Kerry stooped and stared into the heart of the fire. A dense coat of white ash lay upon the embers. He grasped the shoulder of the aged Chinaman, and pushed him back so that he could look into the bleared eyes behind the owlish spectacles.
“Been cleaning up the ‘evidence,’ eh?” he shouted. “This joint stinks of opium and a score of other dopes. Where are the gang?” He shook the yielding, ancient frame. “Where’s the smart with one eye?”
But Sam Tûk merely nodded, and as Kerry released his hold sank forward again, nodding incessantly.
“H’m, you’re a hard case,” said the Chief Inspector. “A couple of witnesses like you and the jury would retire to Bedlam!”
He stood glaring fiercely at the limp frame of the old Chinaman, and as he glared his expression changed. Lying on the dirty floor not a yard from Sam Tûk’s feet was a ball of leaf opium!
“Ha!” exclaimed Kerry, and he stooped to pick it up.
As he did so, with a lightning movement of which the most astute observer could never have supposed him capable, Sam Tûk whipped a loaded rubber tube from his sleeve and struck Kerry a shrewd blow across the back of the skull.
The Chief Inspector, without word or cry, collapsed upon his knees, and then fell gently forward—forward—and toppled face downwards before his assailant. His bowler fell off and rolled across the dirty floor.
Sam Tûk sank deeply into his chair, and his toothless jaws worked convulsively. The skinny hand which clutched the piece of tubing twitched and shook, so that the primitive deadly weapon fell from its wielder’s grasp.
Silently, that set of empty shelves nearest to the inner wall of the vault slid open, and Sin Sin Wa came out. He, too, carried his hands tucked in his sleeves, and his yellow, pock-marked face wore its eternal smile.