Dope by Sax Rohmer (highly recommended books .txt) 📖

There was an oil-stove in the room, which, like that adjoining it, was evidently unprovided with any proper means of ventilation. A paper-shaded lamp hung from the low roof. The floor was covered with matting, and there were arm-chairs, a divan and other items of furniture, which had been removed from Mrs. Sin's sanctum in the dismantled House of a Hundred Raptures. In a recess a bed was placed, and as Sin Sin Wa came in Mrs. Sin was standing by the bed looking down at a woman who lay there.

Mrs. Sin wore her kimona of embroidered green silk and made a striking picture in that sordid setting. Her black hair she had dyed a fashionable shade of red. She glanced rapidly across her shoulder at Sin Sin Wa—a glance of contempt with which was mingled faint distrust.

“So,” she said, in Chinese, “you have come at last.” Sin Sin Wa smiled. “They watched the old fox,” he replied. “But their eyes were as the eyes of the mole.”

Still aside, contemptuously, the woman regarded him, and:

“Suppose they are keener than you think?” she said. “Are you sure you have not led them—here?”

“The snail may not pursue the hawk,” murmured Sin Sin Wa; “nor the eye of the bat follow his flight.”

“Smartest leg,” remarked the raven.

“Yes, yes, my little friend,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, “very soon now you shall see the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan and watch the great Yellow River sweeping eastward to the sea.”

“Pah!” said Mrs. Sin. “Much—very much—you care about the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan, and little, oh, very little, about the dollars and the traffic! You have my papers?”

“All are complete. With those dollars for which I care not, a man might buy the world—if he had but enough of the dollars. You are well known in Poplar as 'Mrs. Jacobs,' and your identity is easily established—as 'Mrs. Jacobs.' You join the Mahratta at the Albert Dock. I have bought you a post as stewardess.”

Mrs. Sin tossed her head. “And Juan?”

“What can they prove against your Juan if you are missing?”

Mrs. Sin nodded towards the bed.

With slow and shuffling steps Sin Sin Wa approached. He continued to smile, but his glittering eye held even less of mirth than usual. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he stood and looked down—at Rita Irvin.

Her face had acquired a waxen quality, but some of her delicate coloring still lingered, lending her a ghastly and mask-like aspect. Her nostrils and lips were blanched, however, and possessed a curiously pinched appearance. It was impossible to detect the fact that she breathed, and her long lashes lay motionless upon her cheeks.

Sin Sin Wa studied her silently for some time, then:

“Yes,” he murmured, “she is beautiful. But women are like adder's eggs. He is a fool who warms them in his bosom.” He turned his slow regard upon Mrs. Sin. “You have stained your hair to look even as hers. It was discreet, my wife. But one is beautiful and many-shadowed like a copper vase, and the other is like a winter sunset on the poppy-fields. You remind me of the angry red policeman, and I tremble.”

“Tremble as much as you like,” said Mrs. Sin scornfully, “but do something, think; don't leave everything to me. She screamed tonight—and someone heard her. They are searching the river bank from door to door.”

“Lo!” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “even this I had learned, nor failed to heed the beating of a distant drum. And why did she scream?”

“I was—keeping her asleep; and the prick of the needle woke her.”

“Tchee, tchee,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, his voice sinking lower and lower and his eye nearly closing. “But still she lives—and is beautiful.”

“Beautiful!” mocked Mrs. Sin. “A doll-woman, bloodless and nerveless!”

“So—so. Yet she, so bloodless and nerveless, unmasked the secret of Kazmah, and she, so bloodless and nerveless, struck down—”

Mrs. Sin ground her teeth together audibly.

“Yes, yes!” she said in sibilant Chinese. “She is a robber, a thief, a murderess.” She bent over the unconscious woman, her jewel-laden fingers crooked and menacing. “With my bare hands I would strangle her, but—”

“There must be no marks of violence when she is found in the river. Tchee, chee—it is a pity.”

“Number one p'lice chop, lo!” croaked the raven, following this remark with the police-whistle imitation.

Mrs. Sin turned and stared fiercely at the one-eyed bird.

“Why do you bring that evil, croaking thing here?” she demanded. “Have we not enough risks?”

Sin Sin Wa smiled patiently.

“Too many,” he murmured. “For failure is nothing but the taking of seven risks when six were enough. Come—let us settle our affairs. The 'Jacobs' account is closed, but it is only a question of hours or days before the police learn that the wharf as well as the house belongs to someone of that name. We have drawn our last dollar from the traffic, my wife. Our stock we are resigned to lose. So let us settle our affairs.”

“Smartest—smartest,” croaked Tling-a-Ling, and rattled ghostly castanets.