The Murder of Mr. Ma by S.J. Rozan

Author:S.J. Rozan [Rozan, SJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Judge Dee! Lao She! Please, come in and tell me all you’ve been doing. The kettle has just boiled.” Sergeant Hoong turned the sign on the door to read “closed,” shot the bolt, and began spooning tea into a pot.

“No, Hoong, thank you, there’s no—” Dee stopped. He looked at Hoong’s face, and then at mine. Hoong’s expression was displeased and mine, I’m sure, was imploring.

“Dee,” I said, “this physical exertion of yours is all very well, but I’m merely human. A cup of tea and a chance to sit and rest, however briefly, would be most welcome.”

“I must insist,” Hoong added before Dee could speak. “If I may be blunt, sir, you look worse now than you did when you left this morning. From the peaked expression on poor Lao I imagine you’ve eaten nothing. You cannot continue in this manner. Especially,” he added, “if you are attempting to free yourself from the chains of opium.”

Dee stared.

Hoong shook his head with a smile. “You can’t imagine yourself to be the first man I’ve seen in this state. The pallor, the beads of sweat, the tremor that starts and stops . . . Sadly, many of our countrymen find the burden of long separation from home and family too much to bear, and turn to the pipe to ease the pain. Eventually some find their way to my shop for herbs to help them gain their release from its hold. I don’t know what made you first opt for the drug, Dee, but if you’re now set on breaking from its grip I have some herbs you’ll find helpful.”

“I’m glad to hear this, Hoong,” I said, “for Dee’s overall state—”

“Enough!” snapped the subject of our scrutiny. “Very well. For Lao’s sake—and yes, yes, Hoong, for my own—I’ll consent to a brief intermission in our investigative activities. I confess to simultaneous senses of agitation and fatigue which as a combination is supremely unpleasant. If you can offer me something to alleviate that, Hoong, I’d be most grateful.” With that, Dee dropped himself onto a stool and sat, hands on thighs, looking around expectantly like a patient visiting an herbalist. Which, I suppose, he was.

I sat also, while Sergeant Hoong went about spooning a different tea into another pot. That he placed in front of Dee, while from the first he poured for me and himself. While Dee’s tea steeped Hoong brought over a tin of biscuits. “These are not bad,” he said. “Too sweet, in the English fashion, but as neither of you has eaten lately I imagine you’ll find them acceptable.”

I bit into one of the currant-filled biscuits and thought it as good as anything I’d ever eaten. The pale green liquid in my cup also seemed particularly delectable. “Have one, Dee,” I urged, taking a second biscuit.

“I have no appetite, thank you.” Dee sipped at the thick dark tea Hoong had poured into his cup. “Hoong,” he said calmly, replacing the cup on the low table, “I must congratulate you.

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