The inside of the shop showed that it was mainly for tourists. Its merchandise consisted mainly of decorative 'Lucky Cats', which were statues of cats on their hind legs, one paw raised. Some of the cats had arms that moved back and forth, forward and backward, as if waving, and all the cats were in various sizes. Behind a small counter at the back end of the shop, a small Chinese woman stood and gave a small wave.
"Hello," Maggie greeted the shopkeeper with a polite smile, looking at a small cat.
As John and Sherlock looked at other items on display, the shopkeeper lifted a medium sized cat from the counter next to her.
"You want lucky cat?" she asked, holding the item out in John's direction.
After he realised she was speaking to him, John shook his head. "No, thank you. No."
Sherlock and Maggie's heads turned to look at the man over their shoulder from opposite sides of the room. Sherlock gave the man a smirk, while Maggie's smile was more one of slight pity.
"Ten pound," the woman said, gesturing at him with the cat. "Ten pound!"
The man gave an awkward smile. "Ah, no…"
The woman wasn't giving up. "I think your wife, she will like!" she said excitedly.
"No, but really, thank you," the man said. The woman reluctantly dropped the item back on the counter as John turned to look at one of the other tables.
"Hey, Maggie," he said. "Look at these."
Thinking he had found something, she rushed over, only to find him pointing to a large set of small, ceramic cups that lacked handles. Small flowers were painted on them. She didn't see anything that could be a clue, however.
"Pretty, right?" he asked her.
She smiled at him. "Yes, they are. Wouldn't hold much tea at that size, though."
The man chuckled. "No, they wouldn't."
"I like the cats though," she said. "Always liked them. They bring luck to whoever owns them, did you know that?"
Sherlock turned away from the shelf of clay statues to look at them. "You don't really believe all that, do you?" he asked, keeping his voice low. A statue was in his hand.
Maggie looked at him over her shoulder and shook her head lightly. "But it was always interesting to me," she said quietly. "Are you considering a purchase?" She gestured to the statue he was holding.
The detective gave her a mock warning look at her joking tone. Neither of them had noticed, however, that John had picked up one of the cups, turning it over to check the price. His hand trembled slightly.
"Sherlock," he said quietly.
Sherlock quickly replaced the statue on the shelving and came over to the other man to look over his shoulder at the cup. Maggie looked as well.
"The label there," the soldier said, looking up at the wall.
"Yes," Sherlock said in a quiet voice. "I see it.
There, in the underside sticker, was a small Chinese symbol. A sort of eight looking figure, identical to one half of the graffiti they were researching.
"Exactly the same as the cipher," Maggie whispered.
John cleared his throat a bit, carefully placing the cup back onto the display.
"It's a number system?" Maggie was asking only a short time later, as they walked down the street from the shop.
"Yes!" Sherlock answered, seeming almost exited. "An ancient one. Hangzhou! These days. only street traders use it. Those were numbers, written on the wall at the bank and on the shelf at the library."
The detective stopped them in their tracks near a vendor's display outside of a grocer's. Boxes of vegetables were there, with signs above them, the names of the vegetables written in both Chinese and English. Underneath this, however, the cost of the item was written. There were numbers in English here as well, but also, just next to it, were symbols in Hangzhou. Sherlock began picking up a few of the items, checking the symbols.
"Numbers," he said. "Numbers written in Chinese dialect.
"It's a fifteen!" John said, pointing to a sign with the same strange figure eight symbol. Printed next to it was £15.
"And the blindfold - the horizontal line?" Sherlock was saying. "That was a number as well."
"There!" Maggie said, pointing and picking up a price tag with the same line he was describing. Written underneath: £1.
"The Chinese number one," Sherlock said, taking the paper from her, grinning triumphantly.
"We've found it!" John said, giving a wide smile.
Sherlock, still seeming extremely happy, began further down the street, Maggie following behind. John began after them as well, but as he turned, he noticed from the corner of his eye that the same woman from outside 221B earlier was standing nearby. She once again was snapping a picture, but as John turned to see her clearly, someone walked by her, and she was gone. John gave a small frown before continuing on after the other two.
They began staking out the shop from across the street, sitting in a restaurant at a table near a window. Sherlock sat writing some of the Hangzhou numbers and their English meanings on a small paper napkin while Maggie sat next to him, watching.
"Two men travel back from China," John said quietly from across the table.
"And both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium," Maggie continued for him.
"What did they see?" John asked, looking toward the shop.
"It's not what they saw," Sherlock answered. "It's what they both brought back in those suitcases."
John looked at him. "And you don't mean duty free, do you?"
Sherlock shook his head as a waitress approached and set a plate before John.
"Thank you," the doctor murmured.
The waitress gave Maggie a cup of tea and small plate of biscuits.
"Thank you very much," she said, smiling as she turned the cup to pick it up with her left hand.
Sherlock spoke again as the woman walked away.
"Think about what Sebastian told us about Van Coon," he said. "About how he stayed afloat in the market."
"Lost five million," John said quietly.
"And he made it back in a week," Maggie said, nodding.
John hummed in agreement, nodding.
"That's how he made such easy money," Sherlock murmured, continuing to write.
"He was a smuggler," Maggie said quietly, thinking about the large object that must've been in his suitcase.
John took a mouthful of his food. "Of course," he muttered.
"A guy like him?" Sherlock said. "It would've been perfect. A businessman, making frequent trips to Asia."
"And Lukis was the same," Maggie said. "A journalist writing about China."
John nodded again, chewing his food slowly.
Maggie took a sip of her tea as Sherlock continued. "Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop off."
John swallowed. "But why did they die?" he asked. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?"
Maggie was quiet. She didn't know. Sherlock leaned back and sat thoughtfully. After a few seconds of silence, the detective smiled.
"What if one of them was light-fingered?"
"How d'you mean?" John asked between bites.
Maggie leaned forward, looking at the detective. "You think one of them stole something?"
"Yes, something from the hoard," Sherlock said.
John began nodding, suddenly understanding. "And the killer doesn't know which one of them took it, so he threatens them both," he said. "Right."
Maggie picked up a biscuit and took a small bite as Sherlock looked outside to the window, scanning the face of the building holding the Lucky Cat.
"Remind me," he said suddenly. "When was the last time it rained?"
Maggie looked round to tell him, but he was up and walking out of the restaurant before the answer could leave her lips. She and John shared a slightly exasperated look before getting up to follow, leaving their food behind.
Sherlock led them hurriedly back in the direction of the Lucky Cat, but bent in front of the flat nearby. When the other two caught up, they found him looking intently at a Yellow pages in a plastic wrapper sitting upward against the doorway of the flat. Sherlock touch some of the exposed pages where the wrapper had broken at the corner.
"It's been here since Monday," he said, feeling the damp edge of the book. He stood and pressed the doorbell on the wall, and Maggie leaned around him to see the name. Soo Lin Yao. Whomever she was, she had drawn a small flower above her name on the label.
Sherlock waited only a few seconds before turning and rushing off to the right, entering the alleyway on the other side of the flat from the Lucky Cat. John and Maggie followed him.
"No one's been in that flat for three days," Sherlock said quickly.
"Could've gone on holiday," John offered.
Maggie turned, looking up at the fire escape above them and the back of the flat. A slight wind rustled some of the curtains in Soo Lin's open window above.
"Windows are open," she said.
Sherlock looked. "Do you leave you windows open when you go on holiday?" he asked John. John shook his head, but the detective's eyes were elsewhere, running along the cantilevered fire escape. Turning and taking a run, he jumped and grabbed hold of the final rung of the ladder, pulling it downward until it reached the ground and then hurrying up it. As he stepped toward the window, the ladder rose up behind him, returning to it's original position where neither John nor Maggie could reach it, both being shorter than Sherlock.
"Sherlock!" Maggie cried out, trying to get him to come back and allow them up as well. The man either didn't hear, or chose to ignore her.
John gave a long sigh and turned to go to the front of the building, running down the alley. Maggie stayed where she was, in case Sherlock came back through the window.
"Someone else has been here!" Sherlock called from the flat.
"What?" Maggie yelled back.
She could hear a muffled reply, but nothing coherent. It was silent for awhile, and then the doorbell rang out.
Down the alleyway, John's voice could be heard from where he stood at the door. "D'you think maybe you could let us in this time?" he asked. After no reply that she could hear, John called out again. "Can you not keep doing this please?"
Something else was called out from inside the flat, but Maggie couldn't catch it.
"What?" John called.
"Somebody's been in here before me!" Sherlock's voice came through the window.
"What are you saying?" John asked. Maggie was quiet, thinking.
"Why would somebody else go in before?" she whispered to herself, pacing a few steps. "And why leave the window open when they left?"
She stopped dead in her tracks as the answer came to her.
"They're still there," she said. She turned, trying to find a way she could reach that ladder quickly. There was nothing of use in the alleyway, however; it was empty.
She looked up and stared for a moment at the final rung of the ladder above her. Backing up some feet, she took a deep breath. She was a bit taller than John.
I can make it, she told herself. Maybe.
She set back her right foot and pushed forward, running toward the fire escape's end. She leaped, just barely caught the railing, and her weight did the rest, pulling the ladder down to the ground for her. She shot up the steps with as much speed as she could muster and rushed for the window as the ladder raised back up behind her. Pushing through over the sill, she got inside quickly, her shoulder knocking into something as she did. The vase fell from the table near the window and toppled onto the floor, its flower sliding from it's opening and landing a few inches away on the floor.
Maggie dropped to pick the item up, seeing the water stain on the rug underneath it. Remembering someone else was in here other than Sherlock, she quickly stopped herself from placing the vase back onto the table, opting instead to take it with her. She stepped lightly forward and moved through the doorway nearby to the kitchen, where, across the room, hanging beads in the doorway were shaking, as though someone had rushed through them just moments ago.
"Any time you want to include me," she heard John yelling from downstairs. She stepped forward, but froze suddenly when she heard something from the other side of the beaded doorway.
There were small thumps and rustling noises, sounds of a struggle. Then, Sherlock's strained cry could be heard.
"John! Maggie!"
Maggie's grip tightened on the vase in her hand, her heart skipping a beat. She crossed the kitchen in two strides and poked her head around the corner as John yelled from downstairs. All she caught was something about a massive intellect, however. He sounded sarcastic.
As she peeked through the hanging beads, she was horrified at what she saw. A man in all black had a scarf tight around Sherlock's neck, the detective struggling against him, slowly losing consciousness.
Without pausing to think, Maggie threw herself through the beads and rushed behind the assailant, lifting her arms and smashing the vase on the back of his head. The man reacted quickly, dropping his hands from the scarf and throwing an elbow back, knocking Maggie in the face. She fell backward, clutching her nose in pain. She heard the beads rustle to her right and looked to see the man practically flying through the open window. She ran over, but he was gone when she reached the sill. There, her hand brushed against something. Looking down at the white wood, she saw a small black lotus flower, made from origami paper. She frowned and picked it up as Sherlock began coughing and sputtering from the room behind her. Turning and rushing back to him, she shoved the object into the pocket of her coat.
Sherlock had stumbled to his feet when she arrived back in the room, looking around in slight confusion.
"You," he said his voice dry and hoarse, looking at her. "Did you see it? Did you see him?"
"I saw him. Hit him with the vase," she said, pointing to the glass shards on the floor.
The detective looked at them. "Right, right, of course." The detective coughed, his voice cracking.
"I didn't catch his face."
The detective frowned, looking at her. "You're bleeding," he said.
She looked down at her nose. "Oh." Touching her fingers to her upper lip, she found that there was indeed blood. Sherlock rushed around her to bring a few napkins from the kitchen, which she gratefully took. "Thank you."
He nodded his mouth in a hard line. He said nothing more, likely trying to wait to speak, so his voice could catch up. Grabbing her by the elbow, he dragged her in the direction of the stairs.
They opened the front door to find John standing there, his back turned. He made an exasperated sigh and turned, opening his mouth to likely make an annoyed point about being left out of the flat again, like at Van Coon's, but stopped short when he saw the woman behind the detective.
"Maggie?" he asked. "How the hell did you get in?"
"Jumped for the ladder," she said, her voice a bit stuffy from the napkins pressed against her nose behind Sherlock's shoulder.
Sherlock took a deep breath. "The, uh," he coughed a bit, "the milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago." The man sped through the last words as his air left him and coughed a bit more, trying to regain it.
"Somebody?" John asked, giving Sherlock a slightly annoyed look.
The detective nodded. "Soo Lin Yao," he croaked. "We have to find her."
"But how, exactly?" the other man asked.
Sherlock looked down as he stepped on something. Bending, he picked up a folded envelope, torn open. On the back of it, someone had written a small note.
SOO LIN
Please ring me. Tell me you're ok.
Andy
The detective unfolded the envelope to look at its other side. Something was written in the corner.
NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM.
"Well, we could start with this," Sherlock croaked, turning quickly and walking away. John followed with Maggie right behind, shutting the door to Soo Lin's flat.
"You've gone all croaky," John was saying. "Are you getting a cold?"
Sherlock coughed once but rather hard. "I'm fine!"
John looked back at Maggie.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "What happened to you?"
She looked up to see Sherlock giving her a look saying not to tell what really happened. She understood. Better not to worry the soldier.
"Foot got caught climbing into the window," she said, checking the napkins. The bleeding had mostly stopped. "Fell right into the floor."
The doctor shook his head. "You're lucky a bleeding nose is all you got. Could've broken your ankle."
She nodded.
"You've got to be more careful," Sherlock said over his shoulder. "You could've been seriously hurt."
The woman swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry."
The detective didn't say anything more, turning back to look forward as he walked. Maggie threw the napkins in a nearby bin.