The Dumpling : $b A detective love story of a great labour risingKernahan, Coulson
General
The Dumpling : $b A detective love story of a great labour rising
Kernahan, Coulson
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 20th century
Just at this moment I was aware of a dull noise in the distance. There
was a slight but ever-increasing vibration in the boards beneath me,
a gathering rumble and roll as of approaching thunder, and with a
hoarsely discordant shriek, an ear-splitting babel-tumult and roar,
which seemed to shake the house to its foundations, an express train
hurtled by, almost outside the very windows.
Under the present condition of electric communication, and with no
apparatus, the sending of a telephonic message for help to the police
office would have been scarcely less impossible of accomplishment than
making known my present danger to anyone on board the train; yet so
unreasoning are we in the causes which arouse or allay our nervousness,
that the consciousness of my near presence to the railway did more to
bolster up my courage than all my philosophy. "With the trains and
their living freights so near at hand, I don't feel altogether cut off
from the outside world," I said to myself; and as the two men in the
corner were still whispering together, I plucked up heart to take stock
of my surroundings.
The den was lit by a single paraffin lamp, to the unassisted industry
of which I was at first inclined to ascribe the vile atmosphere of the
place.
"That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world,"
says Portia. The light which I saw burning in the den did not shed
its beams very far; but in the matter of shedding smells in a world,
nice or naughty, I judged its capacity at a low estimate as forty
horse-power! An ordinary motor-car, in its most perfumed moments,
leaves trailing clouds of glory and cherry blossom in its wake compared
to that lamp's distribution of oily odours on the atmosphere.
Add to this the insufferable and sickening stench of opium--a stench
which I can only compare to a choice blending of onions and bad
tobacco--and the reader will not wonder when I say that my stomach
signalled for full speed astern, by retching rebelliously under my
breast-bone.
Greasy as was the atmosphere, the dirty yellow distempering of the
walls was in places even greasier. The chief articles of furniture were
two raised mattresses, the bare wall behind them being literally coated
with dirt and grease, rubbed from the chaste persons and fastidious
clothes of many smokers. Above these mattresses a crudely coloured and
revolting representation of the Crucifixion was incontinently fastened,
and upon the mattresses lay the Chinamen of whom I have already spoken.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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