Francis Doughty - The Bradys' Chinese Clew - or, The Secret Dens of Pell Street

"Where do we go?"

"To a Chinese house around the corner on Mott street."

"I don't see how your partner can work in with the Chinks. Of course, she can't speak Chinese?"

"As it happens she can, and that is just where her advantage comes in. But come, let us go."

They passed out into Pell street.

The rain had now almost ceased, and the wind had died away entirely, but the gutters were running rivers.

"A tremendous amount of water must have fallen," Harry observed.

"Indeed yes," replied Old King Brady. "It has been a terrible storm."

He and Harry walked ahead. Ed walked behind, as there was not room enough on the narrow sidewalk for them to walk three abreast.

"There is more to this case than appears on the surface," Old King Brady whispered to his partner.

"It seems that this wretched girl has robbed Mr. Butler of three thousand dollars in cash, and also of a bunch of valuable papers. He does not want to get her back. His engaging us with that idea is merely a bluff for the benefit of the wife. He does want the papers, however, and if she will give them up he is willing that she shall keep the cash. I am sorry the man did not come himself. There seems to be some mystery about the papers which I fail to understand."

"He makes no explanation of their contents?"

"Nothing further than to say that their loss will probably involve him in a large loss of money. I don't just see what he can mean, for, as I understand it, Mr. Butler is merely working on a salary, and not a very heavy one at that."

"I should like to see the letter. Perhaps I can make something more out of it."

"Possibly, possibly, still I doubt it. I will show it to you first chance I get, and – Good heavens! What was that?"

They had almost reached the point where Mott street joins with Pell.

Suddenly a crash had sounded behind them, and with it came a cry in a boyish voice:

"Help! Mr. Brady! Oh, help!"

Knowing, of course, that it could be no one else than the boy, Ed Butler, the Bradys instantly turned.

The boy had vanished.

Chinamen were running across the street, others were hurrying forward on the same side of the way.

There in the sidewalk was a large, gaping hole.

Two of the flagstones, undermined by the storm, probably, had sunk down just as the Bradys stepped off them.

Ed, less fortunate, had been caught in the break.

"Bless my soul! This is a great piece of business," cried Old King Brady.

Harry peered down into the hole.

It seemed to be pretty deep and it was also very dark.

Young King Brady could see nothing of the boy.

"Hello down there, Ed! Are you hurt?" he called.

"No; I'm all right. I went down with the stone. I'm not hurt a bit," came the answer, "but for heaven's sake get me out of here!"

It was easier said than done. The chattering bunch of Chinks crowding around offered no help.

"I don't see how in thunder we are going to get the boy up without a ladder," muttered Old King Brady.

"And where will we find one?" echoed Harry.

"That's the point. But here comes a policeman. Perhaps he can suggest – "

Thus far in his speech Old King Brady got when there came another call for help.

He could not exactly make out the words, but it was certainly, also, a cry of fear.

"Let go! Don't you touch me!" they heard now.

The cry came from the hole.

Then all was still below, although above the Chinamen chattered louder than ever.

"By Jove! the Chinks are going for the boy," cried Harry. "He has fallen into one of the secret dens of Pell street, sure!"

It looked like it.

The policeman came.

The Bradys turned electric flash lights into the hole.

It seemed to be a brick vault of considerable size.

But there was no one in it so far as they could discover.

Harry's repeated shouts to Ed brought no response.

"I must go down there and look for the boy!" cried Harry.

"Hold on," said the policeman, who was a person they knew; "if the Chinks have got him, they may get you, too. You know what Chinatown is."

"I ought to by this time!" cried Harry. "Lower me down, governor."

"The officer is right," said Old King Brady. "We better be sure than sorry. If we only had a rope."

"Look here, some of youse guys, get a rope!" cried the policeman, charging in among the crowd.

There were enough that understood him.

Some of them started to act.

A moment later a man came out of a Chinese grocery near by with a rope.

It was tied under Harry's arms and he was lowered into the hole.

The floor of the vault had water an inch deep upon it; the brick sides were dripping with a slimy ooze.

But there was no sign of Ed.

Nor was there any apparent opening except at the top.

The walls on all sides looked to be solid.

And Young King Brady saw now that they were up against another Chinese mystery.

But a mystery had also been revealed.

For the great storm had laid open one of the secrets of Pell street.

And who could say into what sort of a queer den this opening might lead?

Ed Cullen was not yet eighteen, although he looked to be twenty.

The boy, in fact, had but just graduated from the Albany High School.

He little dreamed into what peculiar adventures this visit to New York was destined to lead him.

The fall of the two flagstones came altogether as a surprise to Ed.

Doubtless the weight of the Bradys as they trod upon them completed the work of the water.

At all events, Ed had no more than planted his feet upon them when down they went.

The shock sent the boy on his knees.

He scrambled up and answered the Bradys as told.

Then an instant later Ed was seized from behind by two pairs of hands.

A secret door – bricks set in a box – had opened.

The boy, in spite of his struggles, was dragged through the opening.

Two Chinamen had captured Ed.

But why?

There was the mystery!

And we may as well add right here that just how it came about was never fully explained.

The chances are that the pair were inside the secret door when Ed fell, and hearing the noise, looked in upon him, although he did not see them.

A third Chink in American dress, which was not the case with the others, stood in a narrow passage holding a lantern.

Instantly Ed recognized him as Pow Chow, the Chinese mission worker who had run away with Ethel Rawson and caused all the trouble.

"You scoundrel!" cried Ed, who was nothing if not plucky.

He made a dive at the fellow and dealt him a stinging blow in the face.

It was a piece of folly, of course.

That was the time Ed got it good and plenty.

Pow Chow hit him over the head with the lantern.

The two others set upon the boy and gave him a good pounding.

Then having completely subdued him, for Ed saw that he was not in it, they dragged him along the passage through a door, and into one of the secret dens of Pell street, of which there are many, if rumor tells the truth.

It was a square room furnished in Chinese style and lighted by a hanging lamp.

The Chinaman gave Ed a shove and laughed when he landed on his back in a corner.

But Pow Chow did not laugh.

He came forward threateningly.

"You little fool! Whatever brought you to New York?" he demanded. "Looking for Ethel, hey?"

Pow Chow's English was perfect, for he was San Francisco born and his mother was a white woman, so he had always claimed, although he did not look like a half breed.

Ed picked himself up and glared at this man, whom he hated and despised.

"Where's Ethel?" he demanded, feeling that he had to say something.

"Never you mind where she is. What brought you here? Came to find her and to bring her back, I suppose. Well, she won't go."