A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

of Chinkies hereabouts all the evenin’, an’ ’arf an hour ago there was a gent in a cloak.’

“Without waiting to hear any more the woman entered the house and I followed close on her heels. The adventure was clearly coming to a head now.

“When the door had been closed behind us the boy appeared at the top of a flight of stairs with a lighted candle. We accordingly ascended to him, and having done so made our way towards a door at the end of the abominably dirty landing. At intervals I could hear the sound of coughing coming from a room at the end. My companion, however bade me stop, while she went herself into the room, shutting the door after her. I was left alone with the boy, who immediately took me under his protection, and for my undivided benefit performed a series of highly meritorious acrobatic performances upon the feeble banisters, to his own danger, but apparent satisfaction. Suddenly, just as he was about to commence what promised to be the most successful item in his repertoire, he paused, lay flat on his stomach upon the floor, and craned his head over the side, where once banisters had been, and gazed into the half dark well below. All was quiet as the grave. Then, without warning, an almond-eyed, pigtailed head appeared on the stairs and looked upwards. Before I could say anything to stop him, the youth had divested himself of his one slipper, taken it in his right hand, leaned over a bit further, and struck the ascending Celestial a severe blow on the mouth with the heel of it. There was the noise of a hasty descent and the banging of the street door a moment later, then all was still again, and the youngster turned to me.

“ ‘That was Ah Chong,’ he said confidentially. ‘He’s the sixth Chinkie I’ve landed that way since dark.’

“This important piece of information he closed with a double-jointed oath of remarkable atrocity, and, having done so, would have recommenced the performance of acrobatic feats had I not stopped him by asking the reason of his action. He looked at me with a grin, and said⁠—

“ ‘I dunno, but all I cares is that China Pete in there gives me a sprat (sixpence) for every Chinkie what I keeps out of the ’ouse. He’s a rum one is China Pete; an’ can’t he cough⁠—my word!’

“I was about to put another question when the door opened and the girl who had brought me to the house beckoned me into the room. I entered and she left me alone with the occupant.

“Of all the filthy places I have ever seen⁠—and I have had the ill-luck to discover a good many in my time⁠—that one eclipsed them all. The room was at most ten feet long by seven wide, had a window at the far end, and the door, through which I had entered, opposite it. The bed-place was stretched between the door and the window, and was a horrible exhibition. On it, propped up by pillows and evidently in the last stage of collapse, was the man called China Pete, whom I had last seen walking out of the dock at the Supreme Court a couple of months before. When we were alone together he pointed to a box near the bed and signified that I should seat myself. I did so, at the same time taking occasion to express my sorrow at finding him in this lamentable condition. He made no reply to my civilities, but after a little pause found strength enough to whisper, ‘See if there’s anybody at the door.’ I went across, opened the door and looked into the passage, but save the boy, who was now sitting on the top step of the stairs at the other end, there was not a soul in sight. I told him this and having again closed the door, sat down on the box and waited for him to speak.

“ ‘You did me a good turn, Mr. Wetherell, over that trial,’ the invalid said at last, ‘and I couldn’t make it worth your while.’

“ ‘Oh, you mustn’t let that worry you,’ I answered soothingly. ‘You would have paid me if you had been able.’

“ ‘Perhaps I should, perhaps I shouldn’t, anyhow I didn’t, and I want to make it up to you now. Feel under my pillow and bring out what you find there.’

“I did as he directed me and brought to light a queer little wooden stick about three and a half inches long, made of some heavy timber and covered all over with Chinese inscriptions; at one end was a tiny bit of heavy gold cord much tarnished. I gave it to him and he looked at it fondly.

“ ‘Do you know the value of this little stick?’ he asked after a while.

“ ‘I have no possible notion,’ I replied.

“ ‘Make a guess,’ he said.

“To humour him I guessed five pounds. He laughed with scorn.

“ ‘Five pounds! O ye gods! Why, as a bit of stick it’s not worth five pence, but for what it really is there is not money enough in the world to purchase it. If I could get about again I would make myself the richest and most powerful man on earth with it. If you could only guess one particle of the dangers I’ve been through to get it you would die of astonishment. And the sarcasm of it all is that now I’ve got it I can’t make use of it. On six different occasions the priests of the Llamaserai in Peking have tried to murder me to get hold of it. I brought it down from the centre of China disguised as a wandering beggar. That business connected with the murder of the Chinaman on board the ship, against which you defended me, was on account of it. And now I lie here dying like a dog, with the key to over ten millions in my hand. Nikola has tried for five