the book wasn't his,” Arnold replied. “The name of the man we're holding in custody isn't Ah Lock. And we have it from the Cranport police that a man of the name of Ah Lock lodges at the address given in the book.”

“It was only natural that your man should have given the name of the owner of the book,” said Merrion. “Otherwise he would have been asked to explain how he came to be in possession of a book belonging to someone else. I suppose it's quite certain that it was your man who presented the book at the office in Blythe Road?”

“I don't know who else it can have been,” Arnold replied. “I tried to make sure, and asked the official to come to the police station after the office was closed. By the time he arrived I had collected a few Chinese specimens. Chinese people seem to be attracted to 15, Swanton Street. I suppose Spotty Jim's strain of Chinese blood appeals to them. He has three Chinese males lodging with him now, and I borrowed them.

“I lined them up with our man for a fourth for the official to look at. I asked him to point out the man he had seen yesterday afternoon. But he only shook his head after staring at them for a bit. He said they all looked very much alike to him. If one of them had been the man who had called at the office, he couldn't tell which it was. So my inspection parade was a flop.”

Merrion smiled. “You couldn't have expected anything else. The average European finds it difficult to distinguish one Chinese man from another. But you must have made Jim's three lodgers feel very uncomfortable. They probably thought that this strange foreign devil was putting a spell upon them. I mean that.”

“I can't help their troubles,” Arnold replied. “In spite of the failure of identification, it must have been our man who presented the book. We don't know how he came by it, but it's a pretty safe guess that he stole it. The real Ah Lock is probably a friend of his. Sooner or later one would expect him to report to the police that his Savings Bank book is missing.”

“I wonder,” said Merrion. “He might feel rather shy about going to the police. Being Chinese, he might prefer to take direct action on his own account. He probably guesses who it was that pinched the book. It strikes me as rather significant that he hasn't shown up at his lodgings in Cranport since midday on Saturday.”

“What do you mean by that?”Arnold asked.

“Just this,” Merrion replied. “That he's on the war path after the thief. There seems to be a general impression that your man was scared when he arrived at Jim's lodging house. He didn't want to sleep alone or with strangers. He may have guessed that the real Ah Lock was on his tracks. As a matter of fact, he's safer where he is than if he were at large. If the real Ah Lock had run him to earth, he might very well have stuck a knife into him. It would have been quite in accordance with Chinese custom.”

“Perhaps that's why he brought the hammer with him,” said Arnold. “It would have served him as a weapon of defence. His wish to sleep in How Ming's room was another measure of precaution. He hoped that How Ming would come to his aid if he were attacked. But what I can't understand is why he turned the hammer against his ally.”

Merrion lighted a cigarette and puffed at it thoughtfully for a minute or two. “Since your man isn't Ah Lock, it will be convenient to find a label for him till we know his real name,” he said after an interval. “Wu will do, it's a common enough Chinese name. Having done that, we'll indulge in a bit of guesswork.”

“Wu came by Ah Lock's Savings Bank book. We can't be certain that he stole it. His first problem was how to get hold of the money it represented. There were many reasons why he could not set about that in Cranport. In the first place, to attempt to draw the whole sum there would have involved delay, which he could not risk, if Ah Lock was on his heels. Then again Ah Lock might have been known at the Post Office.”

“Wu learnt somehow that by taking the book to Blythe Road he could draw the money on the spot. He had, or borrowed, enough money for his fare to London. That he believed was all he required, for once there he expected to draw the whole of Ah Lock's savings. But he didn't, for he blundered by forging Ah Lock's name instead of his mark, and when the official pointed this out to him he panicked.”

“All that seems likely enough,” Arnold remarked.

“I'm glad you agree,” Merrion replied. “Now we enter the realm of pure speculation. What was Wu to do next, having no money in his pocket?”

“Wait a minute,” Arnold interrupted. “He had money in his pocket, five pounds ten in notes.”

“He had when you searched him,” Merrion replied. “But my guess is that when he left Blythe Road he had nothing, or at all events not enough to take him back to Cranport. I repeat, what was he to do? I'm not altogether satisfied that How Ming was a personal friend of his. But he had an idea that a compatriot of that name lodged at Jim's place. So he went there, hoping that How Ming would help him out.”

Merrion threw away the end of his cigarette and lighted another. “Did Wu ask How Ming for a loan? I'm rather inclined to think he didn't. If he had, and been refused, How Ming would have been put on his guard. He probably told How Ming that his name was Ah Lock, and showed him the Savings Bank book to reassure him.

“That may account for a remark How Ming made to Jim. If his friend had no money, he would pay for his lodging. I expect he meant ready money. The sight of the book had satisfied How Ming that Wu would repay him later.

“Now we come to a point that strikes me as forcibly as it did you. It is most extraordinary that How Ming appears to have had no money. So extraordinary that I am driven to seek for some explanation. He had some money yesterday evening, but Wu possessed himself of it.

“That would explain the reason for the attack. While they were in the basement room together, Wu became aware that How Ming had some notes in his possession. He may, for instance, have seen him transfer them from one pocket to another before he went to bed. Wu waited till How Ming was asleep, then got up, hammer in hand. His movement aroused How Ming, who jumped out of bed. He was found on the floor, not on the bed, you tell me. But Wu was too quick for him. He struck him down and took the notes. And these were the ones you found upon him when you searched him.”

“You may be right,” said Arnold. “We shall hear what How Ming has to say about it, later on. But there's one snag. According to your theory, when Wu left Cranport he didn't know that he would have any use for the hammer. Why then did he bring it with him?”

“That involves two assumptions,” Merrion replied. “All we know about Wu is that he isn't Ah Lock. Since he had Ah Lock's book, we have assumed that Wu comes from Cranport. But that doesn't follow. He may have come from anywhere, met Ah Lock, and stolen the book from him.

“Again, wherever Wu came from, how do we know that he brought the hammer with him? Whatever Jim may say, Wu may have found it on his premises. Or he may have picked it up in the course of his wanderings. It has, you say, the letters C.L. branded on it, initials, no doubt. Have you discovered what those initials stand for?”

Arnold shook his head. “I haven't tried. The hammer is the weapon Wu used, and that's good enough for me.”

“You're easily satisfied,” Merrion remarked drily. “I should have thought that the initials on the hammer might afford some clue to where it came from. And so perhaps to Wu's true name and address. However, that's your business, not mine.”

He picked up the Savings Bank book arid studied it carefully for a few minutes. “The hammer may not tell us much about Wu,” he remarked after a while. “But this book tells us a lot about Ah Lock. To begin with, we have his name and address. Then we see that at the time he opened the account, he could not write his name in English, but had to use a Chinese character as his mark. I think we may infer from that that he had not been in this country for very long.

“Next, I find the entries in the book rather interesting. Most people save what they can, and pay the money into the bank at irregular intervals. The sums they pay in are not necessarily the same every time. But Ah Lock was an exception to this rule. He paid in ten pounds, neither more nor less, during the first week of every month. The book shows that he never withdrew any of this money. The total, including interest, standing to his credit is about three hundred and eighty-five pounds.”

“A very nice little nest-egg,” Arnold commented.

“Very,” Merrion agreed. “But I'm trying to figure out what sort of a man Ah Lock must be. If he can't write English, he can hardly hold a salaried post. He must be a wage-earner, drawing a pretty good screw. That he can afford to save so much suggests that he hasn't got a wife and family to support. He ought to be easy enough to trace.”

“Who wants to trace him?” Arnold asked. “You said just now that he was probably after Wu. When he finds out that Wu's in gaol, he'll guess that the police have got the precious book. He'll come and claim it, quick enough.”

Merrion shook his head. “I doubt it. That's certainly what a European would do. But I hardly think a Chinese would argue on such logical lines. The uneducated Chinese, and once more I stress that word uneducated, usually lives in a dream world of his own. Or if you like to put it in another way, the world doesn't appear to him as it does to us. Ah Lock will act according to his own lights, you may be sure of that. And what those lights may be we can't possibly guess.”

“I don't see that we need worry about him,” Arnold replied. “If he's got a job in Cranport he's bound to go back to it, sooner or later. Then the police there can give him back the book, and ask him how he came to lose it. If he says that Wu stole it from him, that'll be another charge against Wu. And he'll tell us the chap's real name.”

“You're an optimist if you think that where Chinese are concerned it will be as easy as all that,” said Merrion. “Ah Lock may not be willing to tell anyone of his suspicions of Wu. The Chinese don't as a rule care about denouncing their compatriots to foreigners. For one thing they mistrust foreign ways, and for another they prefer to deal with the delinquent by their own methods. If I were you, I should be inclined to make further enquiries about Ah Lock. Find out where he works and, incidentally, whether he was expected to go to work yesterday.”

“It's a job for the Cranport police,” Arnold replied. “I'll have a chat with them over the phone in the morning.”

“I would,” said Merrion. “And you might ask them what sort of a place this address in the book is. Is it a common lodging-house, of the same style as Spotty Jim's establishment, or does Ah Lock lodge there by himself? You see the idea?”

“Not altogether,” Arnold replied. “Some flight of your imagination, I suppose?”

“Hardly that,” said Merrion. “It's quite a sound idea. One rather wonders what opportunity Wu had of getting hold of Ah Lock's Savings Bank book. If they lodged together in the same house, they might have had that opportunity. What's more, if Wu lodged at 5, Rupert Terrace, another lodger will be missing. And whoever keeps the place will know the name of that second missing lodger.”

“It's worth trying,” Arnold agreed. “I'll see about it in the morning. And if I have any luck, I'll let you know.”

As soon as Arnold reached Scotland Yard on Wednesday morning, he rang through to the Cranport police, asking him to make the necessary enquiries. An hour later, he received their report. Five Rupert Terrace was a common lodging-house, frequented mainly by the Chinese colony of the port. At the present time, five Chinese were lodging there, all of whom worked at the Celestial Laundry in the town. Two of the lodgers had been absent since the previous Saturday. Their names were Ah Lock and Koo Yang.

The police had interviewed the manager of the Celestial Laundry. He had last seen the two missing men when they knocked off work on Saturday at noon. Neither of them had said anything about not coming to work as usual on the following Monday. They were both good workers, and had never missed time before. When they did not appear on Monday, he had asked the three men who lodged with them if they knew anything about them. All three of them had replied that they had not seen them since their midday meal on Saturday.

Arnold rang up Merrion and repeated the report to him. “Your idea wasn't a bad one,” he said. “We know the name of the second missing lodger, and I don't doubt he's the man we agreed to call Wu. We'll be able to call him by his right name, Koo Yang, when he comes up again. Beyond that, we haven't got much further.”

“Haven't we?”Merrion asked. “Didn't you say that both men worked at the Celestial Laundry? So called, I suppose, because the workers are Chinese. Doesn't that suggest anything to you?”

“I don't know that it does,” Arnold replied. “Except that I shouldn't have thought that a Chinese laundryman would be able to save ten pounds a month.”

“Neither should I,” said Merrion. “But that's not the point. What about the hammer with the initials C.L. on it? It's a pretty safe guess where that hammer came from.”

CHAPTER III

LIKE MOST large seaports, Cranport had a Chinese colony, not very extensive, and centred for the most part in the Rupert Terrace area. The men had nearly all drifted to the port from various British possessions, attracted by the possibilities of finding work there. They were employed in the docks, and in various industries in the town. Now and then they quarrelled among themselves, on which occasion Rupert Terrace became the scene of much tumult and shouting, and occasionally one of the brawlers was hurt. Apart from these comparatively rare outbreaks, the police found them a reasonably law-abiding community.

It was characteristic of them that those who worked together also lived together. The married men among them usually hired a room to themselves, where each man lived with his wife and children, an incredible number of families in one house. The single men lived in one of the lodging-houses, as a rule at least two sharing a room.

Five Rupert Terrace was one of these lodging-houses. The tenant was an enterprising Chinese who, with the aid of his wife, ran a general shop catering for his compatriots. The ground floor was occupied by the shop, with a kitchen for the use of the tenant and his lodgers in the rear. There was no basement, only a cellar, which the tenant used for storage. The three rooms on the first floor were occupied by lodgers. The second and top floor was occupied by the tenant, his wife, and their two children.

As the Cranport police had informed Arnold, the three rooms on the first floor were, or had been since the previous Saturday, occupied by five men. One room was shared by Koo Yang and Lo Fat. They were said to be distantly related. Another was shared by Han Sung and the eldest of the five, Tsan Chin. The third, and incidentally the largest room, was occupied by Ah Lock in solitary state. Like Chaucer's Nicholas, “A chambre had he in that hostelrie, Alone, withouten any compagnie.”

But there the resemblance ended. Far from being bright and debonair, Ah Lock was of a retiring and rather morose nature. He did not entertain his neighbours by singing to the accompaniment of a stringed instrument. And the furnishing of his room was austere. A bed, a wooden chair, a rickety table, and a square metal case. This was fitted with a lock, and had been made from discarded petrol cans.

But, all the same, this unshared occupation gave Ah Lock a social distinction among his fellows. He had to pay twice as much for his lodging as did the others. And he enjoyed a privacy which was exceptional. A privacy which he rigidly enforced. He never invited any of the others to his room, and they were too much in awe of him to intrude.

Although the Rupert Terrace area was not far from the docks, none of the main approaches to the water front ran through it. In fact, many of the European inhabitants though dimly aware of the existence of a miniature Chinatown, had never visited it. It remained as an island, populated by an almost unknown race. Even the enthusiasts of the Borough Council, always anxious to improve what in most cases was far better left alone, never bothered their heads about Rupert Terrace.

Cranport lay at the head of a narrow bay, which afforded a good anchorage for shipping. The docks, and the industrial plants surrounding them, afforded employment to the inhabitants. In the centre of the town was the shopping district, and further inland again a rather depressing residential area. Beyond this the urban area petered out in recently-built housing estates. The surrounding country was mainly moorland, rising gradually to a range of barren hills. The monotony was relieved by an occasional modest farmhouse, standing in a patch of cultivated land. On the slopes of the hills were several woods, mainly of coniferous trees.

The main approaches, road and rail, to Cranport followed the coast, and only a few winding lanes traversed the moorland. These were not much used, except for traffic to and from the scattered farmhouses. On fine afternoons, motorists from the town would venture upon them in search of a suitable spot for a picnic. Otherwise, this rather bleak countryside was practically deserted.

In the evening of Wednesday, the day on which Arnold had received the report from the Cranport police, a party of children set out on an exploring expedition. There were six of them in all, drawn from the upper ranks of Cranport society, and they all had bicycles. Their leader was Billy Murford, aged twelve, the enterprising son of a highly-respected solicitor in the town. Once or twice he had been taken by his parents for a picnic on the moors, so he had a rough idea of the terrain. The game they were to play was the exploration of an unknown territory.

They carefully avoided the farmhouses and the cultivated land, for obviously there was no exploration to be done there. Led by Billy, who, if he wasn't really sure of his way, made an excellent pretence of being so, they followed a lane which in spite of its meanderings, seemed to climb the slope towards the distant hills. There were many turnings off this lane, tracks which led to some farm or another, and bypaths which apparently led to nowhere in particular. And very soon Billy, though he would stoutly have refused to admit it, had lost his sense of direction. The spot where he had picnicked was nowhere to be found.

But he pedalled on doggedly, followed by his laughing and chattering companions. Before very long the lane skirted one of the larger woods, enclosed by a dilapidated fence. In this Billy found inspiration. “This is the place I was looking for!” he exclaimed untruthfully. “I'm sure nobody has ever been in here for ever so long. Look! Here's a gap in the fence we can crawl through.”

They all dismounted and, leaving their bicycles by the road side, climbed excitedly through the gap. The wood was certainly an ideal place to explore. The trees grew sufficiently close together to form a shade which the evening sun did not penetrate, and the ground was deeply carpeted with pine needles. The children advanced in single file, the intrepid Billy leading them. “Hush!” he whispered. “Don't make a noise. There may be Red Indians about.”

They advanced silently, casting fearful glances from side to side. Although the fear was part of the game, it was not altogether assumed. The wood seemed strangely dark after the open moorland, and now and then there were mysterious scuttling noises. Rabbits? Or Red Indians?

They had picked their way between the trees for perhaps a hundred yards when they came to a clearing where at some time timber had been felled. Not more than a dozen or so stumps remained, and the clearing was not very extensive. From it a rutted track led away in roughly the direction from which they had come. At one side of the clearing was a heaped pile of broken pine branches. “Look!” Billy exclaimed triumphantly. “We've found a Red Indian camp!”

He sat down on one of the stumps, and the rest followed his example, forming an expectant semi-circle round him. “We must hide before they come back and find us,” said Billy. “I know. You see that heap of branches over there? We'll build a wigwam.”

This seemed a marvellous idea. They sprang from their seats and fell upon the heap, each of them seizing a branch and carrying it to the centre of the clearing. Billy himself was the most energetic. As the heap diminished, a particularly big branch became exposed. He tugged at it and, finding himself unable to move it from its place, shouted for help. Two of his companions came to his aid, and between them they hauled it aside.

A fragment of clothing, thus revealed, made them desist suddenly from their efforts, and they recoiled from the heap. “What is it?” one of the younger boys whispered tremulously.

Billy rose to his position as leader. “I don't suppose it's anything,” he replied, with an assumption of carelessness. He tiptoed forward, grasped another and smaller branch and pulled it aside. It was to his credit that he did not take to his heels incontinently. For his action had disclosed the back of a man's head. And the long black hair was clotted with dried blood.

It was Billy's first confrontation by death, but by instinct he recognised it. “It's a dead man!” he screamed hoarsely. The terror in his voice spread panic among the rest. With one accord they fled from the spot, taking the easiest route, the track leading from the clearing. This led into the lane, a few yards beyond the place where they had left their bicycles. Not until they were in the open, where the warm sunlight still lingered, did any of them speak. It was one of the younger girls who first did so. “Was it a Red Indian?” she quavered.

“I don't know,” Billy replied shortly. “We must get away from here. We must go back and tell what we've found.”

To this there was no dissenting voice. There was only one desire among them all. To get away from this awful wood, back to the safety of their own homes. They ran to where their bicycles lay, mounted them, and rode furiously down the lane, each striving not to be the one bringing up the rear. Suppose the dead man should rise and pursue them!

Not until they reached the outskirts of Cranport did they slacken speed. “I'll tell my father,” Billy gasped breathlessly. “He'll know what to do. Good-bye.”

He turned off into a road which was the shortest way to his home, which lay in the residential area. To his excited mind the short journey seemed interminable. At last he reached the house, in front of which was a small front garden. His father was there, taking advantage of the fine evening to hoe round his roses. Billy flung his bicycle aside and rushed up to him. “Daddy!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “We've found a dead man!”

Charles Murford, an unimaginative man himself, had always been mistrustful of his son's powers in that direction. “Don't talk nonsense,” he replied sternly. “Wherever have you been? Your clothes are stuck full of pine needles. You'd better pull them out before your mother sees you.”

“It's not nonsense, Daddy!” Billy replied insistently. “It's quite true. There were six of us, and we all saw him. Up in a great big wood, not very far from where we went for a picnic last year. He was covered up with branches, and when we pulled them away we found him.”

Charles Murford knew very well that though his son suffered from occasional flights of fancy, he was by nature strictly truthful. “You're excited, lad,” he said soothingly. “Are you quite sure that you didn't imagine what you say you saw? Tell me all about it.”

Incoherently Billy described the exploring adventure. There was such a ring of truth in his words that his father was forced to believe him. “Come indoors with me,” he said. “I'm going to ring up the police, and tell them what you've told me. But remember this. If there isn't a dead man there at all, you'll make us both look very foolish. And you'll probably find yourself in serious trouble for giving false information.”

This did not shake Billy in the least. “He's there all right, Daddy,” he replied.

Charles Murford laid his hoe aside and they went into the house together. The telephone was in Murford's study, but before he picked up the instrument he hesitated. “Can you describe where this wood is, Billy?”

Billy shook his head. “No, Daddy, I can't. I've never been there before. But I'm sure I could find my way there again.”

Murford rang up the number of the police station. Owing to his profession, he was well known to the local police as they were to him. A voice answered him. “Cranport police station. Who is that speaking?”

“Charles Murford, from my house, Roseland. My son has just come home, and he tells me that he has seen a dead man in one of the woods up on the moors.”

“Will you please hold on a moment, Mr. Murford?” came the reply. Murford waited for a few seconds, until another voice spoke. “Good afternoon, Mr. Murford. This is Inspector Lapworth. What's this about your finding a dead man?”

“I didn't find him,” Murford replied. “My son did. He says he was playing with some other children in one of the woods on the moors and that they found a dead man hidden under some branches. I'm pretty well satisfied that he didn't fancy it. He can't describe which wood it was, but he says that he could find his way there again.”

“Very well,” said Lapworth. “I'll take your lad's word for it. I'll take a car and bring a constable with me. We'll pick you and your boy up at your place in a few minutes.”

He rang off and Murford turned to Billy. “You've got to show us where this dead man of yours is. And if he turns out to be a stuffed guy, you'll hear quite a lot more about it.”

Billy, who had by now regained his normal poise, smiled confidently. “You'll see, Daddy,” he replied.

Mrs. Murford was a rather nervous woman. There was no reason to alarm her for the present. She was somewhere in the house, and in order to avoid her Murford and his son went out to the front gate. They had not been there more than a couple of minutes when a car drew up, Lapworth at the wheel and a constable sitting beside him. “Jump in, both of you,” said Lapworth briskly. “There's some gear in the back, but you'll find room.”

They got in, and Lapworth drove off along the road which led inland. At the outskirts of the town the ways parted. “Which way?”Lapworth asked.

“To the right, where the road goes on to the moor,” Billy replied. As the car drove on swiftly, his confidence began to fail him. Sitting in the back of a car was so different from riding a bicycle. Stretches of road which had seemed terribly long on a bicycle now seemed to slip past too rapidly to be recognised. Perhaps that was why he had failed to find the picnic spot, to which he had been driven in his father's car. His replies to Lapworth's occasional calls for direction became hesitating. Until at last the neglected fencing surrounding the wood came in sight, right ahead. “That's the place!” he exclaimed, pointing excitedly. “If you go on for a bit, you'll come to the place where we left our bikes.”

Lapworth drove on slowly, telling the constable to watch the verge on his left. They had not gone far before the constable pointed to where the grass of the verge had recently been trodden down. Further evidence that this was the place where the bicycles had been left was provided by a cycle pump, which had fallen off and been abandoned in the panic. Billy, now fully reassured, spoke excitedly. “We went into the wood through that gap there. But we didn't come out that way. A little farther on there's a track which runs right into the clearing where we found the man's body.”

Lapworth drove on till he came to the end of the track and then stopped. “We'll get out here and have a look,” he said. “There's a clearing at the end of this track, you say, young man? Very well, there's no need for you to come with us. You can stop in the car.”

The three men got out of the car and started along the track. The sun was on the point of setting, and within the wood it was already becoming dark. Lapworth, leading, switched on his torch, and its light enabled them to avoid the ruts. They went on till they reached the clearing, which was littered with branches, where the children had thrown them after pulling them from the heap. Lapworth directed his torch on each of these till he came to what remained of the heap. Then, as he looked down upon this, he uttered an exclamation. “That lad of yours was right, Mr. Murford. Come and look here, both of you.”

The constable and Murford came up beside him. The back of the man's head was visible, just as Billy had described it. “We'll clear away the rest of the branches from him,” said Lapworth curtly.

He and the constable set to work, and they very soon had the body exposed. The man was lying on his face, stretched out on the ground. He was wearing a cheap suit and shoes, and a greasy soft hat was lying on his back.

The three of them surveyed him for a few moments in silence. “We won't turn him over yet,” said Lapworth abruptly. “Slip along back to the car, constable, and bring the camera and flash-lights.”

The constable plodded back along the track. As he reached the car. Billy popped his head out of the window. “Have you found him?” he asked in an awe-struck voice.

“Yes, we've found him all right,” the constable replied. “Push over into the other corner. I want some of the gear you've got your feet on.”

Having got what he wanted, the constable carried it back to Lapworth, who took half a dozen photographs of the body from different angles. “That'll do for the record,” he said when he had finished. “Now we'll turn him over. Gently does it.”

He and the constable turned the body over till it lay on its back. The face thus exposed had a streak of dried blood down the right cheek, and was obviously that of an Oriental. The flat features and slanting eyes were sufficient evidence of that. With the aid of his torch Lapworth examined the face narrowly. “Don't recognise him,” he said at length. “Do you, constable?”

“I can't say that I do, sir,” the constable replied. “He looks to me like one of those Chinks from Rupert Terrace way. But they all look pretty much alike to me.”

“It won't take us long to find out who he is,” said Lapworth. “We'll look through his pockets and find out if there's anything there to tell us.”

But in the pockets they found nothing but a nearly empty packet with only one cigarette left in it and a box of matches.

“That doesn't help us much,” said Lapworth. “Never mind. Somebody from Rupert Terrace is bound to know him. We needn't worry about his injuries, the doctor will tell us all about them. But the chap was murdered, the branches being piled over him shows that. The idea being, of course, that the body shouldn't be found. We owe the discovery to your lad, Mr. Murford.”

Murford smiled. “Billy wasn't looking for a body. He and his young friends uncovered it only by accident. But I'm glad he was able to show you the way to where he found it.”

“He's a smart lad, and I shall tell him so,” said Lapworth. “I'll take a few photos round the clearing, to show the lie of the land. Then we'll go back and I'll make arrangements for him to be taken to the mortuary.”

He proceeded to take photographs which would serve to show the surroundings in which the body had lain. “You stop here, constable,” he said when he had finished. “You can come back with the party that fetches the body.”

He and Murford returned to the car, to find Billy waiting for them expectantly. “Well, Master Murford, you're a smart lad,” said Lapworth. “You've done a good day's work, and I'll see that you get full credit for it. Don't say anything about it until after the inquest, that's all. And now we'll be getting back.”

They drove to Cranport, and Lapworth dropped Murford and Billy at Roseland. He went on to the police station, where he took out a sheet of the six-inch Ordnance Survey, on, which he identified the wood. He found that on the map it was marked Bacton Wood. Then he sent for the sergeant, and pointed out to him the place on the map. “You see,” he said, tracing the route with his finger. “Follow this lane till you come to the wood. You'll find there's a track leading into it. When you come to the end of that, sing out, and the constable on guard will hear you. He'll show you where the body is. Get hold of a hearse, take a stretcher party with you, and bring the body here to the mortuary. Sure you can find your way?”

“I'm sure of that, sir,” the sergeant replied.,” I know Bacton Wood. There was a man injured when they were felling trees there a couple of years back, and I went there to make a report.”

“That's good,” said Lapworth. “All right. Get on with it, sergeant.”

Left to himself, Lapworth considered the matter. Of the fact that the man had been murdered there could be no shadow of doubt. The circumstances ruled out any possibility of accident or suicide. The dead man was almost certainly a Chinese, and therefore had probably lived in the Rupert Terrace area. In that case, his identity should be easy to establish. The motive was not yet obvious, but it was highly likely that the murderer was a member of the same community as the deceased.

Arnold's enquiries of that morning had by no means escaped Lapworth's memory. Those enquiries had led to his men learning that two lodgers were missing from 5, Rupert Terrace. From what Arnold had said, it appeared that the man in custody in London was one of them. It was by no means impossible that the man found in Bacton Wood was the other.

Lapworth occupied his time until he was informed that the hearse had returned and the body had been deposited in the mortuary. “Very well,” he said to the sergeant who brought the message. “You know Rupert Terrace pretty well. What's the name of the chap who keeps the shop at number 5?”

“I couldn't tell you his right name, sir,” the sergeant replied. “I don't know that I've ever heard it. The Chinese round about call him the Comprador.”

“And what does that mean?”Lapworth asked.

“It means a chap who keeps a shop, I believe, sir,” the sergeant replied. “If you want to know his name I could go there and find out. He's not on the telephone.”

“I don't suppose he is,” said Lapworth drily. “A small Chinese shop-keeper wouldn't indulge in a luxury like that. Take the car, go to number 5, Rupert Terrace, and bring that Comprador back with you.”

After an interval the sergeant reappeared. “I've got him here, sir. I asked him his name, and told him to write it down. Here it is, sir.”

Lapworth took the piece of cardboard the sergeant handed to him. It had obviously been torn off a show card of some kind, and felt distinctly greasy to the touch. On it was written in pencil, in bold if rather irregular block letters, the name Chu Shek.

“So that's his name, is it,” said Lapworth. “He can write English it seems. I take it he can speak it?”

“After a fashion, sir,” the sergeant replied. “It sounds a bit funny, but one can understand what he means.”

“Bring him in then,” said Lapworth. The sergeant went out, to return with a short, podgy man, whose age Lapworth guessed to be about fifty. He was nearly bald, but he had a thin tuft of a beard which, as he entered, he fingered nervously. For a resident of Rupert Terrace he was comparatively well dressed, and a gold watch-chain spanned his ample waistcoat. His eyes were bright and intelligent, and his demeanour respectful.

Lapworth looked at him appraisingly. This man was evidently a cut above his neighbours. He looked as though his business had raised him to a level of comparative prosperity. Lapworth pointed to a chair. “Sit down. Your name is Chu Shek, I believe?”

The man inclined himself slightly as he replied. “Can do. My namee Chu Shek. I keepee lil' shop in Lupert Tellace.” He sat down in the chair, bolt upright, with his arms folded across his stomach.

“Yes, I know you keep a shop,” said Lapworth. “You take in lodgers too, don't you?”

Chu Shek's eyes narrowed slightly. “That so. Pleeceman he come askee me this mo'ning.” He held up his left hand with fingers outstretched, and with his right forefinger touched each in turn. “One, two, tree, four, five, I tellee pleeceman. He askee me if allee at home. I say two gone. He askee me where to. I tellee him no can do.”

“Meaning, I suppose, that you didn't know where they had gone to,” Lapworth remarked. “Well, I'm going to ask you to come with me. You'd better come too, sergeant.”

Lapworth led them to the mortuary, which was only a short distance away. They entered the building, where the dead man lay on a slab, covered with a sheet. Lapworth drew this aside, exposing the features, and beckoned to Chu Shek. “Have you ever seen this man before?” he asked.

Chu Shek stepped forward, and stared at the dead face. His expression was inscrutable, but Lapworth wondered whether his hesitation was due to native caution. Would an identification be likely to get him into trouble? At last he seemed to decide to take the risk. He shook his head gravely. “Bad, velly bad. This man my lodger, Ah Lock.”

To Lapworth, with his inability to distinguish one Chinese face from another, this seemed rather too positive. “How do you know he is?” he asked.

Chu Shek found this question absurd. Who should recognise a lodger's face more easily than his landlord?”Ah Lock, he have scar on left hand,” he replied. “You lookee see.”

Lapworth drew the sheet further down, until the hands were exposed. On the back of the dead man's left hand was a long scar, probably the result of a knife slash in some quarrel long ago. “You're quite right,” said Lapworth, rather grudgingly. “I'll ask you to come back with me to my room. I've a question or two to ask you.”

They returned to the police station and sat down in the Inspector's room. “When did you last see Ah Lock alive?”Lapworth asked.

“Sat'day,” Chu Shek replied unhesitatingly. “They all come back together from laundly. They all go kitchen makee chop. I no see Ah Lock and Koo Yang after that.”

“Who do you mean by all of them?” Lapworth asked.

Again Chu Shek held up his left hand with fingers outstretched, ticking off the names as he catalogued them. “Ah Lock, Koo Yang, Lo Fat, Han Sung, Tsan Chin. Tlee they come back, supper time.”

“Did you ask them where the other two were?”Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek shook his head. “I no askee them then. I askee next day, but they say no can tell.”

“Did they all go out together?”Lapworth asked.

Again Chu Shek shook his head. “I no see them. Me and wife busy in shop Sat'day.”

“Was Ah Lock on good terms with the rest of them?”Lapworth asked.

“Ah Lock, he quiet man,” Chu Shek replied. “He no makee trouble. He likee be by himself.”

“Very well,” said Lapworth. “That'll do for the present. I may as well warn you now that there will be an inquest, and you will have to give evidence of identification. Unless Ah Lock had any relatives in this country. Do you know anything about that?”

“I t'inkee no,” Chu Shek replied. “He come lodge with me tlee year ago. He say he lef fam'ly in Kowloon.”

“Then it'll be up to you,” said Lapworth. “You'll be told when you have to appear. Take him back to his shop, sergeant.”

As they left the room, Lapworth wondered how far Chu Shek was to be trusted. These Chinese all seemed to hang together, and it was unlikely that one of them would give another away. With this in mind, he had refrained from using the word murder. If Chu Shek had his suspicions, it was not to be supposed that he would divulge them to the police.

Lapworth rang up the Cranport and District Hospital and left a message there for the pathologist, asking him to examine the body as soon as possible next morning. This done, he frowned thoughtfully. He was not particularly keen upon sharing the investigation with anyone else. But there was no help for it. The Yard had been making enquiries about Ah Lock, and they must be informed what had happened.

He put a call through to Scotland Yard, and the message he left there for Inspector Arnold was terse. Ah Lock, who had lodged at 5, Rupert Terrace, had been found dead in a wood some four miles from Cranport.

CHAPTER IV

REMEMBERING his promise to Merrion to let him know what he had learnt as the result of his telephone conversation with the Cranport police, Arnold went to his friend's rooms again on Wednesday evening. They were discussing the possibilities when the telephone rang. Merrion answered it, then beckoned to Arnold. “The Yard want to speak to you.”

Arnold rose and took the instrument from him. “Inspector Arnold here.” He listened for a moment or two. “Is that all?” he asked.

Apparently the answer was in the affirmative, for he slammed the instrument down and turned to Merrion. “What do you think now? The Cranport people have found Ah Lock dead in a wood.”

“Have they?” Merrion replied calmly. “That complicates matters a bit, doesn't it?”

“Complicates?”Arnold exclaimed. “Simplifies, you mean. The chap we've got, whatever his name may be, murdered Ah Lock so that he could get hold of his Savings Bank book. I shall have to go to Cranport at once.”

Merrion laughed. “Sit down and finish your drink. The news has made you all hot and bothered. It's just like you to put up a theory before you know any of the facts. As for dashing off to Cranport, hadn't you better have a word with your Chief first? He may have other ideas on the subject.”

Arnold resumed his seat. “All right, I'll stop for a few minutes longer. If you don't like my theory, what's yours?”

“I haven't one,” Merrion replied. “And I shan't have one till I know more about the circumstances. But I'm bound to admit that your case seems to be becoming more interesting, and I'd like to be in on it. Look here. If you start off for Cranport now, you'll arrive in the early hours of the morning, which won't please anyone. Have a word with your Chief first thing to-morrow. Then, if he agrees you ought to go to Cranport, I'll drive you there. How does that appeal to you?”

“It appeals to you, I can tell that,” said Arnold. “Very well, it shall be as you say.”

On Thursday morning Lapworth received two telephone messages. The first was from the pathologist. He had received the Inspector's message, and would be at the mortuary within a few minutes. Would someone with the key be there to meet him?

Lapworth sent off the sergeant with the key. A minute or two elapsed, and then the telephone rang again. This time the call was from Scotland Yard. Inspector Arnold hoped to arrive at Cranport about noon or shortly afterwards.

“I thought they wouldn't be able to keep their fingers out of the pie,” Lapworth muttered to himself as he turned to the papers lying on his table. These occupied his attention for an hour or so, at the end of which period the pathologist was shown into the room. “Good morning. Inspector,” he said. “I've had a good look over the body in the mortuary, and I thought you'd like to hear the results.”

“Sit down, Doctor,” Lapworth replied. “It's very good of you to come and tell me. I'm naturally anxious to know the cause and time of death.”

“I'll tell you of the injuries I found,” said the pathologist. “There are quite a lot of them. The unfortunate man seems to have been subjected to the most brutal treatment. There is a contusion on the right side of the head, probably the result of a blow from some blunt instrument, such as a hammer. Behind the left ear is a deep incised wound, and below the right ear a similar one. The fifth rib is broken on the left side, and the sixth on the right. The chest is fractured right across.”

“I don't wonder he's dead,” Lapworth remarked. “Can you tell which of the injuries was the actual cause of death, Doctor?”

“Not the blow with the blunt instrument,” the pathologist replied. “Though it caused breaking of the skin and contusion, the skull is not fractured. Probably the deep incisions I have mentioned were almost immediately fatal. The fracture of the ribs and chest were caused after death.”

“This, for what it is worth, is my opinion of what may have happened. The blow on the head was the first injury inflicted. This would have knocked him down and probably rendered him unconscious. He was then stabbed twice, in the region of one ear after another. The stabbing killed him, and his body was then beaten or jumped upon. May I ask where he was found?”

“In Bacton Wood,” Lapworth replied. “Covered over with a lot of branches.”

“A clear case of murder, then,” said the pathologist. “Now there's something I want to explain to you about the incisions in the region of the ears. Just now I used the word stabbed, but that may convey the impression that the weapon used was a dagger, or a knife, in fact something with a blade. But that was not the case. The weapon must have been round in cross section, with a sharp point. You know what a marlinspike looks like? Something like that.”

“Driven straight into the head?”Lapworth asked. The pathologist nodded. “Yes, and with considerable force, as the extent of the penetration shows. It may not have been thrust in, but driven in by a blow or blows with the blunt instrument with which the injury to the head was inflicted. But that is no more than conjecture on my part.”

“And the time when all this happened?”Lapworth asked.

“That's hard to tell,” the pathologist replied. “The man has certainly been dead for some days, perhaps four or five.”

“To-day is Thursday,” said Lapworth. “Would Saturday afternoon be a possible time for the murder?”

“A very likely time,” the pathologist replied. “You've reported the matter to the coroner, I take it?”

“Yes, I've done that,” said Lapworth. “But I haven't heard yet when he means to hold the inquest. I'll let you know when I do. Very many thanks for what you've told me, Doctor.”

He showed the pathologist out, then returned to his desk. He was still there when the sergeant came in. “Inspector Arnold from Scotland Yard is here, sir. He would like to see you when you are disengaged.”

“I'm disengaged now,” Lapworth replied. “Bring him in, sergeant.”

As his visitor entered the room, Lapworth rose and extended his hand. “I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Arnold. It's the message I left for you yesterday evening that's brought you down?”

“That's right,” Arnold replied as they shook hands. “But not to butt in on your investigations, I promise you that. I came because I thought I might be helpful.”

Lapworth appreciated this line of approach. “Sit down, Mr. Arnold,” he said cordially. “Ah Lock was murdered, there's no doubt about that. I'll tell you the story, so far as we know it at present.”

Arnold listened carefully as he did so. “A very definite case of murder,” he said when Lapworth had finished. “Now in return I'll tell you something that I think you'll find rather curious.”

In his turn Lapworth listened while Arnold told him of the incident at 15 Swanton Street, and of what he had discovered subsequently. “It all fits in,” he went on. “Our man gave the name of Ah Lock, and Ah Lock's Savings Bank book was in his possession. As a matter of fact I don't doubt that he is the other missing lodger you speak of.”

Lapworth glanced at his notes. “I find it hard to memorise these Chinese names. Koo Yang, that's it. The chap who keeps the lodging house here identified Ah Lock, and I daresay he could identify your man. Both Ah Lock and Koo Yang left his place some time on Saturday afternoon, and haven't been seen there since. I think we can put two and two together, Mr. Arnold?”

Arnold nodded. “We know that Koo Yang, for I've no doubt that is who our man is, is a pretty desperate character. He knocked his friend on the head with a hammer. On Saturday afternoon he lured Ah Lock to Bacton Wood. The pathologist's opinion of what happened there seems to me a perfectly sound one. Koo Yang first of all knocked Ah Lock on the head with a hammer, possibly the same one. I've brought the Swanton Street hammer with me, by the way. I'll show it to you in a minute.

“The blow knocked out Ah Lock, and his assailant then finished him off. From what the pathologist told you, the weapon he used seems to have been a rather unusual one. He searched his victim's pockets, and found the Savings Bank book. I don't doubt that he knew beforehand it was there. Not content with that, he trampled on the body, perhaps to make quite sure that it wouldn't come to life again. Then he covered it with branches, hoping that it wouldn't be found for some considerable time.”

“That was about the way of it,” Lapworth agreed. “The man couldn't be in a safer place while we work up our case against him. You spoke just now of a hammer?”

Arnold opened the case he had brought from London, and produced from it the hammer, which he laid on the desk at which they were sitting. “You see the initials C.L.,” he said, pointing them out with his finger. “It might be worth your while taking it to the Celestial Laundry. Possibly someone there could recognise it.”

“We'll go together,” Lapworth replied readily. “This is your case as much as mine, Mr. Arnold. You think Koo Yang pinched the hammer from the laundry where he and his fellow-lodgers worked?”

“I do,” said Arnold. “As I expect you've noticed, this hammer has a lot shorter handle than most. It could easily be carried on the person, in a pocket or otherwise.”

“It could,” said Lapworth. “Now, what would you like to do, Mr. Arnold? You'll want to see the body, I expect. Then I suggest that I drive you to Bacton Wood, where you can have a look round for yourself.”

“I needn't trouble you to do that,” Arnold replied. “I've got a car at my disposal. A friend of mine, Mr. Merrion, to whom I'd like to introduce you, drove me down here. I'm glad to have him on hand, for he knows quite a lot about the Chinese and their habits. He's waiting outside in his car now. I'm sure he'd drive me to the wood, if you could let us have someone to show us the way.”

“I'm rather glad about that,” said Lapworth. “Thursday is always my busy day, and I expect the Super is waiting for me now. I'll let you have the constable I took with me when I went there yesterday evening.”

They went out, to find Merrion sitting in the car. Arnold introduced him to Lapworth. “I shan't be many minutes,” he said. “And then I'm going to ask you to take me for a drive into the country.”

Merrion expressed his readiness to do that, and the other two went on to the mortuary. Arnold studied the dead man's face for a minute or two. “You have no doubts that this is Ah Lock?” he asked.

“So far, we've only got his landlord's identification,” Lapworth replied. “I think he's straight enough, but with these chaps one can't be sure. I shall bring along the manager of the laundry, who's a Scotsman, to see him.”

They left the mortuary and returned to the car. “If you'll wait a moment, I'll send out the constable,” said Lapworth. “He'll show you the way.”

The constable came out, and Merrion told him to sit in front. Arnold got in behind, and they drove off.

Arnold did not feel that the case held much interest for him. The whole affair was far too obvious. A case of murder, with theft for its object. And the murderer was already in custody, facing another charge. It was all too ridiculously easy. Already the evidence was quite sufficient to convince a jury.

Guided by the constable, Merrion drove out of the town and along the narrow lanes to Bacton Wood. He pulled up at the end of the track, and the three of them alighted from the car. “You don't mind my coming with you?” Merrion asked.

“Not a bit,” Arnold replied. They set off along the track, the constable leading, followed by Arnold, with Merrion bringing up the rear. He let the other two get ahead, while he sauntered after them, his eyes fixed on the ground. The weather had been dry for several days, and the earth of the track was baked dry. Such a surface would not record any footprints. By careful avoiding of the deep ruts, which had evidently been caused by the passage of a timber float, a car might have been driven along the track. But of tyre marks there was no sign. The ruts must have been made some time ago, for they were nearly filled with pine needles.

So much Merrion had observed by the time he reached the clearing. The constable was pointing out to Arnold the spot where the body had lain. “The branches were all on top of it, sir,” he was saying. “There were none of them underneath. He was lying on his face, flat on the ground.”

Merrion did not join the pair. He sat down on one of the stumps and lighted a cigarette. One of the branches, thrown aside by the children, lay beside him. It was not a dead branch, fallen off naturally, for the needles were still green. It must have been torn off one of the surrounding trees. Merrion glanced at the end of it, and as he did so muttered an exclamation.

Whenever he accompanied Arnold on one of his cases, he carried a small pocket lens. He took this out, got up, and examined the end of the branch through it. There were many other branches scattered by the children all over the clearing. He glanced at all these, then turned his attention to the growing trees.

His perambulations brought him eventually close to Arnold and the constable. “I don't know that many people come this way, sir,” the constable was saying.

“Unless it's to the farmhouses round about. Nothing came along the lane while I was waiting here yesterday afternoon.”

“Where does the lane lead to after it passes the wood?” Arnold asked.

“I can't say that I've ever been along it, sir,” the constable replied. “But I believe it comes out in Wychurst. That's a village in the hills, a couple of miles from here, I should say, sir.”

“Would anyone going from Cranport to Wychurst, by car, say, use the lane?” Arnold asked.

“I shouldn't think so, sir,” the constable replied. “It might save a mile or two, but it's narrow and rough. The quickest way would be to go by the roads. As I daresay you noticed, sir, we forked right just outside the town. If we'd gone to the left, we should have been on a good road. If we'd turned right a couple of miles along it, and then right again a bit further on, we should have got to Wychurst. That would have been quicker than following the lane.”

“Well, I think I've seen all that I want to here,” said Arnold. He became aware that Merrion was standing behind him, and turned. “Are you ready to drive us on?”

“Quite,” Merrion replied. “I'm getting hungry.” They walked down the track to the car. “Wait till I've turned the car round,” said Merrion. “It's going to be a bit of a job, for I shall have to back up the track. Watch out and stop me if I look like getting into one of those ruts.”

“You needn't turn the car,” Arnold replied. “Drive on the way it's heading. The constable tells me the lane leads to a village where there's a road back to Cranport.”

They got in, the constable again beside Merrion, and drove on. In a couple of hundred yards or so the wood ended, and the lane proceeded across the open moorland. It began to climb rather steeply, with many awkward bends. Further, as is common with lanes in hilly country, it had no verges, but ran between low banks, between which there was barely room for a large car such as Merrion's to pass. “I hope we don't meet anything,” Merrion remarked after a while.

“I don't think that's very likely, sir,” the constable replied. “I don't think any traffic comes this way, except maybe a farm cart or two.”

“Even a farm cart would be a pretty formidable obstacle,” said Merrion. “We should have to lift it, horse and all, up the bank. We can only hope that we shall be lucky.”

They were. Merrion drove on very slowly, fortunately without meeting anything. Eventually the lane, which until then had been rising steadily, began to descend. For once it ran straight, and they could see before them a village meeting in a tree-clad valley. “That's Wychurst, sir,” the constable remarked. “You want to turn left when you reach the main road.”

There was no sign to indicate the approach to the main road. Probably the lane was so little used that this was not considered necessary. Merrion turned left, and they drove through the village. It was a charming little place, with a church, and inn, and groups of thatched houses. The road running through it, Merrion noticed, carried a fair amount of traffic.

Directed by the constable, he drove back to Cranport and stopped outside the police station, where the constable got out. Merrion turned to Arnold. “We're doing no more sleuthing till we've had lunch,” he said firmly. “While I was waiting here just now I saw a hotel across the way. I'm all for trying that.”

Arnold agreed. The police station was in a street, which was flanked on the other side by a public garden in which were a few stunted trees and a number of benches. On the farther side of the garden was a similar street, in which one of the buildings bore a sign. Merrion drove round the garden and pulled up outside the hotel, which had the name of the Golden Fleece. Merrion looked at it critically. “I hardly think this can have been the destination of the Argonauts,” he remarked. “It doesn't look like a four-star establishment. Still, we may as well try our luck.”

They went in, to find the place more civilised than its outside appearance promised. They had quite a good lunch, and a pint of beer each to wash it down with. “What do we do next?”Merrion asked when they had finished.

“I shall have to go back to the police station, I suppose,” Arnold replied. “But Lapworth told me he wouldn't be there till three, and it's only just after two now. Have you any suggestion for filling up the time?”

“I have,” said Merrion. “We'll drive a little way out of the town until we come to a quiet spot, and there we'll have a chat.”

This they did. Merrion drove by the way they had gone that morning, and once clear of the town pulled up at the side of the road. “We can sit here and talk without being interrupted,” he said. “I'd very much like to hear what details Lapworth told you of this affair.”

Arnold repeated Lapworth's account, including the report of the pathologist. “It's as plain as a pikestaff,” he concluded. “Koo Yang murdered Ah Lock for the sake of his Savings Bank book.”

“Single-handed?”Merrion suggested.

“Why, yes, of course,” Arnold replied. “He wouldn't have let anyone else in on the job. If he had, he would have had to share the proceeds with him. You can see that, surely.”

Merrion smiled. “You don't mean to let anything upset your theory. Did you notice anything particularly striking in Bacton Wood?”

“I can't say that I did,” Arnold replied. “There wouldn't be much to see once the body had been taken away. Except all those branches scattered about the place. There were quite a lot of them.”

“I counted thirty-five,” said Merrion. “There may have been more. It was the branches that attracted my attention. They hadn't fallen off the trees by themselves.”

“Of course they hadn't,” Arnold replied. “Koo Yang tore them off the trees to cover up the body with.”

Merrion chuckled. “I thought you hadn't noticed. Have you ever tried to tear a fair-sized living branch from a pine tree? I have, and it isn't a bit easy, I assure you.”

Arnold looked at him suspiciously. “What are you getting at now? What was it I didn't notice?”

“That the branches hadn't been torn off,” Merrion replied. “Every one of the branches I counted had been cut off with a saw. You can see the marks of the saw not only on the branches, but on the trees they were cut from.”

“They were sawn off?”Arnold exclaimed incredulously. “That means that Koo Yang must have carried a saw with him. How did he account for what he meant to do with it?”

“It wasn't a carpenter's saw, or anything nearly as big as that,” Merrion replied. “I looked at the cut surface of one of the branches through my lens, and could see that the saw that had been used had very fine teeth. Perhaps one of those small hack-saws about six inches long. He could have carried one of those in his pocket, easily enough.”

“If that's the case, I don't see that it matters whether he tore the branches from the trees or sawed them off,” said Arnold.

“Perhaps not,” Merrion replied. “But there's this to be considered. The time it would have taken. A small hack-saw doesn't work very fast. I imagine it must have taken him at least a minute to saw off each branch. I counted thirty-five sawn off branches, which adds up to over half an hour. Then there was the matter of collecting them and piling them on the body. The whole business must have taken him pretty nearly an hour. He didn't display the usual instinct of the criminal to get away from the scene of the crime at the earliest possible moment.”

“He wasn't in any hurry,” said Arnold. “He wasn't likely to be interrupted in a lonely spot like that.”

“All the same, to hang about for an hour or so was a bit risky,” Merrion replied. “If those children invaded the place yesterday, they might equally have done so on Saturday. And the time taken to saw off the branches and build up the pile might have been shortened.”

“What do you mean?”Arnold asked. “You've just said that it must have taken the best part of an hour.”

“Yes, if one man with one saw did the job,” Merrion replied. “But if there had been tour men with four saws, it would have taken only a quarter of that time.”

“What nonsense are you talking now?”Arnold asked irritably.

Merrion smiled. “I suppose it sounds nonsense to you. You're so attached to your own theory that you won't consider any alternative. Quite frankly, I don't believe that the murder was single-handed, or that the immediate motive was the acquisition of the Savings Bank book.”

Arnold shrugged his shoulders. “Your imagination again. To me the murderer and his motive are perfectly obvious.”

“So it appears,” Merrion remarked. “But if Koo Yang did the job on his own, his methods seem curious, even for a Chinese. I can fire a string of questions at you. How did Koo Yang know of the existence of the clearing in Bacton Wood? Had he been there before, and if so for what purpose? How did he persuade Ah Lock to accompany him there? Where did he procure the instruments used, the hammer, the unusual weapon with which the fatal injuries were inflicted, and the hacksaw? And finally, why did he waste valuable time in jumping on the dead body of his victim with sufficient violence to break the bones?”

“You've got your own answers to those questions, I suppose,” said Arnold sourly. “Hadn't you better hand them on to me?”

“You won't believe them,” Merrion replied. “But here you are. Koo Yang knew of the clearing, because he had been there before, and not by himself. Doesn't it strike you as being an ideal spot, not only for a murder, but for a secret meeting-place for a number of people? You may not be aware that the Chinese have a passion for secret societies, innocent or otherwise.”

Arnold opened his mouth to make some scornful remark, but Merrion silenced him. “No, let me finish. Ah Lock needed no persuasion. He had received a summons to a meeting, and he knew that things would be made unpleasant for him if he didn't go. Besides, I don't suppose he had any idea of what would happen to him when he got there. I find it rather significant that all five lodgers went out that Saturday afternoon. One might hazard a guess that they all attended the meeting.”

“So far as I can see, what you're driving at is this,” said Arnold. “The other four conspired to murder Ah Lock. And if the motive wasn't to get hold of his savings, perhaps you'll tell me what it was?”

Merrion shook his head. “I don't think conspiracy is quite the right word. I choose rather to imagine that the other four lodgers acted according to the rule. I don't suppose that they marched in a body to the wood. It's more likely that each man made his way there independently. One carrying a hammer, another that curious weapon, whatever it may have been, and all four of them a hack-saw.”

“What do you mean by acting according to rule?” Arnold asked.

“That, according to the rules of the society to which he belonged, Ah Lock had merited the death penalty,” Merrion replied. “And that was the motive for the murder. It also accounts for the brutal behaviour of his executioners. Ah Lock had for some reason made himself a hated pariah. Having killed him, his former associates danced triumphantly upon his body.”

“I've known you for a long time, my friend,” said Arnold. “But your imagination has never yet faked up anything quite so fanciful as all that.”

“It sounds fanciful to you,” Merrion replied. “The English crooks to whom you're accustomed don't have queer ideas like that. But you've got to remember that all the people concerned in this affair are Chinese, whose minds run in channels of their own.”

“It comes to this,” said Arnold. “According to you, Koo Yang had accomplices?”

“Again, I hardly think that's the right word,” Merrion replied. “I imagine that all four executioners took part in the affair, so that the credit should be shared equally between them. I understand that either of the wounds in the region of the ears would have been fatal. Why then were two inflicted?”

Arnold shrugged his shoulders. “To make quite sure, I suppose.”

“Or that all might participate in the killing,” said Merrion. “One man used the hammer, to bring the victim down. The second inflicted the wound on one side of the head. He handed the instrument to the third, who inflicted the wound on the other side. The fourth man jumped on the body, not only to make sure that life was extinct, but also as an expression of hatred. If that was the case, I imagine that in the eyes of our law, all were equally guilty.”

“And where does the Savings Bank book come in?” Arnold asked.

“I can offer a suggestion about that,” Merrion replied. “Why did Ah Lock take it with him to the wood? Because he thought it would be safer in his pocket than if he left it behind in his lodgings. Where did his savings come from? If out of the wages he got from the laundry, he must have been a very frugal person indeed. It might be worth your while to find out what his wages were.”

“Suppose they came from some other source. It may be that the society had some interest in that source, though that's a sheer guess. The executioners may have believed that they were entitled to some reward for their labours. Koo Yang was elected as the emissary to take the book to London and draw the money. Had he been successful, it would have been shared between the four of them.”

“You've got an answer for everything,” Arnold remarked drily, as he took out his watch. “My word! It's five minutes to three, and I don't want to be late for my appointment.”

Merrion started up the car and set off towards the police station. “Just one last word,” he said. “Don't regard the idea of a secret society, or at least an association of some kind, as being too fanciful. If such a thing exists, there is no telling how far its ramifications may extend. The lodging-house keeper may be a member. In which case, I shouldn't be inclined to put much reliance upon any statement he may make.”

CHAPTER V

ARNOLD HAD BEEN at the police station for some minutes before his colleague arrived. “I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Mr. Arnold,” said Lapworth. “I've only just been able to get away. You'll be the first to understand that though there may be a case of murder on hand, routine work must go on just the same. You've been to Bacton Wood?”

Arnold nodded. “Yes, and your constable showed me how the body was lying.”

“Good,” said Lapworth. “I took some photographs yesterday evening. The prints will be coming along before long. This is what I suggest we do next. Ask the laundry manager to come here, and get him to identify the body. Will that suit you?”

“Perfectly,” Arnold replied. “And we might show him the hammer at the same time.”

Lapworth rang up the laundry, and was put through to the manager. “He says he'll come here at once,” said Lapworth as he put down the instrument. “He oughtn't to be long, for the laundry is only ten minutes' walk from here.”

They were talking about the case when the manager arrived. His name was Mackay, and he spoke with a marked Scottish accent. “It's good of you to come so promptly, Mr. Mackay,” said Lapworth. “Would you mind stepping across to the mortuary with me? I want you to look at a dead man lying there.”

Mackay raised no objection, and they went to the mortuary together. Lapworth exposed the face, and Mackay looked at it intently. “I'm pretty sure,” he said. “May I look at his hands?”

Lapworth drew back the sheet, and after a moment's glance Mackay nodded. “Yes, I thought so. I recognise that scar on his left hand. This is Ah Lock, who worked for me for three years and more. I wondered why he didn't come to work on Monday as usual. How did this happen?”

“We aren't sure yet,” Lapworth replied guardedly. “Shall we go back to my room? There are a few questions my friend Mr. Arnold and I should like to ask you.”

They went back and sat down. “You tell me that you have known Ah Lock for three years,” said Lapworth. “What sort of a man was he?”

“A very good laundry hand,” Mackay replied. “Most Chinese are good at laundry work, and that's why I always employ them. Ah Lock was one of the best. But he was rather a queer chap in his way. The others are always chattering away like so many monkeys, but Ah Lock very rarely said a word. It wasn't that he kept aloof from the rest of them, but he didn't seem to share their interests. I don't know why it was.”

“Did that make him unpopular, Mr. Mackay?” Arnold asked.

“I don't know that it did,” Mackay replied. “I never saw any signs of ill-feeling. But you never can tell with these Chinese. They don't display their feelings except among themselves. I don't speak the language, though I've picked up a few words.”

“Do your employees speak any English?” Arnold asked.

“Most of them speak a little pidgin English,” Mackay replied. “Between that and the few words of Cantonese I've picked up, I manage to make them understand what I want.”

“May I ask what Ah Lock's wages were?” said Arnold.

“They varied according to whether he had put in any overtime or not,” Mackay replied. “A Chinese workman manages to live on much less than an Englishman could, and he doesn't expect such high wages. Ah Lock's weekly wage packet would average about five pounds, after the usual deductions.”

“I understand that another of your Chinese hands hadn't turned up this week, Mr. Mackay?” said Lapworth.

“That's quite right,” Mackay replied. “A chap called Koo Yang. He's not nearly such a good man as Ah Lock was, but he knows his job and it's a nuisance being without him. I couldn't make it out when two of them didn't turn up on Monday. I knew they hadn't gone on some spree together. Ah Lock wasn't that type, and, as I tell you, he never seemed to mix with the others.”

“What sort of a man is Koo Yang?”Arnold asked.

“A queer sort,” Mackay replied. “Almost like a child, as so many Chinese are. Sometimes he's laughing about nothing, and at other times he gets fits of nasty temper. And he's very easily scared. I expect he sees spirits and devils in every hole and corner. I've wondered whether he was quite right in the head. I don't mean mad but, well, simple, as they say. Wherever he's gone, he'll come wandering back before long, I don't doubt.”

“You say he shows signs of a nasty temper,” said Arnold. “Have you ever known him quarrel with Ah Lock?”

Mackay laughed. “I suppose he's quarrelled frequently with all of them. But you mustn't take that too seriously. Chinese are apt to scrap among themselves at the slightest or no provocation. But it's all over in a few minutes, and then they're as good friends as they were before.”

“Just one thing more, Mr. Mackay,” said Arnold. He opened his case and produced the hammer. “Have you ever seen that before?”

“I can't say that I have,” Mackay replied. “Is there anything to distinguish it from any other hammer?”

Arnold held it out, so that the initials on the handle were visible. Mackay took out his glasses, put them on and peered. “That certainly looks like our brand,” he said after a few seconds. “But whether that hammer belongs to the laundry I really can't say. My storekeeper has a few tools, and he might recognise it. I'll ask him to step along here when he's finished work, if you like.”

“I wish you would, Mr. Mackay,” Arnold said. “Is he a Chinese?”

“Not he,” Mackay replied. “He's an Englishman all right. Born and bred in Cranport, and proud of it.”

Lapworth escorted Mackay to the door and returned. “Well, that puts an end to any doubt who the dead man is,” he said. “What would you like to do next, Mr. Arnold?”

“I'd like to look at that lodging-house in Rupert Terrace,” Arnold replied. “You haven't been over it, I gather?”

“No, I haven't, and I'll come with you,” said Lapworth.

“Mr. Merrion is outside in his car,” Arnold replied. “I'm quite sure he'd drive us there. You don't mind his coming with us? His knowledge of Chinese ways may come in useful.”

“I shall be glad if Mr. Merrion will come,” said Lapworth. They went out, to find Merrion sitting in the car smoking a cigarette. Arnold told him where they wanted to go, and Lapworth got in beside him, to show the way.

This led from the centre of the town towards the dock area. Cranport was a rather dingy town, and the streets through which they drove were not impressive. There were not many people about, and Merrion noticed that the shops were shut. “Is it early-closing day?” he asked Lapworth.

“It is,” Lapworth replied. “I hadn't thought of that when we started. Chu Shek's shop will be shut, and he and his wife may both be out. However, we can but try.”

They turned a corner, and it was at once evident that they had entered the Chinese quarter. From nearly every upper window poles extended, supporting lines on which hung multi-coloured washing. The pavements were thronged with Chinese women, some bearing babies slung upon their backs. Accompanying them were a host of children wearing soled shoes which flapped as they moved, making a not unmusical clatter. Merrion smiled. “This takes me back to China. Which way now?”

“The next turning on the left is Rupert Terrace,” Lapworth replied. Merrion took the turning, into a narrow street. On their left was the high windowless wall of some building, probably a warehouse, and on the right a row of two-storeyed houses. These had no gaps between them, and were all exactly alike, except that one or two of them had shop windows on the ground floor.

Number Five was one of these, and Merrion pulled up outside it. They saw at a glance that a dingy blind was drawn across the shop window, and that the door beside it was closed. Between the glass of the window and the blind was stuck a sheet of paper, on which, drawn in ink, was an inscription in Chinese characters.

They alighted from the car, and Lapworth tried the shop door, to find that it was locked. However, the house had a second door, beside which was the knob of an old-fashioned bell-pull. Lapworth tugged at this, and was rewarded by a clanging somewhere at the back. In a few seconds the door opened and Chu Shek appeared.

His face fell as he saw the three men standing outside, but he managed to force a smile with which to greet Lapworth. “I no t'inkee see you,” he said. “Only tlee lodgers now. I puttee up notice in window. When I hear bell, I t'inkee might be man wanting bed.”

“I'm sorry we've disappointed you,” Lapworth replied. “Your three lodgers are out at work, I suppose?”

Chu Shek nodded. “That light. They no come back till half-past five. Me all alone. Wife she go sit in gardens. She say flesh air good. Me no likee sit do not'ing.”

“I wish I had the chance,” Lapworth replied. “My friends and I want to look over your lodgers' rooms. You have no objection?”

Chu Shek spread out his hands in a gesture of compliance. “Me no mind. Pleece go anywhere. You come in. Me show you.”

He beckoned, and they entered the house, to find themselves in a narrow passage. At one side of this was a door, which appeared to lead into the shop, and at the end was a steep staircase. Chu Shek led the way up this, and they followed him to a landing on the first floor. Off this, four doors opened.

“We'll see Ah Lock's room first,” said Lapworth.

Chu Shek opened one of the doors and they walked in. The room in which they found themselves was clean enough, but poorly furnished. Looking round, Arnold's eyes were arrested by the metal case standing against the wall. It was fastened with a padlock, and when he tried this it resisted his efforts. “What did Ah Lock keep in here?” he asked.

Chu Shek waved his hands deprecatingly. “No can say. Never see him open. Him keep locked.”

“So it appears,” Arnold remarked. “Where did he keep the key?”

Chu Shek seemed shocked at the futility of asking him such a question. “He no tell me. Keepee key safe place. Own pocket, likely.”

Arnold glanced enquiringly at Lapworth, who shook his head. “It wasn't in his pocket when he was found. Nothing there but a couple of cigarettes. May as well search the room while we're here.”

The room did not take long to search, for there was very little furniture in it. Lapworth nodded towards the metal case. “We'll take that with us when we go. Now we'll have a look into the other rooms.”

Chu Shek showed them into the room next door which, like Ah Lock's, had a window looking upon the street. In this room were two beds, and a couple of shelves on which were strewn personal belongings. As Lapworth turned these over, he came upon an instrument resembling a mouth organ. “Who does this belong to?” he asked.

“Han Sung,” Chu Shek replied. “He and Tsan Chin they sleepee here. Han Sung he play and Tsan Chin he sing. Velly pletty.”

“A musical pair, apparently,” Arnold remarked. “Does Tsan Chin sing English songs?”

“He no sing English,” Chu Shek replied. “He sing Chinee.”

Merrion smiled but said nothing. He knew from experience the sort of music the pair produced. After a rapid search of the room, they moved on to the third, which was at the back of the house. Merrion strolled to the window and looked out. He saw a small yard, Uttered with empty cartons and other rubbish. The yard was bounded at the further end by the back wall of another house, and on either side a brick wall separated it from the similar yards of the neighbouring houses in Rupert Terrace.

This third room also had two beds. “Lo Fat, he sleepee that one,” Chu Shek was saying. “Other empty, now Koo Yang gone. Me lookee new lodger. Lose cash with empty bed.”

“What do you charge these lodgers of yours?”Arnold asked.

Chu Shek's eyes narrowed. “Velly little. Chinee wo'kman he no have much. Two pound ten a week, and me give them lice two times day. Ah Lock he pay li'le mo', for he sleepee lone. He pay me tlee pound ten.”

“You must make a good thing out of it when you've got a full house,” Lapworth remarked. “You give your lodgers rice twice a day, you say. Anything else?”

“How me affo'd anything else?” Chu Shek asked indignantly. “My wife, she boil them plenty lice. If they want anyt'ing else, they buy in shop.”

“Your shop, I suppose you mean,” said Lapworth. “You seem to get it all ways. What's this fourth room?”

“Washee room,” Chu Shek replied. He opened the door, revealing a small room with a lavatory pan and a bench, on which stood three tin basins. Having satisfied themselves that there was no more to be seen on that floor, they started down the stairs. “Where do your lodgers have their meals?” Arnold asked.

“Allee same kitchen,” Chu Shek replied. “Me show you.” They reached the ground floor and Chu Shek produced from his pocket a key, which he inserted in the lock of the door they had seen on their way up. “Keepee him lock,” he remarked. “No wantee man in kitchen when me or wife not there.” He opened the door, which led, not into the shop, but into the kitchen behind it. This was a fairly large room, for the wall which had divided the kitchen from the scullery behind it had been removed. A wide deal table occupied the centre, and round the walls were shelves, bearing a number of cooking utensils and wooden bowls. Chu Shek pointed with pride to a saucepan about a quarter full of uncooked rice standing by the gas stove. “That for supper. My wife she boil it when she come home. Plenty, yes?”

Lapworth looked at it with distaste. “It doesn't look much to feed three grown men on,” he replied. “Where does that door at the back lead to?”

“Into yard,” Chu Shek replied. He went to the door and opened it. Merrion paused for a moment, then, seeing that neither of the others moved, stepped outside. A glance was sufficient to show him that the door was the only means of access to the yard, which was otherwise completely enclosed. He came in again, shutting the door behind him.

“Very well, that's all for the present,” said Lapworth. “But we shall meet again before very long. Your lodgers come home at half-past five, you say. At six o'clock I shall send a car here for them, and you'll have to come too. We're going to ask them some questions, and if they don't understand, you'll have to interpret. Do you understand that?”

Chu Shek nodded. “Can do. Me tell them what you say.”

“That's right,” said Lapworth. “And you'll have to tell us what their answers are. We shall see you later.”

They left the house and Merrion drove them back to the police station. “I'd like you to come in with us, Mr. Merrion,” said Lapworth. “Your opinion of Chu Shek and his establishment may be helpful.”

The three of them went into the Inspector's room and sat down. “Well, Mr. Arnold?” Lapworth asked.

“My first point concerns Ah Lock's finances,” Arnold replied. “Mr. Mackay told us that his wages averaged five pounds a week. His landlord charged him three pounds ten a week for board and lodging. That leaves him thirty bob a week for pocket money. How could he afford to save ten pounds a month out of that?”

“He couldn't,” said Lapworth. “He must have had other resources. We've heard something about his having a family in China. They may have sent him money from time to time. Do you think that's likely, Mr. Merrion?”

Merrion shook his head. “I think it's most unlikely. Ah Lock's relatives in China would expect him to send them money, rather than vice versa. But simple arithmetic shows that he must have had other resources. He couldn't have saved even what Arnold calls his pocket money. He would have had to spend at least some of it.”

“What would he have been likely to spend it on?” Arnold asked.

“Not much on his clothes, or what we should consider necessities,” Merrion replied. “His landlord supplied him with rice and, incidentally, I don't think the lodgers were stinted. There didn't seem to be much rice in that saucepan, but it's wonderful how rice swells up when it's boiled.

“But only the poorest Chinese subsist on rice alone. The rest of them add tit-bits to it. Perhaps, from what I have seen in China, I could give you an impression of that kitchen at meal times.”

“I wish you would, Mr. Merrion,” said Lapworth.

Merrion smiled. “I'll do my best. By the time the lodgers assembled, the rice would have been boiled. You saw those wooden bowls on the shelves, I expect. Each man would take one of those, and ladle it nearly full from the saucepan. He would nearly always have provided himself with something else. A piece of dried fish, odd pieces of meat, a fragment of chicken or rabbit, a hard-boiled egg, preferably kept so long that it had turned black. Nothing in large quantity, of course.”

“If any of these things wanted cooking, the lodger would cook it himself on the gas stove. He would then stir it into his bowl of rice, sit down at the table, and set to work on the mess with a pair of chop sticks.”

“I have never been able to understand how anyone can eat with chop sticks,” Lapworth remarked.

“It takes some practice, at least for a European,” Merrion replied. “But after a while, you find that it isn't really difficult. An expert can pick up a single grain of rice with the greatest of ease. But I don't suppose that Chu Shek's lodgers waste time on such niceties. They probably hold their bowls in front of their faces, and shovel the food into their mouths, coolie fashion. A satisfying, if not edifying, proceeding. The point of all this being that Ah Lock supplemented his rice with other delicacies. And for those he had to pay.”

“Which makes the sum more ridiculous than ever,” said Arnold. “Where did he get the money he saved? What do you say, Merrion?”

“He may have earned it in his spare time,” Merrion replied. “Most Chinese men are remarkably clever with their hands. They can contrive things out of materials which we should regard as only fit for the scrap heap. Give one of them a discarded tin can, and plenty of time, and he'll make a safety razor out of it. That's an exaggeration, of course. But it's wonderful what they can do. I don't doubt that metal case you brought from Ah Lock's room was made of old petrol cans, or something of that sort. And it seems quite likely that it was Ah Lock who made it.”

“Meaning that he picked up odd scraps of metal and made things of them?” Arnold asked.

“He may have,” Merrion replied. “And sold them to less gifted or less industrious Chinese in the Rupert Terrace area. He had his room to himself to work in.”

“But where are the tools he used?” Lapworth asked. “Mr. Arnold and I searched the room thoroughly, and they weren't there.”

“In his metal case, perhaps,” Merrion replied. “Though I rather doubt it. I shouldn't expect to find him in possession of an elaborate metal-working outfit. He would want very few tools, and what he did want he would be quite capable of making for himself. And what you found or didn't find in his room doesn't strike me as of much significance. He hadn't been there since Saturday.”

“Suggesting that his fellow-lodgers or his landlord have had plenty of time to appropriate his belongings?” Arnold asked.

“Exactly,” Merrion replied. “Koo Yang appears to have appropriated his Savings Bank book. And what about the key of the case? Mr. Lapworth said that it wasn't in Ah Lock's pocket when they were searched. It wasn't in Koo Yang's was it, Arnold?”

Arnold shook his head. “I'm pretty sure it wasn't. Dewsbury showed me all the things that were found on Koo Yang, and there wasn't a key among them.”

“Then it is to be presumed that some other person has had the key since Saturday,” said Merrion. “Again, plenty of time for that person to have unlocked the case, removed the contents, and locked it up again.”

“The case isn't empty,” Lapworth remarked. “It's too heavy. I noticed that when I was carrying it just now.”

“There's one easy way with a padlock,” said Arnold. “Cut through the hasp with a triangular file. I don't doubt you've got one on the premises, Mr. Lapworth?”

“I'm pretty sure we have,” Lapworth replied. He picked up his telephone and spoke to the sergeant, who presently appeared with the necessary implement. On Lapworth's orders he set to work, and very soon had the padlock removed. Lapworth got up and opened the case. “I said it wasn't empty. It's full to the brim with paper and cardboard.”

He proceeded to remove pieces of crumpled paper and shreds of torn cardboard, throwing them on to the floor beside him. “Hallo, there's something more solid here,” he exclaimed when he had half emptied the case. “What the dickens is it? Why, nothing but a bit of scrap iron.”

He held up the object he had found. It was red with rust, and appeared to be the broken half of a domestic fire grate. “There may be something else beneath it,” Arnold remarked. “Turn the case upside down, that will be the quickest way.”

Lapworth inverted the case, but nothing but more paper and cardboard fell out. Merrion bent over the heap on the floor and turned it over. “Grocery wrappings, all of it,” he said after a while. “Torn-off paper covers and cartons. Some of the bits and pieces have the names of what was wrapped in them. 'Beans in Tomato Sauce,' 'Whizzo Soap Flakes', that one with the grinning face of a Happy Housewife. 'Vulture Margarine, 40 by 1/2.' Which I suppose means that the carton of which this is a piece originally held forty half-pound packets of the stuff. And plenty more names of consumer goods, if you like to look through them. All this litter is waste material from Chu Shek's shop, I don't doubt.”

Arnold laughed. “You told us just now that Ah Lock might have been in the habit of hoarding waste material.”

“I did,” Merrion replied. “But I don't think he could have made much use of this stuff, or of that broken fire grate either. In fact, I don't for a moment suppose that the contents of the case are the same as when he last opened it.”

“You're right there, Mr. Merrion,” Lapworth agreed. “Someone pinched the key, opened the case, and took out whatever was in it. Then he put all this rubbish in it, to make it weigh much the same as before, and locked it up again.”

“Chu Shek, since the rubbish is obviously his?” Arnold suggested.

“Not necessarily,” Merrion replied. “It might have been any of the lodgers. There was a lot of rubbish lying about the yard when I looked into it just now, and I expect that's where this lot came from. The lodgers had access to the yard from the kitchen.”

At that moment the telephone rang. Lapworth went to it and listened to the message. “There's a man here of the name of Penryn, sir. He says he's the storekeeper at the Celestial Laundry, and that Mr. Mackay told him to call.”

“That's right,” Lapworth replied. “Bring the man in here.”

A constable came in followed by Penryn, a middle-aged man with the cunning expression all storekeepers seem to acquire. “I hope we haven't brought you out of your way, Mr. Penryn,” said Lapworth pleasantly. “Will you sit down? My friend here has something to show you.”

Penryn sat down, and Arnold produced the hammer. “Have you ever seen that before?”

As soon as Penryn caught sight of it, his eyes lighted up. “Well, I'm blessed!” he exclaimed. “I always knew the police were pretty sharp, but I never thought they'd find a thing like that. I've missed that old hammer for a fortnight and more. I knew very well that one of the chaps must have pinched it, but they all swore they hadn't.”

“Where did you keep the hammer?” Arnold asked.

“Why, in the tool-box, for there's always something to be done with them, a wooden box to be opened, or something like that. One of the chaps must have slipped in when my back was turned and pinched the hammer.”

“It must have been one of the men employed at the laundry?” Arnold asked.

“'Tisn't likely a stranger would know where I kept my tools,” Penryn replied shrewdly. “Well, I'm glad to have it back. A tool one's used to is like an old friend.”

He put out his hand as though to take the hammer, but Arnold shook his head. “I'm afraid you can't have it back just yet, Mr. Penryn. We may want it as evidence against the man who stole it. Have you missed any other tool lately?”

“No, that I haven't,” Penryn replied. “I took care about that. When I found the hammer had gone, I put a lock on the tool-box, and I've kept the key in my pocket ever since. And, what's more, I've locked the store behind me whenever I've gone out, if it's only for a minute.”

“Thank you, Mr. Penryn,” said Arnold. “We needn't keep you any longer. You shall have your hammer back when we've done with it.”

He nodded to the constable, who escorted Penryn from the room. “A thoroughly conscientious storekeeper, I should imagine,” Lapworth remarked. “There's no doubt that it was Koo Yang who pinched the hammer. And if he took it a fortnight ago, he must have known what he meant to do with it quite a long time in advance. But I wonder what the fatal instrument was, and where it came from.”

The sergeant was busy tidying up the rubbish and putting it back into the metal case. He suddenly straightened himself. “I haven't had a chance of telling you until this minute, sir. A message came while you were out just now. The coroner has fixed the inquest for half-past two to-morrow afternoon.”

CHAPTER VI

THE SERGEANT finished his job and went out. “I shall have to see about warning the witnesses,” said Lapworth. “There won't be very many to be called. Chu Shek, to identify the body. Young Billy Murford, to describe the pile of branches and how he and the others pulled it down. The pathologist, of course. Myself and the constable I took with me. I think that's about all. Unless you'd like to put in an appearance with Penryn's precious hammer, Mr. Arnold?”

“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Arnold replied. “Although we know it was the hammer with which Koo Yang attacked How Ming, we can't prove that it was the one with which he struck Ah Lock. In my opinion, it would be better not to bring Koo Yang's name into it. After all, the man is safely in pickle, and can be produced when wanted. You can tell the coroner privately that you have a pretty shrewd idea, which is being followed up.”

While they were talking, the sergeant returned. “The car has come back from Rupert Terrace with those four men, sir. What would you like done with them?”

“Bring Chu Shek in here,” Lapworth replied. “And keep the other three in the charge room till we want them.”

The sergeant fetched Chu Shek, whom Lapworth told to sit down. “I want first of all to talk to you about Ah Lock. What did he do when he wasn't at work in the laundry?”

Chu Shek spread out his hands deprecatingly. “How me tell? No spy on lodgers. Sometime he go to his loom. Sometime he go out for long time. Where he go me no can tell.”

“What do you mean by a long time?”Lapworth asked.

“Tlee hour, four,” Chu Shek replied. “Maybe he have flends he go see.”

“Did he ever bring his friends to your house?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek shook his head. “No can tell. Me in shop or kitchen, no can see who come or go.”

“Did he make things in his spare time and sell them?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek did not answer at once. He seemed to be giving careful consideration to this question. “Maybe he makee things. He clever with hands. Mend t'ings for me when break. Me no see what he make. He in loom allee by self. Makee t'ings there, no one see.”

Lapworth glanced at Arnold, as though to suggest that it was his turn to ask questions. Arnold took the hint. “Did you know that Ah Lock had an account in the Post Office Savings Bank?”

This time Chu Shek was prompt with his answer. “Me know that. He askee me when he come what can do with cash he no spend. He say he no likee keep in loom. I tell him he go Post Office. Cash safe there allee time.”

“How much English could Ah Lock speak when he first came to you?” Arnold asked.

“He no speak English,” Chu Shek replied. “He ask me how he makee Post Office savee what he want. I tell him I go with him. He no can write name in English, so he make Chinese mark. Post Office man he put his name there and put Ah Lock's name in book. He tell me tell Ah Lock keep book safe. Ah Lock he say to me keep book in pocket, safe there.”

“Have you ever seen the book since then?” Arnold asked.

Again Chu Shek spread out his hands. “How me see it if in Ah Lock's pocket? You find book there, I 'spec?”

“Never you mind where we found it,” said Arnold. “Did the other lodgers know that he had this book and carried it about with him?”

“I 'spec they know,” Chu Shek replied. “Ah Lock he fond of say he save cash and they no do. He ploud of it.”

“Do any of the three lodgers you've still got speak English?” Lapworth asked.

“Velly little,” Chu Shek replied. “They stupid coolies. No can lea'n speak English ploper. Wife, she tly teach, but no can do.”

Lapworth consulted his notebook, in which he had recorded the names of the lodgers. “The order we take them in doesn't much matter,” he remarked. “Bring in Lo Fat, sergeant. You stay here, Chu Shek. If they don't speak English, you'll have to interpret for us.”

Lo Fat was brought in. Despite the implication of his name to an English ear, he was short, spare and wiry, with a curiously melancholy expression. He looked round him uneasily, and reluctantly took the chair the sergeant pushed him into. Lapworth glanced at Chu Shek. “Ask him what he was doing on Saturday afternoon.”

Chu Shek translated this, and Lo Fat's expression became more dejected than ever. But his answer came promptly enough. “He say he go with Koo Yang to skamble,” Chu Shek interpreted.

“What the dickens does he mean by that?” Arnold asked.

“He means scramble, I expect,” Lapworth replied. “Not far outside the town is a range of sand dunes. A lot of young fellows with motor cycles meet there every now and then, and go bucketing over the dunes on their machines. A scramble, they call it. A lot of people go there to watch, in the hope of the thrill of seeing them break their silly necks, I suppose. Is that what he means, Chu Shek?”

Chu Shek nodded. “That light. He say he and Koo Yang spend aft'noon at skamble.”

“There was a scramble over the dunes on Saturday afternoon, wasn't there, sergeant?” Lapworth asked.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “It began at three o'clock. What time it ended I can't say.”

The interrogations that followed were tedious and complicated. Sometimes Chu Shek did not grasp the meaning of the questions put by Lapworth and Arnold, and they had to be put in another form. More often, the man under examination gave a wholly irrelevant answer, and the question had to be put to him again, perhaps more than once. The proceedings are best recorded in the form they eventually took in Arnold's notes.

Lo Fat was utterly vague as to time and place. He had never been to a scramble before. It was Koo Yang who had suggested that they should go to this one. Koo Yang and he were related. So far as Lo Fat could describe the relationship, it appeared that their mothers were cousins. They had both been born at Aberdeen, on Hong Kong island. They had left there together, many years ago. Lo Fat could not say how many.

On Saturday they had left Rupert Terrace together. He could not tell what time that was. Some time after they had finished their midday meal. They had walked to a place where Lo Fat had never been before. A lot of people were there, and some Chinese among them. Some of these were known to Koo Yang, but not to Lo Fat. They had watched the scramble with them. Men on motor cycles racing over the dunes.

They had stayed there until the scramble was over. Lo Fat had no idea what time this was. Then he, Koo Yang, and three or four other Chinese had started to walk back to the town together. On the way, Koo Yang had told him that he was going home with one of the others. He had said that he would be back in time for the evening meal. Before they reached Rupert Terrace, Koo Yang had left him, in company with another man. Lo Fat did not know this man's name, or where he lived. He had not seen Koo Yang since then. Lo Fat had gone back to Rupert Terrace. He had found Han Sung and Tsan Chin there. They were singing and playing in their room, and he had joined them to listen. He did not know whether Ah Lock had been at Rupert Terrace when he had left there. Lo Fat knew nothing about the Savings Bank book. Ah Lock had often said that he saved money. But of how he saved it Lo Fat had no idea.

Lo Fat was removed, and Chu Shek was questioned. On Saturdays his lodgers came back from the laundry at half-past twelve. They had done so as usual on the previous Saturday. The midday rice was ready for them, and they had had their meals at once. All five of them had been there, and they had finished soon after one. The evening meal had been ready about seven. Only three of the lodgers had been there. It was not unusual for Ah Lock to miss the evening meal on Saturdays. But it was very rarely that any of the other four did not turn up.

Han Sung was then brought in. Short, rather stout, happy expression. Sufficiently intelligent to have some idea of time. On Saturday he and Tsan Chin had left Rupert Terrace together. This had been before two o'clock. They had walked to the public gardens and sat on a bench there in the sun. They often did that on fine Saturday afternoons. After a while, Han Sung had gone to sleep. They had stayed there till half-past five, when they had strolled back to Rupert Terrace together. They had gone up to their room and made music. Lo Fat had come in soon after six.

Han Sung had seen nobody, except Tsan Chin, that he knew while he was in the gardens. He had been asleep, or half-asleep, most of the time. He knew nothing of Ah Lock's movements that afternoon. Ah Lock had been the first to finish his midday meal and leave the kitchen. Whether he had gone up to his room or left the house Han Sung could not say. Ah Lock had told him not long ago that he had saved money. Han Sung had wondered whether he kept it in the metal case in his room.

Tsan Chin took Han Sung's place. They were so much alike that Tsan Chin was asked whether they were related. Tsan Chin said they were not. He had not known Han Sung until they met at Rupert Terrace some two years ago. He had gone to the gardens with Han Sung. Koo Yang had asked him if he would like to go to the scramble with him and Lo Fat. Tsan Chin had refused, as it was too long a walk. While he and Han Sung were in the gardens, a man whom he knew passed them. Han Sung was asleep, but the man spoke to Tsan Chin. The man's name was Pi Wong, and he worked at the docks. Tsan Chin knew him, for he had worked at the docks for a short time himself. Several Chinese came into the gardens while Tsan Chin was there, but Pi Wong was the only one he had spoken to. Tsan Chin had seen nothing of Ah Lock after he had left the kitchen. Ah Lock very rarely went out with any of the other lodgers. Ah Lock had often boasted of saving money. He liked to make it appear that he was better off than the others. He used to buy things to eat that they could not afford. Tsan Chin was inclined to believe that Ah Lock's talk about saving money was all swank.

That concluded the examination, and the four were driven back to Rupert Terrace. Lapworth turned to Merrion, who had been listening and watching intently. “What do you make of it all, Mr. Merrion?” he asked.

“A very neat network of alibis,” Merrion replied. “And, if I may say so, a most unusual feat of memory on the part of the three of them.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arnold asked.

“I'll try to explain,” Merrion replied. “The Chinese are usually very vague about everyday happenings. It requires something pretty startling to fix any particular event in their memories. If they remember an incident at all, they are quite unable to say exactly when it happened. Some days ago, which may mean anything from yesterday to the month before last.”

“Now, if these men are speaking the truth, and know nothing of the murder of Ah Lock, last Saturday must have been the same to them as any other Saturday. An afternoon when they were not at work, and had to employ their time somehow. Yet all of them remember the afternoon perfectly, to the most trivial detail. I find it amazing.”

“We can check up on their statements, Mr. Merrion,” said Lapworth. “It will be easy enough to find Pi Wong, who works at the docks. And we oughtn't to have any difficulty in tracing the man Koo Yang went off with.”

“Oh, you'll find them both all right,” Merrion replied. “And when you do, they'll confirm the stories we've heard. You must remember that you are dealing with Chinese, not with Europeans, and, as I've tried to impress on Arnold, their minds work very differently from ours. In a matter where only Chinese were concerned, they would combine to support one another. Any enquiry into the matter by Europeans they would consider an impertinence, to be resisted by all possible means. They would not consider supporting a false alibi as perjury, but merely as a means of setting up a defence against undue inquisitiveness.”

“You think the alibis are false, then?” Arnold asked.

“I must leave you to decide that,” Merrion replied. “I'm only an observer, trying to make helpful suggestions. Next to the accuracy of these men's memories, what struck me most was the readiness of their replies. In most cases they didn't have to pause to think. Chu Shek had hardly interpreted your questions to them when the answers came out pat. The only hesitations seemed to be when the question was put to them in a form they didn't understand. When it was put another way, they were as prompt as ever.”

“Isn't that a sign of their veracity?” Lapworth asked. “I'm not sure that it is,” Merrion replied. “What were you doing at half-past four last Friday afternoon, Mr. Lapworth?” Lapworth instinctively stretched out his hand for the diary lying on his desk. “No, don't look it up. Tell me from memory.”

Lapworth hesitated, frowning at the desk before him. “I was busy on Friday afternoon,” he said at last. “I had been at the police court all the morning, and I was trying to catch up with my other work. No, wait a minute. Soon after four the Super called me to his room to discuss one of the cases we had heard that morning. I must have been with him at half-past.”

Merrion smiled. “You see now what I mean. Very few people can answer immediately a question such as I asked you. Yet these stupid coolies, as Chu Shek called them, answered not one, but several, without the slightest hesitation. And I find that rather curious.”

“Well, so it is,” Lapworth agreed. “What's your explanation, Mr. Merrion?”

“That their statements had been prepared in advance,” Merrion replied. “And that they had learnt them by heart. By statements, I mean the answers to any questions they were likely to be asked. Once the Chinese mind grasps a thing like that, it is slow to forget it. I'm willing to bet that had you asked them what they were doing on any other day but Saturday, they would have been quite unable to tell you, except in the vaguest terms.”

“You think they concocted their stories among themselves?” Lapworth asked.

“I hardly think that,” Merrion replied. “I doubt whether their mentalities would have been equal to the effort.” He glanced at Arnold. “You may remember what I said to you when we were sitting in the car after lunch?”

Arnold laughed. “Oh yes, I remember. You were talking a lot of nonsense about secret societies. Your imagination even went so far as to suggest that Ah Lock had not been murdered but executed.”

“Call it nonsense, if you like,” said Merrion. “Do you mind if I repeat what I told you to Mr. Lapworth?”

“I'm sure Mr. Arnold won't mind,” Lapworth interposed. “I shall be most interested to hear any theory that you have formed.”

Merrion gave Lapworth the gist of his remarks to Arnold. “It isn't anything as concrete as a theory,” he went on. “It's no more than a suggestion. And perhaps I made a mistake in using the term secret society, which has acquired a sensational flavour. Even in their own country the Chinese are apt to form societies, which have an element of secrecy about them. To the extent that non-members, though well aware of the existence of the society, are not supposed to be conversant with its proceedings.”

“Now, wouldn't it be natural for an association of some kind to be formed among the Chinese colony in this town? All these people are strangers in a strange land. However long they may have been here, their environment is still entirely foreign to their natures. Surely they would feel impelled to combine, if only to give one another a sense of mutual security?”

“There's certainly a lot in what you say, Mr. Merrion,” Lapworth admitted.

“You encourage me to go a step farther,” Merrion replied. “In any association, even if it's only the parish council in a small village, one member usually comes to the top. Or, if you prefer the expression, he acquires a dominating influence. In the case of the parish council, he becomes the chairman. In the case of an association such as I have imagined to exist here, he would probably have no such official position. He would probably be a man of superior position and education, to whom his fellow-members would look for guidance.”

“Such as Chu Shek?” Lapworth suggested. “Perhaps,” Merrion replied. “His position as a shop and lodging-house keeper is superior to that of a labourer, as the rest of them are. He has a certain command of English, enough for everyday purposes. If an association exists among the Chinese, he is qualified to be the leader. But, without further evidence, I should hesitate to assume that he was.”

“To go back to the remark I made just now, that the statements we heard were prepared in advance. If they were, it seems not unlikely that they were prepared by the leader I have supposed. He worked them out, and taught each man the words he had to say. Much as one might teach a child to repeat a few verses of poetry.”

“Chu Shek had every opportunity of doing that,” Lapworth remarked. “If he did, he must have had some good reason. And the only reason can have been that he was implicated in the murder.”

“Implicated he may have been,” Merrion replied. “But I don't think he's likely to have been present. I don't suppose he left the shop at all on Saturday. But there again you're up against it. If he did leave the shop, he'll have provided himself with dozens of witnesses who'll swear that he didn't. They will all have called at the shop, one after another at short intervals, and all of them will have been served by Chu Shek himself. But, as I said to Arnold, they wouldn't consider this as lying. To them, it would be a perfectly innocent means of protecting their leader from the importunities of interfering foreign devils.”

“Is there no way of getting the truth out of these chaps?” Lapworth asked.

Merrion smiled. “There is, though it's doubtful if they have any conception of truth as we understand it. The Chinese discovered it for themselves long ago. Unfortunately, you can't follow their method, for it was examination under torture. Even so, I doubt whether it was ever a very efficient method. A Chinese can stand quite a lot of torture before he squeals. And when he does, it isn't necessarily the truth. It is more likely to be the answer that he believes his examiners want.”

“What did you make of Chu Shek, Mr. Merrion?” Lapworth asked.

“Do you mean of his reliability as a witness?” Merrion replied. “I don't think he's any more to be trusted than the rest. And he's cunning. He told the truth whenever his statements could be checked. About the Savings Bank book, for example. He admitted that he had helped Ah Lock to get it. Because he knew that enquiries at the Post Office here might establish the fact. He said that Ah Lock carried it about with him in his pocket. Because, for all he knew, you might have found it there. I don't suppose he knows anything about Koo Yang and his adventures in London.

“Incidentally, I'm willing to bet that, in spite of their denials, the other three knew all about that book. All three said that Ah Lock boasted about his savings, and I don't doubt that's true. As soon as a Chinese makes a few dollars, he's so pleased with himself that he can't keep his mouth shut. In all probability, Ah Lock flaunted the book in the faces of his fellow-lodgers. But they had been primed not to admit that. It would have suggested their motive for the murder.”

“In spite of all you tell us, I'm still convinced that it was the motive,” said Arnold.

“Have it your own way,” Merrion replied. “The subject of the book brings us to the problem of Ah Lock's savings, and to the ten pounds a month he paid in so regularly. Where did that money come from? I have an idea that Chu Shek knows the answer to that question. But you're not likely to get it out of him.”

“What makes you think Chu Shek knows?” Lapworth asked.

“His manner when you were questioning him about Ah Lock,” Merrion replied. “At first he was all ignorance. Didn't know where Ah Lock went. Didn't know whether he ever brought his friends to 5, Rupert Terrace. Knew nothing about him in fact. It wasn't till you asked him if Ah Lock made things and sold them that he saw what you were after. You were trying to find out if Ah Lock made any money beyond his wages from the laundry.”

“Chu Shek is clever enough to realise that if you had seen and examined the Savings Bank book you must have gathered that Ah Lock had resources other than his wages. If Chu Shek knew what these were, he wasn't going to tell you.”

“Then you asked him that leading question. You may have noticed that it took him a few seconds to answer it. In my opinion he was thinking how he could best make use of it. If he could induce you to believe that in fact Ah Lock did make extra money that way, you would be thrown off the scent. But he was clever enough not to say outright that Ah Lock did make things and sell them. If he had, you would have asked awkward questions about what things he made and who he sold them to. He merely gave you to understand that it was quite possible he did. He was clever with his hands, and could mend things when they got broken.”

“It was you who made the suggestion that he might make things,” Arnold remarked, a trifle maliciously.

“It was,” Merrion replied. “But it was only a suggestion. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if, by the time you next interview Chu Shek, you find him ready to produce a host of men and women prepared to swear that they mad bought things made by Ah Lock. But that would only serve to convince me that Ah Lock did not augment his wages by his handiwork.”

“But why should Chu Shek be so anxious not to divulge the true source of Ah Lock's savings?” Lapworth asked.

“Because it would give a clue to the motive of his murder.” said Merrion. “But that's only my opinion, and I may be wrong. It may be merely that Chu Shek considers that Ah Lock's private affairs are no business of yours. A matter of no concern to anyone outside the Chinese colony. The true source might be illegal to you, but perfectly justifiable in Chinese eyes.”

“Can't your imagination hit upon the true source?” Arnold asked.

“I daresay it could, if I were to give it the chance,” Merrion replied. “But for the present I'm going to keep it well in hand. For the present, I'd rather concentrate upon what we know of Ah Lock. That he was a man who shunned too intimate companionship is shown by the fact that me occupied a room by himself. Even though this cost him a pound a week more than the others paid. I'd very much like to know who was aware of what he kept in that metal case. Chu Shek made a great point of the fact that since he had a room to himself, nobody could keep an eye on his comings and goings. How did Chu Shek know that Ah Lock was sometimes out for hours at a time? That was probably true, for if it wasn't, there was the risk of the others denying it. Chu Shek, inspired by your suggestion, is quite capable of working up fresh evidence for you. Ah Lock had a partner somewhere in the Rupert Terrace area, and it was in his private workshop that Ah Lock spent his spare time. That was where the things were made and sold.”

“I thought you told us that you were going to keep your imagination well in hand,” Arnold remarked.

“I did,” Merrion replied. “But I couldn't undertake to curb Chu Shek's imagination. Actually, I think it quite likely that Ah Lock had a wide circle of acquaintances. And that he contrived to extract a few pence from each of them. In China there are dozens of ways of doing that. Gaming with the men with loaded dice. Casting horoscopes for the women. Performing incantations to cure the babies' teething pains. They may serve as examples. If Ah Lock indulged in such practices, his gains might well have added up to ten pounds a month.”

Before Lapworth could make any comment upon this, his telephone rang. He picked it up, gave his name, and listened. “Yes, he's in this room at the moment,” he replied. Then he passed the instrument over to Arnold. “The Yard, asking for you.”

Arnold in turn gave his name. “This is Wighton, sir, speaking from the Yard,” came the reply. “A message has just come through from F. Division. How Ming, the man who was attacked at Spotty Jim's place, is to be discharged from hospital to-morrow morning. The Magistrate has been informed, and he has decided to resume the case at half-past eleven.”

“All right,” said Arnold. “I'll be there.”

He rang off and repeated the message. “So that settles it. I shall have to be present in Court, and I can't be in two places at once. It means that I shall have to miss the inquest.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Lapworth replied. “But I don't suppose that anything fresh will crop up.”

“If you're going back to London, you'll have to find your own way,” said Merrion. “I'm not offering to drive you there. I mean to attend the inquest. I'm sure Mr. Lapworth will find me a seat.”

“Of course I will,” Lapworth replied. “You'll stay in Cranport to-night, Mr. Merrion?”

Merrion smiled. “That's what I propose to do. But I shan't occupy either of the vacant beds at 5, Rupert Terrace. The Golden Fleece seemed all right when Arnold and I lunched there. I expect they'll be able to fix me up with a room.”

CHAPTER VII

ON FRIDAY MORNING at half-past eleven the case was reopened at the West London police court. The same interpreter as before was present, and the prisoner was placed in the dock. The magistrate saw no reason why the evidence given at the previous hearing should be repeated. He understood that the police had a statement to make regarding the prisoner.

Arnold went into the witness box. “We have reason to believe that the prisoner has given a false name, sir. The man whose name he gave died recently at Cranport.”

The magistrate waited while the interpreter translated this to the prisoner, whose face remained impassive. “Do you know what his real name is?” the magistrate asked the witness.

“We believe it to be Koo Yang, sir,” Arnold replied. “A man of that name has been missing from Cranport since last Saturday.”

The interpreter translated this, but the prisoner showed no sign of uneasiness. He muttered some reply. “He say he no Koo Yang,” said the interpreter. “He not know such man. He say must be some mistake. His name Ah Lock.”

“I suppose there might be two Chinese of the same name,” the magistrate remarked. “Call the next witness.”

Arnold left the box, and How Ming took his place. He was short and tubby, and his head was enveloped in bandages. Asked by the magistrate if he spoke and understood English, he replied “velly little.” He said something to the interpreter in his own language. “He say he like speak by me,” said the interpreter.

But, as How Ming's evidence was translated sentence by sentence, it became apparent that he understood English better than he admitted. And further that he was of a highly excitable nature. Every now and then he interrupted the interpreter with his own version, in a flood of pidgin English that no one in court could understand. The efforts of the police in attendance at the court to restore order were not very successful. However, these diversions enlivened proceedings which might otherwise have been tedious.

Invited to tell his story, How Ming went off at full gallop, punctuating his words with wild gesticulations. With some difficulty the interpreter managed to check him, explaining that the necessity of translating each sentence made it necessary that the evidence should be given slowly. How Ming seemed to grasp this, and started again at a more reasonable speed.

His story, told incoherently and with many interruptions, amounted to this. His name was How Ming, he was aged forty-two and was unmarried. He was a native of Kowloon, and consequently a British subject. He had been in England for ten years, and was employed as a carpenter at a joinery works in Paddington. For some time past he had lodged at Mr. Whampoa's house in Swanton Street.

At about eight o'clock on Monday, 24th June, he was in his basement room there when Mr. Whampoa looked in. He told him that there was a man, a Chinese, asking if he lived there. How Ming was not expecting any visitors, and did not know who the man might be, Mr. Whampoa asked him to come up and have a look at the visitor. He did so, but did not recognise the man. He asked him his name, and the man told him it was Ah Lock.

The magistrate interposed to ask the witness if he recognised anyone in court. How Ming replied indignantly that of course he did. The man he was talking about was standing in the dock. After this, How Ming continued his story. The visitor added that he came from Kowloon, and that his family were still living there. How Ming had heard the name in Kowloon, but did not think that he had ever met the man personally. The visitor's face recalled no memories to him. The visitor asked him if he could talk to him in private.

How Ming had taken him down to his room, and asked him how he had known that he, How Ming, was living in the house. The man replied that a man whose name he did not know, but who had at one time lodged in the house, had told him. It was natural that Ah Lock, as he called himself, being in London, should come to see his fellow-citizen.

This had sounded not improbable to How Ming, for many Chinese lodged with Mr. Whampoa from time to time. Ah Lock went on to say that he was a stranger to London, and was afraid of being set upon and robbed. He was carrying something that was worth a lot of money. How Ming had asked him what it was, and he had shown him a Savings Bank book. He had come up from Cranport that afternoon, but had arrived in London too late, to draw the money.

How Ming asked him what he wanted the money for. Ah Lock had replied that for some time he had been working at the Celestial Laundry in Cranport, but that now he had a chance of setting up for himself. A friend of his, who had kept a greengrocer's shop in the Chinese quarter, had recently died. His widow had offered to sell the business to Ah Lock for a hundred and fifty pounds, and had given him the option on it until Tuesday evening. He had that amount and more in the Post Office, but had been told that if he applied for so large a sum at Cranport, there would be a delay of three or four days before he got it. However, if he took the book to Blythe Road, Kensington, he could draw the money on the spot. Since the period of the option would not admit of the delay, that is what he had decided to do.

How Ming went on to explain that though he slept alone in his room, there were two beds in it. Seeing this, Ah Lock had asked if he might sleep in the vacant one for that night. He was quite willing to pay Mr. Whampoa for that privilege. With the Savings Bank book in his possession, he dare not risk sleeping by himself or with strangers. Although he had provided himself with a means of defence if he were attacked. How Ming had asked him what he meant by that. He had put his hand down inside his trousers and produced a hammer.

A scene immediately ensued. The prisoner could follow How Ming's evidence, for it was given in his own language. Before the interpreter could translate this last remark, the prisoner burst into a storm of protest. How Ming replied with a volley of abuse in fluent Cantonese. Peace having been restored, the interpreter translated How Ming's evidence. “Prisoner he say that not true,” he went on. “He say How Ming gave him hammer. So he could defend himself if anybody came in after book.”

“And what has the witness to say to that?” the magistrate asked.

When this question was translated to How Ming, he had plenty to say about it. So much so in fact that it took some little time to pacify him. He gesticulated frantically, and poured out a flood of mixed pidgin English and Cantonese. The prisoner screamed back at him. At length the interpreter was able to make himself heard. “Witness he say it was Ah Lock showed him the hammer.”

The magistrate turned to Arnold. “Have the police anything to say on that point?”

“Yes, sir,” Arnold replied. “The hammer has been identified as being the property of the Celestial Laundry, where the prisoner worked.”

The magistrate made a note of this. “Tell the witness to continue his evidence,” he said.

How Ming went on. He had arranged with Mr. Whampoa that the prisoner should share his room for that night. They had both gone to bed soon after ten o'clock. Before he did so. How Ming had taken from his coat pocket five one pound notes and a ten shilling note. These he had folded small enough to go into his waistcoat pocket, where he had put them. He had then taken off his coat and folded it to serve as a pillow. He had gone to bed wearing the rest of his clothes, except his boots.

Some time during the night, he could not tell when, he had been woken by the prisoner, who told him that he could hear someone moving about outside the door of the room. He had got out of bed, and started towards the door. He heard the prisoner jump out of bed behind him. He immediately felt a violent blow on the head. He remembered no more until he came to, to find himself in hospital.

Asked by the magistrate if he had found the notes in his waistcoat pocket when he had been discharged that morning, How Ming replied that he had not. When he had asked about them, the hospital people had told him that he had had no money on him when he was admitted.

The magistrate glanced through his notes, then turned to Superintendent Dewsbury, who was sitting beside Arnold. “Is it not a fact that when the prisoner was searched, that exact amount in notes was found upon him?”

“That is the case, sir,” Dewsbury replied.

“Ask the prisoner if he has any questions to put to the witness?” said the magistrate. The interpreter complied, but the prisoner, who had evidently returned to his sullen mood, remained silent. “Ask him if he wishes to make a statement in defence?” said the magistrate.

The interpreter put the question and received a curt reply. He translated this. “He say nothing now.”

“Which I take to mean that he reserves his defence,” said the magistrate. “I shall commit him for trial, on a charge of unlawful wounding. He will be entitled to legal aid.”

This was translated to the prisoner, who remained impassive. He was led away, and the proceedings closed.

Arnold arranged with the interpreter that they should meet again at the police station that afternoon. He and Dewsbury then went out to lunch. During the meal, Arnold told the Superintendent of the murder of Ah Lock and of the investigations he had made. “I don't doubt that this chap, whoever he is, was concerned in the murder,” he went on. “How else can his possession of the Savings Bank book and the hammer be explained? And I'm practically certain who he is. Koo Yang, Ah Lock's fellow-lodger, who hasn't been seen in Cranport since Saturday. It's no use his saying that he's Ah Lock, for the body has been identified beyond doubt.”

“Wouldn't it be as well to have this chap identified?” Dewsbury asked.

“That's just what's bothering me,” Arnold replied. “Who's to identify him? None of the Chinese he lived with is to be trusted. The only person I can think of is Mr. Mackay, the manager of the laundry. But could he swear to the chap? I expect he finds, as I do, that one Chinese looks very much like another. He had to look at the scar on Ah Lock's hand before he could be certain. But, so far as I can see, this chap has no special peculiarities, as the passports say. However, I shall have to try it, I suppose. Meanwhile, with your permission, I propose to interrogate him this afternoon. I've arranged for the interpreter to be there.”

“You're welcome to do what you like with him,” Dewsbury replied. “You can see him in my room. I'll be there myself, purely as a spectator. Your interrogation should be interesting.”

So it came about that the prisoner, in charge of a constable, who happened to be Bradford, was brought into the Superintendent's room that afternoon. The interpreter was given a chair at his side, while Dewsbury and Arnold sat facing him. Arnold delivered the usual caution, which the interpreter translated. “Now then,” said Arnold. “We'll begin by getting the matter of your name settled. We know that it isn't Ah Lock. What is it?”

The prisoner smiled when this question was translated to him. His reply was immediate. “Koo Yang.”

“I'm glad you've admitted it at last,” said Arnold. “Why have you insisted all this while that it was Ah Lock?”

The interpreter translated the reply. “He say Ah Lock told him use his name when he gave him book. When he heard you tell Ah Lock dead, he no can use Ah Lock's name any more.”

“Ask him if that was the first he knew of Ah Lock being dead?” said Arnold.

The interpreter put the question, and translated Koo Yang's answer. “He ask how he can know. He not been Cranport since Saturday.”

“Very well,” said Arnold. “Ask him how Ah Lock came to give him his Savings Bank book?”

This produced a long explanation from Koo Yang, which the interpreter translated sentence by sentence. Arnold recorded it in his note book, converting the interpreter's words into more comprehensible English.

After the midday meal at 5, Rupert Terrace on Saturday Ah Lock had beckoned to Koo Yang, who had followed him to his room. There Ah Lock had told him of the option he had obtained on the greengrocer's shop. This was the story he had repeated to How Ming, who in turn had repeated it in court. Ah Lock had told Koo Yang that he could not draw the money in Cranport without a delay during which his option would expire. He had told Koo Yang that if he would go up to London for him on Monday and draw the money in Blythe Road, he would give him five pounds for his trouble. Koo Yang had agreed, and Ah Lock had given him the money for his single fare to London. He had told him that he could pay the return out of the money he drew. He had given Koo Yang the book, telling him that he must call himself Ah Lock, or he would not be allowed to draw the money.

“Ask him why Ah Lock couldn't come up to London himself,” said Arnold.

Koo Yang's reply, again transcribed, was this. Ah Lock dare not leave Cranport until the deal was completed. He did not trust his friend's widow, and was afraid that she might let him down if she got a better offer for the business. He intended to stay in Cranport and keep an eye on her.

Asked to account for his movements on Saturday afternoon, Koo Yang's reply was unhesitating. Hearing that there was a scramble on the dunes, he made up his mind to go. He had been to one before and enjoyed it. He had asked Lo Fat to go with him, and he had. He had also asked Ah Lock, but he had refused, because, Koo Yang thought, he wanted to watch the widow. He had then asked Tsan Chin, but he too had refused. Koo Yang and Lo Fat had gone to see the scramble together. They had met several other Chinese on the dunes.

Arnold looked up the notes he had taken during the interrogations in Lapworth's room on the previous evening. He then told the interpreter to ask Koo Yang if he and Lo Fat had gone back to Rupert Terrace together when the scramble was over. The reply was that they had not. On the dunes Koo Yang had met a man he knew, and he had gone home with him. Asked to give the man's name, Koo Yang refused, and maintained his refusal even after Arnold had pointed out that it would be an advantage to him if he could name a witness to his whereabouts. “He say man get in trouble with pleece,” the interpreter explained.

“We'll pass over that for the moment,” said Arnold. “Ask him when he came up to London?”

Koo Yang hesitated before he replied to this question. It seemed to Arnold that he realised that he was in some difficulty. At last he muttered a sentence or two, which the interpreter translated. “He say he stay with man he met till Monday. Then he come up by afternoon tlain. He go to office, but too late, him closed.”

Arnold smiled. That lie at all events could be pinned down. It had been on Monday afternoon that the book had been presented at Blythe Road. The statement of the official to whom it had been presented proved that. But that official had not been able to identify Koo Yang. Was it possible that some other Chinese had presented the book? That would be an added complication to a matter which was already sufficiently involved.

There was another way of trying to get at the truth, and this Arnold adopted. “He says now that he stayed with his friend till Monday. Yet a few minutes ago he said that he had not been in Cranport since Saturday. How does he explain that contradiction?”

The interpreter put this to Koo Yang, whose reply was long delayed. He sat with his head down, and Arnold noticed for the first time that there was a bald spot in the centre of it, like a miniature tonsure. At last he muttered, so faintly that the interpreter had to ask him to repeat his remark. This time the interpreter heard it. “He say he not in Cranport so not get flend in tlouble. He say now he not leave till Monday.”

“We've got to get to the bottom of this,” said Arnold. “Why should the fact of his having stayed with him from Saturday till Monday get this friend of his into trouble?”

Koo Yang seemed to have realised the impossibility of shielding his friend any longer. When Arnold's question was put to him he raised his head and replied defiantly. “He say he smoke pipe,” said the interpreter.

It took Arnold some little time to grasp the significance of this. What harm could there be in smoking a pipe? He was a pipe smoker himself. Then the meaning of the words dawned upon him. “He means that he smoked opium?” he asked.

The interpreter had no need to put the question to Koo Yang. “Yes, that what he mean,” he replied.

“Well, now that he's admitted that, let's hear all about it,” said Arnold.

Koo Yang made a rambling statement. The version Arnold transcribed was this. The friend he had met at the scramble had drawn him aside out of hearing of the others. He had asked him to come home with him, as he had something he would like him to see. Koo Yang had gone with him, and his friend had showed him some opium. Enough for the two of them to smoke a few pipes together.

His friend's wife had lighted the lamp and prepared the drug for them. Koo Yang had meant to smoke only one pipe, and then go home to Rupert Terrace. But the first pipe had led to a second, and after that to more, Koo Yang could not say how many. It was not until Monday that he had recovered full consciousness, and remembered the errand he had undertaken for Ah Lock. As soon as he felt capable of it, he had gone to the station, bought a ticket with the money Ah Lock had given him, and taken a train to London. But, in spite of Arnold's insistence, he refused to divulge either the name of his friend or where he lived.

Arnold had no further questions to ask. He took his leave of Dewsbury and returned to Scotland Yard. There he tried to fit the pieces of the jig-saw puzzle together.

He felt that he could rely upon the evidence given in court by How Ming. It refuted Koo Yang's fabrication that someone else had entered the room and attacked How Ming. Koo Yang had attacked him in order to secure the notes he had seen him put in his waistcoat pocket. Koo Yang's contention that it had been How Ming who had produced the hammer was absurd. How Ming could not have been in the possession of a hammer belonging to the Celestial Laundry. There was very little doubt that when Koo Yang came up for trial he would be convicted of the unlawful wounding of his friend. And, for that matter, of the theft of the notes.

But had Koo Yang murdered Ah Lock? That seemed to Arnold a matter much less easy to prove, for the case against him was far from sound. True, he had obtained possession of Ah Lock's Savings Bank book. But there was always the possibility that his story of Ah Lock having given it to him was true.

And his account of his doings on Saturday afternoon, if it could be verified, furnished him with a convincing alibi. It was curious that Koo Yang's statement agreed in every respect with Lo Fat's. Koo Yang's reluctance to divulge the name of the friend with whom he had smoked opium would surely be overcome. When he realised that his own safety depended upon the evidence of this friend, his chivalrous feelings would be overcome. Alternatively, Lapworth might be able to ferret out a known opium-smoker. Arnold imagined Koo Yang on trial for the murder.

He would of course have the benefit of legal aid, and his counsel would have prepared in advance the case for the defence. Since Ah Lock was dead, nobody could contradict Koo Yang's story of the Savings Bank book. Counsel would maintain that the witnesses he was about to call were respectable citizens, whose evidence would be above suspicion. By then, no doubt, Koo Yang's opium-smoking friend would have been found. He and Lo Fat would give evidence which would cover the whole of the time from midday on Saturday till the following Monday.

Cross-examination would not be likely to shake the witnesses. Their statements were perfectly simple, and they had only to stick to them. To attempt to discredit them by asserting that they were Chinese and therefore unreliable would be useless. That sort of thing would not go down with a jury.

In Arnold's opinion the hammer was useless as evidence against Koo Yang. It could not be proved that he had stolen it from the laundry. It might have been stolen by one of the other lodgers for a relatively innocent purpose. This man had brought it to 5, Rupert Terrace, and Koo Yang had found it there. There could be no doubt that it was the weapon with which he had attacked How Ming. But there was no shred of evidence that Ah Lock had been struck with it.

There was of course this way of looking at it. Koo Yang had made a brutal and unprovoked attack upon the friend who had sheltered him. From that one might assume that he would have felt no compunction in treating Ah Lock in the same fashion. But the prosecution could not make that suggestion at a trial for murder. No reference must there be made to any other crime committed by the accused.

Arnold fully realised that he was entangled in a net of contradictions. Merrion had warned him that the statements he had heard were more likely to be based upon imagination than upon absolute truth. How Ming's statement in court had appeared to clarify the affair in Spotty Jim's lodging-house. But How Ming was himself Chinese. How far could his evidence be accepted as an unbiased account of what had actually happened? .

There was one very small point which had not escaped Arnold's attention. In his evidence. How Ming had said that he had been awakened by Koo Yang, who had told him that he had heard someone outside the door of the room. This might just possibly have been true. Spotty Jim had said that he had been awakened by someone prowling about the passage outside his room. This person had actually brushed past him. Assuming Jim's veracity, this suggested that someone, possibly one of the other lodgers in the house, had been up and about at the time.

An alternative explanation presented itself. Other Chinese had been lodging in the house. Some of them had been requisitioned for the identity parade staged for the benefit of the Post Office official. One of these had for some reason a grudge against How Ming. He had made his way into the room, picked up the hammer, and struck How Ming with it. He had then bolted to the back of the basement before Jim came down the stairs.

The assailant had dropped the hammer, and Koo Yang had picked it up. Possibly inspired by the fear that he might in turn be attacked. This would account for his finger prints having been found on it. He had dropped it again, snatched the notes from How Ming's pocket, and attempted to make his escape through the window. How Ming had falsely accused Koo Yang, on the principle that it would be safer for him to fasten the blame on a stranger rather than on one who was living in the same house.

Arnold had no belief in his own fanciful explanation. But it was a line of defence which might be put up at Koo Yang's trial for unlawful wounding. If that line were taken it would be a case of one man's word against another's, for there had been no witness of the assault. And, to make the issue yet more uncertain, both men were Chinese.

As he considered the matter, yet another point presented itself to Arnold. Koo Yang had lied in representing himself as Ah Lock. Might it not be that he had lied again in calling himself Koo Yang? Arnold remembered Dewsbury's suggestion. The Celestial Laundry would be closed on the following afternoon. Mr. Mackay might be induced to come to London. Possibly the bald spot would serve as a means of identification.

Arnold was still studying his notes when Wighton came in. He had in his hand a card, which he laid on Arnold's desk. “There's a man down below, sir,” he said. “He asked if he might see the gentleman from Scotland Yard who was in court when Koo Yang came before the magistrate this morning. He's Chinese by the look of him, but he speaks just like an Englishman. I told him that I would ask if you would see him, and he gave me this card to take to you, sir.”

Arnold picked up the card and read the wording engraved upon it. “Mr. Ling Tam. The Anglo-Chinese Aid Society.”

Arnold's first impulse was to tell Wighton to send the man packing. He had had quite enough to do with Chinese for one day. But on second thoughts he restrained himself. This man might possibly be able to give him some information. “You'd better bring him along, I suppose,” he said grudgingly.

Wighton went out, to return with Mr. Ling Tam. He was a comparatively young man, remarkably well dressed and wearing tortoise-shell spectacles. Apart from his features, which were unmistakably Oriental, he might have been an English professional man. Somewhat relieved by his appearance, Arnold asked him to be seated. “What do you wish to see me about, Mr. Ling Tam?”

“It is very good of you to allow me this interview, Mr. Arnold,” Ling Tam replied. “I will begin by explaining myself. I am the secretary of the Anglo-Chinese Aid Society, which exists for the purpose of assisting Chinese living in the British Isles. Not necessarily assisting them financially, but also trying to help them when they get themselves into trouble which, I regret to say, they frequently do.”

“I see,” said Arnold. “You have come to see me on behalf of the man who calls himself Koo Yang. Do you know him?”

Ling Tam shook his head. “All I know about him is that he has been committed for trial on a charge of unlawfully wounding another Chinese, How Ming. I heard of this from How Ming, who came to see me and told me about it.”

“Then you know How Ming?” Arnold asked.

“I knew him some years ago, when he was looking for a carpenter's job,” Ling Tam replied. “That is one of the ways in which the Society tries to help these people. We were successful in getting him the job he has now. We have kept in touch with his employers, and they report him to be a very good and steady workman.”

“Would you consider him a reliable witness?” Arnold asked.

“I should,” Ling Tam replied. “I know how difficult it is to judge of the reliability of a witness when his evidence can be given only through an interpreter. But when How Ming came to see me I questioned him thoroughly in his own language. As a result, I am convinced that his account of the affair is the truth.”

“Why exactly did he come to see you?” Arnold asked.

“He was chiefly concerned about the notes he had lost” Ling Tam replied. “He had heard from Whampoa, the man he lodges with, that the police were in possession of the notes, and he wanted my advice as to how he could recover them. I told him I was quite sure that they would be returned to him in due course.”

“They will,” said Arnold. “Does he bear any grudge against Koo Yang?”

“More on account of the notes than of the assault,” Ling Tam replied. “When he gets them back he'll be in a more forgiving mood. He told me that the magistrate had said that the law would help Koo Yang. Or at all events that's how he understood it through the interpreter. I presume that what the magistrate said was that Koo Yang would be entitled to legal aid?”

Arnold nodded. “Exactly, as all poor prisoners.”

“That's really what I came to see you about, Mr. Arnold,” said Ling Tam. “One of the members of our Society is a young Chinese barrister. I know he would consent to defend Koo Yang, for he has done such things before. If Koo Yang has any line of defence, it would be far easier for him to explain it to one who spoke his language, rather than through one who didn't with the aid of an interpreter. But before I speak to my barrister friend I must know whether Koo Yang would consent to be defended by him. Would it be possible for me to see him and explain matters?”

“I can't give you permission,” Arnold replied. “It lies with Superintendent Dewsbury, who is in charge of F. Division. I should recommend you to see him. By the way, may I have your address?”

Ling Tam took the card from the desk and wrote an address and a telephone number on the back of it. “Should you want to see me at any time I am always at your service, Mr. Arnold,” he said. “For the present, I have troubled you long enough.”

Arnold signed to Wighton, who escorted the visitor from the room. Arnold put the card in the pocket of his notebook. The fellow might come in very useful later on.

CHAPTER VIII

AFTER ARNOLD had left Cranport on Thursday, Merrion went to the Golden Fleece, engaged a room and dined there. When he had finished his meal he enquired the way to the dunes, and set out to walk there at a steady pace. And as he walked, he ran over in his mind all that he had heard that day.

It had struck him already that there was no proof that the murder had been committed on Saturday afternoon. The assumption that this had been the case rested on the fact that Ah Lock had not returned to Rupert Terrace for his evening meal. The pathologist had said no more than that Saturday afternoon would fit in very well with his estimate of the time of death. To that might be added the strong probability that the crime had been committed during the hours of daylight. Had lights been seen in or about Bacton Wood from any of the neighbouring farmhouses, someone would surely have gone to investigate.

But arguments could be advanced against the Saturday afternoon theory. Merrion was not inclined to place much reliance upon anything Chu Shek or his lodgers had said. But there might be a grain of truth in their statements when that grain could not implicate them in any way. It had been said that it was not unusual for Ah Lock not to appear at the evening meal on Saturdays. Further, they all had, or had concocted, alibis covering the whole afternoon up to the time of the evening meal. No questions had been asked as to their doings after that.

But on second thoughts, that argument could be applied in the reverse direction. If the alibis had been faked as Merrion strongly suspected they had been, they would have been framed to cover the time of the murder. On balance, the assumption that the crime had been committed in the course of the afternoon seemed fully justified.

As Merrion walked through the town, he came to a board on which was stuck a time-table of the local bus services. He paused for a moment to study it. There was a ten-minute service from the Dock Gates through the centre of the town to Owen's Corner. The constable had told him that morning that this was the name of the fork from which the lane ran towards Bacton Wood. On Saturday afternoons a bus ran at every hour from two o'clock till six from the centre of the town to Wychurst.

As he walked on, Merrion's imagination fermented with a fresh inspiration. If all of Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers had concocted alibis, they must all have a reason for so doing. This reason could only be that they had all been implicated in the murder. It was logical to go a step further, and to assume that they had all been present in Bacton Wood when the crime was committed. How had they got there?

They hadn't walked there in a body, that was quite certain. A troop of five Chinese, for it must be assumed that the murdered man was among the company, walking from the Chinese quarter through the town and turning into an unfrequented lane, would surely have been noticed. It seemed far more likely that they had journeyed singly, or at the most in pairs. Further, that they had not all approached the wood from the same direction.

The bus time-table suggested to Merrion how this might have been done. Han Sung's almost uncanny memory for the time might perhaps be relied upon. He and Tsan Chin had left Rupert Terrace together before two o'clock. But they had not gone to the public gardens. They had caught the two o'clock bus to Wychurst, and walked to the wood from there. The bus arrived at Wychurst at half-past two. From the village to the wood was roughly two miles. They could have covered that distance on foot in forty minutes, arriving at the wood at ten minutes past three.

The others had started later. It was probable that Lo Fat and Koo Yang had formed another couple. They had caught a bus to Owen's Corner, a mile from the centre of the town. The bus took only a few minutes, and they could have reached Owen's Corner by twenty minutes past two. They had then three miles to walk. Allow them fifty-five minutes for that, and they would have arrived at the wood at a quarter past three.

Only Ah Lock remained. He had probably taken the same route as Lo Fat and Koo Yang. Not by the same bus, but by an earlier one. He had been the first to leave the kitchen after the midday meal. He could have reached the wood by five minutes past three at the latest.

All five then would have been assembled by a quarter past three. It seemed improbable that much time had been wasted before Ah Lock was murdered. He might have been dead by half-past three. If the other four had hack-saws, half an hour at the most would have sufficed them to cut and pile the branches. They might then again have split up into pairs. Whichever route they took Lo Fat, Han Sung and Tsan Chin could have been back at Rupert Terrace by six.

Merrion fully realised the impossibility of verifying any of this. In a town containing a Chinese colony, Chinese men and women must constantly be riding on the local buses. No conductor could be expected to remember Chinese passengers on any particular bus on Saturday afternoon or, if by some miracle he did, he would certainly not be able to identify them. Further, the lane between Owen's Corner and Wychurst was used almost exclusively by farm traffic. On Saturday afternoons there would be none of this.

Merrion reached the dunes and looked at his watch, His pause to consult the time-table had lasted no more than a couple of minutes. The walk from the Golden Fleece had taken him thirty-two minutes. Following the lines of his theory, he calculated that Lo Fat and Koo Yang, after their visit to Bacton Wood, could have reached the dunes well before six. There might be an element of truth in Lo Fat's statement.

Merrion sat down on a convenient patch of grass and lighted a cigarette. If there was anything at all in his reasoning, he had arrived at the approximate time of the murder. Further than that he was not prepared to go. His suggestion to Arnold, that afternoon after lunch, had been no more than a guess. But it seemed more than ever probable that Ah Lock and his fellow lodgers had gone to the woods to attend a secret meeting, and not for the first time. Ah Lock had had no suspicion that this particular meeting would be more perilous to him than the previous ones had been. If this was the case, who was the convener of these meetings?

Merrion finished his cigarette and walked back to the Golden Fleece, where he sat in the lounge for a while before going to bed. He wondered how Arnold or, for that matter, any other of the police concerned, would cope with the situation. To them, the Chinese mentality must be completely bewildering. They might have been called to some remote planet, with a civilisation different in every possible way from one to which they were accustomed. This was no question of a battle of wits, in which skilful cross-questioning might elicit the truth. Only by entering into the minds of those involved would it be possible to discover what had actually happened.

Merrion retired to bed at a reasonable hour and enjoyed a good night's rest. As he breakfasted on Friday morning, he speculated whether Arnold would learn anything fresh in court that day. Not regarding the murder, for with that the magistrate was not concerned. But regarding the strange behaviour of Koo Yang in London. The evidence of the man he had injured might be instructive. That was, if the man found it convenient to give an unbiased account. He being Chinese himself, that was by no means certain. For his own part, Merrion had nothing to occupy his time in Cranport until the inquest. After he had had breakfast, he took out his car and drove by way of Owen's Corner towards Bacton Wood. About half a mile from the wood he found a wide verge, on which he left the car, and walked the rest of the way. He made his way into the clearing, and spent an hour or more searching the ground for any clue which might have been overlooked.

He realised from the first that he would be extremely lucky if he found anything. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of pine needles, and in every direction these had been disturbed. First on Saturday afternoon, by the murderer or murderers. Then again on Wednesday, by the children dragging branches from the pile. Once more, later on the same day, by the police in the course of their investigations. Anything which might have been lying on the surface would almost certainly have been covered.

Still, Merrion persevered. He contrived a primitive rake from one of the branches, and with this combed through the pine needles round the spot where the body had been found. He had been thus engaged for about half an hour when he heard something coming slowly up the lane. Putting down his improvised rake, he walked down the track, and hid among the trees at the end of it. From the spot he had chosen, he could see anything passing the end of the track.

The sound became louder, as whatever it was that caused it approached, until at last it came within his range of vision. It was a tumbril, loaded with dung, and drawn by a single horse. As the horse plodded slowly up the rise, the man leading it uttered encouraging noises. The outfit passed within a few yards of where Merrion was standing, but the man did not so much as glance towards the track. His indifference showed that the news of the murder had not yet spread to whatever remote farmhouse he might have come from.

Merrion watched for a few minutes longer. Not far from the end of the wood was a field gateway, and into this the tumbril turned. Merrion went back to his work, and resumed his diligent raking. Futile though it might be, it served to pass away the time. Then, all at once, his rake exposed to light a fragment of something bright.

Merrion knelt down and with his fingers removed one by one the pine needles surrounding it. The object proved to be a silver pencil case, of the type containing a magazine of leads. Being careful not to touch it, Merrion examined it through his lens. There was no doubt that it was silver, for the hall mark at one end was clearly visible. Above this were engraved some words. The position in which the pencil case was lying was such that Merrion could only make out the beginning of these. ' Ever-' and beneath this, 'Made in-' The next point that Merrion noticed was that the silver was untarnished, showing that the pencil case could not have been lying there very long. It must have been more expensive than most of its type, for the majority of these things were silver plated, not solid silver. It had presumably been dropped, inadvertently and unnoticed, and immediately have been covered by pine needles, possibly by a branch being drawn over it. But to whom could such a relatively valuable object have belonged?

Not, Merrion felt sure, to a Chinese of the coolie class. Such a man would not be likely to carry about a pencil of any kind. The occasions when he would have use for such a thing would be rare in the extreme. Even if he had a pencil, it would be more likely to be the stub of a wooden one than a solid silver contraption. And this included Ah Lock, man of substance though he might have been.

Nor did it seem very likely that Billy Murford or any of his young friends had dropped it. Children frequently carried pencils but again, not solid silver ones. The same thing applied to the police. Every policeman carried a pencil, but not of this type.

There was of course no proof that the pencil had any connection with the crime. It might have been dropped before Saturday afternoon. But when it was dropped, it would have remained on the surface, where its brightness would have attracted attention. The attention of the dropper, or of one of those who visited the clearing on Saturday afternoon. Or again, if it had been dropped after Saturday and before Wednesday, it would still have remained on the surface, and the sharp eyes of one of the children would surely have spotted it. That it had deliberately been hidden under the needles was inconceivable.

Merrion was still considering his find when again he heard the rumbling of wheels, this time travelling faster, since they were travelling down the slope. He had no need to return to his hiding-place, for he knew very well what the sound indicated. Having deposited its load of dung in the field, the tumbril was returning for another.

The sound passed the end of the track, then went on till it faded in the distance.

Merrion asked himself what he should do about his discovery. He was no more than a privileged observer allowed, by courtesy of the police, to watch the investigations. It would not be in keeping with this role for him triumphantly to brandish a possible clue. Lapworth, if not Arnold, might well regard this as unjustified interference on his part. Besides, the pencil must not be touched until it had been tested for fingerprints.

He carefully placed a few pine needles over it, then laid his improvised rake on the spot. It would be best to allow the police to discover the clue for themselves. Time was setting on, and he meant to have lunch before the inquest. Merrion left the wood and walked back to his car. In the distance he could see a farm, in the yard of which the tumbril was being loaded with dung. He drove back to Owen's Corner, meeting nothing on the way. A few minutes later he was at the Golden Fleece.

He arrived at the court where the inquest was to be held soon after two. Lapworth was already there and greeted him cheerfully. “So here you are, Mr. Merrion. I hope you haven't found time weighing too heavily on your hands in Cranport?”

“Not at all,” Merrion replied. “I spent the morning poking about in Bacton Wood. I came across something that may or may not be of interest but naturally I left it alone. Perhaps you would care to see it. If so, I shall be pleased to drive you to the wood after the inquest.”

Lapworth smiled. He didn't think it very likely that anything of importance could have escaped his observation. “That's very good of you, Mr. Merrion. I daresay I can make time to come with you. I've got a seat for you here, close to the coroner's bench. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and marshal the witnesses.”

Merrion took the seat pointed out to him. The members of the jury took their places, and he noticed that there was no Chinese among them. The coroner came in, the jury were sworn and elected their foreman. Then the proceedings began.

Chu Shek, fully aware of his importance as a witness, was the first to give evidence. His peculiar English seemed to puzzle some members of the jury, and the coroner clarified it as Chu Shek went on. The witness had seen the body in the mortuary, and recognised it as that of Ah Lock, one of his lodgers. He could not tell Ah Lock's age, and had never heard that he had any relatives in this country. Ah Lock, who had been employed at the Celestial Laundry, had lodged with him for some years. He had always been quiet and well-behaved and, so far as the witness was aware, he had no enemies. He had last seen the deceased alive at midday on the previous Saturday. He had no knowledge of where he had gone after that.

Billy Murford, with his father beside him for moral support, took the chair vacated by Chu Shek. He described how he and his companions had entered the wood. In a clearing there they had found a big pile of branches. They had pulled this apart, and at the bottom had found a dead man. The whole party had immediately run from the wood. Billy had ridden home as fast as he could and told his father.

The pathologist then gave his evidence. On Thursday morning he had examined the body, and had subsequently performed a post-mortem. He described in detail the injuries he had found. In his opinion the deceased had first been struck on the head with a weapon such as a hammer. This blow had not been fatal, but had probably rendered the deceased unconscious, so that he fell to the ground. The wounds in the region of the ears, which he had described, had then been inflicted. After a dissection of the tissues round these wounds he had formed the opinion that they had been inflicted with a round instrument sharpened at the end. Possibly a cold chisel hammered into the head. Either of these wounds would have proved immediately fatal. The injuries to the body which he had described had been caused after death. Either by the body being beaten with some heavy instrument, or having been violently jumped upon.

Asked by the coroner if he had been able to form an opinion as to the time of death, the witness replied that he had. He had been informed that the deceased had eaten a meal of rice about half-past twelve on the previous Saturday. In the course of the post-mortem, the witness had examined the contents of the stomach. These consisted of grains of partially-digested rice. The appearance of these suggested that the process of digestion had lasted for some three hours. The time of death would therefore have been about half-past three on Saturday afternoon. This was in conformity with the post-mortem stains and other indications which the witness had observed.

Merrion felt a thrill of satisfaction on hearing this evidence. This was the conclusion he had himself arrived at by entirely different reasoning. Anyhow, the time of death was by now sufficiently established.

Lapworth then took the chair. Acting upon information received, he and a constable had driven to Bacton Wood on Wednesday evening. There he had found the body of the deceased, partly covered by two or three branches. He had taken photographs of the body and the surroundings, and these he now produced.

He handed the photographs to the coroner, who studied them before passing them on to the jury. Lapworth proceeded with his evidence. The pockets of the deceased were empty, but for two cigarettes. As the photographs showed, the deceased was lying on his face. The last witness had stated that the injuries inflicted after death were on the front part of the body. This showed that the body of the deceased had been turned over. The branches with which the body had been covered came from the trees surrounding the clearing.

The constable followed, confirming Lapworth's evidence. No further witnesses were called, and the coroner summed up. Bearing the medical evidence in mind, the jury would no doubt dismiss from their minds any idea that the death of the deceased had been due to accident, or that he had taken his own life. There could be little doubt that a brutal crime had been committed. It would not be necessary for them to enquire into the motive. They were at liberty to retire to consider their verdict if they wished.

The foreman, a middle-aged shopkeeper of highly respectable appearance, glanced enquiringly at his fellows, who shook their heads. They muttered together for no more than a few seconds. The foreman announced that they were unanimously agreed upon their verdict. Deceased had been brutally murdered by some person or persons unknown.

The coroner expressed his agreement with this verdict. He understood that the police were already investigating the crime. They must all hope that they would be successful in bringing to justice the perpetrator of so dastardly an act. He would issue a burial certificate, which he would entrust to the police, failing any known relative of the deceased.

The proceedings over, Lapworth approached the pathologist and had a few words with him. Merrion waited until he was disengaged before he spoke to him. “Are you ready for that drive I suggested, Mr. Lapworth?”

The subject seemed to have passed from Lapworth's mind, for he hesitated before he replied. “Oh yes, I remember now. You told me you had seen something in Bacton Wood. If you really think it would be worth our while, I am ready to come with you.”

“I do not think that it will be a waste of your time,” said Merrion. “What I saw appeared to be a metal object of some kind. It was the brightness of it that caught my eye.”

Lapworth's nagging interest was immediately aroused. “A metal object? Surely it can't be the cold chisel the pathologist mentioned? Certainly I will come with you, Mr. Merrion. Do you mind calling at the police station, where I will pick up the sergeant and the finger print apparatus.” Merrion had left his car outside the court. He and Lapworth got into it, and called at the police station. Within a few minutes they started off again, with the sergeant and the apparatus in the back of the car. “I spoke to the pathologist just now about the cold chisel,” said Lapworth. “He told me that he was almost certain that was what had been used. The wounds were circular, half an inch in diameter and rather more than three inches deep. They could have been inflicted with a fairly sharp tool, of that diameter and about six inches long. That certainly suggests a small cold chisel. Don't you think so, Mr. Merrion?”

Merrion agreed. He hoped Lapworth would not be disappointed when he found that the object he was to be shown was not a cold chisel, and changed the subject. “I was in the wood quite a while this morning, nearly a couple of hours altogether. It struck me that the lane we're on now isn't much used, even on a working day. The only thing that came along while I was there was a tumbril, carting dung from one of the farms to a field beyond the wood. I very much doubt whether the lane is used at all on Saturday afternoons.”

“The murderer was aware of that, I don't doubt,” Lapworth replied. “But once the news of the inquest gets round, I shall have to send a man here to control the traffic. Half the town will flock to the wood out of morbid curiosity. They'll probably take away bits of those branches as souvenirs.”

“Then perhaps it's just as well we got here first,” said Merrion. He stopped the car when they reached the end of the track, and the three of them got out. They followed the track to the clearing. “Now then, Mr. Merrion, where's this exhibit of yours?” Lapworth asked.

Merrion led the way across the clearing. “Let me see, now. I put a curiously shaped branch over it to mark the spot. Ah, there it is!”He pointed to his improvised rake. “If you lift that, I'm sure you'll see it.”

Lapworth lifted the branch and laid it aside. Merrion had laid only a few pine needles over the pencil, so that a portion of the metal should remain visible. The glint caught Lapworth's eye at once. “Hallo, what the devil is this?” he exclaimed. “Not a cold chisel, surely. It's too bright for that.”

Just as Merrion had, he knelt down and removed the pine needles one by one. “It's a pencil,” he said, in a puzzled voice. “How did that get here? Look for yourself, Mr. Merrion.”

Merrion peered over his shoulder. “Why, so it is! And it's quite bright and untarnished. It can't have been there very long.”

Lapworth called to the sergeant to bring the fingerprint apparatus. Between them they tested the pencil, but no prints of any kind could be found on it. Being finally satisfied as to this, Lapworth picked it up and examined it closely. “'Eversharp, Made in England,'“ he read out. “'Patent number' something I can't read.” Then the hallmark caught his eye. “Why, the thing's solid silver!”

“That's rather unusual, surely?” Merrion remarked innocently.

“I can't make it out,” Lapworth replied. “As you say, Mr. Merrion, it can't have been lying here long. It's not the sort of thing one would expect Ah Lock to have carried about with him. Or Koo Yang either. I wonder if one of those kids dropped it while they were playing about here on Wednesday? We can find that out, easily enough. You didn't find anything else here this morning, Mr. Merrion?”

Merrion shook his head. “I didn't. It was only by chance that I caught sight of the pencil.”

“We'd better have another look, just the same,” said Lapworth. “I shall have to leave that to you, sergeant, for I must get back. Go over every inch of the ground and see if you can find that cold chisel. I'm ready to start when you are, Mr. Merrion.”

He put the pencil in his pocket, and they went off, leaving the sergeant to his task. He and Merrion reached the car, and Merrion drove on to the field gate, which had been left open to allow the tumbril to turn in. He reversed the car there, and started back towards Owen's Corner. They were some distance down the lane, when they saw a car approaching them. Merrion drew on to the verge to allow it to pass them. There were two men in it, and Lapworth smiled as he recognised them. “I expected as much. The chief reporter and the photographer of the local paper. They mean to be the first to spy out the land. They'll find the sergeant, who'll know how to deal with them. He won't let anyone trample over the ground till he's finished.”

They reached the police station, where Lapworth alighted. “I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Merrion,” he said. “I shall ring up the Yard and ask when Mr. Arnold is coming back here. He ought to see the pencil. And perhaps he'll have some idea how it came to be where it was.”

CHAPTER IX

MERRION SPENT the evening at the Golden Fleece, meditating on the events of the day. The inquest, as might have been expected, had thrown little further light upon the crime. The only fresh point had been the pathologist's opinion of the tool with which the fatal injuries had been inflicted. A cold chisel, probably hammered in, since it was hardly a weapon which could have been used as a dagger.

It seemed to Merrion that there was very little chance of the sergeant finding it, however diligently he might seek. Merrion was satisfied that he had already covered the ground thoroughly. Besides, it seemed reasonable to suppose that if the hammer had been removed from the scene, the cold chisel would have been taken too.

It seemed hardly more profitable to speculate upon where the tool had come from. Not from the Celestial Laundry, for Penryn had been positive that only the hammer had been taken from his tool box. A cold chisel, six inches long and half an inch wide, could be bought at almost any ironmonger's shop.

The question which interested Merrion was, who had taken the cold chisel to the scene of the crime? Suppose that Koo Yang had been the murderer, and that the hammer found at 15, Swanton Street had been the weapon with which he had struck Ah Lock on the head. And, incidentally, with which he had driven the cold chisel into him. If this could be assumed, he had planned the crime well in advance. He had stolen the hammer days before the crime was committed. If he had meant to use a cold chisel as well, wouldn't he have taken one at the same time as he took the hammer? There was this further point. Koo Yang had carried off the hammer when it had done its work. He had gone so far as to take it up to London with him. Why not the cold chisel as well? Yet this had not been found, either in Koo Yang's possession, or in the room in Swanton Street. If the answer was that he had thrown it away, why hadn't he thrown away the hammer too?

To Merrion, the discovery of the pencil was even more significant than that of a cold chisel would have been. He felt certain that it must have been dropped in Bacton Wood on Saturday afternoon. During the excitement, whoever dropped it would not have noticed his loss. It had immediately been covered up, probably by a branch being dragged over it. Who then had dropped it?

Some person of a superior class to Chu Shek's lodgers, Merrion felt sure of that. Someone who could afford the luxury of a solid silver pencil. Was it too fanciful to suppose that this man was the organiser, if not the actual perpetrator of the murder? As Merrion had already remarked, the statements of the lodgers very strongly suggested that they had been prepared in advance. It seemed highly unlikely that four coolies could, unaided, have concocted such an elaborate series of alibis. They must have been coached in their parts by someone of a higher standard of intelligence. Chu Shek? He was sufficiently opulent to sport a watch and chain, which might not be gold. Presumably therefore he could afford a silver pencil. But Merrion very much doubted whether he had the brain to work out such an intricate scheme of deception.

Merrion's imagination envisaged a man of superior education and talents to either Chu Shek or his lodgers. Not necessarily of Chinese nationality, but with a thorough knowledge of Cantonese, the form of the Chinese language spoken by all concerned. This hypothetical person had such influence with the residents of the Rupert Terrace area that they would obey his orders unquestioningly. And further that under no circumstances would they reveal his secrets.

Merrion was more than ever convinced that the murder had not been committed by a man working alone. He believed that all four of Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers had been present at the time. The finding of the silver pencil pointed to the presence of the instigator. The usual objection to the theory of murder by a group of men was its improbability. It could be pointed out that each member of the group would have been restrained by the fear of one of the others giving him away or blackmailing him. But in the case of a group of men banded together in some sort of rigid association, that objection could not be raised. Especially if they were Chinese with a peculiar scale of moral values.

All this was highly speculative, and Merrion resolved to keep it to himself, for the present, at all events. He prided himself on his success in allowing Lapworth to find the pencil. There could be no question of his having scored a point from the police. They had the pencil, and it was up to them to discover who it belonged to.

Merrion realised that his thoughts were wandering from one thing to another. He lighted a cigarette, and endeavoured to concentrate upon what seemed to him the essential question. Granted that Ah Lock had been done to death by his fellow lodgers, inspired by some unknown leader, where was the motive to be sought? Certainly not in the Savings Bank book. It must be that Ah Lock had become, or more likely might have become,, a danger to the association. To such a degree that they regarded his death as the only insurance of their safety.

It did not follow from this that the association was engaged in any illegal practice, that is to say illegal in the eyes of English law. But it might be that its members shared some secret of importance only to the Chinese community. Ah Lock might have threatened to divulge w secret. It was very probable that, had he done so, the association would have received no greater injury than loss of face. A trifling matter to a European, but an incalculable shame to a Chinese. Merrion knew well that loss of face had frequently driven Chinese to suicide. Why then not murder to avert such a calamity?

However little credence might be placed in the statements of the lodgers, there could be no doubt that Ah Lock had been the odd man out among them. Merrion was prepared to believe the remark of Chu Shek, that Ah Lock had spent much of his spare time away from 5, Rupert Terrace. He had probably not strayed beyond the Chinese quarter, where no doubt he had made friends. It was tempting to imagine that he had become a member of a rival association, and that his fellow-lodgers had discovered this.

If so, an alternative motive for the murder suggested itself. He had been killed because the rival associations were at daggers drawn. There was nothing extravagant about this. In China pitched battles had been fought between rival factions, for a cause which no European could comprehend. And sometimes these blood feuds could be traced back through generations. In any case, as Merrion had remarked to Arnold, the Chinese community would not regard the killing of Ah Lock as murder. It had been an act of vengeance, and as such perfectly natural. For that reason the police could expect no help from them. On the contrary, friends and enemies of the dead man would combine to frustrate foreign investigation of a purely Chinese matter.

On Saturday morning, as he was finishing breakfast, Merrion was told that he was wanted on the telephone. He went to the box and heard Lapworth's voice. “Good morning, Mr. Merrion. I thought you might like to know that I heard from Mr. Arnold last evening. He hopes to get here to-day by the train that arrives at twelve-fifteen.”

“Thank you for telling me, Mr. Lapworth,” Merrion replied. “I'll meet him in my car and bring him along to you.”

Lapworth expressed his appreciation of this, and rang off. The rest of the morning he devoted himself to the humdrum routine work which forms so large a part of a detective's duties. He went himself to Roseland, where he interviewed Mr. Murford and Billy, and showed them the pencil. Neither of them had ever owned one like it. Mr. Murford admitted that he had several pencils of various kinds, which he was apt to leave lying about. Billy might have picked up one of these, which he often did. But the pencil which Lapworth produced was not one of his.

Lapworth then asked Billy for the names of the children who had been with him on Wednesday. Billy gave him the names of six, from four different families. Billy knew where they all lived. Lapworth left Roseland, and went the round of the addresses which Billy had given him.

But his efforts were fruitless. It being Saturday morning, the children were not at school, and he found them at home. But none of them, or their parents, recognised the pencil. Nor, with one exception, had they lost anything on Wednesday. The exception was the youngest girl of the party who, on reaching home, had missed her bicycle pump. Lapworth remembered having seen this on his first visit to Bacton Wood, and promised to return it to her.

Meanwhile the sergeant had been despatched to the docks, in search of Tsan Chin's friend, Pi Wong. The sergeant questioned all the labourers in turn until he found one who answered to that name. He had a smattering of English, just sufficient for him and the sergeant to be able to understand one another. Pi Wong had apparently no difficulty in remembering his doings on the previous Saturday afternoon. He was married and lived in a room not far from Rupert Terrace. After his midday meal on Saturday he had dozed for a while on his bed. Then he and his wife had walked to the public gardens. His wife was tired by the time they got there, and sat down on a bench near the entrance.

He himself had strolled round the gardens before he rejoined her. In the course of his wanderings he had come across a man who had at one time worked with him at the docks. The man's name was Tsan Chin. He had stopped and exchanged a few words with him. There had been another man with Tsan Chin, who appeared to be asleep. He did not know the other man's name. He thought it must have been between half-past three and four when he spoke to Tsan Chin.

Merrion met Arnold's train and drove him to the police station. “You'd better come in and hear what I have to say,” said Arnold. “I'm sure Lapworth won't mind, and you may have a helpful suggestion to make.”

They went in together, to find that Lapworth had just returned from his round of visits. He welcomed the idea of Merrion remaining to listen to the conversation. “I am indebted to Mr. Merrion,” he said. “It was owing to him that I found something rather interesting yesterday. But I'll tell you about that later, Mr. Arnold. How did you get on in London?”

Arnold told the full story of what he had heard in court, and during his subsequent interview with Koo Yang. “If the man really is Koo Yang,'“ he went on. “I feel we ought to make certain of that. I don't altogether trust Chu Shek, and I'd rather the man were identified by someone more reliable. The obvious person seems to be Mr. Mackay. It being Saturday, he won't be at the laundry this afternoon. I wonder if he could make time for a trip to London?”

“I can ring up and ask him,” Lapworth replied.

Merrion intervened. “May I put in a word? I want to go to London to fetch a few things. If Mr. Mackay agrees, I'll willingly drive him there and back. I could start at half-past two, and we ought to be back here by ten o'clock at the latest.”

“That's very good of you, Mr. Merrion,” said, Lapworth. “I'll put it to Mr. Mackay, and see what he says.”

“You can tell him what we want him to do,” said, Arnold. “But I shouldn't mention the name, if I were you. Just tell him that there is a man in custody who believed to come from Cranport, and that we should like to know if he recognises him.”

Lapworth put the call through. He spoke to Mackay as Arnold had suggested, and added that a car would be at his disposal to drive him to London and back. Mr. Mackay readily agreed. Yes, certainly he would have a look at the chap. A nice fine day for a trip to London and back. Might his wife come too? She would enjoy the drive as much as he would.

Lapworth replied that there would be no objection to that. If Mr. and Mrs. Mackay could make it convenient to be at the police station at half-past two, the car would be in readiness. He rang off and reported the conversation to the other two. “I'm afraid I've landed you with a woman passenger, Mr. Merrion. But I didn't know how to refuse.”

“I don't mind in the least,” Merrion replied. “There is more than enough room in the car for four. I expect you'll be coming, Arnold?”

Arnold said that he supposed he would have to be present at the identification. “So that's fixed up,” he went on. “I'll ring up the Super and tell him to expect us. Now we come to two points in Koo Yang's yarn. There may have been a grain of truth in what he told How Ming and me. It ought to be possible to find out if there is a widow in the Chinese quarter who has a greengrocery business to dispose of.”

“If she exists, Chu Shek will probably know about her” Lapworth replied. “I'll see him myself this afternoon.”

“Good,” said Arnold. “Then there's Koo Yang's opium-smoking friend, with whom he says he spent the week-end. Would it be possible to trace a Chinese opium-smoker? Koo Yang refused to give his name.”

Lapworth shrugged his shoulders. “It wouldn't be easy. They all smoke opium from time to time. I don't mean that there's a regular opium den in the town. But the Chinese who work at the docks get hold of small quantities of the stuff. Smuggled in by the crews of ships from the Far East, I suppose. There's not much we can do about it. It isn't the actual smoking of the drug that's the offence, it's being in possession of it. And, as I say, the quantities these chaps get are so small that there's no hope of finding them. But I'll do my best.”

“Just one more thing,” said Arnold. “Koo Yang says that he left here by train on Monday afternoon. Is there any chance of anyone at the station remembering him?”

“I should say not,” Lapworth replied. “The Chinese here do travel by train, for some of them work at other places. But I don't suppose that any of them often go as far as London. The only hope is that one of the station staff may remember a Chinese with a single ticket to London. I'll see what can be done. And now I'll give you my news.”

He read out from his notebook the summary he had made of the evidence given at the inquest. “The only fresh point there is the pathologist's opinion that the weapon used to inflict the fatal wounds was a cold chisel,” he went on. “That, and the fact that his post-mortem enabled him to pin-point the time of death. We can be certain now that the murder was committed within a few minutes of half-past three on Saturday afternoon.”

“Which is just the time covering which Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers have perfect alibis,” Arnold replied. “What do you say, Merrion?”

“What I have already said,” Merrion replied. “That the alibis were faked. Further, that they were carefully prepared in advance.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you, Mr. Merrion,” said Lapworth. “But how are we going to shake them? If all concerned stick to their yarns, we're up against it. Now, would you like to tell Mr. Arnold of your adventures yesterday morning?”

“They were a product of idleness,” Merrion replied. “I had nothing to do, so I drove along to Bacton Wood. Not, I assure you, in the expectation of finding anything that you and Mr. Lapworth had overlooked. While I was pottering round, a glint of metal caught my eye. When I met Mr. Lapworth before the inquest, I told him about it.”

“And after the inquest, Mr. Merrion drove me to the wood,” said Lapworth. “After what the pathologist had said, I hoped the metal Mr. Merrion had seen might turn out to be the cold chisel. But it wasn't. It was a silver pencil, and here it is.”

He took the pencil from his pocket and handed it to | Arnold. “I had taken a sergeant with me, and between us we went over it thoroughly. There wasn't a trace of a finger print on it. I'm quite satisfied that it wasn't dropped by any of the children who were playing about in the wood on Wednesday. By the way, the sergeant spent the rest of the afternoon in the wood, looking for the cold chisel. But he didn't find it.”

Arnold was examining the pencil when the sergeant came in to report. “I found the man Pi Wong, sir, and this is what he told me.” With the aid of his notebook he repeated Pi Wong's statement. “He told me where he lived, sir, so I went along there and spoke to his wife. She talks a little broken English, just like her husband. She told me just the same as he had. When he came back to where she was sitting in the gardens, he told her that he had spoken to a friend of his, Tsan Chin.”

“Very well, Sergeant,” said Lapworth. “I've got another job for you in the Chinese quarter this afternoon. Snoop around and try to hear of any of them having had a pipe or two of opium last week-end. If you do, don't look up the chap yourself, but come and tell me.”

The sergeant went out, and Lapworth turned to Merrion. “The statement you have just heard agrees with Tsan Chin's exactly,” he remarked.

Merrion smiled. “So exactly that it increases my disbelief in both of them. Well, Arnold, there's just time for us to have a snack before we start on that London trip.”

The Mackays arrived at the police station punctually at half-past two. Merrion invited them to sit together in the back of the car, and Arnold to sit beside him. They started off and, once clear of the speed limit, Merrion settled down to a steady fifty miles an hour.

They arrived at their destination soon after half-past five. Mrs. Mackay said that she would like to stroll round while her husband was engaged. Merrion drove on alone to his rooms in St. James's. Arnold and Mackay went into the police station, where they found Dewsbury waiting for them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Arnold,” he said. “I am happy to meet you, Mr. Mackay. If you will both come to my room, I will have the chap brought in.”

They took their seats in the Superintendent's room, and in a minute or two a constable appeared with the prisoner. He looked about him vaguely, then, as he caught sight of Mackay, his expression became alert. He raised his hand and pointed. “Master!”

“Why, bless my soul if it isn't Koo Yang!”Mackay exclaimed. “I'm almost certain of it, though all you chaps look so much alike. Bend your head down.”

But this injunction was lost upon the prisoner. He turned the hand so that his finger pointed at himself. “Koo Yang.”

The constable solved the difficulty by pressing down the prisoner's head so that the top of it was visible. “Yes, I thought so,” said Mackay. “There's that bald spot I've often noticed. I always try to find some peculiarity by which I can tell my chaps apart. But I'll try one more test.” He spoke very slowly and distinctly. “You namee Koo Yang. What name store man?”

Koo Yang's reply was immediate. “Him callee Fled.”

“That clinches it,” said Mackay. “This chap is Koo Yang all right.”

Dewsbury nodded to the constable, who marched Koo Yang away. “I'll explain my test question,” said Mackay. “The storekeeper's name is Frederick Penryn. It's only the chaps who work in the laundry who call him Fled. It's their way of pronouncing Fred. And as there's only one of those chaps now unaccounted for, this chap must be Koo Yang.”

“So the identity is established,” Dewsbury replied. “By the way, Mr. Arnold, a friend of yours came to see me this morning.”

“A friend of mine?” Arnold asked. “Who was that?”

“He said you had recommended him to come and see me,” Dewsbury replied. “A very smart-looking Chinese, though you'd never guess it from the way he talked. I've got his card here. Ling Tam, that's the name.”

“I can hardly claim him as a friend,” said Arnold. “I never even heard of him until he came to see me at the Yard yesterday. He's the secretary of some sort of charitable society. He wanted to see Koo Yang to offer him legal aid.”

“That's right,” Dewsbury replied. “I didn't sec any harm in that, so I had Koo Yang brought in here. Mr. Ling Tam asked him a question or two, which of course I couldn't follow. But it was Koo Yang who did most of the talking. I daresay he was glad to have someone who could understand his jabbering. The end of it was that Mr. Ling Tam told me that Koo Yang had agreed to be defended by a Chinese lawyer he knew. He thanked me for letting him see the chap, and I asked him if he knew anything about him. He said that he knew nothing whatever, beyond what How Ming had told him.”

“I suppose Koo Yang's jabbering to him was a protestation of innocence?” Arnold asked.

“So Mr. Ling Tam told me,” Dewsbury replied. “He said that though he didn't know this chap, he knew How Ming, and was inclined to accept his account of the affair. I gathered that he hadn't formed a very favourable impression of Koo Yang. Have you found him a satisfactory workman, Mr. Mackay?”

“Well, yes,” Mackay replied. “He does his work all right, but he's far from what I should call intelligent. He has fits when he seems to be in the clouds, and doesn't seem able to take in what's said to him. But that's not uncommon among the Chinese.”

“Have you ever suspected him of being an opium smoker?” Arnold asked.

Mackay smiled. “I've wondered. Mind you, I haven't the slightest evidence of such a thing. But the after effects of a pipe or two might account for those queer fits of his.”

They stayed talking for a few minutes longer, then Arnold and Mackay took their leave. As they left the police station, Merrion drove up in his car. Mrs Mackay, who had been strolling about, joined them. It was a quarter past six when they started on their homeward journey.

Soon after Merrion and his passengers had left the police station at Cranport, Lapworth had set out for Rupert Terrace. He had decided to see Chu Shek in his shop, rather than send for him. It would be interesting to see whether on a Saturday afternoon, he was as busy as he had made out.

It turned out that he was. When Lapworth reached the shop, he could hardly force his way in through the open doorway. The narrow interior was packed so full that no standing room was left. Women mostly, with babies strapped on their backs and holding older children by the hand. And all of them were jabbering unceasingly, either to Chu Shek and his wife behind the counter, or among themselves.

Lapworth, jammed in the doorway, watched and listened for a few moments. Although he could not understand a word that was said, he gathered from gesticulation that shopping in the Chinese quarter was by no means a straight-forward matter. No lower class Chinese ever becomes reconciled to the idea of a fixed price. To him, and more particularly her, the price a shopkeeper demands is merely the first bid in a sort of Dutch auction. The prospective purchaser offers a smaller sum, which the seller indignantly refuses. At last, after an infinity of haggling, they arrive at an agreement, and the purchase is completed.

Lapworth could see that this was the manner in which Chu Shek carried on his business. Progress was slow, for it took any of his customers at least ten minutes to buy a single item, such as a pound of rice. At last Lapworth lost patience. He elbowed his way through the throng until he reached the counter. “I want a word with you, Chu Shek,” he bellowed above the din of voices.

Chu Shek looked up despairingly from the peanuts he was weighing out. “Me velly busy, Mist' Lapwo'. No can wait?”

“No I can't wait,” said Lapworth firmly. “Take me somewhere out of this, where we can talk.”

Chu Shek said a few words to his wife. Then he lifted the nap of the counter and beckoned to Lapworth to come through. They passed through a doorway at the back of the shop into the kitchen. “You wantee talk?” Chu Shek asked.

“I want some information from you,” Lapworth replied. “Do you know anyone round here who has a greengrocery business to dispose of?”

Lapworth had apparently used a word unknown to Chu Shek. “Gleenglosy?” he asked. “What that?”

“Why, fruit, vegetables and that,” Lapworth replied.

Chu Shek's expression brightened. “Now can do. Din Gow, he sell t'ings like that. He dead last month. Widow, she no want cally on. She offer sell me business, but me say no. How wife and me manage two shops? Allee can do manage one.”

“You seem to have enough on your hands this afternoon, at all events,” said Lapworth. “What did this woman want for the business?”

“She say two hund'ed pound,” Chu Shek replied. “Too much. If I wantee shop I pay one hund'ed, no more.”

“Where is this shop?” Lapworth asked. Chu Shek made a gesture, as though indicating no great distance. “Six, Curtis Alley. You go past my shop then turn light. You go on, can see Curtis Alley.”

“Does the woman speak English?” Lapworth asked. Chu Shek shrugged his shoulders. “No can say. Maybe she speak little. She amah befo' she mally.”

This time it was Lapworth who was faced by an unknown word. “What do you mean by amah?” he asked.

“Woman help in family,” Chu Shek replied. “This one, she look see English child'en.”

“Oh, it's a nursemaid, you mean,” said Lapworth. “I'm going to see her. If she doesn't speak English, I shall come back here and fetch you to act as interpreter. You can go back to the shop now.”

They left the kitchen, and Lapworth thrust his way through the crowd, which seemed if possible more tightly packed than ever. Once outside, he walked to the end of Rupert Terrace, then turned right. This brought him into a narrow street, flanked on either side by dingy houses. He went on till he came to an opening between these. A sign fixed to the wall showed him that this was the entrance to Curtis Alley.

Lapworth turned in. The alley was a cul-de-sac, so short that there were only three houses on either side. These were small, and appeared to be well kept. The few children playing on the doorsteps were clean and neatly dressed.

Number Six was the end house on the right. It had no shop front, but in the window were a few vegetables, looking surprisingly fresh. The door was open, and Lapworth, who was in plain clothes, walked in. He found himself in a room stacked with more vegetables and fruit. It had no counter, but a small desk, beside which a comparatively young woman was standing. At the other side of the room was a much older woman, with a wrinkled face and back bent nearly double. She was turning over, pod by pod, the peas which filled a fairly large basket.

Lapworth deduced that she was a customer, and the younger woman the owner of the shop. “Do you speak English?” he asked, addressing the latter.

“Me speakee English?”the woman replied indignantly. “What you t'ink? Me amah English farn'ly Singapore six year.”

“That's all right then,” said Lapworth. He glanced enquiringly at the other woman, who had taken not the slightest notice of his entrance. The younger woman was quick to grasp his meaning. “She no speakee English. She spend half day buy anyt'ing. What you buy, master?”

“Nothing, just now,” Lapworth replied. “You are Mrs. Din Gow?”

The woman nodded. “That me. Own shop, now husband he dead.”

“And you want to sell it, I believe?” Lapworth asked.

Mrs. Din Gow's eyes narrowed. “You wantee buy?” she asked swiftly.

Lapworth shook his head. “No. But I understand that you have had an offer for it?”

This launched Mrs. Din Gow upon a flood of almost fluent English. She had had several offers, but only one at a price she could accept. A man had approached her one evening, it was the evening of Friday of the previous week. After much bargaining, they had come to an agreement. She was to sell him the business for a hundred and fifty pounds. He told her that he must have time to find the money, and she had given him till the following Tuesday evening. She had never seen him again, and she had heard, only this morning, that he was dead. “He kill by someone who wanted shop,” she concluded darkly.

The elder woman came up to them. She was wearing an apron, the ends of which she held up before her. In it she had put the pea pods she had selected. A vigorous altercation ensued between her and Mrs. Din Gow. At last the customer produced a purse, from which she reluctantly extracted a coin or two. After what sounded like a tirade of vituperation, she left the shop, carrying her purchases in her apron.

Mrs. Din Gow shook her head. “She no good. She have bad habit.”

Since the woman had deliberately spat on the threshold as she went out, Lapworth could well believe that. “What was the name of the man you were telling me about?” he asked.

“He namee Ah Lock,” Mrs. Din Gow replied.

CHAPTER X

MERRION'S ESTIMATE of the time when his party would get back to Cranport proved correct, for it was a quarter to ten when he dropped the Mackays at their house. He and Arnold refused Mackay's cordial invitation to come in and have a drink, on the score that Lapworth would be expecting them. They drove on to the police station, where they found Lapworth in his room.

Arnold told him of the success of the identification. “There's no doubt that our man is Koo Yang,” he said. “He recognised Mr. Mackay as soon as he was brought in, and called him Master. Mr. Mackay recognised him in turn by the bald spot on his head. To make quite sure, he asked him a question to which only a man employed at the laundry would know the answer. So that matter's settled.”

“Which is most satisfactory,” Lapworth replied. “While you were away, I found the woman who has a greengrocery business for sale, and interviewed her. I think you'll be interested in what she told me.”

He repeated his conversation with Mrs. Din Gow. “What about that, Mr. Merrion?” he asked. “Do you think that her account of her deal with Ah Lock was faked up in advance?”

“I think it was probably the truth,” Merrion replied. “There's no reason why it shouldn't have been, for it has no connection with the murder. I cannot agree with Mrs. Din Gow that Ah Lock was murdered by a rival bidder for the business.”

“That's just the trouble where these people are concerned. Some of them make true statements, others false. And it's practically impossible to distinguish between them. But I'm inclined to believe Mrs. Din Gow. We know that Ah Ling could raise a hundred and fifty pounds. And it's quite likely that he thought running a shop would be a more congenial occupation than working in a laundry.”

“The course of events may have been something like this. Ah Lock heard, perhaps from Chu Shek, that the business was for sale. When he had finished work at the laundry that Friday evening, he went to see Mrs. Din Gow. After, I imagine, a regular tournament of bargaining, she agreed to sell him the business, and gave him till Tuesday evening to find the money. Ah Lock discovered, or knew already, that he could not, by application to the Post Office here, draw that amount from his savings within the time limit.”

“Then you believe that Koo Yang is telling the truth?” Arnold asked.

“Up to that point, I do,” Merrion replied. “But I utterly refuse to believe that Ah Lock commissioned him to go to London to draw the money. I can't imagine one Chinese coolie trusting another to that extent. What was to stop Koo Yang drawing the lot, and decamping with it? Further, we are not told that the two men had ever been intimate friends. I have very little doubt that had Ah Lock not been murdered, he would have gone up to London himself on Monday, and drawn the money he required.”

“How did Koo Yang know that Ah Lock meant to buy the business?” Arnold asked.

Merrion smiled. “I don't suppose that keeping anything secret is an easy matter in the Chinese quarter. Like most Chinese, Ah Lock seems to have been of a boastful nature. We are told that he bragged about his savings. He may equally have bragged about his prospects of becoming the owner of a business. Something that raised him above his fellow-lodgers, and put him almost on a level with Chu Shek. A very considerable gain of face, in fact.”

“I have very little doubt that Koo Yang stole the book at the time of the murder, at which I believe that the other three were present. Why they let him keep it is rather difficult to understand. The only explanation I can think of is that they trusted him to get the money and return with it, when it would have been shared equally between them. One of them had to draw the money. Perhaps they drew lots to decide which of them it should be.”

As Merrion finished speaking, the sergeant entered the room. “I've been making enquiries, sir,” he said. “And I think I've found the man you want.”

“Good work, sergeant,” Lapworth replied. “Tell us about it.”

“It was only halt an hour ago that I got a clue, sir,” said the sergeant. “Quite a lot of the Chinese round about Rupert Terrace know me, and some of them speak enough English for us to understand one another. So I just mooched around, having a word or two with any of them I met.”

“The line I took was this, sir. It struck me that if any of the chaps had been smoking over last week-end, he wouldn't have been fit to go to work on Monday morning. So I faked up a yarn. I said there had been an accident in Hillyer Avenue about eleven o'clock on Monday morning. Two cars in a head-on collision, and three people badly hurt. I said Hillyer Avenue, as it's long way from where any of these chaps work. We had heard that a Chinese had been walking past when the accident occurred, and we wanted to hear his version of what happened. But we hadn't been able to trace him. If this man had been in Hillyer Avenue, he couldn't have been at work. Did anyone know of a man who hadn't turned up for work as usual on Monday morning?”

Lapworth laughed. “Jolly good idea, sergeant. Did it come off?”

“In the end it did, sir,” the sergeant replied. “I must have asked a dozen times before I got what I wanted. The last chap I spoke to is a charge hand in that big warehouse that backs on to Rupert Terrace. He told me that one of his chaps didn't come to work all Monday. I asked him why that was, and he sort of gave me a knowing look. He said that with some folk it didn't do to ask too many questions.”

“I asked him what he meant by that, but he wouldn't tell me. He said that he didn't want to get anyone in trouble with the police. After what you'd said, sir, I guessed what he meant by that. I asked him straight out if he suspected that the chap had been smoking opium. He just winked, but I thought that was good enough. I got the chap's name and address out of him, sir. Say Pant, and he lived with his wife and wife's mother in a room at 42, Winkle Street. But the chap I spoke to said that I should have a job to get his account of the accident. I should want an interpreter, for Say Pant hadn't more than a couple of words of English.”

At a word from Lapworth, the sergeant went out. Lapworth turned to Arnold. “We shall have to hear what this chap Say Pant has to say. But it's a nuisance having to have an interpreter. I don't trust Chu Shek, or any other of the Chinese in this town for that matter. What about getting hold of the man you employed when you interviewed Koo Yang?”

“I've got a better idea than that,” Arnold replied. He took Mr. Ling Tam's card from his notebook and read the wording on it out loud. “Did you ever hear of that Society, Merrion?” he asked.

Merrion shook his head. “Never, but then I shouldn't. I haven't kept in touch with Chinese matters since I settled down in this country. Who is this Mr. Ling Tam?”

Arnold described the interview at Scotland Yard, and; added what Dewsbury had told him. “I formed a very favourable impression of him, and so did the Superintendent. He's a highly educated Chinese, and his job is to do what he can for his compatriots when they get into trouble. He's already interested in Koo Yang, and if we told him that an interview with Say Pant might help him, I think he'd consent to come here and interpret for us.”

“He doesn't know about the murder of Ah Lock?” Lapworth asked.

“I don't see how he can have known when I saw him yesterday,” Arnold replied. “He probably knows something about it now, for the inquest has got into the London papers. I read a very brief account of it in the train this morning. But I gather that no mention was made of Koo Yang?”

“None whatever,” said Lapworth. “This Mr. Ling Tam seems just the man for us. That is, if he'll consent to come here.”

“We can but try,” Arnold replied, glancing at the clock. “I'll ring him up now. It's barely eleven o'clock, and he'll hardly have gone to bed yet. Shall I suggest to-morrow?”

“Just as well,” said Lapworth. “To-morrow being Sunday, Say Pant will probably be at home.”

Arnold rang up the number Mr. Ling Tam had written on the card. A cultured voice answered. “This is Mr. Ling Tam, at 24, Debenham Gardens. Who is that speaking?”

“Inspector Arnold, whom you came to see yesterday,” said Arnold. “I'm going to ask you to do me a favour, Mr. Ling Tam. I understand that you saw the man Koo Yang this morning, and had a chat with him?”

“That is so,” Ling Tam replied. “He protested his innocence of the charge against him. But he agreed that I should approach my friend with a view to his acting for the defence.”

“I am speaking from Cranport,” said Arnold. “There is a Chinese here who may be able to throw light on Koo Yang's actions. We are anxious to get a statement from him, but unfortunately he speaks little or no English. Would it be possible for you to come here and interpret for us?”

Ling Tam hesitated before he replied. “Well, yes, Mr. Arnold, I think I could manage it. It will mean postponing an appointment I had made, but that can be arranged. I will drive down, and be with you about noon. Where shall I meet you?”

“At Cranport police station, if you will be so good,” said Arnold. “That is most kind of you. I hope it won't be necessary for us to detain you very long.”

Arnold rang off and repeated the conversation to the other two. “So that's that. I seem to have spent the day going backwards and forwards between here and London. I want something to eat and a bed for the night.”

“The Golden Fleece is the place for you,” Merrion replied. “They'll cut us some sandwiches, and if they can't find you a bed, there's a sofa in my room, to which you're welcome. Shall we go over there and see?”

They said good night to Lapworth, and drove to the Golden Fleece. The proprietor seemed to regard an Inspector from Scotland Yard as a privileged guest. He would cut some sandwiches and would provide beer to go with them. And there was a room vacant on the first floor.

The lounge was empty, and when Merrion had put the car in the garage, they settled down there. The sandwiches and beer were brought, and they fell upon them hungrily. Merrion drained his tankard and set it down with a sigh of satisfaction. “Where do you propose to interview this alleged opium-smoker?” he asked as he lighted a cigarette.

“In Lapworth's room at the police station, I suppose,” Arnold replied. “We can send and fetch the chap before Mr. Ling Tam arrives.”

“I wonder,” said Merrion. “I should prefer to interview him in his own surroundings, squalid though they may be. You might see more there than the man cared to tell you. However, it's for you to decide. Tell me more about your interview with Koo Yang yesterday.”

“I've nothing to add to what I said just now,” said Arnold. “You were listening, I suppose?”

“Oh yes, I was listening,” Merrion replied. “But you didn't mention what seems to me the most important point. And that is Koo Yang's manner while he was making his statement.”

“It was very difficult to judge,” said Arnold. “I had to depend upon an interpreter, whose English didn't run to shades of meaning. But it seemed to me that his statement was fairly coherent. Not as though he was making it up as he went along. Now, tell me about that pencil. Were you looking for it before you found it?”

“I didn't find it,” Merrion replied demurely. “The credit is Mr. Lapworth's. You heard his account of the matter.”

“Come off it!” Arnold exclaimed. “You wouldn't have spotted a glint of metal without going ahead and finding out what it was. What I want to know is why you expected to find it?”

“I didn't,” Merrion replied. “This is what was in my mind. I believed, and still believe, that half a dozen people were in Bacton Wood at the time of the murder. One imagines that a murder under such circumstances would cause a certain amount of excitement. So much so that anything might be dropped without anyone noticing it. And an object thus dropped among the pine needles would very soon be covered up, with people running about and dragging branches all over the place. So I contrived a sort of rake out of one of the branches. I thought I might find some trifle, if only a button. I certainly didn't expect to find a silver pencil.”

“And since you did find it, what's your theory?” Arnold asked.

But Merrion shook his head. “That's far too long a story. If we started on it we should sit here arguing all night. I've driven well over three hundred miles to-day. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed.”

In the morning Merrion refused Arnold's suggestion that he should go with him to the police station. “You won't want me,” he said. “You and Lapworth can interrogate this chap through Mr. Ling Tam without my assistance. I suppose you will come back here to lunch, and you can tell me all about it then.”

“You want to go and rake about in Bacton Wood again?” Arnold asked slyly.

“Not I,” Merrion replied. “The news of the murder must have caused no end of a sensation in the town. On a fine Sunday like this, half the population will be flocking to the scene of the crime. No, I shall sit here quietly till I see you again.”

So Arnold went alone to the police station, to find Lapworth already there. Lapworth was of the same opinion as Merrion. “I think it will be best if we go to Winkle Street and see Say Pant there,” he said. “I'm not hoping that we shall find a hoard of opium, but we may at least catch sight of a pipe. Mr. Ling Tam will be able to tell us if he sees anything unusual.”

Arnold agreed, and they sat talking for a while. It was twenty minutes to twelve when the sergeant announced that Mr. Ling Tam had arrived. Ling Tam was shown in. He was as neatly dressed as ever, with a yellow rosebud in his buttonhole, and he was carrying a Sunday newspaper. When Arnold had introduced him to Lapworth, he laid the paper down on the desk. Rather pointedly, Arnold thought.

“You're very punctual, Mr. Ling Tam,” said Lapworth. “I hope it hasn't been a terrible nuisance to you to come here and help us?”

“Not at all,” Ling Tam replied. “It's my job to do what I can for these people. I'm punctual, because my chauffeur drove me down, and he delights in driving fast when he's got a clear road. As I was to be only a passenger I bought a Sunday newspaper and read it in the car. I was very much interested to see your name mentioned in it, Mr. Lapworth.”

Lapworth picked up the newspaper. It was folded open, and a paragraph in it had been marked. This was an account of the inquest, rather fuller than the one Arnold had read.

Lapworth glanced at this. “Yes, a nasty business. I don't doubt that the verdict was the right one.”

“I feel it my duty to tell you something,” said Ling Tam. “Among the many things that Koo Yang said to me when I was with him yesterday was this. At the time of his arrest he was in possession of a Savings Bank book belonging to a friend of his, whose name was Ah Lock. This was taken from him by the police. He wanted me to ask the police to return it to Ah Lock, as he did not want him to think that he had stolen it. I did not do so, for I felt sure that the police would want the book as evidence at Koo Yang's trial. I may take it that this Ah Lock was the man upon whom the inquest was held?”

“That is certainly the case,” Lapworth replied. Ling Tam nodded gravely. “I supposed that it must be. May I be forgiven for asking this question? Do you suspect Koo Yang of having been concerned in the murder?”

Lapworth avoided the direct answer to this question. “We wish to establish his whereabouts at the time it was committed. Do you know any of the Chinese in this town, Mr. Ling Tam?”

“Not so far as I am aware,” Ling Tam replied. “I have never had occasion to contact any of them.”

“The name of the man we wish to interrogate is Say Pant,” said Lapworth. “He lives in the Chinese quarter here, and I think it will be best if we go there and talk to him.”

“I do not know the name,” Ling Tam replied. “I am quite ready to go with you.”

Lapworth had the police car in readiness. The three of them left the police station, to find a second car drawn up outside. “Will my car be all right there?” Ling Tam asked. “I told my chauffeur to go and get something to eat. He's found his way to the Chinese quarter, I expect. He'll be able to get what he likes there.”

They drove off in the police car. Winkle Street was the road at the end of Rupert Terrace. Lapworth had walked along it on the previous afternoon, on his way to Curds Alley. A short distance past the entrance to the alley they came to Number 42 and alighted from the car. Like its neighbours, it was a squalid-looking two storied house, with a washing pole protruding from nearly every window.

The door was open, and on the threshold sat an old woman, stirring a bowl of some unpleasant mess. Lapworth looked at her closely. All Chinese, especially old women, were so very much alike to him. But he felt fairly sure that she was the customer he had seen in Mrs Din Gow's shop. Ling Tam spoke to her, and she replied in a few curt words. These must have been rude, for when Ling Tam spoke to her again his voice was stern and abrupt. She spat on the pavement before she replied, in a high-pitched gabble incomprehensible to the two policemen.

“She's not a very agreeable person,” said Ling Tam. “It appears that she is Say Pant's mother-in-law, and I wish him joy of her. She didn't want to tell me which his room was, until I threatened her with the police if she didn't. Then she said that Say Pant was in bed, for he never got up on Sunday mornings. His room is the one on the right at the back of the second floor. Shall we go up?”

They entered the house, and mounted the uncarpeted stairs to the second floor landing. Ling Tam pointed to one of the four doors which opened off it. “That'll be the one.”

Lapworth rapped firmly upon it. A voice from within uttered something in Cantonese which sounded like an objurgation. “Politely translated, that means go away,” Ling Tam remarked.

Lapworth opened the door, and the three of them went in. The room was indescribably filthy, and had a queer acrid smell. There were two beds in it, a large and a small. In the larger one a man was lying. At this invasion of his privacy he burst into a flood of angry words.

“Tell him to shut up,” said Lapworth. “And explain to him that we are the police, come to ask him a few questions.”

Ling Tam, who had kept in the background, came forward. As he did so, he experienced the full force of the smell, and bent down to sniff at the yellow rosebud in his buttonhole. At the sight of him the man in the bed became suddenly silent. Ling Tam spoke to him, slowly and quietly, and he replied in a respectful tone. “He says he is quite ready to answer any questions the police care to ask,” said Ling Tam.

The interrogation began, a series of questions by Lapworth, translated into Cantonese by Ling Tam. The answers came hesitatingly, and more than once Ling Tam had to put the question in a different form. But, all the same, the answers were at first satisfactory. The man gave his name as Say Pant. He had been to the scramble on the dunes on the Saturday afternoon. There he had met Koo Yang, who was a friend of his. Koo Yang was with a man whose name he did not know. Koo Yang had drawn him aside and said he would like a word with him when the scramble was over. He had brought Koo Yang home with him to this room.

“Ask him what they did when they got here,” said Arnold. Ling Tam interpreted the question, to which he gave a reply rather more hesitating than usual. “He says that they sat talking. Four of them, Koo Yang, himself, his wife and his wife's mother.”

“Tell him we know better than that,” said Arnold. “Ask him where he got the opium from that they smoked.”

Ling Tam smiled. “I could smell the stuff as soon as I came in.” He put the question to Say Pant, who replied indignantly that he had never smoked opium in his life.

“Tell him not to talk nonsense,” said Arnold. “You had better explain to him that we have a full statement from Koo Yang about what happened over the week-end. He had some opium then, and he let Koo Yang have a few pipefuls of it.”

It seemed a long business for Ling Tam to get this into Say Pant's head. At first his attitude seemed stubborn and contradicting, for he shook his head repeatedly, muttering what were obvious denials. Then Ling Tam's authoritative tone overcame his resistance. All at once he burst into angry speech, which subsided as suddenly as it had begun.

“He was obstinate at first, as I daresay you gathered,” said Ling Tam. “But when I threatened that you would arrest him and carry him off to prison if he didn't tell the truth, he gave in. I hope I wasn't exceeding my duties as an interpreter?”

“I think you were justified in saying what you did,” said Arnold. “What did he come out with in the end?”

“He said that if ever he got the chance, he would stick a knife into Koo Yang for giving him away. He admits that opium was smoked, but he stoutly denies that he provided it. His version of the story is this. As soon as he had brought Koo Yang here, Koo Yang produced a small quantity of opium and suggested that they should smoke a pipe or two together. Koo Yang said that he didn't want to smoke at Chu Shek's place, for they would all want some of the stuff, and that wouldn't leave enough for him. As it was, three people shared it, Koo Yang, Say Pant, and his mother-in-law, while Say Pant's wife prepared the stuff for them.”

“Ask him how long Koo Yang stayed here,” said Arnold.

Ling Tam put the question. “He says that Koo Yang stayed here till Monday. Say Pant was not used to opium, and hadn't recovered sufficiently to go to work that day. But Koo Yang left, saying that he had to go to London. He didn't tell Say Pant why.”

“What time was it when Koo Yang first spoke to him?”

Lapworth asked, a Ling Tam smiled. “These chaps don't as a rule have much sense of time. But I'll try.” When Say Pang understood the question, he raised his arm straight above his head, then lowered it through about thirty degrees. As he did so, he muttered something. “As I expected, he doesn't know what time it was,” said Ling Tam. “But that business with his arm was an attempt to show how far the sun had declined.”

“I'm no astronomer,” Lapworth remarked. “But I should think he meant between three and four o'clock. Well, that will do. But you had better warn him that if we hear of his smoking opium again, he'll find himself in serious trouble.”

“I'll talk to him like a Dutch uncle,” Ling Tam replied. He delivered a slow and deliberate harangue, to which Say Pant listened submissively and made a humble reply. “He swears he will never smoke another pipe in his life,” said Ling Tam. “But whether he'll stick to his resolve is another matter.”

“He'd better,” Lapworth replied. “Shall we be going? I shall be glad to get out of this.”

They left the room and went to the door of the house. The old woman was still sitting on the doorstep, and Lapworth felt more sure than ever that she had been the customer in Mrs. Din Gow's shop. He suddenly remembered the remark Mrs. Din Gow had made about her. “She have bad habit.” He had paid little attention to the remark at the time, but now he guessed the significance of it. No doubt the old hag was notorious throughout the Chinese quarter as an opium smoker.

They drove back to the police station, and Lapworth asked Ling Tam to come in. “I'm more than grateful to you for all the trouble you took, Mr. Ling Tam,” he said. “And now I'd like your candid opinion as to Say Pant's truthfulness?”

“I think that on the whole his answers were true enough,” Ling Tam replied.” We Chinese can usually tell when another of our nationality is lying. On one point, however, I think he prevaricated. He swore by his ancestors' graves that it was not he, but Koo Yang, who provided the opium. It may have been, but I rather doubt it. Otherwise, I think you can accept what he said.”

“It tallies with the statement Koo Yang made to me,” said Arnold. “Did he tell you the story of his week-end debauch?”

“Most emphatically he did not,” Ling Tam replied. “He told me that he did not leave Cranport till Monday. But he said nothing about the way in which he had spent the two preceding days. I daresay he thought that if he confessed to being an opium smoker, I should refuse to have anything more to do with him.”

“Well, Mr. Ling Tam, you understand these people better than we do,” said Arnold. “What did you make of Koo Yang when you saw him?”

Ling Tam smiled. “I can only repeat what I have already told you, Mr. Arnold. I would rather accept How Ming's word than Koo Yang's. But, since I have undertaken to sponsor his defence, I shall have to keep that opinion to myself.”

Arnold glanced at the clock, which showed the time to be a quarter to one. “You'll be wanting lunch, Mr. Ling Tam. May I invite you to have it with me at the Golden Fleece?”

“I shall be delighted to accept your most kind offer,” Ling Tam replied. He took his leave of Lapworth, and he and Arnold went out. The chauffeur was sitting in the car, and Ling Tam exchanged a few words with him. “He's had his lunch,” Ling Tam said to Arnold. “So I think I'm entitled to mine.”

They left the car where it was, and walked to the Golden Fleece, where they found Merrion in the lounge. Ling Tam was introduced, and the three of them went into lunch together. During the meal Ling Tam entertained them with amusing anecdotes of the Chinese with whom be had had to deal. “Their behaviour must seem odd to you,” he remarked. “But you must remember that they look at things from a point of view which has been handed down to them through thousands of years.”

“Merrion is always telling me that we can't judge the Chinese by our own standards,” Arnold replied.

“Mr. Merrion is quite right,” said Ling Tam. “Will you excuse me if I leave you now? I don't want to disappoint a young couple with whom I have an appointment this afternoon. One of those difficult cases with which the Society is frequently called upon to deal. The wife has lived in England all her life, and has become thoroughly Anglicised, whereas the husband was born and bred in China. Naturally, they don't always see eye to eye, and we have to do our best to reconcile their differences.”

He got up and took his leave. “I hope to have the opportunity of returning your hospitality before very long, Mr. Arnold. And if you can make it convenient to join us, Mr. Merrion, I shall be delighted.”

CHAPTER XI

“THAT WAS a jolly good idea of mine,” said Arnold complacently, when he and Merrion were alone. “We should never have got anything out of Say Pant through an ordinary interpreter. Mr. Ling Tam is a man in authority among the Chinese community, anyone could have seen that. The chap started by being truculent, but he became as meek as a lamb as soon as Mr. Ling Tam spoke to him.”

“And what did you get out of Say Pant?” Merrion asked.

Arnold repeated the story he had told. “Mr. Ling Tam seems to think he was telling the truth. Except perhaps about where the opium came from. But that hardly matters. The point is that Say Pant's statement exactly confirms what Koo Yang said to me. You'll say, of course, that they had agreed upon the yam beforehand. But I'm not so sure.”

Merrion shrugged his shoulders. “It's a matter of opinion. Mr. Ling Tam knew of the murder, I suppose?”

“He had read an account of the inquest in a Sunday paper as he came down here,” Arnold replied. “He drew our attention to this, but he was most discreet about it. The only question he asked was whether we suspected Koo Yang. Lapworth put him off with an evasive answer. But he must have guessed from the interrogation of Say Pant that we did.”

“Are you prepared to charge Koo Yang with the crime?” Merrion asked.

“Not yet,” Arnold replied. “I'm convinced that he did it, or at all events had a hand in it. Even you will admit that the Savings Bank book and the hammer are pretty damning evidence. On the other hand, he has two witnesses to swear that he spent the whole afternoon on the dunes. That gives him a perfect alibi, if their stories don't come unstuck under cross-examination.”

“I don't think they'll do that,” said Merrion. “I'm glad you're inclined not to be in too great a hurry, for it strikes me there are several things yet to be cleared up. You'll say that the motive of the murder was to get hold of the Savings Bank book. But I've never been satisfied about that.”

“What other motive has your imagination conjured up?” Arnold asked.

“I've just said that several things remained to be cleared up,” Merrion replied. “Until they are, the motive must remain obscure. I'll ask you three questions, putting them in the order of their importance, as it seems to me. Where did Ah Lock get the money he was able to save? What did he keep in that metal case of his? Finally, who did the silver pencil belong to? Find the answers to those, and we may begin to see daylight.”

“I don't know why you call them important,” said Arnold. “Ah Lock made money out of his friends and acquaintances, you've already suggested how. In the metal case he kept his valuables, or what a man of his class would consider valuables. As to the pencil, there is no proof that it had any connection whatever with the crime.”

“Well, you can look at it that way if you like,” Merrion replied. “For my own part, I believe that the motive was far more deeply hidden than you think. I believe that Ah Lock was murdered for a reason which, until my questions are answered, we can't fathom. And that it was a reason which appeared adequate to at least four persons, and probably more. But let's give our minds a rest from it. I'll get out the car and take you for a run. Not to Bacton Wood, for I heartily dislike crowds.”

They went for a drive, had tea at a country inn, and returned to the Golden Fleece in time for dinner. “I don't know what we're hanging about here for,” said Merrion when they had finished their meal. “It seems to me that your case is at a dead end. I can't for the life of me see what fresh evidence you can hope to get. If something doesn't turn up by to-morrow afternoon, I shall pack up and go home.”

Nothing further turned up that evening. On Monday morning, after breakfast, Arnold went to the police-station to discuss with Lapworth what further steps should be taken. He had not been there very long when the sergeant came in. “There's a gentleman here, sir. He gave his name as Mr. Nayland, and said he had a complaint to make. Would you like to see him, sir?”

“Oh yes, I'll see him,” Lapworth replied. “Bring him in, sergeant.” Mr. Nayland was brought in. He was a red-faced individual, wearing a tweed jacket, breeches and gaiters, and was obviously very much annoyed about something. “Sit down, Mr. Nayland,” said Lapworth. “You wish to make a complaint, I understand?”

Mr. Nayland's wrath prevented him from coming immediately to the point. “I wish I'd been around. I'd have given them a piece of my mind, aye, and used my stick on them, too. But the missus and I were spending the day with some friends the other side of Wychurst. It wasn't till this morning that I heard about it. My chap that's carting dung from the farm to the fifty acre told me-”

Lapworth checked him. “Will you tell me what your complaint is about, Mr. Nayland?”

“I'm telling you, aren't I?” Nayland replied. “As I was saying when you cut me short, my chap came and told me. He said the fence round Bacton Wood was all broke down, and there was bits of paper lying around everywhere. So I went and had a look for myself, and he was quite right. It isn't so much the paper I mind. But who's going to pay for the mending of the fence? That's what I want to know. It was the riff-raff from the town that done it.”

“You are the owner of Bacton Wood?” Lapworth asked.

“Naturally I am,” Nayland replied. “I own Pottery Farm, and the wood is part of the property. I sold some timber from it a couple of years back. And now, just because that pesky Chinaman got murdered there, all the hooligans from the town must swarm there and damage my property. It's the job of the police to prosecute them, that's what I say.”

“We will do our best to trace the offenders,” said Lapworth. “What do you estimate the amount of the damage to be?”

“That's hard to say,” Nayland replied. “Material's difficult to come by, these days, and when you do get it you've got to pay through the nose. I daresay a hundred pound wouldn't cover it. Well, I've had my say, and now it's up to you. I've got business in the town this morning, but you'll find me about the farm all the rest of the day if you should want me.”

The sergeant escorted Nayland from the room, and Lapworth laughed. “I thought the scene of the murder would be an attraction. And townsfolk always seem to think that fences are put up for the express purpose of being broken down. What do you think about it, Mr. Arnold?”

“I think our irate farmer friend is trying to cash in on what can only be a trifle,” Arnold replied. “The fence when we saw it wasn't in any too good a condition. And how you're going to find the culprits beats me.”

“I shall have to do something,” said Lapworth. “To begin with, I'll take the car and go and look at the damage.”

“I'll come with you,” Arnold replied. “There's nothing very useful for me to do this morning.” They set off in the car, past Owen's Corner and along the lane towards the wood. The trail of litter began at once. Cigarette packets, ice cream cartons, all the unsightly rubbish which the British public delights in scattering over the countryside. As they neared the wood, they found the grass of the verges trodden down and scarred with innumerable tyre marks. They pulled up and alighted to examine the fence. It certainly looked the worse for wear. The original gap, through which the children had crawled, had been enlarged, and many other new gaps had appeared. In fact, very few of the fencing posts remained standing.

“Nayland certainly has some cause for complaint,” Lapworth remarked. “I suppose people broke into the wood before they discovered the track leading to the clearing. Now we're here, we may as well go along there and see what sort of a state it's in.”

Some venturesome person had evidently tried to drive a car along the track, for when they reached it they saw that the sides of the ruts had been broken down by wheels. A few yards within the wood, these traces stopped, and the ground between the ruts had been scraped. “You see that,” said Arnold. “The fool driver went on until the under part of his car hit the ground. I expect some kind friend had to tow him out backwards. He might have seen for himself that no ordinary car could negotiate this track.”

“Some drivers are crazy,” Lapworth replied. “You've met the type on the road, I daresay. Let's go on to the clearing. I shouldn't be surprised if some of them haven't carved their initials on the trees.”

As they walked on, the density of the litter increased. The clearing itself was so carpeted with rubbish that the underlying pine needles were barely visible. “Look over there.” said Arnold quietly. “One of them seems to have made a night of it. And he's chosen the very place where Ah Lock's body was found.”

Looking in the direction Arnold pointed, Lapworth could see what was obviously a recumbent human form. “Well, I'm blessed!” he exclaimed. “We'll go across and have a word with him.”

As they approached, they made out the figure of a man, lying on his back with something resting on his chest. The details gradually became apparent to them. The man was wearing rough shoes, stained with mud, but now dry, jean trousers and a shabby tweed coat. Finally the last and most significant detail. The object on his chest was not merely lying there. It was the black polished wooden hilt of a dagger, or something of the kind. The blade was presumably driven deep into the body, for round the hilt the coat was stained with blood.

The arms and legs were extended. Lapworth dropped on one knee, lilted a hand, and felt for the pulse. “Another job for the pathologist,” he remarked coolly. “The chap's dead, all right.”

Arnold had been staring at the man's features. “He's Chinese,” he replied. “And I fancy we've seen him before. I don't pretend to be able to distinguish between these chaps, but I'm pretty sure he's one of the men we took statements from. Chu Shek's lodgers, I mean.”

“I believe you're right,” said Lapworth, after he too had scanned the face. “The immediate question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“I'll stay here, while you run back in the car,” Arnold replied. “You'll have him taken to the mortuary, I expect. But before you do that it might be worth while to look for prints. That polished hilt looks to me quite promising.”

Lapworth nodded. “I'll bring the apparatus back with me. I won't be longer than I can help.” He rose to his feet and strode away to where they had left the car.

Arnold, left alone, contented himself with walking round the body and viewing it from every angle. He could see no signs of a struggle of any kind. The legs were bent, as though the man had been standing up when he was stabbed, and had then fallen backward, bending at the knees. His expression was perfectly tranquil, as though he had merely fallen asleep.

The coat had an outside handkerchief pocket on the left side. Protruding from this was the edge of a piece of cardboard or stout paper. The body was wearing no hat and, though Arnold searched round for one, he had no success. All that was to be seen on the ground was the carpeting of litter.

After a while Arnold sat down on one of the stumps and lighted his pipe. It seemed to him remarkable that the body should be lying on the precise spot where Ah Lock's had been found. But this time there had been no attempt at concealment. Anyone entering the clearing must have seen the body. It could not possibly have been lying there on the previous day when, as the litter showed, the wood had been thronged by an inquisitive crowd. If it had, its presence would certainly have been reported. And it must be assumed that Mr. Nayland, concerned only with the damage to his fence, had not entered the wood that morning.

Arnold rose from his feet at the sound of voices. Lapworth appeared; accompanied by the sergeant carrying the finger-print apparatus. “I've been as quick as I could,” he said. “The hearse will be here before very long. Unpack the gear, sergeant, and we'll see what we can find.”

Between them they dusted the hilt, and finger prints upon it immediately became apparent. “I've rarely seen anything so clear,” Arnold remarked. “One can almost see the hand clutching the hilt. We'd better take the man's prints while we're at it.”

They did so, inking each hand in turn and pressing it on a sheet of paper. “I don't profess to be an expert,” said Lapworth. “But the print of the right hand looks to me exactly like the print of the hand on the hilt. If both prints were made by the same hand, it's a clear case of suicide.”

“I'm no expert, either,” Arnold replied. “But we've got a man at the Yard who can read finger prints as easily as we can read a newspaper. If you agree, I'll ring up and have him sent along.”

“You couldn't do better,” said Lapworth. “We shall have to leave the dagger where it is till your expert has seen it. What's that sticking out of his pocket?”

“I don't know,” Arnold replied. “I left it where it was till you came back. We'd better see what it is.”

Lapworth took the edge between his finger and thumb and drew it carefully out of the pocket. It was a strip of coarse blue paper, which looked as if it had been roughly torn from a bag of sugar. On it a series of marks had been scrawled in pencil. To Arnold and Lapworth the marks were unintelligible. “I'll put the paper back,” said Lapworth. “That scribbling doesn't seem to mean anything, but for all we know it may be a clue. And there's something bulky in the inner pocket of the coat. But I think we'll leave it where it is until we've got the chap to the mortuary.”

The sergeant was posted at the end of the track to await the arrival of the hearse. Meanwhile Lapworth occupied himself by taking photographs. The hearse in due course came slowly up the lane. The driver had brought a stretcher, and on to this they lifted the body, taking infinite pains that nothing should touch the powdered hilt. Having carried the stretcher to the hearse, the sergeant was told to take his seat beside the driver and convey the body to the mortuary. “And if you let anything touch that hilt, I'll have you reduced to the ranks,” was Lapworth's parting injunction.

The lilting of the body had revealed pieces of litter lying under it. “The litter was there before the body,” Arnold remarked. “It can't have been there yesterday afternoon. Nor is it likely that the chap was killed while there was still anyone about. The last of them must have left by the time it became dark. Sunset would have been about twenty-past nine, Summer Time. It probably happened after that.”

“We shall hear what the pathologist has to say,” Lapworth replied. “I don't think there's anything more to keep us here. We'll be getting back.”

When they reached the police station, Arnold was the first to use the telephone. He rang up Scotland Yard, and asked that Sergeant Diss should come to Cranport by the first train. “He can't get here before three this afternoon,” said Lapworth. “Now it's my turn.” He rang up first the pathologist, asking him to make a preliminary examination of the body as soon as possible, then the coroner's office. This done, he turned to Arnold. “I think we might let Mr. Merrion in on this.”

“I'll slip across to the Golden Fleece and see if he's there,” Arnold replied. “It won't take me more than five minutes.”

At the Golden Fleece he found Merrion sitting in the lounge, reading a newspaper. “Well, are you all packed up and ready to leave?” he asked.

“Packing takes me no more than a matter of seconds,” Merrion replied. “Otherwise I'm quite ready to leave. What makes you ask?”

“You said you'd go home if nothing fresh happened,” said Arnold. “Well, it has. Come with me and see for yourself.”

They walked to the police station, where Lapworth greeted Merrion with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Merrion. It's beginning to look as though we never had a dull moment in Cranport. Mr. Arnold and I have just found another Chinese dead in Bacton Wood.”

“The devil you have!” Merrion exclaimed. “Which of them is it this time?”

“Come and see” Lapworth replied. They went to the mortuary to find the body laid out on a slab, with the sergeant standing guard beside it. Lapworth looked anxiously at the hilt. “I've been careful to let nothing touch it, sir,” said the sergeant.

Merrion studied the face attentively. “One of the men you interviewed at the police station the other day, surely?” he remarked.

“That's what Mr. Arnold and I think.” Lapworth replied. “We'll run through his pockets and see if there's anything there to tell us.”

He began with the upper outside pocket of the coat, again withdrawing the strip of blue paper, which he handed to Merrion. “Can you make anything out of those queer scrawls Mr. Merrion?” he asked.

Merrion studied them. “I can't be sure,” he replied after a while. “They may be Chinese characters. But if they are, they are written by someone who could only just write Chinese. It would take an expert in the language to decipher them.”

“We know of an expert,” Arnold remarked. “Wouldn't it be a good thing to show them to Mr. Ling Tam, and ask him if he can make anything of them?”

“I quite agree,” Lapworth replied. “There's something else in this pocket.” He put in his hand and extracted a short stub of pencil, with a blunt point. “Maybe that's what those marks were scribbled with. There's nothing else in that one. We'll try the rest.”

In the left lower pocket of the coat he found a short pipe with a metal bowl. “I know what that is,” he said. “It's an opium pipe. Koo Yang and Say Pant weren't the only ones who smoked opium, it seems.”

“The Chinese have never broken themselves of the habit,” Merrion remarked.

“And we don't seem able to prevent them getting the stuff,” Lapworth replied. “Now for the pocket on the other side. I've noticed already that there's something heavy in that. Hallo, what's this?”

He drew out something wrapped in blue paper, similar to that on which the scrawls had been made. He unwrapped the paper, and uttered an exclamation of triumph. Within the paper was a cold chisel, apparently almost new, for it was bright and free from rust. But for some distance from the point, it showed a strange discoloration. Lapworth took out a tape and measured the chisel, being careful not to touch it. “Six inches long and half an inch in diameter,” he said. “The very size of the chisel with which Ah Lock was killed. That discoloration might be blood. But before we get that point settled, we'll let your expert look over it, Mr. Arnold.”

“Yes, we'll get him to do that,” Arnold replied. “You seem to be finding quite a lot of interesting things. Go on, and see what else you can produce.”

Lapworth dived into the left-hand trousers pocket. From this he extracted a sixpenny piece, four pennies . and a halfpenny. The right hand pocket yielded nothing but a small key, apparently that of a padlock.

“There's nothing more,” said Lapworth. “But this little lot ought to be enough to go on with. We'll leave the chisel where it is, and take the rest of the things to my room.”

As they left the mortuary, the pathologist approached. “I came along at once,” he said. “The sooner one sees a body, the easier it is to estimate the time of death, and I expect that's what you want to know. There seems to be an unusual rate of mortality among the Chinese community, Mr. Lapworth?”

“There is,” Lapworth replied as they re-entered the mortuary. “Two of them within little over a week. I'd be glad if you'd look over him. Doctor. But whatever you do, don't touch the hilt of the dagger that's sticking into him.”

The pathologist started on his preliminary examination. Merrion interested himself in the dead man's shoes. “Was there any rain last night, sergeant?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Quite a heavy thundery shower, just before midnight. A lot of rain fell, though it didn't last very long. Things dried up soon after sunrise this morning.”

The pathologist finished his examination. “I'll make a post-mortem later on,” he said. “For the present my opinion is that death occurred about midnight last night. You can use that approximation to go on with. You don't want me to tell you the cause of death. If that weapon that's sticking into him is long enough, it will have penetrated his heart.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Lapworth replied. “Just have a look at that, will you? Does it suggest anything to you?”

He pointed to the chisel lying on the slab beside the body. The pathologist scanned it for a few seconds. “I find that rather significant. It is just the size and shape of the weapon with which I imagine Ah Lock to have been killed. And, unless I am very much mistaken, it is stained with blood.”

“We'll let you have it later on. Doctor,” said Lapworth. “Then you can decide whether you're right or not. There's nothing more we can do here now. You can get to work on your post-mortem any time after four o'clock this afternoon.”

They left the mortuary once more, and the pathologist took his leave. “I doubt whether I shall have time to perform the post-mortem to-day,” he said. “To-morrow morning will be time enough. Good morning, gentlemen. If you find any more dead Chinese lying about, you'll let me know, I daresay.”

Lapworth, Arnold and Merrion returned to the Inspector's room, where Lapworth laid out on the table all the things that had been found in the dead man's pockets, with the exception of the chisel. “I've got a pretty shrewd idea what that key belongs to,” he said. He opened the cupboard in which the metal case had been put and detached the padlock from it. He tried the key in this and found that it fitted perfectly. “There you are,” he went on. “Now we know who opened Ah Lock's case after he had been murdered.”

Arnold laughed. “We don't, you know. Are you going to get Chu Shek along to identify the chap?”

“Later,” Lapworth replied. “I don't want anyone to go near that hilt till your man has seen it. The opium pipe tells its own tale. As for the scribbling on the blue paper, we can't form any opinion upon that until Mr. Ling Tam has seen it.”

“I shall take it to him myself,” said Arnold. “We can't do much more till Diss turns up. I'm wanting my lunch. Are you coming along, Merrion?”

They went to the Golden Fleece. “Just in time for a glass of beer before lunch,” said Arnold. “What's your opinion of this new development?”

Merrion shook his head. “I want to hear a lot more before I form an opinion. May I ask if you and Lapworth went to Bacton Wood to look for this man?”

“Hardly that,” Arnold replied.” Lapworth went there in consequence of a complaint by the farmer who owns the wood that his fence had been broken down. I went with him because I had nothing better to do. Our inquisitiveness led us into the clearing, and there we found him. Curiously enough in the very spot where Ah Lock's body was found. Lapworth took some photographs, and no doubt he'll show them to you.”

“It's a queer business,” said Merrion. “But then, as you're beginning to discover, the Chinese are queer. You've got something to start upon, and that's the time of death. The pathologist said about midnight. And there's something else that confirms that opinion.”

“What's that?” Arnold asked.

“The dried mud on the dead man's shoes,” Merrion replied. “I'm satisfied that it is dried mud, and not merely dust. I'm presuming that he walked to the wood. You've probably noticed a patch in the lane which we have always seen covered with dust. The sergeant tells me that not long before midnight there was a shower, heavy while it lasted. This would have turned that patch of dust into mud. And that means that the man must have passed along the lane during or shortly after the shower. He had got the mud on his shoes, and it had dried by the time you found him.”

“There's something in that,” Arnold agreed. “He must have walked, for he would never have got a lift at that time of night. And I don't suppose he hired a taxi.”

“The few pence he had on him doesn't suggest that,” said Merrion. “If he walked, was he alone, or did someone else walk with him?”

“The first thing I looked for was a sign of a struggle,” Arnold replied. “The litter with which the clearing is covered was quite undisturbed. And the man's clothing was not disarrayed in any way.”

“Well, let's go in to lunch,” said Merrion. “I've made up my mind that I shan't go back to London this afternoon, after all.”

CHAPTER XII

MERRION DROVE ARNOLD to the railway station to meet Sergeant Diss. He arrived carrying a large case containing the tools of his trade. At the police station he was introduced to Lapworth. “We want you to help us in a matter of fingerprints, sergeant,” said Lapworth. “Come along to the mortuary, and I'll show you. You'd better come too, both of you.”

The four men went to the mortuary, where Lapworth pointed to the hilt protruding from the dead man's chest. “What do you make of that, sergeant?”

Diss examined it minutely, walking round the slab so as to view the hilt from every side. “Very pretty, sir,” he replied admiringly. “It isn't often that I've seen clearer prints. A very neat job, if I may venture to say so, sir.”

“That's a compliment, sergeant,” said Lapworth. “What are you going to do now?”

Diss had opened his case and taken out his dusting bellows. “Put a little more powder on first, sir,” he replied. “That is, if you've no objection.”

“Carry on, by all means,” Lapworth said. “You know the job better than I do.”

Diss dusted the hilt afresh. Then he took from his case a sheet of prepared paper, which he wrapped tenderly round the hilt. He held it there for a few seconds, then spread it out flat on the slab. A fine layer of powder had adhered to the paper, and on it were the startlingly distinct prints of a man's hand. Diss produced something like a scent spray, and from it squirted a thin mist on to the paper. “That's varnish, sir,” he explained. “It'll set in a couple of minutes, and then there'll be no fear of the powder being blown off. Prints are easier to make out when you've got them on the flat, sir. It's a right hand, with the thumb uppermost on the hilt.”

While the varnish was drying, Lapworth and Arnold examined the print. “That's a jolly good dodge, sergeant,” said Lapworth. “Now I want you to compare this with the prints of the dead man's hands. I took them myself. Here you are.”

But Diss glanced askance at the sheets of paper Lapworth held out to him. “Excuse me, sir,” he replied. “But I'd rather take my own set, if you don't mind.”

Lapworth shrugged his shoulders. “Have it your own way, sergeant.”

Diss set to work, using far more skill and deliberation than Lapworth in his rough-and-ready fashion. After what seemed to his watchers an interminable delay, he produced two sets of perfect prints. “I'll keep one set for our records, sir,” he said.

“Do what you like with them, sergeant,” Lapworth replied, a trifle impatiently. “What I want you to do is to compare them with the print on the hilt.”

Diss took from his case a large magnifying glass. With the aid of this he examined alternately the print he had taken of the dead man's right hand and the impression from the hilt. After another long interval he spoke. “I have no doubt that both prints are from the same hand, sir.”

“Well, that settles it,” said Lapworth. “But you haven't finished yet, sergeant. Have a look at that chisel. Do you think you can find any prints on it?”

Diss surveyed the chisel doubtfully. “It hasn't got anything like so good a surface as the hilt, sir. But I'll do my best.” He powdered the chisel, being careful to avoid the discoloured portion. Then he examined the result through his magnifying glass. “There are prints, sir, but they're very faint. I'll try taking them off.”

He took another sheet of prepared paper, wrapped it round the chisel and then spread it out. To the inexperienced eye the prints upon it were barely visible. But to Diss they told their story. “The two first fingers and thumb of a left hand, sir.” He compared the paper with the print he had taken of the dead man's left hand. “The prints on the chisel are none too easy to make out, sir. A lot of the detail is wanting. I'm certain myself that the prints are from the same hand. But I wouldn't swear to it in the witness box.”

“I don't expect we shall ask you to, sergeant,” Lapworth replied. “You can pack up your box of tricks. We'll give you a cup of tea and then run you back to the railway station. There's a train to London at half-past four.”

Arnold and Merrion accompanied Lapworth back to his room at the police station. “Now I think the time has come for us to have a chat with Chu Shek,” he said. “As for your Sergeant Diss, Mr. Arnold, the man's an artist. His whole mind seems to be concentrated upon finger prints. Does he dream about them?”

Arnold laughed. “If he doesn't, he works at them all day. I don't doubt he grudges the time spent in the train. He really is a wonder. I've never known him slip up over an identification.”

“He's earned his cup of tea, anyhow,” said Lapworth. “The car can take him to the station, then go on to Rupert Terrace and fetch Chu Shek.” He gave the necessary orders, then went on. “It's a case of suicide, right enough. The prints on the hilt of the dagger prove that. And in spite of the sergeant's cautiousness, I'm quite satisfied that the prints on the chisel are his too.”

“So am I,” Arnold replied. “Diss wouldn't have said as much as he did if he hadn't been quite certain of it. If he hammered the chisel into Ah Lock's head, he would have held it in his left hand and the hammer in his right. What I can't understand is how Koo Yang came by the hammer. There's one for you, Merrion.”

“It's a fairly easy one,” said Merrion. “You've no proof that the hammer found at 15, Swanton Street is the one used by Ah Lock's murderer.”

“That's true enough,” Lapworth agreed. “It probably answers your riddle, Mr. Arnold. We don't know what became of the other hammer. It isn't very likely now that Koo Yang will ever be charged with the murder.”

They were still discussing the matter when the arrival of Chu Shek was announced. Lapworth gave orders that he was to be shown in, and he duly appeared, escorted by a constable. “We've sent for you again, you see,” said Lapworth. “Sit down over there. We've got some questions to ask you.”

Chu Shek obeyed. He displayed an ingratiating smile, and showed no signs of nervousness. “Now then, to begin with,” said Lapworth, “are any more of your lodgers missing?”

Chu Shek's reply was unhesitating. “That so. Lo Fat. He not happy since Koo Yang gone. He lonely in loom by self. No see him since yes'day mo'ning. He have his lice, then go loom. I lookee loom this mo'ning, he no there.”

“Did he seem depressed when you last saw him?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek tapped his head significantly. “He sick in head allee week. He say he see devils. He lonely no Koo Yang.”

“Did you see him go out yesterday?” Lapworth asked.

“No see him at all,” Chu Shek replied. “Me sleepee aft'noon, all same Sunday. Evening, Han Sung and Tsan Chin they play music in kitchen. Just us tlee. Wife she go out.”

Merrion, listening, could hardly blame her. He could imagine the sort of music Chu Shek's lodgers played.

“Where did your wife go to?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek's gesture indicated ignorance. “No can say. She go out Sunday evenings. Shop shut. Plaps she go see Mrs. Din Gow. She no tell.”

“You're sure you didn't go to Lo Fat's room until this morning?” Lapworth asked.

“I no go till then,” Chu Shek replied. “Why go? Lo Fat he no want see me. He want see Koo Yang.”

“Instead of which he saw devils,” Lapworth remarked. He picked up the opium pipe and held it up before Chu Shek's eyes. “Does this belong to Lo Fat?”

Chu Shek looked at it with a shocked expression. “No smokee pipe in my house. Lodger do that, he go. That pipe he belong Lo Fat?”

“That's just what I'm asking you,” Lapworth said. “Does it or doesn't it?”

Chu Shek shook his head. “I no see Lo Fat with pipe. But when I go his loom this mo'ning, I wonder.”

“What made you wonder?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek sniffed, loudly and expressively. “I t'ink I smell.”

“How do you know what opium smoke smells like?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek looked somewhat taken aback. “Long ago in Canton I smell it.”

“I'll bet you've smelt it since then,” Lapworth remarked. “We'll take him to the mortuary, Mr. Arnold, and I'd like you to come too, Mr. Merrion.”

The four of them walked to the mortuary and went in. Lapworth pointed silently to the body on the slab. But no question was necessary. “That Lo Fat!”Chu Shek exclaimed without hesitation.

“You're quite sure of that?” Lapworth asked.

“Velly sure,” Chu Shek replied. “That Lo Fat's face And his clo'es. He wear them yest-day mo'ning.”

“Look closely,” said Lapworth. “That's a dagger sticking into him. Have you ever seen it before?”

Chu Shek shook his head. “That no dagger. That Chinese knife. It belong Ah Lock. He use it for cooking.”

“How the dickens did he cook with a knife?” Lapworth asked.

Chu Shek endeavoured to explain in elaborate pantomime. With his right hand he picked up imaginary fragments of meat, making as though to impale them on the extended forefinger of his left hand. “So. Piecee meat, fat. Then piecee meat, lean. When all on knife, hold him over gas stove. He soon cook. Velly good.”

“What we call a kebab,” Merrion remarked. “Only we use a skewer instead of a knife.”

“You are quite sure this knife was Ah Lock's?” Lapworth asked.

“You lookee see,” Chu Shek replied. “You see his m'ak on end of handle.”

Both Lapworth and Arnold had been so occupied by the fingerprints that they had not examined the hilt itself very closely. Now Lapworth did so. “He's right,” he said. “There's a mark cut on the end of it. And it's just like the mark in Ah Lock's Savings Bank book.” He turned again to Chu Shek. “Where did Ah Lock keep this knife?”

“No can say,” Chu Shek replied. “Not in kitchen. Plaps in case in his loom.” He shook his head as he gazed mournfully at the body. “Lo Fat, he miss Koo Yang and he see devils. I no sup'ised he dead.”

“He's dead, all right,” said Lapworth. “You'll have to attend another inquest and give evidence of identification. You'll be told about that later on. We shan't want you any more just now.”

Leaving Chu Shek to make his own way back to Rupert Terrace, the other three returned to the Inspector's room. “The chap must have gone off his head,” Lapworth remarked. “He seems to have told Chu Shek that he was seeing devils. What did he mean by that, I wonder?”

“Perhaps I can explain,” Merrion replied. “The Chinese do see devils. It's imagination, of course, but it's none the less vivid to them. And sometimes the vision sends them stark crazy. They go berserk, as the old Norsemen used to. Everyone in the neighbourhood makes for a place of safety. But this doesn't seem to have been the case with Lo Fat. The Chinese are apt to use the word devil for what we should call a ghost.”

“That's it!” Lapworth exclaimed. “One can imagine a murderer being haunted by the ghost of his victim. It wasn't devils or missing Koo Yang that drove the chap to it. It was the ghost of Ah Lock.”

“You're probably right,” Arnold agreed. “He brooded over the murder till he couldn't stand it any longer. His fingerprints on the chisel prove that he was the actual murderer. I think we can picture now what happened that Saturday afternoon. Lo Fat and Ah Lock went to Bacton wood, probably together. Lo Fat had the chisel and a hammer in his pockets. When they got there, Lo Fat attacked Ah Lock. He stunned him with the hammer, drove the chisel twice into his head, and finally jumped on him. Having thus disposed of him, he searched his pockets and took the key. He then covered the body with branches and walked back to Rupert Terrace. With the key he opened the metal case, took out what he found in it, and filled it up again with the rubbish we found. How about that, Merrion?”

“I'm wondering about the Savings Bank book,” Merrion replied.

“I was coming to that,” said Arnold. “We've been told that Ah Lock always carried it about with him. But who told us? Chu Shek, whose word I don't by any means take for granted. Besides, that was only a guess on his part. I believe that Ah Lock didn't carry the book about with him, but kept it in his metal case. That was where Lo Fat found it.”

“It sounds more likely,” Lapworth remarked. “But why did he entrust it to Koo Yang?”

“Koo Yang's story may after all be true.” Arnold replied. “We know from Mrs. Din Gow that Ah Lock was after the green-grocery business, and I think we can accept her as an impartial witness. Before Ah Lock was murdered, he may have entrusted Koo Yang with the book. But I prefer my own idea, that Lo Fat found it when he opened the case.”

“You ask why he entrusted it to Koo Yang. Since Ah Lock made a deposit regularly every month, the Post Office people here must have been fairly familiar with him. So much so, that it wouldn't be safe for any of the others to try to impersonate him. So somebody had to take the. book to London. And if that somebody blundered, as Koo Yang apparently did, his possession of Ah Lock's book would make him strongly suspect of murder. Lo Fat realised this, and persuaded Koo Yang to take the book to London and draw the money.”

“That seems not unlikely,” said Lapworth. “You believe then that Ah Lock was murdered for the sake of the book?”

Arnold glanced at Merrion. “In spite of the rather far-fetched doubts of my friend here, I have always believed it. And that was an additional reason why Lo Fat should have brooded over the murder. He had killed a man, and gained nothing by it. He knew that he could never get hold of the money. It must have filtered through to him, via Chu Shek, that the police were in possession of the book. So, in desperation, he took his own life.”

I think we can form a pretty good idea of what happened yesterday. Lo Fat was working himself up to the point. After he had had his midday meal, he shut himself up in his room. As Chu Shek pointed out, he had had it to himself since Koo Yang's departure. He had got hold of some opium, I daresay Say Pant could tell us something about that. He smoked a pipe or two, then dreamed the proverbial pipe dreams. But they weren't pleasant ones. He saw Ah Lock, brandishing the book and threatening him.”

It was more than he could stand. He had Ah Lock's knife, which would do the job quickly and effectively. When he had sufficiently recovered from the effects of the opium, he tucked the knife under his coat and wandered out of the house. The concert in the kitchen would have prevented the others hearing him.”

“Why did he go out?” Lapworth asked. “He could have killed himself just as easily in his room.”

Arnold shrugged his shoulders. “We know that he did go out. Why, it isn't easy to say. Perhaps the ghost of Ah Lock beckoned him on to the scene of the murder. Lo Fat killed himself on exactly the spot where Ah Lock had been murdered. He may have had some dim conception of what we call poetic justice.”

“And when he wandered out, he took the chisel with him,” Merrion remarked. “It was very considerate of him to wrap it up in paper.”

“Now what are you getting at?” Arnold demanded.

“Just this,” Merrion replied. “If he had kept it loose in his pocket, all trace of his fingerprints would have been rubbed off long ago.”

Arnold laughed scornfully. “You mean that he wrapped it up so that the prints should be found on it? Your imagination is leading you to talk nonsense. I can give you a far more practical reason why he wrapped it up. If he had carried it loose, the point would have cut through the lining of the pocket, and the chisel would have fallen out.”

“What if it had?” Merrion asked. “Was Lo Fat so desperately anxious to keep it? Most murderers dispose of their weapons at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“You've said yourself, more than once, that the Chinese do unaccountable things,” Arnold replied. “Anyhow, we know he did keep it. And he wrapped it up so that he shouldn't lose it.”

“Very well,” said Merrion. “You believe that Lo Fat murdered Ah Lock single-handed?”

“I certainly don't believe in your imaginary secret society, and all that,” Arnold replied. “And I don't see why we need assume that Lo Fat had any accomplices. Before the fact, that is. If my theory as to the book is right, Koo Yang became to some extent involved after the fact. I suppose Lo Fat must have told him what he had done. I don't see how else he was to account for having the book.”

“When did Lo Fat hand the book over to Koo Yang?” Merrion asked.

“Why, when he got back to Rupert Terrace after the crime,” Arnold replied.

“That involves the scrapping of the stories, told with such surprising agreement in detail by Koo Yang and Say Pant. If those stories aren't true, who inspired them? However, you can ponder over that at your leisure. Tell us this. How did Lo Fat persuade Ah Lock to go with him to Bacton Wood?”

“I don't know,” Arnold replied irritably. “And I can't see that it matters. Your imagination is arguing against the facts. We know that they both did go there. Anyhow, we're wasting time. I have an idea that the scrawl on the slip of blue paper is of importance. Otherwise, why did Lo Fat take it with him when he set out on his last journey? I'd like to hear Mr. Ling Tam's opinion of it before the inquest. I propose to go up to London now, and show it to him as soon as I can get hold of him.”

They talked for a little while longer, until it was time for Arnold to catch his train. Lapworth ordered the police car to drive him to the railway station. “You're going to stay here, Mr. Merrion?” he asked.

“Yes, for the present,” Merrion replied. “I confess to being vastly interested in this new development.”

“It'll give your imagination something to feed upon.” said Arnold acidly. “Well, I'll get on. Good-bye to you both. I'll get back as soon as I can.”

When Arnold had gone, Lapworth smiled. “It's perfectly clear to me that you don't agree with Mr Arnold's theories. Would you care to tell my why, Mr Merrion?”

“I should find it very difficult to explain that to your satisfaction,” Merrion replied. “Don't for a moment suppose that I disbelieve that Lo Fat took his own life. But I don't think it happened quite in the way that Arnold suggested. It may be that he was driven to the act by outside influences.”

“And just what might you mean by that?” Lapworth asked.

“It sounds incredible, I know,” Merrion replied. “We can't follow with any accuracy the workings of the Chinese mind. Undoubtedly something was worrying Lo Fat. He described it as being pestered by devils, which was his way of saying that he was suffering from a guilty conscience.”

“And it was this guilty conscience which drove him to suicide?” Lapworth asked.

“Not directly,” Merrion replied. “I am very strongly of the opinion that Lo Fat was concerned in the murder, but that he was not the only one concerned. I won't go into that at length, but I'll give one indication. Those alibis that came so pat from all Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers. I said at the time that I believed they were prepared in advance. But why prepare them, if no alibis were needed?”

“I think I follow what you mean,” said Lapworth. “All four of the lodgers were implicated?”

“Exactly,” Merrion replied. “To the extent that they were equally guilty. Now, consider this, if Lo Fat murdered Ah Lock, he wasn't on the dunes watching the scramble with Koo Yang. His alibi breaks down. Why shouldn't the alibis of the others be equally vulnerable? For my part, I feel that no reliance can be placed on them.”

“Lo Fat was possibly the weakest of the lot. The crime preyed on his mind. It wasn't only that he had a guilty conscience. The devil of another terror danced around him. The police were distressingly inquisitive. It might be that they would discover the true facts. And beyond that possibility Lo Fat saw looming the gallows. To be hanged, even in company with his fellows, would be loss of face indeed.”

“And yesterday his terror of being found out increased. I have no doubt that the fact that a police car had been standing outside Say Pant's house very soon became known at 5, Rupert Terrace. This could only mean that Say Pant had been interrogated. What if he had failed to stick to the story with which he had been primed? What if he had said that he hadn't gone to the scramble, and had not met Koo Yang and his companion? That question must have shaken Lo Fat to the core. How was he to find a means of escape from his difficulties?”

“How far he was familiar with the processes of English law we can't attempt to guess. His conception of justice, as administered in this country, was probably very vague. But he possibly had some idea that if he went to the police and told them the whole story, it would work out to his advantage. He might escape with a term of imprisonment.”

“You mean that he meant to turn Queen's evidence?” Lapworth asked.

“I don't say that he actually meant it,” Merrion replied. “Or, for that matter that his mind reasoned as clearly as I have expressed it. But he may have felt the urge to save himself in some such way.”

“So far as we are concerned, the Chinese are inscrutable. It is the most difficult thing in the world for us to perceive what is passing through their minds. But to their compatriots it is absurdly easy. Lo Fat may have said something which showed which way his thoughts were inclining. In any case, it is not improbable that the others implicated in the crime got some inkling.”

“A gang of English crooks, suspecting that one of their number was about to betray them, would have made no bones about it. They would merely have bumped him off at the first opportunity. But the Chinese are more subtle than that. In this case they worked upon Lo Fat's feelings until they drove him to take his own life.”

“How could they have done that?” Lapworth asked.

“There are many ways open to them,” Merrion replied. “I can only give you an example. I must remind you that the Chinese are highly superstitious. The coolie class still let off fire crackers to scare away the devils. It must have been obvious to his companions that Lo Fat was suffering persecutions from the devils. That you remember is the way he expressed it. Perhaps a wise man, an exorcist, as we might call him, offered to come to his assistance. This wise man being, of course, in the know regarding the murder of Ah Lock.”

“One minute, Mr. Merrion,” said Lapworth. “How many people do you suppose were in the know?”

Merrion smiled. “Quite a considerable number. I don't mean that they all knew in advance that Ah Lock was to be murdered. But as soon as his death became known, they understood who had killed him and why. But to return to my hypothetical wise man. Lo Fat confided his troubles in him. The wise man consulted the stars and performed his incantations. Finally, with all the authority of an inspired sage, he delivered his judgement.”

Merrion paused to light a cigarette. “All this seems to us the furthest limit to which nonsense could go,” he went on. “But to a Chinese it would seem perfectly natural. And I am not pretending that it was what actually happened. The judgement of the wise man was this. The devils were determined not to relax their hold on Lo Fat in this world or the next. Whatever he might do, they would pursue him throughout all eternity. There was only one way by which he could placate them. That was to offer himself as a sacrifice to the spirit of Ah Lock. He must stab himself with Ah Lock's knife, on the very spot where Ah Lock had been murdered.”

“Do you really mean that such things are possible?” Lapworth asked.

“They are not only possible, but in the remoter parts of China they frequently happen,” Merrion replied. “As any Chinese coolie would, Lo Fat accepted the judgement. I don't doubt that his companions knew of it, and applauded his resolution. They supplied him with opium, and used all their powers of suggestion while he was under the influence of the drug. Finally, he was given the chisel. Perhaps one of the conditions of the judgement was that when he killed himself, he should have about him the weapon with which Ah Lock had been murdered.”

“You mean that it hadn't been in Lo Fat's possession all the time?” Lapworth asked.

“I very much doubt it,” Merrion replied. “I don't profess to be an expert in fingerprints. But, as Diss remarked, the surface of the chisel was not ideal for recording prints. I can't help feeling that if it had been carried, even though wrapped in paper, in Lo Fat's pocket for a week all traces of prints upon it would have been obliterated.”

“Then where was it during that week?” Lapworth asked.

Merrion shook his head. “That I am not prepared to guess. What I think may have happened is this. Before he set out for Bacton Wood, Lo Fat was offered the chisel, in such a way that he must take it with his left hand. It was then taken from him again, wrapped in paper and put in his pocket. I'm supposing that Lo Fat, half-bemused by the fumes of opium, hardly knew what he was doing or what was being done to him.”

Lapworth frowned. “All this is very disturbing, Mr. Merrion. If you are right, it doesn't follow that it was Lo Fat who hammered the chisel into Ah Lock's head.”

“It doesn't,” Merrion agreed. “Though I don't think there can be any doubt that he was implicated in the murder. But just consider how advantageous his suicide was to the rest of the gang. All fear of Lo Fat betraying them was removed. The evidence of the chisel, and to a lesser extent of the key of the metal case, proved that he had been the murderer. That being so, no further investigation of the case by the police would be necessary.”

Again Merrion paused, this time to smile wryly. “There, you see, I've let my imagination run away with me. I'm perfectly well aware that there is no more proof of what I have said than there is of Arnold's theory. But I cannot help feeling that, though technically Lo Fat committed suicide, morally he was murdered.”

CHAPTER XIII

As SOON AS Arnold reached London, he rang up Mr. Ling Tam's number and found him at home. On hearing his caller's name, his voice became cordial. “This is a pleasure, Mr. Arnold. I hope you have rung me up to tell me that you will be free to lunch with me in the very near future?”

“It's not quite that, Mr. Ling Tam,” Arnold replied. “The fact is that I want to trespass on your good nature once more. I have something upon which I am very anxious to obtain your opinion. At what time to-morrow would it be convenient for me to come and see you?”

“To-morrow?” Ling Tam said. “I have engagements covering most of the day. Wait a minute, though. I have an appointment with a Government official in Whitehall at eleven o'clock. I don't expect to be engaged with him for more than twenty minutes at the most. I could call at Scotland Yard at half-past. How would that suit you?”

“Excellently,” Arnold replied. “It is very good of you to put yourself out, Mr. Ling Tam. I shall be delighted to see you at half-past eleven to-morrow morning.”

During Arnold's absence at Cranport, a quantity of paper work had piled up for him. All of it dealt with comparatively minor matters, but all the same dealing with it required time. Arnold was working in his room at Scotland Yard on Tuesday morning when, sharp at half-past eleven, Mr. Ling Tam was announced.

“I gave orders that you were to be brought up as soon as you came,” said Arnold as they shook hands. “I won't keep you longer than I can possibly help. Do sit down and I'll show you what I've got.”

He produced from his notebook the strip of blue paper and laid it down before Mr. Ling Tam. “You see those queer scrawls. Can you tell me if they are Chinese writing?”

Ling Tam studied the paper for some while before he spoke. “That is intended to be Chinese writing, but it is extraordinarily difficult to make out. Whoever wrote it was utterly ignorant of calligraphy. It is as though an English farm labourer, who had never had occasion to use a pen since he left school, had tried to write a letter in English.”

“Can you understand what it means?” Arnold asked.

“Only with the greatest difficulty,” Ling Tam replied. “In any case, Chinese cannot be written legibly with a pencil. It requires brush and ink. Anyway, the writer seems to have known very few characters, and had to make do with them. I understand that detective officers invariably carry a lens. If you have one, may I borrow it? And a sheet of paper?”

He took the lens Arnold offered him and drew a pencil from his own pocket. He examined each character in turn, and then wrote down something corresponding to it. “What the man actually wrote is almost meaningless,” he said. “I'm trying to discover what he meant to write. One thing is already clear, the name Ah Lock. Under the circumstances, that naturally intrigues me. There is another name, almost equally clear. I make it out to be Lo Fat. Does that convey anything to you?”

“I have come across the name at Cranport,” Arnold replied. “It is that of one of Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers.”

“The two names occur in the first sentence,” said Ling Tam. “They are separated by a word which I am fairly sure is 'end.' 'Lo Fat end Ah Lock.' Can you make any sense of that, Mr. Arnold?”

“We have reason to believe that it was Lo Fat we murdered Ah Lock,” Arnold replied.

“I see,” said Ling Tam quietly. “In that case the word end may have been used in the sense of kill. The man didn't know how to write kill, so he wrote end. I'll have a go at the next sentence.”

He examined the writing through the lens, and jotted down characters. “I think I've got it. 'Lo Fat alone no man by him.' Now, what comes next?”

Another pause before Ling Tam spoke again. 'Lo Fat end Ah Lock with hammer and nail Lo Fat dance.' “Really Mr. Arnold, it looks as though the man had been reading the Book of Judges. Can you make any sense of that?

“I think I can,” Arnold replied. “Ah Lock was killed by a chisel being driven into his head. I daresay 'nail' was the nearest the writer could get to 'chisel.' As for the dancing, Ah Lock's ribs were broken as though they had been stamped upon.”

Ling Tam nodded. “Yes. I remember now that the report of the inquest contained medical evidence to that effect. Then comes ' Devils round Lo Fat.' That phrase doesn't surprise me, for coolies are apt to imagine themselves surrounded by devils. I'm getting used to the man's style, or rather lack of style now, and it comes easier. The next few words seem obscure, but I think I've got them right. ' Devils tell Lo Fat end Ah Lock's knife.' I don't see what that can mean.”

“I can tell you,” Arnold replied. “Lo Fat stabbed himself with Ah Lock's knife. We found it sticking into him, with his fingerprints on it.”

“Now I'm beginning to understand what all this is about,” said Ling Tam. “This is what comes next. 'Devils say Lo Fat go tree where Ah Lock end.' What do you make of that, Mr. Arnold?”

“By tree he meant wood,” Arnold replied. “He was lying on exactly the spot where Ah Lock's body was found.”

“I see,” said Ling Tam. “Now we come to the last bit. 'Lo Fat scratch paper before end. Lo Fat, Lo Fat.' He couldn't have used an apter word than scratch, but of course he meant 'wrote'. Well, that's all. I'll write it down for you, Mr. Arnold.”

He did so, on the sheet of paper Arnold had given him. Strung together the words ran thus. “Lo Fat end Ah Lock. Lo Fat alone no man by him. Lo Fat end Ah Lock with hammer and nail, Lo Fat dance. Devils round Lo Fat. Devils tell Lo Fat end Ah Lock's knife. Devils say Lo Fat go tree where Ah Lock end. Lo Fat scratch paper before end. Lo Fat, Lo Fat.”

“I've ventured to punctuate it, though the writer didn't,” Ling Tam said as he handed the paper to Arnold. “It seems to amount to a confession by Lo Fat that he killed Ah Lock and meant to kill himself. He put his name twice at the end of it to emphasise his signature.”

“I'm more than grateful to you, Mr. Ling Tam,” Arnold replied. “The coroner will want to see the scrawls on the blue paper, and your translation of them.”

Ling Tam shook his head. “If I were you, Mr. Arnold, I shouldn't rest satisfied with my translation alone. Many of the characters are so ill-formed that I have had to guess what they were intended to represent, and my guesses may have been wrong. I think you should get another translation, and then compare the two.”

“I don't suppose that anyone is likely to do better than you have,” Arnold replied. “And I don't know where to look for a second translator.”

“I may be able to help you there,” said Ling Tam. “Living in London now is a man who has spent the greater part of his life as professor of English in a Chinese university. He is now engaged in translating Chinese manuscripts into English. His name is Dr. Cromer, and he lives somewhere near the British Museum. I can't tell you his address, but no doubt you will be able to find it easily enough. If you were to apply to him, I am sure he would help you.”

“That's very kind of you,” Arnold replied. “I shall certainly take your advice. Now, if you can spare a few more minutes, I should like to tell you about this man Lo Fat.”

“I shall be most interested to listen,” Ling Tam said. “In my capacity as secretary of the Society. We may be able to help some of those concerned.”

Arnold told him briefly what he had learnt of Lo Fat. When he had finished, Ling Tam nodded. “His confession makes it fairly obvious that Lo Fat murdered Ah Lock. Why, one can only guess. There may have been some feud between the two men, the origin of which you are not likely to discover now that both of them are dead. Lo Fat stresses the fact that he had no accomplices. That at least is what I suppose the words 'Lo Fat alone no man by him' to mean.”

“What followed is fully in accordance with Chinese psychology. 'Devils round Lo Fat.' The crime weighed on his conscience. It may not have been what we should call remorse. It is more likely that Lo Fat was terrified by the idea that he had offended the spirits of Ah Lock's ancestors. When a Chinese gets that sort of scare, there's no telling what he may do. Lo Fat may have come to the conclusion that the only thing to do was to take his own life. The fanciful touches, to kill himself with Ah Lock's knife on the spot where he had murdered the owner, are characteristic. Now, Mr. Arnold, if you will excuse me. I have an appointment at half-past twelve, and I've only just time to make it. Don't hesitate to let me know if I can help you any further.”

When Mr. Ling Tam had gone, Arnold looked up Dr. Cromer in the telephone directory. He found his number and address and rang him up. Dr. Cromer was at home and answered him. Arnold explained who he was, and briefly what he wanted. Dr. Cromer replied that he would be pleased to see him if he would come to his flat at half-past two that afternoon.

Arnold kept the appointment. The address was just off Gower Street, a house which had been converted into flats. Dr. Cromer's was on the ground floor, and Arnold rang the bell. The door was opened by an elderly man with the face of a scholar and bowed shoulders. “Mr. Arnold?” he asked. “I am happy to meet you. Will you please come in? My wife is out, so we have the flat to ourselves.”

Dr. Cromer led Arnold into what was obviously his study, for it was furnished with a big desk and row upon row of bookshelves. “I think you told me that you wished me to read some Chinese script for you,” he said when they had both sat down. “I spent thirty years in Peking, teaching English, and in my leisure time I endeavoured to master Mandarin which, as you are doubtless aware, is the classical language of China.”

It was evident to Arnold that Dr. Cromer was one of those people who like to talk about themselves. He decided to encourage him. “And you succeeded in learning the language. Doctor?” he asked.

“I pride myself that I did,” Dr. Cromer replied. “That is, as well as any foreigner can hope to do. The difficulty lies in learning to read it, owing to the number of characters employed. Only the most profound Chinese scholars have a knowledge of them all. Is your Chinese script the work of an expert calligraphist?”

“Very far from it, I should think,” said Arnold. He produced the blue paper and laid it on the desk. Dr. Cromer put on his spectacles and looked at it. As he did so his expression registered profound disgust. “But this is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. “No educated man would attempt to write Chinese in pencil. And, on first inspection, the characters he has attempted are quite meaningless. However, I will endeavour to decipher them.”

He set to work with magnifying glass and fountain pen, and after a considerable time produced a translation which he handed to Arnold. Except for a word of no importance here and there, it corresponded very closely to Mr. Ling Tam's. “If you can make head or tail of that, Mr. Arnold, you have the advantage of me,” said Dr. Cromer.

“I can, because I know the circumstances under which it was written,” Arnold replied. “In your opinion, it is the work of an uneducated Chinese?”

“So uneducated that he has barely a smattering of his own language,” said Dr. Cromer. “I brought back from China a number of curious manuscripts, which I am endeavouring to render into what I trust the critics will consider passable English. Some of these are chronicles recorded by a succession of village scribes, whose standard of education was by no means high. But I have never seen anything like this. It is so defective that I will not vouch for the accuracy of my translation.”

“I have reason to believe that it is accurate enough, Doctor,” Arnold replied.

“I am very glad to hear that,” said Dr. Cromer. “It has taken some ingenuity to discover the meaning of those disgusting scrawls. I cannot let you go away with such an idea of Chinese writing. Look at this.”

He opened a drawer of his desk and produced a roll of parchment, which he handed to Arnold. “This, of course, was written with brush and ink. It is a petition from some Court official to an Emperor of the Ming dynasty. The opening words are ' Divine Son of the Ruler of the Heavens.' A polite method of address, you will admit. But just look at the neatness and symmetry of the writing. Each character is drawn with the most scrupulous accuracy. A work of infinite patience, executed by an artist.”

Even to Arnold, who hadn't the slightest idea which way up to hold the parchment, the beauty of the writing on it was apparent. So utterly different from the scrawls on the blue paper that it was difficult to believe both were in the same language. “It's magnificent,” he said, as he handed back the parchment.

“I could show you even better examples,” Dr. Cromer replied. “But, unfortunately, the art of calligraphy is dying out. By the way, may I ask who recommended you to apply to me for a translation?”

“A Chinese gentleman, whose acquaintance I have recently made,” Arnold replied. “His name is Ling Tam.”

Dr. Cromer frowned thoughtfully. “The name is familiar to me, but I cannot for the moment recall the man to whom it belongs.”

“He is the secretary of some society catering for the needs of Chinese immigrants,” Arnold replied.

“Ah, yes, of course!”Dr. Cromer exclaimed. “My memory, I fear, is not so retentive as it was. I cannot recall that I have ever met Mr. Ling Tam. But I have many Chinese friends in London, with whom I keep in constant touch. They have frequently spoken to me of the Society, and of its extremely energetic secretary, Mr. Ling Tam.”

“Do you know anything of the activities of the Society?” Arnold asked.

“Only what I have heard,” Dr. Cromer replied. “The Society's activities, I understand, are mainly philanthropic. It does its best to help, financially and otherwise, the poorer Chinese in this country. As the advertisements say, it is supported entirely by voluntary contributions. Not that this particular Society has need to advertise. It receives adequate support from the richer Chinese settled here.”

“There is, I suppose, nothing in any way secret about it?” Arnold asked.

Dr. Cromer smiled tolerantly. “Everything Chinese is surrounded by a pretended secrecy. If a dozen Chinese band together to form a dining club, they all swear solemn oaths not to divulge their association. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a Chinese characteristic. And they give their association a high-sounding title. The League of Fraternal Happiness, or something like that. I don't suppose there is anything really secret about Mr. Ling Tam's Society, except that I don't suppose it publishes a balance sheet. That, and the fact that the Chinese always refer to it under a different name.”

“What do they call it?” Arnold asked.

“The Chinese love to call things by flowery names,” Dr. Cromer replied. “Even such a prosaic thing as a philanthropical Society. They always speak of it among themselves as the Society of the Yellow Rose. And your friend Mr. Ling Tam carries out the idea. In his official capacity, he labours under the appellation of Mr. Yellow Rose.”

“Does he?” Arnold exclaimed. “Then that explains it.”

“May I be inquisitive enough to ask what it explains?” said Dr. Cromer.

“The fact that on one occasion when I met Mr. Ling Tam, he was wearing a yellow rosebud in his buttonhole.” Arnold replied.

Dr. Cromer nodded. “Ah yes. A flower of some significance, no doubt. His badge of office, as one might say. Much as a mayor wears a chain, to distinguish him from his fellow-mortals. The yellow rosebud would convey to anyone aware of the existence of the Society who Mr. Ling Tam was.”

“In the eyes of the Chinese in this country he would be a person of some importance?” Arnold asked.

“I don't know that importance is quite the right word,” Dr. Cromer replied. “I would rather say influence. If any of them were in trouble, it is to the Society that they would apply. I imagine that it must have correspondents, as we should call them, in most of the Chinese communities. Men rather better educated than the writer of the scrawl you have shown me, I should hope.”

“Are the objects of the Society purely philanthropic?” Arnold asked.

“I imagine that it is comparable to one of old-established Friendly Societies,” Dr. Cromer replied. “No doubt, like them, it has a perfectly harmless secret ritual. As I have already told you, the Chinese delight in such things. Also I have reason to believe that it has a definite political bias.”

“You mean that its members dabble in party politics?” Arnold asked.

Dr. Cromer chuckled. “Not in British politics. They, I imagine, are too childish even for the Chinese mind. No, the political bias I mentioned is confined to the society's countrymen. It is nationalist in outlook, though I don't suppose for a minute that it engages in active propaganda. But if a professed Chinese Communist applied to the Society for aid, his appeal would not be likely to receive favourable consideration.”

“Do the Chinese in this country take their own politics very seriously?” Arnold asked.

“That's very hard for an Englishman to say,” Dr. Cromer replied. “I don't suppose they worry much about the conflict between Nationalist and Communist while they are here. But that's only my personal opinion. Mr. Ling Tam is far more competent to answer the question than I am. But you must remember that many of the Chinese here hope to return to China when they have saved up enough money. And if their homes happened to be in Red China they would have to have a clean sheet. If there was any record of their holding Nationalist views, they wouldn't be allowed to land. Or, if they were, it would only be to be sentenced to forced labour.”

Arnold rose from his chair. “Well, Doctor, I mustn't keep you from your work any longer. I am most grateful for the translation, and I have thoroughly enjoyed listening to what you have been good enough to tell me.”

“And I too have enjoyed your visit, Mr. Arnold,” Dr. Cromer replied. “If ever you should again be confronted with a Chinese puzzle, I hope you will apply to me. I shall be delighted to help you to the best of my ability.”

Arnold left the flat and returned to Scotland Yard. There he laid the two translations side by side on his desk. In sense there was no material difference between them. In fact, Dr. Cromer's version made the sense even clearer. For instance, Mr. Ling Tam had ' Lo Fat alone no man by him.' Dr. Cromer had ' Lo Fat was alone, he had no one with him.' Quite obviously this was, so to speak, Lo Fat's last will and testament. The devils which beset him had driven him to take his own life. It was probably not remorse, but surrender to what he considered to be the inevitable. The important point was that he confessed to the single-handed murder of Ah Lock.

Merrion's question recurred to Arnold. How had Koo Yang got hold of the Savings Bank book? Arnold was not prepared to accept Koo Yang's statement that Ah Lock had given it to him. It seemed far more likely that the only thing Lo Fat had found in Ah Lock's pockets had been the key of the metal case. He had returned with it from Bacton Wood, and opened the case. In it he had found the book, which for some reason he had entrusted to Koo Yang. He had also found the knife, which he had appropriated. Not surely at that early stage as a weapon with which to commit suicide. But merely because he coveted it. Had he found anything else in the case and, if so, what had he done with it?

That question was at the moment unanswerable, and Arnold turned to another. In spite of Merrion's imaginative theories, Arnold had always believed that the crime was the act of a single person. Lo Fat's confession confirmed this. Was Lo Fat's alibi the only one that had been false?

Arnold consulted his notebook. As he did so, he realised that Lo Fat's alibi had been the weakest of all, in that it depended upon the testimony of only one witness, Koo Yang. Lo Fat had said that he had gone to the scramble with Koo Yang. Koo Yang had said the same thing. And that was all. Say Pant had said that he had seen Koo Yang at the scramble with another man. But he did not know that man, and could not tell who he was.

It seemed to Arnold that what had actually happened was something like this. Koo Yang and Lo Fat had set out together, ostensibly for the dunes. But before they got there, they had separated. Koo Yang had gone on to the dunes, where he had joined an acquaintance of his who happened to be also there. This was the man Say Pant had seen him with.

Meanwhile Lo Fat had met Ah Lock at some pre-arranged spot. They had gone to Bacton Wood together, for what alleged purpose hardly mattered. There Lo Fat had struck his companion with a hammer. Ah Lock had; fallen unconscious to the ground, and Lo Fat had finished him off with the hammer and chisel, then stamped on his body. He had stated this as clearly as he knew how in his confession. “Lo Fat end Ah Lock with hammer and nail. Lo Fat dance.”

It occurred to Arnold that the hammer used might well be the one found at 15, Swanton Street. According to his theory, Lo Fat had given Koo Yang the Savings Bank book, so why not the hammer as well? He might have done so to rid himself of incriminating evidence. To what extent had Koo Yang a guilty knowledge of the crime?

Koo Yang and Lo Fat were related in some way, and had shared the same room. They probably shared confidences between them which they did not impart to the other lodgers. It was possible, though Arnold did not think it probable, that Koo Yang knew in advance of Lo Fat's intention. When did he learn that Lo Fat had actually committed the crime?

This question led to some intriguing considerations. When Koo Yang arrived in London, did he know that Ah Lock had been murdered? If he did, would he have ventured to call himself by his name? It must be remembered that Ah Lock's body had not then been found. True, Lo Fat must have asked Koo Yang to support his alibi for Saturday afternoon. But that did not imply an intention to commit murder. Lo Fat might have told him that he was bound on some private and secret affair of his own. Some clandestine tryst with a woman, perhaps. If any questions were asked, Koo Yang was to say that Lo Fat had spent the afternoon with him at the scramble.

This led once more to the book and the hammer. And in that connection a difficulty arose. When could Lo Fat have given them to Koo Yang? According to Koo Yang's statement, which was supported by Say Pant, he had not returned to Rupert Terrace. It seemed highly improbable that Lo Fat would have brought such incriminating evidence to the house in which Say Pant lived. The only alternative seemed to be that Lo Fat and Koo Yang had met on Monday, before the latter's journey to London.

That, Arnold reflected, was quite possible. He was convinced that Koo Yang was lying when he said that he had reached London that day too late to draw the money. In spite of the failure of identification by the Post Office official, who else but Koo Yang could have presented the book? With the usual oriental obliviousness of time, Say Pant had been unable to say when on Monday Koo Yang had left his house. It was almost certain that Koo Yang had caught a morning train, not an afternoon one, as he asserted.

The fact that Lo Fat's alibi was manifestly false did not invalidate the alibis of any of the others. It was ridiculous for Merrion to suppose that all the Chinese concerned had been primed in advance with false statements. That Koo Yang had spent the afternoon at the scramble was confirmed by Say Pant. Pi Wong had seen Han Sung with a companion in the public gardens, and had spoken to him. There was no evidence whatever to contradict Lo Fat's statement that he had murdered Ah Lock single handed.

Arnold finished what work remained for him to do, then caught a train to Cranport. He prided himself that for once his logic had outstripped Merrion's imagination. Lo Fat's confession had shattered all Merrion's high-flown theories.

CHAPTER XIV

ON MONDAY AFTERNOON, after his conversation with Merrion, Lapworth went out. His first call was on the Cranport Postmaster, who was a personal friend of his. He asked him to find out if any of his staff remembered Ah Lock, who had a Savings Bank account. The Postmaster promised to do this.

Lapworth then went on to Rupert Terrace. Chu Shek's shop was open, but not so busy as it had been on Saturday. Lapworth told Chu Shek that he wanted a few words with him and, as before, was taken into the kitchen. He wasted no time in preliminaries. “When did you hear that the police had interviewed Say Pant?” he asked.

Chu Shek's reply was unhesitating. “Yest'day evening.”

“How did you hear it?” Lapworth asked. “Say Pant wife mo'er she tell Mrs. Din Gow,” Chu Shek replied. “Mrs. Din Gow she tell wife. She tell me when she come home.”

“Did you tell Lo Fat?” Lapworth asked. Chu Shek shook his head. “No see Lo Fat in evening.”

“He can't have heard about it in any other way?” Lapworth asked.

“No see how,” Chu Shek replied. “He in loom all aft'noon.”

Lapworth had brought with him the stub of pencil found in Lo Fat's pocket, and the blue paper in which the chisel had been wrapped. He produced the pencil. “Have you ever seen that before?” he asked.

Chu Shek looked at it apathetically. “Yes, that mine.”

“Yours?” Lapworth asked. “How did it come into Lo Fat's possession?”

“I give it him,” Chu Shek replied. “When Lo Fat had lice midday he ask me for pencil and paper. I give him bit of pencil flom shop and empty bag had sugar. He took them up to loom.”

Lapworth produced the blue paper. “Is that part of the bag you gave him?”

Chu Shek nodded. “That look like it.”

“Were you surprised when Lo Fat asked you for pencil and paper?” Lapworth asked. “Did you know he could write?”

“I know he lite little,” Chu Shek replied. “Not velly much. He lite home Kowloon, once year plapse. I help him if he not know sign for what he want say.”

“I'm going up to his room,” said Lapworth. “You needn't come with me. I've been there before, and I know my way.”

Chu Shek unlocked the door between the shop and the passage, and Lapworth went upstairs. Lo Fat's room had about it the faint acrid smell that Lapworth had noticed in Say Pant's room in Winkle Street. On the floor was a metal spirit-lamp, which had evidently burnt itself out. On one of the beds were three strips of blue paper. These were exactly similar to the strip found in Lo Fat's pocket, and to the paper in which the chisel had been wrapped. Lapworth examined the three strips, and on each of them he found pencil marks.

He took the strips and the spirit-lamp and returned to the police station. The metal surface of the spirit-lamp was too rough to make it worth while testing it for fingerprints. Looking at the strips again, he saw that the pencil marks on them were disconnected, and apparently made at random. In shape, they seemed to resemble the scrawls on the strip found in Lo Fat's pocket.

On Tuesday morning, when he had got through his routine work, Lapworth rang up Merrion, asking him if it would be convenient for him to come and see him. Merrion appeared with a minimum of delay and Lapworth told him of his visit to Rupert Terrace on the previous evening.

“It all fits together very well,” he said. “We have it, from Chu Shek that Lo Fat could write Chinese after a fashion. He got pencil and paper from Chu Shek at the time of his midday meal. He took these to his room, and made that scrawl found on him. He seems to have made other scrawls too, which he left behind. Are these Chinese characters, Mr. Merrion?”

He laid out three strips, and Merrion studied them. “I rather think they are, or are intended to be,” he replied.

“Then I think this is what Lo Fat did,” said Lapworth. “You notice that the pencil marks are scattered all over the strips, with no connection between them. It looks to me as though Lo Fat wrote each character two or three times before he made the final draft. It's what one would expect a man with very little knowledge of writing to do.”

“I daresay you're right,” Merrion replied. “I don't pretend to be able to read these characters, but they look to me rather laboured.”

“I expect he did his writing before he took to his pipe,” said Lapworth. “This spirit-lamp shows that he did smoke it. Opium has to be cooked over a flame before it is smoked, and he used this lamp for the purpose.” “I wonder where he got it from?” Merrion asked. “Perhaps he borrowed it,” Lapworth replied. “I daresay there are plenty of them to be found in the Chinese quarter. It isn't a point of great importance. The fact that it was in his possession on Sunday afternoon is good enough for us.”

“There's one small detail that strikes me as rather curious,” said Merrion. “Lo Fat didn't get the blue paper bag from Chu Shek till midday on Sunday. We may take it that it was in paper torn from that bag that the chisel was wrapped. Having carried it unwrapped for over a week, why should he have wrapped it up then?”

“Because he hadn't been carrying it,” Lapworth replied. “He had it hidden away somewhere. Before he put it in his pocket he wrapped it up, for the reason Mr. Arnold suggested. So that it shouldn't work its way through the lining of his pocket.”

“Would a man about to take his own life have been so thoughtful?” Merrion asked. Before Lapworth could reply his telephone rang.

He lifted the receiver and listened to the message. “A lady from the Post Office is here, and would like to see you, sir. Her name is Miss Yaxley.”

“Show her in,” Lapworth replied. Merrion rose from his chair, but Lapworth waved him back. “Don't go, Mr. Merrion. This may interest you.”

Miss Yaxley was shown in. Her expression was intelligent. “Come in and sit down. Miss Yaxley,” said Lapworth. “You have come to tell me that you, remember a Chinese, whose name was Ah Lock, doing business, at the Post Office.”

“Oh yes, very well,” she replied. “He used to come regularly, twice a month. He always came to me, for seemed to be able to understand his few words of funny English better than the others. If I was engaged with another customer when he came in, he used to wait till I was free to attend to him. He had a Savings Bank account.”

“Into which he paid regularly every month, I believe?” Lapworth asked.

“Yes, that's right,” Miss Yaxley replied. “And always the same amount, ten pounds exactly.”

“I think you said just now that he came to the Post Office regularly twice a month, Miss Yaxley?” Lapworth asked.

“Yes, that's what I said,” she replied. “Once to deposit his money, and once to collect his letter.”

“His letter?” Lapworth repeated. “Did he have letters addressed to him at the Post Office?”

“Only once a month,” Miss Yaxley replied. “A registered letter. He knew when to expect it, for he always came to fetch it on the day it arrived. He couldn't write his name in English, so he used to make a queer mark on the receipt. I made him watch me while I wrote Ah Lock against it.”

“Can you tell me anything more about these registered letters?” Lapworth asked.

“Not very much,” she replied. “He never opened them then and there, but took them away with him. They were always in the regulation registered envelope, addressed to Mr. Ah Lock, care of the Postmaster, Cranport. And the blue label showing where the letter had been posted was always London, but not always the same district.”

“There is not by any chance one of those letters waiting for Ah Lock now? '' Lapworth asked.

Miss Yaxley shook her head. “They always came in the middle of the month. He collected the one that came in June. And as it's only the second of July to-day, it's too early for the next one.”

Lapworth thanked Miss Yaxley and escorted her from the room. “Well, Mr. Merrion, and what do you make of that?” he asked when he returned.

“I'm very glad you asked me to stay,” Merrion replied. “I found what Miss Yaxley told you remarkably interesting. You had no inkling of those registered letters?”

Lapworth shook his head. “None whatever. I merely wanted to find out if the Post Office people had taken any particular notice of Ah Lock. It appears that Miss Yaxley had. None of his fellow-lodgers could have succeeded in passing himself off as Ah Lock.”

That's a useful point, certainly,” said Merrion. “But those registered letters explain something we have never been able to understand. How Ah Lock could afford to save ten pounds a month.”

“What is your explanation, Mr. Merrion?” Lapworth asked.

“That the letter contained cash,” Merrion replied. “At least ten pounds a month, and probably more. But who sent it him, and why? I utterly refuse to believe that Ah Lock made things and sent them to London for sale. There has been no suggestion that he had friends or relations in London who were supporting him. But, there is one possibility!”

“I should very much like to hear it, Mr. Merrion,” said Lapworth.

“Opium,” Merrion replied. “Mind you, this is purely imaginary. But it's fairly obvious that small quantities of opium do get smuggled into this port. What if Ah Lock managed to get hold of regular supplies of the stuff and sent it to some friends of his in London? No, not sent it, for he'd hardly have risked trusting it to the post. Taken it, rather.”

“There may be something in that idea, Mr. Merrion. There is a day excursion by rail from here to London every Sunday.”

“I'm glad you approve of my flight of imagination,” Merrion replied. “Now, what about the receiver of the opium? A shady character, certainly, and one who had dealings with Chinese. In fact, someone like Arnold's friend Spotty Jim.”

“Suppose for the moment that it was Spotty Jim,” said Lapworth. “Koo Yang was in the know. That's why, finding himself in London, he sought refuge in Spotty Jim's house.”

“Maybe,” Merrion replied. “Although Spotty Jim swore that he had never seen Koo Yang before, and didn't know who he was, it may not have been his first visit to the house. Ah Lock may on occasion have sent him with the opium. That's how Koo Yang came to be in the know.”

“We've no evidence of all this,” Lapworth remarked. “But we'll certainly put the idea up to Mr. Arnold when he comes back. And I shall ask the Postmaster to impound the July registered letter, if it comes.”

Merrion shook his head. “It won't. I'll wager that whoever sent those letters knows by this time that Ah Lock is dead.”

Again Lapworth's telephone rang. This time the message was to announce the arrival of the pathologist. Lapworth gave orders that he was to be shown in, and he appeared, brandishing a wicked-looking knife. It had a long narrow blade, with an extremely sharp point.

“I've extracted the weapon, you see,” said the pathologist as he laid the knife on Lapworth's desk. “It was the cause of death, all right, for it had penetrated deeply into the dead man's heart. One single stab did the trick.”

“The wound could have been self-inflicted, I take it?” Lapworth asked.

“Certainly it could,” the pathologist replied. “And the appearance of things strongly suggests that it was. The direction of the wound inclines slightly to the left, as would happen if a man stabbed himself in the heart with his right hand.”

“It may interest you to know that we found the prints of the dead man's right hand on the hilt,” said Lapworth.

“That's just what I should have expected,” the pathologist replied. “I carried out a post-mortem, and found that the man was perfectly healthy. Beyond the wound, there was nothing about him that could have caused death. There were no other signs of injury, nothing to indicate a struggle with anyone else. I have no doubt that the man stabbed himself, especially after what you've told me about the fingerprints.”

“You still stick to your estimate of the time of death?” Lapworth asked.

The pathologist nodded. “I do. About, or very soon after, midnight on Sunday. The post-mortem confirmed that. In the course of it, I discovered two other points that may be of interest to you. The man had had nothing to eat for about twelve hours before he died. And the state of his lungs showed that he had been inhaling opium fumes quite recently.”

“Everything you tell us fits in with what we already know,” said Lapworth.

“I'm glad to hear that,” the pathologist replied. “Now I must ask you to excuse me. The post-mortem has taken up a lot of my time. And I suppose that I shall have to waste more time at the inquest. When is it to be?”

“Half-past two to-morrow afternoon,” said Lapworth. “You'll get formal notice in due course, Doctor.”

“I shall be there,” the pathologist replied. “Good-morning to you both.” He went out, and Lapworth turned to Merrion. “That makes it clear enough, doesn't it, Mr. Merrion?”

“Abundantly clear,” Merrion replied drily. “No coroner's jury could return a verdict other than felo de se.”

“You still sound a trifle doubtful, Mr. Merrion,” said; Lapworth. “But surely everything confirms what Chu Shek told us. On Sunday, Lo Fat had his midday rice in the kitchen. That was evidently his last meal, twelve hours before midnight. He went up to his room, where he indulged in a pipe or two of opium. The pathologist told us that he had been inhaling the fumes shortly before his death. Some time before midnight he left Rupert Terrace and walked to Bacton Wood, where he stabbed himself. You can't want anything clearer than that, surely?”

“If I were a juryman, listening to the evidence, I shouldn't,” Merrion replied. “But as a private individual who has been allowed to hear more than the jury will, I'm not altogether satisfied. It's because I'm cursed with a too vivid imagination, I suppose. But I'm wasting your time talking, and it's nearly time for my lunch.”

He returned to the Golden Fleece and lunched there. After his meal, he took out his car and drove by the main road to Wychurst. There he parked the car and set off on foot along the lane leading to Bacton Wood, feeling that exercise might stimulate his brain. He felt as Theseus might have had he come to a gap in the thread which was to guide him out of the labyrinth.

For there certainly was a gap in the logical sequence of things. Believing as he did that Lo Fat had been driven to suicide, Merrion failed to understand why. It might have been, as he had thought at first, that it was because his associates feared that he meant to betray them. But, on more mature consideration, that seemed hardly likely. If they had had any such fears, they would have murdered him, as they had murdered Ah Lock.

Merrion's thoughts turned to the subject of Ah Lock, and the mysterious registered letters he had received. The point about them which struck Merrion most forcibly was the fact that he had had them addressed to the Post Office, and not to 5, Rupert Terrace. The, only reason for this could have been that Ah Lock did not want his landlord or his fellow-lodgers to know that he received them. To this might be added the alleged fact that Ah Lock went to the expense of hiring a room to himself, and frequently went out on solitary expeditions of his own.

Assuming that the registered letters contained money in the form of notes, and Merrion found it difficult to imagine what else they could have contained, this money must have been the reward for some activity on Ah Lock's part. Thinking it over, Merrion did not favour the suggestion he had made to Lapworth that Ah Lock might have been a trafficker in opium on a small scale. Among a Chinese community there would have been no need for secrecy about that. His compatriots would have hailed him, not as a criminal, but as a public benefactor. And why should he have taken the trouble and risk of disposing of the stuff in London? He could surely have found enough customers in the Chinese quarter of Cranport. There was no motive for his murder to be found in that direction.

Why had Ah Lock's activities been kept secret from his associates? It could only have been because these activities were directed against them. Or if not quite that, they were of a nature to arouse their bitter resentment. Ah Lock's secret had been discovered. He had been murdered in order to prevent him doing any further harm. Merrion reached Bacton Wood. He was relieved to find that, it being a working day, there were no sightseers about. He entered the clearing, sat down on one of the stumps and lighted a cigarette. He had a macabre vision of Lo Fat, still half bemused by opium, trudging up the lane in the heavy shower. Then making his way to the spot where Ah Lock had been murdered, and there stabbing himself.

About the time when this had happened there could be no doubt. The pathologist's estimate of the time of death could safely be accepted. In support of it was the state of Lo Fat's shoes. There had been no mud in the lane until the shower, shortly before midnight.

And then Merrion found himself faced with a remarkable question. There had been no moon on Sunday night. The sky must have been dark. How then had Lo Fat found his way to the exact spot he sought? No torch or other means of shedding light had been found upon him.

The more Merrion considered this the more puzzling it became. Lo Fat might have groped his way up the lane. He might even have felt along what remained of the fence until he came to the end of the track. But there was nothing to guide him to the spot where Ah Lock had been murdered. Could he have gone on blindly, and by mere coincidence have stopped at that spot?

He might have been carrying a torch, and dropped it when he stabbed himself? No, that wouldn't do. The body had been found by two experienced investigators. Arnold, while he was alone with it, had searched carefully all round the body. Certainly the pencil had been buried under the pine needles. But the torch could not have been. There had been no scuffling of feet or dragging of branches to disturb it. It would have remained where it fell.

It seemed to Merrion as he sat there that this confirmed his theory that Lo Fat had been driven to suicide by some outside influence. The only solution to the problem of the torch seemed to be that Lo Fat had been guided to the spot by someone who had a torch. This person had gone with him to see that he fulfilled his intention. Having witnessed the deed, he had gone back to whence he came, carrying the torch with him. And the place whence he came could be no other than 5 Rupert Terrace.

After quite a long while spent in thought, Merrion got up and walked back to Wychurst. He drove away, but did not return directly to Cranport. As was his habit when his thoughts were centred on a problem, he drove at random, taking any turning that presented itself. Every now and then he would draw in to the side of the road, stop, and smoke a cigarette. At this rate of progress, it was after seven o'clock by the time he arrived at the Golden Fleece.

He was about to go in to dinner, when Arnold walked into the lounge. “Here I am back again,” he said cheerfully. “And I've brought something to show you that will make you sit up. But not now. I'm going to have a drink and something to eat first. Then we'll go over and see Lapworth together.”

During dinner, it was obvious that Arnold had something sensational up his sleeve. But neither he nor Merrion spoke of what was uppermost in their minds. As soon as they had finished, Arnold suggested a move to the police station. “I told them at the Yard to ring up Lapworth and tell him I was coming, so he'll be expecting us.”

When they reached the police station Lapworth was not there, but he arrived within a few minutes. “I've just been out for a meal,” he explained. “I'm glad to see you back again, Mr. Arnold. Before you tell me how you got on in London, you'd better hear my news.”

He recounted what he had learnt from his interview with Chu Shek, Miss Yaxley, and the pathologist. “It all fits together like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle,” he concluded. “There's not a shadow of doubt that Lo Fat committed suicide in Bacton Wood round about midnight on Sunday.”

“No, there's not a shadow of doubt about that,” Arnold replied. “Now it's my turn. Mr. Ling Tam came to see me at the Yard this morning. I showed him the slip of blue paper, and he said that the scrawls on it were Chinese writing of a kind. But written by a man who was practically uneducated. A man of the coolie class, in fact.”

“Chu Shek told me that Lo Fat could just write, and that was about all,” Lapworth remarked.

“Exactly,” Arnold replied. “It took Mr. Ling Tam a long time to decipher the scrawls, but in the end he wrote down a translation for me. I'll show it to you in a minute. But he wasn't at all satisfied with his effort. He said he might very well have misread some of the characters and advised me to get someone else to have a go at it.”

“Did you find anyone else?” Lapworth asked.

“Mr. Ling Tam put me on to a queer old bird,” Arnold replied. “A Dr. Cromer, who told me he had spent most of his life in China. He agreed with Mr. Ling Tam that the scrawls were almost impossible to read. But he managed to make some sort of sense of them, and his translation was to all intents and purposes the same as Mr. Ling Tam's.”

“So that one checks the other,” Lapworth remarked. “We can assume that the translations are correct.”

“They must be,” Arnold agreed. “I may say that I did not show Dr. Cromer Mr. Ling Tam's translation. Dr. Cromer made his entirely off his own bat. The two men don't know one another personally, though Dr. Cromer was able to tell me something about Mr. Ling Tam and his Society. He gave them both a good name for doing good among the poorer Chinese. But that's getting away from the point.”

He took out his notebook, and produced the original and the two translations. “There you are,” he said as he laid them on Lapworth's desk. “Have a look at them. You won't mind if Merrion sees them too?”

“Not in the least,” Lapworth replied. “Come over here, Mr. Merrion, and we'll look at them together.”

Merrion complied, and they read the translations. “This is the final proof, if any were needed,” said Lapworth. “The scrawls are a confession by Lo Fat, signed twice over. Lo Fat killed Ah Lock, and nobody helped him with the job. He killed him with a hammer and nail, by which I suppose he means a chisel, then danced on the body. He then became surrounded by the devils of conscience. These devils told him to kill himself with Ah Lock's knife on the spot where he had murdered Ah Lock. He wrote out the confession before he committed suicide, and signed it. Twice, for the sake of emphasis. Is that what you make of it, Mr. Merrion?”

“That is certainly what the translations imply,” said Merrion.

“Well, there you are!” Arnold exclaimed. “You may as well admit, my friend, that you've been allowing your imagination to run away with you.”

“Oh yes, I'll admit that,” Merrion replied cheerfully. “But I won't admit yet that it has landed me in the ditch. I wish that, in this confession of his, Lo Fat had explained why he murdered Ah Lock.”

“I expect he thought the motive was too obvious to require explanation,” said Arnold. “So that he could get hold of the Savings Bank book, as I've held all along.”

Merrion smiled. “Odd that he should have parted with it so soon after getting it. However, don't let's argue. Tell us more about Dr. Cromer, and what he said to you.”

Arnold repeated the gist of their conversation. “I imagine he's an authority upon all things Chinese,” he went on. “I'm very grateful to Mr. Ling Tam for having sent me to him.”

“So Mr. Ling Tam is known to the initiates as Mr. Yellow Rose,” Merrion remarked thoughtfully. “I find that extremely interesting.”

“I wouldn't get worked up about that, if I were you,” Arnold replied. “Dr. Cromer made it quite clear to me that there was nothing secret about Mr. Ling Tam's Society. He said that the Chinese like to draw a veil of sham secrecy over everything they do. Apart from the fancy names and that sort of thing, the Society is no more than a charitable organisation.”

“Dr. Cromer was quite right about the Chinese love for secrecy,” said Merrion. “But I can't help wondering whether in this case the veil is as transparent as it seems. Didn't he tell you that the Society had a political bias?”

“He gave me to understand that it wouldn't be very keen to help an avowed Communist,” Arnold replied. “But I don't see anything remarkable about that. An English society might prefer to help a Conservative rather than a Socialist. Apparently the preference of the Yellow Rose Society was no secret.”

“I dare say not,” said Merrion. “There's another interesting point in what Dr. Cromer told you. He said that the Society probably had an agent of some kind in every Chinese community in this country. It seems odd that it has no agent here in Cranport.”

“How do you know that it hasn't?” Arnold asked.

“Because, if it has, his name at least would be known to Mr. Ling Tam,” Merrion replied. “And he said, very definitely, that he knew none of the Chinese in Cranport.”

“I'll ask him when I next see him,” said Arnold. “Though I can't see that it matters in the least. There's nothing more to keep me here. We know who murdered Ah Lock, and we know that the murderer committed suicide. It isn't often that a case winds itself up so neatly. I shall wait for the inquest to-morrow, and then I shall expect you to drive me back to London.”

“Which I shall willingly do,” Merrion replied. “I quite agree that there is nothing to keep you here any longer. As for the winding up of the case, it would be even neater if someone who saw Lo Fat kill himself were to come forward and give evidence at the inquest.”

“It would,” said Arnold dryly. “But suicides aren't always considerate enough to perform before an audience. I don't suppose that Mr. Lapworth wants to hear any more of your nonsense. We'd better be getting back to the Golden Fleece.”

CHAPTER XV

THEY WENT BACK to the hotel, found the lounge empty, and ordered drinks. “I dare say you're feeling a bit sore,” said Arnold. “I know what it is to see my pet theories dissolve into thin air. And you never have liked a case that ends as simply as this one.”

Merrion smiled. “You needn't waste your sympathy on me. All the evidence you can produce merely increases my doubts. I don't for a moment believe that Lo Fat murdered Ah Lock single-handed. He may have been involved in the crime. In fact, he almost certainly was. But there were others with him at the time.”

“Then why did he say that he did it alone?” Arnold asked.

“Because when he wrote that confession, he was under the influence of his accomplices,” Merrion replied. “That is if he did write it, and it wasn't written for him. Did you look at those three bits of paper Lapworth found in Lo Fat's room?”

Arnold shook his head. “Not very closely. I noticed that they had been scribbled upon in pencil.”

“They had,” said Merrion.” Lapworth's explanation is that Lo Fat had been experimenting in writing each character until he felt proficient enough to include it in his confession. Which is what one might expect an uneducated man to do.”

“Lapworth is probably right,” Arnold replied. “Does it matter?”

“I think it does,” said Merrion. “Although I can't read them, I may claim to know more about the formation of Chinese characters than Lapworth does. I can at least recognise them as such. Lapworth is quit right in saying that those bits of paper were used for experimental writing. Characters are repeated several times, with varying degrees of proficiency. But it seemed me that in every case the first attempt was the best, and that the subsequent ones progressively fell away from that standard. Does that suggest anything to you?”

“I can't say that it does,” Arnold replied. “This is what it suggests to me,” said Merrion. “That those experiments were not made by an uneducated man doing his best to become proficient. But by a man who knew how to form characters, trying to distort them in the way he imagined a coolie would.”

It took Arnold a second or two to grasp the significance of this. “You mean the confession was written, not by Lo Fat, but by someone else, writing in the way he thought Lo Fat would?”

“That's just what I do mean,” Merrion replied. “Chu Shek told Lapworth that he sometimes helped Lo Fat with his letters. That shows that he must have at least a fair knowledge of Chinese characters.”

Arnold laughed. “I hardly think your theory is one that a coroner's jury would appreciate.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Merrion replied. “I don't suppose that it will be put before them. My own opinion remains that the confession is spurious. If Lo Fat and Ah Lock were alone in the wood at the time of the murder, who dropped that silver pencil? It's not the sort of thing that either of them would be likely to have.”

“It must have been dropped before the murder,” said Arnold.

“Not very long before,” Merrion replied. “It hadn't been lying where it was found for many days. Who then dropped it? We know from what we've seen ourselves that, until it became notorious, Bacton Wood was unfrequented.

“But to go on with the confession. It may be true that Lo Fat killed Ah Lock with the hammer and chisel and danced on his body. Then we come to the devils. As I've remarked before, I strongly suspect those devils of having been of human flesh and blood. No doubt they employed all their powers of suggestion. Then comes that remarkable sentence, 'Lo Fat scratch paper before end.'”

“What is there remarkable about that?” Arnold asked. “He meant that he wrote the confession before he killed himself.”

“Would a man making a genuine confession have written such a thing?” Merrion replied. “From the fact that the paper would be found in his pocket he would assume that everyone would know that he had written it. Whereas it is just the sort of sentence that someone else writing a spurious confession would put in.”

“You're splitting hairs,” said Arnold. “And it seems to me that you're looking for trouble where none exists. What was the point of that fatuous remark you made just before we left the police station?”

Merrion smiled. “Which particular one?”

“Why, about someone who had seen Lo Fat commit suicide coming forward and giving evidence,” Arnold replied.

“It wasn't so fatuous as you think,” said Merrion. “You and Lapworth found the body yesterday morning. I take it that you looked around for any possible clues?”

“Of course we did,” Arnold replied. “We're both professional detectives. While Lapworth was away, I searched for some distance all round the body, and found nothing whatever but a lot of litter.”

“If a torch had been lying on the ground, you wouldn't have failed to spot it?” Merrion asked.

“My dear man!” Arnold exclaimed. “What do you take me for? If there had been a pin lying on the ground I should have spotted it.”

“And no torch was found in Lo Fat's pockets?” Merrion insisted.

“A lot of interesting things were found,” Arnold replied. “But there wasn't a torch among them.”

“Then listen to me,” said Merrion. “On Sunday night the sky must have been overcast during the shower and for some time after it. In the wood it must have been pitch dark. How then did Lo Fat, having nothing, even a match, with which to show a light, find his way to the spot indicated by the devils?”

“Some people are like cats,” Arnold replied. “They find their way about in the dark.”

“Don't talk nonsense,” said Merrion. “I'll bet you won't find anyone who could find their way unaided about that clearing on a pitch dark night. It's fairly dark now. If you like I'll get out the car and drive you there. Then you can try for yourself.”

“Thanks, I won't trouble you,” Arnold replied. “I'm content with the facts. Lo Fat did find his way to the spot somehow, for that's where his body lay.”

“If you're content, I'm not,” said Merrion. “I maintain that Lo Fat couldn't have found his way without a torch, or a Chinese lantern, if you prefer it. I can think of only two explanations. The first is that someone carrying a torch went with him and showed him the way.”

Arnold laughed. “Of course. One of the devils went with him. Though I suppose a devil, having supernatural powers, wouldn't need a torch. What's your other explanation?”

“That Lo Fat killed himself, not in Bacton Wood, but in his room in Rupert Terrace,” Merrion replied. “And that his body was conveyed to where it was found.”

“Spirited there by the devils?” Arnold suggested. “Seriously, that idea is ridiculous. Neither Chu Shek nor any of his lodgers own a vehicle of any kind, and they certainly wouldn't have borrowed one for such a purpose. You're not suggesting that they carried the body all that way?”

“I am merely trying to find an explanation of what seems to me a very extraordinary fact,” Merrion replied. “But I will admit that if the jury return a verdict of felo de se to-morrow, that fact becomes of merely academic interest.”

“What other verdict could they return?” Arnold asked.

“On the evidence which will be put before them, none,” Merrion replied. “But I fancy there is quite a lot of other evidence which has not yet come to light. What, for instance, is your explanation of those registered letters which Ah Lock received so regularly?”

“Ah Lock is dead,” said Arnold firmly. “There is no doubt whatever that he was murdered. We now have the murderer's confession. Again, there is no doubt that he committed suicide. The case is therefore closed. Why should I worry my head about Ah Lock's correspondence?”

“If you consider the case closed, there is no reason whatever,” Merrion replied. “But is the case closed? What about Koo Yang, languishing in gaol on a charge of unlawfully wounding his friend How Ming?”

“That's a different case altogether,” said Arnold. “Koo Yang will have to put up what defence he can to that charge. You heard Mr. Ling Tam admit that he hadn't much faith in his story. But we certainly shan't charge him with the murder of Ah Lock.”

“If you accept the confession as genuine, you couldn't very well.” Merrion agreed. “I don't accept it. Koo Yang was present at the murder, though he may have been no more guilty than the rest of them.”

“You have no proof of that,” Arnold objected.

“Koo Yang's possession of the Savings Bank book is proof enough for me,” Merrion replied. “I don't believe those Chinese coolies would have bandied it about from one to the other. I wish I had more proof. I hate to be outwitted by a gang of thugs. But that's too strong an expression. By an execution squad, I should say.”

“You keep on harping on that word execution.” said Arnold irritably.

“With justification, I think,” Merrion replied. “Someone sent Ah Lock money regularly. The Yellow Rose is a charitable organisation. Do you think that Ah Lock was one of its beneficiaries?”

“Most certainly I don't,” said Arnold. “If he had been, Mr. Ling Tam would have known all about it. And I'm quite sure he would have told us.”

“Very well then,” Merrion replied. “People in Ah Lock's position don't as a rule get money for nothing. He must have done something to earn it. In other words, he was engaged in some activity which has not yet been discovered, by us, at all events.

“But suppose that this activity was against the interests of the Chinese community as a whole, and of Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers in particular. And suppose that one of those concerned discovered it. What would you expect the discoverer to do?”

“Murder Ah Lock,” Arnold replied promptly. “As, in fact Lo Fat did. Mr. Ling Tam who knows his fellow-countrymen even better than you do, remarked to me that there was probably some feud between the two men which would never now be revealed.”

“I accept the reproof,” said Merrion. “I fully admit that Mr. Ling Tam is more highly qualified to understand the affair than I am. In fact, I should very much like the opportunity of discussing it with him. He is probably quite right about a feud. But in this case the feud concerned not only the discoverer of Ah Lock's activities, but several people as well. I don't think he would have acted on his own responsibility. He would be more likely to consult with the others as to what had best be done.”

“Perhaps he did,” Arnold replied. “Lo Fat was one of the others, and he volunteered to murder Ah Lock.”

“Very well,” said Merrion. “Have it your own way. But I believe, for reasons which I have tried to explain to you, that several persons were concerned in the murder. And that they acted under the direction of a leader, of superior education to their own. The owner of the silver pencil, who worked out the necessary alibis in advance. And who, incidentally, wrote the so-called confession.”

Arnold laughed. “It's wonderful how a pint or two of the local brew stimulates your imagination. If we go on arguing like this we shall be sitting here all night. Let's agree to differ, and go to bed.”

The inquest was held next day. After the usual formalities the witnesses were called. Chu Shek was the first. He had viewed the body, and recognised it as that of Lo Fat, who had been one of his lodgers. His aggrieved tone suggested that if this sort of thing went on, he would very soon have no lodgers left. So far as he was aware, Lo Fat had no relatives in England. The witness was shown the knife, which he recognised as having belonged to Ah Lock. He had often seen him using it in the kitchen to spit his meat on.

Lapworth was then called. He described the finding of the body, and produced the photographs he had taken. The ones showing the knife sticking in the body visibly impressed the jury.

Arnold followed. He had been with the previous witness when the body was found. He had examined the surrounding ground without result. There had been no sign of any struggle. He then produced the strip of blue paper, explaining that it had been found in the pocket of the deceased. Since the pencil marks upon it appeared to be Chinese characters, he had taken it to London for examination. Two experts had independently studied the characters, and produced translations. These he now produced.

Arnold handed the blue paper and the translations to the coroner, who read the latter aloud. As the coroner passed them on to the jury, he remarked that in spite of the crudity of the language, which was to be expected of an uneducated Chinese, the meaning was sufficiently clear. It would be for the jury to place their own interpretation upon it.

Arnold was followed by the pathologist. He had examined the body, and had found that the knife had penetrated deeply into the heart. Apart from that, there were no other injuries. The deceased had been in a perfectly healthy state, and his death had been due to the knife wound. This would have caused immediate death, which he estimated to have taken place very shortly after midnight on the previous Sunday.

The witness then produced a chisel, which, he was informed, had been found in the pocket of the deceased. He had examined the discoloration at the pointed end, and had been able to scrape some of it off. On testing the scrapings, he had found them to consist of dried human blood. Although it had no direct bearing on the previous enquiry, the witness felt it his duty to make a certain observation. This was that a weapon exactly similar in size and shape to the chisel had been used to kill the man Ah Lock.

Sergeant Diss was then called. He described himself as an officer of the fingerprint section of the Criminal Investigation Department Metropolitan Police. He had taken impressions of the hilt of the knife, and also of the hands of the deceased. These he now produced.

The coroner took the sheets of paper, glanced at them, and passed them on to the jury. “What conclusions did you arrive at from a comparison of the impressions?” he asked.

“That the prints on the hilt of the knife were those of the right hand of the deceased, sir,” Diss replied confidently.

“You have no doubt about that?” the coroner asked.

“None whatever, sir,” Diss replied. He launched into a dissertation upon lines and whorls, but the coroner interrupted him. “The jury will no doubt accept your expert opinion. Did you examine the chisel produced by the last witness?”

“I did, sir,” Diss replied. “I have here an impression of the prints I found upon it.”

The coroner looked at the paper Diss handed to him. “These impressions do not seem very distinct,” he remarked. “Were you able to form any opinion of them?”

The tone in which Diss replied was very cautious. “I am not prepared to express any opinion in evidence, sir. The impressions are too imperfect to allow of any certain comparison. It is possible, however, that they may have been formed by the thumb and first two fingers of the left hand of the deceased.”

The coroner smiled austerely. “The jury will no doubt take notice of that possibility. I will now recall the first witness.”

Chu Shek again took the chair, and the coroner asked him if he could give evidence as to the state of mind of the deceased before his death. To this Chu Shek replied that he had seemed very frightened and depressed. He had spoken of being tormented by devils, and of being lonely in the absence of the man who had formerly shared his room. The deceased had retired to this room after his midday meal on Sunday, and the witness had not seen him again until he saw his body in the mortuary on Monday.

Replying to a question by the foreman of the jury, Chu Shek said that he knew that the deceased could write Chinese, but only a very little. Before retiring to his room on Sunday, deceased had asked the witness for pencil and paper. He had given him a stub of pencil and an empty sugar bag. The police had shown him a stub of pencil, which he recognised as the one he had given the deceased. The blue paper appeared to have been torn from the sugar bag.

This concluded the proceedings. The coroner summed up, warning the jury that they should reach their verdict on the evidence that had been given that day, and not on anything they might have heard of a previous inquiry. The jury retired for a short while. On their reappearance the foreman announced that they were unanimously agreed upon their verdict. The deceased had taken his life while the balance of his mind was disturbed. The jury would like to add as a rider their opinion that the deceased had been the murderer of Ah Lock. The coroner expressed his agreement with both the verdict and the rider.

When the formalities had been completed, Lapworth, Arnold and Merrion walked together to the police station. “Well, that's that,” said Lapworth when they had reached his room. “Everything cleared up most satisfactorily. But I wonder what made the jury come to the conclusion that Lo Fat's mind was unbalanced?”

“It was the devils that did it, I expect,” Arnold replied. “To an English jury, a man who complains of being pestered by devils must be on the verge of madness. They had made up their minds as soon as they had read the confession, I could see that. They weren't half so interested in medical evidence or fingerprints. Well, as you say, that's that. What do you say now, Merrion?”

“Nothing whatever,” said Merrion shortly. “The devils have won all along the line. I'm ready to drive you back to London as soon as you're ready. It only remains for me to thank you for all the courtesy you have shown me, Mr. Lapworth.”

“It's been a pleasure, Mr. Merrion,” Lapworth replied. “I can only hope that some day we may meet again.” He and Arnold took their leave of one another. Within half an hour Arnold and Merrion were in the car, on the road to London.

They must have covered nearly fifty miles before either of them spoke. Then Arnold could stand it no longer. “You're very quiet this afternoon,” he said. “Is it resentment because all your fine theories came to nothing? Cheer up. What other verdict could you have expected?”

“As I've told you before, I expected nothing else,” Merrion replied. “It was wonderful how the jury ate out of your hand. A nice comfortable verdict, and a rider which relieves you of all further responsibility for investigating the murder of Ah Lock. Some folk have all the luck.”

“It wasn't luck,” said Arnold, slightly nettled. “It was common sense. You know that very well. Come on, admit it.”

But Merrion made no reply. He relapsed into silence, which he maintained until they were approaching the outskirts of London. “I can think of only one way of demonstrating the truth to you,” he said abruptly. “You must come and dine with me in my rooms tomorrow evening. It's a matter of the utmost importance. I shall expect you at half-past seven.”

“I'd love to come,” Arnold replied. “That is, unless something crops up to prevent me.”

“If anything does crop up, you must turn it over to somebody else,” said Merrion. “You know me well enough by now to be aware that when I say a thing is of importance, it is. Have I your promise?”

“Well yes,” Arnold replied. “If you put it that way, you have.”

Merrion dropped Arnold at Scotland Yard. He then went on to Debenham Gardens and stopped at Number 24. He rang the bell, and the door was opened by a Chinese servant, who replied to Merrion's question. “Master at home. You come in, please.”

He knocked at a door leading off the hall and, at the response, went in. A moment later Mr. Ling Tam appeared, his hand outstretched. “Why, this is a pleasure. Mr. Merrion!” he exclaimed. “Come into my room, and let us have a chat.”

“I wish I could spare the time,” Merrion replied. “But just now I can't. I looked in to tell you that Mr. Arnold is most anxious to thank you for all the help you gave him. He's so frightfully busy with other matters that he couldn't come himself. However, I've fixed up for you to meet him. I want you both to come and dine with me to-morrow evening.”

“That is most kind of you, Mr. Merrion,” said Mr. Ling Tam. “But it is my turn to offer hospitality. Can't the dinner be on me?”

“Another time,” Merrion replied. “I've got everything fixed up for to-morrow. You will come, won't you? It may be Arnold's only spare evening for weeks to come. Look, here's my card with the address on it.”

“I shall be most happy to accept your kind invitation, Mr. Merrion,” said Mr. Ling Tam.

Merrion left the house and drove to his rooms. There he called for Newport, the trusted servant and friend who had been with him for so many years. “I'm throwing a small dinner-party to-morrow,” he said. “Mr. Arnold, a Chinese acquaintance of mine, and myself. We shall want a simple but slap-up dinner. You can manage that?”

Newport grinned. “Just you leave it to me, sir,” he replied.

CHAPTER XVI

ON THE FOLLOWING evening, Arnold was the first of Merrion's guests to arrive. “Well, here I am,” he said. “I hope you're in a more cheerful mood than you were when I saw you last.”

“Far more,” Merrion replied. “I feel equal to entertaining you in such a way that you won't regret having come. To begin with, there's a glass of sherry waiting for you.”

In the sitting-room was a silver tray, and on it a decanter of sherry and three glasses. Arnold looked at these suspiciously. “Three? Have you asked someone else, then?”

“Mr. Ling Tam,” Merrion replied. “He'll want to hear the end of the Cranport story. And I thought that in return for the good-natured help he gave you, you'd be glad to tell him. Ah, here he is.” Newport showed Mr. Ling Tam into the room. “Come along in,” said Merrion. “We've time for a glass of sherry before dinner. I understand that you and Mr. Arnold met as recently as the day before yesterday?”

“We did indeed,” Ling Tam replied. “Mr. Arnold showed me a very remarkable specimen of Chinese literature. I can only hope that my translation of it was somewhere near the mark. Did you consult Dr. Cromer, Mr. Arnold?”

“I saw him that same afternoon,” said Arnold. “His translation differed from yours only in a few unimportant words. I'm most grateful to you, Mr. Ling Tam, both for your translation and for putting me in the way of getting it checked.”

“I expect Mr. Ling Tam would like to hear the sequel,” Merrion suggested. “So far as I am aware, no account of the inquest has appeared in the London papers.”

Arnold began to repeat the evidence given at the inquest. But before he had got very far there came the sound of a gong beaten by a lusty arm. “Shall we go in?” said Merrion. “My man Newport won't thank us it we keep dinner waiting.”

They went in to the next room, where the table was laid. The first course was salmon mayonnaise, accompanied by a bottle of Berncastler. As they began on this, Arnold resumed his discourse, concluding with the verdict and the rider. “It was, of course, most satisfactory from the point of view of the police,” he said. “And the credit is very largely due to you, Mr. Ling Tam. It was your translation of Lo Fat's confession that turned the scale.”

“I can only say that I am glad I was able to be of some slight assistance,” Ling Tam replied modestly.

“The affair may have ended satisfactorily for the police,” Merrion remarked. “But not to one with an enquiring mind, such as myself. Arnold will tell you that my imagination is my curse. To me, the whole affair seems to be wrapped in mystery. To begin with, why did Lo Fat murder Ah Lock? You understand the working of these people's minds far better than I can ever hope to do, Mr. Ling Tam. What is your opinion?”

Ling Tam took an appreciative sip of his wine. “It is very difficult even to hazard a guess,” he replied. “I expect that to Lo Fat his motive was simple and adequate. To a mind trained on Western lines it might appear utterly ridiculous. A quarrel may have arisen between them in the laundry where they both worked. Or it may have originated long before then. Perhaps even before they came to this country.”

“If they were on bad terms with one another, how did Lo Fat persuade Ah Lock to go alone with him to Bacton Wood?” Merrion asked.

“I can suggest an answer to that,” Ling Tam replied. “Although it does not happen very often, Chinese coolies have been known to indulge in duels. My Society came across a case of that a couple of years ago. Fortunately, the combatants were separated before either of them had done the other a serious injury. It may be, though of course it's only a guess on my part, that the two men agreed to go to Bacton Wood to fight a duel, probably with knives. Lo Fat didn't obey the rules, and got in first by knocking Ah Lock on the head with a hammer.”

“You know the details of the murder?” Merrion asked.

Ling Tam smiled. “I have heard them from my chauffeur. He told me that, when he was in the Cranport Chinese quarter on Sunday, nobody was talking about anything else. But nobody then seemed to know why Ah Lock had been murdered, or by whom.”

The salmon mayonnaise was followed by saddle of lamb, with peas and new potatoes. With this course was served a bottle of Hermitage. Merrion resumed the conversation. “You know nothing of Ah Lock's antecedents, Mr. Ling Tam?” he asked.

“Nothing whatever,” Ling Tam replied. “I have never had occasion to get in touch with any of the Chinese living in Cranport. In fact, until last Sunday I had never been there. I presume the police have made enquiries about him, Mr. Arnold?”

“So far as we could,” Arnold replied. “He seems to have been in a sense superior to his fellow-lodgers. As you know, from his book having fallen into Koo Yang's hands, he had saved a considerable amount of money. We have reason to believe that he received regular sums by registered post from an unknown source. Can you suggest where these may have come from?”

Ling Tam shook his head. “I cannot. It seems most extraordinary. Are you sure that Ah Lock received money by post?”

“We have not seen any of the registered letters or their contents,” Arnold replied. “But there is no doubt that he received one regularly every month. And if they didn't contain money, what else?”

“It must have been money,” Merrion remarked. “Where else could Ah Lock have found the money that he saved? Not from his wages, that's quite certain. His average earnings were no more than five pounds a week. He couldn't save ten pounds a month out of that. Can he have been drawing an allowance from a charitable Society?”

“He certainly wasn't drawing anything from mine,” Ling Tam replied. “And I don't know of any other society which interests itself in the Chinese community in this country.”

“You know, one can't help wondering whether the receipt of this money was, directly or indirectly, the reason for the murder of Ah Lock,” said Merrion. “I have my own theory regarding that. But I daren't speak about it in Arnold's presence. He thinks it ridiculous.”

Arnold laughed. “Oh, don't mind me. Let Mr. Ling Tam hear about your theory, by all means. He'll find it as ridiculous as I do.”

“I should dearly like to hear it, Mr. Merrion,” said Ling Tam.

“Then you shall,” Merrion replied. “I believe that Ah Lock was engaged in some secret activity, for which he received a regular salary from his employers. I have an idea what that activity may have been, but I will say no more about it than this. It was contrary to the interests, not only of his immediate associates, but of the Chinese community in general.”

“That is a very interesting suggestion, Mr. Merrion,” said Ling Tam politely. “Does your theory extend any further?”

“It does,” Merrion replied. “Ah Lock fell under suspicion, and the nature of his activity was discovered. Not, I think, by Lo Fat, but by someone of superior intelligence. I'm sorry you did not meet Chu Shek, the landlord of the house where Ah Lock and four others lodged. You would have been able to give us your opinion of him.”

“Koo Yang mentioned the name to me when I saw him the other day,” said Ling Tam. “He said that Chu Shek would give him a good character.”

“I have no doubt that he would,” Merrion replied. “It is possible that it was Chu Shek who discovered what Ah Lock was up to.”

“How did he discover it?” Arnold asked scornfully. “If it was anything discreditable, Ah Lock is not likely to have told him.”

“Certainly not,” Merrion replied. “But he had access to Ah Lock's room at any time while the occupant was at work. In that room was a metal case with a padlock, which may have contained the clue to Ah Lock's activity. You will admit the practical certainty that the case had been opened and the original contents removed?”

“I'll admit that,” said Arnold. “By Lo Fat, who opened the case with the key he found in Ah Lock's pocket. But that was after the murder. I don't see how anyone before then could have known what was in the case.”

“Chu Shek might have known,” Merrion replied. “It was a very ordinary padlock. He could have borrowed a bunch of padlock keys from a locksmith and tried them till he found one that fitted. Having looked through the contents of the case, he could have locked it again and returned the bunch of keys. Don't you agree, Mr. Ling Tam?”

“It may have been so,” said Ling Tam. “The lower class of Chinese is inquisitive by nature. And what next, Mr. Merrion?”

“Chu Shek took Ah Lock's four fellow-lodgers into his confidence, and consulted them about what was to be done.” Merrion replied. “They had to take matters into their own hands, for I don't suppose that Ah Lock's activity was contrary to the law of the land. If they had complained to the police, which in any case it is most unlikely that they would have, they would have been told that it was not a matter upon which the police could take any action. The result of their deliberations was that Ah Lock must be executed.”

“What makes you use that word, Mr. Merrion?” Ling Tam asked, in a tone of astonishment.

“It's a word Arnold dislikes intensely,” Merrion replied. “I'll do my best to explain why I use it. I'm supposing that Ah Lock had committed an offence against the community of such a nature as to involve a capital sentence. And the carrying out of such a sentence is known as execution.”

Ling Tam smiled indulgently. “I think I see the next step in your theory, Mr. Merrion. The judges drew lots or, more likely, being Chinese, threw dice, to decide which of them was to act as executioner. The duty fell upon Lo Fat.”

“No, I do not believe that,” Merrion replied. “An execution must be carried out with more formality than a mere murder. I believe that all four of Ah Lock's fellow-lodgers participated in an act which they did not consider to be a crime.”

“But surely that cannot have been so, Mr. Merrion,” Ling Tam objected. “That crude but easily understandable sentence in Lo Fat's confession. 'Lo Fat alone no man by him.'”

“I'll come to the matter of Lo Fat's confession in a few minutes,” Merrion replied. He made a sign to Newport, who refilled the glasses. “I hope I am not boring you with this exercise of my imagination,” Merrion asked.

“Not at all,” Ling Tam replied. “I find what you are telling us most interesting.”

“I've heard it all before,” Arnold remarked. “You'll find that it leads to nothing in the end.”

“On this occasion it may lead to something,” said Merrion. “Mr. Ling Tam may have his own observations to make. The remarkable thing to me is that all four participants were instantly ready with alibis for that Saturday afternoon. So instantly and unhesitatingly that I cannot but think that the alibis were false, and had been fabricated beforehand.

“By whom had they been fabricated? Surely not by four uneducated coolies. Rather by some man of superior intelligence, who was able to enlist the support of outsiders, such as Pi Wong and Say Pant. It may or may not be a significant fact that when these four men were interrogated by the police, Chu Shek acted as interpreter.”

“Why do you consider that that may be significant, Mr. Merrion?” Ling Tam asked.

“Because I believe that if Chu Shek had not actually fabricated the alibis, he knew what the men were expected to say,” Merrion replied. “If they slipped up in their answers, he could have amended them in translation. Personally, I have never believed that the answers, as Chu Shek rendered them, were true. I assume that all four men were actually in Bacton” Wood that afternoon. We can reconstruct what happened there from the evidence of the pathologist. Ah Lock was first rendered unconscious by a blow from a hammer. He was then killed by the chisel found in Lo Fat's possession being driven into his head. What followed seems to me most extraordinary. After he was dead. Ah Lock's ribs were broken by being trampled upon.”

“By Lo Fat,” Arnold remarked. “I don't care what you say about the confession. It was accepted by the jury and that's good enough for me. In it were the words ' Lo Fat dance.'”

“They probably all danced,” Merrion replied. “But why? Doesn't that show a strange vindictiveness? The theory of the police is that Ah Lock was murdered for the sake of his Savings Bank book. But in that case would his murderers have felt any vindictiveness towards him? In my opinion it was a form of savage vengeance for the crime he had committed against them.

“The execution accomplished, the next step was to conceal the body. This was done by covering it with branches from the surrounding trees. It is a remarkable fact that these branches were sawn off by saws with fine teeth. I think that all four men, each of whom was equipped with a small hack-saw, or some very similar tool, carried out this work.

“I expect that they hoped that the body would not be found until it was unrecognisable. It might well have remained undiscovered but for an unforeseen accident. A party of children entered the wood and, having the childish instinct for destruction, tore the branches from the funereal pile. This happened only four days after the execution.

“Before covering up the body, Ah Lock's pockets had been rifled. In them were found the book and the key of the case in Ah Lock's room. The money represented by the book was the wages of Ah Lock's offence. It seemed only fair that it should be distributed among his judges. For that purpose it was necessary that one of them should go to London, and the choice fell on Koo Yang. We know what adventures befell him. When the others returned to Rupert Terrace, they opened the case with the key, took out the contents, whatever they may have been, and destroyed them, all but the knife.”

He was interrupted by Newport removing the remains of the second course. It was replaced by a smoking-hot scotch woodcock, exquisitely cooked. “I thought this would do to finish our Burgundy with,” said Merrion. “By the way, Arnold, did you ever find out by which train Koo Yang left Cranport?”

Arnold shook his head. “Lapworth made enquiries at the station, but they weren't successful. The booking clerk couldn't remember any Chinese buying a ticket for London about that time.”

“We know that Koo Yang got to London somehow,” said Merrion. “Perhaps he got a lift by road. That may have been as early as Saturday afternoon or evening. Say Pant's statement that Koo Yang spent the week-end with him in an orgy of opium smoking may have been false. You were good enough to act as interpreter on that occasion, Mr. Ling Tam. Did you form the impression that Say Pant was speaking the truth?”

“I saw no reason to disbelieve what he said,” Ling Tam replied. “He was naturally reluctant to admit he had been smoking opium, and he insisted that it was Koo Yang, not himself, who had supplied the drug. That may not have been true. But otherwise his statement was probably correct.”

“Talking of that,” said Arnold. “Dr. Cromer told me that your Society went by the flowery name of the Yellow Rose. That was the reason why you wore a yellow rosebud in your buttonhole?”

Ling Tam smiled. “You must think our Chinese ways very odd. Yes, that was the reason. Whenever I go to a Chinese quarter where I am not personally known, I make a habit of wearing a yellow rose. It shows those of them who know of the Society, and most of them do, that I am a man of some, I will not say importance, but standing.”

“Say Pant recognised the emblem, no doubt?” Merrion asked.

“I daresay he did,” Ling Tam replied lightly. “Neither he nor I made any reference to it. But don't let us interrupt what you were saying, Mr. Merrion.”

“What I was saying?” said Merrion. “Where was I? Oh yes, the uncertainty surrounding Koo Yang's journey to London. I am inclined to think that he did not go there by train. But we can pass over that point for the moment. The predicament in which Chu Shek and his remaining three lodgers very soon found themselves seems to me more interesting. The untimely discovery of Ah Lock's body must have been most unwelcome to them. The police naturally got busy, and began asking awkward questions. They might somehow discover the truth, and then the fat would be in the fire with a vengeance. It may have been Chu Shek who came to the conclusion that it was expedient that one man should die for the rest.”

“Why Lo Fat was chosen as the victim, I cannot pretend to say. Perhaps he was more highly strung than the other two. It may be true that he was tormented by devils, in other words that his conscience smote him for his participation in the execution. And there was no telling what this might lead to. The devils might drive him into making a clean breast of the whole story. He would be better out of the way. In any case, by noon last Sunday, his fate had been decided. Shall we go next door for our coffee and cognac?”

They made a move to the sitting-room, where Newport had already laid a tray. Merrion poured out the coffee and brandy, then went to a drawer, from which he took a box of cigars. “I hope you'll both have one, for they are supposed to be rather special. You'll forgive me if I don't join you, for I have never acquired the taste for cigars.”

Arnold and Ling Tam helped themselves, while Merrion lighted one of his favourite cigarettes. “You were saying that Lo Fat's fate had been decided,” said Ling Tam. “By himself, surely. Mr. Arnold has told us that the inquest established that Lo Fat committed suicide.”

“That is perfectly true,” Merrion replied. “At what other conclusion could the jury arrive? But for once I venture to disagree with the good men and true. I do not believe that Lo Fat committed suicide.”

“Oh, come now!” Arnold exclaimed. “This is going too far. He may have been encouraged to commit suicide, though even that doesn't seem to me very likely. But commit suicide he did. What about his confession, and the fingerprints on the hilt of the knife?”

“Shall I tell you what I believe to have happened on Sunday evening, Mr. Ling Tam?” Merrion asked.

“I wish you would, Mr. Merrion,” Ling Tam replied, as he put down the glass which he had almost emptied at one gulp.

“We must imagine ourselves as invisible spectators at 5 Rupert Terrace,” said Merrion. “Who was there that evening? Mrs. Chu Shek is said to have gone out, and I think that extremely probable. That left Chu Shek and his three lodgers. And I believe that there was another person present. A person who played the dominant part in the subsequent proceedings. It may have been he who had decided Lo Fat's fate.

“The first scene in the drama was a friendly party. Some opium was produced, together with pipes and a metal spirit-lamp. The opium was prepared over the lamp, and the pipes were filled. This scene, I imagine, took place in the kitchen.

“The others did not smoke seriously, perhaps not more than a single pipe, though they pretended to do so. Only Lo Fat persisted, until he fell into the state of torpor characteristic of the drug. As soon as he became oblivious of his surroundings, the composition of the confession began.

“There is something remarkable about that composition. The writer experimented with the characters before he set them down in their final form. An examination of the scraps of paper on which he did so suggests to me that he was trying, not to perfect his delineation of the characters, but to degrade them into forms that an unskilled hand might shape. The composer, himself a Chinese scholar, had no easy task. Not only had he to produce a convincing confession, but he had to consider how a coolie would express himself, and how he would be likely to form his characters. The paper and pencil used, since they would have been available to Lo Fat, supported the forgery. Talking of pencils, I believe that the composer of the confession had lost his own, a solid silver Eversharp, quite recently.”

Mr. Ling Tam uttered a sharp exclamation. He recovered himself instantly. “Excuse me. A sudden twinge of the rheumatism to which I am subject. Please go on, Mr. Merrion.”

Merrion refilled Mr. Ling Tam's glass. “I believe that brandy is recommended to sufferers from rheumatism. Oh yes, the confession. When it was finished, it was put in Lo Fat's pocket, together with the stub of pencil with which it had been written.

“And then came the most delicate part of the whole affair. It was necessary to support the confession by material evidence. I imagine that by this time Lo Fat was fully under the influence of the drug, and incapable of offering any resistance. The chisel with which Ah Lock had been killed was placed between the fingers and thumb of Lo Fat's left hand. Another hand was placed over his, and pressure applied. The chisel was then wrapped in paper, in order to preserve the prints thus made. It was then put in Lo Fat's pocket, together with the pipe he had been smoking and the key of Ah Lock's case. The spirit-lamp and the scraps of paper used for the experiments were artistically arranged in Lo Fat's room.”

Merrion's voice grew graver. “Then came the final scene. The hilt of Ah Lock's knife was wiped, to remove any prints that might already be on it. The knife was held by the blade, and Lo Fat's right hand was made to clasp the hilt. The same hand as before grasped Lo Fat's hand. The point of the knife was directed towards his heart. A quick, powerful thrust, and the knife was buried in his body to the full extent.”

“But you're crazy!” Arnold exclaimed. “You say all this happened in the kitchen in Rupert Terrace. How do you account for the body being found in Bacton Wood?”

Merrion shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Oh, I daresay transport was available. There, you've heard my theory, Mr. Ling Tam. I've nothing to add, so let's change the subject. On Sunday, while you were assisting the police in their investigations, I took a stroll through the public gardens. A car was standing outside the police station, and I guessed it was yours. An Arcturus Mark V, roomy and comfortable, and I expect fast?”

“Yes, that was my car,” Mr. Ling Tam replied. “Fast enough, especially when my chauffeur drives. The makers guarantee a hundred miles an hour.”

“Upon my word!” Merrion exclaimed. “I'm half inclined to sell my car and buy one like yours. I remember that you left us at the Golden Fleece after lunch. How long did it take you to get back to London?”

“Not very long,” Mr. Ling Tam replied. “I was in plenty of time to keep the appointment I told you about. I hope I was able to patch up the difference between the young couple.”

“Did you have to go out again that day?” Merrion asked conversationally.

“I don't go out more than I can help on Sundays,” Mr. Ling Tam replied. “When my visitors had gone, I was alone at home for the rest of the day.”

“You didn't send your chauffeur out in the car?” Merrion asked.

Mr. Ling Tam smiled. “My chauffeur is also my house boy. It was he who opened the door to you when you called on me last evening. When we got back from Cranport on Sunday, he changed from his uniform into his house clothes, and didn't go out again either.”

“That's rather curious,” Merrion remarked. “I was so interested in your car when I saw it standing outside the police station that I even memorised the number, GUI 1017.”

“You have an observant eye, Mr. Merrion,” Mr. Ling Tam replied. “It's an Irish number, for I bought the car when I was in Ireland last autumn.”

“After you left us on Sunday, Arnold began to feel bored,” said Merrion. “His investigations into the murder of Ah Lock seemed to have come to a deadlock. So I took him for a drive into the country. On our way back to Cranport along the London road we were cruising along at a comfortable fifty, when a car overtook us. It seemed to be travelling at double the pace we were. It flashed past us much too quickly for me to be able to see any details. But as it forged ahead I could see the rear number plate. The index marks on it were GUI 1017.”

Mr. Ling Tam's hand trembled as he raised his glass to his lips, but he made no reply. Merrion went on quietly. “You might have bought a second car in Northumberland, where the index marks are TY. If the prefix letter at the time had been L, it would have been most appropriate.”

“What nonsense are you talking now?” Arnold demanded.

“Mr. Ling Tam knows that it is not nonsense,” Merrion replied gravely. “It was his hand that drove the knife into Lo Fat's heart.”

CHAPTER XVII

A LONG SILENCE followed. Ling Tam's eyes were glassy as he stared alternately at Merrion and Arnold. He seemed to have lost all his poise and self-possession, even to grow, smaller as he crouched into the recesses of his chair. At last Merrion spoke. “Can you refute my theory, Mr. Ling Tam?”

Ling Tam's voice was no more than a feeble croak when after a pause he replied. “How can I refute it, Mr. Merrion? You have learnt the truth in almost every detail.”

Merrion refilled his glass. “Drink that, it will pull you together. Do you feel inclined to tell us why it was decided to execute Ah Lock?”

Ling Tam drained the glass at a gulp and put it down unsteadily. “Yes, I will tell you. The execution of Ah Lock was an act of simple justice.”

He paused again, then continued abruptly. “The first inkling I had of the affair was a telephone call from Chu Shek. He, as you may as well know is the Cranport agent of the Yellow Rose. He said nothing on the telephone beyond asking me to come to Cranport on an urgent matter.

“I went down next day. That was the Wednesday before the execution. Chu Shek's lodgers were all out at work, and he and I had a confidential conversation. He told me that for some time he had been suspicious of Ah Lock. He could not understand how he was able to save money out of his wages. On the previous day Chu Shek had learnt, quite by chance, that Ah Lock spent the greater part of his time questioning the Chinese in the quarter as to their political leanings. Chu Shek had come to the conclusion that Ah Lock was acting as a spy, and being paid for it.

“The Yellow Rose inclines to the Nationalists rather than to the Communists, I understand,” Merrion remarked.

“That is so,” Ling Tam replied. “All the subscribers, the wealthier Chinese in this country, are strongly Nationalist. The Yellow Rose has always done its best to check the spread of Communism among the poorer classes here.

“I asked Chu Shek if there was any way of obtaining evidence that Ah Lock was a spy. He told me that he had a metal case in his room, which he kept padlocked. Chu Shek did not know what was in it, but thought it might contain the evidence required. I asked him where the key was kept, and he told me that Ah Lock always carried it in his pocket.

“You were quite right about the ironmonger, Mr. Merrion. It was Chu Shek's suggestion that he should go to a friend of his, who kept an ironmongery shop in Winkle Street, and borrow a bunch of keys from him. He did so, and we very soon found a key which opened the padlock. And when we looked into the case, we found all the evidence we needed.”

“What did you find?” Merrion asked.

“We found a memorandum book,” Ling Tam replied. “A book of thin perforated leaves. Between two of these was a sheet of carbon paper. Several of the leaves had been torn out, but the carbon counterparts remained. And on these were Chinese characters, clumsy, but quite legible.”

“Chu Shek was amazed. He had no idea that Ah Lock was able to write even his own name. When he had opened an account in the Post Office Savings Bank, he had professed himself unable to do more than make a mark. I read the entries in the book. They consisted of a list of many of the Chinese resident in Cranport. Against each were particulars of age, occupation, and so forth. And, most particularly, the individual's political inclinations. Chu Shek had been correct in his suspicions that Ah Lock was a spy.

“To you, as Englishmen, this must seem of little importance. But to the Chinese concerned, it was vital. I have no doubt that the torn-out leaves, of which what we saw were the carbon copies, had been sent to the representatives in London of the Chinese Communist Government. And you must understand that many of the Chinese now in this country hope to return home some day.”

“Dr. Cromer told me something about that,” Arnold remarked. “If their homes were in Communist China, and they had shown Nationalist tendencies while they were here, they would find themselves in serious trouble when they tried to return?”

“That is so,” Ling Tam replied. “And not only that. Their families now in China would be subjected to persecution. Ah Lock's activities may already have caused suffering, if not death, to hundreds of innocent people.”

“You decided that these activities must be punished?” Merrion asked.

“Death was the appropriate penalty,” Ling Tam replied. “But Ah Lock should not be executed without trial. I copied out half a dozen typical entries. Then we put the book back in the case, which we re-locked. We decided that his fellow-lodgers should be Ah Lock's judges.”

Ling Tam seemed to be recovering his composure as he went on. “I lied to you when I said that I was ignorant of Cranport and its Chinese inhabitants. I was familiar, not only with the Chinese quarter, but with Bacton Wood. How that came about, I will explain. It not infrequently happens that the Yellow Rose has surplus funds of which to dispose. The practice had been to distribute these among the poorer Chinese in the various colonies. The distribution has been made more or less secretly, in order not to cause jealousy and ill-feeling among those not included. We have depended upon our local agents to select those who are to benefit, and these were summoned to some unfrequented place.

“Before the first distribution was made in Cranport, some time ago, I asked Chu Shek if he knew of a suitable place for it. He told me that not many people went to the moorland between Cranport and Wychurst. I explored in that direction and found Bacton Wood, which seemed ideal for our purpose. Several distributions have since been held there.

“Chu Shek and I decided that on the following Saturday afternoon Bacton Wood should be the scene of the trial and, if his judges found him worthy of death, of Ah Lock's execution. Those concerned could be summoned there on the pretext of a distribution. As a precaution, the judges must have alibis for that afternoon. I need not go into details, for you already know them. We worked them out between us, and Chu Shek undertook to drill them into his lodgers' heads. And also into the head of Pi Wong, whom we knew well. Say Pant was in no way included in our scheme. When all our arrangements had been made, I returned to London.

“When his lodgers returned from work that Wednesday evening, Chu Shek told them that a distribution was to be made in which all five were included. It was to take place on Saturday afternoon, in the usual place. The men were to make their way to Bacton Wood separately, or at the most in pairs. Chu Shek knew that some little time before Koo Yang had borrowed a hammer from the laundry. He and Lo Fat were nailing some old bits of wood together to make a box. Chu Shek took him aside and told him to take the hammer with him to the distribution.

“On the Saturday afternoon my chauffeur drove me to Bacton Wood, approaching it from the direction of Wychurst, thus avoiding Cranport. I left him in the car at a point in the lane from which he could see some distance in either direction. His instructions were to take no notice if anyone came along. Only if they showed signs of being about to enter the wood was he to sound a prearranged signal on the horn.”

“By the time I reached the clearing, the five men were already assembled. On that occasion too I was wearing a yellow rosebud in my buttonhole. I sat down on one of the stumps, and ranged the men round me in a semicircle, Ah Lock in the middle. I said that before the distribution could take place, I had a question to ask Ah Lock. Where did the money come from that he had been able to save? I think that he would have tried to bolt, had not the men on either side of him each caught hold of one of his arms. I told him then that he was on trial for his life. I described how Chu Shek and I had opened his case, and what we had found there. And I went on to read the extracts I had made, explaining that these were only samples of a hundred or so entries. I made it clear that the top copies of these entries were missing, and that it must be assumed that they were in unfriendly hands.

“The other four fell upon Ah Lock. I think they would have torn him limb from limb if I had not told them to stop. When they had, I asked them what the penalty was to be. With one accord they shouted 'Death.'

“The next thing that happened was, as far as I was concerned, quite unrehearsed. Koo Yang rushed upon Ah Lock with his hammer, and struck him on the head. I had brought with me a cold chisel, the edge of which my chauffeur had sharpened until it was as keen as a knife. Borrowing Koo Yang's hammer, I drove this deeply into Ah Lock's head, twice. The four men could no longer be restrained. They rolled the body over and stamped upon it until I told them to desist.”

“None of them took part in the actual murder?” Merrion asked.

“None of them,” Ling Tam replied emphatically. “I want to make that quite clear. It was I who carried out their sentence on Ah Lock. And I am quite willing to take the consequences, whatever they may be.”

“That will be the concern of the police,” said Merrion. “Was the Savings Bank book found at this stage?”

“It was,” Ling Tam replied. “I told the men to search Ah Lock's pockets on the chance of finding further incriminating evidence. But all of importance that was found was the book and the key of the case.

“At the sight of the book the men set up a clamour. They claimed that Ah Lock's savings should rightly be divided among his judges. I explained to them that it would be impossible to draw the money in Cranport. It would be necessary for one of their number to go to London and there impersonate Ah Lock. They could settle that among themselves, meanwhile they must set to work to cover up the body.

“I had brought with me four small hack-saws, which could easily be concealed. These I distributed among them, telling them to saw branches off the trees and make a big pile of them. When they had done so, I asked them if they had decided which of them was to collect the money. They had selected Koo Yang, since he had at one time worked in London, and presumably knew his way about.”

Ling Tam looked at his empty glass. Merrion refilled it, and Ling Tam sipped at it slowly as he went on. His detached calm was such that he might have been a describing a series of actions in which he himself had M taken no part. “I took a slip of paper from my pocket, and pencilled a few simple characters on it, indicating that the execution had been performed. I wrapped the key in this and gave it to Lo Fat, telling him to pass it on to Chu Shek. I knew that when Chu Shek had read the message, he would open the case and burn the memorandum book. Thinking that I was returning the pencil to my pocket, I must have let it fall to the ground, though I did not notice this at the time. It was not until I got back to London that I missed the pencil. I was not greatly concerned for, even if it should be found in Bacton Wood, it was not likely that it could be traced back to me.”

“It probably would not have been,” Merrion remarked. “But at least it showed that someone of superior social standing than the coolies had been concerned in the execution. You did not return to Cranport that day?”

“I did not,” Ling Tam replied. “I drove back to London by the way I had come, taking Koo Yang and the Savings Bank book with me.”

“Then Say Pant gave Koo Yang a false alibi?” Merrion asked. “But I thought you told us that Say Pant was not included in your scheme?”

“I will tell you about that very shortly,” Ling Tang replied. “When we got back to London, I handed Koo Yang over to my chauffeur, with instructions that he was to be kept quiet and happy until Monday. The method my chauffeur employed to this end was to let Koo Yang have a pipe or two of opium.

“On Monday afternoon I sent for Koo Yang, and told him exactly what he was to do. He was to go to Blythe Road represent himself as Ah Lock, and draw the whole of the money. If he was asked why he wanted it so urgently, he was to say that he was going home to Hong Kong next day. He had signed on as a cook on a ship sailing for the Far East. When he had got the money, he was to take the next train back to Cranport, paying his fare out of what he had drawn. The rest he was to hand over to Chu Shek for distribution.

“Hearing no more of him, I supposed he had carried out his instructions. Till, on the following Friday, How Ming called upon me and told me his story. The man he had befriended and who had attacked him had given the name of Ah Lock. He had produced a Savings Bank book in support of this.

“You may imagine my consternation. The man could only be Koo Yang. What he might reveal when questioned by the police I dared not contemplate. I must somehow see him and try to straighten things out. I took the audacious step of calling on Mr. Arnold at Scotland Yard.

“As you know, I was allowed to see Koo Yang. Fortunately, we were able to talk to one another in a language the police present did not understand. He told me that he had been to Blythe Road, where he had been given a form, which he had signed as Ah Lock. When it was pointed out that in the book was no signature, but merely a mark, he had been seized with panic. He had snatched the book from the official and bolted. He hadn't dared to come back to me and tell me what had happened, and he had no money to pay his fare back to Cranport. So he had sought refuge with How Ming, of whom he had heard Ah Lock speak.

“Koo Yang went on to tell me what had happened since. He had stunned How Ming with the hammer which, without my knowledge, he had brought with him. He had taken his money, which he needed to get back to Cranport. But before he could make his escape he had been arrested. He had been put on an identification parade, but the official from Blythe Road had apparently failed to recognise him.

“Then he told me that, from the questions he had been asked, as to his doings on the previous Saturday afternoon, he gathered that the body of Ah Lock had been found. Naturally, this caused me the deepest concern. I asked what answers he had given, and he replied the ones he had been taught by Chu Shek. He had been to the scramble with Lo Fat, and had then gone home with a man Lo Fat did not know. He had spent the week-end with this man, and had not come up to London till Monday afternoon. He had refused to give the police the name of this man, since he did not exist.

“I was relieved to hear that so far Koo Yang had not involved me. But my relief did not last very long. Koo Yang told me that if he was charged with the murder of Ah Lock, he would tell the whole truth.

“Next day, I received Mr. Arnold's telephone message. At first I was afraid that Chu Shek or one of his lodgers had blurted out the whole story. Then I reflected that, if that had been the case, Mr. Arnold would not have put me on my guard. He would not have asked me to come to Cranport, but would have come to see me, armed with a warrant for my arrest. So I agreed to his request.

“I was completely baffled when I was taken to Say Pant's room and asked to interpret the questions put by the police. I had never heard the man's name before, and could not imagine how he had become involved. He was obviously an opium smoker, and it struck me that he could be used to support the alibi Koo Yang had given.

He knew who I was, by the yellow rose I was wearing, and agreed to answer the questions. I put them in a form he could understand, but I interpreted his answers as seemed to me expedient. What he actually said was that he had not been to the scramble. He did not know Koo Yang, and nobody had spent the week-end in his room. He admitted that he had smoked opium, but was very indignant when I asked him if he kept a supply in the room. He insisted that on that Saturday he had bought a very small quantity from a friend of his who worked in the docks.

“Meanwhile, I had told my chauffeur to go to Rupert Terrace and find out how matters stood there. After lunch, when I had joined him in the car, he told me, and his report was most alarming. He said that they were all at their wits' end, and that Chu Shek had told him that if something wasn't done at once, the truth was bound to come out. Lo Fat in particular was visibly weakening, and was not to be trusted. Chu Shek had asked my chauffeur to tell me that he must see me as soon as possible.

“After what I had said about an appointment in London, I could not go to Rupert Terrace then and there. My chauffeur drove us some distance out of Cranport, and found a quiet place by the roadside where we could pull up without attracting attention. He gave me a fuller and more detailed account of what he had seen and heard at Rupert Terrace. His opinion was that unless something was done, the secret would not be kept much longer.

“But what was to be done? Sitting in the car, I considered that question from all possible angles. At last I found what seemed to me the only solution. The apparent suicide of one of those who had been concerned, and a written confession that he alone had killed Ah Lock. This would satisfy the police, and they would feel no need for further investigation. I did not reckon with your powers of penetration, Mr. Merrion.

“In the late afternoon we drove back to Cranport. It must have been then that we overtook your car. We did not enter the town, but when we reached the outskirts I alighted and walked by the back streets to Rupert Terrace. I told my chauffeur to wait with the car somewhere outside the town, and to be at Rupert Terrace a quarter of an hour after midnight.

“When I reached Rupert Terrace I found that my chauffeur had not been exaggerating. Chu Shek, Han Sung and Tsan Chin were in the kitchen, and the three of them were in a state of dithering terror. I asked where Lo Fat was, and Chu Shek told me that he was in his room, where he had been most of the afternoon.

“According to Chu Shek, Lo Fat had completely lost his nerve since he had been interrogated by the police. He had complained, as all coolies do when anything is worrying them, that he was tormented by devils night and day. He had kept away from the others, and Chu Shek was desperately afraid that he would break down and blurt out the truth to anyone who would listen to him. Chu Shek asked me if it wouldn't be better to kill him before this happened. I replied that it would be better still if he killed himself.

“I told Chu Shek what I had in mind, and he jumped at the idea. I explained that it would be necessary to get Lo Fat into a state in which he would be incapable of offering resistance, and that the best way to do that would be to let him have a pipe or two of opium. I had no opium at the time, but Chu Shek knew where he could lay hands on some. He went out and very soon returned with a small quantity of opium, three pipes, and a battered metal spirit-lamp.

“I explained to Han Sung and Tsan Chin the parts they were to play. They were to encourage Lo Fat to smoke, and to appear to keep him company. But they were not to smoke more than a single pipe each. Then I went up to Lo Fat's room. I found him sitting on his bed his head between his hands, rocking himself backwards and forwards. As soon as he saw me, he told me a rambling and incoherent story of the devils which possessed him. I said that I knew a way of ridding him of those devils, and that if he would pull himself together and come downstairs, we would see what we could do. It took me a little time to persuade him to do this.

“You have divined so exactly what followed, Mr. Merrion, that I need not repeat it. Lo Fat eagerly accepted the offer of a pipe. It would drive the devils away, if only temporarily. The lamp was lighted, and the drug prepared. The three of them lighted their pipes, but only Lo Fat smoked more than one. Chu Shek had found the knife when he opened Ah Lock's case with the key Lo Fat had delivered to him. I busied myself with the confession. At precisely midnight, in the way you have described, I drove the knife into Lo Fat's heart.

“All that remained to do was to dispose of the body. We carried it into the shop and waited there in the dark till my car drew up. Then Chu Shek opened the door, and we carried the body into the back of the car. You remarked that it was roomy. There was room in the back for three, two living and one dead. Han Sung and Tsan Chin sat one on either side of the body, to steady it and see that the hilt of the knife touched nothing. Then we drove slowly and carefully to Bacton Wood, not by Owen's Corner, but through Wychurst, where there was less chance of anyone being about.

“I noticed that it had been raining and, as we turned into the lane leading to Bacton Wood, that it was muddy. I stopped the car, and told my chauffeur to plaster Lo Fat's shoes with mud. This would give the impression that he had walked to the wood, and therefore that he had committed suicide there.

“This done, we went on till we reached the end of the track leading to the clearing. My chauffeur and I had torches, and we led the way along the track, followed by Han Sung and Tsan Chin, carrying the body between them. Coolies are used to carrying weights, and Lo Fat was not very heavily built. They laid down the body on the exact spot where Ah Lock's had been laid after the execution.”

“The night was dark, I believe?” Merrion asked.

“Very dark indeed,” Ling Tam replied. “I did not care to use the headlights once we had turned into the lane. Under sidelights only it was very difficult even to crawl along. It seemed to me that we should never get to the wood.”

Merrion smiled. “You made one mistake, Mr. Ling Tam. If Lo Fat had walked to the wood how, on such a night, could he possibly have found his way to the spot where you deposited his body? You should have left one of the torches beside him. Well, Arnold, what do you think of what Mr. Ling Tam has told us?”

“It's all very well for you and him to talk of an execution,” Arnold replied heavily. “In this country murder is murder. I'll thank you to let me use your telephone.”

He rang up Scotland Yard, asking for a car to be sent without delay. A very few minutes passed in silence, till Newport came in to announce that the car had arrived. “Will you come with me, Mr. Ling Tam?” Arnold asked.

“Certainly I will come with you, Mr. Arnold,” Ling Tam replied. “Good night, Mr. Merrion, and very many thanks for a most excellent dinner.”

Within half an hour Arnold returned. “He's as docile as a pet lamb,” he said. “The first thing he did when I got him to the Yard was to ask for pen and paper so that be could write a full statement and sign it. So you were right again, confound you! What I can't understand is how you got him to own up so easily.”

“Was it so easy?” Merrion replied. “I thought it was rather a cunning piece of work on my part. I was gambling on the Oriental temperament, which has a strongly defeatist element in it.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Arnold asked.

“That, faced by a sudden and unexpected accusation, an Oriental nearly always collapses. And once he has collapsed, his native fatalism prevents him from recovering. I fed him with good food and drink, so as to build up his self-confidence. And, as you may have noticed, I led him to believe that it was Chu Shek, not him, whom I suspected. It was the suddenness of the blow, when I told him that it was his hand that plunged the knife into Lo Fat's heart, that knocked him out. What are you going to do about it?”

“I'm blessed if I know,” said Arnold. “I shan't charge him to-night. That verdict will have to be got round somehow. It'll be for the Chief to decide when he's heard the whole story.”

“There's one thing you might do as a preliminary,” Merrion replied. “That chauffeur of his seems to have been as much in the know as anyone. Get hold of him and examine him through a reliable interpreter. Tell him first that you have his master in custody. If he doesn't believe you, let them meet. You won't have any trouble with him after that.”

“I'll do it right away,” said Arnold. “Good night to you and, as our friend said, many thanks for a most excellent dinner.” As he reached the door he stopped and chuckled. “To the best of my knowledge and belief, it's the first time I've ever stood lunch to a murderer.”

Merrion's ideas of Oriental fatalism proved correct. Mr. Ling Tam accepted his position without complaint. His written statement emphasised that all the others concerned had obeyed his orders. His account of events was confirmed by his chauffeur. After some delay, he was charged with the murder of Ah Lock. At his trial he insisted on pleading guilty, and was sentenced to life imprisonment.

Koo Yang stood his trial on the charge of unlawfully wounding How Ming, and got off comparatively lightly. How Ming, whose money had been returned to him, seemed to bear little resentment. He felt quite sure that Koo Yang had not meant to do him a serious injury. The prisoner was sentenced to three months, to run from the time he had first appeared before the magistrate.

Ah Lock's relatives in Kowloon were traced, and his Savings Bank book forwarded to them.

No action was taken against Chu Shek and his two remaining lodgers. The reason being that the only person who could have given evidence against them flatly refused to do so. “No!” he exclaimed when Arnold approached him on the subject. “You will admit that up till now I have given the police every assistance. I am prepared to go no further. If I had accomplices, as you choose to call them, they were acting under my orders. And for those orders I alone was responsible.”

As might have been expected, Bacton Wood very soon became known as Dead Men's Wood. This so infuriated Mr. Nayland that he sold the trees as standing timber. Lapworth's comment, when he was told of this, was that he supposed the timber would be cut up to make souvenirs. “If it is, I shall send one to Mr. Merrion,” he added.