Murder on Nob Hill Page 15

  Earlier in this narrative, I proclaimed my contempt for dissimulation. I will not, therefore, attempt to portray my actions in a light more favorable than they actually were. The humbling truth is that I stood for some moments fighting my disinclination to approach the forlorn creatures who lay about me like so many corpses. The smell of the cooking opium, and the disgusting sound of its juices gurgling about in the addicts’ pipes, made my stomach churn in revulsion. I wanted nothing more than to turn and run from this miserable den of vice and despair.

  Then I thought of the piteous young slave girls we’d passed in the quarter and took myself in hand. It is at just such moments of adversity that we’re able to perceive ourselves—souls stripped bare of all pretense and self-delusion—for who we truly are. After all my bold words, the time had come to prove my mettle. Swallowing my queasiness, I marched across the room, resolved to do whatever I could to help the hapless victims of such merciless villainy.

  Once again, fate stepped in to play its own, inexorable role in the night's drama. I had taken but a few steps when I felt, rather than saw, something brush against my lower limbs. Heart beating wildly, I froze, trying to convince myself the creature was nothing more than a cat. Then the beast passed from beneath my skirts and I realized with a horrifying chill that it was a huge gray rat—a creature, who now sat brazenly staring up at me as if challenging my right to invade its domain.

  I’m ashamed to admit that I screamed. Loud enough, I’m afraid, to wake the dead—which, in a manner of speaking, I did. All about me, men stirred, shouting angry, unintelligible words that I knew were directed at me.

  Before I could slink away in disgrace, a movement in the corner of the room caught my attention. As I watched, a pair of terrified eyes peered up at me from behind the back of a man lying, face to the wall, in a bottom cot. Instantly, the girl's head was pushed down, but it was too late. I knew what I had seen.

  “Over here!” I shouted on the run, triumphantly pointing at the bunk where I had spied the child. “I’ve found her.”

  The man in the cot catapulted to his feet. Holding the girl beneath one arm, he shoved me aside with the other. The blow thrust me onto a wooden crate, upon which rested an opium lamp and other drug paraphernalia. The lot crashed beneath my weight; earthenware bowls shattered and the nut oil in the lamp spilled out

  across the dirt floor where it instantly caught fire. I watched in horror as the flame snaked its way toward the nearest cot.

  Scrambling to all fours, I half walked, half crawled from the impending conflagration. Some of the more alert men had grabbed blankets and were trying to beat out the flames. Amazingly, a few smokers still lay in their bunks, too drugged to comprehend, or care, what was happening. I saw my three companions struggling with the highbinder who held the girl firmly in his grasp. Almost effortlessly he threw them aside, and I realized that he was going to make good his escape, taking the child with him.

  Not pausing to think, I grabbed a heavy metal urn and bolted forward. With a loud cry, I crashed it as hard as I could over the hatchet man's head, then watched with a mixture of horror and satisfaction as he crumpled to the floor. There he lay, eyes closed, groaning softly, the young girl whimpering beside him. Without hesitation, Miss Culbertson sprang forward and lifted the child into her arms.

  “Hurry,” she cried. “Before he regains his senses.”

  She turned to flee, but after a few steps it was obvious the girl was too cumbersome for the older woman to carry. Hi Gim mumbled something in Chinese, then took the child from his mistress. As he did, I saw that his eyes were wide with terror, and for the first time I understood how much courage it must have taken for him to oppose a force as dangerous as the tongs.

  “We go quickly!” he pleaded, as the hatchet man beneath our feet stirred and opened his eyes.

  Although concurring wholeheartedly with this course of action, I wasn’t sure how it was to be implemented. The fire appeared to be out, but the room was now so filled with smoke we could barely see each other, much less locate the passageway that had led us into this wretched cesspool of humanity.

  Once again Miss Culbertson took charge, leading us—presum-ably by instinct, for it certainly could not have been by sight— through a tangle of shouting, drug-dazed Chinese, toward the stairs that would lead us above ground to safety.

  Or so we hoped. After making our way up the stairway, we stumbled through the unfamiliar clutter of the shop above the opium den only to discover that the building's heavy iron bars had been pulled closed and locked across the front door.

  “To the roof!” Miss Culbertson yelled.

  Matching action to her words, she pushed Hi Gim, who was still holding the girl, toward a flight of stairs similar to the ones we’d ascended in the Sullivan Alley toy shop. Gum Toy and I followed upon their heels.

  The fine hairs at the nape of my neck rose as we ran. I was ter-rifyingly aware that our last hope of escape could be cut off at any moment by the furious bow how doy who’d taken chase behind us. If we were caught, what would they do to us? I wondered crazily as, skirts held above my knees, I ran behind Gum Toy like a hare pursued by a pack of ravenous wolves. I needed no one to tell me that if we fell into their hands, we could expect no mercy, nor any assistance from the familiar world we’d left behind.

  Hi Gim was pushing the little girl onto the roof when, breathless, I joined my companions in the attic room containing the skylight. Even as she urged Gum Toy up the ladder, Miss Culbertson ordered me to block the door behind us. I looked for something to jam the entryway, but could find only some wooden boxes and a few dirty rags. Working feverishly, I propped the crates beneath the doorknob, then stuffed rags under the door. It wouldn’t hold for long, but I prayed it might buy us enough time to escape.

  Miss Culbertson motioned me up the ladder next and I scuttled up the rungs with an agility born of desperation. Below me, I

  heard the door crash open as Miss Culbertson scrambled up the ladder behind me and banged the skylight shut. Rushing to the others, we executed the jump back to the roof of the first building we had entered.

  Instead of descending the original skylight, however, Miss Cul-bertson led us with practiced familiarity onto another roof, then yet another, moving as if she were on level ground instead of flying from building to building like a circus performer. Behind us, the hatchet men pursued us relentlessly. Suddenly, one grabbed my foot as I hesitated a moment too long before leaping across a precipice that was dauntingly wider than its predecessors.

  With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I kicked out at the man, catching him full in the face and causing him to fall back upon his companions. Quickly, I vaulted across to the adjoining roof where I realized that Miss Culbertson had led us to a steep, narrow stairway leading to the alley below. Standing at the foot of the stairs were Gum Toy and Hi Gim—the child we’d rescued clutching the frightened man tightly about his neck.

  “Go. Quickly!” Miss Culbertson ordered.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. Scurrying down the rickety stairs as quickly as I dared, I half stumbled onto the street, followed a moment later by Miss Culbertson. She led us at a run toward the corner where we’d left our carriage. Lungs gasping for air, I had no need to look over my shoulder to know that the bow hop doy were following much too closely upon our heels.

  I had just reached our waiting carriage when it happened. One moment I was lifting myself onto the rig, the next instant unseen hands had grabbed me from behind and were pulling me down the alley. Before I knew what was happening, I’d been dragged inside an unlit room and the door had been slammed closed behind me.

  “Unhand me this instant!” I demanded, fighting to pull away from the assailant who held my arms pinned tightly to my sides.

  The room was so dark I could see nothing. When I heard more than one voice whispering in Chinese, I realized I didn’t even know how many villains I was up against. This so unnerved me, I lashed out with the only part of my anatomy I
could still move, my feet. Judging by the howls this elicited, I knew I’d been at least partially successful. But when I drew breath to demand to be released, a hand clamped across my mouth so roughly my head whipped back with a painful jolt. Under the circumstances, I feel no need to apologize for employing my last remaining weapon. Maneuvering my body sideways, I kicked as hard as I could in the direction of what I hoped was my captor's groin.

  I was rewarded by a bellow of pain and the offending hand was momentarily removed. But before I could call out, a piece of cloth was stuffed into my mouth and my arms were bound, none too gently, with what appeared to be another length of cloth.

  “Be still!” a man's voice growled in my ear.

  Outside the door, Miss Culbertson called out my name, but my gag silenced any attempt to respond. I had to fight back silent tears of frustration. The group from the mission was mere feet away, yet they might as well have been on the moon for all the assistance they could render. Then I heard running feet and knew the highbinders would soon be upon them. My companions had no choice but to make good their escape while they could, yet my heart sank to hear their departing carriage.

  When the street was finally quiet, one of my captors opened the door a crack and a thin ribbon of moonlight penetrated the room. I saw that there were two of them, both muscular and unusually tall for Chinese. One villain scouted the street while the other

  wrapped a piece of silken material over my eyes as a blindfold. Then silently they slipped out of the room, holding me wedged tightly between them.

  We moved forward in this uncomfortable fashion for what seemed like miles, but was probably no more than four or five blocks. Several times I was aware of being led around obstacles in the street, and once when I started to stumble, strong hands helped me to my feet. All of which added to my growing confusion. Where were they taking me? And why? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to finish me off in the room we’d just vacated, leaving my body to be discovered at a later time?

  I was roused from these depressing thoughts when the men stopped and knocked on a door. A moment later, the door opened and I was ushered inside some sort of building. My captors spoke briefly in Chinese to another man, then escorted me into what I guessed to be an entryway and through yet another door.

  Still blindfolded, I was guided up a flight of stairs and finally eased into a chair. Immediately, my hands were released from their bonds and, much to my relief, the cloth was pulled from my mouth. While I fought to catch my breath, the silk was removed from my eyes and, wordlessly, my kidnappers slipped away.

  Although a blindfold no longer obstructed my sight, it was several moments before my brain could take in the images bombarding my senses. For reasons I couldn’t begin to fathom, I’d been deposited in the most amazing room I had ever seen. The decor represented neither East nor West, Tajmahal nor English manor house; in truth it was all of these at once. Across from me stood a marble statue of the Greek goddess Diana, which would have been at home in Leland Stanford's foyer. On the opposite wall hung what looked to be an early Van Gogh and next to that a splendid Goya. On another wall I spied a Courbet, a Barye and a classic

  Rousseau. The magnificent carpet was Persian, its exotic weave and rich colors perfectly enhancing an eclectic collection of furniture.

  There were, of course, the expected Chinese pieces, most notably some exquisite jade carvings and a lovely old hua-li sideboard, similar to one I had seen while visiting London's British Museum. Amazingly, these Chinese pieces sat side-by-side with equally fine examples of English Tudor and French Provincial. Aside from the monetary value of the collection, this meeting of East and West managed to achieve a strangely harmonious environment, a sharp contrast to the dichotomy that existed beyond these walls.

  I was drawn from these musings by a movement to my right, and was startled to realize someone had soundlessly entered the room. A distinguished-looking Chinese man sat regarding me with polite interest from a square-backed, kuan moa chair, which rested on a small dais placed in the center of the rear wall. It reminded me of a small throne, such as a Chinese dignitary might use while conducting a formal audience.

  The man inhabiting the chair-of-state did, in fact, possess a regal bearing. Even seated I could see he was tall for a Chinese, and his clothes bore out this air of nobility. The tunic of his blue satin robe was patterned in a rich, black velvet overlay, and the face that regarded me above the embroidered collar was unlined and finely chiseled. The man's coal-black hair—shaved and oiled into a long queue—showed little gray, yet I felt certain he was not young. It was his eyes, I decided, that betrayed his years. Dark and penetrating, they held a wisdom and perceptiveness that can only be acquired over time. It was the unmistakable glint of ruthlessness I saw there, however, that chilled my blood. Intuitively I realized that this man was accustomed to getting what he wanted, regardless of the cost.

  “My modest home pleases you?” he asked in flawless English.

  “It's—quite extraordinary,” I replied, realizing even as I spoke that these words hardly did justice to such magnificence.

  He seemed amused. “But you are surprised by my choices?”

  “They’re unusual certainly. But the effect is pleasing.”

  It was true. Within these walls time seemed to stand still, and I felt an unexpected sense of calm. Here, I thought, one might find sanctuary from the disquiet of the outside world.

  Even as these thoughts crossed my mind, I recognized their incongruity. I was a prisoner, I reminded myself, taken against my will for heaven only knew what reason. Indeed, despite this serene Chinese conversing with me as if I were an honored guest, my life might still be in danger.

  “Please, do not distress yourself,” the man said, as if reading my thoughts. “I mean you no harm. Furthermore, I regret the treatment you received at the hands of my men. They have informed me that you fight like a Yan Wo, which, you may know from your research into our customs, is a particularly vicious tong. My men meant this as high praise, but it does not excuse their ineptness. I offer my profound apologies, Miss Woolson.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “You know my name?”

  “You are the only daughter of the Honorable Horace Woolson. Your eldest brother, Frederick, recently announced his intention to run for state senate. Another brother, Charles, is a skilled, if underpaid, physician.” He smiled. “Your brother Samuel, or should I say Ian Fearless, is a talented writer. I found his article on Tangrenbu last year interesting, if a bit overdramatized.”

  If it had been my host's intention to startle me, he’d succeeded. “In at least one respect you know more about my siblings than my own parents,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “But I don’t understand. Why have you taken the trouble to learn so much about my family?”

  “I find it prudent to know as much as possible about those who show an interest in me, Miss Woolson.”

  “Show an interest! But—” Suddenly my situation, as well as the identity of this surprising man, become clear. “You’re Li Ying.”

  He inclined his head. “I have neglected to introduce myself. An oversight for which I must again beg forgiveness. You are correct, Miss Woolson. I am Li Ying.”

  I forgot my manners and stared frankly at this alleged God of the Golden Mountain, the most powerful and feared tong lord in Tangrenbu. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but certainly not this refined, obviously educated man who lived in a house that would have made the Astors proud.

  A manservant noiselessly appeared, bearing a tray containing a pot of aromatic China tea, as well as a selection of very Western sandwiches and cakes. To my surprise I found I was hungry.

  “I hope you will enjoy this modest refreshment.” He waited until I had sampled my tea before raising his own cup.

  “It's delicious. Thank you.” It was, in fact, the finest tea I had ever tasted.

  “You honor me.” He went on to make polite, but insignificant, conversation while we ate. It wasn’t until the servant
collected the remains of our meal that he came to the heart of what I now knew must be the reason for my abduction. “I am most curious to learn, Miss Woolson, why you have been inquiring about me.”

  Anticipating the question, I had been turning over in my mind how best to answer. In the end I decided that any attempt to deceive this man would not only be foolhardy, but would surely fail. Consequently, I told Li Ying the circumstances surrounding Hanaford and Mills's deaths, and how his own name had come to my attention. When I described finding his note to the banker, he raised an eyebrow.

  “I am disappointed that Mr. Hanaford was so indiscreet.” “So you admit you wrote the letter.” “Oh, yes. And several others like it.”

  “But why?” I asked, then realized the tong lord was hardly likely to satisfy my curiosity. Again he surprised me.

  “Because I was blackmailing him,” he replied without the slightest hesitancy. “I had been doing so for a number of years.”

  This time I was at a loss for words.

  “I see I have shocked you, Miss Woolson.” He smiled. “Perhaps it would help if I told you something of myself and the events that led to my association with Mr. Hanaford.”

  “Yes. I would like that very much.” I realized I had moved forward expectantly in my chair and consciously sought to relax.

  “You have undoubtedly heard stories about me,” he began. “While some of them are true, you must not believe them all.”

  I was unsure how to respond to this, so I said nothing.

  “My family comes from Canton,” he continued. “My father was a scholar-official, a ruling mandarin of some distinction. In time I, too, passed the Confucian examinations and prepared to devote my life to the service of my country.” He paused, and when he went on, his voice was tinged with regret. “Unfortunately, that was not to be. The turbulent political situation in the south forced me to leave my country. After working as a seaman aboard a clipper ship, I traveled to Nevada because I had heard stories of great riches to be found in the silver mines.”