The Secret of the Tong by Hugh Clevely

Book Details

The Secret of the Tong – Martin Kerr Enters a Murder Labyrinth Channeled With a One-Way Road to Doom! An American Scythes His Way Through a Mystery Webbed in Grim Oriental Intrigue!

Having just returned to New York after 18 months in South America, Martin Kerr is mistaken for another man. After being threatened in a restaurant and stalked by sinister Chinese men, Martin needs to find out why – and fast!

Chapter I – Double for Trouble
Chapter II – Unplanned Festivities
Chapter III – The Fan Tong
Chapter IV – Escape
Chapter V – Prince Sung
Chapter VI – The Tablets of Feng-Su
Chapter VII – Morden’s Scheme
Chapter VIII – The Rout
Chapter IX – The Tong Raiders
Chapter X – Menace of the Tong

Hugh Desmond Clevely (1898-1964) was born in Bristol, England. He was educated by his uncle, a vicar, and spent his early life in the vicarage. He was a pilot in the RAF during the Second World War and finished the war as wing-commander.

The Secret of the Tong has 16 illustrations.

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1. SecretOfTheTong.epub

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Excerpt: The Secret of the Tong

Chapter I

Double for Trouble

THE pretty redhead at the Picador Club smiled pertly as she took Martin Kerr’s Panama hat. Her big blue eyes roamed approvingly over his lean young face, his tall, broad-shouldered figure.

“There will be a table ready in a few minutes, sir,” she said. “You won’t mind waiting?”

Would he mind waiting five minutes? Martin Kerr laughed. Hell, no! He had waited more than eighteen months for this moment. It was a year and a half since he had last looked at a pretty white girl, sipped an American cocktail. And now some dazzling redhead was asking him if he’d mind waiting five more minutes! Martin Kerr inhaled deeply of the smoke-filled air that drifted from the club’s lounge. It was mingled with the exotic scents of costly perfume. Perfume that came from the smartly dressed, attractive women clustered around the horseshoe bar.”

As a cool draft of air-conditioned breeze wafted over his tanned face, Martin Kerr reflected thoughtfully. This was the life! Sure, it was a far cry from the South American jungles where he had helped build a railroad. But at least the air here didn’t suffocate you with its smothering blasts of scorching heat. Your lungs didn’t feel as if you were imprisoned in a bell-jar, with someone pumping out the air.

“As the head-waiter appeared, leading Martin Kerr to a nearby table, he congratulated himself once more on finally being back in New York. Pretty faces to look at, instead of the misshapen native women. The gay lilt of merry, dinner music, instead of the angry buzz of insect pests. And every drink under the sun, from absinthe to zombies, instead of the raw rotgut stuff he had had.

“Anything to drink, sir?” the waiter said, as if divining his thoughts.

Kerr grinned, stroked his tanned forehead.

“I’ll say!” he replied. “The tallest Tom Collins you’ve got, with enough ice to freeze a polar bear! And waiter, another chair. I’m expecting a gentleman friend.”

That wasn’t fair, Kerr told himself, referring to Mike Davidson as a gentleman. Mike Davidson was the toughest hardboiled egg on the staff of the Daily Bulletin. Davidson had printer’s ink in his veins. He was the guy they sent out to cover electrocutions of old ladies. He was the guy who’d left his own New Year’s party to go down to the bottom of some flooded mine—for a story. It would be good seeing Mike again, even if the fellow would sell his best friend’s scalp for a scoop.

Kerr’s cocktail arrived, and the young adventurer sipped it slowly, preparing to wait for the arrival of his friend. He lighted a cigarette. As he was replacing the case in his pocket, a shadow fell across the polished surface of his table, from over his shoulder. Someone tapped his shoulder.

Kerr whirled about, prepared to look up into the eyes of Mike Davidson. But the man who confronted him was an utter stranger. He was a tall, thick-set man, with heavy, domineering features and bushy black beard and hair.

The stranger’s black eyes gleamed balefully.

“So you’re back in New York, eh?” he said ominously, and in his tone there seemed malicious satisfaction.”

MARTIN KERR gazed intently at the stranger’s face. Where the devil had he met this fellow? In China, where he had flown planes for some warlord? In Spain, where he had helped fight against the Fascists? Or some ocean-liner en route to some distant port, where men made casual acquaintances?

Kerr stalled, hoping to trick the stranger into revealing his identity first.

“Yes, I landed in town yesterday,” he said easily, exhaling twin streams of smoke.

Hostility was burning in the bearded man’s dark eyes.

“Don’t try to lie to me, you devil,” he growled. He took a step toward the young adventurer as he spoke, gripping the edge of the table with his huge hands. “Landed yesterday, huh?” he went on. “Hell, one of my men spotted you last week, but lost you again.”

Kerr snapped his fingers. Of course! He had never met this man. The stranger was mistaking him for someone else!

“So you think you’ll be safe here, eh?” the stranger said menacingly.

Kerr looked about, scanned the faces of the gay crowd at the bar. He didn’t want to cause a scene. Not before he had finished his drink, at least. And he wanted more of a chance to watch the people here. Like that lovely dark girl just coming in, for instance.

Excerpt From: Hugh Clevely. “The Secret of the Tong.”