Ring Once For Death — Robert Arthur

Twenty years had left no trace inside Sam Kee's little shop on Mott Street. There were the same dusty jars of ginseng root and tigers' whiskers, the same little bronze Buddahs, the same gim-cracks mixed with fine jade. Edith Williams gave a little murmur of pleasure as the door shut behind them.Mark, she said, it hasn't changed! It doesn't look as if a thing had been sold since we were here on our honeymoon.It certainly doesn't, Dr. Mark Williams agreed, moving down the narrow aisle behind her. If someone hadn't told us Sam Kee was dead, I'd believe we'd stepped back twenty years in time, like they do in those scientific stories young David reads.We must buy something, his wife said. For a twentieth anniversary present for me. Perhaps a bell?From the shadowy depths of the shop a young man emerged, American in dress and manner despite the Oriental contours of his face and eyes.Good evening, he said. May I show you something?We think we want a bell, Dr. Williams chuckled. But we aren't quite sure. You're Sam Kee's son?