King sighed. “Those rubies were hidden in the Manchu skull. There is a cunning receptacle in it. The rubies came in the skull.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You. . . you think I'm lying to you?”
“I don't know what to think,” he said wearily. “But if your story is true, I'll help you. Come with me.”
He helped her out of the car, and picked up the hatbox. Then he guided her to a doorway a few feet back.
“This is my office,” he told her. “It's the only place in New York where you'll be safe tonight. The Sung Tong is after your life.”
King's office was a small street-front store. The glass window and the glass panel of the door were protected by heavy steel-wire grating. The glass itself was bullet proof. On the window there appeared Chinese lettering, and alongside it, the same words in English:
CHRISTOPHER KING
Resident Buyer
Of
ORIENTAL ANTIQUES
King opened the door and led her inside. He went to the back of the office and placed the hatbox with the Manchu skull in the wall safe.
He saw Roxanna watching him. “What are you going to do?” she asked in a small voice.
“I'm going to check on your story,” he informed her. “If it's true that your brother is a prisoner of the Sung Tong, I'll find him for you. And incidentally, I intend to find the murderer of On Long Sin!”'
He swung the safe door closed and twirled the dial. “Stay right here,” he told Roxanna. “You'll be as safe here as in a fortress. Open for no one—no one at all. Understand?”
She nodded. “But why should you do all this for me? I'm a stranger to you. Because of me, you've made enemies of the powerful Sung Tong. They'll kill you on sight—”
He smiled. “I was in a pretty tight place when you appeared with your coupe. I'm grateful for that.”
Suddenly there were tears in the eyes of Roxanna Moore. “I'm afraid—for you. A Mongolian fortuneteller read my palm in Shanghai just before I embarked. He said that I would bring death wherever I went. I laughed at him then. But so many men have died tonight. And now you're going—”
He stroked her hair. “Don't worry. The Left-handed Swordsman is pretty hard to kill. I think you've told me the truth, Roxanna. I'll find your brother for you.”
He pulled down the Venetian blinds over the window, so that no one could look in. Then he left her and went out, setting the double locks on the door so that they clicked shut behind him.
He got into Roxanna's coupe and drove it around the block. It was a rented Drive-Yourself car. But the hatchet men of the Sung Tong would recognize it, and he didn't want it in front of his office as a signpost for them.
He left the car and walked slowly back to Pell Street.
CHAPTER IV. THE VENERABLE LEADER!
PELL STREET was still ominously quiet. The neon sign in front of the Far Long Sin Restaurant was once more alight, but the street lamp opposite had not been repaired. Also, there were lights in the Sung Tong building.
King twirled his cane as he approached the Sung Tong headquarters. His muscles were taut and ready. He saw a small group of the big, raw-boned hatchet men in front of the building entrance. They spotted him at the same time.
Their hands slid into their sleeves, where they kept the long, hungry knives.
King came to a stop, facing them.
“I wish to speak with the Venerable Leader of the Sung Tong,” he said in Cantonese. “I have the Manchu skull. If you kill me now, the skull will be lost to you forever.”
The hatchet men shuffled uncertainly. They glanced at each other.
At last one of them said: “Wait here! Do not go away, King san.”
He turned and disappeared into the building. The others watched King impassively, beady eyes fastened upon him, hands still hidden in their sleeves.
The man was not gone more than two minutes. He appeared in the doorway and said: “Enter, King san. But the Venerable Leader instructs me to say that you enter without the protection of the Sung Tong's hospitality. You may not enjoy the privileges of an invited guest.”
King smiled tightly. “I understand. If I were to have the privileges of an invited guest, the tong would be obligated to see that I departed in safety.”
“You know our customs as well as we ourselves, King san!”
the Chinese murmured. “We honor you for a brave man. And we are sorry that you are coming to your death! But first, since you ask it, you shall be allowed to speak with the Venerable Leader.”
King shrugged. He twirled the cane, and mounted the steps. He passed between the tense and silent hatchet men, and stepped into the hallway of the Sung Tong building.
At once the hatchet men came in behind him. The door closed.
King followed his guide down a carpeted hallway. He was conscious of the hatchet men close behind him.
At the end of the hallway, the guide pulled aside a rich Bokhara tapestry which covered a doorway. He stepped aside and motioned with his hand.
King stepped past him into the audience room of the Sung Tong.
His feet sank deep into the thick-napped Afghanistan rug which covered the entire floor. His nostrils dilated with the odor of incense from two braziers on either side of a high ceremonial chair in the center of the room, where sat the Venerable Leader of the Sung Tong, clad in a long silken gown of purest white, and a black skullcap.
King stopped stock-still just within the room, staring with narrowed eyes at this powerful chief of the Sung Tong.
“Pu Yee!” he exclaimed.
The venerable old curio importer was hardly recognizable now, attired in the rich ceremonial vestments.
“My heart is very heavy, King san,” he said in Cantonese, “that you come now as an enemy of the Sung Tong. I cherished you always as a friend. I tried to warn you, hoping that you would go back, and not mix yourself with the affairs of the tong.”
King came forward slowly, until he was less than ten feet from Pu Yee. The hatchet men moved up quickly, and ranged themselves on either side of him, as if to prevent him from doing harm to their leader. Their slant eyes were fixed upon the sword-cane in King's hand. They knew how swiftly it could flick out of the scabbard and strike. Their hands came out of their sleeves with knives. They would make sure that no harm came to their chief.
BUT Pu Yee smiled sadly and motioned to them to do nothing.
“It is written that you must die, King san. You have killed men of the Sung Tong. The honor of the society demands your life. But out of friendship, I will hear what you wish to say.”
“Thank you,” said King. He stood stiff as a ramrod before the old man, his eyes cold and hard. “Since it is to be war, Pu Yee, I will state my message quickly. I have the Mahchu skull in my possession. You are holding here as a hostage, a boy—Daniel Moore. I will give you the Manchu skull in return for his life and for a promise that you will molest neither him nor his sister.”
A queer light flickered in Pu Yee's eyes. “And for yourself? You ask nothing for yourself?”
King smiled crookedly. “I will take care of myself.”