Will Thomas: The Limehouse Text

“How did you first hear about the text, sir?” my employer asked.

“I am a steward of the imperial Prince. When I heard word about the text from Luke Chow, I told the Prince and he agreed it was necessary that he obtain it.”

“And should you have obtained it, what sort of reward did you expect to receive?”

“Reward?” Woo said. “Not so much as a tael. I hoped to be given permission to study the book.”

Barker looked at Campbell-Ffinch, who himself might have killed in order to lay hands on a new fighting method. “You hoped to be a better fighter?”

“No,” Woo answered. “I mean, yes, I hoped to learn the secrets and to become a better fighter, but not for my own gain. I wanted to create an elite corps of boxers chosen from among the imperial troops.”

“I see,” Barker said. “An elite corps. And just what, Mr. Woo, would the elite corps do with that knowledge?”

Woo put his head down and mumbled something under his breath.

“I did not hear you, Mr. Woo.”

He looked up again and his easy manner was gone. I saw fire in his eyes. “I said, we would kill all foreigners within China’s borders, every American and Englishman and French and German and Austrian and Japanese that has been infecting our country. We would wipe out foreign business along the Bund in Shanghai and in the European settlements in Peking and Canton. We would execute your missionaries with their poisonous religion as an example to their weak-willed converts, and we would shut our borders again. China for the Chinese. It is the only way, you see.”

“You’re mad,” Campbell-Ffinch insisted. “Her Majesty the Dowager Empress would never countenance the wholesale slaughter of honored guests in China. We have been assured of that fact.”

“Campbell-Ffinch, if you believe that, you are naive,” Mr. K’ing spoke up. “I’ve heard she was responsible for the death of her eldest son for being a spineless weakling. She would no more fear the slaughter of non-Chinese than she would the fleas on one of her prized dogs. If the Prince agreed to such an agreement, even in unofficial terms, one can assume he knew he could convince Her Majesty of the necessity of his actions. I have heard her referred to as the Dragon Lady. She has quite a villainous reputation.”

“There is but one person in this room who has spoken to the Dowager Empress herself and might best resolve this question,” Ho said. Heads began to turn back and forth, until finally, all gazes settled on my employer.

Cyrus Barker cleared his throat, as if postponing an unpleasant task, before he spoke. “I have indeed met the Empress and it is true that she has been ruthless in the past, but at other times, she has been lenient. I believe she has relied on one advisor after another over a span of forty years. The Prince is one of those advisors. He is a cold specimen, but she dotes upon him. I believe he could have convinced her of the need of such a course.”

“I regret we have not had the opportunity of finishing our fight, Mr. Barker, in the tunnel,” Woo said. “I would have enjoyed such a challenge. I suppose there is no chance now?”

“None whatsoever. I have not come here to fight but to avenge the murder of my late assistant.”

“Had I known then what I do now, I don’t believe I would have shot Quong and risked bringing myself to your attention. To tell the truth, I did not believe such a skilled fighter as you existed in the West. To think, the mighty Stone Lion of Canton, an Englishman.”

“Scotsman,” Barker corrected. “I am a Scotsman.”

There was a silence in the room for a brief moment, and then Ho clapped his hands. “Tea!”

Barker had made good his promise to Poole, and the two of them rose with their prisoner in hand. My employer opened the door, waiters came in to serve us tea, and then there was a sudden commotion in the doorway. Poole, Woo, and Barker all cried out at once. One of the waiters turned toward us and raised his arms. In his hand was a bloody knife, which he dropped onto the floor with a clatter. It was no waiter at all, despite the apron he wore. It was Old Quong.

The next I knew, Dr. Quong had been tackled by Campbell-Ffinch, who had finally reasoned that something had gone wrong. I caught a glimpse of Woo through the tangle of limbs. His face was set in a rictus of pain, and the lower half of his suit was covered in blood and gore. Old Quong had cut him horizontally across the abdomen, and rivulets of blood seeped onto the floor and his patent leather boots. I watched his face slowly relax and his eyes roll up as the killer of so many gave way to death.

“Vengeance!” Old Quong called from the floor as Campbell-Ffinch subdued him. “Vengeance!”

Poole swore and reached for his keys, having no desire to be shackled to a corpse, while another killer rolled about on the floor. Barker, I think, had the oddest reaction of all. He merely stood and shook his head, amazed at the proceedings.

So much happened after that that I could hardly keep track. Poole was upset that a murder had occurred right in front of him. Campbell-Ffinch was angry at losing both the book and the killer. Hooligan clapped his hands as if this had all been staged for his entertainment, while Hettie and Charlie Han took the first opportunity to depart.

As for the inscrutable Mr. K’ing, he spoke not a word but bowed and retrieved his hat, slipping out before Campbell-Ffinch and Inspector Poole noticed he was gone. Forbes was a step behind him.

Dr. Quong’s wrists were locked in Woo’s blood-spattered restraints and he was led off. We covered the body with a tablecloth as waiters came and went with rags, mops, and buckets and cleaned the blood from the floor. Poole arranged for the body to be removed in one of Ho’s laundry carts, which Ho would bill the Yard for later. Hooligan went into the tearoom for a meal, and Campbell-Ffinch stalked off to make his report.

When the room was sufficiently clean, Ho locked up and we three went to his office. Ho moved to a cabinet in the back of the room near the shrine. He took out a small white porcelain bottle and three cups and poured each of us a drink.

“To memory of Quong,” he said and we all downed the fiery liquid, possibly plum brandy. It took the breath out of my lungs and when I got it back, the cups had been refilled.

“To Dr. Quong,” Barker stated, and down it went a second time.

Afterward, the Guv smacked his lips and rotated the tiny cup in his hand. “It is convenient that Dr. Quong was here. It is almost as if he were let in.”

Ho picked up his water pipe and began running a wire through the mouthpiece. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“It occurs to me,” Barker replied, “that Woo may have escaped English justice, but he did not escape Chinese justice.”

That evening things were almost back to what passes for normal in the Barker household. Mac was on his feet, though still walking with the aid of a cane. My employer was returning to health rapidly and I had hopes of getting my own infernal cast off and sleeping comfortably at last.

We were in Barker’s room, on either side of a coal fire with a pot of tea at his elbow and a pot of coffee at mine, both of which he had carried up himself since Mac couldn’t manage stairs and I couldn’t carry a tray. Barker had a pipe going and the pleasant aroma of his tobacco floated about my head. It was a pleasant scene, even as the firelight glinted on the racks of spears, swords, and other weapons suspended on the low, sloping ceilings. My mind was turning over the case as if it were an object in my hand, holding it this way and that. I had to admit this was the part of private enquiry work I could not do. I could assemble suspects and search for motives and opportunity, but the discounting of persons until one could say without hesitation that this fellow alone was the murderer, well, I couldn’t do it yet. I began to fear I lacked some gland in my brain.