There was nobody about just at that point, but there were people twenty yards away on either hand, and Hankinson's chief desire was to mingle with and get beyond them. He turned to the right and sped swiftly away, and just then the Jewess darted out into the street from the side entrance and let out a yell that startled every midnight stroller within the eighth of a mile.
"Murder!"
Hankinson shot into the nearest entry. It was light where he entered it; it was black where he traversed it; it was light again where he left it. And, flinging a glance over his shoulder as he turned at the end of it, he saw figures dart after him; also he heard a queer padding sound not so far away from his heels.
He knew then that here was a serious business, and he set his teeth and ran. There was a network of alleys and courts and queer places thereabouts.
Hankinson dodged from one to the other as a rabbit dodges about in its warren when the ferrets are after it. But wherever he went he heard the queer padding sound, and he cursed that one-eyed yellow dog to the depths of a dog's hell.
And yet once, twice, thrice, he looked round — at least once with his revolver in his hand — and never saw any dog at all, not even when there were patches of light which the pursuit, brute or human, must cross.
Eventually Hankinson, spent of breath, made two or three desperate twistings and twinings and darted into a dark court. The next minute something seemed to catch him by the ankle. He made a violent plunge forward, dashed his head against a wall, saw thousands of stars flash and coruscate before his eyes, and felt a great buzzing and humming rise up somewhere behind his ears. And immediately after that Hankinson, for the time being, felt and saw nothing more…
II
When Hankinson came back to consciousness he gradually realized that he was in surroundings of an undeniably strange sort. Save for a dull aching in his head, occasionally varied by a sharp stab of pain, he was not uncomfortable. He was lying on something very soft and warm; his head was properly pillowed; he felt that some hand had carefully tucked a covering around his limbs.
He judged from these things that he was not, at any rate, in the detention cells of a police station; experience had taught him that in these places small consideration was shown to visitors. But it was no use opening his eyes, for he was in a queer sort of darkness — not an absolutely black darkness, but a sort of deep, misty blue darkness, in the midst of which, high above him, was a faint spot of ruby-colored light. He could make that out, and he could tell that the darkness was blue and not black; more than that it was impossible to say.
But if Hankinson's eyes could do little, his nose was able to do more.
His nostrils began to expand and to titillate under unfamiliar odors. There was a queer, clinging, permeating scent all around and about; a scent of saffron and musk and sandalwood; it was heavy, thick, almost oppressive; it made him cough.
There had been an unearthly silence about that place until then. Hankinson's cough sounded like the report of a revolver let off in a vault. And when it died away and silence fell once more Hankinson heard the sniffling and snuffling of a dog somewhere close by. Then he remembered everything, and a cold sweat broke out all over him. And at that instant a flood of light was turned on, silently, and Hankinson, blinking upward, saw standing at his side a gigantic Chinaman clad in the costume of his own country, who looked down upon him with an expression which would have sat well on the face of a sphinx.
This extraordinary vision so frightened Hankinson that he immediately closed his eyes and shut it out.
Then he felt a cool hand laid on his forehead and heard a voice speaking in perfect English and soft, mellifluous tones.
"How do you feel now?" asked the voice.
Hankinson made so bold as to open his eyes again. He took another, a longer, look at the Chinaman.
The Oriental wore spectacles, and it was impossible to see his eyes clearly, but his tones were propitiating, and Hankinson's spirits revived.
"Bloomin' queer," he answered. He tried to move and, for some reason, found movement difficult. " 'Ow," he continued, " 'ow did I come 'ere, guv'nor?"
"I carried you into my house," said the Chinaman quietly. "I was taking the air at my door when you darted past me, followed by a dog. The dog suddenly caught you by the ankle and you stumbled and fell and dashed your head against the wall. That," he added, laying a delicate fingertip on a lump of wet lint which decorated Hankinson's right temple, "that is where your head came into contact with something harder. It is well for you, my friend, that your frontal bones are of more than usual strength."
Hankinson stared.
Then he referred to the only part of the speech which seemed to him to be really pertinent.
"That there dawg, now?" he asked anxiously. "Wot about 'im, guv'nor?"
The Chinaman pointed to a door at the foot of the couch on which Hankinson was lying.
"The dog," he replied, "is safely bestowed in there. He followed us in — and I took good care that he should not go out. He appears to be an animal of undoubted sagacity."
Hankinson moved again, and again found that movement was difficult, if not impossible.
"I'm obliged to yer, guv'nor." he said. "I–I'll be movin' now, if you ain't got no objections?"
The Chinaman shook his head gravely.
"Not yet," he said. "It will not be well for you to move just yet. Let me advise you to rest quietly where you are."
"An' why?" demanded Hankinson suspiciously. "There ain't nothink serious, is there, guv'nor? A crack on the 'e'd, now — that ain't nothink. I got business, yer see, an'—"
"And there are those who have business with you," remarked the Chinaman. "The police."
Hankinson felt cold again, but he managed to look surprised.
"Perlice!" he exclaimed. "Wot about the perlice, then? I aint—"
The Chinaman stretched out an arm and pulled a small, wheeled table from behind Hankinson's head. He silently directed Hankinson's eyes to it.
" 'Eavens!" muttered Hankinson.
The surface of the table was covered with an array of objects pleasing enough in themselves, but not welcome to Hankinson under present circumstances. These objects were laid out in order, neatly and systematically.
There was a row of gold watches, there was another row of gold chains — good and solid. There were pendants, ornaments, bracelets — all of gold, for Hankinson had scorned anything of less value. And there were precious stones — some fine pearls, some excellent rubies — and in the center of everything, on a rag of blue velvet, lay the diamonds over which the old jeweler had chuckled. Also, in one corner of the table lay Hankinson's revolver.
Hankinson felt very sick as he looked at these things. Yet — it was about what he had expected. And all he could do was to glare resentfully at the bland features of the spectacled face.
The Chinaman, however, remained unmoved.
"That," he said, again indicating the table, "will explain much. If you wish for further explanation — Mr. Marcovitch is dead."
Hankinson jumped — as much as that curious inertia would permit.
"G'arn!" he said in a low voice. " Yer don't mean it! It can't be, guv'nor. W'y I on'y—"
"He was quite dead when the police entered his shop," said the Chinaman. "You hit him too hard. And perhaps you are not very experienced in the use of the gag. However, he is dead, and the police are in pursuit of you."