Evening Star Newspaper, October 11, 1936, Page 80

4 Louis entered behind Josie and, advancing, extended his hand. He, too, was well turned out in a neat grey flannel suit. His shipmates, I happened to know, had nicknamed him after a popular film star; and except that Louis was a step or two nearer the jungle, the resemblance could not be denied. I had an idea there was an Asiatic streak, an idea which later events tended to confirm. “How are you, Louis?”’ I said; “when did you get in?” “We berthed this morning, sir. We're off again on Tuesday.” His manners were unexceptionable; in fact, in the main I didn't dislike the fellow. All 1 disliked about him was his somewhat obvi- ous relationship to Mrs. Sam King. A cousin he may have been — one couldn’t doubt that they hailed from the same part of the world — but he certainly took full advantage of the ~*Sit down, my pearl,”” crooned old Sam King, placing a chair for his wife. “This is a happy occasion. Louis, to-night it will be a labor of love to prepare, as you know so well how to do, four of those punches which we esteem. We have an old friend with us; one of those rare friends who understands us all.” I detected a curious intonation in the crooning voice, when my thoughts were broken by a scream from Josie. “Sam!" she shrieked. “Sam! lock that damn thing up!” She was standing bolt upright, her eyes fixed in terror upon the mongoose. Emperor, from the other side of the room, was regard- ing her fixedly, and his regard was not a friendly one. “My child” — old Sam King squeezed her shoulder — “will you never learn to know those who love you?” “Lock the damn thing up!” she demanded angrily. “They are angry with you, my Emperor,” Sam King murmured, picking up the sleek little animal. “‘You make them angry, and so you must be locked up, my small friend.” He returned the mongoose to his wired cage and then smilingly rejoined us. “Why do you let the thing out?” Josie asked; “you know I hate it.”’ *I did not know, Josie, my precious, that you would be joining us.” “Let’s forget it,” Louis suggested. “You're jumpy, Josie. A real drink is what you want, and it’s coming to you, now.”” Josie, rather ashamed of herself, dropped back into her seat. The epispde was forgotten. Conviviality reigned in the room, and old Sam King chuckled delightedly at Louis’s anecdotes. Josie watched the raconteur with adoring eyes. I don’t know what the hour was when Louis stood up. “I expect you’ll want to turn in, Sam,” he said, “but I have promised Josie to take her down to Mrs. Joy's for a couple of dances before they close. I know you won’t mind.” “Why should I?” the old Chinaman re- plied. “Youth should be gay. I am happy in what I have, and wish that which I have to be When the pair had gone, calling back laughing farewells: ““I also must be going, my - friend,” 1 said. “What does your wife say to the change? Is she looking forward to living in China?” 1 realized that I had put the thing rather bluntly, but the words were spoken and I could not recall them. Old Sam King, who had leaned back in his chair and lowered his eyelids, now turned upon me that regard as of a benevolent snake; it was somewhat dis- *“My wife will go before me,” he replied softly, “to prepare my house, Respected, as it is fitting that a wife should do.” Some months elapsed before I saw Sam King again, but I often thought about him. 1 was determined once more before he left his old quarters to share with him a glass or two of that wonderful rum and to endeavor, if possible, to gather a little more of his philos- ophy, to learn something further of the mystery of his life during those distant years in China. He was reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in Limehouse. He was much respected — at times I had thought, feared. Yet something there was about him which did not fit into the pattern of the man’s mentality which I had weaved with the few threads at my disposal. I remember very clearly the incidents of that last interview. I timed my visit to Thames-side as nearly as possible to coincide with the closing of the store. Indeed, Old THIS WEEK Sam was about to turn out the lights in his shop when I arrived. The cordiality of his greeting was unmistakable. He rested his hands upon my shoulders and looked with his dim, strange eyes into mine. ‘‘Respected friend,” he said, ‘“you are very welcome.” It was a bleak, cheerless night; a rainy mist drifted past the windows. The narrow streets of Limehouse sang a song of desolation, almost a lament for that which was passing. There were dim lights, a few slinking figures; even the life of the ancient waterway seemed to be hushed. Limehouse bowed its head beneath a lowering pall. I glanced around the store. The shelves were all but stripped; the place had a starved look. human beings as ‘pawns. THE FATE OF A NATION WAS IN HIS HANDS A New Series of Mystery Stories by E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM INNER hour in London’s most fashionable Grill Room. . . Prime Minister dining, incognito, with the world’s most powerful and hated man—a man who plays chess with . At the next table sits a young journalist, seeking to overhear the whispered words which may, some day, echo round the world from the mouths of cannons. . . . Suddenly a red-haired giant approaches the man-of-power . . . greets him familiarly. Who is he? What part does he play in this startling story of men who toy with war as carelessly as a child amuses itself with harmless firecrackers? These new stories, written especially for Tuis WEEK, are smashing entertainment for those millions of readers who await with unabated interest the latest story of E. Phillips Oppenheim, master of suspense. You will be thrilled again and again as he leads you through adven- tures in the after-dark playgrounds of England’s socially elect. Watch for the first one next week — each story separate in itself — “A PULPIT IN THE GRILL ROOM"” “Ah,” came the sing-song voice, out of shadows, for he had turned off the lamps, “I am selling up my stock; this week I go.” “What! So soon?” . He took my arm and guided me along be- hind the darkened counter, then bowed, as he always bowed upon the threshold of the sanctum, bidding me to enter. When the door was closed, I felt that the stuffy little room possessed the silence of a tomb. Placing a chair, he prepared a drink of the famous rum. “To-night, Respected,” he said, ‘‘you must permit me. The nearer I draw to China, the more Chinese I become. And soon, very soon now, I shall be in the land of my ancestors.” I glanced about. The sanctum, too, was + A Magazine Se. stripped. All those gewgaws which spoke the mincing voice of Mrs. Sam King missing: it was a barren little room. But shrine remained, and now, a faint sc sound attracted my attention to that co where, upon a Victorian mahogany tal Emperor’s cage reposed. The wicked, bea eyes regarded me fixedly. Sam King placed a glass inmy hand, rais| his own. ““To your long life and happiness in Chin I said. “To all of that happiness you desire,” replied, “which would be true happiness — your continued health and our unbroki friendship.” We drank, solemnly. “It is a fitting thing and a very welcod thing,”” Sam King continued, ‘“that you sho visit me tonight. But I am unhappy to ceive you in this bare and inhospitable roon ‘‘You are here, Sani, and it was you I ca “You honor me.” We were silent for a while. Vaguely I co hear water dripping somewhere, and Empero evidently satisfied that 1 was an acceptab visitor, scuffled about at the back of his cag Otherwise, we were alone with the old pe fumes of the place, among which that of Sam shag began now to assert its usual predom| nance. 3 “The wise man takes pleasure in the co pany of a friend,” he said presently; “fa only a wise man knows one. Sometimes i your writings, Respected, you have spokej evil of my countrymen. Is it not true?”’ “It is true,” I replied, “but only in limited sense. I have portrayed some of you race, perhaps, in an unfavorable light; bul never the Chinese as a whole. There are men in China as there are evil men in eve: oountry. Your words, Sam, are not just.” I spoke the words,”” he answered, “merel to hear your reply. In friendship, misunder standing is impossible.” As he ceased speaking, I found mysel listening for something else which I expected to hear; exactly what, I didn’t know. All I heard was the dripping of rain, until a piece of ash dropped from the fire in the little grate, and made me start. *“To sit in the shade beside some willow- bordered canal,” Sam King continued, “and to contemplate the infinite beauties of nature. This, Respected, is a fit occupation for the aged philosopher.” He closed his eyes and became silent. I d‘c remembered that I had committed the socialj sin of failing tojinquire after his wife; there- fore: “I trust your wife is in the best of health,” I said. “My wife,” he replied, “is a fortunate woman, for she enjoys all that she has earned. She is at present bidding her farewells to Limehouse. I thank you, Respected, for your interest.” Silence fell again, then: “As you have seen,” said Sam King, ‘“‘most of my poor possessions are gone. But one which has some- times attracted your friendly interest still remains. Indeed, I have kept it for you as a parting gift and as a token of the honorable pleasure which you have afforded me.” He reached down under the chair in which he was seated, and took out a short, heavy curved sword, the hilt bound with plaited catgut, the blade concealed in a shagreen scabbard. It was a beautiful piece of finely tempered steel, the upper part of the blade- curiously damascened. I had often admired it. -He drew the blade from the scabbard. “Really,” I protested, “your generosity is too great. You treasure this sword. I couldn’t dream of accepting it.” Sam King raised the blade before his eyes, and then performmed a curious semi-circular horizontal movement with it —a movement executed at lightning speed; a curiously sig- nificant movement. “You may not refuse my gift,”” he replied, *“for if you did so, I should send it to your house by a messenger. Nor will you refuse it, Respected, you who are a maker of stories, when I have told you its history. For the blade is older even than I, and I am very old.” He slipped it back in its polished scabbard, and stood up, holding the weapon extended upon his two palms. “For you — my friend.” I took it from him, also standing up, and bowed formally. “I thank you sincerely, Sam,” I said. “I shall try in my humble way to do honor to the history of this most gener- ous present.” He indicated that I should refill my glass and when once more we were seated on either (Continued on page 11)