The Manchu Skull Page 2

  On Long Sin was sprawled out with his arms dangling at his sides, his head hanging almost straight down over the back of the chair. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. The knife lay on the desk where it had been dropped by the killer.

  Tautly, King came into the room. His glance swung keenly from object to object, and returned to that hatbox on the floor beside the dead body.

  He knelt beside the desk, carefully lifted the lid of the hatbox.

  He sucked in his breath sharply. A shimmering iridescently green skull rested in the hatbox. It was not a human skull. It was carved out of lustrous jade. But so cunningly had the sculptor wrought, that were it not for the shimmering luster of the precious jade, one might have thought it to be the skull of some long- dead Manchu emperor. The artist had sealed the open orifices of the mouth, nose and eyeballs with patches of white nephritic jade which contrasted sharply with the greenish color of the rest of the skull.

  King carefully lifted the Manchu skull out of the hatbox. There was en excited glitter in his eyes. He had come here to buy the Sung Dynasty Rubies. But here was a Chinese antique which was impossible to purchase at any price. To his knowledge, there were only three of them in the world. One of them was at present in the American Museum of Oriental Art, for which he worked. The other two were known to be in the possession of old and honorable Chinese families, who would never have parted with them for an emperor's ransom.

  King ran his fingers expertly over the surface of the exquisitely wrought jade. In a moment he assured himself that this was an authentic Manchu skull—one of the three known to be in existence.

  He held it up to the light, and the gaunt, scarified bones of the Manchu emperor seemed actually to come to life in his hands. At the top of the skull there was a small opening; plugged with a cork of white jade. He removed the cork, and inserted his finger. The inside of the skull had been carved out so that there was a hollow receptacle. He shook the skull but got no sound. The receptacle was empty.

  Carefully, almost religiously, King replaced the Manchu skull in the hatbox and closed the lid.

  Abruptly, he heard a noise behind him. He whirled, lithe as a panther, in time to see the door thrust open.

  The stout, suavely smiling Fung Tze carne into the room. He said nothing, but stepped to one side. Immediately after him, entered the two broadsword fighters who had been giving the exhibition of deadly skill downstairs. They still wore tights. Each still gripped his huge six-foot broadsword. Those blades were not pointed at the end, but they were honed to a deadly cutting-edge which could bite through flesh and bone without effort.

  The second of the two swordsmen kicked the door shut behind him. Then the two athletes gripped their swords in both hands and stood with their eyes upon King.

  King gripped the silver knob of the sword-cane in his left hand. He grinned crookedly at Fung Tze.

  “Is this what you meant when you warned me that I would be walking into danger?”

  The fat Chinaman nodded gravely. “I am so sorry, King san. I have just learned of the fight in the alley. The girl with the black hair escaped. But it is believed that she gave you the Sung Dynasty Rubies. You must turn them over to me at once. Do so, and you may go from here unharmed. You shall even be forgiven for the deaths of two men of the Sung Tong.”

  “And if I don't turn them over, Fung Tze?”

  “Then I am so sorry, King san. You will be killed by these two swordsmen, and we will take the rubies from you. The Sung Dynasty Rubies are not to be sold. They must be returned to the homeland.”

  “I have no rubies,” said King.

  Fung Tze sighed. “You have been long known among the Chinese as the Left-handed Swordsman. You have been honored by our countrymen, who have found you a man of your word. If you say you have no rubies, then it must be so. But if that is the case, it follows that the black-haired girl has them. We must know where she is to be found. Tell us, King san, and you may still go free.”

  King shook his head. “I don't know who she is. I never saw her before.”

  “You are only trying to protect her. It is honorable for a white man to lie to protect a white woman. But in this case it means your life, King san. The girl killed On Long Sin. She must pay the tong penalty. Speak, King san.

  Where is she?”

  King smiled faintly. “You're right on one point, Fung Tze. Even if I knew who she was, or where to find her, I'd certainly not tell you.”

  Once more the fat Chinaman sighed. He spoke a sharp command to the two Manchu swordsmen.

  “I am so sorry for everything, King san,” he murmured, and he opened the door and slipped out.

  King was left alone in the room with the two Manchus.

  THEIR narrow slanted eyes never left his face. They lifted their heavy broadswords high above their heads, and came around the desk, skirting the dead body of On Long Sin.

  King stood still, apparently loose-limbed and relaxed. But one could not fail to see the hot glint of his eyes.

  The two swordsmen came at him from the right and from the left. One of them barked a singsong word to the other, and they charged in. The great broadswords cut down at King's head in deadly power- strokes.

  King did not jump backward, as they had expected. He was thoroughly familiar with the science of broadsword dueling. The expert swordsman swings down at his opponent, knowing that the inexpert opponent will surely leap back in a desperate effort to avoid the cutting edge of the blade. The swordsman then takes a quick step forward even as he slashes, so that the keen blade overtakes the victim, cleaving his skull in two.

  But, instead of retreating, King crouched low and leaped forward.

  He came in under the two blows, and the heavy blades missed him and bit into the floor.

  Simultaneously, King's glittering rapier slithered out of the scabbard as he drew it with his left hand. He pivoted on his left heel and lunged. The point of the rapier plunged into the body of the Manchu on King's left. It went in just above the heart.

  The Manchu's white tights became suddenly spattered with blood.

  King withdrew the rapier just in time, as the man choked and fell forward on his face—the great broadsword clattering to the floor.

  King swiveled around to face the attack of the second Manchu. This time the yellow man did not raise his broadsword in the air. He kept it waist-high, slashing sideways with it in a blow which could easily cut a man's body in half. There was no escaping that slashing broadsword. In the split second before it struck, there was no time to leap back beyond the reach of the six-foot blade. Neither could King bend low enough to duck. Instead, King met that blow, parrying it with his thin blade of Damascus steel.

  It seemed impossible that the frail rapier could arrest the terrific weight of that broadsword. Already there was a vindictive smile of triumph upon the Manchu's face.

  The thin, pliable blade of Damascus steel met the great broadsword in midair. Sparks flashed as the two weapons grated. The rapier bent far back under the impetus of the broadsword. But King's iron wrist held it firm.

  The edge of the broadsword slid up along the side of the rapier until it struck the guard just below the silver knob. As it struck, King flipped his wrist up expertly, and the great sword went slashing past King's scalp, not touching him.

  The Manchu yelled with rage, and reversed the edge, bringing the weapon back for another slashing blow.

  King did not attempt to parry this time. He lunged! His rapier caught the Manchu under the chin, and the thrust sent the point up through the top of his skull.

  The great broadsword fell from the man's hand. He was dead before King got the rapier out again.

  King's face was inscrutable as he wiped the rapier and slid it back into the scabbard. His eyes were stormy as he looked at the bodies of the two dead Manchus, and at that of On Long Sin.

  It is written that many shall die tonight!

  Pu Yee's prophecy was being amply fulfilled. He picked up the hatbox containing the Manchu s
kull, and slowly walked out of the room.

  DOWNSTAIRS, he saw Fung Tze suavely welcoming a new party of guests, as if nothing were happening up above.

  Fung Tze turned and saw him.

  The fat Chinaman seemed to congeal within himself. For a moment, his eyes betrayed him, reflecting stark unbelief that King could still be alive. Then he swiftly regained, command of himself. He bowed from the waist.

  “You are a man of many surprises, King san!” he murmured. “Have you killed my two Manchus?”

  King studied him a moment. “I could kill you now, Fung Tze. I could draw my sword and run you through!”

  Fung Tze smiled at him as if he were merely carrying on a casual conversation with a guest. No one in the restaurant could suspect, to look at them, that these two were discussing life and death.

  “Undoubtedly you could kill me, King san. But you will not do it. In the first place, you are not one to kill an unarmed man. In the second place, there are many witnesses. It would be murder under the white man's law.”

  King smiled grimly. “All right, Fung Tze. I suppose you know I'm going to notify the police?”

  Fung Tze turned and spoke swiftly to a passing Chinese waiter. The man stopped short for an instant, as if he had been shot. Then he nodded and hurried away, calling to several other waiters who left their trays and hurried out after him.

  Fung Tze's thick lips became wreathed in a smile. “You will only be laughed at if you call the police, King san. By the time you return, there will be no bodies upstairs. The rugs and the furniture will be changed. There will be no sign of bodies or of a fight. The police will think that you are mad.”

  For the first time, Fung Tze's eyes dropped to the hatbox in King's left hand. He stiffened visibly, and his face congealed into a yellow mass.

  “The Manchu skull—you are taking it away!” King nodded grimly. “It goes to the museum. I will pay the value of this skull to the family of On Long Sin.”

  Fung Tze's eyes blazed suddenly. “You are a daring and a foolish man, King san. Believe me, you will soon join your ancestors!”

  King shrugged. He turned and walked out of the Far Long Sin Restaurant.

  CHAPTER III. TRAPPED!

  OUTSIDE, something had happened to the bright neon sign in front of the building. It had gone out, as had the street lamp directly opposite. This portion of the block was now in almost total darkness.

  King discerned the skulking shadows of the two Sung Tong hatchet men, down near the mouth of the alley.

  He transferred the sword-cane to his left hand and the hatbox to his right. Then he started to walk slowly toward the corner. The two tong men came after him, not trying to catch up, but keeping him in sight.

  At first, King was puzzled by this. For if they intended to attack, there was no better place than right here.

  A moment later, he understood the strategy. He caught sight of several other shapes, waiting ahead. There were men at either end of the block, so that no matter which direction he had taken from the Far Long Sin building, they could intercept him.

  There was another thing which puzzled him, too. He couldn't decide whether Fung Tze had acted independently in setting the two broad-swordsmen upon him, or whether he was in league with the Sung Tong. Also, he could not bring himself to believe that the girl with the dark hair had cut On Long Sin's throat.

  In any event, he understood clearly that the Sung Tong did not intend to allow him to leave Chinatown alive. They must know that he had the hundred thousand dollars in his pocket, for they had known of his appointment. They must also know what he was carrying in the hatbox. The Manchu skull was worth a small fortune—far more than the hundred and seven Sung Dynasty rubies. The Sung Tong was not going to let him take it away.

  He saw those shadows ahead of him converge toward a spot about a hundred feet ahead, to cut him off! There were two men on the sidewalk, and two more were crossing the street.

  He did not slacken his pace. But as he walked he twisted the knob of his cane, so that a single flip of the wrist would send the scabbard slithering away, leaving the naked blade in his hand.

  At the same time he did not allow those converging shadows to monopolize his attention. He was aware that these hatchet men of the Sung Tong knew his reputation. In the past, many men here in Chinatown had tried, for one reason or another, to kill the Left- handed Swordsman. None of those were alive today!

  These hatchet men might be trying a trick. They might be hoping to attract his attention, while one of their number ambushed him with a thrown knife from one of the dark doorways or alleys along the route. So King kept his eyes on the buildings he passed, watching for any sign of stealthy movement.

  Now, only twenty feet separated him from the hatchet men ahead, while those behind were hurrying a little so as to come up with him. They meant to overwhelm him by the very weight of their numbers.

  King gripped the knob of his sword-cane tightly. He wondered if this was to be his last adventure. He stopped walking, and put the hatbox down at his feet. He drew the sword out of its scabbard.

  The hatchet men crowded in toward him. Knives appeared in their hands. They held them by the tips. They were going to throw. They knew very well that King never carried a gun, relying always upon his sword-cane. So they had the advantage of him.

  King started to leap back toward a doorway. And, suddenly, a long black coupe, which had been parked down near the corner, came roaring down the street with its horn screaming.

  King's eyes glittered. He couldn't be mistaken. That was the coupe of the black-haired girl.

  The hatchet men turned, startled at the sudden clamor of sound in the street which had, until a moment ego, been deathly quiet. And then their voices rose in screams of terror. For the coupe jumped the curb and headed directly for them.

  They scattered headlong before that monster of steel, frantically throwing themselves out of the way.

  THE black-haired girl was at the wheel. King could see her face, white and strained. She twisted the car back into the gutter, and raced on toward King. When she came abreast of him, she clamped down on the brake and flung the door open.

  “Get in!” she gasped breathlessly. King snatched the hatbox, and leaped into the car. A knife whined past his ear, and clanged against the metal framework. He slammed the door shut just as a second knife keened through the air. The closing door caught the blade, smashing it. And then the coupe was in motion, with the black-haired girl's foot all the way down on the accelerator.

  She held the wheel tightly, and her knuckles showed white with the strain as they zoomed past the hatchet men, past the Far Long Sin Restaurant and down the dark length of narrow Pell Street toward the corner.

  “Turn right!” King ordered.

  She obeyed without hesitation. She drove silently for two blocks, and then King said: “Turn left!”

  In the middle of the next block he said: “Stop here!” She slowed down and came to a stop. Then she turned and looked at him questioningly.

  King twisted around and glanced through the rear window. There was no sign of pursuit. He fixed his eyes on the girl.

  “Why did you come back?” he asked. The great black coils of hair which crowned her head were disarranged. There was a long rip in her black silk evening gown. Her eyes, black enough to match her hair, were wide open, flashing with excitement.

  King decided that she was much younger than he had thought she was. Also that she was certainly no harpy of evil, as old Pu Yee had hinted.

  “Why did you come back?” he repeated, a little more gently. “You got away safely.”

  “I hated myself!” she said quickly. “I hated myself for running away and leaving you like that. I came back to see what had happened to. you.” She hesitated an instant, then: “I heard what those knife men called you. You are King, the Left-handed Swordsman.”

  “You've heard of me?”

  “Indeed, yes. I've lived in China for five years. I'm Roxanna Moore. I traveled up an
d down the Yangtze with my father, who was a missionary. Your name is a byword throughout Shansi and Hopei Provinces. They still talk of the time when you rescued Chiang Kai-Chek from the bandits in the hills behind Tientsin—with only a sword-cane for a weapon.”

  “Thank you,” King said coldly. “But let's talk about something more important. A man was murdered tonight in the Far Long Sin Restaurant. That man was supposed to sell me something. You climbed out of the window of the restaurant. Fung Tze says it was you who cut the throat of On Long Sin.”

  Roxanna Moore's eyes grew even wider. “No, no! On Long Sin was alive when I came into that room. Then the lights went out, and someone came in and grappled with me. There was more than one man, for someone was fighting with On Long Sin. On Long Sin cried out something, but it was in a dialect I didn't understand. Then the attackers ran from the room. I groped my way into the hall and saw the window; so I climbed out. Those knife men were waiting in the alley. They attacked me, and you came.”

  “What were you doing in the office of On Long Sin?” King asked.

  SHE studied his face for a long minute, as if wondering how far she could trust him. Then she seemed to make up her mind.

  “I've got to trust someone tonight. I... I brought the Manchu skull to On Long Sin. It was in this hatbox.

  I... I smuggled it in when I came back from China.” King's eyes narrowed. “You smuggled it? For Heaven's sake—why?”

  She gulped. Her lower lip began to tremble just a little. “The Sung Tong made me do it. My brother, Dan, has been living here in New York. He worked for an importing house, and he got to know On Long Sin and Fung Tze. He played fan-tan upstairs in the gaming rooms, and he lost heavily. He forged a check and gave it to On Long Sin, and they found him out. The Sung Tong kidnaped him, and they sent word to me that if I wanted ever to see Dan alive again, I must smuggle in the Manchu skull, They arranged everything, and all I had to do was to carry the hatbox off the boat. I had the skull covered with an ordinary hat, but it wasn't necessary. The customs officer didn't even open the hatbox. I brought it directly to On Long Sin.”