Wells almost shot him, but the revolver was suddenly plucked out of his hand as if by an unseen force and Wells gaped at the ghostly figure that suddenly materialized before him.
"Jesus Christr Delaney said as he clocked in. "What happened?"
Amy Robbins, who had been watching thunderstruck from the doorway to the study, fell to the floor in a faint. Wells rushed to her side.
Christine sat up slowly, her hand pressed to the wound in her throat. "Oh, damn," she said, wincing with pain. "I've had itnow. He got me."
"Ransome?" said Delaney.
"Rizzo," Steiger said.
"What?" said Delaney.
"Look." said Steiger. Neilson and Delaney joined him where he stood over the body of the werewolf. Before their eyes. it was slowly changing. reverting in death to human form. "It's Rizzo."
"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” Forrester said.
"We've been hit," said Steiger. "He's turned our own people against us."
"Christine, no!" shouted Neilson.
She had picked up her disruptor pistol and before any of them could move, she stuck the barrel in her mouth and squeezed the trigger. For a brief moment, she was enveloped in the blue aura of Cherenkov radiation and then she was gone.
11
The House of Blue Lights was located in an unassuming, soot-blackened building off the Limehouse Causeway, near the River Thames and not far from the East India Docks, It was not among the more elegant of London's bordellos, but it was still a far cry from the tawdry whorehouses of Whitechapel. Madame Tchu's young ladies were of considerably higher quality than the Cockney streetwalkers who plied their trade in Whitechapel's cribs and alleyways. There were gentlemen among the clientele, as well as sailors, dock workers and merchants, but despite the rough character of many of her patrons. Madame Tchu maintained the house in a refined and genteel style. Few people knew that the House of Blue Lights was, in fact, operated by the Green Dragon tong and was one of the secret organization's major sources of revenue.
Jasmine did not know Madame Tchu. Their paths had never crossed before and there was no one in the House of Blue Lights who would know her, unless she were to identify herself as Lin Tao's granddaughter. Part of her wanted to walk boldly up to the front door, announce herself, demand to be taken to her grandfather, confront him with what she knew and insist on being allowed to help, while part of her was afraid of what her grandfather would do when he discovered that she had followed them and had been eavesdropping on their private conversations. She hesitated, thinking perhaps it would be best if she were to remain outside and watch, but watch for what and for how long? There was no telling when they might come out again. And meanwhile, even though the idea of going inside the house of prostitution frightened her, she was fascinated by the prospect. She wondered what it would be like inside, what sort of women they were, how they dressed and spoke and acted.
She was still debating what to do when she saw her grandfather come out with three young Chinese males. The small group stood in front of the entrance for several moments and she could see her grandfather talking to the three young men and making gestures, but she could not hear what he was saying. Finally, Lin Tao finished talking and two of the young men bowed to him and left. The third one remained with him and they walked off quickly in the opposite direction, Lin Tao moving with a sprightly energy that belied his age. That meant Dr. Morro was still in there, alone. Or was he, in fact, alone? What if the man she was secretly in love with had decided to sample the pleasures of the house? That decided her. Taking a deep breath, Jasmine started across the street.
Once she reached the door, however, her resolve faltered once again. She was walking back and forth in front of the entrance to the building when she noticed an open window on the third floor, on the side facing the alleyway. And some fifteen or twenty feet away from it, running down the side of the building, was an iron drain pipe.
She looked up and down the alleyway and then, bracing herself against the brick wall with her soft-soled shoes, she started to climb hand over hand up the drain pipe. The pipe was fastened solidly and she did not weigh much, but years of martial arts discipline had given her wiry body suppleness and strength. She made the climb quickly, like a monkey, and within moments she had reached the cornice at the top of the building.
She reached out with her right hand and grabbed the ledge of the cornice just above her, then let go of the pipe with her other hand and quickly clamped her lingers over the ledge, allowing her legs to swing out and away from the wall. Both hands clamped over the cornice ledge, she slowly started to inch across towards the open window, her forearm muscles feeling the strain as her lingers pressed down hard against the stone. Dangling high above the ground, she moved slowly, so as not to start her body swinging. When she reached the open window, there was a distance of about two and half feet separating her from the building wall and the window ledge. She licked her lips and pulled herself up slowly, allowing herself to swing outward a little. Then she swung her legs up and dropped at the same time, shooting her arms straight out in front of her, like a gymnast on the uneven parallel bars making the transfer from the top bar to the lower one. She grabbed on to the window ledge and winced as her body struck the side of the building, then she grunted and pulled herself up. She looked inside the room quickly and was relieved to see that it was empty. A second later, she was inside.
She straightened up, massaging her forearms and flexing her lingers, and looked around with wonder at the room she had entered through the window. The floor was covered with soft, thick Oriental rugs and the walls were hung with tapestries, there to hide cracks and peeling paint as much as to provide decoration. Everything was red and purple and gold, from the upholstery on the chairs to the canopy above the bed, which dominated the small room. She walked around the bed, marveling at the size of it, and saw with surprise that there was a mirror fastened just below the canopy. She heard footsteps approaching outside and quickly looked around for a place to hide. Briefly, she considered diving down underneath the bed, but then she realized that the bed would be the first place they would come to and instead she chose to duck behind the curtains on the other side of the painted wooden screen standing in a corner.
The door opened and a couple entered. The man was middle-aged, dressed in a dark frock coat, an elegant waistcoat with a gold watch chain and a howler hat. The girl was young. Chinese, no older than Jasmine, wearing a form- fitting, bright red dress slashed deeply up the side with green and gold dragons embroidered on it. The man had a red face and a huge handlebar moustache and sidewhiskers and the girl had long black hair hanging straight down to her waist. Jasmine watched wide-eyed from her hiding place as the man closed the door behind them and then swept the girl up in his arms, crushing his lips to hers. The girl lifted her bare leg and rubbed it against the outside of the man's leg, hooking it around him.
It was nothing like what Jasmine had imagined from the novels she had read. Instead of whispered
words of endearment and loving, affectionate caresses, it was an impatient, clumsy pawing and clutching, a hurried, awkward shrugging out of clothes and a playful, adolescent wrestling. Instead of emotion- laden sighs and languorous moans, there was panting and giggling and squealing. Instead of a transcendent, blissful floating in one another's arms, it was a grunting, bouncing, spring-creaking thrusting and groaning and when it was over, the man lay spent for several moments, then immediately got up and started to dress while the girl came behind the screen and. while Jasmine held her breath behind the drapes, she quickly cleaned herself using the washstand that the screen concealed, slipped into her dress, straightened it, brushed the stray strands of hair away from her face with a completely indifferent air and then went out to escort the gentleman back downstairs. Jasmine was at the same time both fascinated and incredibly disillusioned. Was that all there was to it?
Somehow, she had imagined something much more spiritual and romantic. The sight of the man's unclothed body had repelled her. He had looked so much better in his clothes! Without them, his stomach had hung down like a buddha's and his chest had sagged. He had been covered with unattractive, thick, coarse, curling hair and his legs looked spindly, grotesquely out of proportion with the rest of him. Naked, he had looked ugly, comical, ungainly, and as for his manhood, it was all Jasmine could do to refrain from giggling at the sight of it. She could not believe that Dr. Morro would look so silly and pathetic with his clothes off, but at the same time, a telling blow had been delivered to her romantic fantasies. She was not embarrassed by what she had witnessed. She was merely surprised and disappointed.
She slipped out from behind the drapes and moved quickly to the door. She opened it a crack andpeeked out into the hallway. She could hear sounds coming from behind several of the closed doors, but for the moment, the hallway was clear.
However, she had no idea which way to go. She stepped out into the hall uncertainly and, at that moment, a door opened right in front of her and an old woman carrying a pile of bedclothing stepped out. Startled, Jasmine gasped.
The old woman smiled toothlessly. "I haven't seen you before," she said, speaking in Chinese. "You must be new."
"Yes, I… I am not sure which way to go," said Jasmine, forcing a smile.
The old woman looked at her questioningly. "Is there a gentleman wailing for you?"
"Yes, he has only just arrived,” said Jasmine. and she described Moreau.