Smothered in Corpses

Where had it come from?

I, John Beveledge Humdrum, general practitioner, of 305A, Hammersmith
Road, Kensington, had come down to breakfast on that eventful July
morning expecting nothing more exciting than eggs and bacon with which my
excellent man Perkins had regularly provided me on similar occasions for
the past eleven years.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, on throwing open the door of the
book-case that contained my sparse collection of medical works, in order
to consult Abernethy on Biscuits, to be confronted by the doubled-up
corpse of a young man of distinguished appearance, wearing a suit of
evening clothes of the most expensive cut.

My thoughts flew back to the events of the previous evening in an attempt
to unravel the mystery. Had anything remarkable happened? And then I
remembered an incident, trivial enough in itself, which might supply a
clue. At about eight o'clock I had received a professional summons,
notable as being the first in my career. A heavily-veiled woman
wearing a complete set of massive ermines had descended from a
magnificently-appointed motor-car before my door. In response to her
impassioned appeal, delivered with a marked Castilian accent, I had
accompanied her to a miserable tenement dwelling in a sordid Limehouse
slum. Here, after I had reluctantly given a pledge of secrecy and
permitted myself to be blindfolded (even to this day the mingled aroma of
Enigma Vanishing Cream and frying spaghetti vividly recalls the scene), I
was taken to the bedside of my patient, a fair-haired boy of three or
four. A villainous-looking Chinaman who was in attendance gave me to
understand, partly by signs and partly in pidgin English, that the child
had swallowed a bone button. Being unacquainted with the exact treatment
of such a case, I recommended his removal to the nearest hospital. As
there was nothing more to detain me I left at once, overwhelmed by the
passionate gratitude of my mysterious caller; but as I glanced back at
the corner of the disreputable street, I saw a face charged with
diabolical hatred watching me from the grimy window of the room I had
just quitted. It was the visage of the aged Chinaman, who, but a moment
before, had been bowing to me with true Oriental deference. As I looked,
rather puzzled to account for his strage behaviour, a terrible explosion
shook the ground, the front of the house disappeared, and a singed
pigtail fell at my feet.