Detective and mystery stories; Drug traffic -- Fiction
It was uncarpeted and dirty, and the walls were covered with faded
filthy paper, the original color and design of which were quite lost.
There was not the slightest evidence that a door had ever existed in
any part of the wall. Following a detailed examination Kerry returned
his magnifying glass to the washleather bag and the bag to his
waistcoat pocket.
“H’m,” he said, thinking aloud, “Sin Sin Wa may have only one eye, but
it’s a good eye.”
He raised his glance to the blackened ceiling of the passage, and saw
that the trap giving access to the roof was situated immediately above
him. He directed the ray of the torch upon it. In the next moment he
had snapped off the light and was creeping silently towards the door of
the front room.
The trap had moved slightly!
Gaining the doorway, Kerry stood just inside the room and waited. He
became conscious of a kind of joyous excitement, which claimed him at
such moments; an eagerness and a lust of action. But he stood perfectly
still, listening and waiting.
There came a faint creaking sound, and a new damp chilliness was added
to the stale atmosphere of the passage. Someone had quietly raised the
trap.
Cutting through the blackness like a scimitar shone a ray of light from
above, widening as it descended and ending in a white patch on the
floor. It was moved to and fro. Then it disappeared. Another vague
creaking sound followed—that caused by a man’s weight being imposed
upon a wooden framework.
Finally came a thud on the bare boards of the floor.
Complete silence ensued. Kerry waited, muscles tense and brain alert.
He even suspended the chewing operation. A dull, padding sound reached
his ears.
From the quality of the thud which had told of the intruder’s drop from
the trap to the floor, Kerry had deduced that he wore rubber-soled
shoes. Now, the sound which he could hear was that of the stranger’s
furtive footsteps. He was approaching the doorway in which Kerry was
standing.
Just behind the open door Kerry waited. And unheralded by any further
sound to tell of his approach, the intruder suddenly shone a ray of
light right into the room. He was on the threshold; only the door
concealed him from Kerry, and concealed Kerry from the new-comer.
The disc of light cast into the dirty room grew smaller. The man with
the torch was entering. A hand which grasped a magazine pistol appeared
beyond the edge of the door, and Kerry’s period of inactivity came to
an end. Leaning back he adroitly kicked the weapon from the hand of the
man who held it!
There was a smothered cry of pain, and the pistol fell clattering on
the floor. The light went out, too. As it vanished Kerry leapt from his
hiding-place. Snapping on the light of his own pocket lamp, he ran out
into the passage.
_Crack!_ came the report of a pistol.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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