Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 6, June 1999

“Tell me what happened that night and why you were working after nightfall and in the freezing rain.”

Slowly his words emerged from the crisp white bandages. “A fault was discovered in the hoist motor. The chief architect ordered it replaced so that work might continue on schedule in the morning. As the engineering supervisor, I was ordered to test the hoist before I left the job site.

“We had just brought up the spare motor and let it rest on the scaffold when my feet were knocked from under me. I was thrown to the edge of the catwalk, where I clung to something with my hands and legs and watched the ground rise up to meet me. More I do not remember.”

“Your feet were knocked from under you?” Lin Po leaned closer. “Do you mean that some impact caused the fall?”

“Something struck the scaffold, and it whipped like a sapling, first one way, then the other, until it buckled and down we came, like a felled tree.”

From the hallway came the sound of voices and many feet. Lin Po turned to speak to Eng’s sister, but she was gone. He gave instructions to the policewoman and left after greeting Sim and his entourage.

The home of the chief architect was near the crest of a hill, with a view of the river, the sunset, and, far to the north, the Great Wall. A modest house it appeared from the street, but like so many traditional homes of the well-to-do, its luxuries were visible only to the family and their guests, from the inside.

Lin Po stood his bicycle on its kickstand and rang the antique bronze bell. A small stooped woman answered. “I am here to speak with the wife of Sim the chief architect.”

The woman’s eyes grew larger. “Not here! Not here!”

He produced a warrant and waved the official-looking paper beneath her nose. “Look again, Grandmother. Perhaps you are mistaken. Or shall I summon more officers and search the house?”

“You wait, please?” She shut the door and slid home the bolt. A few seconds passed, and she reappeared, to lead him down a dark hallway that smelled of sandalwood and incense. They passed through the length of the house to the walled garden behind, a small but exquisite space filled with evergreens, a fountain glazed with ice, and bronze sculptures signed by Sim himself.

He was surprised to see the lady of the house follow, pushing his bicycle, which she leaned against the moon gate. She murmured a few words to the amah, who left them alone.

She introduced herself as Rose. “How did you guess?” she asked in a voice low as a whisper. Only then did Lin Po recognize the woman who had called herself Eng’s sister.

“I didn’t, although I should have when I saw your shoes. They were expensive Italian shoes, for sale possibly in Hong Kong, and not the shoes I would expect to see on a woman from an humble family. Please sit.”

The stone benches were cold, and Lin Po’s pants were only cotton. “Tell me about young Engineer Eng.”

She twisted a square of lace between her fingers. “Eng and I met in college. We loved each other very much, but I was from a family that would never approve of our marriage. Instead, my parents arranged for me to marry a wealthy and influential architect, an older man.

“Two years passed, and I did not know Eng Tou’s address or what had happened to him. Sim kept me a prisoner in this house, a toy on a shelf. Then one day Eng’s supervisor sent him to carry some papers to Sim, for some urgent project that made him work at home, even on a holiday. I chanced to answer the door, and our love blossomed anew over the back wall. Like two wild birds we were, finding brief moments of happiness.”

Lin Po thought for a moment, I have no proof, only suspicion, that Sim is the guilty one. But if he would kill two bystanders to get at Eng, he will surely try again. And his quarry is never more vulnerable than when he lies in hospital, with one leg in the air.

He leaned forward. “Will you help me get the proof I need?”

Minutes later Lin Po left by the moon gate and the alley used by tradesmen.

That same night Lin Po lay in a hospital bed, his face obscured by a large, square bandage. Another officer lay in a bed just inside the door of the ward. Deputy Chiang sat in a chair, a snore bubbling from his nose. The ward’s lights were dimmed, the nurses at their station engrossed in the tedious paperwork of their profession.

A shadow flashed across the light from the hallway. Lin Po took two breaths before a tall figure dressed all in white entered the ward. In another three breaths the tall one stood between Lin Po and the victim in the next bed.

A muffled cry and the tall one had slipped a plastic bag over the bandaged head. He and his victim began a desperate but silent struggle.

Lin Po swung his legs sharply, striking the tall one behind the knees, making him fall to the floor. Lin Po was on him at once and found he was no match for the much stronger and larger man. Chiang entered the battle by striking the man with his chair, and soon the assassin was in handcuffs and leg irons.