A Study in Sherlock

THE MEN WITH THE TWISTED LIPS S. J. Rozan

“The Lascar,” said Chan Ho, cradling his delicate porcelain teacup in his hands, “is a dangerous man.”

Not a word of disagreement was uttered by any of the three guests gathered in Chan Ho’s carpeted upstairs parlor. The day being hot, the windows stood open, but even the afternoon Limehouse ruckus of creaking carts and hawkers’ shouts did not distract the men from the issue they had been brought together to consider. No more did the sweet scent of opium smoke rising faintly from below, to which all four men were inured; for Chan, and his guests also, as well as the Lascar whose transgressions were at issue, owned and managed houses for the enjoyment of that drug.

Portly Wing Lin-Wei, leaning forward to pluck a second candied plum from the silver bowl, replied, “Indeed, Chan, his flagrant contempt for the authorities only grows. He appears to have no respect for the customs of the land in which we find ourselves, nor any understanding of his position here. His attitude, his actions, they endanger us all.”

“In which he differs from you, Wing,” murmured Zhang Peng-Da, a skeletally thin and sour man who had not touched his tea. “You with your gifts of silver coin, your fawning attentions on the constabulary. Your pathetic attempts at spoken English! It is humiliating.”

A tight smile creased Wing’s full cheeks. “Perhaps, Zhang, my willingness to make efforts to adjust to our new home accounts for the difference in our clientele.”

“If there is an advantage in having the cost of an opium pipe borne by a duke rather than a dustman, I do not see it,” Zhang sneered. “In fact, if dustmen, not dukes, were our only patrons, perhaps there would be no need of this discussion.”

“Zhang is correct.” Chan spoke in mild rebuke to Wing, who was both the younger man and the more recent arrival to London. “If we accommodated only those whose habits did not draw the attention of the newspapers, not to speak of that of the ladies’ groups, it is possible we would have none of these difficulties. Yet we are hardly in a position to inquire into our customers’ social standing or employment before we render our service, or, for that matter, to turn any away. Nor have we ever needed to, as long as we take pains to be discreet. The smoking of opium is in England a legal pastime, the efforts of some civic groups to the contrary notwithstanding. May I remind you all, that is why we came here.”

Chan paused and looked about him at the men seated on the heavy wooden armchairs. Zhang wore his usual sneer and Lu Yang, the youngest of them, radiated impatience. Only Wing sat placidly, with the patience of an egret waiting to stab a fish. Chan sighed. Had the choice not been dictated by the requirements of the scheme as he set them out to himself, he might have selected other confederates to join him in accomplishing his ends. Restraining the more flamboyant activities of the Lascar proprietor of the Bar of Gold would be to the advantage of every man who owned an opium establishment in Limehouse, and Chan might easily have found more compatible allies. However, as things stood, each of these men brought with him an element indispensible to the successful prosecution of Chan’s idea.

“Our profession is not thought respectable,” Chan went on, “but we are largely ignored by those with whom we have no traffic. We all”—he emphasized the word, to remind the men of their common interests and of the necessity to put aside rivalries and work together on the task before them—“depend upon this relative obscurity to allow us to prosper.” Satisfied that he had made his point, Chan allowed himself a sip of tea. “Our ability to carry on our commerce in peace is threatened of late, however, by the scandalous behavior of this Lascar. His haughty disregard of the need for discretion, especially in his more questionable activities, has brought undesirable notice to the Bar of Gold. Thus unwanted attention has recently been directed at the Limehouse district, more than once. You especially, Zhang, as your establishment abuts his, are, I am sure, particularly concerned.”

Zhang glared but did not contradict.

“The current situation involving Mr. Neville St. Clair,” Chan came to the point, “is, I think you will all agree, untenable. What we have discovered, the authorities will eventually discover also. There will be an outcry against the Lascar that will encompass the entire district. It will be opium that is blamed, it will be our business establishments that are held up to scrutiny, it will be we who pay the price. Zhang’s concern that high-society patrons of our establishments draw excessive notice will be borne out with full force, when Mr. Neville St. Clair is discovered to be perpetrating this outrageous fraud from his quarters at the Lascar’s, here in Limehouse.”

“Mr. Neville St. Clair does not smoke opium,” Wing stated mildly, licking syrup from the end of his thumb.

“Nevertheless!” Zhang snapped. “Chan is correct. Mr. Neville St. Clair’s begging, in the person of the repulsive Hugh Boone, for which he has already been taken up a dozen times, is dependent on his rooms in our streets. His discovery will have repercussions here; worse still will be the shock when his identity is revealed to the citizens of Lee, where he lives his respectable life.”

Chan could not miss the disdain with which Zhang said “respectable,” but he let it pass. “My point exactly,” he confirmed. “That Mr. Neville St. Clair is perpetrating this fraud upon not only the kindhearted gentlemen of the City, who feel moved by his seeming plight to give him alms, but also upon his own wife, his children, his neighbors, will be too much for many people. Some will use the disgust of the moment to point the finger of accusation at us all. I believe in English the phrase is ‘tarring with the same brush.’ ” This was addressed as mollification to Wing, who nodded, acknowledging the honor. “Also, may I remind you, this is not the Lascar’s first offense against the calm order of the Limehouse district. It is time he is taught a lesson.”

“I do not understand, really I do not!” This outburst, finally, came from Lu Yang, who had not yet spoken. Chan knew Lu to be hot-blooded—the result of unbalanced qi—and was impressed that, from respect for his elders, the young man had managed to keep himself in check this long. “This Lascar has been a thorn in our sides since I came to London.”

Zhang snorted.

“Since long before that, Lu,” said Chan.

“Yes, I know that! So why do we hesitate? I can send a man to eliminate our difficulties as soon as night falls. The Lascar will not trouble us again.” Lu sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Unlike the three elder men, who wore long blue silk merchant’s robes as they had in their hometowns in China, Lu had adopted the wool trousers, jacket, and collared shirt of his new city. Chan wondered idly what such clothing felt like; perhaps he should try it.

“No, Lu,” Chan said. “Your man might eliminate the Lascar—”

“Might? He will, without question!”

“He will not, as skilled as he may be, because you will not send him. The Lascar has men also. We are attempting to lessen the amount of attention paid to Limehouse, Lu, not to increase it. A blood feud declared upon any of us by the Lascar’s men will have to be answered by all of us. The ensuing mayhem will bring a storm upon our heads. No, this situation must be handled with discretion. The Lascar must be spoken to in language only he will understand.”

Lu fixed his eyes on Chan, then relaxed and smiled. “Are you proposing we eliminate Mr. Neville St. Clair? That is an excellent idea! The Lascar will feel our displeasure—”

“Absolutely not!” Chan could see the young hothead would bear watching. “Or,” he allowed himself a smile, also, “in a way, I suppose I am. We must cause Mr. Neville St. Clair to vanish from our midst permanently, yes, but without violence. If we proceed as I am recommending, the Lascar, having lost the income he receives from his lodger, will also be required to fend off a certain amount of attention from the constabulary. Once this occurs, a discreet visit from one or more of us will be all that is needed to open the Lascar’s eyes to our displeasure with his behavior. We will have shown the lengths to which we are willing to go—to which we are capable of going—to protect our livelihoods. This will be a simple warning. Not particularly costly, to be sure, but the only one of its type. He will understand.”

“And if he does not?” Wing asked.

“He will also understand that there are further steps we can take.” Chan nodded pointedly at Lu, who returned both smile and nod.

“I think,” said Zhang, whose tea had by now grown cold from inattention, “we are all prepared to hear your scheme, Chan. We will decide how to proceed after the particulars have been explained.”

As senior man after Chan himself, it was Zhang’s privilege to speak for the others. “Very well,” Chan assented. He poured more tea for those who had drunk, refilling his own cup also. Lifting it, he said, “We must rid ourselves of the threat posed by the presence of Mr. Neville St. Clair by exposing his fraudulent practice, in a way so subtle as to cause him—healthily whole—to disappear, never to return. We must also, by this same stroke, lead the Lascar to understand he remains under the most vigilant watch. Although it is essential the authorities be involved, they must be restrained. Agreed?”

“Just how do you intend to achieve all of this, Chan?” Zhang inquired testily.

“There is one man in London capable of accomplishing our purposes with as much zeal as discretion.” Chan looked about him once again. “I propose we employ Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh, really!” Zhang snapped. “Have you had resort to your own pipes? We, the men of Limehouse, will hire London’s great consulting detective—this is your grand plan?”

“I have not said,” Chan responded, smiling, “that we will hire him. I am merely suggesting we employ him.”

As Chan explained his scheme to them all, the edge of hostility in his parlor gradually melted into the nodding of heads and the tranquillity of considered discussion.

“I had discreet inquiries made,” Chan told the men, “into not only Mr. Neville St. Clair, but others in his circle. I searched not specifically for further evildoing, but only to find something we might use to our advantage in this affair. I was, therefore, open to all information that came my way, not only that which might be obviously valuable at first glance.” He doubted if any man there would take a lesson from this; still, it was his duty to instruct. “After some time, a most interesting fact was presented to one of my agents, by a clerk at the Aberdeen Shipping Company.”

“They with offices in Fresno Street?” inquired Zhang.

“Precisely. Mrs. Neville St. Clair, I am told, awaits a parcel, to arrive on the SS Harding on Thursday next. The unloading of the ship’s cargo will be concluded by the Saturday evening. The following day being the Christian Sabbath, Mrs. Neville St. Clair will be notified by telegram on the Monday morning of the safe arrival of her parcel. She will be invited to gather it from the Aberdeen offices.”

“Will she come herself?” Lu asked with calculation in his voice.

“According to the clerk, a sharp-eyed young man, past experience indicates that she will. Thus, gentlemen, we will have a rare opportunity on the day she chooses to come to London. I propose we use it thus.”

The men being, after discussion and debate, in agreement with the plan as Chan Ho elucidated it, each was dispatched to his assigned task.

Zhang would designate three men to remain in the doorway of his own establishment, hard by the street-facing window of the rooms Mr. Neville St. Clair took at the Lascar’s. These men would be given a simple task, the successful accomplishment of which would demand much patience, but little effort.

“My men’s duties being successfully performed,” Zhang said skeptically, “I still see no guarantee we will achieve the result we desire.”

“We will achieve it,” Chan responded. “I have set a watch upon Mr. Neville St. Clair these few weeks past. He is a man of punctilious habits, to be depended upon. Taking leave of Hugh Boone, Mr. Neville St. Clair spends a quarter of an hour at the open window, reliably each day. Perhaps, to make the transition, he requires the fresh air.” The men all laughed, for, with the wharves, the gutters, and the opium houses, the air of Upper Swandam Lane was generally agreed to be the worst in all London.

Zhang having been satisfied as to that point, Wing prepared to go off to speak to his friends among the constabulary—Chan noted a small, superior smile in Zhang’s direction when he made this promise—to get their agreement to be in place at the required moment. Wing also would be instructing the officers as to advice to be given to Mrs. Neville St. Clair at the proper time.

Lu, the most audacious of them, was known by Chan (but not, until that afternoon, by the others) to have a man of his own in service at the Lascar’s. “A Dane,” Lu told them, “a young and ambitious man, more loyal to my gold than to his master.” This man would be charged with preventing the admission of Mrs. Neville St. Clair to the Lascar’s establishment, if possible.

“If he cannot?” inquired Wing. “If, perhaps, the Lascar is prepared to allow the lady access to the rooms upstairs rather than suffer officers of the law to invade his establishment?”

“From our point of view, that would not be ideal,” Chan admitted, “but it would not be disastrous, either. Possibly, the hideous aspect of the beggar Hugh Boone will so startle her that she will inquire no further. If so, we can continue as planned. If, in the event, Mr. Neville St. Clair, having already dispensed for the day with Hugh Boone, cannot recover him fast enough, his duplicity will be revealed to his wife. This, as I say, is not ideal, for if her horror of the situation is sufficient she might be inclined to make it public, exactly the circumstance we are attempting to avoid. I rather think not, however. I believe we can depend upon Mrs. Neville St. Clair’s discretion, if not for the sake of her husband, whom by all accounts she holds very dear, then for that of her young children.”

The role of Chan himself in the scheme was to give instructions to the clerk at the Aberdeen offices through his agent, and then to keep abreast of developments there, so that the four men would be able to identify the precise moment at which to set their plan into motion.

As the men were departing, each to play his part, Wing spoke in sudden afterthought. “I have heard,” he said, “from my friends among the constabulary”—Chan heard Zhang softly snort, but Wing continued, unperturbed—“that the brilliance of Mr. Sherlock Holmes shines even more brightly in the company of his chronicler, Dr. John Watson. If Mr. Sherlock Holmes is consulted by Mrs. Neville St. Clair upon this matter, will it be possible to ensure Dr. John Watson’s involvement as well?”

Chan smiled. “It will, Wing. That, too, has been arranged.”

The moment for which the men had been waiting came the Monday following the docking of the SS Harding. The telegram alerting Mrs. Neville St. Clair to the arrival of her parcel was dispatched by the sharp-eyed clerk early that morning, requesting the lady to inform the shipping line concerning her intentions to collect it. Mrs. Neville St. Clair replied by return telegram that she would come that very afternoon. The train schedule from Lee to London having been carefully studied by Chan, it was ascertained that should Mrs. Neville St. Clair hurry directly to the Aberdeen offices it would be a simple matter to delay her departure from them—mislaid paperwork, a fee to be paid—until a time convenient for the men’s scheme. As it happened, however, the lady went about some errands, and presented herself in the shipping offices at a perfect hour. Her parcel was delivered into her hands by the sharp-eyed clerk.

As the clerk, collecting his wages later, related to Chan, he followed his instructions to the letter, telling her while she signed the register that, as a lady such as herself would find the nearby streets distasteful, he would advise making the turn into Swandam Lane where a hansom cab might be found. Mrs. Neville St. Clair thanked him for his consideration and left. A few moments later the clerk, muttering to his office mates about a task with which he had been charged, left his desk and followed her. He was close behind, careful to hide himself, when the lady reached Swandam Lane. As she neared the Lascar’s establishment, the clerk signaled to the men in Zhang’s doorway, gesturing from a few steps back at the lady so that Zhang’s men, who had been waiting for this sign, would know that this figure was indeed Mrs. Neville St. Clair.

Zhang’s men then went into action, moving as a group into the street, boisterously disputing some point as though continuing an argument. They stopped on the muddy cobblestones so as to loudly make their points with each other. This had the requisite double effect of slowing the progress of Mrs. Neville St. Clair, and causing heads to turn in their direction—including, as intended, the head of Mr. Neville St. Clair in his window at the Bar of Gold. From that window issued a loud but inarticulate cry. Zhang’s three men immediately ceased their argument as heads turned once again, people in Swandam Lane seeking, instinctively, the source of the piteous noise. Among those glancing up was Mrs. Neville St. Clair. From the confused and horrified expression that swept the lady’s features, both the clerk and Zhang’s men understood that she had seen, in that window of the Lascar’s establishment, what she had been intended to see.

From there events continued to unfold as the men had planned them. The Lascar’s assistant, the Dane secretly in Lu’s service, forbade the entrance of Mrs. Neville St. Clair to the Bar of Gold, turning her away though she was desperate to the point of distraction. Just after that moment, alerted by the shipping clerk, an inspector and two constables of Wing’s acquaintance who had been biding their time in Fresno Street presented themselves at the corner with Swandam Lane. The lady hastened to them, and together they rushed back to the Bar of Gold, where the inspector demanded to be admitted. The small group then hurried up the stairs to the front room on the second floor, there to find Hugh Boone, a well-known redheaded beggar of singular repulsiveness. What had become of Mrs. Neville St. Clair’s husband, whom she had seen peering from the window of that very room, could not be ascertained. However, as the Dane related later, blood decorated the windowsill, certain items of Mr. Neville St. Clair’s clothing hung in a closet, and, most damning of all, a gift the gentleman had promised to bring his small son was discovered in a box on a table. The beggar Hugh Boone was taken into custody, but there the case remained. No sign of Mr. Neville St. Clair himself having been found, Scotland Yard was without charges to level against the beggar, although the fear of foul play was very strong in the heart of the unfortunate man’s wife.

The following Wednesday evening, as fog was beginning to swirl through the streets of London, the small group of opium-house owners gathered again in Chan’s parlor.

“It appears,” Zhang said, settling his gaunt frame upon a carved armchair, “that your plan has met with some success thus far, Chan.” This inarguable fact seemed to lighten Zhang’s perennially dark countenance not at all, though Chan noted that this time he did sip a cup of tea.

“The next steps are all in place,” Chan assured them all, pouring tea for the other two men as well. “Mrs. Neville St. Clair, having received no satisfaction as to her husband’s fate from the assiduous but fruitless efforts of Scotland Yard, has chosen to follow the advice of the good Inspector Barton.” Chan saw Wing smile, which indulgence Chan did not begrudge him, as the inspector had been instructed in that advice by Wing himself. “This afternoon, Mrs. Neville St. Clair was received at the Baker Street rooms of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Was she indeed?” Wing lowered his teacup, licking his full lips. “Well done. What do you expect will happen now?”

“As Mr. Sherlock Holmes can be relied upon to be resourceful,” Chan replied, “I am confident he will call at the Lascar’s soon, in an excellent disguise. He will request a pipe, settling himself upon pillows in a secluded spot from which he will be able to observe the other patrons. He will hope thus to find, in the mutterings of those sots, a clue to the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair. Being a patient man, he will continue in these efforts for two days, or more. Of course, he will learn nothing by this.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The subtlety of the mind of Mr. Sherlock Holmes—” Chan smiled. “—could lead one to believe he is not an Englishman at all, but one of us. The fact that he learns nothing by his stay at the Bar of Gold will be, in fact, what he learns. It will become the knot at which he will chew, eventually to unravel the problem before him.”

Wing and Zhang considered this. Lu, with his flare for the dramatic, put down his teacup and took up the story. “The attendance of Mr. Sherlock Holmes upon the Lascar’s opium rooms,” he said, “will be useful to us in another way, also.”

“How so?” asked Wing.

“As soon as it became known that Mrs. Neville St. Clair had presented herself at 221B Baker Street, the young Dane in my employ at the Lascar’s made his way to the home of one Mr. Isa Whitney. There he invited that gentleman, as a regular patron of the Lascar’s establishment, to come to Swandam Lane to sample, with the proprietor’s compliments, a pipeful of the latest shipment of goods received. Mr. Isa Whitney, being much addicted to opium, appears to have found the invitation compelling, so much so that he accompanied the young man without delay. The Dane has been instructed to continue to ply Mr. Isa Whitney with a fresh supply of pipes, for which I will bear the cost.” He waved a hand to indicate that this was a mere trifle, not to be discussed. The others nodded to acknowledge his generosity, though Chan reflected that the cost of a pipeful of opium in London was not so great that Lu’s fortune was likely to be noticeably diminished by it. “By these means,” Lu continued, “the attendance of that gentleman at the Lascar’s establishment has been assured for the near future.”

Chan observed Wing and Zhang exchanging a rare glance of sympathetic concordance. It was Zhang who expressed their mutual thought: “I fail to understand, Lu, what involvement Mr. Isa Whitney has in this affair.”

Lu smiled. “He has none. However, it is the practice of Mr. Isa Whitney’s wife, when trouble comes upon her, to consult an old friend, a school companion. This excellent woman is one Mary Watson, whose husband, Dr. John Watson—that surgeon known to his wife affectionately as ‘James’—serves with great forbearance as Mr. Isa Whitney’s medical adviser. More than once, Dr. John Watson has been called upon to untangle Mr. Isa Whitney from the clasp of the opium pipe. It is Mr. Isa Whitney’s sojourn at the Bar of Gold that will bring Dr. John Watson there, thus making him available to attend Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Can we depend upon his discovering the detective,” Wing asked mildly, “if Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be wearing so excellent a disguise?”

“Certainly not,” Chan responded. “He will not discover Mr. Sherlock Holmes. London’s most brilliant consulting detective will discover him.”

As Chan had predicted it, so it transpired. Lu’s Dane having returned to the Lascar’s establishment, he sent word upon the Friday evening that Dr. John Watson had called at the Bar of Gold demanding to speak to Mr. Isa Whitney. That gentleman being found in a sorry state, Dr. John Watson paid his debt and put him in a cab for home. The doctor did not, however, accompany him, but rather lingered in Swandam Lane for some few minutes, until one of the other opium smokers emerged from the establishment. The bent old man who stumbled into the street exchanged words with the doctor, who accompanied him for a time—the Dane stealing silently behind them—until suddenly the old man straightened out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter. The Dane observed the two men as they spoke. The old and decrepit opium addict, having miraculously recovered both his vigor and his wits, whistled for their carriage. As it rolled away, the Dane returned to his position at the Lascar’s door.

The following afternoon, final confirmation as to the success of the plan was received from one of Wing’s allies in the police, a constable who provided Wing with information from time to time. Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson had called very early in the morning at the Bow Street gaol. They had spoken in private with Inspector Bradstreet; what precisely had transpired in Bradstreet’s office was not known to Wing’s informant, but the two had been taken by the inspector downstairs to the cells. There they remained for some time. Shortly after they returned to the street, to drive away in a carriage, a gentleman was escorted from the area of the cells whom the constable had not previously seen. That gentleman summoned a cab and was overheard to request delivery to the train station with all speed. The enterprising constable, thinking to learn something of what had transpired in the cells, took himself down the winding stair to the whitewashed corridor lined with doors. To his surprise, the beggar Hugh Boone was gone, his cell empty though the constable had not seen him brought up the stairs.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes was overheard to mention breakfast to Dr. John Watson in a most jovial manner as they left the gaol,” said Chan to the guests gathered for one final cup of tea in his parlor. “I think he will be reflecting no further upon this matter.”

“That’s rather a shame,” said Wing, “as we might therefore be thought to be intruding if we were to express our appreciation for his help. No, Zhang, you needn’t glower, that was merely levity.”

“Indeed,” said Chan, anxious to get the issue disposed of once and for all. “In any case, I believe that will be an end to this matter of Hugh Boone, or Mr. Neville St. Clair, renting rooms at the Bar of Gold. All that remains is for the Lascar, in the most delicate but firmest of terms, to be made to understand that it was we who engineered these events. Once it is clear we are prepared to proceed with an equal measure of subtlety, but nothing approaching this level of restraint, should we be provoked again, I think we will be able to count on the Lascar’s cooperation. Yes, I believe a discretion previously unknown will suddenly begin to show itself in the behavior of our Lascar colleague. Would you all be prepared to accompany me right now to the Bar of Gold?”

“I am,” Lu responded instantly.

“I also,” Wing agreed, finishing his tea.

The three turned to Zhang, who, after a silent moment, shocked them all when he permitted his lips to twist into a smile. Answering smiles were received from the others. “I have no objection,” Zhang said, and so, still smiling, the four men of Limehouse made their way to the street.

S. J. Rozan, a lifelong New Yorker, first encountered and devoured the adventures of Sherlock Holmes at the age of twelve during the same convalescence as when she discovered Edgar Allan Poe. S.J. is the author of thirteen novels and three dozen short stories. She’s won the Edgar, Shamus, Anthony, Nero, and Macavity Awards, and other honors, including the Japanese Maltese Falcon. However, none of these have been enough to entice Mr. Holmes to give her a call. She will keep trying.

For Dr. Watson’s perspective on the events narrated in this story, see “The Man with the Twisted Lip” by Arthur Conan Doyle, first published in the Strand (1892) and collected in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.