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

When I looked around, Lady Sara had vanished. I finally located her in the middle of West India Dock Road headed diagonally across it, and I had to hurry to catch up with her. Facing the side street was a short row of shops. In one of them could be seen the tell-tale curtains that marked an opium parlour. It was the shop next door that she was headed for, however. One glance and I saw why. Above the door was the proprietor’s name in English, W. Shing, accompanied by Chinese characters that probably said the same thing. I had been in the neighbourhood numerous times to call on Madam Shing, but I had never noticed that particular shop.

On the outside it was totally nondescript; on the inside, it was a fairyland. It was a shop offering Chinese objects made of brass — platters, bowls, tureens, goblets, beautifully fashioned art objects, gongs, bells, canisters, tea services, Buddhas of various sizes. Some of the items were wonderfully engraved. Some were genuine works of art.

But the contents were incidental, and the name of the proprietor — a common name among London’s Chinese — could have been a coincidence. The thing about the shop that had seized Lady Sara’s attention the moment she looked in that direction and now arrested mine was the proprietor himself. He stood in the doorway looking curiously at the confused intermingling of police and bystanders that surrounded Charlie Tang’s shop. He was elderly, he wore an ornate Chinese hat and Chinese robes, and he had a long white beard.

For all I knew, white beards were commonplace among the elderly Chinese — one saw them often enough in the East End — but this one was interesting because of the owner’s name and because he was located so conveniently close to Madam Shing’s residence.

Lady Sara was playing the role of an innocent tourist. She admired the brass works of art, exclaiming with delight each time her gaze fell on something new. Finally she selected a small vase. She took it to the front of the store, where the light was better.

“Lovely,” she exclaimed. “Let’s see if it takes a polish.” She went to work on it with a silk handkerchief, then held it up again. “Lovely. I’ll take this.” She smiled at the proprietor. “If it matches my decor, I’ll need several more.”

He bowed gracefully and took the vase from her with a smile. “It is a simple design,” he said — his English was impeccable — “but one is less likely to tire of simplicity.” He wrapped the vase in a piece of newspaper bearing Chinese characters and handed it to her. She paid him — a stiff price, it seemed to me, four pounds — and he accompanied us to the door.

He resumed his position in the doorway, again turning his attention to the chaos around Charlie Tang’s shop. “What is happening?” he asked.

“During the night there was a report that Charlie Tang’s residence had been broken into,” Lady Sara said. “But there seems to be no sign of any disturbance, and all the doors and windows are locked. I don’t know what the police are doing now.”

“But where is Wong Li?” Mr. Shing asked. “He was to guard the store during his master’s absence.”

“The police say there doesn’t seem to be anyone inside,” Lady Sara said. “No one we have talked with has seen Wong Li recently. Have you?”

The old man meditated for a moment. “I saw him night before last — the night before his master left for Liverpool. I sometimes import small items of brass for Charlie, and I had just had a new shipment. I took him the twenty small Buddhas he had asked for. Wong Li was there. He was always there during the hours the shop was open. I also presented Charlie with a bottle of sake, which is a Japanese liquor he is fond of, and the three of us, Charlie, Wong Li, and I, drank a toast to Charlie’s trip.” He smiled. “It was a very English occasion. But I can’t believe there is no one inside the store. Charlie told me himself that Wong Li would stay there during his absence.”

“Your English is excellent,” Lady Sara said. “How long have you lived in England?”

“All my life,” the old man said with a smile.

We thanked him, he thanked us, and we took our leave of him. As we walked back across West India Dock Road, I muttered to Lady Sara, “Just in case you are thinking you have found the white beard Madam Shing saw climbing a ladder, I’ll remind you that she also thought she saw it climb through Charlie Tang’s window, which certainly never happened. She would make an impossible witness.”

“She will never be called as a witness for the simple reason that she didn’t see anything.”

“Didn’t see — but she must have seen something! If she hadn’t come to you last night, we wouldn’t have found out that Wong Li was murdered. Do you mean she made it all up?”

“Not all of it,” Lady Sara said. “The one accidental grain of truth in her testimony is what gave us our case.”

“We have a case?”

“Yes. There are a few points that still need verification, but Assistant Commissioner Henry will take care of that for us.”