The crowd was still gathered around Charlie Tang’s shop, but the police were no longer in evidence. The locksmith had done his job, and the investigation had been moved inside. At the back of the shop we found Constable Kung with four more Chinese who had witnessed the quarrel between Charlie Tang and Wong Li. A police sergeant was taking down their testimony.
Chief Inspector Mewer loomed up suddenly in the dim interior of the shop. He said to Lady Sara, “You did a good piece of work.” As was usually the case when he actually paid her a compliment, he sounded resentful. “Whenever we got to the next step, you had already taken it. Have you figured out how the Santa Claus with a ladder fits in?”
“I believe I have,” Lady Sara said.
“He certainly didn’t break into the house,” the Chief Inspector said. “By last night, when he is supposed to have made his climb, Wong Li had been long dead. Everything indicates that he died shortly before the Tangs left yesterday morning. We think we have things pretty much figured out. Wong Li resented being left to watch the shop. He and Charlie Tang quarrelled about that. Yesterday morning, shortly before the Tang family left, they were seen standing outside the side door arguing violently. Thanks to you, we have six witnesses to that. Tang and Wong Li went inside and resumed the quarrel there, and Tang stabbed Wong Li in the back with a dagger that had been displayed on the sitting room wall with an assortment of Chinese knickknacks. Charlie Tang had to leave almost at once with his family, so he left Wong Li’s body lying there. But we’ve just learned that he intended to return alone tomorrow, leaving his family in Liverpool for several more days. Obviously he planned to dispose of the body before his family returned. We’ll have an unpleasant Christmas surprise for him. He’ll be arrested in Liverpool as soon as we can obtain another warrant. Can you improve on that?”
“I think I can,” Lady Sara said. “Where is Assistant Commissioner Henry?”
“Upstairs with his fingerprint people,” the Chief Inspector said. “Fingerprinting adds a lot of fuss to an investigation. Waste of time, I say.”
“I say wait and see,” Lady Sara said.
We climbed the stairs with the Chief Inspector clumping after us. The Assistant Commissioner met us at the top. “Almost finished,” he announced.
“Were there fingerprints on the dagger?” Lady Sara asked.
“A lovely set.”
“What do you intend to do with them?”
“We’ll check our files. Unfortunately, the files aren’t very extensive as yet. Probably we don’t have the murderer there. But if we ever lay our hands on him for another offence, we’ll have him for this murder as well.”
“And if you never lay hands on him?” Lady Sara asked.
The Assistant Commissioner shrugged. “There are no shortcuts to law enforcement. Fingerprints have to be compared with the fingerprints of suspects or known offenders.”
“Have you found a bottle of sake anywhere on the premises?” Lady Sara asked.
They looked at her strangely. No one had noticed.
“Look for it,” Lady Sara said. “It should be here. But when you find it, don’t touch it. Examine it first for fingerprints. I’m testing the reliability of a witness.”
They found the bottle of sake and turned it over to Assistant Commissioner Henry’s fingerprinting crew. Only a small amount of the sake had been consumed — just about enough, I thought, for three men drinking a toast. Thus far, W. Shing had proved to be totally reliable.
Lady Sara next wanted to know whether there were twenty small brass Buddhas for sale in the shop downstairs. They were not to be touched. They, too, had to be checked for fingerprints and then counted.
The counting was done first. There were twenty, another point for W. Shing.
“Excellent!” Lady Sara said. “Now my case is complete.” She handed the vase with its Chinese newspaper wrapping to Assistant Commissioner Henry. “Handle it carefully,” she said. “On this vase, you will find the fingerprints of the murderer. You also should find them on the bottle of sake and on the Buddhas — perhaps along with the fingerprints of Wong Li. You will not find any fingerprints of Charlie Tang, which proves his innocence.”
A perplexed group of police officers went to work on the vase. Lady Sara stepped around the corpse of Wong Li and took a seat in the sitting room. I joined her. She smiled at me.
“Are you hungry?”
“It just now occurred to me that I haven’t eaten since early this morning. Yes, I’m hungry. Food is no further away than the cookshop next door, but I would rather pass on that. I like to know what it is that I am eating.”
“An excellent Christmas dinner will be waiting for us in Connaught Mews. I’m looking forward to it. Food always tastes better when one has just finished a good job of work.”
Assistant Commissioner Henry joined us. He moved a chair toward us and sat down. Chief Inspector Mewer, who had trailed after him, remained standing. The Assistant Commissioner was experiencing a strangely subdued triumph. For the first time in the history of English criminal investigation, he had used fingerprints to identify a murderer, but he had no notion at all as to the murderer’s identity.
“Who is it?” he asked.
Lady Sara pursed her lips thoughtfully. “There probably are several hundred hiding places in this neighbourhood for a Chinese refugee. It might be wise to arrest him quickly before he knows he’s a suspect. Here is what you should do.”
We watched from the window. The elderly shopkeeper was still standing in his doorway looking in the direction of Charlie Tang’s shop. A detective in street clothing strolled over and engaged him in conversation. He was asking questions about the meeting with Charlie Tang and Wong Li that the Chinaman had told Lady Sara and me about. Another detective joined them. Then a third. Lady Sara had estimated that three would be enough. They were. The old man was seized before he quite knew what was happening.
“But what was the motive?” Chief Inspector Mewer demanded. “They weren’t business rivals. There is almost nothing in common between the two shops.”
“The shop next door to Mr. Shing’s is an opium parlour,” Lady Sara said. “Shing operates them both. The brass shop is his labour of love. The opium parlour is his bank — he probably makes huge profits. Charlie Tang was crusading against opium parlours. The motive was as simple as that. The case, however, is extremely complicated. If you will call at Connaught Mews this evening, I’ll be glad to expound it for you. Right now, Colin and I are hungry.”
She expounded the case for me over our Christmas dinner. “Mr. Shing felt he had to do something to stop Charlie Tang’s anti-opium crusade. He decided that murdering Charlie would be too dangerous. The murder of a mere employee of Charlie’s would be far less risky. If Wong Li’s murder could be arranged so that the obtuse English police would think Charlie did it, Mr. Shing’s problem would be solved.
“Since he has lived in England all of his life, he certainly knows a great deal about police procedures and the way the English justice system works. First there had to be a motive. Witnesses were provided who would swear they saw Charlie Tang and Wong Li quarrelling just before the Tang family left yesterday morning. Those witness probably did walk past at exactly the time they said they did. Of course they actually saw nothing. Their testimony was supplied by Mr. Shing.
“Immediately after the Tang family left, Mr. Shing called on Wong Li. He brought with him the twenty Buddhas he claimed Charlie Tang had asked him to order. Whether Charlie actually did so is unimportant. Probably he did occasionally obtain brass items through Mr. Shing, and the order seemed reasonable enough to Wong Li. Wong Li accepted the Buddhas.