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*~*~**~*~*
Mr Ambrose’s snappy salute was so convincing that the guard at the entrance to the tunnel let us through without uttering a single word. He just saluted in return. I, too, attempted a salute and somehow managed one without knocking the blue hat off my head.
We stepped past the guard in silence. Before us loomed the black jaws of the tunnel. I couldn’t help it - a final time, I glanced up at the giant figures of the two roaring, golden lions hanging high above us. Their eyes seemed to be trained directly on me, watching my every move, knowing I did not belong here.
‘Eyes front, Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose hissed.
Hurriedly, I did as ordered and hastened my steps. The menacing glint of the golden-maned wardens above me disappeared, and the darkness swallowed me.
Or so I thought.
After a few moments, I could make out a faint glimmer farther down the tunnel. But it was very, very far off.
‘Why isn’t the tunnel better lit?’ I whispered.
‘Look around you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do you see any windows or ventilation systems? Both torches and gas lamps produce poisonous fumes that would be hard to get rid of in
such an enclosed space. Also, if I’m right about what kinds of illicit activities Lord Dalgliesh is conducting here, the end of the tunnel will have to be completely dark for the purpose of secrecy. We will have to watch our steps very carefully. And from now on, not one more question out of you, understood? Remember, we are supposed to be familiar with this place.’
Thank God I did as he told me and kept my mouth shut. Not two minutes later, a dozen soldiers suddenly appeared out of the darkness right in front of us. Light in the tunnel was so scarce that, even in their bright red uniforms, they were hardly more than shadows. Yet these shadows were armed, and looking none too pleased.
‘Are the Ching Chongs[52] still at it?’ one growled.
‘Ye bet they are!’ another answered. ‘Damned yellow bastards! Not a night when they can’t get to bed like decent folk. And it’s the likes of us that has to…’
They went past us, and soon their voices vanished into the distance.
So the Dance of the Dragon was still going on outside, was it? I felt suddenly cold at the thought of what exactly the soldiers had been ordered to do. Why were they marching, as I was sure they were, out into the street to where the Chinese were dancing? I sneaked a sideways glance at Mr Ambrose’s profile in the gloom. It was too dark to really see his face. Was he feeling the chill inside, too?
Dumb question. He probably was constantly at a core temperature of - 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
Up ahead, there shimmered a faint light again. Not yellowish light this time, though, but cold, blue light. The light of the moon. As we came closer, I saw that it was falling into the tunnel through tiny cracks in a wooden wall - a wooden wall that ended the tunnel.
I opened my mouth to ask ‘What now?’ - but Mr Ambrose threw me one of his special looks, and I closed it again. He stepped closer to the wooden wall, which in spite of the few strands of moonlight, was utterly black, and let his hands skim over it. About halfway up the wall his searching hands suddenly stopped. The fingers closed around something, pressed, and pushed.
The door swung open, revealing a view of a narrow stretch of water, and a harbour wall, half covered in algae. Distantly, I could hear the sound of the Dragon Dance, and I was relieved that it sounded as if all the dancers were still alive and perfectly fine.
‘How did you know there was a doorknob, Sir?’
‘When you have a secret passage that nobody is supposed to be able to find from the outside, it rather makes sense to have the doorknob for the entrance on the inside, don't you think?’
Now that he said it, it sounded rather obvious. But then, how the heck would I know? This was my first secret passage ever, after all! Was it his first? I looked at his face, hard and implacable in the moonlight. Probably not.
Carefully, he leaned out of the open door, his eyes flicking to the left and right without his head moving an inch. In a moment, he was back inside the tunnel, right beside me.
‘No guards around,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Do you think that we’ve somehow gone the wrong way? That the file isn’t here at all?’
‘I doubt it. Look.’
Imitating him, I carefully stuck my head out of the door and let my eyes flick to the left, then to the right. There it was! To the right, a narrow catwalk, hardly more than a ridge, led along the harbour wall. It disappeared behind the bulk of a sleek, rather small ship with only two masts. It would have been completely unremarkable, if not for the dark, even colour of its hull, which was unlike that of any ship I had ever seen.
‘You saw it?’ he asked, when I ducked back into the tunnel.
‘The catwalk? Yes. Cleverly done, that. You probably don't even notice it from up at the docks. And even if you do, what’s the significance? But down here, you can sneak from the tunnel to any ship in the dock without anybody seeing.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. But it’s not the catwalk that worries me. I knew it would be there.’
