The main reason for this issue being so late is our special, extra-length Sexton Blake tale. This story features the great detective's first assistant, the Chinese boy We-Wee. He originally appeared in the Sexton Blake stories in 1897, in a story called "Chased Through China", published in the Union Jack.

In this tale Blake saved him from slavery by buying him for £2. The boy could have walked away, being free, but instead stayed with his "new master" and helped in various adventures, both in Britain and also in the Middle East. The lad made his final appearance in a story called "Fortune Stone", published in 1901.

His name, presumably pronounced (and written in modern Chinese romanisation) "Wei-Wi" is supposed to mean "The Little Beagle". However there are no specific Chinese characters for "Little" and "Beagle" so instead it would be spelled by those meaning "Small Dog". However these are not pronounced as "We-Wee"! We can only assume that he was named by poor parents who were illiterate, and had to sell the boy into slavery.

For many years fans of the Sexton Blake saga have wondered what happened to him, well the story can finally be told! And it is a very long and exciting one. The Craille Institute, which holds the files on Sexton Blake, was forced to delay publication of this story because of it's sensitive nature, but at last it can be told in full.

It also recounts the adventures Sexton Blake experienced in the middle of 1900, only three stories were published in that year, one at the start and two at the end.

Originally published in The Red, White & Blue 'old series' issue 4, Jan-Feb 2011

An edited version will be re-published as "Norman Saxon" in the Trident 'new series' issue 1

"Pull!"

Four dark grey discs spun through the sky, and four gunshots rattled out in quick succession. Three of the spinning discs where smashed to pieces, the fourth merely chipped and upset in it’s graceful flight, tumbling to the ground in an awkward spiral.

"By jove, Blake" said Sir Hiriam Gracefield, "you’ll be after my shooting trophies at this rate!"

"Never fear, sir, shooting isn't a sport I go in for at any serious level" replied Sexton Blake, the celebrated detective as he handed his double-barrel shotgun to his young assistant, We-Wee for reloading.

"So I hear" replied the young, athletic aristocrat who had organised a small shooting party on this cold February morning in the year 1900. "You solved that smuggling case involving the money stolen from Fox’s bank not too long ago didn’t you?"

"Yes" said Blake, thinking back to the difficult case he had tackled a month before, "I have worked on some other smaller cases since then, but none quite so significant. If i may be quite frank I am becoming a trifle bored without any mysteries to concentrate on. The money I received for solving that last case could keep me in comfort for a year or two easily, but in a way I look upon the work I do as it's own reward."

Crashing gunfire roared out from nearby as other members of the shooting-party tried their skill against the clay pigeons, between the sound of shots hooves could be heard coming closer. The firing was stopped for a minute as Jennifer Gracefield, the wife of Sir Hiriam, rode up on one of the family’s fine horses. Dismounting near to the gathered sportsmen she handed a letter to her husband.

"Simpson was going to bring this out, darling, but I offered to take it as I was going to give Aubrey a run anyway. It looks frightfully official" she explained, handing over the envelope. Sexton Blake caught sight of an official crest and the legend "God save the Queen" written upon it.

"Ah, my commission with the diplomatic service, no doubt" the young aristocrat remarked as he opened the envelope. A smile passed over his lips as he read the letter. "I hardly believe this!" he gasped, handing the letter to Sexton Blake, "It’s Hong Kong for me!" There was a murmur of congratulation around the assembled party, and from Sir Hiriam’s wife especially. This small set of islands close to China was one of the most important possessions of the empire. To be posted there on diplomatic service was an honour indeed.

"Sir is blessed with much luck" said We-Wee, the youth Sexton Blake had rescued from a Chinese slave-trader some years before. Blake noted a tone of envy in the lad’s voice, but the next moment something peculiar about the letter caught his eye. He moved the paper in the grey morning light, attempting to catch the right shadow. With scarcely a change in his expression he handed the letter back to Sir Gracefield.

"Ahh Hong Kong" Blake reflected, it was a place he had visited before, but only very briefly whilst pursuing a Russian agent through China. It was on that case that We-Wee had first joined him. "A place I would much like to see again, might I be so bold as to venture that we could sail together, Sir Gracefield?"

"Why certainly, Blake! And I suspect your young Chinese assistant would much prefer to be among his countrymen once more, eh?"

"I would like that a big deal" was We-Wee’s reply. The lad's English had rapidly improved over the years that he had worked with Blake, his skills at detective work with equal speed. But he still made the occasional mistake with his words. It was a lot rarer for him to make a mistake when a moment of danger came and things hung in the balance. Sexton Blake already owed his life to the plucky youngster several times over.

"Then we shall meet you at Southampton on, say, the eleventh?" Blake ventured to the young Lord. That date was three days away.

"Certainly Blake, I suppose you have certain papers and other business to put in order, as have I"

"Yes, come We-Wee, we must engage a carriage at once. Good-bye for the present, Sir!" Blake called as he and his young assistant turned away. Blake was driven to the railway station in Sir Gracefield’s own elegant four-wheeler and took an express back to the great city. Arriving at Paddington Blake leapt immediately aboard a cab and paid the driver a handsome tip to drive him to the detective’s offices in Norfolk Street, off the Strand.

"Why such huge hurry?" We-Wee gasped, as he followed Blake into his rooms after a dash up the stairs. Blake was already opening trunks and depositing articles of clothing into them. As he reached for another item his revolver came to his hand, he lifted it, examining the barrels and chambers with a keen eye.

"You expect trouble?" We-Wee continued, still rather confused at this sudden flurry of activity.

"A great deal of trouble" Blake answered in We-Wee’s own language. Before uttering a sentence that made the boy stagger back

"Not… not them!" the Chinese gasped, again in Mandarin, a language which Sexton Blake had an expert grasp of – as he did of most of the important languages of the world.

"Yes, I am afraid so" Blake murmured softly. "The Blood Fang triad… one of the most feared secret societies of the east, and one dedicated to the ending of British Rule in Hong Kong! They have already tampered with Sir Gracefield’s letter, one of their spies must have written another message on paper placed on top of it. I caught a glimpse of an impression in Mandarin, I could only just make out a part of the message, but the word ‘assassin’ was plain enough. The life of Sir Gracefield, and the security of Hong Kong and the Chinese government are all in the greatest danger!"

Blake snapped his cases shut. "Well, why aren’t you packing?" he suddenly asked We-Wee. The boy began to pack.

As We-Wee organised other papers, Blake reposed in a chair with a large volume, entitled "Secret Societies of the Orient". It was a comprehensive work assembled by the diplomatic service, and Blake’s own experience had in no small part informed it. The Chinese Triads, Japanese Yakuza, Korean gangs and even some of the larger Indian Thuggee sects were all covered in great detail. Blake read up on the sparse information available on the Blood Fang. Generally the less information there was available on a society, the more dangerous it was. Unlike some of the Triad organisations, that could count millions of members, the Blood Fang was extremely small, thought to contain no more than 2000 members in the whole of China. Where it differed from the larger gangs was in it's expertise. Whilst the other gangs were content to 'employ' millions of petty thugs who would be prepared to clumsily stab or rob somebody for a few gold pieces, the Blood fang instead chose only master criminals for it's ranks. There were even rumours of a "crime university" run by the gang, located in a remote region of Mongolia. New recruits, with their loyalty assured, were sent to this institution to be instructed on every aspect of the criminal arts – lock picking, covering one's tracks after a crime, making murders look like accidents and a thousand other illegal activities. This school for crooks also provided a more general education – in languages, chemistry, engineering and the like. However all of it grounded in criminal activity – languages to pass as a native of a foreign country and escape suspicion, chemistry to make explosives and poisons. Yes, the Blood Fang were a deadly threat to the security of Hong Kong indeed.

"Assassination of a top British official will give them the impetus they need" Blake muttered, half to himself. "The legitimate government of China have not gone back on their promise that Great Britain shall rule Hong Kong for 150 years… a contract due to expire in the year 1997, no less. If the Triad could seize the islands from Britain their popular support would explode in China, that would mean revolution! And then we could have the possibility of a country run from top to bottom by these ruthless criminals. It cannot be allowed! But than again, why Sir Gracefield in particular?"

This last thought caused Blake to pause. Sir Gracefield had attained no small amount of fame as an expert in artillery, too. Whilst he was not in the army his father and grandfather had been. The young lord knew a lot about guns of all sizes and had recently gone on record as saying that Britain's artillery was lagging behind that of other countries, especially Germany. This had caused no small amount of controversy, but at the same time had given many people food for thought. Sir Gracefield had then visited a famous arms factory himself and suggested numerous improvements to one of their best designs. The resulting guns had worked wonders and were now in full production.

"Do they only want to win fame by assassinating him, then, or do they fear his guns?" Blake mused. At present not many of the improved weapons had been manufactured. Could the Blood Fang be trying to strike against their designer before British guns outstripped those of another nation? Whilst the Blood Fang knew only loyalty to themselves they would happily pretend to work with one country against another if it would achieve their aims – and the aim of removing British power from the east was top of the agenda!

For the rest of the day and most of the next, Blake and We-Wee tied up loose business ends. Blake even found time to expose, by virtue of similar handwriting on a forged cheque, a poisoner who had been giving the police some bother. At midnight they boarded a train for Southampton. Awaking early the next day in a small railway hotel that was open at all hours, the two walked to the expansive docks.

"Wharf seventeen, Sir Gracefield telegraphed. Remember, We-Wee, not a word of this to his grace unless his life is in immediate danger. Nervousness on his part is likely to be noticed, we want our enemies to think their task will be easy, for then they will be easier to foil!"

Directed to Wharf Seventeen, the two found a fine ship awaiting them. The Starlight, A sleek and well-appointed steamer, she was almost 150 feet long and gleaming white. Sir Gracefield and the ship’s captain, a man of huge frame, rakishly cocked hat and trim bearded by the name of Richard Hawkton, welcomed Blake and his assistant aboard. Crew members in immaculate uniform took their larger cases and stowed them. Blake insisted on keeping hold of some smaller items of luggage – for his own reasons.

"I don’t own her of course" Sir Gracefield explained as he showed Blake around the ship, "not entirely anyway, I have a third of her shares along with two other men. They both consented to me using her to sail for Hong Kong. Much faster and more peaceful than some great liner, don’t you think?"

"Yes" said Blake, actually rather a little worried. "She can make good speed, I suppose?"

"As nimble as a cat, sir. You fear piracy? You need not worry- we are well appointed should we have to fight our way out of a tight corner. Under the tarpaulin at the end, a quick-firer of the latest type – and I've tinkered with it a little myself. No doubt you've read the papers..."

Sexton Blake nodded and felt much more at ease. He knew Oriental pirates favoured wooden junks and sailing close to vessels to board them. With a quick-firer and a well-drilled crew the Starlight could see off ten such vessels at once.

"Yes, I think we have nothing to fear until we reach dry land" Blake murmured to himself later that day, as Southampton slipped into the distance aft of the racing yacht.

A warm breeze swept across the decks of the Starlight as she steamed southwards down the western coast of Africa. Making good speed, she was already more than half way to the Cape having only been under weigh for a week. Sir Gracefield joined Sexton Blake on deck, having been attempting to learn Mandarin from We-Wee

"Sailing good fast yes?" he clumsily asked Blake in that language.

"I believe you should keep to speaking English for now, sir" Blake laughed, though it was only a few years ago his own abilities with Mandarin had been as poor.

"We shall have to take on coal at the cape, I suppose?" Blake asked, knowing that the busy port could possibly contain enemies who would be ready to strike at Sir Gracefield.

"Yes, I thought we might stay for a few days sight-seeing, perhaps a short safari? Will make a change from clay pigeons at any rate" the young lord replied. This was what Blake had feared.

"Surely you have to make all speed to the orient to take up your commission? Not to mention the war..." Blake replied. He was trying to seem unconcerned.

"Well, the government expected me to take a slow liner, in this ship we can be there in half the time… which allows plenty of lee-way for adventures during the trip, what?" the young aristocrat replied, cheerfully.

"Quite" was Blake’s only response. Well aware that the adventure to come may not have been the exact kind Sir Gracefield expected.

A few more day’s sailing, during which the weather warmed by the day, saw the Starlight putting in at Cape Town. That busy port swarmed with Europeans, Africans, Arabs and all of the great throng of humanity. Moored in the docks was a fine warship, the HMS Thunder Child. The war against the Boers in South Africa was in full swing at that time, and Khaki was a dominant colour in many streets as British Tommies and Bluejackets enjoyed themselves on leave. The presence of these made Sexton Blake feel in part more secure, and yet also more anxious… for what if the Boers learned of this important British official? And could they not reasonably expect him to be there overseeing improvements to Britain's artillery? Sir Gracefield brushed off all notion that he could be in danger and determined to enjoy a few days in the city, this began with engaging rooms at the finest hotel. Blake and We-Wee took a room next door to him, ostensibly to make enjoyment of each other’s company easier, but in reality to ensure the safety of the young Lord.

That night Sir Gracefield and his wife, along with Sexton Blake, We-Wee and Captain Hawkton made a merry company as they visited fine restaurants and a colonial clubhouse. Though We-Wee’s mischievous ways and misunderstanding of correct British manners threatened to cause a minor scandal, this only served to amuse the boy’s companions all the more. Taking his pipe, Blake made his way to the club’s library where he could have a quiet smoke and read. Selecting an interesting volume, the detective sat in a high-backed chair facing away from the room in general. Soon a whispered conversation in Dutch came to his ears, for it was to spy on two suspicious men that he had really retired to this quiet room. Whilst the accent of the pair had been almost flawless, Blake had detected the slightest Dutch hint to their voices. This, combined with the interested manner in which they looked across at Sir Gracefield when most of the other diners were far more important, had put him on his guard. His suspicions had been rewarded, for these outwardly British men were clearly in the pay of the Boers!

"Are you sure it’s him?" one man asked excitedly.

"Absolutely!" said another. "and no guards too… he must be mad! All their other high-ranking officers and VIPs are under constant guard, to find one alone is almost too good to be true! If we can put him out out of the way it will be a major blow to the British, for their leaders will not feel safe even well behind their own lines."

"Ok, breathe no word of this to anybody but the brotherhood. I shall follow him, and we strike tonight!" the first said, and Sexton Blake heard the two leave the room and shut the door quietly. Blake waited 10 minutes and then was up and active, returning to his friends, but betraying no outward sign of the knowledge he had gained.

"Well, I feel like I could sleep for a week!" Sir Gracefield declared at length. "Come, let’s return to the hotel, Blake. Captain, have the ship ready to sail at 10 sharp tomorrow morning!"

"Aye Sir", Captain Hawkton said as he retired. Leaving a party of four to wearily tramp to the hotel for the evening. Sexton Blake appearing more tired than he was, as he searchingly glanced into every shadowy doorway and alley the party passed. As the hotel was reached the detective began to feel confused, had he mis-heard the plot? Had these Boer spies been after somebody else? He decided not to let his guard down at any rate.

"Sailing tomorrow, sir?" Blake asked, slightly confused. Had Gracefield also been suspicious of the strangers in the club?

"Not continuing the journey just yet, Blake" the aristocrat replied. "Whilst you were in the library I chanced to overhear a conversation about deep-sea fishing. It sounds tremendous sport. You'll join in, of course?"

"Of course" Blake replied. Anything that got his charge out of the city was a good thing. He knew the crew of the ship were all well-trusted and loyal. He could not be so sure of anybody ashore, especially not now that Sir Gracefield was threatened from two sources, for did not the Blood Fang's tentacles stretch across the world? If he was not careful they would beat the Boer spies to the mark!

The happy party retired, Sir Gracefield and his wife to sleep, and Blake and We-Wee to keep a close watch for any night-time dangers. Both rooms had large windows looking out over small balconies. A narrow road ran beneath, it was almost an invitation for an assassin or spy to creep in and claim their victim. However the first thing Sexton Blake did was to drop oil on the hinges and mechanism of the door that communicated between the two rooms.

"Penetrating oil, the latest thing from America" he explained. "This door can now be opened in complete silence. But turn the light out first, old chap. Now you watch the road and I’ll watch the window." Blake had no fear that his young assistant would fall asleep, for the lad would consider betraying his master to be worse than death. The hours rolled wearily by. Though We-Wee was out on the balcony the balmy African night was almost as warm as day. Now and then a rowdy group of soldiers or sailors would pass by in the dark alley beneath, and at one point an Arab trader, his business finished for the day, wheeled a small, clattering cart past. We-Wee kept this under close observation, in case it contained any sneaking human cargo, but it passed by without incident and the night was still again.

Gradually even the subdued roar of the city died away. A bell somewhere struck two o clock. All was as still and silent as the grave. Even the clamour of the busy docks had ceased. Neither the lad nor his master had relaxed their vigilance in the slightest, however. Their caution was at last rewarded. A black shadow, almost invisible until it was already moving close by, slunk across the narrow road and looked up at the balcony beneath Sir Gracefield’s room. Another joined it, and a low, murmuring conversation came to We-Wee’s ears. As soon as one of the men reached out and tested the strength of a nearby drainpipe the lad wasted no further time, but slipped across the room and joined his master’s side. Two taps on the arm and a point towards the window just to the right of the sleeping couple’s heads told Blake all he needed to know.

Without a word he drew out his revolver, and We-Wee did likewise. "I’ll take the one on the left" Blake whispered, directly into the lad’s ear, even before anybody appeared at the window. Presently somebody did, however. At first they cautiously looked in. The communicating door was only slightly open, and in a deep shadow. To the intruder it appeared that the room had only two sleeping occupants. The next move of the pair outside briefly confused Blake, for they moved to either side of the large window and appeared to be dropping something onto the sash with syringes. However he quickly realised their purpose.

"Penetrating oil… looks like I’m not the only one" he thought to himself as the crooks waited a minute or two. Then they slowly but steadily lifted the sash, the silence was almost entirely unbroken, and the aristocratic couple showed no signs of stirring at all.

The men stepped into the room on stockinged feet, absolutely silently. They had obviously done this many times before. Still the two detectives held their fire. They did not want to resort to deadly force to tackle mere burglars. The men were not mere burglars, the one on the right slowly advanced to the bed, he shifted his head around, regarding Sir Gracefield from several angles, as if to make sure of his identity. The other man moved closer too. The man on the right, considerably taller, reached inside his dark coat and bought something out. His arm was raised into the air, a ray of moonlight glimmered on a long, vicious-looking blade... and two revolvers spoke at once!

Instantly, all was pandemonium. A stifled gurgle was followed by shriek after piercing shriek from Jennifer. The man who had been on the left began howling in pain somewhere. "What on earth?" bellowed Sir Gracefield.

The English voices were cut through by the tone of Mandarin, spoken by Sexton Blake. "The electric-light, quick!". We-wee sprang to the switch and the room was illuminated instantly, stinging the eyes of the occupants. Sir Gracefield was a shrewd man and took in what had happened at once. The man on the left was writhing in agony and clutching his arm, it was clearly broken and a growing red stain on the carpet showed that some major blood vessel had been hit. At a sign from Blake We-Wee knelt and began to bandage the man's arm tightly above the wound, cutting off the flow of his life-fluid.

"You big scoundrel, I only help you on master's orders" the lad chattered to the man as he worked. The victim did not struggle, shock was setting in and he was now pale and silent. The second man, the taller one who had been holding the knife, lay still and silent. He had been hit directly in the chest and was clearly dead. His wicked-looking weapon had dropped to the floor beside him.

"Oh darling, I thought you were being murdered!" Jennifer exclaimed, white as a sheet and visibly shaken.

"I almost was, by the looks of it, but what the deuce does it mean, Blake?" the young Lord asked, almost as soon as he finished there came a heavy hammering on the door. "Open! Open, in the name of the law!" bellowed a voice from without.

"This will be interesting" Blake drily remarked as he opened the door. An Inspector of police burst in, accompanied by two native constables. The chubby, beetling figure of the hotel manager, absurdly clad in pyjamas and a bowler hat, danced frustratedly behind, muttering "A shooting! In my hotel! This will ruin me!". The constables unceremoniously slammed the door in his face and stood against it to prevent anybody escaping.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Inspector asked, taking in the dead and wounded men and looking at the pair of revolvers, now laying on a small table.

"This man" Sir Gracefield indicated Blake, who noticed the Inspector's ears pricking up at the sound of an upper-class, educated voice, "has just saved my life, sir. These scoundrels were attempting to murder me."

"And you are, sir?" the Inspector asked, his tone of voice suddenly rather more respectful.

"I am sir Hiriam Gracefield, her majesty's representative of works for Hong Kong, and this man is Sexton Blake, a private detective and good friend." The Inspector was subdued entirely. He was not familiar with Sexton Blake, for the detective's fame had not yet reached every corner of the earth. He was familiar with sir Gracefield however, and took the man at his word. It was then that he inspected the dead man, giving a gasp of surprise.

"So, it's you is it? Justice has caught up at last!" he exclaimed, looking into the unseeing eyes of the corpse.

"You know this man?" Sexton Blake asked.

"There's not a policeman in South Africa who doesn't" the Inspector returned. "Piet Morgen, one of the most unscrupulous blackguards you could ever have the displeasure of meeting. Is this your handiwork?"

"It was my assistant's" Blake replied, indicating We-Wee who was keeping guard over the live criminal, not that he was likely to be going anywhere. His breath came in slow gasps, he looked hardly conscious.

"I'm sorry I aimed to kill" the lad exclaimed "but his lordship's life was in big danger!".

"No, that's quite alright" The Inspector now "it's a shame we didn't get the chance to put Morgen in front of a jury, but if we had I don't doubt he would have ended up the same way, just with a rope instead of a bullet. This other" he turned to the wounded man "I don't know him by sight, but doubtless something will turn up when we look up the descriptions of wanted men at the station".

"What I am wondering about" sir Gracefield turned again to Sexton Blake "is how you knew these men would attempt to murder me?"

"I overheard two men, not these, talking about murdering somebody important in the club tonight. They were talking in Dutch so I clearly took them for Boer spies and kept watch".

"Why on earth didn't you tell me of your suspicions then, man?"

"I didn't want to cause your lordship undue worry"

"Undue worry? If being woken up by gunfire isn't undue worry I'd like to know what is!" sir Gracefield almost exploded. But as he was unharmed, and as the failed attack had resulted in the removal of a sorely-wanted criminal, his anger did not last long.

The rest of the investigation took an hour, the constables took the wounded man away, the hotel manager was placated by a larger-than-usual tip from Sexton Blake and other legal items had to be organised. The great detective also gave a description of the two spies he had seen in the club. They had evidently paid some ruffians to do the dirty work believing they themselves would be safe from the law should anything go wrong. The party of four spent the rest of the night awake in Blake and We-Wee's room, the events of the night had not exactly inclined any of them to sleep.

The previous plans for a longer stay in Cape Town and deep-sea fishing were, of course, abandoned. The Starlight sailed that day and continued on her journey. The captain and first mate called the men together and explained the situation, for the crew were inclined to grumble about their shore leave being cut short. When they heard of the attempted assassination, though, they were furious. One burly stoker, Pete Wilson, stepped forwards.

"I think I speak for all the men, sir. I wish I'd got my hands on those dirty spies, they would have wished for a firin' squad then! I say if anybody else tries to get at his lordship, they'll have to go through us first!" A chorus of "hear hear"'s followed from the rest of the men, they were a loyal and hard-working bunch, almost glad to be deprived of their leave now they knew the reason. Sexton Blake looked on approvingly as they returned to their work. He was glad that the men felt that way, for he expected that the run-in with the Boer spies was not the only danger that would threaten during the voyage. In those days the seas around Malaya and Burma were known for piracy, as things had once been on the Spanish Main around South America, and are today off the coast of Somalia. Even if the Blood Fang did not employ pirates to specifically seek out the Starlight, the pirates would consider such a small vessel an easy target and raid her on their own account.

The next few weeks were uneventful, the ship plodded her way up the eastern coast of Africa and beneath the Arabian peninsula without incident. Though a sharp watch was kept at all times, and on a few occasions the men were given gunnery drill with the quick-firer. The first mate, a hulking ex-naval man named Arthur Caldwell, supervised this. His foghorn-like voice and menacing appearance – he wore an eye patch after losing one eye to a dockyard accident that had cut short his naval career – soon urged the men into functioning as a well-oiled machine. Soon they could pump a succession of four-pounder shells with the accuracy of any of Her Majesty's warships.

One day, shortly after the sun rose, a man on watch raised the cry of "Ship ahoy!". There was a general rush to the port rail, and soon all eyes were on a small, distant merchant ship. She was showing no lights, though the sun was rising rapidly the day was still gloomy as yet, and a slight fog hung over the sea. Some of the crew speculated on this, wondering if the vessel was adrift.

On the bridge Captain Hawkton already had the glass to his eye and was scanning the distant vessel.

"A Spaniard, and no sign of life aboard her by the looks of it. This is mysterious, what do you think sir?" This to Sexton Blake, who had rushed up the steps as soon as he heard the cry.

"Be careful, captain. This could be a pirate trap, a ship that appears lifeless until another approaches her..."

"You are right, but if she is in distress it is the duty of every sailor to offer assistance. I believe we should put out a boat with an armed party aboard and investigate" the captain seemed determined, and Sexton Blake agreed, on the condition that he accompanied the boarding party. The captain agreed to this and, of course, We-Wee followed his master. The Starlight moved as close as she dared, and all aboard her noticed a foul smell drifting over the sea. The smell of decay and death.

"It's an ill omen, to be sure" one of the more superstitious members of the crew remarked to his fellows. However the next moment he was amongst those who readily volunteered for the boarding party. Captain Hawkton selected the strongest fighters and best marksmen, and the small boat put off, her rowers pulling strongly and the others keeping their gaze fixed upon the mysterious vessel ahead. Any second they expected a fierce scream and a volley of fire from a concealed crew of pirates, but all was silent as the small boat came right up to her.

"All quiet so far, sir" a man remarked to the Mate, who was senior crewman aboard the boat, as they threw grappling-irons and caught the Spanish vessel's rails. Her flag streamed out, tattered, and several of her windows were broken. All was still silent despite repeated hails.

The boarding party filed slowly up the rope ladders, as each man reached the top he uttered a cry of shock and rage, most removed their hats as they did so, for the deck was a scene of devastation! Lifeless bodies lay scattered around, they had been dead and exposed to the elements for several weeks at least, the smell was horrendous. Not all of them were Spanish, several dark Malaysian forms were scattered about, fierce weapons such as the wavy sword known as a Kris were still clutched in their hands. Pirates! A battle had been fought and the Spanish crew had lost it, but the victorious pirates had left their dead as well, obviously being too intent on plunder.

"Well sir, as you are a detective, used to inspecting a murder scene, what do you make of this one?" the mate asked Sexton Blake. To the great detective the scene was an open book. The wooden bridge was riddled with bullets, many had passed through but there had been enough to slay all of the ship's officers, who had clearly made a last stand there. The empty casings of revolver bullets laying around told their own story, the weapons themselves had been carried away by the raiders. What was surprising was the half-dressed state of most of the crew, and the lack of bullet-holes around the rest of the vessel.

"They were taken by surprise, evidently at night" Blake deduced, pointing out the signs here and there. "They had no chance."

The party moved below decks now. The smell was indescribable, the gangways littered with corpses. In the captain's cabin a small safe had been crudely blown open, the soot and debris of black powder obvious to all eyes. In another room they found a gun locker, it's door swinging open.

"This has been blown too" Blake remarked as he inspected the lock. "The guns were all locked up in here, when the crew were taken by surprise they had nothing to fight back with. The pirates blew the lock and took all of the rifles for themselves long after the battle was over".

Caldwell, who was looking at the scene in a furious mood, for he hated all those who used the seas for robbery, was determined that the same would not happen on the Starlight.

"I advise that from now on all of our crew carry a loaded rifle, and that they don't let it out of their sight!" Sexton Blake was clearly thinking along the same lines, and this advice was followed as soon as the boarding party returned.

The Spanish ship had evidently been carrying a small cargo of bales of fabric and crates of wine. Most of this was missing but plenty remained, the pirates had clearly taken as much as they could carry and cast the rest adrift. What surprised Blake was the fact the ship had not been set on fire and left to sink, it would have destroyed the evidence. He assumed the pirates felt safe enough to leave this terrible, floating boast adrift as a warning to others.

"We can't leave her drifting, of course, but on the other hand we can't afford to hang around where we may be surrounded by pirates. To take her in tow would slow us down considerably..." the great detective was wondering on what to do. His problem was answered by the hail of "ship ahoy!" from crewmen left on the deck. Rushing up, Blake put the glass to his eye and watched the distant vessel.

"Spanish, too!" he exclaimed. This ship was much larger than the one they had boarded, and was sailing directly towards them. The mate ordered distress flags run up, and soon the larger ship, Azul, was alongside.

"What has happened?" the captain of the Azul shouted down. He looked every inch the professional sailor, Sexton Blake, who spoke Spanish, among several European languages, as well as if he had been born to it, had a short conversation with the man. He asked the captain to take over the vessel and to take her in tow, for the Azul would have no trouble pulling this smaller ship. The Spaniard readily agreed, especially when Blake generously offered him the salvage money that would otherwise have rightfully belonged to the British crew. Some of the Azul's crew came aboard, regarding their dead countrymen with fury and wishing terrible vengeance upon the pirates.

The boarding party from Starlight put off, behind them came the splash of men being buried at sea, and Catholic prayers for the dead were solemnly read out. The victims of the terrible pirate attack were being sent to their final resting place in an appropriate manner, small comfort for the families and loved ones they had left behind.

In a gloomy mood the Starlight continued her journey, more than one of the crewmen in the mess that night, with loaded rifles propped against their chairs, could be heard wishing to get to grips with the dastardly pirates and subject them to all manner of fanciful violence and humiliation. Little did these men realise how soon they would get their chance.

The Starlight fairly flew through the water over the next two days. During the day the stokers pumped coal into the hungry engines at a punishing speed, and the spray lashed over the decks, a large wake kicked up behind. At night she was forced to slacken speed, but did so only out of necessity, for all of the crew wanted to pass through the pirate-patrolled waters as fast as they could, and reach the safety of a European harbour.

It was near midnight, and the moon was but a silver sliver in the heavens, casting almost no light. The sea was calm and Starlight was plodding along at dead slow. Nobody aboard liked it, least of all Sexton Blake, but there was nothing else for it in such poor visibility. Most men were below, asleep. Only the stokers, steersman and the watch were awake. These last patrolled the deck, all nerves on edge and their loaded rifles ready for action. It was on just such a night as this, their imaginations told them, that the Spanish ship had been set upon suddenly.

Along the front half of the starboard side trod Jack Grove, a capable seaman of several years experience. He had been almost born to sailing, and was the most vigilant of all on that night. It was well that he was. The small waves, lapping against the hull of the vessel, had a regular rhythm. This was becoming more and more broken, and Jack Grove could only think of one explanation, the ship was coming into the lee of another object. He knew the man steering was skilled at his craft and would have given any dangerous rocks or small islands a wide berth, leaving only one option – another ship. However no lights of any kind could be seen, and all was silent.

With a sudden inspiration, Jack crouched down, it was as well he did, for he noticed several stars being blotted out by a large, black shape nearby. Instantly his eyes filled in the rest of the shape he could see, the characteristic sail of a Junk, a type of sailing ship peculiar to these parts, and she was very close by, almost touching.

"Ahoy there! What do you think you are doing?" he shouted, causing the ears of the other crewmen awake on deck to prick up. There was a soft thud on the deck of Starlight, and a padding of bare feet. Jack looked around instantly, and had just time to fling up his rifle as a wicked sword was bought sharply down. It caught in the woodwork of the weapon and Jack briefly found himself face to face with a savage-looking Malaysian. That he was a pirate was hardly in doubt, his gaudy costume and an ugly scar on his cheek told a tale of a life spent fighting and raiding upon the sea. The pirate gave a low snarl, and now Jack could hear others thudding aboard the ship. He would have to warn the crew and fast, with a sudden grin at the pirate, Jack reached around the trigger of his weapon and pulled it. The barrel was pointed out to sea, and the bullet harmed nobody, but the shot awakened the rest of the ship. The struggle was on!

With a howl of rage the pirates leaped aboard the Starlight in ever-greater numbers. All thought of surprise was forgotten now. Jack Grove dropped backwards, kicking out and sending the pirate flying overhead. The man crashed into two of his comrades that had been racing to help. Jack's rifle was aimed and this time did the deadly job it was made for, sending one of the pirates to the deck. Other members of the crew dashed up the companionway, guns in their hands. The pirates who had made for the entrance, expecting unarmed, confused men to appear, had a warm time of it, and five of their number dropped in death's convulsions in as many seconds. Up on the bridge the officers had gathered, and their revolvers did terrible execution. A scattering of fire came now from the pirate ship, and bullets thudded into woodwork or clanged against metal. The pirate's aim was poor, and was made worse by the fact their fire was returned with interest. All of the sleeping men were now aroused and a terrible struggle was in progress. Clubbed rifles swung here and there, contrasting with flashing swords and knives belonging to the attackers.

Into this fierce battle emerged Sexton Blake and We-Wee, their revolvers spitting fire. In a flash Blake spotted that the rifles that several of the pirates carried were of Spanish pattern. These, then, were the same marauding crew that had sacked the Spanish vessel. He looked aft, several of the stokers had rushed up from the engine room. These had had been left unarmed while they worked, because of the heat and sparks below, but now they were well in the fray, swinging shovels with a will. The fire from the bridge had now slackened as the press of fighting men at the front of the ship was too thick to pick out friend from foe. Bullets still occasionally sailed in from the decks of the pirate ship, and almost always claimed one of their own side, who outnumbered the crew of Starlight at least three to one.

The two detectives were up to their necks in the battle, firing left and right. Once Blake's revolver was empty he snatched up a sword from a fallen man and began to thrust and parry with great skill. He worked his way towards a burly, bearded man dressed in an array of gaudy fabrics and the jewellery of at least three continents. He rightly guessed this was the captain of the pirate ship. The two men met, their swords clashing together with a resounding ring. Sexton Blake was the smaller man, but he was a lot stronger than he looked, and had learned swordsmanship from the masters. The pirate had no little skill himself, he had probably fought his way to his position, Blake thought. Every blow the detective made was parried. The pirate swung impetuously and made Blake's hands ring with the force of the impact as he blocked. The detective leapt over the kicking body of a pirate during the fight, and noticed the captain looking around nervously. The battle had gone badly with his crew, and their bodies littered the deck. Blake, whose remarkable powers of observation missed nothing, even at only the briefest glance, recalled that he had seen no British bodies laying around. Clearly surprise was the only fighting skill most of the pirates had, and when anybody fought back against them they came off worse. Suddenly Blake saw an opening, his sword slashed low and drew a long cut across the pirate's abdomen. If the man had surrendered Blake would have tended the wound immediately, but the captain instead made a vicious thrust, grazing Blake's side as he did so. The detective swung again and the pirate captain's head thudded to the deck, followed by his body.

Blake looked around, expecting to be set upon by another assailant. The fight had taken him and the captain right to the railings at the bow of the ship. He now saw that the pirates had been driven back amidships. The Starlight was slowly beginning to pull away from the pirate ship, and the stokers had returned below and were working like demons. Even in the struggle of man-to-man combat Captain Hawkton had kept his mind on managing the ship as a whole. The crew had neatly arranged themselves in a line, whilst others held the pirates back with swords and bludgeons. At a signal these men lay flat and the others poured several telling volleys of rifle fire into the pirate ranks. Those that survived plunged overboard in terror, and the Starlight was at last free of her unwelcome visitors.

The battle was not yet over, however. Lights sprang up on the pirate ship, and her large sail was turned to catch the wind. Men pressed forwards on her deck, uttering fierce cries and threats.

"Ready the quick-firer!" the voice of the first mate, Arthur Caldwell, rang out. Men sprang to this weapon, pulling it's tarpaulin off and getting into position. A small hatch was opened and a clip of shells was passed up and loaded. As Sexton Blake watched these preparations he felt a tap on the shoulder, and turned around to see We-Wee holding out his revolver.

"Your gun, master, you may need it yet" the lad said, nodding off to port. Blake looked that way himself and saw more lights springing up. Two, three. And to starboard too now. Fully six pirate ships in all were now pursuing the Starlight. The late captain had evidently had something like a small army at his command. Any desperate cut-throat ready to sail the seas in search of plunder would join up and eventually come under his banner.

The quick-firer spoke now. Pom! Pom! Pom! A salvo of small shells, fired one after the other, splashed down around the closest vessel, the one that had been responsible for the first attack. If this was intended to make her give up the pursuit it had the opposite effect, and she began to tack rapidly to keep pace with her steam-driven prey.

"Let 'em have it, lads!" came Caldwell's voice, and the quick-firer spoke again. A shell burst against the mast of the pirate, sowing shrapnel about her decks. A second and third slammed into her bows, splitting the wood open and allowing the sea in. Men could already be seen abandoning her as she came to an abrupt halt and began to shrink behind.

The other vessels were closer now, coming diagonally across the path of Starlight. An elderly muzzle-loader in the bows of one spat a ball across the deck, splintering part of the railing. A man was stuck by the flying debris and fell to the deck, screaming and holding his face. In a second Blake was at his side and tending to the wounds, fortunately they were more painful than dangerous.

This first shot became the signal for general firing from the pirate ships. However in common with their rifle fire in the earlier battle they were inaccurate and ill-disciplined. The quick-firer could manage at least 12 shots to every one of theirs. Men on their decks fired wildly with a varied array of firearms, but the range was too great for these to have any real effect. Another cannonball landed in the water just ahead of the British ship, showering spray. The quick-firer was turned on the source of this and spat fire. The salvo of shells burst along the deck of the pirate. Her sail took fire and frantic men could be seen leaping overboard. Still the pursuit went on, and now no mercy was shown to the other ships, which had been warned to keep away several times. One had moved in close behind Starlight and received a fair hail of fire that left her bow shattered. Her stern reared up and the crew were flung forwards as the sudden drag told.

Three enemy ships left now. Two were still pursing whilst the other, a heavier vessel with a small sail, was being left behind. The men aboard roaring angrily at the loss of their prey. For all their villainy they were brave, the thought of the deadly shells of the quick firer did not enter their head. Another blast from the muzzle-loaders, more shells splashed down close upon either side. The pirates were aiming more carefully now, and tacking ever more frequently to avoid the return fire.

Sexton Blake had the glass pressed to his eyes now, he saw several barrels on board one of the pirate ships and shouted to the mate to direct his fire at that one. The order was obeyed and, after several misses, a shell struck home. The relatively small shell would not have done a great deal of damage on it's own, but the contents of the barrels, gunpowder as Blake had correctly suspected, provided a spectacular fireball. The sea itself seemed to erupt, boiling, beneath the stricken junk, which all but ceased to exist. A few burning, tumbling timbers that sizzled and vanished when they hit the sea was all that told of her presence.

The sudden, total destruction of another of their fleet finally made the pirates on the one remaining fast ship abandon the chase. The sea in this part of the world had been made significantly safer in the space of about two hours, with many a villainous adventurer going to the bottom.

"Stand down" Caldwell ordered. From the captain came a request for damage reports. Aside from the trifling hole in the railing and a splintered gouge on the deck, Starlight was virtually untouched, though many bullet holes would need patching up before she sailed back to colder regions. Even more remarkable was the fact that not one of her crew had been killed, though some had severe injuries all would live. Sexton Blake's medical skill was in no small part responsible for this. The story was not the same for the pirates who remained on board. The deck was fairly littered with them, and most were dead. Others had severe wounds and were moaning and babbling in a stupor. Small trails of crimson criss-crossed the deck as the course of the running blood was repeatedly altered by the ship's motion. We-Wee had disappeared somewhere, Sexton Blake found him binding up lethargic pirate, one of three who had only been knocked unconscious. These three were all at the stern, where the stokers had laid into them with shovels.

Sir Gracefield climbed down from the bridge, he had been up there throughout the battle, blazing away with his revolver whenever he had been able to get a clear shot. He still carried the weapon, loading it as he walked. "Down to the last six, that was a jolly near thing!"

"Quite, sir" the detective replied, inwardly glad that his friend had survived the fierce battle. He had not seen him at all during the struggle and was a little worried that he had somehow been carried off to be held for ransom, or perhaps offered up as a sacrifice to some obscure god.

"Still we gave them a warm time of it, what?" the young lord surveyed the dead, and the prisoners. "What's to be done with these chaps, I wonder?"

"Irons, before anything. And in separate rooms, if you please" Blake answered, directing his speech towards some men who were beginning to prod the pirates below. "I want to try and get some information out of them, where their hideout is and the like. We can pass it on to the British consul when we arrive."

"Capital idea, Blake. I should have thought of it myself, it would have been a feather in my cap on my first day at the job" Gracefield said as he turned away. "Oh well, I don't know about you, but I'm turning in. I don't think we'll be much troubled by that bunch again tonight".

The prophecy proved to be correct, and dawn on the next day found them alone on the tropical sea. The pirates had obviously decided revenge for their captain was not that important. He, along with the rest of his dead men, was buried at sea according to the sailor's custom. The imprisoned pirates had been fed well and had their wounds treated overnight. Blake hoped to interrogate them and discover if the Blood Fang had indeed sent them. To this end he and Sir Gracefield went below. Blake conducted the interrogation in Malay, a language Sir Gracefield knew nothing of. It was as well, for the detective did not yet want the young lord to know of the danger that threatened him. He still hoped that any assassins sent by the Blood Fang would be easily tripped up if they thought their target to be unguarded.

The first pirate to be interrogated was a thin, shifty-eyed man who was sparsely dressed. Clearly a low-ranking member of the crew. He looked up with fear as the men entered. Sexton Blake carried a small, black case and placed it suggestively on a side table. The pirate was chained and unable to move very far. Apart from this he had been well treated, his wounds bandaged and good food provided. However the background he came from made him expect no mercy from an enemy.

Blake got straight to the point. "We have reason to believe that you were sent to attack our ship by the Blood Fang" he asked, watching the pirate's face closely for a sign of recognition. There was none, but he pressed on regardless. "You can either admit the truth, and tell us what their plans are, or..." he suggestively motioned to the black case. The pirate's eyes followed him and fixed themselves upon it. It is strange how an element of the unknown can give the most innocent object a terrifying aura. The man hardly kept his eyes off the case for the rest of the questioning.

"Have mercy sir, I know nothing of this Blood Fang!". His eyes told Blake as clearly as anything that the man genuinely knew nothing.

"What's he saying, Blake?" Sir Gracefield asked, for he had not understood a word of what had been said.

"That he doesn't know where the pirate's harbour is, he only recently joined their crew" Blake lied. He turned to the pirate again. "If you won't talk, we'll have to take ...steps." He made a sign to Sir Gracefield, who extracted a large syringe from the bag. The pirate shrank back in terror, begging for mercy.

"I don't know anything, I really don't!" he cried, as the two men remorselessly advanced on him. This was all part of the plan, his horrified cries would carry to the other pirates. After no little difficulty the man was injected. His struggles quickly subsided and he lay still.

"Good lord, Blake! Surely we haven't really poisoned him?" Sir Gracefield asked in alarm.

"It's alright, sir" Blake replied. "The injection is harmless, it simply puts people to sleep. It was the man's screams I was after. They will hopefully have had more effect on the next man.

The next pirate was a much larger, bearded man who looked as if he was entering middle age. As soon as the door of his cell was opened he was uttering fierce threats, demanding a man-to-man duel in which he would surely triumph. Again the question of the Blood Fang was put to him. This time Blake saw a flicker of confused recognition. The man had obviously heard the name somewhere, but could not remember where. He had more than likely lived a long and adventurous life of crime, so it is possible he would have heard the name at some point. However Blake knew that the name of the Blood Fang was not mentioned unless they had some interest in a particular plan. This man, even despite his evident long life of robbery and piracy, had still been lucky to have heard the name uttered. It was likely that he had heard it recently, in connection with the gang's current target – Sir Gracefield. The trail was getting warmer!

Blake wasted the pirate's time with some further questions of no consequence – mainly the location of several missing treasures that had been stolen from ships in the region. He knew the man would not talk, and received a barrage of angry threats in reply. Again, these would carry to the ears of the final pirate, waiting further along. The syringe was produced in due course and the second man fell under the spell of the drug.

The third pirate had been deliberately left until last. Compared to the other two men he looked intelligent and cultured. His body was made of athletic muscle, and his clothes, as far as the gaudy array of pirates goes, had an element of class and dignity about them. He was clearly higher up in the pirate rankings, though according to their code of honour insisted he was a lowly deck-swabber. As Sexton Blake entered he neither shrank back nor shouted, despite the terrifying noises he must have heard from the other cells. Instead he simply looked the detective up and down, like a boxer sizing up an opponent. He evidently realised the screaming had been for his benefit and knew he would not come to real harm. He probably even regarded their reluctance to use torture a weakness of British people.

This time, the Blood Fang was not mentioned in the beginning. Instead Blake started asking the man general questions about the pirates – how many ships they had, who led them, where their harbour was located. He was met with silence at first, then ridicule, and finally information that sounded convincing but which was clearly false. An intelligent and cunning opponent indeed.

Now, the Blood Fang was mentioned. But Sexton Blake did not refer to it as a gang, rather as a valuable ruby that had been stolen. The pirate reacted – a flash of the briefest fear, quickly recovered. He again lied about the location of the Blood Fang Ruby – a non-existent object. But Sexton Blake had achieved his real aim. This man knew of the Blood Fang Triad!

"You have been a great help to us" the great detective said at last, looking sternly at the pirate. "The other two told us nothing, even when we had to resort to ...persuasion".

"You have the upper hand" the pirate replied. "Could I do anything else? I know I'll hang anyway".

"Must you?" Blake asked. "With your information the pirates of Malaya will be smashed. You have proven a great help to the empire, perhaps we could come to some arrangement?"

"You are too kind, sir" the pirate was beginning to look excited, though he covered his emotions well. He had honestly expected to die eventually, a chance of escape was more than he was hoping for.

"Yes, I think in light of your information you need not swing, as those others surely will. Instead I will arrange for a port-hole to be left open when we dock in Singapore. Where you go from there is your own business".

"A thousand blessings upon you, sir!" the pirate began a flow of heartfelt compliments that was cut short by the slamming of the cell door. Sexton Blake turned to Sir Gracefield.

"That man was more cooperative. He gave me a few hints, and in light of that I suggest we let him escape. No doubt he will drift back to a life of crime eventually, but ought to have been frightened onto the straight and narrow for the present". Again Sir Gracefield had not understood a word of the interrogation. His studies of Mandarin were occupying most of his spare time aboard and he had no time to spend on picking up other languages.

A few weeks later the Starlight put into Singapore. This bustling fortress-port was regarded as almost a Gibraltar of the east, and was jealously protected by the British. As Blake had promised the third pirate was 'accidentally' overlooked. With a cunning smile on his face the man, who had long since worked his bonds loose, slipped out of the open porthole in his cell. It was not far above the waterline and he slithered away into the gently-lapping, warm waters of the harbour like an eel. Truly he, an agent of the Blood Fang, would receive high honours. Not only did he know the name of the ship in which the hated Hiriam Gracefield sailed on, he had also managed to "put one over" on that fool of a detective, Sexton Blake. Whilst Blake's fame had not yet reached the heights it later would, the Blood Fang had, in their own way, come to know and fear him. Well Qui-Sho, as this man was named, would be able to put their minds at rest. The man was a blunderer, and would be easily put out of the way when the time came.

Qui-Sho was back on land now, he stood for a few moments on the quay, dripping wet but quickly drying in the tropical heat. Away to his left the two other pirates – though he had sailed with them they meant nothing to him – were being handed over to the British Navy for an inevitable hanging. In front of him lay the crowded, busy port town. For a few moments he thought about where to find the Singapore headquarters of the Blood Fang.

"Fast ride, sir. Very cheap!" a voice broke into Qui-Sho's thoughts. He looked down to see a grinning idiot of a coolie beaming up at him, and pointing towards a rickshaw. At that moment he recalled the address of the building he wanted, and tossed a silver coin to the driver, climbing aboard. He came to regret the decision, as the coolie barely seemed to know his way around the quayside, let alone the city. After asking for directions three times the building – outwardly a dingy noodle restaurant – was reached.

"I tell you fast ride, sir!" The coolie beamed at him again, holding out his hand for a tip. He received a shove into the gutter as Qui-Sho passed inside the restaurant. The coolie looked around, appearing shocked at his sudden mistreatment. The rest of the street was almost deserted, just a few loafers sat here and there taking no interest in anything. In a second the face of the coolie became a determined, focused look as he darted to the back of the building and scaled a fence. For in reality he was We-Wee!

Inside, Qui-Sho gave a complex series of passwords and was admitted to a back room. This was hung with fine draperies and was tastefully decorated with exquisite sculptures. The smell of refined opium hung in the air. The men in this room were all members of the Blood Fang, and it was to these that Qui-Sho made his report. Little did he suspect that at a crack in the wall – the building's intentionally poor exterior betraying it's secrets – hostile ears were listening!

"What is your report?" a cultured, upper-class Chinese voice asked as Qui-Sho entered.

"Gracefield is here, your excellency. He will reach Hong Kong within a week" the one-time pirate replied.

"He is guarded?" the leader asked.

"He has the detective Sexton Blake with him, master. But stay! It appears the reports we have had of that man are greatly exaggerated. He interrogated me himself, he is a fool. I threw the dust in his eyes easily. He knows nothing of our purpose."

"It is good. He is the one man who could ruin our operations, he must be disposed of, and then we will sweep aside the white devils and rule all of China!"

The meeting continued with discussion of Blood Fang operations within Singapore itself, evidently Qui-Sho was to remain there while others went on to carry out the plan in Hong Kong. Within the hour all that had been plotted at this secret meeting was being repeated to Sexton Blake, the detective written off as an idiot so easily by his enemies!

The stay in Singapore lasted less than 24 hours, for it was really just to report the pirate attack, hand over the prisoners and take on more medical supplies for the wounded – most well on the way to recovery. Of course Sexton Blake had his own purposes, and these had been fulfilled admirably too. After a few more days fast, uneventful sailing the Starlight at last arrived at her destination – Hong Kong! The swarming crowds, the clamour of dockers and the towering buildings of Singapore and even Cape Town had nothing on this place. A true jewel in the crown of the British Empire and a major trading post of the east. Money flowed through this harbour as swiftly as the water, the ancient "silk road" from east to west was here recreated on an immeasurably grander scale, and the Union Jack crowned it all!

We-Wee's excitement at being back in 'China' was obvious to all. On the voyage he had only taught Sir Gracefield his language slowly and carefully, now he virtually dragged the man through the streets, asking people questions and demanding they answer slowly, for the young lord to hear. He constantly pointed out the letters on signs, rattling off their meaning so quickly even Sexton Blake was soon lost and doubting if he knew as much Chinese as he thought he did.

Soon the party arrived at the British consulate, and here Sir Gracefield took leave of them temporarily. "I suppose I shall have to have a lengthy interview with the chap up top" he remarked as he was admitted by a guard. "After that voyage the whole thing will seem a frightful bore. Still, these things are sent to try us." He swung into the building, drily added "I'll try not to be more than two hours" over his shoulder and was lost to sight. Sexton Blake turned and saw that We-Wee was in earnest conversation with a young urchin, picking up the local gossip, no doubt. Left alone, the great detective decided to ramble through the city and see what he could see. He had no anxiety for Sir Gracefield at the moment, it was unlikely the Blood Fang would open the batting by an open attack on the British authorities. The young lord was safe inside the consulate.

He wandered aimlessly, taking in the grand European-style buildings sitting cheek by jowl with the wooden shacks of the poor. Here a Buddhist temple, with it's curved roof and colourful, ornate carvings. There a Protestant church, grey and severe by contrast. A grand carriage, drawn by four horses, swept by. Then a rickshaw, drawn by a ragged man wearing a wide, pointed hat. "Marco Polo of the nineteenth century" Blake thought to himself.

Suddenly, a cry from behind him, in the unmistakable accents of the English public school. "Blackie? It's Blackie! As I live and breathe!". Blake turned around, the voice led him to expect a white Englishman, one of friends from school or university, where "Blackie" had been his nickname. Instead he was greeted by a short, rotund Chinese man, dressed uncomfortably in European style.

"Ying Chiang!" Blake recognised the man instantly. Chiang had been a friend of his at university, a brilliant chemist. Whilst Blake had studied medicine and later law, taking in a little of everything else along the way, Chiang had dedicated himself solely to "stinks", as public school slang termed chemicals. What the short man didn't know about chemistry wasn't worth knowing. "Or should I call you Doctor Chiang now?" Blake wondered aloud.

"Whatever you like, old man, but what are you doing here? Fighting the plague?" the Doctor asked, for the last time he had seen Sexton Blake had been shortly after university, when the detective was still looking at a career as a doctor.

"No, I don't have much to do with medicine these days" Blake replied. "In fact I'm here on holiday, with a little of a different business mixed in. But never mind that, how are you?".

Chiang beamed. "Ahh the same old Blackie, you never could settle on one thing. Well apart from those crime stories, do you think Sherlock Holmes will ever be bought back? Well never mind that now. I've not been idle myself, in fact come along to my laboratory, I'll show you something to make you sit up!". Before Blake knew where he was he was being pulled along a maze of streets to a large house, set in what might be called spacious grounds, considering the premium on space in Hong Kong. When Dr Chiang got excited about some experiment he was working on he just had to show it off, and the fact other people may not be so enthusiastic about a liquid changing colour never occurred to him.

The doctor led the way into the house. A silent butler, also Chinese, stood by. Blake was led relentlessly on, past small tables cluttered with bound scientific journals and reference volumes scattered about. Everything was in a state of great disorder, but scrupulously clean. Blake grinned, the cleaning was evidently the work of the butler, but the state of disorder had been kept by the doctor, who exactly where everything was and would explode with fury if all the books had been stacked neatly on shelves. At the rear of the house the pair came to a large and well-appointed laboratory. Again equipment and notebooks, filled with a confused mixture of Chinese and English, were scattered randomly about.

"Well, you are certainly doing all right for yourself..." Blake finally spoke, as they came to a halt at one bench which looked no different to the others.

"Of course I am!" Doctor Chiang replied, casting a strange glance at the detective. "I invented dioxysucrose, you know! That was a nice little earner. Didn't you read the article in the Hong Kong Chemical Journal?"

"Ah yes, I do recall something..." Blake humoured the man. "But what do you have to show me?"

"What? Can't you see it?" Chiang replied. He proudly held up a white lump of rock. It appeared to be a large piece of quartz, but with a waxy texture to it's surface and an irregular, angular shape like coal.

"Ah, fascinating" Blake mock-gasped, the joke going over Chiang's head. "But what does it do?"

"Do? DO? Why it will revolutionise transport in the Twentieth century, that's what it will do!" Chiang spluttered. "Can't you see the possibilities?"

Blake made a prolonged, careful scrutiny of the white lump that the scientist was still holding up proudly. "No, not really" he admitted.

"Ah, of course. A demonstration is evidently required. Well follow me!" Chiang led the way into the back garden, rather tangled and overgrown. Clearly the duties of the butler only extended inside the building. A roughly-beaten path led to a secluded arbour. "Garden's in a terrible state, I must take that gardener in hand, he deserves the sack" Chiang muttered. More probably the gardener had been sacked long ago and the doctor had forgotten to find a replacement.

"Here we are!" Chiang said, pointing to one of a number of contrivances a little like large model hot-air balloons. They had large canvas envelopes, at present deflated and spread out on the ground. In place of baskets they had heavy-looking metal vessels not unlike small wood burning stoves. Chiang placed the white lump in the nearest of these and shut the door, screwing the handle to ensure it was shut tightly. "Now watch" he said, opening a valve at the top of the 'stove' and dropping in a match. The chemist stepped back sharply and Blake did likewise. There came a gentle orange glow from the door of the stove that rapidly increased in brightness. The canvas envelope, which Blake now saw ended with a tight fitting collar around the chimney of the stove, rapidly filled and ballooned upwards. In only a minute and a half it was fully inflated, and the whole contrivance, about twice the height of a man, lifted off the ground and rose rapidly, before catching the breeze and drifting slowly away to sea.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Chiang asked. Blake too now saw the possibilities of this great invention. "A new form of chemically-treated coal that can produce, by hot air, a lifting power fully fifty times it's own weight! Think of it, Blake! Great ships of the air, carrying steam engines, able to fly in any direction they pleased! Why it could cut the journey time from Hong Kong to London down to only a week!"

"But this is remarkable!" Blake said, watching the rapidly-receding balloon. "Patented, of course?"

"Not yet" Chiang admitted. "Too much fiddly paperwork, you know. Besides the stuff is extremely expensive to produce. You don't come across the raw materials just anywhere. They are most abundant right up near Mongolia. It costs a great deal to get them sent down". He turned back to the laboratory. "In fact that little lot was almost the last of the present batch. I must order more. Of course I get different companies to supply the constituents individually, so there's no chance of them guessing what I'm doing!"

Blake followed Chiang back into the house. He was sure if he had access to all of the necessary chemicals he would not be able to reproduce this wonder-fuel, but there again was Chiang's belief that everybody thought the same way as he did.

After dining together at a restaurant that Chiang knew of, Sexton Blake was finally able to extract himself from the chemist's presence and strolled back to the British consulate. Several hours had passed and he was lucky enough to catch Sir Gracefield just as he was coming out. "What a load of fuss over nothing" the aristocrat said, by way of greeting. "Trying to cram me and Jenny into some flat attached to the building! You don't work very well with the locals if you don't understand them. Come, Blake, we can find rooms together in a more relaxed part of the city. Living on my office doorstep? Shan't hear of it, old man."

With growing unease Sexton Blake followed Sir Gracefield around the city as he looked at various lodgings. They were all large and well-appointed places it was true, but the fact they were not set apart behind walls and guards, like the consulate was, made him uneasy. Then suddenly he had an inspiration.

"Perhaps, sir, instead of trying to rent one good flat, would it not be better to rent one whole building? It might be unfurnished, but you certainly wouldn't be left wanting for space that way."

"Capital idea, Blake! No doubt Jenny is already eyeing up all the vases and statues she wants to buy. I left her in the care of Captain Hawkton, you know. We'll have to return to the ship later to unpack our belongings. Ah but here's a likely place to rent!" Sir Gracefield rambled on as he strolled up to a tall, narrow building. Sexton Blake eyed it approvingly. The place had apparently once been a poor part of the town, though now had more of an air of prosperity about it. The building itself had narrow, barred windows on the ground floor,and the door opened directly to a steep staircase. It would be hard for an assassin to sneak in unnoticed.

"I think it's perfect" the detective said after a brief pause. "Large enough, and you'll certainly be living amongst the people, it looks like a lot of successful merchants live around here, your job is something to do with trade isn't it?"

"Yes, but let's leave the subject of work for the office! I'll have to make enquiries."

And so Sir Gracefield and his wife Jennifer were installed in a virtual fortress, unaware of the deadly danger that threatened them, but well protected from it all the same. Sexton Blake and We-Wee became his translators and language teachers, and took rooms in the same building. What the lord did not know was how they kept a careful watch out, night and day, for the machinations of the Blood Fang... but a week passed, two, three... and there was no sign of anything even slightly suspicious. So far as they could tell nobody was even watching the house.

Sexton Blake yawned deeply, stretching his arms out, before reaching over the desk for the next item of work to be translated. "Not sleeping well?" Sir Gracefield asked from across the room. The two were in the lord's office in the British consulate. The room felt stifling despite the wide-open windows and electric ceiling fan."No, it's these blasted insects, they're getting into my room somehow" Blake replied. The real reason was, of course, that he was spending many hours awake each night keeping watch. Inwardly he was starting to wonder the reason for keeping the Blood Fang's threats from Sir Gracefield, but knew the lord would want to "strike while the iron was hot", as the saying goes, if he knew of the threat and would have the city scoured for Blood Fang agents. Knowing the cunning and ruthlessness of that organisation, none would be found – but innocent people would likely be framed by them.

No, it was better that the Blood Fang felt free to strike at the lord in their own time, feeling completely unthreatened by his "secretary" and "errand boy", as Blake and We-Wee had made themselves appear to be. Speaking of We-Wee, though he returned to the office regularly to report, and occasionally to run actual errands, he spent most of the time wandering the city in the guise of an urchin or poor coolie. His eyes were kept constantly open for anything relating to the Blood Fang, but he could discover nothing of value, only that the society had a presence in the town somewhere. He did not, of course, want to appear too inquisitive in case he made them suspicious. How he wished they had revealed more of their plans during the meeting at Singapore! Even his master, the cleverest detective to ever have lived, did not have the faintest idea of their strength and only the barest details of their plans. They were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

As well as his work in the consulate, Sir Gracefield had been unable to resist visiting the local garrison to inspect the artillery there. The guns were not quite of the very latest pattern, for these were all being sent to South Africa for the war there. Though he was not even in the army the young lord had a way with him that had senior officers following his advice without stopping to wonder why they were doing it. Soon army engineers found themselves tinkering with several of the older, smaller pieces under the young lord's supervision. They were producing the strangest guns anybody had ever seen, their barrels pointed almost directly up at the sky. Even Sexton Blake could not quite grasp the point of these weapons – unless they were to be used to fire shells from a cliff at an enemy encamped directly below.

A young lieutenant, making a remark in passing, finally extracted the secret from him. "Rather over the top for clay pigeons, sirs?" he waggishly asked as he walked past once.

"You may laugh now" Sir Gracefield replied "but you'll be glad of guns like this one day! If Count Zeppelin can perfect his dirigible balloons then it's probable wars will one day be fought in the air, and such guns will be needed then".

"A little too Jules Verne for my liking, old boy" the young officer good-naturedly chuckled back as he passed on his way. But Sexton Blake, standing nearby, was more thoughtful.

"What was that the Blood Fang leader said in Singapore?" he thought to himself. "'The one man who can ruin our operations'? Surely they are aware of Sir Gracefield's passion for improved artillery and his ideas on the future of aerial warfare. Could this be a reason why they are targeting him in particular? It sounds too absurd to be believable... for now!"

We-Wee had also accompanied his master to the garrison. He had sent several messages back and forth to this stronghold during his job as errand-boy, and had become a great favourite with the men. In particular a dour northern sergeant by the name of Archibald Buckley. This man listened in wonder to the boy's tale of the small part he had played in the Boer war. The sergeant himself was annoyed to have been left out of it.

"It don't sit right, us stuck here while the empire is in danger" he remarked. "At least them Boxers could oblige us by having a go at Hong Kong". He referred to the Boxer Rebellion, a movement that was at that time gaining momentum on the mainland. The aim of the Boxers was to drive all foreigners out of China, and doubtless the Blood Fang were aiding them. The sergeant may not have sat so easily had he known a deadly enemy of the empire was within ten feet of him. A poor boy who often came to the garrison to polish boots for a few coppers was in reality an agent of the Blood Fang! However both he and We-Wee were so skilled spying neither had the slightest suspicion of the other.

But while the Blood Fang spy had been gathering his own information on the size, strength and, as he saw it, arrogance of the British garrison, We-Wee had not been idle either. He had fallen in with a group of lads of about his own age who were also quite poor, and tramped the city in search of casual work. The intelligent young detective had seen the possibilities of this group of "Street Arabs", as the slang of the time called them, immediately. Their tramping and casual work took them all over the city, and bought them into contact with everybody from rich European diplomats to lowly rickshaw drivers. If anybody had heard of some plot being in the wind, they would have.

It was that very evening that We-Wee's foresight paid off. The other members of the 'gang' knew he was interested in hearing about anybody who was acting mysteriously; he had himself explained it as a thirst for adventure of any kind – in service of crime or the law. A boy called Ming-Xi, who had worked as a cleaner that day in a small office, had been repeatedly forbidden to enter a certain room at the back of the building. Of course once somebody is forbidden to do something they immediately want to do it, and that plain-looking door had exerted a tremendous pull on the young lad. Left alone towards the end of the day, he had silently crept to the door and looked through the keyhole. The room beyond was in darkness, but he swore he had heard snoring. Nobody had been in or out of the small room all day, and it had no windows. Why, then, was somebody asleep in there? The door was not locked from the outside, in fact it had no lock on the outside, the only other explanation was that somebody was hiding in there. Of course once Ming-Xi had come to this conclusion his boyish imagination went into overdrive, and the hiding man became variously a common thief to the devil himself – and all points in between!

Ming-Xi was later called upon to run an errand for a certain gentleman at the consulate, for which he received the vast reward of ten shillings. Little did he suspect this was his payment for services other than delivering a small piece of paper! We-Wee, meanwhile, took a great interest in that small office himself, and secured employment there as a replacement for the other cleaner, who had ‘for some reason’ abruptly left. We-Wee went in a heavy disguise, his round face had been rendered even more pudgy and his body seemed to have out on several pounds. Specially-designed shoes increased his height and his hair was longer. If this mysterious place was anything to do with the Blood Fang he didn't want them to connect him with Sir Gracefield's errand-boy.

The building was a small, shabby block of bricks with a sagging wooden roof. The windows were covered with bamboo screens that prevented people outside from seeing within. These also screened out most of the light, giving the small room a gloomy, stifling aspect. The Shanghai Shipping Company, as the occupants of the office styled themselves, did not seem to be particularly busy, We-Wee thought. Most of his work involved sweeping up dust and cigarette ends from the floor, whilst the staff, five men who looked every inch villainous cutthroats, sat around smoking and occasionally making show of writing a few notes. The lad was aware of a low murmur of conversation whenever he was out of the room, but this abruptly ceased whenever he came in. During the short breaks he was allowed he sat beneath the office window, hoping to catch something of interest, but the talk was too quiet and street to loud for him to overhear anything.

Towards the end of the working day, not that any work had really been done, the men got up and drifted out of the office one by one. Eventually only two were left, and they glared at the boy and generally made him feel unwelcome. Finally he finished his work and also left. A surly man in the hallway, a receptionist or guard?, dropped a few coppers into his palm and told him he wouldn’t be needed the next day. Now here was something interesting! Was something planned for that night? We-Wee’s first thought was to rush to the consulate and fetch Sexton Blake, but just as he started to run he had another thought, perhaps the villain’s plan was going to go into action at once? They certainly seemed as if they were desperate to get rid of him. Was the man in the mysterious room due to make a move? After only a second's hesitation the lad retracted his steps, this time slowly and cautiously in the lengthening shadows, to the office. As he went he removed the cumbersome padding and theatrical gum that made up his disguise. Quick action might be called for, and he didn't want to be weighed down.

While he worked that day he had already fully "cased the joint", as the Americans would say, and had discovered a forgotten, weather-beaten shutter in the side of the roof that led to a small, dusty attic. This had once perhaps been a dismal upper-floor bedroom, for there was no hatch communicating with the rooms below. Looking more closely We-Wee had seen evidence that there had once been a wooden staircase on the side of the building that led up to the hatch. The stairs themselves were long gone, but another building, constructed close by, allowed him to scramble up to the hatch and open it unseen. A small syringe of that marvellous penetrating oil allowed this to be done quietly, and We-Wee crept within.

Here and there in the dismal attic, small beams of light shone up. The wooden ceilings of the rooms below were in a horrible state of repair, but this allowed the boy to watch what was going on below unseen. Keeping to the stronger beams, he shuffled along as silently as a cat and peered down into the office. The two men he had left behind him were still there, apparently waiting for something to happen. Shifting his position We-Wee could see the mysterious, forbidden door, and it was open! The room inside was as black as night, still, and only a little light penetrated. The solid storm shutters over the office windows had by this time been closed, allowing complete privacy for those inside. There came the noise of an opening door, and We-Wee saw one of the men who ‘worked’ at the office return. The two who were left waiting gave the barest grunt of greeting as he took his seat at the desk. Soon the remaining two men arrived and took their seats. For a moment or two there was some inconsequential conversation, and then all ceased as a man stepped out of the dark back room.

That he was the leader of whatever villainy was in hand was without doubt, from the way the others looked up at him. To We-Wee, though, the sight of the man was a little disappointing, for he appeared completely ordinary. A little taller and broader than the average Chinese man, it is to be said, but otherwise completely unremarkable. He was dressed in western-style evening dress and spoke with a refined accent. He had possibly been to a European public school.

"All is in readiness?" the leader asked, getting straight down to business it seemed. We-Wee was glad he had come back to spy now.

"Yes. Excellency. The men are armed and have been paid half their fee as agreed. We have thirty-two assassins within a stone's throw of his house and he suspects nothing!" said the everyday 'boss' of the office, and evidently the second-in-command of this criminal organisation.

"The detective and the boy?"

Ah, thought We-Wee, it was very likely that Sir Gracefield was the subject of conversation. And clearly something was planned – soon!

"They spend a lot of time awake, excellency. But if we can get into position as planned they will have no time to give the alarm. It is strange that the boy, who is Chinese, seems so unused to this climate and sleeps so little"

"There is no possibility they are bodyguards of some kind?"

"We believe not excellency. They appear to have no suspicion of our plot at all, our man watching the consulate, the one who discovered Gracefield was to be sent out here, reports that they carry on work as normal. The detective appears to be working as his interpreter from what we can gather, he is no danger to us."

Something suddenly made We-Wee turn. To his horror he saw the shape of a man outlined against the open hatch through which he had come. His hand shot to a knife that he had carried all day bound to his leg. But something made him stop short. The figure in the hatch did not seem to see him. Nor did he give the alarm. In fact he seemed intent on moving as silently as We-Wee had. For he was now certainly coming into the room. Slowly and with great care he balanced himself on a beam adjacent to We-Wee and began to shuffle along it. The lad could just about see the man's face now, he was apparently intent on the lighted holes in the ceiling of the office too. Was he another spy? Was he perhaps from a rival gang? The police? Or had perhaps another investigator got on the track of the Blood Fang?

The man moved closer and closer. He had still not seen We-Wee, but they could hardly keep watching through the same few holes for a long time without one discovering the other eventually. The lad decided to put on a bold front and move first. With almost totally silent movements he shuffled himself into a position of ambush. The man was still coming, slowly shuffling on the awkward tangle of wooden beams.

We-Wee made his move. His first action was to plant a hand over his victim's mouth, the second to grab the man's arm and pull it behind him in an inescapable lock. Noise was inevitable. The man's cry became a stifled murmur, he kicked out in shock, the shuffling noise seeming amplified a hundred times after the silence that went before it.

"What was that?" came an alarmed voice from below. We-Wee, equal to the occasion, gave a remarkably lifelike imitation of the sound a rat makes when startled.

"Rats, the place is infested. Please continue, your excellency..." another voice came. We-Wee breathed a sigh of relief. His victim had had the sense not to struggle or continue to cry out, and the young detective suddenly realised why.

"Ming-Xi!" he whispered, releasing his hold.

"We-Wee? I might have known you'd be here" Ming replied, their voices barely louder than their breathing. "But what are you up to? What's going on?"

We-Wee rapidly gave an account of his mission and the adventures to date, all the while listening to the meeting that was still going on below. He caught the words "We move tonight" and that was enough for him.

"But listen" he said as he finished his tale. "Do you want to earn the other half of that sovereign?"

"How?" Ming-Xi asked, still a little overawed at all this apparent lowly urchin had been through. He thirsted for adventure himself but with his bare earnings was lucky to be able to afford to eat, let alone do anything else. it was this that had drawn him back to the office after We-Wee had shown such interest in it.

"Go to the British consulate as quick as you can, and ask for Sexton Blake. Tell him to get 'sir' out of the way, He will understand. And don't worry about appearance, or language either – he speaks Mandarin as well as me – just be quick!" Ming-Xi was quick. Within half an hour Sexton Blake was insisting that he, Sir Gracefield and Doctor Chiang, who had 'happened' to come to visit the consulate, dine out somewhere.

***

We-Wee, after visiting Doctor Chiang and explaining matters went on to the Garrison. A letter from Sexton Blake he carried, with several important signatures, got things moving and the boy soon found himself back at the rooms Sir Gracefield had rented... in command of a squad of British soldiers!

"Action, of a kind!" Sergeant Buckley exclaimed, rubbing his hands together, he, with three corporals and 15 men, was sitting in the large central room of Sir Gracefield's house. The bedrooms led off from this, as did a staircase ending in a hatch that gave access to the roof. The place was still sparsely furnished, though a lot of items that Jennifer Gracefield had bought were stacked up in wooden crates. The pair were intending to have a week's holiday to organise the house eventually, but had been too busy up until now. Jennifer herself had got a job as an English teacher at a mission school, the idle life of a housewife was not for her, and she had gone to join her husband on his enforced night out. The Blood Fang, expecting four unarmed office workers, were going to get the shock of their lives!

The hours went drearily on. One... Two... We Wee kept a careful watch from an upper window, waiting for the assassins to show themselves. Thirty-two of them, he recalled with no little wonder. Where were they all? They must have moved into nearby rooms one by one, carefully and slowly. This is why no move had been made sooner, the Blood Fang always did things in this careful, subtle way. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary until they struck, the next day all was normal again, and there was not the slightest trace of them. We-Wee's detective work, and lucky friendship with Ming-Xi, would foil their plans this time. If only they would come!

Suddenly, a familiar man slouched down the street. The boy started, and slipped back further into the shadows of the dark room. Yes, it was one of the office workers, the roughest-looking of them all the lad thought. The man had an ugly scar on one cheek and a large, beefy body that spoke of a lifetime of fighting. Yet to be a member of the Blood Fang he must have also been incredibly intelligent and cunning. An opponent to be feared, as they all were.

The man stopped directly opposite the house. We-Wee had already given his emergency signal and 19 British soldiers, well-trained, well armed and as brave as lions, took their places and waited for the 'row' to start. The Blood Fang agent in the street below did not seem in a hurry. He struck one match and smoked a cigarette lazily. All the while he was giving the house a careful scrutiny, however. He saw only one dim light in the main room. He saw open windows and shutters, he came to the conclusion that the occupants were asleep and unaware of any danger.

We-Wee kept watching. The man struck another match now, significantly this one was taken from another pocket. It flared up with a green light and was then thrown down and trodden out. He had not lit anything with it. By ones, by twos, men emerged from surrounding buildings. There was the glint of bare steel in several hands. The green match had been a signal that all was well, and now the assassins gathered! Recalling the meeting in the office, We-Wee realised that these were not true Blood Fang agents, merely trusted men employed by them. That meant that their entire 'true' membership in Hong Kong, this great trading-post of the world, was only six men! Truly they were an organisation to be feared. They had only sent one member to oversee the assassination of a top British official – an action many other criminal societies wouldn't dare to even try! The assassins split into groups after a few quiet words were spoken. The Blood Fang agent remained where he was, the others were clearly intended to do the dirty work for him.

"Retire to the main room and cover all the entrances" Sergeant Buckley was ordering, after the last movement had been reported back to him by We-Wee, who now joined the fighting men and made them a round twenty. "Nobody shoot 'til they see one of the enemy pop his head up, and then we'll go from there!". The knives carried by several of the assassins were an indication they intended to sneak into the house and commit murder in person, rather than set it on fire or blow it up. The Sergeant gave his orders accordingly, and again the tense waiting game was played.

After the longest ten minutes We-Wee had ever experienced, the door leading to his own bedroom opened a crack. All was still silent, nothing stirred. The door opened a little more, five rifles were aimed squarely at it, but the men holding them had iron discipline. They had been ordered not to fire until they saw the enemy, and that was what they would do.

The enemy showed himself! A thin, malevolent-looking pigtailed man with straggling stubble looked around the door. The wicked grin on his face changing with comical abruptness to sheer terror. His bulging eyes nearly leapt from their sockets, and he began to croak a warning to somebody behind him when three of the five rifles fired as one. The wooden door was fairly shattered by the bullets as they passed through and found their lodging in the knife-wielding villain. He himself was flung backwards, trailing a crimson cloud, and thudded into several of his comrades. After the barest interval of silence all was uproar. The other bedroom doors were flung open and men armed with an astonishing assortment of swords, knives and axes plunged through them, screaming with rage. They had been promised good pay by their Blood Fang masters and their greed overrode all. Perhaps they still believed Sir Gracefield to be inside, and that they had a chance to murder him and escape in the confusion. Others probably did not realise what danger they faced. They had assumed the shots they heard came from a scared householder with a revolver and not British Tommies with rifles. These Tommies plunged into their work with a will, the battle-lust was in their eyes and they fired and reloaded with mechanical precision. One after another the assassins fell to their bullets.

We-Wee, firing away with the best of the soldiers, chanced to look up. To his horror he saw the hatch leading to the roof flung open and more assassins drop onto the narrow staircase. These had guns! Before anybody could do anything three of the soldiers had fallen. The three assassins who fired the shots did not get a chance to claim any more, for We-Wee and a couple of others directed a leaden hail in that direction and sent them to their maker. One man came crashing down the staircase leaving a trail of lurid red stains along the wall. Another plunged over the railing and fell against some boxes of china statues with a resounding crash. Now the hatch as well as the doors had to be covered, and with less men. At least two more of the enemy were still on the roof, and fired in the odd hasty shot, luckily with no effect. Another Briton was wounded by a screaming fanatic who plunged into the fray swinging a sword. We-Wee's revolver barked and the maniac was no more, his wicked weapon, sharpened to a razor point, thudding into the floorboards and sticking straight up.

"Rally to the counter!" came Sergeant Buckley's stentorian call. The men dashed to the object in question, it divided the small kitchen area from the rest of the room. This apparent retreat drew more of the enemy in, but it was only a feint to get them to leave cover. With a clearer field of fire a couple of concentrated volleys claimed the lives of fully two thirds of the remaining assassins, and those left alive had a sudden change of heart and made a frantic dash for the nearest exits. Several howling with pain in the street, as they had forgotten how high up the windows from which they were jumping where.

Then came a hoarse battle cry and the sound of feet on the stairs. We-Wee, who had broken cover hoping to investigate the roof and see if the men up there had gone, turned just in time to see the Blood Fang agent himself leading a charge up the stairs. He carried a heavy revolver in each hand and behind him came a file of men with various other firearms. The situation would have been desperate had not We-Wee had a flash of lifesaving inspiration. He snatched up one of the nearby crates and rushed at the stairs with it. A few bullets thudded into it, and he felt a tug as another passed through his trouser leg, missing the flesh by only the tiniest fraction. At the top of the stairs the lad let the hefty crate fly, and with the resounding crash of shattering crockery and splintering wood it hit the Blood Fang man full in the face. A tangled, screaming avalanche of humanity poured back down the stairs. Several guns were accidentally fired, doing terrible damage on their own side. Those that survived the tumble could only crawl from the house in a concussed stupor, several leaving trails of blood from various wounds. A few more gunshots came as the men on the roof, choosing a bad time to see how the battle was going, showed themselves in British sights. At the bottom of the stairs the Blood Fang man lay, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. His neck had been broken by the fall. The few remaining assassins melted away, they would certainly think twice before undertaking a Blood Fang job again, if this was what that organisation called an "easy" target!

The smell of spent cordite, the drifting gun smoke and the agonised moaning of some of the severely-wounded assassins was the scene We-Wee was facing when he turned to the sergeant. The British soldiers were looking around at their slain foes, some pocketing dropped knives and ornate charms carried by the late assassins. The wounded man had claimed the sword that had done the damage, thankfully not serious. The men's wish for action had been met with a vengeance in that short, terrifying struggle.

"Shame about those three, but they knew what they signed up for" the Sergeant was saying, nodding to the respectfully-covered British dead. "I'll be writing the letters myself" he added, he had no little admiration for the way the men he had picked had handled themselves. Nobody knew quite what to do now the battle was over and the enemy had fled. What was to be done with the enemy bodies and how would Sir Gracefield react? Before many minutes had passed the second question was answered. His voice, loudly exclaiming "What the hell happened here?" came drifting up the stairs at a volume that made several of the soldiers jump up, believing the battle had restarted!

"I know, I know, you didn't want to cause me undue worry. Well I AM pretty bally worried, I don't mind admitting that!" Sir Gracefield raved. It was half an hour later and Sexton Blake had finally been forced to come clean about his plans to thwart the Blood Fang. We-Wee had by this time filled in the details of how a small army of assassins had been put in place so subtly even the great detective had failed to notice it.

Sexton Blake felt that now was the right time to come clean anyway. After all the Blood Fang had been thwarted and had lost one of their small number. It was unlikely they would try such an audacious and dramatic plot such as that for a long time. It was a vain hope, as he was to discover in time.

"Oh darling, we simply can't stay here now" Jennifer said, once the young lord had calmed down a little. She was not the type to faint or avert her eyes, even at the grim spectacle of the Blood Fang agent laying at the bottom of the stairs. He was covered with a sheet now, it was true, but this had several red stains that were suggestive enough. Jennifer would be giving her wholehearted support to the Suffragettes only a few years later, she certainly belonged to the newly dawning Twentieth century.

"You're right, I don't see where else we can go for the present though" Sir Gracefield replied. It was just past midnight and the managers of hotels wouldn't appreciate doing business at this hour, even with a member of the aristocracy.

"Might I invite you to my house? It's a large place, a trifle messy I must admit but not without it's comforts" Doctor Chiang put in, for he had accompanied the party for the whole night. He had even managed to refrain from getting too passionate about chemical formulae, which was remarkable for him. And once he had mentioned his dreams of air-travel for all, and Sir Gracefield had talked about his anti-aircraft guns, the two had a whole world of notes to compare.

"I wouldn't like to impose upon you-" Jennifer started, but Chiang would not hear of any such thing, and said he would be honoured to have guests, for he was so often wrapped up in his work he all but forgot the existence of the outside world.

After some more discussion, and orders to the soldiers, now greatly increased in number, to look after the place until Sir Gracefield decided what to do with it, the party set off towards Doctor Chiang's house. The chemist's mind was now back on it's work, as the subject had been bought up, and he enthusiastically talked about the possibilities of his new "Air coal", as he had termed the invention. He had since discovered that it was giving off large quantities of superheated helium, a lifting gas in itself, and was running through his speculations for how this could have been formed from the elements that went into making the fuel, when the party became aware of a noisy clamour. There was an excited crowd somewhere nearby. Now a bell was ringing, a church bell? No it was moving. With a sudden, significant glance, Sexton Blake and Doctor Chiang broke into a frantic run, We-Wee not far behind. A gasp of shock from the crowd and a lurid orange glow rising into the air only added to their fears.

The two men rounded the final corner into the street where Chiang lived and pulled up abruptly, Chiang giving a horrified cry. His house was ablaze from top to bottom! The clanging of the bell had been the fire engine rushing to the scene, however the horse-drawn, steam-powered contraption could do little, the fire had already utterly taken hold. The orange glare that had risen into the sky had been the roof falling in, and before many more minutes passed the walls came down too

Sir Gracefield forgot his own problems, consoling the devastated scientist. Chiang had lost everything, the house was insured it was true, and he had plenty of money in the bank, but his many disorganised notes scattered around the building had formed a whole that it would take many years work to get back to. His butler was also missing, the man had been as loyal as a terrier and Chiang feared that the man had been killed in the blaze whilst trying to put it out. Sexton Blake pointed out that there was no proof of this, and that it wasn't wise to worry so soon, the butler might still be alive elsewhere in the crowd.

With nothing else for it the party had to stay at a hotel after all. Sexton Blake insisted on paying for all of the rooms, when the manager was finally roused. None of the party had any real sleep that night, though. The Gracefields worried about the deadly plot that had almost claimed them, We-Wee had the battle to think about, Doctor Chiang was devastated at his lost work... and Sexton Blake wondered if there was more to the fire than first appeared!

***

The next Day Sexton Blake and Doctor Chiang returned to the blackened heap of rubble that had once been the scientist's home. The overgrown garden had been ablaze too, and only a few blackened tree trunks remained here and there. Of the hot air balloons the Air coal had been tested in only the metal cases for the fuel remained, blackened and twisted. The house, what there was of it, was a dreadful sight. One corner of the wall remained standing, looking like an old-fashioned folly in a stately garden. The rest was a pile of scorched wooden beams and soot-covered bricks. The two men dug aimlessly, hoping against hope that some scrap of useful paper would have somehow survived the inferno. All that the found was ash. Then Doctor Chiang found something else.

"That's funny... Blackie, look at this!" he said, shouting to Blake who was a short distance away, 'in another room' as it were.

The detective came over, and immediately sprang forward with a gasp, pulling out a magnifying glass as he did so.

"Funny how the door's popped open, don't you think? Must have been the pressure when the building collapsed, I suppose..." Chiang was saying, for he had discovered his large, strong safe in which he kept all his most important papers, including the complete formula for Air coal. Wondering if the paper within might have survived, he began to clear away the wreckage from around it, and presently found that the door was open, all that was inside reduced to black dust.

"No it wasn't that" Sexton Blake said presently, pocketing the glass. "It's been blown open!"

"Blown open?" Chiang asked incredulously. To Sexton Blake's forensic mind it had been obvious even at a distance, and through the layers of soot from the subsequent fire. It was possible that the fire had been an unintended side effect of the safe being blown, he recalled that it was close to some curtains. Or the fire may have been started afterwards by the robbers to cover their tracks.

"But... how did they get in? The butler would never have admitted strangers without my say so, and the sound of the blast would have bought him running, and – oh" his flow of speech stopped as he caught the significant, sad look from Sexton Blake. The Butler would not be reappearing, it was likely his body, burned to an unrecognisable mass, was somewhere beneath their feet.

"Who could have done this?" Chiang asked. Sir Gracefield had taken up rooms within the British consulate now, and had been joined by his friends. The building, on the bank of the wide river that ran between two of the myriad islands that make up this colony, was huge and had many rooms available for the use of staff. It was to this grand building that Sexton Blake and Chiang had returned after their horrible discoveries.

"Given the ruthlessness of the job, and it's timing. I'm afraid there is really only one possibility I can see – the Blood Fang!" Blake replied. "It seems as if you have been targeted by them too – and what We-Wee has told me bears this out. It appears that five men in this city actually run Blood Fang activities. The sixth, the one who was hiding in a cupboard, is probably an agent from the mainland who came to Hong Kong to give orders. He was hiding because he feared recognition from either the police, or another secret society. We-Wee did not overhear all of their meeting the other night, as soon as he heard the relevant part about Sir Gracefield he set the trap that they fell into last night in motion. But remember that the attack on Sir Gracefield's house was led only by one of them, I suspect one of the others orchestrated the robbery of your house. Who knows what the other three who worked in that office, and were present at the meeting, got up to last night. I suspect it was nothing good either way."

"But what could they want my formula for? To sell it? I could quite easily prove I invented it first, with witnesses such as yourself, and thus any attempt to patent it would be worthless." Chiang wondered.

"I don't expect it's that simple, they must want the formula for their own ends. You said that the various ingredients for making the Air Coal are only found in remote areas of northern China? Well most leading criminologists also believe this is where the Blood Fang's headquarters is based. I expect somebody up there working in the mines got wind of what was being ordered, traced it back and has been spying on you to see what you are doing with it. The Blood fang does, after all, only consist of highly intelligent and well-trained master criminals. Several of them must have no small knowledge of chemistry and perhaps worked out what you were trying to achieve – but didn't have the necessary knowledge to carry it all the way through, so they simply stole the formula!"

"And murdered a man and burned down my home and life's work into the bargain! These people are pure evil, Blake!" Chiang raged. He had been calm that morning, resigned to the fatalism of several far eastern cultures, now he was angry again. It was not just that these inferior scientists couldn't work out the same formula he had, so simply stole it, it was the fact they would inevitably turn his work to criminal ends that made him most angry. Having been to a British public school he'd had the "play the game" spirit of fair play drummed into him, and here was somebody using his work to promote injustice!

There came a knock at the door, and Sergeant Buckley entered. On the way back from Chiang's house Blake had ordered the office of the Shanghai Shipping Company to be raided. The sergeant reported there was not a scrap of paper left, or any other clue either. Blake walked there later on in the day and minutely scrutinised the building with a magnifying glass, but could find nothing of interest.

"They cover their tracks well, have I run into a dead end again?" the detective asked himself as he stepped back into the darkening street. He decided he would have to wait and see what the Blood Fang would attempt and then rely on his wits to defeat it. He thought back over all the details of the case so far. They wanted to assassinate Sir Gracefield, for some reason they feared him, had they not said he was the biggest threat to their plans? And now they had stolen Doctor Chiang's formula – one that would allow for the construction of reliable flying machines if only it could be produced in quantity.

The two pieces of the puzzle suddenly snapped into place!

Sir Gracefield, with his outspoken views on artillery and predictions of aerial warfare, and Doctor Chiang, with his fuel for flying machines! The Blood Fang were planning to attack Hong Kong from the air! It would be unprecedented, and there would be little the defenders could do to fight against it. They would be able to capture the colony with relative ease and quickly smash the British garrison. The next step would likely be to activate various paid agents, like the assassins of the previous night, to drive out the rest of the foreigners. Hong Kong would then be in Blood Fang hands! On the mainland they would likely be acclaimed as conquering heroes – they could sweep into power and take over the Chinese government. And then... well it would be a small step from that to creating a gigantic army with which they could threaten the entire world.

Then Blake remembered that Hong Kong did have the necessary weapons to drive off an aerial attack – Sir Gracefield's modified guns! And the final piece of the puzzle now snapped into place. The other three Blood Fang men must surely have learned of these weapons and aimed to sabotage them somehow. Turning his steps towards the Garrison, Blake had to resist the temptation to run there. He did not know how many pairs of eyes nearby were paid by the Blood Fang, for while it seemed their actual membership was small their unofficial informers were legion. Blake reached the gates of the Garrison and was shown inside, he had become well-known there now. His story of possible sabotage to these strange guns didn't go down very well with the Captain of artillery he talked to, but the man allowed him to look over the guns all the same.

There were three of them, and Blake looked over them with a practised eye. There was almost no subject he hadn't read about extensively at one time or another, and he recognised all the basic components of the modern artillery piece. He first checked that the barrels had not been spiked, having something hammered in them to block them, but the mop he borrowed for the purpose from a nearby errand-boy passed right through the barrel. Next he checked how well the guns were mounted, in case something had been loosened that would cause them to fall apart when fired. But again everything here was secure. Out of the corner of his eye Blake noticed the errand-boy casting repeated, nervous glances to the wheels of the gun. Blake crouched down close to the wheel, pretending to check if the nuts were tightened. He could have told they were whilst standing up, but he wanted to watch the boy's reaction. He had suddenly become very suspicious of the lad. What had he been standing around near these guns for anyway? A slight ticking noise came to Blake's ear, and suddenly the whole plot was as clear as day to him. He could have laughed, the Blood Fang's plan was foiled! ...but there was still the matter of this boy, for Blake's rapid, clockwork mind had marked him down as a Blood Fang informer.

Straightening up, Blake walked smartly away from the guns, hearing the boy sigh with relief as he did so. The lad began sweeping up the ground around the guns again. Why? It was more than clean enough. Blake returned to the captain, Brooks, the man's name was, and got straight to the point.

"I want that boy arrested" He said. The captain's jaw dropped, as if he didn't quite understand what had just been said.

"Er... Wang? You want him arrested? Why?"

"Because there is a bomb planted under those guns and he is standing guard to make sure nobody finds it"

The captain's jaw dropped further. "A bo- ... we must evac-"

"No no! That will be noticed! The boy would hardly be standing around if it was going to explode any time soon! The bomb is clockwork, I heard it ticking. I have reason to believe that the city will be attacked by flying machines in the not too distant future, and those are the only guns that can traverse high enough to counter such an attack. Just before the attack is made the bombs will go off and destroy the guns, but if the bombs are found before then, the boy will rush off and inform his masters". The incredulous look on the captain's face made Blake slightly regret blurting out all his suspicions in one go.

"What a load of penny dreadful rubbish!" he spat. "I know you have stories about your cases printed in them but-"

"If you would like to make the arrest, sir, I believe the rest will prove itself" Blake replied, in the same calm tone as before. The captain looked suddenly deflated. Flying machines or no flying machines, planting bombs was still enough reason to have somebody arrested. He called in a corporal and gave the order.

Not very many minutes later the boy, Wang was dragged into the room with a sullen look on his face. He denied all knowledge of the setting of bombs, and said he often ran errands for the soldiers.

"He is here quite often sir" The corporal put in. "Come to think of it he has been hanging around those guns a lot today, and yesterday he seemed fairly interested in 'em, and in that tree by the wall next to 'em!" Wang was trapped but still denied everything. Blake requested he be locked up until further notice, and for the news to be put out that he was arrested for trying to steal some money. If the Blood Fang didn't know their bombs had been discovered, they would not feel in any danger.

Blake could now now turn his attention to the bombs themselves. There was one under each gun, in well-made, varnished wooden boxes. For almost an hour he inspected all of them from every angle before he dared to touch them. And even then he worked with agonisingly slow and precise movements. They had been strapped to the bottom of the guns and would not have been noticeable to a casual glance. Nor would the ticking be audible if it was not being listened for. Eventually he removed one of the bombs from the gun and set it down on the ground, everybody else remaining a safe distance away. The bomb did not have any anti-tamper devices, such as motion activated switches. Blake reasoned that this was in case one of the guns was moved routinely and suddenly exploded it would have given the plan away, but all the same he was not going to take any chances.

Gingerly lifting the lid of the box, Blake exposed the bomb's mechanism. Now he had several army explosives experts standing around watching, having assured them it was quite safe and that the bombs would only explode on timers. It was the timing mechanism Blake was interested in. Half the box was taken up by a heavy, thick metal cylinder, clearly the bomb itself. Next to this was a simple clockwork mechanism and a striker connected to the detonator. The coiled spring to power the clockwork took up fully a quarter of the box, and was still tightly wound. With a slight feeling of relief Blake saw that the bomb was not going to go off any time soon. By the speed at which the mechanism was ticking away it was clear the bomb had days or weeks left to run. The other two proved to be identical.

"Well lets get these things defused, then" Captain Brooks began to say when Blake had finally finished his scrutiny.

"I don't think that would be wise, sir" Blake replied. He saw another potential in these bombs. "These are the perfect alarm clock for the Blood Fang attack!, We should transfer them to some out-of-the-way place and wait for them to explode. When they do, the attack is on it's way!"

"And when it comes, we'll be waiting!" put in Sergeant Buckley, who had also been standing around, drawn by the crowd. More action! He was almost glad he had not been sent to South Africa now!

BOOM!

Sexton Blake jerked awake, the sun was just beginning to stream in through the windows. We-Wee, already fully dressed and ready to face the day, rushed into the room.

"They went off, master!" the lad said. Blake crossed to the window and looked down at the river, a pall of smoke was rising from an old, rusty fishing boat that had been moored just outside the Consulate. The bombs had been placed in her hold, surrounded by wood to absorb the blast, and her hatches left open. By now all of the soldiers, police and diplomats in Hong Kong knew exactly what that explosion would mean – an attack on the islands! The distant sea and sky were scanned, but in vain.

Blake hurriedly washed, dressed and climbed to the roof. Still there was no sign of anything.

"Everybody's on the alert, but nothing much is happening. I hope you were right" Sir Gracefield said, by way of greeting.

"I expect that the bombs were intended to go off well before the arrival of the attackers, Sir" Blake replied. "The Blood Fang's original plan was, of course, that we would not know why the explosion had happened! In fact we would be too busy finding a replacement for yourself to even pay it much attention".

Of course, the Blood Fang plot had been foiled all along the line. The guns they had intended to destroy were primed and ready, spread out over the coastline looking towards the mainland. There was only three, it was true, but it was hoped their range would help.

"Ah, here's something!" Sexton Blake said, peering through his field glasses. Yes, large, dark objects in the air, and coming closer by the second. At high altitude a wind was blowing strongly in from the sea. And something was sailing in it. Now Sir Gracefield had turned his glasses in the same direction.

"Flying machines, by gad! You were right from the start, Blake!". They could see the machines clearly now. Great, Zeppelin-like machines with two funnels belching smoke. Beneath was a wooden gondola, Maxim guns poking ominously from the fronts. It was exactly as Doctor Chiang had predicted, the hot helium from burning the Air Coal not only filled the balloon and kept the machine in the air, it also drove a steam engine that powered propellers, allowing it to fly against the wind. The problem of aerial navigation had been solved... and it was now to be used for indiscriminate murder! The doctor, joining the small party on the roof, said as much. He was both awed and angry at the sight of these machines.

The army were prepared, the feared guns took aim... and fired! The first salvo of shells missed, and the second! Moving targets were not so easy, the wind currents affected the shells too and the gunners simply weren't used to firing at such an angle. Now the maxim guns on the airships returned fire. A hail of bullets swept the seafront, and panicked people fled in their hundreds. Several dead were left behind... this was not an attempt at revolution any more, this was sheer massacre. The Blood fang had obviously realised, too late, that the feared anti-aircraft guns were still operating. Instead of taking on just the British authorities they would resort to terrifying the entire population in a devastating show of power – if they could not win the favour of the people they would frighten them into obedience.

The guns on the shore got their range, a shell streaked up and thudded into the balloon part of one ship... and went straight through! All those that saw it happened felt a terrible sinking feeling... was their wonder-weapon useless after all? Rifles and maxim guns on the ground opened up, the large ships, seven in all, were close to the island now. Through the glasses all could see puffs of smoke where the bullets hit the balloon, but the damage seemed to seal back up again immediately. The larger hole made in one balloon by the artillery shell passing through seemed to have shrank as well, and while that ship was slowed a little it was not stopping.

"Fascinating, clearly some kind of self-sealing mechanism. I suspect the balloon is made of several layers of material that can freely move over one another, and-"

"Get down!" Sexton Blake cut off Doctor Chiang's observations and flung the man to the ground, following immediately after. A burst of maxim fire swept overhead, blasting pieces out of the masonry. We-Wee, with a sudden, strange look on his face, leapt up and ran for the stairs. There was no time yet to wonder where he had gone, the men on the roof were not unprotected. Now they raised rifles with telescopic sights, and hit back!

"Your bullets won't have any effect on the balloon!" Chiang protested.

"We won't aim for the Balloons!" Blake shouted back. He and Sir Gracefield went for the tried and tested method of aiming for the people shooting at them. Two maxim gunners on the ships died. Through their sights they could see that the front cabin of each vessel held two men, one pilot and one gunner. On the death of the gunners the pilots swung the ships around in a panic. The two, which had drifted ahead of the others, collided. The whirling propeller of one cut a huge slash in the other before snapping off. The wounded ship's self-sealing mechanism could not possibly seal up such a large gap, and it dropped out of the air, trailing huge clouds of wispy white smoke. Upon hitting the water the sudden temperature change fractured the ship's boilers, and a huge explosion of steam and gases from the Air Coal tore it apart. The other ship, meanwhile, limped around in circles above, with one propeller broken it was almost uncontrollable. The wind was already blowing it away from the city proper and back over the sea.

Five ships left. They weaved left and right as they came over the city, giving the consulate a wide berth. Blake and Sir Gracefield kept up a steady fire, but could not manage to put bullets through the windows of the vessels. They were simply wasting rounds making holes in the woodwork. Still the weaving ships did give the consulate a wide berth, and the Maxim-gunners could not return fire. But now the airships unleashed a new and terrible weapon. Small spheres were being dropped from side windows... bombs! The crews of the ships were dropping them at random, as the horrified men on the Consulate roof watched several buildings were set ablaze, and others collapsed. The streets became a press of shrieking, terrified people running in aimless fear. This was a new way of making war – war on innocent and unarmed people! It was a terrible sight, and Sexton Blake was left feeling helpless. He thought of We-Wee, and the way the boy had dashed off. He had cracked, clearly, given in to sheer terror. It was inevitable, Blake supposed. The situation did seem utterly without hope.

There was one small consolation. The last ship, lagging behind the others, came directly over one of the anti-aircraft guns, which managed to hit the solid gondola right underneath the pilot's cabin. The shattering blast tore a huge hole in the balloon and the ship plummeted, unfortunately also wrecking the gun that had destroyed it. The mass of Air Coal, apparently stored in the rear of the ship, poured onto the flames and reduced the whole to a raging inferno. Four ships left, but these were dropping their bombs and sweeping streets with bullets in complete safety. The remaining anti-aircraft guns could not fire at them whilst they were over the city, as any shells that missed would plummet back down into the buildings and do as much damage as what they were trying to prevent.

Sexton Blake put up his rifle. He had managed to shoot two more crewmen of the airships, but they seemed to be over-manned to a degree and their attacking power was not reduced. Though the situation seemed hopeless he appeared calm and reasonable. But inwardly he feared that a Blood Fang sponsored uprising would soon begin, and that there was little hope of survival for any of them.

"There's one chance, I suppose. If I could somehow cut a large slice out of one of the ships with a Maxim..." he uttered to his friends, before dashing off to put this plan into action. There was several Maxim guns at the garrison, blazing fire into the air with little effect. Several had already been put out of action by a bomb, but the ship that had done the work dare not hover around and subject itself to sustained attack. The self-sealing mechanism, however it worked, could obviously not perform miracles. This gave Blake a slim hope that victory might still be won.

The brave detective dashed through the streets, which were a shambles. People lay about, wounded and dead. Many had been killed in the mad rush, whilst others had been hit by bullets and shrapnel. Buildings were blazing and others were crammed with terrified people taking cover. Overturned boxes of fruit and other produce spilled across the streets from outside shops, whilst overturned rickshaws and smashed carriages lay about in confusion. Twice Blake had to dive into buildings with crowds of other people as a ship flew overhead. Once a bomb exploded on the roof of a building opposite him and shattered the top floor, bricks and rubble crashed to the street in confusion, three terrified people vanished beneath the cloud of tumbling debris. Onward he ran, the Garrison was not very far away but he had to take a roundabout route, weaving through narrow streets where there would be more cover. At one point he rushed across one of the wider avenues, with bullets kicking up the ground at his feet, it was a small miracle that he escaped from this deadly situation with only scratches. Others on the street had not been so lucky, a dark smoking crater was surrounded by dead, others lay in confusion, crimson blotches sullying their colourful clothes.

Through more narrow, winding streets he dashed, coming all at once against a young Chinese man who was staring, helpless, at his blazing wooden house. Blake went to rush by when he suddenly heard screams of fear from within – a woman was trapped inside! Probably the man's wife... after only a moments hesitation the gallant detective plunged into the inferno, a snatched-up coat from a nearby victim of the bombs wrapped around his upper body to protect from the flames and smoke. Calling out in Chinese, Blake crashed through the rooms. The house had evidently taken an almost direct hit and was in ruins. Finally he came across the woman. She was uninjured, but could not move something that lay on the ground. At once Blake realised it was a baby, unhurt but wedged under a fallen beam. With an almost superhuman heave Blake lifted the blazing beam off it's tiny victim, elsewhere came terrifying crashes as parts of the house collapsed in a chain reaction. The woman was, for a second, too stunned to even realise what had happened, but Blake urged her out of the rear of the house and through a gate to safety. She turned to thank him... but he had already dashed on. The rescue had taken time Hong Kong didn't have!

All at once Blake found himself again in a wide street, he had been almost running blind now, desperate to reach the garrison by the quickest route. He could still hear the Maxim-fire, see tiny puffs of white smoke from the balloon of the airship that seemed to suddenly loom above him. Hopeless, of course, scattered fire such as that hitting the ship had no effect. The detective was all but frozen to the spot, he'd just about given up, and the sight of one of the ships so close to him had made him wonder what he was even bothering for. They would win, of course they would. There was simply nothing that could be done this time. In a daze he waited for the end to come...

Suddenly, the airship was rent by a devastating blast. Sexton Blake stood stupefied as the debris rained down around him. Then a black mass of something rushed up and shoved him back down the narrow lane from which he had came. With a rending crash and burst of superheated steam the boiler of the airship slammed into the ground where he had been standing a moment before.

"That was a close thing, master" came a familiar voice in his ringing ears. His saviour was We-Wee. But what was the boy doing here? "You like our fire arrows, yes? We show those flying dragons who is best!" the lad continued. Blake struggled to his feet, wondering if he had even heard correctly. Fire arrows? That was the ancient Chinese name for rockets – they had discovered gunpowder centuries before Europe.

"What... what do you mean?" he stammered back, noticing several other Chinese lads standing around now, armed with what appeared to be drain-pipes and large rockets.

"I mean we shoot dragons with fire arrows! Big bang! Watch us!" We-Wee shouted back as he and the other lads took off at a run. Blake recognised Ming-Xi among them. These were the same gang that We-Wee had been working with before. The "Hong Kong Irregulars" Blake thought with a smile as he started to run alongside them. It was clear what they were doing now, shooting large explosive rockets at the airships through lengths of pipe. It was simple and very effective. The detective could almost have laughed in triumph if there was not still dangerous work to be done. And done it was! One after another the large rockets, suitably modified with pieces of scrap metal and other rubbish, were sent on their curling, fizzing way. The boys had worked out the ship's weak point, by aiming at the balloon just above the centre of the gondola, where the bombs were being dropped from, they could time the rocket to explode just above the bomb room, and set off the entire supply. The resulting explosions blasted the airships apart. One, Two, Three, Four! The vessels, now seeming clumsy and helpless against the deadly projectiles being hurled up at them, plummeted from the sky in flames. The Blood Fang's plans were shattered, and their airships were piles of twisted metal and blackened ash.

Already the soldiers around the city, and many civilians too, Chinese and British working automatically alongside one another, were organising chains of buckets and other fire-fighting equipment. Before long the fires around the city had been put out, and in many individual acts of selfless bravery people had been saved from blazing buildings, Sexton Blake managing two more of these rescues, for which he refused all offers of recognition or reward.

"To We-Wee, the saviour of the empire!"

The lad blushed, but took a bow all the same. It was a month later and, dressed awkwardly in a stiff dinner-suit, he, Ming-Xi and Sexton Blake were guests of honour at a reception to celebrate the saving of Hong Kong from the deadly peril of the Blood Fang. The five surviving members of that society had all been caught by vigilant watchers at the various ports leading out of the colony. Expert detective work by Sexton Blake had at length uncovered evidence that they were involved in the airship attack, and various other crimes besides, and they all went to the gallows thoroughly cowed. When news of who was responsible for the horrendous massacre was released, the Blood Fang's popular support crumbled. Even other criminal societies began to consider them to be untouchables and refused to have any dealing with them. This was a blow it would take that society decades to recover from... though recover it would, for it's craft and cunning were unmatched.

"I suppose you'll be back off to England before long, then?" Asked Sir Gracefield, as the party came to an end that night. Sexton Blake had been of immeasurable help to the Hong Kong police during the rest of his stay in the colony, and had caught several other serious criminals. But he had started to miss the old country, and longed to return to London and whatever work awaited him there.

"Yes, I think it's time that I did, I expect We-Wee will miss his countrymen, though?" Blake replied, directing the question at his assistant who stood nearby, as if waiting to say something.

"A thousand apologies, master. But I would not like to go back to England, I feel as homesick there as you do here" the lad blurted. He was Sexton Blake's faithful servant, and had promised to be ever since the detective had bought him from a vicious slaver for a pound. But on the other hand he had grown to love Hong Kong, and had often missed the Chinese culture and climate whilst in England, or else wandering some other corner of the globe.

Sexton Blake had already all but read his assistant's mind. "I know" he said, in a sympathetic tone "and of course I have already given you your freedom to do as you choose. You are a British subject now, and have all the freedom and protection that our flag represents. Why not stay on in Hong Kong as Sir Gracefield's assistant?".

"It make good, me still need much of lessons" Sir Gracefield awkwardly added in Mandarin, causing the rest of the party to chuckle.

"Yes, I will stay here and work with Sir Gracefield, if my master is sure he can manage without me?" We-Wee replied after a short pause.

"I'm sure I'll find a new assistant before long" the great detective added, and so the decision was made. Ming-Xi was also employed by Sir Gracefield – the rockets had actually been his idea – and would soon be receiving an education and earning riches beyond what he had dreamed possible only days before.

Outside, standing on a balcony, Sexton Blake found Doctor Chiang looking off into the distance at some scaffolding-covered buildings under repair. The sun was setting and work was finished for the day, the warm breeze blowing in off the sea a pleasant difference to the heat of the day. "Did you know they found the plans for Air Coal on the body of one of the airship crew?" Chiang asked over his shoulder, almost sensing who it was standing beside him.

"No, but that's marvellous surely? You can continue developing your invention" Blake replied, but stopped. The Doctor looked curiously sad.

"I burned those plans, Blake. And the formula will go with me to the grave" he said. "After I saw the destruction caused by those airships I couldn't allow myself to have any part in it. I'm going to dedicate my life to creating medicines, or something."

"A noble cause" was Sexton Blake's only reply. He knew that sooner or later somebody would invent reliable flying machines again and bring war to the skies, and bombs to the cities. He hoped it would not happen for many years. The two discussed a few other things, and reminisced about their university days, before Blake had to leave and prepare for his long voyage home. This trip, made on a large liner, was uneventful, but on his arrival back in Britain Blake plunged back into detective work with a will, and was soon once again the terror of wrongdoers the length and breadth of the land. Before many years had passed he took on his famous assistant Tinker, and the duo achieved world-wide fame.

Meanwhile in Hong Kong We-Wee became a detective in his own right, for his work with Sir Gracefield took him to every corner of the city where he could not help but come into contact with the criminal classes. Sexton Blake's training had given him almost a sixth sense to detect the uneasy behaviour of people involved in illegal activities. The lad was ever on the watch for the work of the Blood Fang, for he also knew they would one day return in strength. He was to meet them again, but that is another story, for another day.