The Day of the Dragon
Adapted from THE CHINESE DRAGON by Anon. Amalgamated Press, 1926.
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The Curiosity Shop
"Hallo! That's rum!"
It was Tinker who made that remark.
Tinker was the youthful and cheery-faced assistant of Sexton Blake, the famous detective of Baker Street, London. He had halted suddenly in an odd little crooked street not far from London Bridge, gazing into the dust-windows of a shop that was as odd as the street.
He stared in, eyes fixed on an object in one corner of the window. Then his eyes rose, and he read the name set in grimy lettering above the window. "Jangles" — an odd name, too, to go with the odd little shop.
It was a curiosity-shop. The window was bowed and divided into small panes, grimy with dust and cobwebs so that some were scarcely transparent.
Behind the bow window a weird assortment of objects was to be seen. Copper pots, pieces of chipped old crockery, a few dusty oil-paintings, rings and brooches, books, an old oil-lamp or two, quaint ivory carvings, a Chinese tapestry with a green dragon woven across it — a hundred and one things, some possibly worth something, others obviously worth nothing, all heaped together in a delightful jumble.
The object that had attracted Tinker's notice was a tall brass candlestick.
"That's rum!" he repeated.
To the ordinary observer there was nothing particularly noticeable about that candlestick. The reason it interested Tinker was that it happened to be an exact replica of one that Sexton Blake possessed, which stood upon the detective's desk. Blake was a connoisseur of antiques, including old brasses such as this.
"Dare say the guv'nor would like to buy that to go with the other one," thought Tinker, staring in at the candlestick. It was a handsome-looking object, gracefully twisted, though the dust of ages had settled upon it and tarnished it out of all semblance of brass.
Tinker turned to the narrow little door, opened it, and went in.
It was very dark inside the shop. But as his eyes grew used to the light he saw the figure of an elderly man standing behind the counter — a man with a high arched nose, and a billowing white beard, and thin white hands that rested on the counter before him.
"Good afternoon!" said Tinker. "I'd like to know how much that candlestick in the window is — that tall brass one there."
He turned and pointed. As he did so he noticed that someone else had halted outside the window now, was staring in at the objects displayed. A short, stocky figure — Tinker could not make out the shadowed face.
"That's real antique," answered the unsteady, cracked voice of the old antique dealer. "That candlestick is — hum — " He paused a moment, as if wondering how much Tinker could afford to pay. "Fifteen shillings," he finished abruptly.
"Thanks!" said Tinker. "I just wondered."
He turned and left the shop. As he did so a man, entering, stood aside to let him pass. It was the man whom Tinker had seen staring in at the window, and he saw now — rather to his surprise — that it was a well-dressed, obviously educated Chinese gentleman.
"Thanks!" murmured Tinker, and the Chinese smiled politely. His face was fat and smooth and yellow, very bland. Tinker glanced round at him as he vanished into the gloom of the little shop, closing the door. Then Tinker went off up the crooked street, whistling.
* * *
"You are sure it was just the same as this one?"
"Dead sure, guv'nor! I couldn't mistake it!"
Sexton Blake leaned back in his chair, drawing at his briar pipe. He smiled.
"Then, young 'un, that old curiosity-shop man did not know much about brass, for that candlestick is worth a good deal more than fifteen shillings. I smell a bargain, old son! Stick your hat on, and we'll hunt it down!"
Five minutes later Tinker and Blake were speeding eastwards in a taxi cab from Baker Street.
Five o'clock was striking as they approached — on foot — the little shop.
Outside the pair halted, peering in through the dusty little panes of the bow window at the candlestick. Blake nodded delightedly.
"You're right enough! That's the fellow!" he declared. "I must get that!"
Tinker grinned, pleased at Blake's satisfaction. Then he noticed, as his eyes wandered over the other objects behind the glass, that something was missing that had been there before.
His training at Blake's hands had made Tinker extraordinarily observant. Very few people would have noticed, after three-quarters of an hour's absence, that the window display was not precisely as it had been before. But Tinker was sure of it, and instinctively he began to wrack his brains to know what was different.
He realised two moments later. The Chinese tapestry with the green dragon woven upon it had gone. His thoughts went at once to the wealthy-looking Chinaman.
"Well, let's go in," murmured Blake, and turned to the door.
As he did so the handle rattled, and the next moment the Chinese gentleman of Tinker's thoughts stepped out blandly on to the pavement. His eyes met Tinker's for a moment, black and slanting and inscrutable. Then he moved off down the street and vanished round a corner.
"My hat, he's been in there a long time! Three-quarters of an hour, guv'nor!"
"How do you know, Tinker?"
The youngster explained.
"There was a Chinese tapestry in the window then," he added. "I noticed it had gone, and fancied that chap must have bought it. But he wasn't carrying anything, was he?"
"No," answered Blake, and opened the door of the shop. He entered, with Tinker at his heels.
In the dim light the two stood glancing round. No one was there. Jangles, as seemed to be the name of the man with the white beard who had been standing behind the counter at Tinker's recent visit, was not standing there now.
They waited. No one came. Tinker began to whistle a tune, then to tramp his feet in moving round the shop, expecting soon to bring Jangles out of the dark doorway at the back of the shop. But it was no use.
"We could help ourselves and clear off, apparently, without anyone being the wiser," smiled Blake. He noticed a bell upon the counter, and struck it. The tinkle rang out sharply in the hush and died away. They listened. Dead silence. No sound of movement.
"This is rum, guv'nor," grunted Tinker. "Is he having his tea, or what?"
Blake frowned. He did not like being kept waiting. He was a man to whom time was important.
He strode to the far end of the shop, glancing into the open doorway in the corner. An empty passage, ending in a flight of linoleum-covered stairs that wound up into the dark, was all that was to be seen there.
Blake turned. A sudden sharp exclamation escaped him.
"What's up, guv'nor?"
Tinker's tone was a little startled. Something in the detective's face puzzled him.
Without answering, Blake strode swiftly behind the counter. From where he had been standing by the back wall, what lay behind the counter had been visible to him, though before, from the centre of the shop, they could not have seen it.
The detective stooped swiftly over something, and Tinker darted to the counter and leaned over. He gave a quick cry, and his face went suddenly white.
For Jangles was stretched in the shadows behind the counter with a long sword thrust into his heart.
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