Doctor Who: Target - Novelisations [061] - The Talons of Weng-Chiang by Terrance Dicks

Author:Terrance Dicks
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780426119739
Publisher: Target Books
Published: 1976-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

9

In the Jaws of the Rat

Leela stood waiting silently for a moment, the sound of the gong ringing in her ears. As it faded she heard an angry squealing. She hurried along the sewer tunnel away from the terrifying sound.

Lantern held high, the Doctor splashed through the murky stream that flowed down the center of the sewer. He came to a T-junction and paused to review his mental picture of the map he had drawn on Litefoot’s tablecloth. Taking the left turn he splashed steadily on his way. If his calculations were correct, the cellar hideout was very near.

Sitting in the rowing boat just outside the sewer outlet, Professor Litefoot looked at his watch for the tenth time. The tide would be rising soon. The Doctor’s time was almost up. Litefoot sighed, and put another match to his pipe. He tossed the spent match into the river, and watched it float away. Hunched over his oars, the boatman spat impassively into the water.

Meanwhile a brightly painted horse-drawn cart was drawing up outside Professor Litefoot’s door. A policeman stepped suspiciously out of the shrubbery. ‘Here, what’s all this?’

The pig-tailed Chinese driver appeared to speak no English. He chatted incomprehensibly, and pointed to the side of the chart, on which was written, ‘LIMEHOUSE LAUNDRY CO.’ He pointed to the porch where there stood a wicker hamper, the same words written on the label on its side. He opened the back of his cart, and pointed to an identical hamper, making crossover gestures with his hands.

The constable grinned. ‘I get you, Johnny. Clean laundry come, dirty washing go away!’

The Chinese bowed and smiled. He took the basket from his van, and put it on the porch, lifted the basket on the porch into the back of his van. Jumping into the driving seat, he cracked his whip and drove away.

Wondering vaguely why the Chinese had such an affinity with laundries, the constable resumed his patrol around the house. As he moved away, the lid of the wicker basket moved slightly, and then became still. Now there was a tiny gap between basket and lid – just big enough for someone to look out.

Arriving at the theatre to start his day’s work, Casey was scandalized to see a half-dressed female run out of Chang’s dressing-room. ‘Hey, you,’ he called. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

The girl stared blankly at him. ‘Where am I? What happened to me last night? I can’t remember.’

Casey grabbed her by the arm. ‘I’ll remember you all right if anything’s missing.’

Indignantly Teresa pulled away. ‘You keep your hands off me, I’m a lady,’ she screamed.

Jago came on the scene, to find a fine old shouting match going on. ‘Now then, Casey, what’s the trouble?’

‘No trouble, Mr. Jago, sir. Just seeing this lady off the premises.’

Jago turned sternly to Teresa, but she ignored him. She was staring in terror at a poster on the wall – the poster that bore Chang’s face. ‘It was him,’ she gasped. ‘Oh my lord, it was him! Let me out of this place!’ She turned and ran out of the still-open stage door.

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