Читать книгу The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack - H. Bedford-Jones - Страница 8

YELLOW INTRIGUE

CHAPTER I

The Word Hunter

When Alan Groot hailed me, I had just been congratulating myself that I was the only white man in Cheng-tu, barring missionaries. The brief, bloodless revolution was over; I had helped engineer it, but no one knew that. Cheng-tu, and with it the whole province of Szechwan, was now solidly under the Shanghai government. Sun Yat Sen and the patriots of Young China, without firing a shot, had cut away the very heart of China from the grafting, corrupt old mandarin government in Peking.

Our own civil and military governors were now installed in the provincial capital, Cheng-tu, and we were calmly proceeding with our share of the vast economic policy outlined for new China by Doctor Sun—a policy which will astonish the world when it has attained full publicity.

When Groot called out, I was strolling along the wide business street inside the east gate of the city, watching the crowds. Against the huge red-and-gilt signboards flowed a varied stream of humanity—coolies, brawny river men, priests from mountain lamaseries with their rosaries and helmet hats, black-robed scholars, soldiers, peddlers from Shensi and mountaineers from the Yunchan. In the midst of the clamorous confusion, I heard a familiar voice shout my name.

“Breck! Sam Breck! Wait a minute!”

I halted, and turned to see Alan Groot shoving toward, me. No wonder I was astounded! The last I heard of Groot, he was an assistant professor at Berkeley—not at all the sort of man I expected to meet casually here in western China.

Nor had he changed appreciably. He was five foot six, his face concealed behind a gray, straggling beard in sad need of trimming, and a pair of thick spectacles with large horn rims. He lived always in the past, never in the present. He was cut out for an academic life, where he could be walled in with his books out of the world, and could peacefully study and run down and transfix some hapless word or subject, until he had it feeding out of his hand.

I will admit, however, that Alan Groot knew a lot.

“Breck!” he exclaimed, grabbing my hand and shaking it heartily. “What in the name of goodness are you doing here? In a uniform, too! I thought you were out of the army?”

“This isn’t an American uniform,” I told him.

“Bless my soul, that’s so! What is it?”

“Chinese. I’m a captain in the new aviation service. Didn’t you know there’s been a change of government here since last week?”

“A—what?” He blinked rapidly at me. “You mean a revolution?”

“Put it that way,” and I chuckled. Evidently he knew nothing about it. “I’m building the hangars and aviation field here, Groot. It’s the terminus of the new air mail and express line from Shanghai. But what on earth dragged you out of your Berkeley diggings and brought you here?”

“Oh, my boy, I’m doing great things, great things!” He was fairly bubbling over with happiness. “I’ve accomplished some of the most astounding—but come along, quick! I have to meet a man in three minutes, at that corner shop. I’m getting a copy of the original edition of the Yuan Shi—an original, Breck! Come on; we can talk later. You’re free?”

I was free—and I was interested. It was certain that no report had been turned in of the presence of any white man in Cheng-tu, much less a scholar and linguist like Alan Groot. Not that I suspected him, of course; but I suspected somebody. There was a nigger in the woodpile, and it was part of my business to exterminate such gentry.

Groot was the most innocent person on God’s footstool—just the type to be used by somebody clever enough to take advantage of innocence.

We walked along together to the corner, and entered a shop. Two men sat there. One was the proprietor, smoking in a most uninterested fashion. The other was a tall, skinny mountaineer, who had beside him a sack stuffed with old Chinese volumes. The mountaineer got one good look at me, and his eyes blinked. Otherwise, his face was absolutely impassive.

I said nothing, and kept out of it. Groot began to bargain for the sack of books. He looked over one of them then simply quit haggling. He hauled out an astonishing lot of money and handed it over.

“Get a coolie for me, Breck, will you?” he asked excitedly. “An original of the Yuan chronicles! My boy, my boy, this is too good to be true!”

I stepped outside the shop, and felt the eyes of that mountaineer boring after me. I knew better than to think those volumes had turned up by any chance. They had probably been stolen from some temple, and sent here to be used in the right way.

By great good luck, I caught sight of Lieutenant Ch’en of the yamen guard, and beckoned to him. He was a Harvard man, by the way, a good type of Young China.

“Lieutenant, there’s something up,” I told him rapidly. “Report to the yamen that I may not be back for some time. Get a couple of men in a hurry and arrest a mountaineer who’s in this shop, a tall, skinny chap. He’s either a Chili man or a Korean in disguise. He has a Korean accent. Hold him until I get back to the yamen.”

“Very good, sir.” Ch’en saluted and turned. He made a gesture, and two men came out of the crowd. I told him to wait until I was gone, then summoned a coolie and reentered the shop.

The coolie took up the sack of manuscripts and Groot came out with me.

“Where to?” I demanded.

“Why—I’m stopping at a temple outside the city,” he responded.

“Then we’ll go to a tea-room and talk it over.” I directed the coolie to a place not far distant, and Groot agreed without demur, except that he begged me not to lose the coolie. Ten minutes later we were sitting in a private compartment of a tea palace with the sack of books beside us and the coolie squatting outside.

“Now,” I said, “spill it! What stirred you out of Berkeley?”

“I’m on a year’s leave of absence, Breck,” he explained eagerly. “It seems that the Chinese Government heard of my research work; and you know how interested they are in all such things? Well, I was offered a good salary, an exceptional salary, to come to China and do some investigation along my own lines. Breck, just think of an oriental government appropriating money for such purposes, when our own government won’t spend a cent! Just compare the two!”

“Just compare,” I said, “what our own government is spending on air service, and what the Chinese government is spending! That’s more to the point. But what Chinese government are you talking about, Groot?”

He took off his spectacles and polished them, looking rather astonished.

“Why, the government, of course! At Peking, you know!”

“Oh!” I returned. “I was talking of the Shanghai government. May I inquire who conducted the negotiations with you in Berkeley?”

“A man named Schmidts, of German extraction, I believe, but a Chinese citizen.”

I thought so; I knew all about Schmidts. He was a prominent member of the German-Japanese group who had the poor devils in Peking under their thumbs. And Groot, like nine out of ten Americans, thought that Peking ruled all of China. Well, I had no time to spend enlightening him just yet.

“Congratulations,” I said dryly. “What kind of research are you doing?”

He warmed up. “My boy, I’ve just concluded an exhaustive study of the alfalfa subject—an epochal subject! You know, the alfalfa and the grape were introduced into China by General Chang K’ien, who went on a mission to Persia in 126 B.C. to procure horses for the Han emperor Wu.

“Well, the word used in China since that time for alfalfa, that is, the Medicago sativa, has always been mu-su, and it has puzzled Sinologues as to origin. I have finally traced the term back to a lost Iranian word, which will have the general form of buksuk. When my monograph on the subject has been published, Breck, it will absolutely confound the world! Just think how far astray even men like Hirth and Giles have gone!”

I agreed with him that it was a terrible thing.

“For the last three weeks,” he went on eagerly, “I have been working night and day on the problem, and my manuscript is now practically finished. I only came into the city today in order to obtain this copy of the Yuan Shi, of which I was informed by friends. I hope to take up the study of Persian influences in China of the Yuan or Mongol period, and this original edition of the chronicles will be invaluable.”

I let him talk on. While Groot had been poring over some temple library, chasing mu-su back two or three thousand years until he finally hypnotized himself into thinking he had arrived somewhere, China had been waking up. The southern and western provinces were firmly established under the Shanghai government. Peking’s old mandarins, struggling along to save their face and secretly powerless against the tide of corruption, were practically disowned by the country at large. It was war; not open war, but a submarine fight to save the oldest empire and youngest republic of Asia from the Prussianized liars whose system depended upon maintaining the Mikado as the last autocratic Caesar of the world.

Japan, as a nation, was well enough. It was the politicians, the German-trained horde of caste, who were playing the devil with things. Politicians are the curse of every country. Japan, in the persons of her best men, wished China well; but her politicians were resolved to destroy China. And against them, like a wall, stood the enlightened, patriotic group of men who had sworn never to see their country degraded.

“Where are you stopping?” I asked Groot, who did not realize that I was pumping him.

“At Hsi-hsin-ho, Heart-resting-place. It’s a small temple, but goes back to the Chin dynasty; has a wonderful library. It’s about seven miles outside town—”

“Oh, I know about it,” I responded, with some truth. I knew no good of it, either. “Did anybody give you a message to bring into town?”

Groot, poor innocent soul, regarded me with astonishment.

“Why, how did you guess, Breck? Yes, I brought in a note from one of the priests, who has a cousin here. Poor chap, he’s in very bad health—”

“What’s his name?” I cut in. “The chap here in the city, I mean.”

Groot told me. I jotted down the name and address, together with a note to the military governor, called the tea-room proprietor and ordered the message sent to the yamen. By this time Groot suspected something was up.

“See here, Breck, just what does all this mystery mean?”

“No mystery,” and I grinned. “You’re in bad hands, old man, and you’d better stop over for a day or two until we get things straightened out—”

“Stop over!” he exclaimed. “Why Breck, it’s impossible! I promised Mary I’d be back—”

“Mary!” It was my turn to stare. “Who the devil is Mary? Are you married?”

“Mary’s my niece—Mary Fisher. Bless my soul, didn’t I tell you she was with me? And we expected Baron Rosoff to arrive today for a week or so. You must come out and see us, Breck!”

“Don’t worry,” I said grimly. “I will. Just at present, Groot, you’re under arrest.”

At that, poor Groot only looked bewildered. It took me half an hour to convince him that he and Mary Fisher were up to their necks in hot water.

CHAPTER II

John Li Dies

It was true that I was in charge of the aviation work here. But I was actually unattached and my own boss. Having been born a missionary’s son, and having spent my childhood in China, I knew the upcountry dialects fairly well; and consequently was putting it to use.

There is absolutely no red tape to the Shanghai government—those chaps are doers! I was engaged as an aviator, set to work as a constructing engineer, and given a free hand as a sort of secret service emissary. I was needed badly, too. Szechwan is one of the richest provinces in the country, and Peking would leave no stone unturned to get her back.

There was no doubt that Alan Groot was being utilized and had been utilized in a dozen ways of which he had no idea, and he was extremely shocked when I made the fact clear. He stated that he would resign his position immediately.

“Do it,” I told him, “but that isn’t going to save your niece.”

“Save her? From what?” he inquired.

“Blessed if I know; but they had some purpose in letting her come with you. Of course I could march some soldiers out to your temple, but we’d gain nothing by using force just now. There are scores of temples scattered over the hills and plain, and if we know just which one is the focus of intrigue, we can handle things. I’d like to get Mary Fisher out of there, though. Who’s this Baron Rosey?”

“Rosoff,” he corrected. “A Russian nobleman and scientist who is coming down from Peking.”

“Hm! I don’t know the name, but there are a lot of Russians running loose in these parts. Well, Groot, do you want to take my advice or go under arrest?”

“My dear boy, are you really in earnest? Why—why, your advice will be excellent, no doubt!” Poor Groot was rather agitated. “I’ll take it, by all means.”

I reflected. There was no use my going to the Heart-resting-place with Groot as a tourist friend, for I was no doubt a marked man. If I went at all, I must go in uniform. By this time, I had no doubt, every spy within the city walls knew that I had fallen in with Groot.

“You’re my prisoner,” I said at last, “and I’ll accept your parole on condition that you don’t breathe to a soul what I’ve been telling you. Agreed?”

“Certainly, Breck, certainly! But about Mary—and my manuscripts—”

“Coming to that. This copy of the Yuan Shi,” and I kicked the sack, “can go to my quarters. The chap who sold it to you was a disguised Korean, by the way. There are many of them in Jap pay, for they can pass as Chinese better than the brown brothers can. Now, you and I will hire a couple of sedan chairs and go out to your temple. Introduce me as an aviator.”

“But, my dear fellow, won’t that be dangerous?”

“Not particularly,” I returned. “I have a hunch, however, that your Russian friend is going to be a blamed sight more dangerous. Alan, old boy, you’d better come out of the alfalfa and get down to brass tacks! There are rocks ahead.”

I wrote a note, reporting what I had discovered and where I was going. This I dispatched to the yamen by our coolie, who also took the sack of chronicles to leave at my quarters. This done, we left the tea-house and hired two four-man chairs. It was nearly five in the afternoon, and we ought to reach the Heart-resting-place before dark easily.

My whole purpose in going with Groot was to obviate carefully the fact that I had any suspicions. To this end, I had Groot engage a runner to speed out to the temple ahead of us and announce our coming. If Baron Rosoff and his friends got the idea that I was there on a friendly visit, they would avoid any desperate work. If you jump out on a wild animal unexpectedly, he is sure to show fight; but if you approach openly, he’ll avoid you.

As for Mary Fisher, I set her down as an earnest young female of the early Victorian type, bound on the uplift of the heathen.

We passed the city gate, where a squad of our Nanking boys were keeping an eye on traffic, and headed for the open country. Our chairmen swung along at a fair clip. On all sides of us was the vastly rich plain, crossed by the marvelous system of canals, which had been constructed twenty-two hundred years ago—a canal system which had created the richest plain in China out of a desert.

The temple to which we were bound was an old and honored shrine, but I knew that it had a bad name. Many of these outlying temples are shelters for vicious and outlawed priests, and the Heart-resting-place had figured in one or two local reports in connection with piracy and salt-smuggling. It lay on the Min River, and I had no doubt would prove a place of exquisite beauty.

My chair took the lead, and I trusted that Alan Groot would take the opportunity to commune with silence and get back to earth. He had a good brain somewhere, once he could get it off the subject of Han dynasties and such things. I could not shirk the fact that we were up against a bad crowd, capable of swift and nasty action. Further, I had certain instructions vividly in mind.

“Use every caution,” they ran. “Remember that if the politicians can provoke any acts of open war between north and south China, their game is won. If none occur, we may succeed in getting unity between the two parliaments—a united China! Use every caution. Avert any hostilities at all every costs.”

Particularly important here in Cheng-tu, where, if Japan had any excuse for intervention, she could plant her troops in the very entrails of China. This, naturally, complicated the situation for me. If I could get Mary Fisher inside the walls of Cheng-tu, I would be satisfied.

Suddenly, as we rounded an abrupt curve in the road, my chair halted. I looked out, then was into the road at a leap. Coming toward us at a walk, staggering across the road like a drunken thing, was a shaggy little Mongolian pony, streaming blood; and in the saddle, a man lolled forward with death in his face.

I recognized the man instantly, despite the paint and stain that disguised him as a coolie. It was John Li, one of our best men—a Johns Hopkins graduate—who had gone to Peking with our representatives there.

“Wait here!” Flinging this order at the chairmen, I ran forward.

The pony gave a little whinny and dropped in his tracks; he had been shot twice through the body, but had run on. There were no pursuers. The road was empty, I caught John Li as the pony came down, and his hand clutched weakly at me.

“Breck!” He gasped out the word. “Tried to make the city—failed—they got me.”

“Who?” I demanded. His head jerked up again.

“Came from Peking with Rosoff—renegade Russian—Germanophile. In pay of Nippon, I discovered—he was taking charge—operations this province—must have suspected me—found myself poisoned and ran for it. Oh God! it burns—”

He moaned a little, then jerked again and caught my hand.

“Breck—white woman at the temple—I—I—”

He went limp—dead.

As I set down the body and rose, Alan Groot came running up. I could not answer his questions, for tears and fury choked my throat. This poor lump of clay before me had died for his country—not for party or politics or the damnable partisan curse of a land grown away from patriotism. Murdered by a dirty dog of a renegade!

Yet Rosoff and his friends must not suspect that I had received any warning.

“Who is he?” demanded Groot for the tenth time. “Did bandits attack him?”

I nodded, content to leave it that way. But Groot suspected something, I think.

Behind us, on the road, were plodding along some countrymen. They soon caught up, and I hired one of them to put John Li’s body on his mule and take it to the city. It was all I could do for him who had been an honorable gentleman and my friend.

All? No. Baron Rosoff still lived!

We went on again. A quick search had shown me that John Li carried no papers. The only thing I retrieved from his body was a thin, oval plate of copper an inch in length, carried by a string about his neck. Upon it were inscribed the two ideographs: t’ou shi. Shi meant stone. What this t’ou stone was, remained an enigma.

What this disk meant, I had no idea; but obviously John Li had carried it for some highly important reason, after abandoning everything else. I put it into my pocket, and for the moment forgot the object.

Our road ran on, between canals and rivers, and gradually the hot anger lessened under the cooling touch of reason within me. The importance of John Li’s message made itself felt more clearly. It would not do to lose my head and go after Baron Rosoff in pure brute fury for revenge. No! If that man were in charge of operations here, his information would be of untold value to our party. We must steal his brains—and kill him afterward. Then, John Li would not have died in vain!

And above all, no open hostilities. It was a game in the dark, silent and deadly, with no quarter to the vanquished.

Rice fields fled past, and bridges, and men going home for the night. Sunset was at hand, and the red disk perching on the western mountain rim of the plain flooded everything with crimson radiance, like some slavering tongue licking at the world. A jabber from my bearers came to me, and I leaned forward with interest. Hsi-hsin-ho they said, was just ahead.

Now I saw the place of Heart-resting, as it had been named in olden days. It rose before me in the gold-red glow of sunset—a sweet enough place on a little eminence beside the river, with boats and garden pavilions below it. Like most temples hereabouts it was walled, a circle of stone around the base of the hill. Above this wall rose gardens, and the temple buildings, their tiled roofs heavy with grass and brush.

Groot’s chair came alongside mine.

“It is early Sung architecture,” he declared. “A beautiful specimen, Breck!”

My eyes fled upward. Incongruous thing amid this ancient beauty and quiet repose, a bare pole stuck out against the blood-red sky—a bare black pole that might have been a flagstaff but was not.

If I had known of this, I would have brought a few soldiers along at the risk of a row. For we did not relish any unlicensed wireless stations.

“Ah!” exclaimed Groot’s voice. “Here’s Mary down to meet us!”

Our chairs halted before the massive tiled gateway in the wall, and I forgot about the wireless and everything else, for I found myself shaking hands with Mary Fisher.

Behind her, to meet us, came a man who could be no other than Baron Rosoff.

CHAPTER III

Mary Speaks Up

The sun was gone suddenly behind the mountains. In the gray twilight, while light mists swirled about the tree-shaded river, we walked up through the gardens to the buildings that crowned the hillock.

I must have seemed something of a fool; to tell the truth, the sight of Mary Fisher had struck me dumb. To think that she could be the niece of Alan Groot! It was not her beauty; it was what counts a million times more than beauty—personality. I had an impression of vivid brown eyes against a white skin, a face which, in repose, seemed to have no character. But a word, a smile, and you were gripped!

There is no accounting for the subtle but tremendous power which the strong personality of a woman can exert over men. It is stronger in some than others; nor is it any mere sex-influence, as newfangled cults would have us think. The old Chinese knew better. The ancient sages, away back in the thousands of years, called it yin—the female principle of the universe. I think they had the right idea.

Rosoff, to my astonishment, was a fearfully nice chap; an accomplished, aristocratic fellow, and remarkably handsome. He was clean-shaven, and had a face of keen decision. Character was strong in him, too—the male principle, which the sages called yang. He was the type of man who could be chucked naked into a wilderness and come out owning the place. In the face of his personal magnetism, I actually had to force myself to remember John Li and all the dread truth about this man.

Darkness was falling when we reached the temple, and priests were lighting lanterns, I found that the four of us were to occupy a small building—a separate shrine, long disused, which had been turned over to Groot, who had his own ménage. Mary Fisher informed us that dinner was all ready, and that the chief priest—it was a Taoist crowd and not a lamasery—was dining with us. Groot took me to his own room to wash up and change clothes.

“My boy,” he said impressively, when we were alone, “I’m afraid that you were very sadly mistaken in your suspicions. Baron Rosoff is a gentleman of much culture. He occupies a distinct position as a savant—”

“That’s equally true of you, Alan,” I told him. “What’s more, there’s a wireless outfit on the roof of this place in daily communication with Peking—and Shantung. At dinner, you tell ’em about that fellow who was killed by bandits; but don’t, under any circumstances, mention that I sent his body into the city! Understand?”

He said no more. He was nervous, suspicious, and bewildered. Nor did I blame him greatly, for Rosoff was the last man on earth to be suspected of his present business. That, no doubt, was why he was engaged in it.

Groot provided me with a clean uniform-collar, and we went in to dinner. The conditions were fairly primitive, you understand, but there were good servants, good food, and a good deal of comfort in little ways. The dining table, for instance, was laid with a linen cloth, and we used fine Chingtecher porcelain from the temple stock.

The head priest, Wan Shih by name, was chatting with Rosoff and Mary Fisher in broken English, for the girl knew no Mandarin. He shook hands with me in occidental fashion, and I saw that he was dangerous. A tall, thin man, he had the sunken, brilliant eyes of the fanatic; he was an ascetic, and his dinner consisted of bread and water. Just the type to hold this place under an iron rule, and to be honestly deceived by some wild dream of the idealistic Peking government. I thought at the moment that some of his priests would be Koreans or Japs, and as events proved I was right.

We were no more than sitting down to table when Alan Groot shot out his excited account of meeting the bandit victim. Rosoff turned to me with a smile, but his eyes held no mirth.

“What’s this, Captain Breck?” he asked genially. “I thought your people were putting down all banditry?”

“Can’t do everything, baron,” I rejoined. “Besides, it was only conjecture that the coolie had met bandits. He was able to say nothing. Died a moment after we met him.”

“Oh!” said Rosoff, looking inwardly pleased. “I suppose he would not have been very intelligible, in any case?”

I shook my head. “Not to me, although Groot might have understood him. I know a bit of Mandarin and some Cantonese; but these inland dialects are beyond me.”

At this, Rosoff gave Wan Shih a glance, and I knew that I had won the first round. The more harmless they thought me, the better for me.

“By the way,” and Rosoff turned to Groot, “I have discovered something you will be glad to learn. There is an old Tibetan transcription of the Chinese mu-su, written in the form bug-sug. This, I fancy, would trace back directly to your lost Iranian term—”

“Excellent, excellent!” cried Groot, his eyes kindling. He was off at once on the word-hunt, and the two of them plunged into a discussion that sparkled with languages I had never heard of. They were two thousand years away from here, in no time at all!

Meantime, I was talking with Mary Fisher and Wan Shih. The priest spoke in his slow and labored English, and evinced great interest in the work that we of Shanghai were doing in the province. I let him pump me all he wished, and by degrees—Mary innocently helping it along by her frank curiosity—it came to personal matters.

I made no secret of my own history, for I was convinced Wan Shih knew it already, at least in part. Mary looked a bit disappointed at hearing that I was a mercenary, hired out to help put the new air service on its feet; but I plunged boldly into an arraignment of the Peking crowd, and a glowing eulogy of my own friends. I could see that Rosoff was listening with one ear, and before I got through, both he and Wan Shih were satisfied that I entertained no suspicions whatever of the temple and had come as a visitor with my friend Groot.

“And how do you occupy your time here, Miss Fisher?” I asked, switching the subject.

“How do you think?” she parried brightly.

“Well,” and I grinned, “when Alan told me about you, I set you down as an earnest lady who was trying to convert all the Taoist priests in these parts, and providing diapers for all the yellow babies! I did know a good soul in Kwangtung who had that ambition—”

There was a general laugh, and Wan Shih regarded me with a chuckle.

“This young lady,” he said, “she highly int’lested in great teachings of divine maste’! She study teachings.”

“Yes,” and Mary laughed, “Wan Shih says I would make a fine Taoist, Captain Breck! Do you think I’m in any danger—of being converted?”

Just a pause—an almost imperceptible pause. Something flashed to my brain as I met her eyes. Some indefinite feeling; intuition, perhaps. Most people lay these things to the imagination, and fail to heed them. But in my business, one cannot afford to neglect the imagination.

“Well,” I rejoined lightly, “if I were in your place, I’d be mighty careful! Wan Shih is a gentleman of real religion—he’s no hedge-priest. And when you find Taoism in its pure state, it’s a faith that has considerable power.”

Mary Fisher looked thoughtfully at me, but Wan Shih was delighted by my compliment, which was no more than true. We plunged into religious subjects, and he unmercifully scored the wandering Taoist priests who are only fake magicians and are half Buddhist at that. With each word he spoke, I could see that my first estimate of him had been right. He was a cultured, bigoted idealist with a single-track mind—the most dangerous kind of man on earth.

Aided by my old friendship with Alan Groot, it was no time before Mary and I were getting along on fairly intimate terms. Rosoff noticed it, and his interest in the Han dynasties began to wane rapidly. Presently he deserted Groot shamelessly and entered our talk.

“By the way, Uncle,” exclaimed Mary suddenly, “did you get the wonderful old books you went after?”

Groot looked startled and gave a nervous laugh. Then, to my astonishment, he met the crisis like a man.

“Oh yes, yes!” he responded. “My niece explained, baron, why I was not here to meet you? I had the chance to procure a copy of the original edition of the Yuan Shi in Cheng-tu. I got it, and I also left the note your sub-priest sent in to his cousin, Wan Shih. I am so absent-minded that I nearly forgot it. About the Yuan Shi—a marvelous thing, Rosoff! You must inspect it by all means.”

“Is it in your pocket?” queried the girl innocently. We all chuckled at that.

“My dear, it’s a huge sack of manuscript volumes!” explained Groot. “When I met Breck, I was so excited that I took them to his quarters for inspection, and then I insisted on bringing him out here, and upon my word I forgot all about the Yuan Shi until we were outside town!”

“Yes,” I said, laughing, “and he would have gone back for them if I’d let him! Nonsense, Alan; they’re safe enough. Can’t you take a vacation occasionally?”

That devil of a priest was blinded, and so was Rosoff. What was better, I perceived that Alan Groot was doing some up-to-date thinking behind his thick spectacles.

Dinner over, we adjourned to the main section of the shrine, which had been converted into a sort of living room and study combined. Here Wan Shih left us, being due at some kind of religious exercises, and Baron Rosoff entertained us with his escape from the Bolshevists.

That went off very well. He was a Germanophile, as John Li had warned me, and I caught him in a couple of finely fluent lies, but kept my mouth shut. When he came out with the usual propaganda about the Shanghai government being Bolshevist, however, I cut loose and gave him a head-full of facts. He got the idea that I wanted to impress upon him—namely, that I was an ardent young fool, carried off my feet by the patriotic fervor of Young China.

In the midst of my argument, I reached for my pipe and tobacco, and drew them out of my pocket. Something else came with them, and fell tinkling to the floor—something I had completely forgotten. It was the thin oval of copper which I had taken from the neck of John Li.

Rosoff leaned over, picked it up, and handed it to me. His face was inscrutable. For a moment I was startled into fear; then I reflected that no harm had been done. I did not know what the thing was, but certainly it had nothing to do with the service. A personal charm, I thought.

After a little, Groot got the baron tangled up in some involved discussion about the Arabic importation of asbestos into China, and Mary took the opportunity to invite me to see the moonlight view of the river. I accepted promptly, and we got outside on the terrace before Rosoff could untwist from his argument. I had the feeling that his eyes followed us in a disagreeable fashion.

Outside, I cleaned my pipe and refilled it. Neither of us spoke for a moment, for the scene was rarely beautiful—even in this province, where the most beautiful spots have been preserved as places of spiritual culture for thousands of years. Above us the gray buildings, dotted with faint lantern-lights; the terraced garden and the dark walls below, and upon the reaches of the river the faint moonlight.

“When did the baron get here?” I asked casually. Mary gave me a glance.

“A little before noon. Uncle Alan went in to the city this morning, you know.”

I nodded. This checked up pretty well. John Li reached here with Rosoff, knew that he was dying, and only got away sometime in the course of the afternoon.

“By the way,” said Mary, her voice quite low and soft, “do you know any one named John Li?”

I must have jumped, for the pipe fell out of my hand and lay on the stone at her feet.

CHAPTER IV

A Nocturnal Visitor

“Look here, Mary, don’t startle me any more! I have a weak heart,” I said, retrieving the pipe and staring at her. “What’s the big idea?”

She frowned slightly. We stood quite alone, with only the new moon to overhear us. “My dear Captain Breck—or may I adopt my uncle’s familiarity and call you Sam?—I do hope that you won’t do any more pretending; with me, at least. I read in your eyes at dinner that you understood, and I comprehended your answer perfectly. It was all I needed to make me quite certain of you.”

“Oh!” I said, confused by this direct frontal attack. “Oh!”

“Precisely—oh!” she mimicked me, smilingly.

“Why did you mention John Li?”

She went sober at this.

“I’ll tell you, Sam. A year ago I attended the graduation exercises at Harvard. John Li was being graduated, that same year, from Johns Hopkins. He had run up from Baltimore to attend the Harvard commencement where some of his friends were getting degrees. I met him, and I liked him.”

She paused a moment, then went on.

“Today Baron Rosoff came. He had come from Siam by the mountain road over the Yunchan pass, with only one servant besides his muleteers. I was down at the gate when they came up, and I recognized that servant, in spite of his coolie disguise, as John Li.”

“Good lord!” I breathed. “You didn’t speak his name?”

A smile curved her lips—an unwontedly grim smile for that sweet face!

“No. He was ill, and the priests took care of him. Later I went to see him, when they were not around. He was shut in a room, and I drew the bars. He would not talk, and insisted that I go back to our own quarters immediately. He said that he could get away. Half an hour later, I heard shooting down by the river—and I was afraid—”

She paused, and I knew that there was no escape. She was the kind to trust.

“Well,” I said, plunging into it, “you heard what your uncle said about meeting a chap who had been killed by bandits? That was John Li. He had time to tell me a little—before he died.”

“He died! Today, this very afternoon?” The girl caught her breath.

“Poisoned by Rosoff,” I went on. “He was serving his country as a spy—and he paid the price.”

“Baron Rosoff!” she breathed. “Why!—I suspected Wan Shih!”

“You did? Suspected him of what?”

“Nothing definite. But strangers have been here, most of them coming by river. Twice I was certain that I saw Japanese faces. I thought perhaps he might be concerned in smuggling opium or morphia—except that he’s a man of such deep character, such high ideals—”

I laughed harshly.

“Right enough, Mary! He’s a fanatic, and I think he is one of those who have been fooled and tricked into trusting the politicians. Damn the politicians! Look here, I want to get you and your uncle out of here and inside the walls of Cheng-tu. That’s why I came. Rosoff is in charge of operations here for the Jap party.

“His business is to stir up an open fuss that will give Peking an excuse to intervene. My business is to prevent it. You will disappear; your uncle will be killed. He is well known as a scholar, and while of course America won’t give a hang, Peking will set up a loud yell and ask those dear Japs for help. Then Young China’s fat is in the fire. Savvy?”

Even in the moonlight I could see that she was very white, and her brown eyes seemed like patches of old Han jade set against white satin.

“You—you mustn’t talk that way about America—”

“I’m talking sense, not ideals or theories,” I intervened. “They are using agents provocateurs by the wholesale, and Rosoff is the chief of them all. Now, we’re going out for a boat ride tomorrow afternoon, see? And we’re not coming back. You be ready—”

Her hand touched my arm, and she broke into laughter.

“Captain Breck, you’re absurd! I don’t believe a word of it! I suppose you’ll be saying next that Alexander the Great was here! Uncle, Captain Breck was just telling me that the Romans had founded Cheng-tu, and that some Roman remains had been found near there!”

I turned to see Groot blinking owlishly at us. Behind him, in the shadow, loomed Rosoff.

“Romans?” repeated Groot. “No, no—you must be mistaken, Sam! Of course, Antoninus Pius sent an embassy to China, and so did Theodosius, but I have heard of no Roman remains—”

This was sheer good luck, nothing else. As Mary admitted afterward, only chance had guided her words, but it was confounded good fortune for me. I fancy Rosoff had caught a few indiscreet words from me, and now I was able to clinch what Mary said.

“Quite so, Alan,” I cut in coolly. “There’s an American named Hanecy, a dealer in antiques and so forth. He was up this way a few months ago, with a partner. I hear they really unearthed some Roman stuff. They got into a devilish row with the civil magistrate, a grafter of the old school. They killed him, I believe; at all events, that is what led to the general upheaval in the province, and won Cheng-tu to our side.”

“Roman?” queried Groot. That was the only word he had caught. “Roman? You’re sure?”

“I had it on hearsay,” I rejoined. “Yes, it was Roman.”

This let Groot expand on the Han annals and other ancient lore, and presently we all went inside. I was satisfied—more than satisfied. This girl was a wonder! Besides, she had been keeping her eyes open. She had clinched the fact that Wan Shih was acting as chief cook and bottle washer for the deviltry that Rosoff meant to pull off.

The Russian, who must have traveled hard and fast, was more than a little wearied from his long trip over the mountains. So, after a little, he said good-night, and departed to the separate quarters that had been assigned him elsewhere in the temple.

Groot accompanied him outside, came back and closed the door, and started to speak. I beat him to it.

“Not a word!” I said, with a cautious gesture. “Can’t take chances, Alan, by talking too much. Get ready to grab your most valuable stuff in a hurry tomorrow. Now, if you folks don’t mind, I want to turn in. I’ve been at work since six A.M., and tomorrow looks like a busy day. I’m going to get what sleep I can.”

Mary understood me, and would have Groot ready to light out in all haste. In such old temples as this, the very walls have ears, and to talk over our plans would have been sheer folly.

They took me to one of the four side-rooms, and said good-night. Mine was a small chamber, adorned with tattered brocades and phosphorescent fungi. The shrine must have been used as a guest-house for a long time, since a brick bed had been put up in one corner. There was a single window, without glass or shutters, opening upon a tree-masked portion of the terraced gardens. I got as nearly ready for bed as I cared, which was not far. The bricks had been faced with some straw and a pair of blankets, but I knew that if I wasn’t hopping before morning, other things would be. I had slept on these brick beds before.

When I had blown out the cotton-wicked candle that lighted the room, I got out my pipe and sat down on the bed, watching the pale smoke drift across the moonlit window-frame, and vainly seeking for inspiration.

“Sam Breck, old top, you’re in one hell of a mess!” I reflected. “How you’ve fooled Rosoff so far, I don’t know; but you’ve done it. There’s no doubt on earth that Wan Shih has framed up a scheme of action with Peking agents, and that Rosoff has been sent down to pull off the event in style. He’ll do it without any delay, either—the damned, sly devil! I never met a Russian yet that wasn’t a liar six ways from the post! There’s no ninth commandment in their decalogue.

“This Rosey is one bad actor. Either a Korean or a Jap is perched up in the attic this minute, attending to that wireless. Wan Shih has at least two more among his priests, and all the priests will be quick enough to take a hand in any robbery. Unlike most Taoist joints, this is a celibate outfit; and a dozen fighting monks make up a bad crowd. Added to these, there are river-men down below—those are the chaps who shot at John Li.”

Taking it all around, I hardly liked the looks of things. The sole hope I could see was in taking a boat ride on the river—then shooting the boatman and beating it. This river was only a side creek that emptied into the Min a couple of miles away and was quite navigable. The scheme was pretty desperate, but it was the best I could think up.

I had my regulation automatic at my hip, and another, a smaller one, out of sight, I took this smaller one and shoved it under my straw pallet, in case of accidents, and put my swagger stick with it. That was a nice stick. I had overseen the making of it myself, and it not only held private documents conveniently, but the ferrule was a bluntly tapering bit of steel with four razor edges and a needle point. Not a regulation weapon by a long shot, but mighty handy when rightly used.

Well, I had about concluded to entrust myself to the arms of Morpheus, when I heard a crunch on the gravel outside my window. That did not surprise me, but the low sound of my name in the voice of Rosoff surprised me considerably.

“Breck!” His figure appeared close to the window. “Breck! Are you awake?”

I grunted, and muttered something unintelligible as though waking up. He spoke again, and now I had him covered as I made sleepy response.

“Hello! Someone want me?”

He had not come to start any offensive, however.

“Breck! Slip outside, will you? I want to have a word with you where we can’t be overheard. Don’t disturb anybody.”

“All right. Wait till I get into my shoes.”

I stowed away the automatic, and presently tiptoed to the window. He stood outside, a shadowy smile on his handsome lips, and gave me a hand. I climbed out beside him. With a gesture, he led the way to a wooden bench set beside a terrace of flowers, and sat down. We were out in the open, the moon thin and fine in the heavens.

“Sorry I disturbed you, Captain,” he apologized affably. “I did not know that you had retired so early, I couldn’t sleep myself—too tired, perhaps.”

I replied in kind. Inwardly, I was wondering whether this were some new method of assassination, or an attempt at bribery. I had half expected nocturnal visitors, but I had not thought to be summoned forth in this fashion.

Rosoff lighted a cigarette, offered me one, which I refused, and then spoke.

“I say, Breck! When you pulled your pipe out of your pocket, after dinner, a little disk of copper slipped to the floor. May I have another look at it, if you’ve no objections?”

This staggered me. I had to go it blind.

“Why, sure!” I returned. “Let’s see—where did I put the thing? Ah, yes—here it is. So small and thin it’s hard to find.”

I laid it in his hand, and unobtrusively opened my holster flap. I flattered myself that I was ready for anything; but at that, I was not prepared for what happened.

CHAPTER V

John Li’s Legacy

“You know what this is, don’t you?” asked Rosoff.

“Certainly,” I said promptly. “It’s part of a curio I picked up in Cheng-tu the other day—a rather odd ink-slab holder made of carved stone, with copper mounts. This was one of the mounts. I have carried it around waiting to get it soldered in place but the confounded thing has slipped my mind.”

Baron Rosoff regarded me admiringly.

“I congratulate you upon your curio,” he said dryly. I had an unhappy conviction that my lie was rotten. “Probably you know the meaning of these ideographs?”

“Sure thing,” and I tried to carry it off. “It reads t’ou stone. That’s a peculiar kind of stone found only near Cheng-tu.”

To my surprise, Rosoff went into a hearty burst of laughter, genuinely amused.

“Breck,” he said, chuckling, “you’re positively a genius! Upon my word, old chap, you know how to do the thing right, and no mistake! If I hadn’t had a glimpse of that thing when you dropped it, I would never have suspected the truth.”

“The devil you say!” I stared at him. “Well? What are you driving at?”

He sobered, gave me one searching look, and lowered his voice.

“I’ll tell you. The Japanese pronunciation of the name is chuseki. What it actually means is ‘brass stone’—in other words, zinc. Shall I translate any further?”

“You’ll have to, I guess,” was my cool response. This, for some reason, seemed to please him immensely.

“Very well. Zinc is the alloy used to make brass. Without that alloy, brass could not be. And brass is today one of the most useful and beautiful of metals. I trust you follow my translation? Having entered into brass, zinc remains unseen, undiscovered, but ever potent. Now, if you wish to bring the matter into politics, and in place of brass use the word China, and in place of zinc use the word Nippon—”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “The devil you say!”

He chuckled again. “I hope that I have convinced you fully of my identity? I might add, by the way, that these disks were one of my contributions to the cause. The little parable is very appealing to the Japanese mind, you understand. Besides, it is so very innocent! Not one person in a hundred, even in China, knows what t’ou stone really is; and if everybody knew, what harm would be done? None whatever. Only those who have had the translation carefully given to them will understand that there is any ulterior meaning.”

“An admirable idea,” I responded. “I congratulate you with all my heart!”

Heaven knows I meant the words! This was the most valuable thing I had yet picked up. Of course, John Li had picked it up first. Somehow, somewhere, that wonderful man had stumbled on the fact that Rosoff’s spy system used these copper disks as identification tags; he had secured one of the tags, and was bringing it in with him. Probably he had known nothing of the “translation,” or he would have sprung it on Rosoff and saved himself.

It was a soundly practical idea—up to a certain point. Some system of identification was needed, especially since Rosoff was not himself a Jap, and he had devised something which would never be suspected by the enemy; or if suspected, would not be deciphered. John Li had of course suspected, but he had evidently not deciphered. The danger-point of such a system came when one of the tags got into the hands of the wrong party: the present situation.

Rosoff slipped up there, yet his reasoning was good. I had lied most absurdly about the thing—why? To conceal its real nature. He reasoned that if I knew his connection with Peking I would not have lied about it. Consequently I was one of his friends. He must have argued this out with Wan Shin after leaving us, and the two gentlemen must have been pretty well staggered by their conclusions. Rosoff had come to test me out. My lie, and the way I made him explain the tag, impressed him with my caution.

All this went through my head in a flash.

“Have I satisfied you of my knowledge?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I said, taking up the cards he had given me and playing them. “So far as I know, you’re a Russian savant, a friend of Groot.”

He nodded, and stretched out his powerful left hand. Pulling up his cuff, he held his wrist under my eyes. Sewed to the leather strap of his watch was another disk, identical with mine.

“That’s more like it,” I observed, settling back on the bench. “Well?”

He dropped his cigarette and set his foot upon it.

“I have been placed in charge of all operations in this province,” he said. “How is it, Captain Breck, that I knew nothing of your presence, and that you had not reported to me?”

“Don’t ask me,” I retorted. “Ask the big boss! I was working in Shanghai, when without warning I was ordered to Cheng-tu on aviation construction work. I had only time to send a brief message stating my abrupt departure, and received no answer. So I’ve been marking time and awaiting instructions. None have come.”

“Hm! Your message got lost,” he reflected. “We were astonished to find you in the service. We have heard of you; Wan Shih tells me that you are a prominent officer under the Shanghai government, and high in their confidence. That is an excellent thing for us, eh? May I inquire who inducted you into the service?”

“Schmidts, in San Francisco,” I returned promptly, “Later, at Shanghai, I received the copper tag and further details. The liaison work is superb, if I may comment upon it.”

“It is very good,” he admitted, and rose. “Well, I am glad we have had this little heart to heart chat, Captain Breck. It was most fortunate. For the present, sir—good-night.”

That blasted my hopes. I had expected to worm some details out of him regarding his immediate enterprise, but obviously there was nothing doing along that line. Questioning would be a perilous business, and might endanger everything.

So I crawled back into my own room, and crept to rest. I had good cause to be content with what had taken place. From start to finish, luck had favored me amazingly. But would the luck hold?

“It won’t, Sam, it won’t!” I warned myself. “Luck has a habit of shoving some good cards into a man’s fist, then standing back and watching how he plays ’em. Now I have the cards—watch out! Rosey is apt to draw a pat hand at any minute and when the pot is opened, there’ll be fireworks.”

That was essentially correct, and if I had possessed any amount of horse-sense I would have known just where to look for the expected trouble.

When I wakened, the sun was up and day had come—bright in the east, stormy and cloud-heavy in the west. I woke in the mood to reflect that this foreshadowed bad luck. Moreover, I had acquired altogether too much and too greatly important knowledge to keep it deposited in my head alone; particularly as a fragment of hot lead would easily destroy brain and knowledge together.

Accordingly I took a leaf from my notebook and wrote out exactly what I had learned, with full credit to John Li. When I was finishing, Groot knocked at my door and asked if I were up. I reached for my belt—and made the pleasing discovery that my automatic had been carefully unloaded during the night, and my spare cartridges were gone.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I called, and reached for my lighter weapon.

Both were of the same caliber, and I had a spare clip hidden away. Those were only natural precautions, but it was well that I had taken them. Rosoff, it seemed, did not trust me any too far; or perhaps Wan Shih had taken those cartridges.

When I made my appearance, Groot offered me a razor, but I declined.

“No time for shaving, Alan; besides, I can skip a day without showing it. Where’s Mary? Is she up?”

“Long ago, I imagine.”

I bolted to find her. The boys were setting up breakfast, and I finally came upon Mary outside, robbing the garden of a few flowers for a table vase. Also, I saw Rosoff striding from the upper buildings, all slicked up in fresh clothes and looking like a prince.

“Good morning!” exclaimed Mary brightly, as I joined her.

“Same to you and many of them! May I hold your flowers?”

I took them, and slipped the paper into her hand.

“Get that to the military governor at Cheng-tu, if anything happens to me,” I told her rapidly. “And arrange that boat ride right away—things are worse than I thought.”

She had no opportunity to answer, but her eyes told me enough. Rosoff joined us, with a bow and a graceful salute of the lips on Mary’s fingers. He carried it off like a musical comedy prince, too.

But when his eyes struck me, I knew that something had happened—something bad. Those eyes were fishy. He was extremely affable, yet this first glance left me with the cold certainty that my goose had been cooked since I had parted from him in the garden. He had drawn his pat hand—somehow.

I think that Mary Fisher felt this intuitively, for instead of leaving us together, she sent me inside with the flowers and remained to chat with Rosoff before following. Groot showed up as she brought the baron in, and we all sat down to breakfast in genial mood.

The breakfast was excellent, and I was hungry; but I could not afford to take chances with Rosoff, particularly after what I had read in his eyes. So I watched matters closely, and ate nothing that I did not see served out of a common dish. Mary lost no time in carrying out my instructions.

“It’s going to storm before noon, I’m afraid,” she said brightly, “and I’m going to take advantage of what sunshine we will have. There are some of the most beautiful spots along the river, close by, and I think I’ll ask Wan Shih for a boat right away. I have set my heart on getting some pictures, and if a storm comes on I’ll have plenty of time to develop the films. Uncle, will you ask Wan Shih about the boat? Send a boy please.”

“Very good,” assented Groot at once. He turned to one of the boys and sent him off with the message, for the boats were all controlled by the temple. “I’ll go with you, my dear. I understand that half a mile down the river are the remains of a Chou shrine, which I have never taken the opportunity of examining. Gentlemen, shall we make it a party?”

“Not for mine,” I said carelessly. This little affectation of rudeness was excellently calculated to spur Rosoff in the right place. “I’d like to look around this temple—”

“If you don’t mind,” said Rosoff, although with some reluctance, “I will remain here also and talk with Captain Breck. One or two things have come up—”

“I do mind!” exclaimed Mary firmly, looking from one to the other of us. “Just think, you are the first white people we’ve seen in weeks and weeks—and now when I propose a little trip on the river, you want to spoil the whole thing! This is my party, and I intend that all of us shall go! I didn’t think, Baron Rosoff, that you were so much of a savant as to neglect the wishes—”

“Dear madam, pardon a penitent sinner!” and Rosoff laughed under her bright eyes. “Of course I shall be most happy to accompany you; for the moment, I was oppressed by serious thoughts. Your invitation honors me exceedingly.”

I followed his lead and expressed my desire to be agreeable.

“You are too laggard, Captain Breck,” said Mary, “so I shall punish you by making you wait and help Uncle Allan. He wants to carry along a few books to divert his mind, as usual. Baron Rosoff, shall we go down and pick a comfortable boat, and may I kodak you?”

That tickled the baron to death. It tickled me, too, for I did not want to be alone with him just yet. Mary Fisher was one smart girl!

CHAPTER VI

Off!

It was not until Mary got the flattered baron out of the way that the explanation of the whole sorry business came into my head. Then how I cursed my lack of thought!

The wireless, of course. After talking with me, Rosoff had simply held a conversation with his superiors, and he had discovered that I was either a fraud or must be watched very closely until further advices. In these days, the secret service chap who masquerades under borrowed colors has a mighty small chance of getting away with it.

I joined Groot, who was hastily packing a huge suitcase.

“Nothing to it, Alan,” I said. “If we try to lug off that small trunk they’ll suspect. As it is, we’re on the ragged edge, and only Mary saved us. Take your manuscripts if you have to, but nothing else.”

“My dear boy, are you serious?” Consternation came into his face. “Why, here is a work which has been considered absolutely lost—the Si Ho Kiu Shi of pre-Tang times—”

“Damn your literature!” I exclaimed, exasperated beyond control. “Don’t you realize that we’re taking a desperate chance even to get outside these walls? Don’t you know that we’ve got a fight ahead of us at the very best? Put your gun in your pocket and leave this damned junk until I can get back here with a small army!”

That shocked him into comprehension.

“But, my dear fellow, I have no cartridges for my revolver!” In some agitation, he displayed a huge old-fashioned forty-five that had never been used. “They have disappeared—”

“Wan Shih attended to that, and he tried to attend to mine last night,” I said curtly. “But he slipped up. Get your precious alfalfa fodder and come along. If you had half the sense Mary has, Alan, you’d have been out of here before this. Beat it!”

He tucked his arm around a roll of manuscript and followed me outside.

We started down the path toward the river. The clouds had rolled up black and heavy by this time, covering half the sky, but there would be sunlight for an hour yet—long enough to give Mary a show at the game she was playing.

My one hope was to get out of sight of the temple before the row started. If we could get down this two-mile tributary to the Min river, we would be safe enough; there were police boats on the Min, and we would strike a heavy junk traffic. This quiet little two miles of tributary, however, was a rotten spot. It was just the place for piratical business to flourish, and I had no doubt that under the guidance of Wan Shih and his friends, plenty of piracy did flourish. The enormous canal and river traffic just outside the door, so to speak, has been a prey for pirates ever since the world was young, and I saw where we had a whole nest of villages to clean out in the near future.

The Heart-resting-place was only a little hillock, and fortunately most of the river below was masked by trees. When I saw what was waiting for us, however, I’m afraid I uttered several naughty words.

Mary and the baron had picked out a fine large river boat, upcurved at each end, with a small matting sail forward and the usual rounded grass cover amidships. The crew of three were bringing her up to the landing—so far all right. But Wan Shih had chosen to invite himself, and four priests with him, in another craft of the same enlarged-sampan type. They were going to keep a careful watch upon us, evidently.

This put the odds pretty high, for I considered Groot useless, while Rosoff would be at my elbow. However, we greeted Wan Shih warmly and stood around chatting in pleasant guise. Everybody was on their best behavior, and Mary snapped the delighted baron and Wan Shih together. Then she snapped me and Alan, just to play no favorites. That little kodak of hers restored all my good humor, for if we did manage to get away those films would be precious objects at headquarters.

Rosoff, catching me standing alone, walked over to me. He wasted no preliminaries.

“Breck, Peking has no report on you.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Never mind—they’ll get me traced down soon enough. I say, baron, any chance for me to get in on the game here? You know, there are better things than money to be had as rewards.”

My gaze was on Mary Fisher as I spoke.

Yes, I know it was nasty work—but it was also a bold stroke to feel him out. And it succeeded. It brought out all the buried Prussian in him.

“None of that!” he said, his voice low and vicious, “She is marked down for me!”

“Pardon—my mistake,” I answered coolly enough. We understood each other perfectly, and I had the answer I sought. Groot joined us at this instant, and we started aboard the boat.

Rosoff handed down Mary. He was a handsome devil as he stood there smiling at her, no hint of his black soul showing in his face! My hand itched for the trigger; but I had no notion of putting a bullet into him unless it were necessary. I knew what would hurt him far worse than any bullet.

So he had marked down Mary Fisher! That made all my guesswork fit together excellently. Groot would be shot, and Mary would vanish. I wondered how many other girls the baron had to his account; plenty, no doubt. A man of that type is like a predatory tiger, like the man-slayer who lusts only for blood of the kill.

At Mary’s suggestion, the rounded grass cover of our boat was lifted off from amidships and dumped on the landing. This left us all with a clear view, and we had plenty of room. The three river-men hoisted the sail, two of them squatted in the bow and the third came aft to the tiller, and we shot out from the landing. There was a fair breeze from the south, although the heavy cloud-masses were piling up steadily from the west in big thunderheads. The river was about fifty yards wide, but broadened out below us.

The other boat came along quickly, for Wan Shih knew what he was doing, and drew alongside. We rippled downstream, everybody talking and laughing, and presently Wan Shih began giving a lecture upon the history and so forth of the shores. We drew in to a beautiful little nook that had been a favorite retreat of some ancient emperor, and ran down the sails. Mary snapped the place and we drifted on with the stream.

Meantime, I had my eye on that sail up forward. It had only a single halyard that I could see, and was a primitive affair. Rosoff and Groot were sitting amidships with Mary, while I was in the stern.

Half an hour passed. We floated with the current, Wan Shih keeping up a more or less steady flow of talk, and a pleasant time was had by all, as the small-town papers say. The farther we got from the temple, the better pleased I was. The clouds were creeping up rapidly, however, and after, a bit Rosoff suggested that we had better head for home.

“Oh, there’s one place more—just around the next bend!” Mary gave me a glance, and I knew that she was playing her last card. After this, it was up to me. “I’ve saved two films especially for it! You know, Wan Shih—the beach and grotto where all the narcissus plants twine among the stones like snakes!”

Wan Shih nodded and flung a word to the boatmen. All together, his boat had eight men aboard, and our crew numbered three. I caught Groot’s eye, and beckoned.

Leaving Rosoff entertained by Mary, Alan Groot joined me and gave me the match for my pipe that I requested. The poor chap looked strained and desperate. I was standing beside the man at the tiller, a brawny river-man who knew no word of English, naturally.

“See here, Alan,” I said quietly, “when the fuss starts, you scramble up for’ard and get the sail up. The halyard’s beside that chap on the right, get it? You let everything else drop and shove up that sail.”

His eyes widened on me.

“But, my boy, the two men there!”

I chuckled. “Don’t worry. They won’t be there when I start to work. But unless we get away from that other boat, it’s good night!”

He went back, and crawled up to the bow, where he remained.

We swept around a bend. Directly ahead of us, the river widened a good bit. On the right was the place to which Mary had referred—a charming little spot overhung with ancient trees and boasting lilies which curled upward from among mossy rocks. Wan Shih informed us about it, but I was not paying attention to historical details at the moment.

“Make haste with your pictures!” warned the baron. “The sun is going fast!”

Mary stood up and snapped the scene as we drifted in, one of the men up forward poling us. The western sky was a black mass now, and as the sun went out of sight under the clouds, a little gust of colder air came along.

“We bette’ go ve’y quick!” cried Wan Shih, and barked at the boatmen. I pocketed my pipe.

The two boats headed about. The wind came in another gust from the south—it would shift around to the westward presently, under the pressure of the clouding currents above. There was no time to lose, and I leaned forward.

“Have you a cigarette to spare, baron?” Rosoff was playing the polite gentleman in front of Mary. Since I made no move to rise, he got up and came aft, bringing out his cigarette case and proffering it to me. I selected a cigarette with my left hand.

Now, when you are offering a man a cigarette, you naturally watch him take it. Rosoff did just that—watched me pick out the cigarette. Consequently, he did not observe what my right hand was doing. I thanked him, he put back the cigarette case in his pocket and turned to go; and I caught him as he turned. I belted him with the automatic in my right hand, and the front sight raked into his skull; clear to the bone. I could hear it grit, and was even afraid lest I had struck too hard.

Rosoff toppled forward. Before he hit the deck, I landed my left elbow amidships of the helmsman just behind me, and then gave him the automatic over the head as he doubled up. He went overboard.

I had planned these two blows with great nicety, and the affair went off like clockwork. It was over in a flash; and before Wan Shin’s crowd had even let out a yell, I got in the first shot and dropped one of the two men in the bow. The other looked around at me, and then jumped for it.

The boat was mine.

“Jump, Alan!” I yelled at Groot. I tried a shot at Wan Shih, but missed him. His boat was coming about, not thirty feet away, and she had great commotion aboard.

Groot scrambled for the halyard, got it and heaved. The sail rose, and Groot stood there not knowing what to do with the halyard.

“Hold it!” I sang out. “Mary, come here and steer!”

She was beside me instantly, and I gave her my small automatic. Then I went forward at a leap and grabbed the halyard from Alan’s hand. We were moving already. I got the line made fast, and stood up.

It was at this instant that Rosoff shot me in the back.

CHAPTER VII

We Win—To Lose

Most unhappily, I had not allowed for solid ivory when I hit Rosoff, although I should have reflected that any German-Russ would naturally have a thick head. Instead of killing him as I had feared, the blow had only scotched him momentarily.

He lay there in the bottom of the boat, his hand lifted, the smoke still curling from his pistol. Mary was helpless, for a gust had caught the boat and the helm was nearly shoving her overboard.

Even at this moment of crisis, I was set on not killing Rosoff. I could have done so easily enough. He was frightfully unsteady and was trying to control himself for the finishing shot. My own automatic leaped out as I saw his finger flex on the trigger, and my shot went home. His arm jerked violently and the pistol dropped. He lay staring at the shattered, red-smeared thing that had been his hand.

“That’s what we call real shooting,” I observed. “Out, Mary! Head out!”

Mary threw her weight on the tiller, and we went hissing away from the bank into which we had so nearly run. Behind us, Wan Shih’s men had hoisted their sail and were coming after us with gathering speed, amid shrill yells.

“Groot! Go help Mary with that helm,” I ordered. “When they open fire, shove her out of the way. Head straight down the river.”

Groot clawed his way aft. Neither he nor Mary Fisher realized that I had been hit, but I realized it. So did Rosoff. I glanced down, met the baron’s eyes fastened upon me, and our gaze held for a minute. To do him justice, he let out no whimper.

“Well?” he said. “Finish it. Murder me quickly.”

“Not at all,” I returned. “I’m anxious not to disable you, my dear baron. I mean to hang you when we reach the city, and I’d hate to spoil the show!”

“Damn you! You’ll not live to reach there!”

I began to think that this might be true. Thus far, I had not dared move from where I stood, for I knew only that his one shot had gone home. The numbing shock of the bullet had killed the pain.

Now I glanced down, and realized why there was no life in my left arm. The bullet had been well enough intended, but Rosoff’s rather dazed condition or else the motion of the boat had spoiled the intention. The bullet had broken my shoulder, and the blood was beginning to show. A cry from Mary showed that she had perceived it.

These things take long in the telling, for at the crucial moments of life and death time appears suspended to the brain’s perception and what may pass in an instant will require long to set down upon paper.

Groot was at the helm, and I perceived that he had it well in hand. I sat down, laid aside my weapon, and unbuckled my belt. I made shift to get it about my neck, and so improvised a sling which would carry my useless arm. Mary came hastily to help me and—so quickly had the affair passed—it was now Wan Shih opened fire. I think that three minutes might cover the action from the time of the first blow.

The other boat was fifty feet behind us and not gaining perceptibly; the wind was coming with that gathering gusto which brings rain, and all the world had turned to darkness. Wan Shih and his gang were not exposing themselves more than they had to, but rifles began to crack and it was plain their craft had carried concealed arms.

As Mary stumbled toward me, I caught her arm and pressed her back.

“Down!” I cried at her. “I’m all right, girl. You, Rosoff! Stand up. Stand up, you dog, or I’ll drill you through the foot!”

I caught up my pistol. At that, Rosoff came to his knees, clutched the gunnel with his good hand and rose shakily to his feet. He saw that I meant business. When he came into sight. Wan Shih ceased firing.

“Hurt, Groot?” I sang out.

Alan shook his head. His glasses had gone in the excitement.

“Can’t see well,” his voice floated down the wind to us. “But I can hold her.”

I looked at Rosoff.

“You try to jump, and I’ll get you!” I said, holding my gun on him. “Mary, don’t get between us—that’s right. We’re safe enough now. We can outrun them to the river, at least. Where’s that gun I gave you?”

She pushed it at me. I emptied my own weapon at the other boat, and got the helmsman. She yawed for a moment, then came on again. I dared fire no more, since we were short of cartridges, and Rosoff’s gun lay in the stern near Alan.

Rosoff heard the click when my gun emptied, and gathered himself. That man was no coward, whatever else he was! He was in the act of jumping when I caught up the pistol Mary shoved forward, and let him have it in the right arm. He whirled around, lost his balance, and came down.

“Up!” I shouted at him. Mary had covered her eyes. “Up, or you’ll catch it in the foot!”

Cursing, the baron rose. Just in time too, for Wan Shih had opened fire again and a bullet tore through the sail above my head. This settled matters, for Rosoff dared try no more tricks. He stood there cursing at me like a madman, both arms useless, but serving us as a shield against pursuing fire.

“How’s everything ahead?” I asked Mary. “I can’t take my eyes off our friend here.”

She rose, and struggled to a position beside me. The first drops of rain were sweeping down, and the wind was beginning to howl. Wan Shih was maintaining his position, both of us diving directly before the wind.

“It’s hard to see,” responded Mary, peering ahead. “We’re out in the centre—”

“Any bridges that you know of?”

“There are none below, I’m certain. We came down as far as the Min River one day with Wan Shih.”

“Then we’re all to the good,” I returned, and drew a breath of relief. “Can your uncle see without his glasses?”

“Not well, no. But well enough to keep us from running into shore.”

I doubted it, for the storm-darkness was pretty murky. I doubted it still more a couple of minutes later, when the rain began to come down in driving sheets that blotted out the shores from view. Still, I could do nothing. With the excitement of action over, the pain was beginning to bear in upon me, bringing weakness with it.

Looking at Mary, I chuckled. We were all soaked to the skin, of course.

“It’s a real test, isn’t it?” I asked cheerfully.

“What?” She looked at me.

“Why, rain! I never before saw a girl who could sit in a driving rain and look prettier than ever!”

A flush crept up into her dripping cheeks and then a smile into her eyes.

“You haven’t red hair for nothing, have you?” she retorted. “May I tie up your shoulder?”

“You may not—just yet. But I wish you’d retrieve that swagger stick of mine; it’s kicking around in the bottom there—”

She got the swagger stick safely, and I stuck it into my hip pocket, under my coat, to brace up my backbone. I was beginning to need stiffening. But Rosoff was worse off than I, for the poor devil was reeling on his feet, and despite the anguish was clinging with his shattered hand to the gunnel.

And behind us the other boat still came on, a little closer if anything.

“Some boats ahead!” cried out Mary suddenly. “At anchor!”

“’Ware boats!” I yelled at Groot. He leaned forward, squinted fearfully, and then nodded. We were going at a pretty good clip by this time, and I was beginning to wonder how long the mast and sail would stand the strain.

“We’re almost at the mouth of the river!” exclaimed Mary. The rain came in swooping gusts, thicker than ever. “I remember those boats were anchored there when we came before.”

“Then we’re safe,” I returned, and added to myself: “None too soon, either! If I go out before the baron, I’ll make sure of him first!”

I did not need to bother, for at this instant Rosoff swayed, and then went down in a heap and lay quiet. Pain and loss of blood had put him under. There was no danger now, for the rain was so thick that even Wan Shih’s boat was indistinct.

Suddenly Mary swayed upright. A frightful cry burst from her lips. At the same instant, I saw Groot put the tiller hard down, straining at it with all the power of his body—too late! Something struck the mast, and down she came; I saw the yard catch Groot and knock him overboard like a fly, before the sail dragged over me and sent me sprawling.

CHAPTER VIII

In the Net

If you’re ever been upcountry in China, where there are no game laws, you know how those fishing craft are built. A thirty-foot craft will have what looks like a pronged bowsprit—two great bamboo poles fifty feet long, jutting up from the bows in a great Y, and curving again to the water, far apart at the outer ends. Between these poles are slung the nets.

Alan Groot had seen the bunch of boats herded side by side, and had steered to clear them, not by too great a margin lest we strike a shoal. What we had not seen, however, were those damnable bamboos sticking out like huge spider legs. We went slap into them, the mast was knocked out of us, and the springy bamboos brought us to a cradled halt.

I was trying to get out from under that infernal matting sail, and to find my pistol, when there came an exultant yelling from Wan Shin’s boat, and then a tremendous crash as they sailed bang into us. That crash settled me. It flung me across the boat, I brought up against my wounded shoulder, and the last thing I heard was the crack of a gun.

When I came to myself, things were different again. We were on solid ground.

Groot, looking considerably the worse for wear, was holding me while Mary Fisher bound up my shoulder. They had cut away half my coat, which made me rather a sight. However, Mary pinned on the sleeve after lashing my arm to my side. My feet were bound. So, I perceived, were those of Alan Groot.

The shock of the two craft slamming into them had dislodged the fishing boats from their crude moorings, and they were strewn along the shore, where Wan Shih’s men were drawing them up stern first for safety.

We were on the shore also, sitting on the sand in the driving downpour like castaways. The rain was beating down in sheets, hard as ever; but it was warm summer rain and nobody cared particularly. In front of us stood a priest, rifle in hand, watching us. At a little distance, Wan Shih and two other priests were giving first aid to Rosoff.

“Damn those boats!” said Alan Groot energetically. “If I’d seen the things—”

“Hello!” I contrived to grin. “Sounds as though you’d wakened up, Alan? Where did you get that bump on the jaw?”

Waked up? I’ll say he had! Mary informed me that he had been drawn aboard fighting and had fought until they downed him. Wan Shih, I was glad to observe, had a black eye.

“And I’m afraid,” she said steadily, while she pinned up my sleeve again, “that I shot somebody—”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “We’ve played a good game, and we’ve lost. Did they get your gun?”

She nodded, unable to speak. She had caught the gun knocked out of my hand when the sail bore me down.

I reflected that things were not so bad after all. Groot and I would be out of the way, of course, and it would probably be done without any great loss of time. Mary, however, had gained quite a reprieve.

It would be some time before Baron Rosoff would be in any shape to molest her, and by then, I trusted, the worthy baron would be translated to another sphere. Somebody in Cheng-tu was certain to recognize the body of John Li. Besides, I had sent word where I was going. When I failed to show up, the Heart-resting-place was due for an investigation. If I knew the military governor, and I knew him pretty well, he would have started some action by this time.

I said as much to Alan.

“Now that you’ve got on your fighting clothes,” I said, “keep wearing them and we’ll go down game! Mary’s all right. In two or three days, at the outside, there’ll be a sound of revelry by night, and the Heart-resting-place will be raided.”

“Oh!” Alan blinked at me. “All I’m sorry for is that I shan’t be there to see it!”

“Well,” I said reflectively, “maybe we’ll be sticking around. If there’s anything to this table-tipping stuff, you and I may be floating around to twang a harp when they string up the baron. If we can hunt up a slate in Cheng-tu, maybe we can jot down a message about hanging him instead of shooting him. That was my idea all along. The main thing will be to get hold of a good honest medium who can get the message proper—”

“Stop it—stop it!” cried out Mary, so suddenly that the guardian priest jumped and threw up his gun in alarm. Tears were blending with the rain on the girl’s face. “Oh, how can you talk that way when—”

“What do you want us to do?” growled Alan. “Hold a lodge of sorrow?”

“Don’t use slang, Alan,” I reproved him. “What would they say in Berkeley if they heard such language on your chaste lips?”

“Shut your blamed mouth!” snapped Groot. “If I could get this confounded cord off my feet, I’d make ’em sorry yet that they picked on me!”

“If that’s all you want, it’s easy,” I responded. “You twist over so you’re facing me, with your feet conveniently near. Mary, be so kind as to get that swagger stick out of the small of my back. It’s made of steel, so unfortunately it isn’t broken. My back is. Now, Alan, are you game to go down fighting?”

“You give me a show!” he said.

Mary put the swagger stick in my hand, and I tossed it in the air and caught it. The guard stepped forward, but Wan Shih was striding over and the priest left matters to his boss. Wan Shih looked down at us severely. I tossed up the stick, caught it, and smiled at him. The point of that stick was carefully out of sight under my leg.

“More of a trick to that than you’d think,” I said lightly.

He did not respond. He just gave us one long, steady look that took in everything. Then he turned his back and walked back to Rosoff. The priest looked after him—and I set the point of that swagger stick to the cord about Alan’s feet. I pressed twice. Those razor edges of steel went through the water-rotted straw rope like paper.

“Take it easy, now,” I said. “I’m in on this deal.”

He nodded and sat motionless. It was no simple matter to pick at my own leg-rope under the eyes of the guard, but he suspected nothing in that swagger stick, and presently I was able to move my legs slightly.

At this moment Rosoff, pulled to his feet by two priests, came staggering over to us. He was an unpleasant sight, with a smear of rainy blood over one side of his head, and both his arms in pawn. He came to us and planted a hearty kick in my side.

“Hang me, will you?” he said. “You damned American rat! I’ll teach you something.”

Mary started forward. Rosoff turned on her with a gesture—except for his hurt hand, he would have struck her where she stood.

“Be quiet, girl!” he snarled. “Keep your place until I want you.”

“That’s what they call Hun blood, Alan,” I observed to Groot. “Pleasant chap, eh?”

Rosoff went purple. “Throw him into the river!” he ordered the priest who stood over us. I gave Alan a warning frown, and he relaxed.

I did not blame Mary for fainting. It was rather a brutal affair—all of us there in the whirling rain, Rosoff standing over us with demoniac fury in his handsome face, and those impassive yellow brutes ready to do anything at his word. Neither Alan nor I had any illusions. We knew that the end was here and now.

My only desire was to do as much damage as I could before going under. The priest put down his rifle, grinned, and called one of his two comrades. Wan Shih and the third stood watching.

The two stooped to pick me up.

I was just as glad that Mary had gone out, as the theosophist chaps say. The point of that little stick took the man above me square in the throat—just a peck, no more and no less. The other was stooping over to pick up my legs; I could see the three scars in his scalp where the sacred punk had burned into him at his initiation. As the first man grunted and fell, he straightened up in surprise, and I gave him the stick in the stomach. I think it went clear through him.

Groot and I came to our feet at the same instant. Rosoff was already backing away, cursing us luridly.

Wan Shih jerked out an automatic and fired. The third priest banged away with his rifle. The boatmen were coming on the jump, Groot and I went for the crowd, knowing that we would go down but meaning to go down hard.

I saw Alan stagger, and flung my little stick. That was the last trick in my bag, and the best. The point caught Wan Shih in his open mouth. Then—the third priest fired at me point blank, and I laughed as I went down.

CHAPTER IX

“For They’re Hangin’ Danny Deever—”

The same scene—the same place on the river shore, the same driving rain, the same fringe of boats. I opened my eyes, rather astonished that hell was like this. Then I coughed and clutched at the flask which my friend Lieutenant Ch’en, of the yamen guard, was holding to my lips.

“Do it again,” I said. “Do it again, and don’t waste it! I’m partial to Scotch.”

Ch’en grinned happily and obeyed my command like a dutiful man.

“Why didn’t that chap hit me?” I inquired.

“I hit him first,” said Ch’en, “Look around, sir!”

He helped me to my feet. The first thing that I saw was one of the river patrol launches nosing in close to the shore. Wan Shih’s boatmen were being tied up by our soldiers.

Wan Shih himself, pretty well bled but still ripe for hanging, was being trussed up, and Baron Rosoff was marching to the shore three inches ahead of a bayonet.

“Look here, don’t hurt the baron!” I exclaimed hastily. “I have my heart set on seeing him stretch hemp, lieutenant!”

“Oh!” This from Mary, who rose from the figure of her uncle and caught my hand. “Oh! I thought—I thought—”

“Thoughts don’t count,” I said cheerfully. “Deeds are more important, Mary—”

And I kissed her in the rain, as the poet said.

“Where am I?” murmured Groot, as a soldier helped him up. He was pretty groggy—a bullet had clipped him over the head and downed him.

“Paradise!” I informed him. “Lieutenant Ch’en, kindly prove a ministering angel to my future uncle by marriage! Quickly, or he’ll protest that he’s a prohibitionist—”

Ch’en, grinning like a jovial fiend, shoved the flask at Alan Groot, who choked down several swallows before he realized that he had broken a lifelong rule. Then he gave me one sad look and gasped for air.

“What has happened?” he demanded, blinking so hard at me and Mary that she drew away in rosy confusion. “Why, who are these men?”

“They dropped in for tea or something,” I said, “How about it, Ch’en? How the devil did you get here at what Professor Groot would call a highly opportune moment?”

Lieutenant Ch’en saluted.

“We received your notes last night, sir. Also, the body of John Li was recognized at headquarters. I was sent out today to take a look at this river, and being given a free hand, decided to do it under cover of the storm to avoid observation. We had thought we made out shooting, and as we came in past the river mouth we heard the shooting here. We were only a hundred feet from the mouth of this river, sir. If we’d been five minutes earlier, we would have been in time to capture the whole crowd. Another boat is following us, sir.”

He saluted again. We looked up to see a second cutter come in toward the shore.

“Very good, lieutenant—snappy work!” I told him. “You take a dozen men in your launch and go on up to the Heart-resting-place. Clean it up. Raid it. There’s a wireless station on the roof garden. Round up everybody in sight, and don’t hesitate to shoot. Miss Fisher and I will join the prisoners and go to town in the other launch—”

“See here!” exclaimed Groot. “Sam, you’ve got to let me go with your friend! Don’t forget that my books and things are at the temple—and besides, I’m going to take a gun and have a hand in the proceedings. By George, my boy, I believe that I’ve waked up!”

I reached out and took him by the hand.

“Go to it, Alan, with my blessing; the sky’s the limit! You go shoot anybody you want, and welcome. The more the merrier! Come along, Mary; I believe that I’m going to faint again, and I’ll need you to hold my hand all the way to town—”

So the party broke up.

Two days later I was lying in the hospital, with fever lessening in my shoulder and all bones set, when I heard our new military band go swinging past the place, playing a funeral march amid great tumult of shouting crowds. Lieutenant Ch’en came into the room and grinned at me when I asked him what was going on.

“Well, sir,” he chuckled, “I had them march past here on purpose to give you a bit of pleasure, Captain Breck! And in half an hour or so you’ll hear them come back playing a fox-trot.”

“Hello!” I exclaimed. “The trial convicted him?”

“It did, sir—and on your recommendation his excellency the baron is being hanged.”

I turned my face to the wall, and Ch’en went out. He really thought I would be pleased; that was the Chinaman of it, all over! With the idea of giving me some satisfaction, they had given Rosoff a quick trial, a fair trial, and a damning trial—and hanged him.

I didn’t like it. For a minute I felt pretty sick. Of course, I had intended to hang him, but that was in the heat of things. Now that I had come out on top, it looked different—but they have their own way of looking at things in China.

Then Mary came into the room, and I forgot all about everything else.