"Nat Pinkerton, King Of Detectives - The Bloody Talisman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pinkerton Nat)

The Bloody Talisman
Nat Pinkerton, King of Detectives (1915)


Balancing bandit adventure fiction on the urban market were detective stories, featuring private sleuths, such as Sherlock Holmes, Nick Carter, or Nat Pinkerton, and a variety of nefarious criminals. Though the detectives themselves were mostly imported, the authors were usually Russians capitalizing on the popularity of foreign titles and lax copyright laws. Detective serials were published in newspapers and separately, enjoying a huge readership that boomed after 1905. Russian Pinkertons did not betray the anti-union bias of their American counterpart. However, on occasion, they revealed a solidarity that many Russians felt with Euro-Americans relative to "oriental" peoples.


Chapter I: The Consequences of a Discovery
On the evening of 20 December, 18Е, a blond man with a beard, well-dressed and tall, walked along Mott Street, the main street of New YorkТs Chinatown.

If you are not Chinese, it takes a certain daring to walk through this quarter at such a late hour. Streets that seem completely empty conceal danger around every corner.

More than once a white man has disappeared without trace in Chinatown, and police searches almost always come up with nothing.

If the police do apprehend a suspicious son of the Middle Kingdom, then put him on trial and condemn him, it is still impossible to be sure that the true perpetrator has been punished, because most Chinamen are as similar as two drops of water.

The blond man walking through Mott Street that night obviously was not thinking of the danger threatening him in that locale. True, he had heard that it was dangerous at night, that even the police avoid these streets, but he was relying on his courage and physical strength. And truly, he was built as powerfully as Hercules, and the noble features of his face revealed valor and manliness.

He walked deep in thought, not paying attention to the heads with slanted eyes poking out of dark gateways here and there following his progress. The street was absolutely quiet, and only the sound of a passing tram could occasionally be heard from the Bowery.

The stranger stopped to light his cigar and was about to continue when a glittering object lying on the pavement suddenly struck his attention.

He bent down, picked it up and walked over to the street lantern to examine his discovery. It was a medallion of pure gold, as big as a silver thaler, with calligraphy and several engravings of Chinese dieties. The lost item had probably hung around its ownerТs neck by the silk string attached its mouth.

Strangest of all, though, was that the medallion was covered in blood, which stained the blond manТs fingers.

He could not understand the meaning of his find. Perhaps this valuable ornament had been lost by some Chinaman?

"I must," thought the finder, "hand this in at the nearest police station; let the loser get it back there."

He wrapped the golden medallion thoroughly in a piece of paper, put it in his side pocket, and prepared to set off.

But then something unexpected happened. A muffled bell rang from a gate to the right and a second later a crowd of Chinamen poured out of the surrounding houses and advanced on him with daggers drawn.

Not one of the Chinamen said a word. The ominous silence was shattering.

At first the stranger was confused by the suddenness, but he quickly regained his composure. The crowd surrounded him, their daggers glistened in his eyes, but still no one had touched him.

But then a gigantic Chinaman waved a thick staff intending, apparently, to strike him, and someoneТs hands seized the blond man from behind.

He nimbly tore himself free from the traitorous embrace and hit the gigantic Chinaman so hard that he turned red from pain and tumbled to the pavement.

At that moment the stranger tore the staff from his grasp and began to flail away to the left and right.

The crowd let out a roar and staggered back, which opened a passage that the blond man did not hesitate to use. He took off, still waving the staff, and leapt out of the ring of scoundrels, thinking it better to run away. With a savage yelp, the crowd chased after him.

Suddenly a piercing whistle was heard from the other end of the street, and several policemen appeared in the flickering light of the gas lanterns. The Chinese instantly scattered in all directions; the street was empty, and even the tall Chinaman had disappeared.

Eight policemen walked slowly along Mott Street, but they noticed nothing suspicious. That was how it always was; the police were used to it.