Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 49, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2004

“I have a more telling objection,” Lady Sara said. “Consider this: She looks out, she sees a man with a ladder breaking into the dwelling across the street. She knows the dwelling’s owner has gone to Liverpool. Does she bundle herself up and walk halfway across London to tell Lady Sara? She does not. She tells her landlord and her neighbours — people close by who can do something about it while the burglary is still in progress. Her conduct is more remarkable than her story.

“On the other hand, the bruises on her arms were real and recently acquired. She may have other bruises on her throat — did you notice how carefully she kept it covered? Someone misused her badly and — perhaps — threatened to do it again. That was why she was terrified. It will be interesting to find out whether she actually lets Rick take her home.”

Rick Allward returned first with a strange tale to tell. When he reached Limehouse, workmen had part of the pavement up on Commercial Road near West India Dock Road. Traffic in both directions had to use a single, narrow lane alternately. He was trapped there for several minutes, and while he was waiting Madam Shing flung the door open and leaped out. She fell heavily, and he feared she had injured herself, but before he could climb down she scrambled to her feet and ran off faster than he would have thought possible. She darted out of sight down a side street.

Old John, driving Charles in the hansom several vehicles behind him, had seen what had happened. He skillfully maneuvered out of line and followed her. By the time Rick’s turn came to move on, both hansom and fleeing woman were out of sight, so he returned to Connaught Mews.

Charles returned several hours later. Old John had overtaken the hurrying woman and driven past her like a cab driver on an urgent errand. He turned at the next corner, and Charles scrambled out. He had already outfitted himself with multiple disguises. He boldly strode back along the side street and met Madam Shing without giving her a glance. She hurried on; he turned, altered his appearance slightly, and followed her. The squalid neighbourhood just east of the Limehouse Basin of Regent’s Canal contained a confused warren of streets. Obviously she knew it well. From her wanderings as Lady Sara’s agent, she probably knew the entire East End well. She followed a zigzagging path through the dark streets and marched unerringly to her destination, where she knocked, and was recognized the moment the door was opened, and made welcome. Evidently it was the home of friends.

Charles watched the house for some time. When it became obvious that everyone had gone to bed, he found the homes of two of Lady Sara’s agents, roused them out — a considerable achievement on Christmas Eve — and established a watch on the house Madam Shing had fled to. Then he rendezvoused with Old John and returned home.

Lady Sara had one question for Charles. “Were there signs of anyone else trying to follow her?”

“None,” Charles said confidently.

“She has found a refuge of her own choosing,” Lady Sara said. “We can assume that she is in safe hands for the present. However, we may need her again, and I must know where she is. I’m sorry to spoil Christmas morning for you, but early tomorrow I want you to make arrangements to keep the house under watch day and night and follow her if she leaves. Find agents who know her well and will recognize her.”

In the morning, Lady Sara left a message at Scotland Yard for Chief Inspector Mewer, informing him that she had a question for him and asking him to telephone her at his convenience. The message was relayed to him at home, and he left at once — on Christmas morning — to call on her. From past experience he knew all about the far-reaching implications Lady Sara’s questions could have.

Once he heard Madam Shing’s story, he reacted very much as I expected. He stared for a moment, mouth agape, as though he thought he hadn’t heard Lady Sara correctly. “A man with a white beard broke into a house on Christmas Eve?” he demanded unbelievingly.

“My question,” Lady Sara said dryly, “was whether you have any information about internecine feuds among London’s Chinese population.”

“None,” the Chief Inspector said. “They police themselves very effectively. They aren’t like the American Chinese, where Tong wars seem to break out with monotonous regularity. We would stomp hard on them if there were any signs of that here. They know we would; that’s why they are so careful to maintain order among themselves. Sometimes an individual rages out of control because of opium, or hashish, or that devil’s blend of them, majoon, but few of those cases reach the police. His companions, or the persons he bought the drugs from, take him in hand. What does this have to do with your bearded burglar?”

“I’ll tell you when I find out,” Lady Sara said. “Do you have such a thing as a Chinese constable on the force?”