"I ain't," declared the fireman, who appeared to be in a semi- dazed condition. "I ain't 'ad one since ten o'clock last night. It's dope wot's got me, not rum."
"Dope!" said Harley sharply; "been 'avin' a pipe, eh?"
"If you've got a corpse-reviver anywhere," continued the man in that curious, husky voice, "'ave pity on me, mate. I seen a thing to-night wot give me the jim-jams."
"All right, old son," said my friend good-humouredly; "about turn! I've got a drop in the bottle, but me an' my mate sails to-morrow, an' it's the last."
"Gawd bless yer!" growled the fireman; and the three of us-an odd trio, truly-turned about, retracing our steps.
As we approached the street lamp and its light shone upon the haggard face of the man walking between us, Harley stopped, and:
"Wot's up with yer eye?" he inquired.
He suddenly tilted the man's head upward and peered closely into one of his eyes. I suppressed a gasp of surprise for I instantly recognized the fireman of the Jupiter!
"Nothin' up with it, is there?" said the fireman.
"Only a lump o' mud," growled Harley, and with a very dirty handkerchief he pretended to remove the imaginary stain, and then, turning to me:
"Open the door, Jim," he directed.
His examination of the man's eyes had evidently satisfied him that our acquaintance had really been smoking opium.
We paused immediately outside the house for which we had been bound, and as I had the key I opened the door and the three of us stepped into a little dark room. Harley closed the door and we stumbled upstairs to a low first-floor apartment facing the street. There was nothing in its appointments, as revealed in the light of an oil lamp burning on the solitary table, to distinguish it from a thousand other such apartments which may be leased for a few shillings a week in the neighbourhood. That adjoining might have told a different story, for it more closely resembled an actor's dressing-room than a seaman's lodging; but the door of this sanctum was kept scrupulously locked.
"Sit down, old son," said my friend heartily, pushing forward an old arm-chair. "Fetch out the grog, Jim; there's about enough for three."
I walked to a cupboard, as the fireman sank limply down in the chair, and took out a bottle and three glasses. When the man, who, as I could now see quite plainly, was suffering from the after effects of opium, had eagerly gulped the stiff drink which I handed to him, he looked around with dim, glazed eyes, and:
"You've saved my life, mates," he declared. "I've 'ad a 'orrible nightmare, I 'ave-a nightmare. See?"
He fixed his eyes on me for a moment, then raised himself from his seat, peering narrowly at me across the table.
"I seed you before, mate. Gaw, blimey! if you ain't the bloke wot I giv'd the pigtail to! And wot laid out that blasted Chink as was scraggin' me! Shake, mate!"
I shook hands with him, Harley eyeing me closely the while, in a manner which told me that his quick brain had already supplied the link connecting our doped acquaintance with my strange experience during his absence. At the same time it occurred to me that my fireman friend did not know that Ah Fu was dead, or he would never have broached the subject so openly.
"That's so," I said, and wondered if he required further information.
"It's all right, mate. I don't want to 'ear no more about blinking pigtails-not all my life I don't," and he sat back heavily in his chair and stared at Harley.
"Where have you been?" inquired Harley, as if no interruption had occurred, and then began to reload his pipe: "at Malay Jack's or at Number Fourteen?"
"Neither of 'em!" cried the fireman, some evidence of animation appearing in his face; "I been at Kwen Lung's."
"In Pennyfields?"
"That's 'im, the old bloke with the big joss. I allers goes to see Ma Lorenzo when I'm in Port o' London. I've seen 'er for the last time, mates."
He banged a big and dirty hand upon the table.
"Last night I see murder done, an' only that I know they wouldn't believe me, I'd walk across to Limehouse P'lice Station presently and put the splits on 'em, I would."
Harley, who was seated behind the speaker, glanced at me significantly.
"Sure you wasn't dreamin'?" he inquired facetiously.
"Dreamin'!" cried the man. "Dreams don't leave no blood be'ind, do they?"
"Blood!" I exclaimed.
"That's wot I said-blood! When I woke up this mornin' there was blood all on that grinnin' joss-the blood wot 'ad dripped from 'er shoulders when she fell."
"Eh!" said Harley. "Blood on whose shoulders? Wot the 'ell are you talkin' about, old son?"
"Ere"-the fireman turned in his chair and grasped Harley by the arm-"listen to me, and I'll tell you somethink, I will. I'm goin' in the Seahawk in the mornin' see? But if you want to know somethink, I'll tell yer. Drunk or sober I bars the blasted p'lice, but if you like to tell 'em I'll put you on somethink worth tellin'. Sure the bottle's empty, mates?"
I caught Harley's glance and divided the remainder of the whisky evenly between the three glasses.
"Good 'ealth," said the fireman, and disposed of his share at a draught. "That's bucked me up wonderful."
He lay back in his chair and from a little tobacco-box began to fill a short clay pipe.
"Look 'ere, mates, I'm soberin' up, like, after the smoke, an' I can see, I can see plain, as nobody'll ever believe me. Nobody ever does, worse luck, but 'ere goes. Pass the matches."
He lighted his pipe, and looking about him in a sort of vaguely aggressive way:
"Last night," he resumed, "after I was chucked out of the Dock Gates, I made up my mind to go and smoke a pipe with old Ma Lorenzo. Round I goes to Pennyfields, and she don't seem glad to see me. There's nobody there only me. Not like the old days when you 'ad to book your seat in advance."
He laughed gruffly.
"She didn't want to let me in at first, said they was watched, that if a Chink 'ad an old pipe wot 'ad b'longed to 'is grandfather it was good enough to get 'im fined fifty quid. Anyway, me bein' an old friend she spread a mat for me and filled me a pipe. I asked after old Kwen Lung, but, of course, 'e was out gamblin', as usual; so after old Ma Lorenzo 'ad made me comfortable an' gone out I 'ad the place to myself, and presently I dozed off and forgot all about bloody ship's bunkers an' nigger-drivin' Scotchmen."
He paused and looked about him defiantly.
"I dunno 'ow long I slept," he continued, "but some time in the night I kind of 'alf woke up."
At that he twisted violently in his chair and glared across at Harley:
"You been a pal to me," he said; "but tell me I was dreamin' again and I'll smash yer bloody face!"
He glared for a while, then addressing his narrative more particularly to me, he resumed:
"It was a scream wot woke me-a woman's scream. I didn't sit up; I couldn't. I never felt like it before. It was the same as bein' buried alive, I should think. I could see an' I could 'ear, but I couldn't move one muscle in my body. Foller me? An' wot did I see, mates, an' wot did I 'ear? I'm goin' to tell yer. I see old Kwen Lung's daughter--"
"I didn't know 'e 'ad one," murmured Harley.
"Then you don't know much!" shouted the fireman. "I knew years ago, but 'e kept 'er stowed away somewhere up above, an' last night was the first time I ever see 'er. It was 'er shriek wot 'ad reached me, reached me through the smoke. I don't take much stock in Chink gals in general, but this one's mother was no Chink, I'll swear. She was just as pretty as a bloomin' ivory doll, an' as little an' as white, and that old swine Kwen Lung 'ad tore the dress off of 'er shoulders with a bloody great whip!"