The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 1, No. 6 - September 1920)

I

The moment for which Hankinson had made such anxious and careful preparation during three weary weeks of watching and waiting had come at last. There, within a yard of him, was the old jeweler whom he meant to stun and to rob; there, in Hankinson's hand, was the sandbag with which he intended to strike him down. And all about the two men, the one unsuspecting, the other quivering with intent, hung the heavy silence of midnight, broken only by the metallic tinkle of the valuables which the old man was slowly transferring from counter to safe.

Hankinson, thief and criminal from his youth upward, had at that time been out of prison for precisely a month. He had no particular desire to return to prison, but, on the other hand, he had no leanings toward the path of rectitude.

Upon emerging from durance he had possessed himself of a small stock of money, which he had safely hidden in view of emergencies; when it was in his pocket he had left his usual haunts in North London and betaken himself to new ones in the purlieus of the Mile End Road. He took a cheap lodging there, and began to look around him in White-chapel and its neighborhood. And in time he saw what he considered to be a good chance.

Lurking about in the busy streets, always with alert eyes, he saw at last a prospect of replenishing the gradually emptying purse. Thereafter he gave all his thought and attention to that prospect. The prospect quickly became a scheme.

There was an old-fashioned, dingy jeweler's shop in a small side street off Houndsditch; it was also a pawn-broking establishment. Three gilded balls overhung a passage entrance at the side. In that passage there was a sort of sentry-box in which the shutters of the front window were kept. A curly-headed, hooked-nose boy put up those shutters every night before going home. He was utterly indifferent to the shutters, that boy, when he had once put them up; but when he had gone away, whistling, Hankinson, under cover of the dusk, took a mighty interest in them. For long years of trained observation had made Hankinson's eyes unusually sharp, and it had not taken him more than one glance to see that in one of those shutters there was a noticeable, an appreciable crack. You could see the light in the shop through it. Therefore, through it you could see into the shop.

Hankinson contrived to see into the shop through that slit a good many times. It was always at night that he made these observations, and he made them with delicacy and with speed. But within a week he learnt a good deal.

Much of what he learnt was obvious in other ways — namely, that the shop was closed on Saturdays all day long; that from Monday to Thursday it was closed at nine o'clock in the evening; that on Friday nights it was kept open until eleven. But his observations through the crack in the shutter informed him that every night after closing hours, whether at nine o'clock or at eleven, Isidore Marcovitch, the old proprietor, a gray-haired, stooping-figured Hebrew, busied himself, alone, unaided, in transferring his most valuable wares from his window and counter to a large safe which stood in the rear of the shop. And, dingy and old-fashioned as the shop was, there were valuables in it which made Hankinson covetous.

Hankinson made his preparations carefully.

First of all, he convinced himself that this hiding away of goods was a nightly performance.

Secondly, he made sure that the old man was always alone when the performance was gone through.

Thirdly, he came to know that the only other occupant of the house was a girl — quite a young girl, presumably Marcovitch's granddaughter — who appeared to live in the upper regions.

Hankinson formed the opinion — on good grounds — that this young woman retired to bed long before closing hours on Friday nights; at any rate, there was a window in the very upper room in which a light shone for a while every night at half-past nine. He grew to be positively certain that, beyond this girl, there was nobody on the premises save Marcovitch himself, and that Marcovitch was the only waking thing in the house when he put his goods in the safe on Friday evenings. Obviously, then, Friday was the day of excellent choice.

But Hankinson did not content himself with outside observation only. He felt it necessary to see the inside of that shop at close quarters. Therefore he invented a good excuse for visiting it twice — by taking something to mend and calling for the mended article a few days later. On these occasions he inspected this new hunting ground with due care.

After the second inspection he told himself that it was all right. The big safe in which old Marcovitch stowed his best things stood detached from the wall; between the wall and it there was a space in which a man could easily bestow himself unnoticed. The only difficulty was to secure an unobserved entrance to the shop. For long, vigilant observation had shown Hankinson that when Marcovitch was not behind his counter the curly-headed boy invariably was.

Hankinson watched for his opportunity on two successive Friday evenings. At ten minutes to eleven on the second opportunity came. For some reason or other the old jeweler sent the lad out of the shop. A moment later he himself quitted the counter, and disappeared into the rear premises. And thereupon Hankinson slipped in, and an instant later had hidden himself between the safe and the wall.

There were old coats and cloaks, dusty and — musty, hanging there, and they made good cover. If Marcovitch, when he came back, had narrowly inspected these ancient garments he might have found Hankinson's nose protruding at one place and his feet at another. But Marcovitch suspected nothing, and Hankinson was well skilled in holding his breath.

The usual routine of the establishment went on placidly. The curly-headed boy presently put up the shutters and went away, pocketing his wages. Marcovitch locked, chained and bolted his door. He disappeared into the pawn-broking part of his shop. Hankinson heard more bolting and barring.

Then, from some inner part of the premises, he heard the sound of a withdrawn cork, and a little gurgling and splashing. The old man, said Hankinson to himself, was about to refresh himself with a drink.

Then came the scent of a strong, pungent cigar, and presently Marcovitch returned into view, a cigar in one corner of his bearded lips, a steaming tumbler in his hand. An odor of rum, strong, insidious, penetrated to Hankinson and overcame the musty smell of the old garments. Because of his previous vigils, Hankinson was well acquainted with the accustomed routine.

Old Marcovitch began by unlocking the safe. Then he took out certain goods from the locked showcases on his counter. Better things came from a sort of wired-in enclosure which filled the center of the window — an enclosure of stout wire, closely meshed and clamped. There were trays in that which contained rings and necklaces and ornaments set with diamonds and pearls. Some of these things were ticketed, some were not.

But Hankinson, having often glued his nose to the thick plate-glass window, had a good idea that he could easily stow away a few hundreds of pounds' worth of stuff out of those trays in one of his pockets. Good stuff, he said to himself, lies in little room.

It was Hankinson's notion to hit Marcovitch when the trays from the window and the counter-cases had been laid on the counter previous to transferring them to the safe.

He had everything ready for the attack: the sandbag was already grasped in his right hand; in a left-hand pocket he had a gag all ready to insert in the old man's jaws; in another pocket a length of cord wherewith to secure Marcovitch's wrists. And the moment was drawing near, was almost there, when Marcovitch turned from his trays to the safe, took out of a drawer a small packet done up in brown paper with a tissue-paper lining, and, with a low chuckle of delight, shook out on the counter a quantity of loose diamonds.

Hankinson grew hot and cold and hot again as the light fell on those sparkling stones.

Here, indeed, was luck! Such luck as he had never expected. He was not versed in the lore of precious stones, but he knew diamonds from paste, and he had no doubt that these sparkling things were genuine products of the South African diamond fields.

And there was pretty nearly a handful of them. They must be good, for nothing but the thought of their extreme goodness would account for the self-satisfied way in which the old Jew chuckled as he bent over them, turning their shining facets over with his claw-like finger. And — now was the time.

Hankinson glided out of his cover and brought the sandbag crashing down on Marcovitch's bald head.

Marcovitch instinctively, spasmodically threw up his hands. He emitted one groan, reeled and was falling over on his side when Hankinson caught him. It was not part of Hankinson's game that Marcovitch should fall heavily on the floor. He let the old man slide gently down. In two minutes he had securely gagged him. In two more minutes he had drawn his hands behind his back and fastened his wrists together.

And it was as he rose from the accomplishment of these things that he suddenly heard a strange sound — the sound of something alive, drawing in its breath in a queer, sniffling, snuffling fashion, somewhere close at hand.

Instantly Hankinson recognized that sound. It was the sound made by an imprisoned animal which snuffs at the crack of its prison door.

"Lumme!" whispered Hankinson to himself. "A blinkin' dawg!"

He lost no time after that, and as he transferred the most valuable things to his pockets — diamonds here, gold there — he wondered how it was that he had never seen any dog about Marcovitch's premises.

Presently the sniffling sound died away; all became quiet again. And, without as much as a glance at the fallen man, Hankinson made round the counter to the door. In his opinion the man who has done his work effectually should go away as soon as his job is done. But going, he took care to turn out the gas.

Hankinson had manipulated the key, the chain and the bar, and was about to open the door in gingerly fashion when he heard a sound at the rear of the shop. He turned, muttering a curse. A door had noiselessly opened, and there, holding a lamp above her head, stood Marcovitch's granddaughter. She was in her nightgown, her hair — long, black, lustrous — fell far below her waist; her great eyes, dilated with alarm, shone like stars. And at her side, nuzzling against her knees, was the strangest, ugliest-looking beast of a dog that Hankinson had ever set eyes on.

It was queerly shaped, it was of no known breed, it was a vile yellow in color, and it had only one eye. It was borne in upon Hankinson, amidst the rush of thoughts which this new situation forced on his consciousness, that he would have bad dreams about that dog, and he cursed it without knowing that he was even thinking of it.

There were other things to think of just then. Hankinson realized his danger. He made a sudden dash back at the girl. The girl set up a loud scream, dashed the lamp in his face, drew back with the agility of a snake, and locked the door behind her.

Hankinson went too, then. He groped his way to the street door and let himself out. As he crossed the threshold he had an unpleasant feeling of a sinuous, wiry body that cannoned against his legs, and he kicked out at it in sheer frenzy of hatred. But when he reached the pavement and looked round him there was no dog there. And, with another oath, he made off.

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."

Hankinson began to whimper.

"Yer've trapped me!" he whined. "Yer meanin' to 'and me over! Yer'd a deal better 'ave let me lie where I was. An' yer've done somethink to me, an' all — I can't move."

"That," replied the Chinaman, "is the effect of a medicine with which I have treated you. Rest awhile and the effect will pass off. I am not going to hand you over to the police. You are quite safe — quite safe, I repeat — so long as you do what I tell you."

Hankinson stared. He was suspicious as ever, but there was a calm, confident assurance about the Chinaman which went far to allay suspicion. And suddenly his eyes brightened and his voice lost its whine and became almost cheery.

"You see me right, guv'nor. an' I'll make it all right wiv you," he said insinuatingly. " 'Struth, I 'adn't no intentions o' finishin' the old man! An' wotever you likes out o' that little lot, it's yours."

The Chinaman pushed the table out of sight again.

"We can discuss that matter later on," he said. "At present you must take some food, and after that you must sleep until evening, and then we will see about getting you away."

Hankinson's small eyes looked a sharp inquiry.

"Strite?" he asked. "No fetchin' the perlice in while I'm — here?"

"You can trust me," answered the Chinaman. "It would not suit me to have police in my house. I have my own affairs."

That reassured Hankinson. He set down his host as being one of his own kidney. And presently he ate the soup — good, rich soup with strength in it — which the Chinaman brought him, and after that he went to sleep quite calmly…

III

When Hankinson woke again there were two Chinamen in the room with him. One was the big man of the previous interview; the other, also garbed in Chinese dress, was a younger man of about his own size and weight — an almond-eyed, stolid-faced fellow who was regarding Hankinson with an inscrutable expression on his immobile features. The big man was talking to the small one in gibberish which Hankinson did not understand. Catching sight of Hankinson's opening eyes, he broke off the conversation.

"You are quite better now," he said, not questioningly, but in positive assertion. "You — now you may get up. There is food and drink ready for you in the next room. Come this way."

Hankinson got up and stretched himself. Certainly he was all right then — not a trace of injury remained in him. And with this realization of recovery a desire for action came upon him. He wanted to be out of that. Instinctively he looked round for the little table on which his loot had been laid out. But the little table was not there.

"In the next room," said the big Chinaman with a grin. "Come."

Hankinson followed the two men into a plainly furnished apartment, which evidently did duty as living-room and kitchen. There was a table set out in English fashion.

Hankinson was motioned to seat himself. The smaller Chinaman sat down in a corner and stared at him; the big one served him with hot roast fowl.

Never had Hankinson eaten such tender food in his life. And he gave him bottled stout to drink. It seemed to Hankinson that he had never tasted such nectar. He stuffed himself, he guzzled freely, wondering all the time what it all meant. And when at last he could eat and drink no longer, he shoved away his plate and looked his host full in the face with half-impudent inquiry. For Hankinson was very sure that the big Chinaman was not playing the Good Samaritan for nothing; he would want his fee, like everybody else.

"An' now what, guv'nor?" asked Hankinson familiarly. "If it's all the same to you, yer know, I should like to 'op it. I dessay it's all right, but this 'ere neighborhood ain't what you'd call healthy, is it, now?"

The big Chinaman, who had taken a seat by his compatriot during the final stages of Hankinson's repast, produced an evening newspaper and laid it before the guest.

His long, tapering fingers indicated bold headlines and other uncomfortable things about midnight murder and burglary. Hankinson's pale cheeks grew paler as he read.

"Yer said as 'ow yer could get me away?" he muttered at last. "An' I said as 'ow yer was welcome to what yer liked to take out o' what I got — eh? How's it to be, guv'nor?"

"I can get you away," answered the Chinaman. "But — it will have to be out of England."

"Out of — England!" exclaimed Hankinson. "'Struth! W'y, I ain't never been out of England. I don't know no lingo but English. Where would it be now, guv'nor? Not — not to where you come from, would it? 'Cause I understand that's a longish way off."

The big Chinaman leaned forward as if to attract strict attention.

"Now listen," he said. "There is a Chinese ship in the river, lying off Wapping, which sails tonight for Amsterdam. Her captain will take you, on my recommendation, to Amsterdam. And in Amsterdam you can sell your — diamonds. When you have sold your diamonds you can take ship to America — or wherever you please to go."

Hankinson silently ran over his inventory of the stolen goods.

"Diamonds, eh?" he said musingly. "There ate other things than diamonds, yer know."

"I have estimated the value of what was on you," said the Chinaman gravely. "The diamonds are worth about two thousand pounds. You will get one-third of their value in Amsterdam. The other things are worth about four or five hundred pounds. You can leave those with me — my share."

"Done!" exclaimed Hankinson. "But, how am I to get down to that there ship?" he asked anxiously. "Seems ter me as 'ow there'll be a pretty sharp look-out for me, guv'nor, an' no error I How's it to be done?"

The big Chinaman motioned to the smaller one.

"This gentleman," he said, "will lend you some garments. You will go down dressed as a Chinaman, after dark. I will prepare you — make you up with a little paint and other matters. And we will begin now — time presses."

Hankinson cheerfully submitted to the proposed transformation. He stripped to his underclothing. He put on Chinese trousers and soft-soled Chinese boots; he was fitted with upper garments which amused him by their strangeness and comforted him with their silky feeling. And then he sat down, and the big Chinaman produced a box of colored pigments and delicate brushes, and set to work on Hankinson's head and face. He worked with the zest of a true artist, and the other Chinaman stood by and admired without moving a muscle of his features.

At the end of half an hour Hankinson was bidden to look in a mirror, and he stood up and looked and stared. It did not amaze him that he did not know himself; what astonished him was that the craftsman's cunning had transformed him into the double of the other Chinaman! The big man, with a sly smile, had twisted his compatriot round so that he stood side by side with Hankinson, facing the mirror — and Hankinson gasped as he gazed at the two yellow faces.

"Gawd!" he said. "Why — it's 'im!"

The big Chinaman allowed himself to laugh. He put a few finishing touches to his work, adjusted the cap and false pigtail, finally produced a truly Chinese umbrella. And then, in short, plain fashion, he gave Hankinson his instructions. He was to make his way to a certain wharf in the neighborhood of London Docks; there he would be met by a boat's crew and taken on board the Chinese vessel. In his progress through the streets he was to preserve a sober, grave demeanor — above everything, he was not to hold converse with anyone, especially a policeman; if anybody accosted him, he was to smile blandly and shake his head.

"Right, guv'nor!" said Hankinson. "I'm on — mum's the word. Now them shiners?"

The big man produced a small bag, open at the mouth. Within it Hankinson saw gleams of sparkling fire. He made haste to stow it away in the pocket wherein he had already put his money. Then he gave the big man a firm look.

"There's another thing," he said. "I'm goin' into strange parts and amongst strange folks. And I ain't a-goin' wivout my revolver. Hand it over, guv'nor. As it was, mind."

The Chinaman produced the revolver, showed Hankinson that it was fully loaded, and calmly dropped it into his own pocket.

"I will hand that to you in the street," he said. "I am going to walk a little way with you. Now let us go."

And he led Hankinson out of the house into-the night. As they passed out the younger Chinaman hastened to a window which commanded the way by which they went. He saw them pass in and out of the lights of the lamps — and suddenly he saw a couple of vague, shadowy figures emerge from a dark place and steal after them. In his eagerness and excitement to see that part of the proceedings, he threw up the sash of the window and leaned out. And in that instant the yellow dog, which had been tied up in that room, completed its day's task of eating through the stout cord that had prisoned it. The young Chinaman, leaning through the window, was conscious for a second of a sinuous body hurling itself past him. Before he had time to comprehend matters he saw that body vanishing round the corner. He shut the window then and retired to resume his usual sphinx-like demeanor.

Presently the big man came back and grinned at his compatriot.

"They are after him," he said briefly.

"I saw them," replied the other.

The big man grinned again.

"It is fortunate that this fellow fell at my door," he said. "He has served us well. Certainly he will never fall there again. We benefit very well. We have what he brought in — and he has some worthless bits of paste. It is good!"

The younger man made no answer to this. Nor did he mention that the dog had escaped.

"It is time that I go now," he observed.

And without further remark he proceeded to divest himself of his Oriental garments and to put on the inconspicuous suit of grey tweed which Hankinson had recently taken off.

IV

Ten minutes later a figure dressed in Hankinson's clothes, much muffled about the neck and face, and having Hankinson's cap pulled down over its nose, slipped out of that quiet house and went away by devious paths to other and safer parts. No figure followed it; the two figures that had lurked in waiting for it since dark were following Hankinson.

And Hankinson went on, knowing nothing. He was beginning to feel himself safe, and he did not care how much people stared at him as he walked in the glare of the gas. He had what he believed to be diamonds in his pocket. It had never even occurred to him that the big Chinaman might or would substitute paste for the genuine article. He had a prospect of selling them to advantage. And he had his revolver. Therefore, being a bit of an actor, he went onward, always smiling blandly.

Hankinson knew the nearest way to the wharf of which the big Chinaman had spoken, and it took him little time to get down there. All his thoughts were of his own business, and he had no idea that two yellow-faced, slit-eyed fellows, clad in slop suits of blue serge, were dogging his every footstep. Nor did he know that an ugly, uncanny-looking, one-eyed mongrel was slinking behind him, keeping close to walls and to the fronts of shops, that one eye perpetually fixed on its object of pursuit.

Hankinson never saw that dog until he had walked on to the wharf — a deserted, desolate, cold expanse of timber, on which there was no business doing at that hour of the evening. There was a pale gleam of yellow from the window of a waterside inn at the other end of the wharf; a half-moon was far up in the cloudy sky; here and there a faint gas flame burned. In this poor light Hankinson suddenly saw the yellow dog's one eye — baleful, malevolent. It turned him hot and cold, and he could do nothing but stare at it.

He saw nothing of a boat putting off from any vessel; thereabouts, indeed, nothing of any sort seemed to be doing. There was, in fact, no sign of life on the wharf but in his own and the dog's presence. And the dog had sat down now, and did nothing but watch him. When the clouds cleared off the moon Hankinson saw the dog's one eye — and he cursed it under his breath in plain Cockney English.

It was in the midst of these muttering curses that the two slinking figures suddenly leapt out on Hankinson as he passed the stack of timber. There was a flashing of steel in the moonlight, and two knives went swiftly in and out of the soft silks in which Hankinson was masquerading. He fell over on his back as the knives were withdrawn, and convulsively twisted up and on to his side. He knew that blood was running from him like the spurts from a suddenly pricked wineskin, but his brain was clear enough yet, and he mechanically snatched at his revolver and fired, left and right, at the two figures which were drawing back from him. And as his own eyes began to glaze he saw the two figures sway and fall — fall in the unmistakable fashion.

"Lor'!" gasped Hankinson, as his head dropped. "Got — 'em — both!"

Then Hankinson died, and the yellow dog came near and looked at him.

When you find the bodies of three dead men lying in the moonlight on a Thames-side wharf, one of them an Englishman dressed in Chinese garb, two of them Chinese men attired in reach-me-down slop suits, the Englishman stabbed, the Chinese shot, the Englishman with a collection of paste diamonds on him, the Chinese with next to nothing, and all three watched by a miserable, one-eyed yellow dog, you have> all the elements of a first-class mystery. There were two Orientals in different places who could have solved that mystery, but your true Oriental knows how to keep a still tongue. And the yellow clog, unfortunately, was unable to make humans comprehend him.