The City in the Clouds

"Yes, sir."

There was a loud and impatient knocking from somewhere below.

"I'd better go and serve, sir, hadn't I?" said Whistlecraft – I found later his name was Stanley – and I let him go at that.

I spent the next hour going over the premises from cellar to roof and making many mental notes, for I had come here with a definite purpose, and plans already made.

It was an extraordinary situation to be in. I sat in a little private room behind the bar and every now and again Stanley's idiot countenance appeared, and I had to go behind the counter and be introduced to this or that regular frequenter. I asked every one to have a drink, for the good of the house, and trust I made a fair impression. They all seemed quiet, respectable people enough, who knew each other well.

In the evening I was greatly helped by Sliddim, who was now a seasoned habitué of the "Golden Swan," and whom from the moment of my arrival slipped into the position of Master of the Ceremonies, which saved me a great deal of trouble.

It will be remembered that all the time that I was in Brittany, Sliddim had been employed in my interests at Richmond. Bill Rolston vouched absolutely for the man's fidelity: had told me I could safely trust him in any way. Accordingly, there was perhaps a little misgiving, I had released him from his employment at the third-class detective agency where he worked, and took him permanently into my service. I may say at once, though he took no prominent part in the great events which followed until the very end, he was of considerable use to me and kept my secrets perfectly.

At closing time that night, Mrs. Abbs, the cook, having spread a hot supper in the private room behind the bar and left, I called the potman in from his washing-up of glass and bade him share the meal.

"Now I tell you what, Stanley," I said, when we had filled our pipes, "in the tower inclosure there's a whole colony of Chinks, isn't there?"

"Yes, sir; gardeners, stokers for the engines and such like. They say as there isn't a white man among 'em, except only the boss, and he's an Irishman."

"They don't always live inside that wall?" I jerked my head towards a window which looked out into my back yard, not a hundred feet away from the towering precipice of brick which overshadowed the "Golden Swan," and the surrounding houses.

"Oh, not by no means. They comes out when their work's done in the evenings, though they goes back to sleep and has to be in by a certain time. They do say," and here something happened to Stanley's face which I afterwards grew to recognize as a smile, "they do say as some of the girls downtown are takin' up with 'em, seein' as they dress well, and spend a lot of money."

"I suppose they have somewhere where they go?"

"It's mostly the 'Rising Sun' down by the station, I am told. The boss there was a sailor and understands their ways. He's given them a room to themselves."

I was perfectly aware of all this, but I had a special motive for the present conversation.

"Now, it's come into my mind," I said, "that there's a lot of custom going downtown that ought by rights to come to the 'Golden Swan,' seeing that we are close at the gates, so to speak, and I mean to do what I can to get hold of it. A Chink's money is as good as anybody else's, Stanley, that's my way of looking at it."

He chewed the cud of that idea for a minute or two and then it dawned in the pudding of his mind.

"Why, yes," he said, in the voice of one who had made a great discovery.

"Now, there's that room upstairs," I went on, "I shall never use it. If we could get some of these Chinks to drop in there of a night it would be good business."

"There's just one thing against it," said Stanley, "if you'll pardon my speaking of it, sir. I'm willing to do everything in reason, and I'm not afraid of work. But I don't see as 'ow I can attend to both the saloon and the four-ale bars if I'm to be going upstairs slinging drinks to the Chinks."

"Of course you can't and I wasn't going to suggest it. We must get an extra help – if we can get the Chinks to use the house. We might have a barmaid."

He shook his head.

"It wouldn't work, sir; you'd have to get a new one every week. A young woman can't resist a Chink and they'd marry off like – "

Stanley was unable to think of a simile so he buried his face in his pewter pot.

Really things were going very well for me.

"I believe you are right. Supposing I could get a young fellow who was one of themselves and could speak their lingo. There are lots to be picked up about the docks. I mean some quiet young Chink, who would attend to his fellow-countrymen in the evening, and relieve you of a lot of the washing-up and things of that sort during the day?"

Mr. Stanley Whistlecraft was not so stupid as to miss the advantages of such a proposal as this.

"You've 'it on the very plan, sir," he said, "and especial if he could wash up them thin glasses which the gentlemen in the saloon bar like to 'ave, it would be a great saving. I never could 'andle them things properly. You put your fingers on 'em and they crack worse than eggs. Pewters, I can polish with any man alive, pot mugs seldom break, as likewise them thick reputed half-pints which will break a man's 'ed open, as I've proved. But these Chinks are as 'andy as any girl, and I think, sir, you've got 'old of an idea."

"I'll see about it in the morning. I've got a pal that has a nice little house in the Mile End Road, and I believe he could send me just the lad I want. Well, now you can go to bed, Stanley. Everything locked up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll put out the lights."

He bade me a gruff good-night and lurched heavily away. I heard him ascending the stairs to his room at the back of the house and then I was left alone.

The first thing I did was to turn down the sleeves of my shirt and put on my coat. It isn't etiquette to sup in your coat, I had gathered from Mr. Whistlecraft's custom when he accepted my invitation.

Then I unlocked a drawer in which was a box of cigars such as the "Golden Swan" had never known, and stretching out my legs, stared into the fire.

I was doing the wildest, maddest thing, but so far all had gone well. I was, as it were, a solitary swimmer in deep and dangerous waters, on the threshold of experiences which I knew instinctively would transcend all those of ordinary life. I was perfectly certain, something in my inmost soul told me, that I was about to step into unknown perils, and to contend with bizarre and sinister forces of which I had no means of measuring the power or extent.

I don't mind admitting that on that first night in the "Golden Swan," fate weighed heavily on me and I thought I heard the muffled laughter of malignant things.

However, I was in for it now. I finished my cigar, went into the bar and selected a certain bottle of whisky – the excellent Stanley had warned me that this was the landlord's bottle and of a much more reputable quality than that served to the landlord's guests. After a very moderate "nightcap" I put on carpet slippers and went up to my room, which I had chosen at the very top of the house. It was a large attic, just under the roof, and in a few days I proposed to make it more habitable with some new furniture and decoration. Meanwhile, I had chosen it because, in one corner, some wooden steps went up to a trap-door which opened on to the roof, where there was a flat space of some three yards square among the chimneys. Just before going up to bed I turned up the collar of my dressing-gown, ascended the ladder, pushed open the trap-door and stepped out on to the leads.

It was a still, moonlight night. Looking over the roofs of the houses I could see the Thames winding like a silver ribbon far down below, a scene of utter tranquillity and peace.

Then I wheeled round to be confronted with the great black wall which rose several yards above me, within a pistol shot of distance.

But my eye traveled up beyond that and was caught in a colossal network of steel, so bold, towering and gigantic in its nearness that it almost made me reel. I stared up among the dark shadows and moonlit spaces till my eye reached an altitude which I knew to be about the height of the Golden Ball on the top of Saint Paul's Cathedral.

There the vision checked. I could see a blur of low buildings, a web of latticed galleries, and I knew that I was looking only up at the very first stage of the City in the Clouds, which must be lying bare to the moon some sixteen hundred feet above.

I could see no more. The first stage barred all further vision, though that in itself seemed terrible in its height and majesty. So I closed my eyes and imagined only those supreme heights where she must be sleeping.

"Good-night, Juanita," I murmured, and then, as I descended into my room the words of the Psalmist came to me and I said, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!"

CHAPTER EIGHT

On the afternoon of the next day the potman summoned me from my private room with the information that there was a young fellow from the Mile End Road to see me.

"Chinese?" I asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then it must be the lad come in answer to the telegram I sent to my friend this morning. Show him in."

In a few moments the applicant for the situation entered. He wore his oily black hair fairly short, like most of the Chinamen employed at the towers, and had no pigtail; he was dressed in European clothes. His high cheek bones, with little slits of eyes above them, the stolid yellow face and fine tapering fingers were typically Oriental as he glided in, and his European clothes seemed to accentuate that air of Eastern mystery that even the commonest Chinaman carries about with him. He looked about five or six and twenty and wore a thick gold ring in each ear which had had the effect of dragging them away from the head.

I examined him carefully as to his qualities and he answered in better English than most Chinamen attain to, though with the guttural, clicking accent of his kind.