The Syracuse Journal, Volume 27, Number 49, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 4 April 1935 — Page 5

YUAN HEE SEE « LAUGHS By SAX ROHMER - • Copyright hy sax Rohmor. WNU Barvic*.

SYNOPSIS Matt Kearney, young American living lit London, says good-by® to hie sister Eileen, on board the Wallaroo bound for Colombo The Wallaroo Is conveying £1.000,000 in gold to Australia. On hla way home Kearney meets Inspector Dawson Haig. of Scotland Yard, very much in love wlth-Eileen. Haig is convinccd opium is concealed in Jo Lung's warehouse. Called to other duty, he ' delegates Kearney, with Detective Norwich. to visit the place and And out what he can. CHAPTER II A heavy wooden gate, set in a high, old brick wall, did not look very promising. Partially defaced by time and . weather, the name “J. Lung" might still with difficulty be read thereupon. Just beside the Inscription was an electric bell push, and to this Deteclive Sergeant, Norwich applied his finger. 'I forget the American accent, sir," he whispered. "I can’t Kearney replied. “So they tell me here.” This cul-de sac was curiously quiet, although Its blind end terminated very near to the river bank. Here, the fog was thick again. Kearney conjured tip a picture of the Wallaroo, lying far downstream, and of a cozy stateroom. Eileen would be in bed now, propped wp. reading. He hoped she was happy. He was very fond of Eileen. Suddenly a small door, set In one wing of the greater one, opened quite silently inwards. The light'of an electric lamp of that pattern carried by , the |M>llce shone Into their faces. Behind the lamp. Indistinguishable In the .darkness, appeared a stooping figure, sbadowly. ”What you want, pleaser asked a goit. monotonous voice. Peering hard. Matt Kearney made out that thf speaker Wore a dr.rk blue turban. The doorkeeper was not. as one tnlgnt have anticipated, a Chinaman. but an Arab bowwab. “Mr. Jo Lung," Norwich replied distinctly. “I have brought him a customer from the United States.’* The bowwab' turned light upon the speaker's face, and: "1 don’t see you here before," he commented. "Maybe not." Norwich returned. “But I come from Mr. Bernardson. Look at this.” He held out a card. Bony brown fingers grasped it and placed It close before the light of the lantern; then: “Ail right.** said the guardian of the gateway. “Please come In." The two stepped into a IlttP courtyard. The Arab proved to be a gaunt man with a lined and pock-marked face, sutdguj’i eye* and an ominous expre&lon. They crossed to a corner of the yard, mounted four stone steps, and entered a dimly lighted passage, haring a window with an Iron grating overlooking

jH ■ few |

“Don’t Forg«t th« American Accent, Sir," He Whispered.

the courtyard. The place was stuffy and full of cigarette smoke. It was evi Jen tly the sanctum of the Arab night porter. "Please waft." said the bowwab, leaving them together in the dimly lighted .room. Shuffling footsteps dlea away la some dart place beyond, and Kearney was about to speak when Norwich shook his bead urgently. • Standing there in an oppressive hush, a long way off tn the building, Kearney beard a sound. Although at first he failed to identify it. immediately he knew that it was horrible. -It was a very high sound, between a piping and a squeal; higher than the note of a rat It was, paradoxically, so shrill as to be nearly inaudible. ... Then, suddenly, be knew of what It reminded him ... the amplified squeak of a bat! It was chilling; terrifying; in some way—unclean. He exchanged a rapid glance with Norwich; and Norwich stood like a man petrified. “For Ood*a sake! What was it’" Kearney whispered. *1 can't imagine, str.... Ssh! Some one comlna!**

“It was like . . . laughter. . . • •••••,• The emporium of Jo Lung occupied all the rooms on two floors of a rambling old building, eight or nine rooms In all, and each one literally crammed with treasures. At. times Kearney Imagined that the covered-in ways of old Damascus lay just around the next turning; that the Street Called Straight, and not Limehouse Causeway, adjoined tills winder-khan. On entering other rooms, he was transported to the Seraglio palace, and thought that rife stood in the treasury of the sultans. Only the manner in which these priceless Items were displayed served to dissipate such illusions. They were piled carelessly upon rough, trestle tables. Here were lacquer cabinets, chests, and caskets, antique and modern ; each one a choice • piece. Damascened swords, Venetian goblets, whole services of Ming porcelain; prayer carpets of a quality seldom seen outside a museum; a collection of books in exquisite bindings; a great quantity of antique silver. A highly civilised and well-dressed Greek did the honors. “Mr. Jo Lung is unfortunately away,” he explained to Norwich. “But if 1 can help. I am at your service. No doubt," turning to Kearney, who whs endeavoring to hide his bewilderment, “you have a definite Idea what you are seeking?" Kearney conquered his astonishment He endeavored to recall Dawson Haig’s instructions. Jo Lung was the biggest “fence"-—or dealer in stolen goods—in all London! Surprise visits had never yet caught him napping. This was a new move. Detective Sergeant Norwich had memorized a long list of stolen jewelry—principally foreign; and their job was to try to identify even one Item In Jo’s emporium. ’ On thia, Haig could act . . . and the cases of opium lay in an adjoining yard I “My friend, Mr. Bronsen, has several commissions," said Norwich. (Matt Kearney was “Mr. Bronsen.") “But mostly colored gems." “Yes," Kearney broke tn. Tm com missioned by a New York client to complete a collection of sapphires.” "Sapphires!" The Greek raised heavy eyebrows. “I fear I am unfortunate. If Mr. Jo Lung were here he might be able to help you. But to the beat of my knowledge we have few sapphires In stock at present. They are not." he smiled slightly, “very profitable just now; However, you shall see.” They passed along a corridor, went down three naked wooden steps and picked away through what seemed to be a collection of lamps—lamps of perforated brass, of silver, and of gold: lamps from Arabia, from China, and from Japan. Detective Sergeant Norwich was all eyes. They entered a room resembling a small shop, and the Greek, stepping behind a narrow counter, pulled out a tray from beneath and opened it for tha visitors’ Inspection. It was as he did so that the almost insupportable silence began to bear down upon Kearney. The treasure house of Jo Lung was the most silent place he had ever known In the heart of a city. Its silence was uncanny. ... “Unless Mr. Lung has others in the safe." the Greek said, “these are the only colored gems in stock at present." Kearney, resting his eyes upon the jewels, suppressed an exclamation in the nick of time. ... , The tray was arranged with some artistic care, and in its center, under the harsh, unshaded lamp which the Greek had switched on, blazed a group of amazingly matched fire opals. Kearney clenched his teeth and bent lower, peering down. Here lay evidence to justify a search of Jo Lung's premises! Beyond any possibility of mistake, this was the “Dakenham necklace”—the famous rope of opals which bls Aunt Hilda, Lady Dakenham. had taken with her upon the ill-fated voyage of the American yacht. Miss Minnesota, lost with all bands In the Persian gulf, less than a year before! Yet—a query leaped to hla brain—was it evidence? “You are admiring the opals?" The Greek’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Kearney pulled himself together. “Yes," he said, and met the unblinking gate of the man's dark eyes. “If I were buying opals, I should buy these." “You would be wise. But you know Mr. Lung’s methods of business?” “Yes. Even if 1 wanted to buy, 1 haven’t the cash !’* He was cool enough now. He added: 'These sapphires are indifferent I'm sorry." The Greek replaced the tray, and: “Perhaps you will honor us with a visit. Mr. Bronsen, next time you visit England." he suggested. “Special requirements such as yours cannot always be met at short notice." He ted them to another room. “What have you here?” Norwich asked curiously—“in these cases?” Kearney was slightly ahead when the Greek paused and looked back as Kearney observed a little memo-book, bound in green leather, lying upon the first step. .. . Without attracting attention, he stooped quickly. picked it up, and slipped it in his pocket Here, perhaps, was evidence! In the act of turning to rejoin Norwich, who was examining a massive salver—something—a slight soundprompted Kearney to glance across the shadow-haunted expanse of the big room below. It opened directly out of the lobby of the bowwab and contained miscellaneous bulky exhibits; a vast place In which -only that one light was burning. Its dim reflection touched a distant landing. And on this landing a woman stood! She was encased, mummy-like, in a long, clinging fur coat of what Kearney took to be brown ermine. Her blue-black hair was brushed straight back from her brow; her small, chiseled features resembled a pale cameo, but her lipa were poppy red. Unfathomable eyes were represented only by straight, nearly horizontal shadows; and one singularly long, white, ghastly hand rested on her hip. He stared—stared again ... and tee apparition had gone! Had she been watching him? Had she seen him pick up tee book? Or bad sne any real existence at all?—

was she a product of hls excited Imagination? ... • • • • • * • In a soundproof room, well but simply furnished as an office, a man sat before a large desk. The room was in darkness except for a shaded lamp upon this desk. Near to it, back against the wall, was a mechanism which at first glance one would have taken for a radio set. The seated man, his bowed back to the room, was engaged in manipulating this apparatus; and suddenly, as a result of manipulation, a voice cut into the silence: “I hope to see you again on your next visit, Mr. Bronsen.” said the voice. It was that of the Greek. “Sure thing. I’ll be here.” That was Kearney. There came a creaking sound of footsteps and the slam of ja door. The visitors had gone. The man at the table disconnected the apparatus and swung about In hls revolving chair., A soft black hat lay upon the carpet, with a fur-lined overcoat having a deep astrakhan collar. This man's skin resembled the peel of a dried lemon; his jet-black hair was stretched back from a receding forehead. Half-closed eyes were like slits In the yellow face, and hls lips were red and beautifully formed, their redness accentuated by a small, black, bow-shaped mustache which arched above them. It was a smiling face, but something 1® It inspired terror in the man upon whom those half-closed eyes were

IM OwW And Yu’an Began to Laugh.

turned. This latter was a stalwart Chinaman, moderately well dressed in European clothes, who might, at some time, have been a sailor. He had the mask-llke, immobile features of his race and calling. Only by a slight movement of small, sinewy hands, did he display his discomfort Slowly, tee slit-like eyes in the yellow face of the one who watched him opened and the red lips smiled. Fully opened, those eyes were terrifying. Some might have found it hard to. define wherein their terror lay. Except that they seemed to be super-nor-mally bright, they were, in an animal fashion, fine eyes. Their*dreadful quality consisted in one simple difference: their whites were really white—whereas that part of the normal human eye is Invariably tinted. The result, being phenomenal, was horrifying. The man in the revolving chair spoke slowly, and his voice, like hls eyes, was super-normaL He was a big man for a Chinese, and fleshy ... but he spoke in a key in which Caruso sang! •’What did I tell you, my friend? Your mean soul said, ’lt is business.' I said, ’lt is a plot.’" “I was coLsiderlng Excellency's in-, terests." “And this.” continued the flute-like voice, “is how you consider them. You admit a disguised police officer and a stranger, tonight—tonight, above all other nights!’’ “I believed—” “I never accept excuses. Ahi" A muffled bell rang. “Open tee door. Here is Polodos.” The Chinaman opened a baize-cov-ered door, admitting the immaculate Greek. As he entered: "You were wrong, Jo Lung," he said to the one who had opened for him. He turned to the man at the desk. “Kxcellency was right lhe card was certainly obtained by fraud. Os one man I can say nothing, but the other was a detective.” “Ah!” came the reed voice. And the speaker stood up, his eyes half-closing again. T am sure of it ... I was listening to every word!" He pointed to tee apparatus on the table. "No harm has been done, my lord,” the Greek continued. “I was cautious. It is regrettable, but it was remedied.” The baleful glance of those half-shut eyes was directed again upon Jo Lung. Tonight, it 18 more than regrettable,” the reed voice declared. “This is tee second mistake of a disastrous day. The first was the shipment of valuable goods in tee Wallaroo. My plans, my careful plans—to be destroyed by fools!”' “Notice of change came so lata. . ..” The dim bell rang again. Polodos opened tee padded door, "nd a woman came in. Iter blue-black hair gleamed like a raven’s wing. Her long dark eyes were ever so slightly oblique, and she had a petulant red mouth, small and delicately chiseled features, and held her bead disdainfully high. Her long, slender neck rose above the collar of the brown ermine coat, which’ she held tightly about her In a manner to have reminded a critical observer of the once admired Rossetti type. Her complexion was peach-like but dark, and silk-clad ankles and tiny shoes peeping beneath the fringe of a black lace frock had a dainty and patrician eteShe was imperially petite, alluring yet menacing. The (JSeek and Jo Lung stepped aside deferentially as: “Yu’an." she said, and the voice of this cold woman had a deep, warm.

SYRACUSE JOURNAL

caressing note, “who were those men? I saw them from the stair." “Come in and shut the door," the Chinaman replied. “Did either of them see you?" “No. I don’t think so." He stooped, dipping hls hand, a plump, waxen hand with tapering fingers, into an inside pocket of the heavy fur coat which lay at his feet. Suddenly he glanced up, the china white of his eyes glaring. “I removed my coat as I entered the warehouse," he said, “and carried it here. I have dropped my notebook.” “Your notebook?” Yu’an, clutching the arms of the chair, continued to watch her, his drooping lids slowly, slowly covering those ominous eyes. The others were watching her also. "I said so. It contains ... our death warrants!” The woman clasped her slender throat—a curious gesture. “Ah!" she cried—T am blind! It must be! 1 saw one of those men pick up a small notebook! It was like yours— it must have been yours! On the steps from the Silver room." Yu’an, his eyefe now apparently quite closed, turned in the woman's direction. “Open the door, go down to those stairs, quickly, quickly, and tell me if you deceived yourself.” Some, but not all her disdain deserting her, the woman turned, opened the door, and swept out of the office. “Jo Lung." Yu an continued, "follow her. Your life and mine depend upon what I tell you. If those pigs have found and taken that notebook, our necks are hung upon a silken thread. There is fog—but they must be overtaken. That book must be back here, upon this table, within an hour.” Jo Lung moved silently towards the door. “Two men," Yu-an added. “AU shall go—” “And send for the Adder. . As Jo Lung lisappeared, Yu’an turned his apparently closed eyes in the direction of Polodos. At mention of that name—“the Adder”—the Greek's face had grown clammy with perspiration. It trickled down from his hair into his thick eyebrows. And Yu’an began to laugh. He did not show hls teeth in laughter. His red lips merely seemed to thicken—and his eyes closed as he laughed—high hideous squeals, Uke the amplified note of a bat . .'. Kearney felt a tremendous sense of relief when he found himself out again in the narrow lane Even the fog seemed friendly. , It was good to be free of that strange building, with its silence out of which the breathing of hidden watchers seemed to come; its ghastly emptiness, as of a place unoccupied, deserted, yet which he knew by virtue of some extra sense to be illusive. The Arab doorkeeper, the Greek—and that strange woman—had not been the only occupants of Jo Lung’s emporium that night There were others—many others, watching, listening. He knew it—he had felt it ail the time. By virtue of some mutual understanding, Kearney and the Scotland Yard man paced along to the neighboring street in unbroken silence. But, the corner turned: "Those opals!” Kearney began. “I knew you had spotted something there!” “I had. You’ve got your case clearly enough if they don’t dispose of them before tomorrow. Those opals belonged to Lady Dakenham, who was lost at sea ten months ago! How in the name of all that’s wonderful did Jo Lung get hold of them?” “H'm!" said the Scotland Yard man, and hls tone betokened disappointment “There’s no case in that, sir. I pose they must have been washed ashore. Where did the accident happen r “In the Red sea or the Persian gulf!” Detective Sergeant Norwich laughed. “Outside our beat!” he said. ‘Then you mean there’s nothing you can act upon?” “I’m afraid there Isn't,” Norwich confessed. “Everything in the place is of number one quality. But there was nothing that I definitely recognized. ! In fact, if you ask me, we were spotted!” “Do you think so?” “I’m positive!” “Yes," Kearney murmured, “I’m afraid we have wasted our time. Somewhat annoying In view of the fact—unless we can get hold of a wandering taxi—that I have a long, foggy journey ahead.” Norwich laughed again. “Hard luck, sir,” he said. “There's a cozy fire, an armchair, and a pair of slippers waiting for me at Stockwell But my order* are to report back to Leman Street" “That being the case," said Kearney cheerfully, as they groped out onto Commercial Road East, “we part company. I shall head towards the station. I’m calling Haig as soon as I get back!” j Kearney peered through swirling mist along perhaps the onlovellest thoroughfare in all London. Not a figure moved as far as his sight could pierce the fog. He had done nothing to help Dawson Haig, but certainly he had secured some unique “copy.” He glanced back. Norwich had disappeared. He had gone ten or fifteen paces when suddenly he pulled up again.... A sound had reached him—a short, muffled scream. Stockstill be stood, and listened. Dim. distant noises reached him, the rumble of remote lorries; that muted booming which Is tee lifeblood of the port of London pumping through its many arteriesfog signals. He could detect no footstep—no other sound. . It was close upon midnight. He pulled up again as he saw two thing* of interest: one. definite, the other, perhaps chimerical Either unpleasant memories of the establishment of Jo Lung still haunted him, or he had seen a curiously small, active figure dart into the shadow of a doorway not twenty paces behind! Hls heart beat faster. The head lamps of what looked like a taxicab dimly visible through fog! Indeed, perhaps the sound of the motor, although he had not recognized the fact, had prompted him to pause, to turn. (TO BE CONTINUED)

DON’T vote, but DON’T NEED TO

French Women Wield Power Without Ballot. DOROTHY DUNBAR BROMLEY, tn th* New York World-Telegram. French women are still fighting for the vote today because Napoleon believed our sex should be treated as minora. You can read that set mind of hls between the lines of his gal lant letters to Empress Marie Louise. He talks to her as if she were even younger than her years. She is to be generous in her gifts to the people he designates, she is not to give gold snuff boxes, she Is to be pleasant to her family and she Is “never to allow anything ambiguous to be said in her presence about France and politics.” Obviously Napoleon gave his “bonne Louise" very little credit for judgment of her own or for any common sense. Napoleon had one willful wife, and that was enough for him. Josephine had carried ou her intrigues under his nose. But when he paid her in the same coin she had raised the roof. So it came about that Napoleon wrote into his famous Code Civil, “the wife must learn that she owes obedience to her husband.” And, “the wife shall follow her husband wherever she goes.” This was a dig at Josephine. The Code Napoleon has been slightly modified in the course of the years. But even now a French wife can’t leave the country without her husband's permission. She can’t open a bank account without his a k„ unless she has a business or profession of her own. She can’t visit friends or places of which he disapproves. And he has absolute authority over their children and property, unless the marriage contract calls for a separation of their estates. American women in some of our states are no better off than French women, except for the fact they have the vote. As for that, the French worn .n would have had the ballot son • tine ago if the senators of the rad cal party had not feared that the female vote might strengthen the clerical party. Since the married French woman Is « chattel and since no French w<n an can go to the polls. American won <?n have been in the habit of con d rending to her. But we needn’t wrste our pity. Ask a Frenchman to ir; kt* an Important business decision ami he is as likely as not to put off

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until tomorrow. He wouldn’t admit it, but he will wait to find out what hls wife thinks about it. During the war any number of French women ran their husbands’ businesses and factories without a hitch. A Parisian woman of my acquaintance managed her busband’s tin factory. When she heard that his outfit at the front could not communicate with headquarters for lack of telegraph wire she got hold of the proper machinery and turned to mak ing telegraph wire. Napoleon left a lasting imprint on the laws and customs of France. But it would have taken a greater force than the Little Corporal to stay the course of the French woman. The French woman knows how vain men are. So she never makes a show of power. While she pretends to defer to her husband, she will let fall a suggestion which he will adopt as his own. And if she deceives him she is usually more subtle in her technic than was the willful Josephine. With all her legal disabilities she is happier than the American woman. For she is important in her husband’s scheme of things 24 hours of the day. In the final analysis the French woman makes a business of understanding men. Man is her metier. Driven by Drouth? A wholesale southward movement of prehistoric peoples of the American Southwest which occurred about 1300 A. D„ and often has puzzled archeologists, probably was caused by drouth. The movement is shown clearly by the dates of abandoned ruins in the North, and the appearance of new ones at about the same time several hundred miles farther south. The possibility that drouth was the cause recently was investigated by Emil W. Haury, Arizona archeologist. He found corroborative evidence in ancient tree-rings, which show that the drouth lasted about a quarter of a century, from A D. 1276 to 1300.—Literary Digest.

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