“Why?”
“No! don't look round,” warned my companion. “I think someone is following us. And it is always advisable to be on guard in this neighbourhood.”
We had nearly reached the house in Wade1 Street, Limehouse, which my friend used as a base for East End operations. The night was dark but clear, and I thought that presently when dawn came it would bring a cold, bright morning. There was no moon, and as we passed the lamp and paused we stood in almost total darkness.
Facing in the direction of the Council School I struck a match. It revealed my ruffianly looking companion—in whom his nearest friends must have failed to recognize Mr. Paul Harley of Chancery Lane.
He was glancing furtively2 back along the street, and when a moment later we moved on, I too, had detected the presence of a figure stumbling toward us.
Accordingly we passed the house in which Harley had rooms, and had proceeded some fifteen paces farther when the man who was following us stumbled in between Harley and myself, clutching an arm of either. I scarcely knew what to expect, but was prepared for anything, when:
“Mates!” said a man huskily. “Mates, if you know where I can get a drink, take me there!”
Harley laughed shortly. I cannot say if he remained suspicious of the newcomer, but for my own part I had determined4 after one glance at the man that he was merely a drunken fireman newly recovered from a prolonged debauch5.
“Where 'ave yer been, old son?” growled6 Harley, in that wonderful dialect of his which I had so often and so vainly sought to cultivate. “You look as though you'd 'ad one too many already.”
“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, retracing7 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 tilted8 the man's head upward and peered closely into one of his eyes. I suppressed a gasp9 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 opium10.
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 solitary11 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 lodging12; but the door of this sanctum was kept scrupulously13 locked.
“Sit down, old son,” said my friend heartily14, 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 gulped15 the stiff drink which I handed to him, he looked around with dim, glazed16 eyes, and:
“You've saved my life, mates,” he declared. “I've 'ad a 'orrible nightmare, I 'ave—a nightmare. See?”
He fixed17 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 broached18 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 animation19 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 facetiously20.
“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 draught21. “That's bucked22 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.”
“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 dozed24 off and forgot all about bloody25 ship's bunkers an' nigger-drivin' Scotchmen.”
“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 pal27 to me,” he said; “but tell me I was dreamin' again and I'll smash yer bloody face!”
“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 shriek29 wot 'ad reached me, reached me through the smoke. I don't take much stock in Chink gals31 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!”
Harley was leaning forward in his seat now, intent upon the man's story, and although I could not get rid of the idea that our friend was relating the events of a particularly unpleasant opium dream, nevertheless I was fascinated by the strange story and by the strange manner of its telling.
“I saw the blood drip from 'er bare shoulders, mates,” the man continued huskily, and with his big dirty hands he strove to illustrate32 his words. “An' that old yellow devil lashed33 an' lashed until the poor gal30 was past screamin'. She just sunk down on the floor all of a 'cap, moanin' and moanin'—Gawd! I can 'ear 'er moanin' now!”
“Meanwhile, 'ere's me with murder in me 'eart lyin' there watchin', an' I can't speak, no! I can't even curse the yellow rat, an' I can't move—not a 'and, not a foot! Just as she fell there right up against the joss an' 'er blood trickled34 down on 'is gilded35 feet, old Ma Lorenzo comes staggerin' in. I remember all this as clear as print, mates, remember it plain, but wot 'appened next ain't so good an' clear. Somethink seemed to bust36 in me 'ead. Only just before I went off, the winder—there's only one in the room—was smashed to smithereens an' somebody come in through it.”
“Are you sure?” said Harley eagerly. “Are you sure?”
That he was intensely absorbed in the story he revealed by a piece of bad artistry, very rare in him. He temporarily forgot his dialect. Our marine37 friend, however, was too much taken up with his own story to notice the slip, and:
“Dead sure!” he shouted.
He suddenly twisted around in his chair.
“Tell me I was dreamin', mate,” he invited, “and if you ain't dreamin' in 'arf a tick it won't be because I 'aven't put yer to sleep!”
“Ho!” said the fireman, mollified, “so long as you ain't. Well, then, it's all blotted40 out after that. Somebody come in at the winder, but 'oo it was or wot it was I can't tell yer, not for fifty quid. When I woke up, which is about 'arf an hour before you see me, I'm all alone—see? There's no sign of Kwen Lung nor the gal nor old Ma Lorenzo nor anybody. I sez to meself, wot you keep on sayin'. I sez, 'You're dreamin', Bill.'”
“But I don't think you was,” declared Harley. “Straight I don't.”
“I know I wasn't!” roared the fireman, and banged the table lustily. “I see 'er blood on the joss an' on the floor where she lay!”
“This morning?” I interjected.
“This mornin', in the light of the little oil lamp where old Ma Lorenzo 'ad roasted the pills! It's all still an' quiet an' I feel more dead than alive. I'm goin' to give 'er a hail, see? When I sez to myself, 'Bill,' I sez, 'put out to sea; you're amongst Kaffirs, Bill.' It occurred to me as old Kwen Lung might wonder 'ow much I knew. So I beat it. But when I got in the open air I felt I'd never make my lodgin's without a tonic41. That's 'ow I come to meet you, mates.
“Listen—I'm away in the old Seahawk in the mornin', but I'll tell you somethink. That yellow bastard42 killed his daughter last night! Beat 'er to death. I see it plain. The sweetest, prettiest bit of ivory as Gawd ever put breath into. If 'er body ain't in the river, it's in the 'ouse. Drunk or sober, I never could stand the splits, but mates”—he stood up, and grasping me by the arm, he drew me across the room where he also seized Harley in his muscular grip—“mates,” he went on earnestly, “she was the sweetest, prettiest little gal as a man ever clapped eyes on. One of yer walk into Limehouse Station an' put the koppers wise. I'd sleep easier at sea if I knew old Kwen Lung 'ad gone west on a bloody rope's end.”
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1
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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2
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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3
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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4
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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5
debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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6
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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7
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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8
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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9
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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10
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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11
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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12
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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13
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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14
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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15
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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16
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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17
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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18
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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19
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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21
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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22
bucked
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| adj.快v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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23
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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24
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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26
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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27
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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28
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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29
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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30
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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31
gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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32
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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33
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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34
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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35
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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36
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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37
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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38
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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39
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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40
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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41
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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42
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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