Читать книгу The Chinese Jar - Fergus Hume - Страница 6

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Certain was Fanks that in some unknown corner of his brain lay hidden an explanation of those strange words appended to the ciphers. Somewhere he had heard them uttered and commented upon, otherwise he would hardly have felt convinced that they belonged to and were part of the Chinese tongue. In themselves they had positively nothing, either in spelling or in pronunciation, to lead him to thus settle their philology, yet he had a lurking suspicion that his guess was a correct one—if indeed that, which he believed to be a faint shadow of a memory, could be called a guess. Fanks was a man of wide and varied experiences, whose memory was tenacious of all he saw or heard, yet on this occasion it played him false, for, cudgel his brains as he might, these two words still eluded his endeavour to classify them to his satisfaction.

That afternoon, while still trying to whip up his sluggish memory, he received a letter from Mankers which gave him but little satisfaction. Nay, rather did it add to his perplexity, seeing that this man on whose omniscience he depended, confessed himself at fault. “I cannot,” wrote his correspondent with manifest acrimony, “call to mind the explanation of the enigma you have submitted to me for solution. Were it a question of ignorance I might contemplate my failure to advise you of its meaning, with a certain degree of philosophy, but the omission must be ascribed less to ignorance than to a bad memory. I have a faint recollection of having discussed these same words with some one a few years back, but beyond the fact that they are of Chinese origin, and refer to some Chinese superstition, I cannot charge my memory with further information. This annoys me greatly, as I particularly dislike not having my memory under control, therefore I am determined not to rest until I have found out what Tu Soh means. Come and see me at four o’clock, and we will discuss the subject together.”

Seeing that Fanks himself also had a faint memory of the words, he thought it best to accept this invitation, hoping that in the course of conversation, the knowledge of at least one of them might revive and furnish the required information. Acting promptly, as was his custom in all things, Fanks no sooner finished reading the letter than he put on his hat and set off at once for Wardour Street, where Mr. Mankers kept a curiosity shop.

It was a disorderly looking place, all kinds of incongruous things being heaped up cheek by jowl in the most ludicrous proximity. Suits of armour, oil paintings, Arabian lamps, Indian carpets, ivory carvings, Dresden china, Japanese monsters, all jostled each other in the dim twilight of the shop. Statues of white marble, suggestive of Hellenic myths, were half hidden by tapestries torn from the walls of mediaeval chambers. Grim Polynesian weapons lay beside silver-framed mirrors of Renaissance workmanship, mummies tightly swathed in bituminous steeped cerements stood nigh cabinets of Louis Quinze, recalling memories of Versailles and Dubarry. Jewellery, tarnished and old-fashioned, silver teapots, exquisitely chased trays, watches of all epochs, strings of rings, and many other things were all piled up together in picturesque confusion. And over all lay the grey veil of dust, trying to hide from the modern world these pitiful wrecks of the past. What sermons did that shop preach of folly, of sorrow, of crime, of tenderness! The wreckage of households was here, the records of dead generations, the emblems of past splendour, all crowded confusedly behind the dingy windows, under the constantly increasing dust.

If the shop was queer the proprietor was queerer. A stumpy dwarf, with a huge head, a flat round face, and piercing black eyes softened by the glasses of horn-rimmed spectacles. Mankers, with his low stature, his disproportionate head, his eccentric ways, seemed like some goblin guardian placed here to watch over these splendours of old time. Yet he was only an ordinary shopkeeper, with a bent towards antiquities and with a knowledge of out-of-the-way things unsurpassed in London.

“Hey, Mr. Fanks,” he croaked, emerging from behind a shimmering fall of Indian brocade as his visitor entered. “I am glad you came. That letter of yours—yes. Tu Soh! those words worry me; I can’t conceive what has become of my memory. I have heard them before.”

“And so have I,” replied Fanks, taking his seat on a worm-eaten chest of black oak; “like yourself, I guessed they were Chinese the moment I saw them.”

“Hey! you did, did you? And where did you see them?”

Fanks hesitated. He did not wish to tell Mankers anything at present, as the little man was free with his tongue and unable to keep a secret. He therefore told half the truth.

“I came across them in a cipher,” he said with apparent frankness. “You know I am fond of solving cryptographs. Well, in the Morning Post I found a clever cipher and solved it with some difficulty. The meaning is unimportant, but these two words, ‘Tu Soh,’ occurred in the reading, so I am curious to know what they mean. Hallo, what’s that?” he added, hearing a movement at the back of the shop.

“Only a customer of mine,” said the dwarf, casting a careless look over his shoulder. “He won’t pay any attention to our conversation, being too busy looking at some old china I bought the other day.”

“Well, what about Tu Soh?”

“Tu Soh! Tu Soh!” repeated Mankers, irritably. “I have a faint memory of those words. Where did I hear them, and what do they mean? The devil!”

“Are they Chinese?”

“Yes. They don’t read particularly so or sound much in that way, yet I am convinced I have heard them termed Chinese.”

“By whom?”

“Ah, that I don’t know. How I wish I could revive this dormant memory of mine. A word would do it.”

“What word?”

“The right word, of course,” said Mankers, biting his nails. “Some word which occurred in the conversation I wish to recall. With whom did I have that conversation—with you?”

“It is not impossible. We have had many conversations together on out-of-the-way subjects. I certainly have heard something of those words before, so it might be that we have spoken together on the subject.”

“Chinese,” muttered the dwarf thoughtfully. “Chinese! China! Hey, China! It has something to do with china.”

“So you said before.”

“I don’t mean the country, but porcelain.”

“What? Is it the name of some vase or jar?”

“Maybe, maybe. By the way, it is curious that Mr. Jerricks should be here to-day.

“Mr. Jerricks!”

“The customer whom you heard moving about just now. He is a great man for china, and knows more about it than any man I know. If Tu Soh has to do with porcelain he is the man to tell us all about it.”

“Ask him to come here,” said Fanks eagerly; then, in a lower tone, “you need not mention that I am a detective.”

“Of course not, of course not,” replied Mankers, and shuffled off to the back of the shop, from whence he returned with a tall man dressed in a rusty frock coat, shabby trousers bagged at the knees, and a somewhat dilapidated hat.

“A friend of mine, Mr. Jerricks,” said the dwarf purposely suppressing the name of Mr. Fanks. “He wants some information.”

“I shall be most happy,” returned the gentleman called Jerricks, with a stiff bow, “to place my poor services at the disposal of your friend.”

Fanks acknowledged his courtesy in a conventional manner, and looked at the new-corner keenly. This long, lean man, with the clean shaven, hatchet face was evidently a character in his way. A gentleman decidedly, and yet badly dressed in a negligent fashion. A man with a hobby, whose life was taken up with the pursuit of that hobby to the exclusion of all other things. He had a sallow complexion, lank black hair, and a curious habit of closing his eyes when he spoke. His speech too was peculiar, a slow drawling enunciation, which became sharp and rapid when he grew excited. At present he was calm, but during the conversation which ensued Fanks noticed this marked change in his speaking. Standing by the dwarf, his exceptional tallness was even more noticeable than it would have otherwise been. Shabby as he was, yet Fanks recognized the gentle breeding underlying that rusty attire. Moreover a certain timidity and retirement of manner matched somewhat fittingly with his faded gentility. Yet it seemed to the detective that the timidity was assumed, for every now and then a confident personality flashed forth from behind the artificiality of his manner.

“I must apologize, sir,” he said to Fanks, in his slow drawl, “for having overheard a portion of your conversation. Inadvertently, I assure you; still, such eavesdropping has not been without its advantages. The words Tu Soh set me off thinking.”

“Good!” said Fanks, eagerly slipping off the chest. “I hope your thoughts will result in information to me.” me.

“Probably so,” replied Jerricks thoughtfully. “By the way, both yourself and Mankers here seemed to have talked on this subject before?”

“We think we have done so, but are not sure!”

“You say,” said Jerricks turning to the dwarf, “that a word might revive the memory of your conversation. What about peach tree?”

“Peach tree!” repeated Mankers slowly; “peach tree,” he added in a livelier tone; “hey! peach tree,” he finished in a high shrill voice, “the sacred peach tree of China.”

“I see you remember!”

“I do! I do! Mr. Fanks,” cried Mankers quite forgetting the detective’s caution in his eagerness. “I did have a conversation on that question with a third party, but you were present and doubtless heard some portion of it?’

“Ah! that must be the reason I remember the words,” said Fanks quietly, “but I can’t think what peach tree has to do with it.”

“The sacred peach tree of the Chinese that grows on the holy mount Tu Soh.”

“The cosmic Tree of Life,” added Jerricks, supplementing the dwarf’s explanation.

“Oh, that is Tu Soh, is it?” said Fanks slipping his signet ring up and down his finger, a habit with him when perplexed. “The information does not help me much.”

“Help you in what?” asked Mankers eagerly.

“Nothing! Nothing! By the way!” added Fanks, turning towards Jerricks, “would many English people be likely to know the meaning of Tu Soh?”

“I doubt whether anyone but myself would know,” responded Jerricks smiling; “in fact it was I who told Mankers about it in connection with a porcelain vase, on which the sacred peach tree was painted.”

“What became of it?”

“I sold it long ago,” replied Mankers, rubbing his head.

“Have you any idea of the name of the purchaser?”

“No!”

“H’m! That’s a pity,” said Fanks in a vexed tone; “tell me all you know about Tu Soh.”

“There is not much more to tell,” answered Mankers, turning away; “but what there is I have no doubt Mr. Jerricks can tell you. I must attend to my business.”

He shuffled back into the dim obscurity of the shop, leaving Fanks but ill-pleased at the result of the interview. That “Tu Soh” meant a sacred emblem of Chinese in nowise aided him to solve the mystery of the murder. He was as much in the dark as ever, for he could not conceive why this name, Tu Soh, should be used in the cryptograph. For a few moments he thought over the matter, and then, shaking his head impatiently, looked up to meet the mild eyes of Mr. Jerricks fixed on him with a look of eager curiosity. That look startled Fanks and recalled him to his senses. Not wishing anyone to know of his purpose, least of all this man, of whom he knew nothing, he civilly thanked Mr. Jerricks for his information, said he would trouble him no further, and was turning away, when a remark from the latter arrested his attention.

“If you confide in me,” said Jerricks, in rapid, sharp tones, “I may he able to help you.”

“Confide in you,” repeated Fanks, temporizing by way of caution, “and about what?”

“The crime you are now engaged in following up,” answered Jerricks, still strident in tone.

“The crime? What have I to do with crime?”

“Mr. Fanks,” observed Jerricks, closing his eyes and subsiding into mildness, “is not a virtuoso, I take it, and therefore comes not to seek out recondite matters with no purpose in view. I know your name and profession, Mr. Fanks, and with such knowledge am satisfied that you are now seeking to elucidate the mystery enveloping some crime. With that mystery the words Tu Soh, referring to the sacred life tree of China, are connected. I know more about that particular matter than you think; confide in me, and I may probably aid you in your search for the criminal. Tell me nothing, and I follow your example. No oyster can be closer than I when I choose.”

This strange speech, so much at variance with the ostensible timidity of the man, was not without its effect on Fanks. Surveying Jerricks with a piercing look, he strove to read the real meaning underlying these words, and—failed. No oyster could be closer than Mr. Jerricks when he chose, and oyster he was now. Fanks learned nothing. For a moment or so he did not reply to his companion, being engaged in rapidly considering the reasons for keeping his business secret or revealing it to this stranger. After all there was no absolute necessity for secrecy, and great necessity to find out all he possibly could about these talismanic words, which seemed to be the key to the enigma. Under the stress of circumstances, Fanks, anxious to learn all, made up his mind to confide in this queer person who had appeared so opportunely to reveal the actual meaning of the words in question. Having made up his mind to this course, he lost no time in following it.

“I do not deny,” he said, with grave deliberation, “I do not deny that my name is Fanks, nor that I am a detective. Your surmise that I am investigating a crime is correct. On Friday morning last a man was found dead at the base of the Obelisk on the Embankment. Although the jury said he committed suicide, yet I believed from certain circumstances, which I need not now explain, that he was murdered. That belief has now been confirmed.”

“In what way?”

“By the discovery that the deceased met someone by appointment on Thursday night; and was poisoned by prussic acid.”

“How did you come by this?” asked Jerricks with a look of wonder on his haggard face.

“In the pockets of the dead man was a book of Poe’s stories, with a page turned down at the cipher in ‘The Gold Bug.’ Thinking this hinted at a purpose, I examined the papers, and found in the Morning Post two ciphers which I solved by means of Poe’s key in the tale. Those ciphers confirmed my belief regarding a meeting, and were both signed Tu Soh. What Tu Soh has to do with the murder, I wish to find out.”

Jerricks pondered for a few moments after this explanation, as though he were considering the advisability of aiding the detective who reposed such confidence in him.

“Up to the present you have acted very cleverly,” he said at length in a hesitating manner Doubtless you think the solution of the mystery is to be found in Tu Soh?”

“I do! Those words were used with a purpose by the murderer and his victim.”

“I don’t see how I can help you,” said Jerricks in a puzzled tone, “but I will tell you all I know about Tu Soh.”

Fanks produced his note-book and pencil at once.

“Go on! I am ready!”

“Tu Soh!” explained Jerricks, taking a seat on the oak chest vacated by Fanks, “is the sacred Tree of Life of the Chinese. They believe children are flowers on the tree, that its roots are in the under world, its summit in heaven. It grows on the sacred mount, Tu Soh, though some say the peach tree itself is Tu Soh. I have no doubt you will notice the belief in this Tree of Life corresponds to that in our Bible and to the tree Yggdrasil in the Edda. It is three thousand miles high, and—well, I need not tell you what superstitions are connected with it. Sometimes, though rarely, it is represented on porcelain jars, but there are few examples of Chinese ceramic art thus illustrated. If you want to see a jar so painted, I can tell you where to find one.”

“Do you mean the jar sold by Mankers?”

“No! Mankers sold that jar to me, though he forgets having done so. I have not got it now, as it was broken some years ago. The only person who possesses a jar with a painting of the Tu Soh thereon is General Deswarth.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Yet he was famous in his way,” replied Jerricks, with faint satire; “he was prominent in the Chinese war, and it was during the sack of the Summer Palace in Pekin that he obtained this jar. It is a magnificent example of ceramic art, and unique of its kind. If you want to see it and know more about Tu Soh I advise you to call on General Deswarth.”

“I shall certainly do so. What is his address?”

“Number 39, Brazen Street, Mayfair.”

“Good, I shall call on him,” said Fanks, calmly shutting. his book with a snap; “have I permission to use your name?”

“Certainly! I know the General slightly. Like myself, he is fond of old china. If there is anything to be discovered in connection with Tu Soh, he will certainly he able to afford you the information. He is surprisingly well informed as regards the folk-lore of the Mongolians.”

“Could you not come with me to General Deswarth’s?”

“I prefer not to,” said Mr. Jerricks coldly; “we are not very good friends at present.”

“At that rate I had better not use your name.”

“You can do so without fear! We have only disagreed over a piece of Sèvres china, not worth troubling about. However, you need not use my name if you choose. General Deswarth will be only too delighted to show you his famous Tu Soh jar.”

“When, can I see you again?”

“I come here every morning between eleven and one o’clock. Come and tell me all you have discovered.”

“Certainly! But I really don’t see what help this visit will be to me.”

“One never knows,” replied Jerricks philosophically, as they parted at the shop door.

Fanks looked after this curious person with a thoughtful face as he walked lamely down the street.

“Humph!” he said to himself after a pause; “it was queer my meeting you here, and queerer still that you should explain what I wished to know. I wonder if this is accident, or design.”

Decidedly Fanks was incurably suspicious.