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

The Chief Inspector paused to reflect. A police officer of his lofty rank couldn’t be expected to know all the constables in London personally. “I’ll have to ask,” he said.

“Please do,” Lady Sara said. “If you have one, I would like to borrow him for a day or two.”

There were very few Chinese policemen, but the Chief Inspector did manage to find one for Lady Sara. He was a young uniformed constable named Harry Kung, extremely polite as well as bright and alert. After he came to know us better, he confessed that his Chinese name was Kung Wu. We went with him directly to the emporium of Charlie Tang, which every London Chinaman knew well. It was the largest of its kind, occupying two connecting two-storey buildings on West India Dock Road. The front was splashed with Chinese characters. As I already mentioned, Tang and his large family lived above the shop. Tang dealt in every imaginable Chinese product that local residents could desire, imported directly from China: rare food delicacies; medicines and drugs, including pills for counteracting the effects of opium; soys, condiments, gingers, and curries; oil for sacred Chinese lamps; bars of a special soap that no English lady would have allowed into her house or even her barn; ravishing silks and finished clothing. Tang also sold such items of English origin as Oriental residents of London were likely to want or need.

A sign on the door announced, in Chinese characters, that Constable Kung translated for us, the days the shop would be temporarily closed.

“Of course he left someone to guard his home and shop during his absence,” Lady Sara suggested.

“Naturally,” Constable Kung said with a grin. “Charlie Tang was not — as you English say — born yesterday. In fact, he left his assistant, Wong Li.”

“Do you know that to be a fact?” Lady Sara asked.

“Wong Li told me so himself. He had hoped for some free time to spend with his own family, but Charlie Tang promised him a few days off later if he would guard the shop and residence while the Tang family was gone.”

“Excellent,” Lady Sara said. “Perhaps this problem can be resolved quickly. All we need to do is ask Wong Li if anything untoward happened last night.”

Constable Kung tried the front door. To no one’s surprise, it was locked. He knocked firmly; there was no response. We walked around to the street that ran alongside the building. On the opposite side was the building where Madam Shing paid an extra shilling a week so she could enjoy a front room. It was a shabby street, and the drab fronts of the buildings, mostly dwellings, were entirely unlike the bright, businesslike frontages we had just left. There were two side doors to Charlie Tang’s building. One opened into his shop. Constable Kung knocked on it resoundingly; again there was no response.

We moved on to the other side door, which opened onto a stairway leading up to the Tang family’s living quarters. When the family was at home, it would be left unlocked, and callers would knock or otherwise announce their presence at a second door at the top of the stairs. Now it was locked. Constable Kung knocked loudly.

There was no response.

He tried again. And again.

“Perhaps Wong Li stepped out for a few minutes,” Lady Sara suggested.

Constable Kung shook his head. “He would not. He would have no reason to. Anything he might need or want is there in the shop. Besides, his employer left him to guard the establishment, and that is a sacred trust. We Chinese take such things seriously. No. He is there — either upstairs or in the shop. He must be there.”

He tried again. Again, there was no response.

“Perhaps we should enquire of the neighbours whether Wong Li has been seen since the Tang family left,” Lady Sara suggested.

As I already mentioned, Christmas was not widely celebrated by London’s Chinese. The shop next door to Charlie Tang’s was open for business. It was a cookshop, but my knowledge of Chinese customs was too inexact for me to determine whether the dozen customers we saw there were having late breakfasts or early lunches. What they were eating did not look appropriate to either occasion.

Constable Kung interviewed the proprietor, a muscular Chinaman of medium height wearing an apron that probably had at one time been white. After a jumbled exchange of Chinese — it sounded like a jumbled exchange — Kung turned to us. “Wong Li was left in charge of the premises. He would not leave them until Charlie Tang returned, so of course no one has seen him.”

Lady Sara said thoughtfully, “All we really know is that Charlie Tang intended to leave Wong Li in charge. We don’t know that he actually did so. No one knows that he did so because no one has seen Wong Li since the Tang family left. Isn’t that so?”