1. The Master Detective

They say that there are a lot of differences between Hong Kong and some of the African cities I had recently left behind. Different people, different cultures, different buildings, even different food.

Of course, there are a lot of similarities, too. Same lack of consideration for those who are bold enough to tinker with the laws of statistical probability. Same steel bars in the local jail. Same concrete walls and floors. Same uncomfortable cots. Same awful food.

Truth to tell, I'd had a lot more time to consider the similarities than the differences. I'd gotten right off the boat from Portuguese East Africa, checked into the Luk Kwok Hotel (which thoughtfully rented its rooms by the hour, the night, or the week), spent the next hour in a local restaurant trying to down a bowl of soup with a pair of chopsticks, and then, realizing that my funds needed replenishing, I got involved in a friendly little game of chance involving two cubes of ivory with spots painted on them. It was when a third cube slipped out of my sleeve that I was invited to inspect the premises of the local jail.

That had been five days ago, and I had spent the intervening time alternately trying not to mind the smell of dead fish, which is what all of Hong Kong smelled like back in 1926, and gaining some comfort by reading my well-worn copy of the Good Book, which I ain't never without.

The girl that brought my grub to me was a charming little thing named Mei Sung. She was right impressed to be serving a man of the cloth, which I was back in those days, and I converted the bejabbers out of her three or four times a day, which made my incarceration in durance vile a mite easier to take.

As time crawled by I got to know my fellow inmates. There was a Turkish dentist who had gassed a British officer to death in what he assured me was an accident and would certainly have been construed as such by the courts if he hadn't appropriated the officer's wallet and wristwatch before reporting the poor fellow's untimely demise. There was a young Brazilian student who sweated up a storm and kept screaming things about anarchy and tyrants and such and keeping everyone awake. There were two Chinamen dressed all in black, who kept glaring at me every time I finished converting Mei Sung. There was a Frenchman who kept saying he was glad he had killed the chef, and that anyone who ruinedsole almondine that badly deserved to die.

And there was me, the Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones, out of Moline, Illinois by way of the Dark Continent, where I'd done my best to illuminate the dark, dreary lives of the godless black heathen despite certain minor disagreements with the constabularies of fourteen countries which culminated in my being asked to establish the Tabernacle of Saint Luke on some other land mass. But I already wrote that story, and I ain't going to go into it again, since anyone who's read it knows that I'm a righteous and God-fearing man who was just misunderstood.

On the fifth day of the thirty that I was to serve, they gave me a roommate, a well-dressed Australian with expensive-looking rings on all his fingers. His name was Rupert Cornwall, and he explained that he had come to Hong Kong because Australia was a pretty empty country and he liked crowds.

“And what do you do for a living, Brother Rupert?” I asked him, by way of being polite.

“I'm an entrepreneur,” he said. “I put opportunists together with opportunities, and take a little percentage for my trouble.”

“I didn't know being an entrepreneur was a criminal offense in Hong King,” I said.

“I was arrested by mistake,” he answered.

“You, too?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I expect to be out of here within the hour. And what about yourself? You look like a man of God with that turned-around collar of yours.”

“You hit the nail right on the head, Brother Rupert. That's what I am: a man of God, here to bring comfort and spiritual uplifting to the heathen.”

“What religion do you belong to?” he asked.

“One me and the Lord worked out betwixt ourselves one Sunday afternoon back in Illinois,” I said. “Hell, the way I see it, as long as we're upright and holy and got a poorbox, what's the difference?”

He broke out into a great big smile. “Ilike you, Dr. Jones,” he said. “Where's your church located?”

“Well, I ain't quite got around to building my tabernacle yet, Brother Rupert ... but I'm taking donations for it, if the spirit's come upon you and you're so inclined.”

“I don't have any money with me,” he answered. “But look me up after we're both out of here, and I might have some work for you.”

“Work wasn't exactly what I had in mind,” I said distastefully.

“When you hear what I have to offer, you might change your mind,” he said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “I could use a man of the cloth in my operation. I think we could enter into a mutually profitable relationship.”

“You don't say?” I replied. “Well, I suppose I could always take a brief fling at the entrepreneur business before I erect my tabernacle, God being the patient and understanding soul that He is.”

He reached into his vest pocket and handed me his card. “That's my business address. Remember to call on me.”

Well, I could tell we were hitting it off right fine, and I was going to ask him more about our pending partnership, but just then a guard came by and unlocked the door.

“They made your bail again, Rupert,” he said in a bored voice.

“Was there ever any doubt?” asked Rupert smugly.

“You get arrested by mistake a lot?” I asked as he was leaving.

“Almost daily,” he said. “Personally, I think they're just jealous of my success.”

Then he was gone, and I was left with my thoughts until Mei Sung came by for another conversion, which left me so exhausted that I thought I might grab a quick forty winks. I had snored my way through about twenty of ’em when the door opened again, and the guard gestured me to follow him.

“Did somebody make my bail, too?” I asked, thinking of Rupert Cornwall. He just chuckled and kept leading me down one corridor after another until we finally came to a little cubbyhole, which was filled with a desk, two chairs, and a pudgy Chinaman with a natty little mustache and goatee. He was dressed in a white linen suit, and hadn't bothered to take his Panama hat off even though we were inside.

“Sit, please,” he said, smiling at me.

I sat myself down in the empty chair while he nodded at the guard, who left the room.

“You are Mr. Jones?” said the Chinaman.

“Doctor Lucifer Jones at your service,” I said.

“That what we must talk about,” he said in pidgin English.

“About whether I'm Lucifer Jones?” I asked, puzzled.

“About whether you are at my service,” he said. “Because if not, then you go back to cell for 25 more days.”

“Are you the guy who made my bail?” I asked.

“No one make your bail,” he said. “Please sit back and relax, Doctor Jones. I am Inspector Willie Wong of Hong Kong Police Force. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

“Can't say that I have, Brother Wong,” I answered. He looked right disappointed at that. “Why are you wasting your time with me, anyway?” I continued. “You ought to be trying to find the ungodly sinner that stuck that extra die up my sleeve.”

“That no concern of mine,” he said, holding up a hand. “But am prepared to make deal, Dr. Jones. You help me, I help you.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “Man in your cell named Rupert Cornwall.”

“What about him?”

“Rupert Cornwall biggest gangster in Hong Kong.”

“Then why did you let him go?”

“Beauty is in eye of beholder,” said Wong.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Old Chinese proverb. Perhaps it not translate very well.” He paused. “Let Rupert Cornwall go for lack of evidence.”

“What has all this got to do with me?” I asked.

“Patience, Doctor Jones,” said Wong. “Penny saved is penny earned.”

“Another proverb?”

He nodded. “Very wise of you to notice. You are man we need.”

“Need for what, Brother Wong?” I asked.

“Need go-between. Rupert Cornwall trust you. You will meet with him, learn about operation, report back to me. Then, when time is right, we strike.”

“How long you figure this'll take?”

He shrugged. “Maybe week, maybe month, who know? Too many chefs spoil the soup.”

“I don't know, Brother Wong,” I said. “After all, I only got 25 days left to serve.”

He broke out into a great big grin. “You not acquainted with Chinese calendar, I take it?”

“How long is 25 days on a Chinese calendar?” I asked.

He shrugged again. “Maybe week, maybe month, who know?” He looked across the desk at me. “We have deal?”

I sighed. “We have a deal.”

“Good. Knew I could count on man of cloth.”

“How do I report to you?” I asked.

“He know what I look like, so you will report to me through sons.”

“I don't know how to break this unhappy tiding to you, Brother Wong,” I said, “but I ain't got no sons.”

“I have 28,” he replied distastefully. “All currently unemployed and available to work for honorable father.”

“28?” I repeated. “I don't envy your missus none.”

“Have 17 missuses,” he answered. “15 currently suing for back alimony. That's why move here from Honolulu.”

“My heart bleeds for you, Brother Wong,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster on the spur of the moment.

“Whenever I become depressed over situation, I just remember old Chinese proverb: Watched pot never boil.” He got to his feet and walked around the desk to stand in front of me. “I think for this case we use Number Nine and Number Twenty-Six sons.”

“What are their names?”

“Just told you: Nine and Twenty-Six. Ran out of names after Number Five son was born.”

“What do you call your daughters—A through Z?”

Wong threw back his head and laughed. “You fine fellow, Doctor Jones. Wonderful sense of humor. Sincerely hope Rupert Cornwall not cut your tongue out before case is over.”

“Uh ... let's just pause a second for serious reflection, Brother Wong,” I said. “Old Rupert wouldn't really cut my tongue out, would he?”

“No, not really,” said Wong.

“That's better.”

“Would have one of his hired killers do it for him.”

“You know,” I said, “upon further consideration, I think the Lord would want me to serve out my full sentence. After all, I was caught fair and square, and somehow this seems unfair to the just and honorable man who sentenced me.”

“Whatever you say, Doctor Jones,” said Wong. He went back around the desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out a sheet of paper that was subdivided into hundreds of little squares. “This help you pass the time.”

“What is it?” I asked.

He smiled. “Calendar of Chinese week.” He tossed me a pencil. “You can mark off each day with this. Will bring new one when you run out of lead.”

Which is how I became an operative in the employ of the Hong Kong Police.

* * * *

You'd think that the biggest gangster in Hong Kong would operate out of one of them beautiful old palaces that overlook the ocean, or failing that he'd set up headquarters in a penthouse suite in some luxury hotel. So you can imagine my surprise when I wandered down a couple of back alleyways and found Rupert Cornwall's place of business to be a rundown little storefront right between a fish peddler and a shirtmaker.

The whole area smelled of incense and dead fish, and there were lots of tall men dressed in black and wearing lean and hungry looks, but I just ignored ’em all like the God-fearing Christian gentleman that I am and walked up to Cornwall's door and pounded on it a couple of times. A muscular guy, who looked like a cross between an Olympic weightlifter and a small mountain, let me in and ushered me through a maze of unopened cardboard boxes to a back room, where Rupert Cornwall sat in an easy chair, smoking a Havana cigar and going through the Hong Kong version of theDaily Racing Form .

“Doctor Jones!” he said. “My dear fellow, I hadn't expected to see you again for almost a month!” He paused and looked around. “We just moved in here a few days ago. I used to operate out of one of the hotels, but my overhead was killing me.”

“Yeah, I know how expensive them luxury suites can be,” I agreed.

“Luxury suites nothing,” he corrected me. “It was making bail two and three times a day. Ah, well, you're here, and that's all that matters.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Just how, exactly, did you get here so soon?”

“I'm a fast walker, Brother Rupert,” I answered.

“I thought you were incarcerated for 30 days.”

I shrugged. “Time flies when you're having fun. I guess I'd been there longer than I thought.”

“Yes, I saw little Mei Sung,” he said with a grin. “Well, are you prepared to discuss the details of our first business venture?”

“That's what I'm here for, Brother Rupert,” I said.

“Fine,” he said. “I want you to know up front that I am an honest businessman who would never dream of harming another soul, Dr. Jones.”

“I could tell that right off,” I said.

“I seek no commendation for my work,” he continued. “I'm in the import/export business, hardly a noteworthy or romantic occupation. I pay my bills on time, I treat my help well, I have virtually no social life, I avoid the spotlight at all costs. In point of fact, I am alaissez-faire capitalist of the highest order. And yet, there is a local official who has harassed me, threatened me, tried to drive me out of business, and caused me a considerable loss of revenue.”

“No!” I said, shocked.

“Yes, Dr. Jones,” he replied. “I have borne his enmity silently up to now, but he has become an intolerable nuisance, and it is my intention to so embarrass him that he is forced to resign from his position, if not leave Hong Kong altogether.”

“What does this have to do withme , Brother Rupert?” I asked.

“I cannot proceed with my plan alone. For your complicity in ridding me of this vile and obdurate man, I am willing to pay you the sum of one thousand British pounds sterling. What do you say to that?”

“That's a right tidy sum,” I allowed. “Just who is this here villain that we plan to put out of commission?”

“A man named Wong.”

“Would that be Inspector Willie Wong of the Hong Kong Police?” I suggested.

“The very same. How is it that you come to know his name, Dr. Jones?”

“Oh, they bandy it around a lot down at the jail,” I said.

“Have you any compunctions in helping me rid decent society of this man?”

“Not a one,” I said. “Why, did you know that every single man he arrested swore that he was innocent? We certainly can't have a man like that riding roughshod over the people of this fair city.”

He broke out into a great big smile. “I believe we understand each other perfectly, Doctor Jones. Iknew I had selected the right man!”

“How do we plan to deal with this menace to social stability and free enterprise?” I asked.

“Willie Wong's reputation rests on the fact that he has never made a mistake, never arrested an innocent man, never let a guilty one get away,” said Cornwall, puffing on his cigar. “If we can publicly embarrass and humiliate him, I believe his honor will demand that he retire from public service.”

“And just how do we aim to do that?”

“I have it on good authority that the Empire Emerald, the largest gemstone in all of China, will be stolen from the Fung Ping Shan Museum tomorrow night,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “I will arrange that every clue points toward you, and knowing Wong, he will almost certainly bring you into custody within hours of the robbery. It will then be revealed that he has wrongly arrested a man of God, and that, furthermore, the emerald was stolen by one of his own sons.” He leaned back with a satisfied smile. “What do you think of that?”

“I think I want five hundred pounds up front and the name of a good bondsman, just in case something goes wrong,” I said.

“Certainly, my dear Doctor Jones.” He pulled out a wallet thick enough to choke a small elephant and peeled off five one-hundred-pound notes, which he then handed over to me. “I distrust a man who doesn't look out for his own interest.”

“Okay,” I said, stuffing the money into my pocket. “What else do I have to know or do?”

“Very little,” he said. “Spend an hour browsing at the museum late tomorrow afternoon, perhaps get into a slight altercation with one of the tourists so people will remember seeing you there, keep off the streets between midnight and two o'clock in the morning, and putthis in a safe place.”

With that, he handed me a small cloth bag that was closed with a drawstring.

“What's in it?” I asked.

“Take a look.”

I opened it up, and found a lump of coal about the size of a golf ball.

“That, Doctor Jones, will prove to be the undoing of Willie Wong. Hide it well, but not so well that a thorough search cannot turn it up. While you are spending the night in jail and his men are ransacking your room, my own operatives will plant the real emerald on one of his brats.”

“An emerald this big is an awful high price to pay to get rid of one bothersome policeman,” I said.

“He costs me more than that every week,” said Cornwall. “It will be money well spent.”

“Well, considering that it ain't yours to begin with, I reckon I can see the logic in that,” I agreed.

“And now, Doctor Jones, it is best that we part company. I don't want anyone to know that we've been in contact since my release from jail.” He stood up and walked me to the door. “Your remaining five hundred pounds will be delivered in an envelope to your hotel the morning after your arrest, and you will be contacted later in the week concerning our next venture.”

“Sounds good to me, Brother Rupert,” I said, shaking his hand. “It's always nice to do business with a Christian gentleman like yourself.”

“We've lots more business to do when this sordid little affair is over,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

I kind of doubted it, since he never asked me what hotel he was supposed to deliver my money to. But with five hundred pounds in my pocket and Willie Wong on my side, I decided that things were definitely looking up for the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.

* * * *

I had walked maybe half a mile from Cornwall's office when I saw two young Chinamen staring at me from a street corner, so I strolled over to them.

“Nine?” I said to the bigger one.

There was no response.

“Twenty-Six?” I said.

“Make it thirty and you've got yourself a date,” he said with a giggle.

“Doctor Jones!” yelled a young man from across the street. “We're over here!”

I turned and saw two more Chinamen and made a beeline toward them.

“Are you Willie Wong's kids?” I asked.

The older one nodded. “We've got orders to take you to Dad.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

I followed them a couple of blocks to a dimly-lit restaurant. They left me at the door, and as I entered it I saw Wong nod to me from a table in the back.

“You visit with Mr. Rupert Cornwall, yes?” he said, gesturing me to sit down.

“Yeah. He doesn't like you much.”

“Stitch in time save nine.”

“You ever consider writing a Chinese proverb book?” I asked him.

“Please continue,” he said, slurping his soup.

“Near as I can make out, he plans to steal the Empire Emerald around midnight tomorrow.”

“Ah, so.”

“Not only that,” I added. “But he plans to make it look likeI stole it, and while you're busy arresting me he's going to plant it on one of your sons.”

“Very interesting,” he said with no show of interest whatsoever.

“Well, that's it. I'm done now, right?” I said. “I mean, you'll be waiting for him at the museum, and I can go off converting all you godless yellow heathen—no offense intended—and maybe build my tabernacle.”

“Not that easy,” said Wong.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Cannot make omelet without breaking eggs.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“So sorry,” he said. “Wrong proverb.” He paused and tried again. “Beauty only skin deep.”

“Well, that explains everything,” I said.

“Cannot capture Mr. Rupert Cornwall at museum where emerald reside,” continued Wong as he finished his soup.

“I already told you what time he's going to show up.”

“Hewill not steal emerald. He will have underling do so. I do not want little fish while big fish lead horse to water but cannot make him drink.”

“So whatdo you plan to do?”

“Mr. Rupert Cornwall expect me to arrest you. I will not disappoint him.”

“That may not disappointhim ,” I said, “but it'll disappoint the hell out ofme .”

He shook his head. “Just go through motions. Then catch him when he try to plant emerald on honorable son.”

“What if he has a henchman dothat , too?” I asked.

“Almost certainly will. After all, home is where heart is.”

“I don't think you understand me, Brother Wong,” I said. “What's the difference if you catch a henchman stealing the emerald or you catch one planting it on your kid?”

“Much easier to trace emerald back to Mr. Rupert Cornwallafter he has stolen it than before,” explained Wong.

“And what happens to me?” I asked.

“We arrest you with much fanfare in afternoon, release you when we apprehend henchman that night.”

Then a particularly bothersome thought occurred to me.

“What if he changes his mind and decides to keep the emerald?”

“Then you have lied to me, I take full credit for capturing you, city give another medal to humble detective, and I apprehend Mr. Rupert Cornwall some other day.” He smiled. “You see, either way it all work out.”

Well, I could see it all working out for Willie Wong and Rupert Cornwall a lot easier than it all working out for me, so me and the Lord decided that it was time to take matters into our own hands, and what we did was this: I went out shopping at a bunch of costume jewelry stores, and when I finally came to a fake emerald about the size of the lump of coal I was toting around in the little cloth bag, I bought it for twenty pounds and tucked it away in my pocket.

Then I went over to Bonham Road and visited the Fung Ping Shan Museum a day early, found the Empire Emerald, and tried to figure out how to substitute my stone for the real one, but since I'm a God-fearing Christian missionary who ain't never had an illegal impulse in my life, I finally had to admit that while the trip wires and the lock on the front door wouldn't give me no problems, the alarm built into the case was a type I hadn't seen before and there was just no way I was going to be able to switch the emeralds without setting it off and waking up such dead as weren't otherwise occupied at the time.

One thing I did notice, though, was that the guards were Brits and not Chinamen, so I waited until they locked up the museum and followed one of them home. I got his name off the mailbox, and early the next morning, right after he'd left for work, I called his wife and told her that my laundry shop had inadvertently ruined her husband's tuxedo, but that we would be happy to make amends. She explained that he didn'thave a tuxedo, and I told her I was sure it was his but just to make doubly certain I needed to know the name of the establishment she did her business with, and as soon as she told me I popped over there and informed them I was a visiting relative who had been sent by to pick up any uniforms he might have left there. Sure enough, they had one, all bright and green and neatly pressed, with shining brass buttons. I tipped them a couple of pounds, took it to the men's room in the back of a nearby tavern, and slipped it on—and an hour later I was patrolling the corridors of the museum, nodding pleasantly to passersby and keeping a watchful eye on the emerald.

Then, when the museum hit a slow period and the room containing the Empire Emerald had emptied out, I walked into it with a beer in my hand, set it down atop the glass case that covered the gemstone, and tipped the bottle over. I pulled the phony emerald out of my pocket, lifted up the glass cover, and as the alarm went off I quickly exchanged it for the real emerald, got down on my knees, pulled out a handkerchief, and set about trying to clean the beer off the glass.

The room filled up to overflowing with guards about ten seconds later. A couple of them even covered me with their pistols until they saw the emerald where it ought to be, and then they helped me put the glass cover back on. I explained that I was new on the job, and that I was just trying to clean up after myself because I had spilled some beer, and after telling me what a clumsy fool I was, they told me to pack up my gear and go home, that my services were no longer needed. They managed to get the alarm turned off just about the time I was climbing down the museum steps to the sidewalk in front of the building.

I went back to my room at the Luk Kwok Hotel, where I had a little chat with my Silent Partner, explaining to Him that while what I did may have seemed a criminal act on the surface of it, if He would examine the consequences carefully He would have to agree that it was for the best all the way around. Willie Wong was still going to capture Rupert Cornwall, sohe would be happy; the museum would never know they weren't displaying the real Empire Emerald, sothey would be happy; Cornwall was going to go to jail anyway, so at least he wouldn't be anyless happy for not having the emerald in his possession for a couple of minutes. And me, I finally had sufficient capital to build the Tabernacle of Saint Luke, which I promised the Lord I would do just as soon as I spent a few years scouting out the territory for the very best location.

Everything went pretty smoothly the next day. First thing I did was stop by the laundry and drop off the uniform, so no one would notice it was missing and maybe start thinking aboutwhy it was missing. Then I scouted up some lunch that didn't smell of fish, and wandered the streets a bit, and at about two in the afternoon I walked over to the museum, lingered there for an hour or two, had a very public misunderstanding with a blonde Frenchwoman, and then headed back toward the Luk Kwok.

Along the way, I picked up some chewing gum and stuck a wad of it into my mouth. Then I stopped by a little gift shop, and while the proprietor was speaking to another customer, I stuck the Empire Emerald on the back of his radiator with the chewing gum. Since it was mid-summer, I knew he wasn't going to fiddle with the radiator for another few months, and I figured to be back for it within just a day or two. The very last thing I did was hide the cloth bag with the lump of coal inside the water tank behind the toilet once I returned to room in the Luk Kwok. Then I lay back on my bed, pulled out the Good Book, and whiled the night away reading about Solomon's more exotic dalliances.

The police showed up right on schedule, at a quarter after two in the morning, and hustled me off to jail. I kept protesting my innocence, the way I figured both Willie Wong and Rupert Cornwall would expect of me, and then, just after daybreak, a guard came and unlocked my cell. As far as I was concerned he could have waited another couple of hours, since I hadn't yet got around to converting Mei Sung again, but given the circumstances I didn't think it proper to protest, so I let him escort me to freedom, which turned out to be Wong's little cubbyhole.

“Good morning, Doctor Jones,” he said without getting up from his chair.

“Good morning, Brother Wong,” I said. “How'd it go last night?”

“Apprehend whole gang,” he said happily. “Rupert Cornwall in cell one flight up from yours.”

“That's great news, Brother Wong,” I said. “And did you get the emerald back?”

“Empire Emerald once again on display in Fung Ping Shan Museum.”

“I guess that closes the case.”

He nodded. “Cannot teach old dog new tricks.”

“Well, I'll sure remember that the next time I run into an old dog, Brother Wong,” I said. “I assume I'm free to go.”

“Farther you go, the better.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It best you leave Hong Kong,” said Wong. “Many friends and clients of Rupert Cornwall not very pleased with you.”

“A telling point,” I agreed. “Gimme just a couple of hours to get my gear together and I'll be off.”

“Thank you for help, Doctor Jones,” said Wong. “Knew you were right man for job.”

“My pleasure, Brother Wong,” I said.

Then I took my leave of him, went back to the Luk Kwok, and looked around to see if there was anything I wanted to take along with me. There were some old shirts and pants and socks and such, but since I was about to pick up the Empire Emerald on my way out of town, I decided that I really owed myself a new wardrobe, so I finally left empty-handed.

I moseyed over to the area where the gift shop was, did maybe an hour of serious window-shopping up and down the street for the benefit of anyone who might have been watching me, and finally entered the little store after I was sure I wasn't being observed.

“You are Lucifer Jones, are you not?” asked the proprietor the second I closed the door behind me.

“How did you know?” I asked. “I don't recall talking to you last night.”

“I was given your description by Inspector Wong,” he replied. “He left a note for you.”

He handed me a folded-up piece of paper, which I opened and read:

Dear Doctor Jones:

Had feeling all along you were perfect man for job. Had honorable Number Ten, Fourteen, Seventeen, and Twenty-Two sons observe you constantly since you left custody. Not only is Rupert Cornwall under arrest, but we now know weakness in museum security system, all thanks to you. Is old Chinese custom to exchange gifts. You will know where to look for yours.

Your humble servant,

Willie Wong,

Hong Kong Police

P.S. Money is root of all evil.

I threw the paper down on the counter and raced over to the radiator. I reached behind it, found my gum and the stone, and pulled it out: it was the same lump of coal Rupert Cornwall had given me two days ago.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Jones?” asked the storekeeper.

“Nothing I shouldn't have expected from trusting someone who ain't a decent, God-fearing Christian,” I said bitterly. “Give me a map, brother.”

“A map?” he repeated.

“This town's seen the last of me,” I said. “I'm heading to where a man of the cloth can convert souls in peace and quiet without being worried about getting flim-flammed by gangsters and detectives and the like.”

He pulled a map out from behind the counter. I looked at it for a minute and then, with four hundred and fifty pounds of Rupert Cornwall's money still in my pocket, I lit out across the mouth of the Pearl River for Macao, where I hoped to find a better class of sinner to listen to my preaching.