Читать книгу Fort in the Jungle - Percival Christopher Wren - Страница 18
CHAPTER VI
ОглавлениеThat evening I was accordingly present at the extremely interesting interview between Captain Deleuze, wonderful Intelligence Officer, and De-Nha, Black Flag pirate, dacoit, rebel officer and confidant of the great De-Nam who was Chief Mandarin and principal fighting General of the exiled Emperor Ham-Nghi, and himself uncrowned king of all Yen-Thé, and northern Indo-China.
It was a remarkable contest of wills; Deleuze, cold, relentless, determined, and with unlimited power over the fate of his prisoner; De-Nha, diabolically clever, subtle, elusive, supple, but equally determined, and with complete power over Deleuze’s power, inasmuch as he valued his life at nothing, and feared pain not at all.
Deleuze sat at his table, note-book and pencil before him. I was at a smaller one, to one side, with paper, pen and ink. Doi Linh Nghi, in undress mufti, squatted on the ground at Deleuze’s left hand; the prisoner, a cord about his neck held by an Annamese Corporal, stood between two tirailleurs with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets, his feet fastened together by a short chain, and a large and heavy log of ironwood attached to his right ankle.
Deleuze was taking no chances with so slippery a customer as De-Nha. The man, while a prisoner, would be well fed and reasonably well housed and treated, receiving no brutality, injury or insult; but he was, from the French point of view, a traitor taken in armed rebellion rather than an ordinary prisoner of war, as well as a man with a shocking record of fiendish barbarity to such wounded and prisoners as came into his hands.
Searching question and evasive answer followed more quickly than I could translate and record; and, from time to time, I had to beg for respite while I caught up.
“All-right. Plenty of time,” said Captain Deleuze. “I want you to get everything down. What are you writing there for his last answer?”
“ ‘I have never seen any European at General De-Nam’s headquarters. Nor have I ever heard of any European officer being at General De-Nam’s headquarters. Nor have I ever heard of the Chinese Generals Ba-Ky and Luong-Tam-Ky.’ ”
“That’s right. Quite right. Ready?”
And question and answer proceeded.
“Of what nationality is the European who is well known to be helping General Luu-Ky.”
“I have never heard of Luu-Ky.”
“When were you last in the Quang-Yen province?”
“I have never been there.”
“When were you last in Lang-Son?”
“I have never been there.”
“In Lam?”
“I have never been there.”
“In Cao-Bang?”
“I have never been there.”
“In Ha-Giang?”
“I have never been there.”
“In fact, you know nothing, and you know that wrong, eh?”
“I know nothing of these matters.”
“And you are going to tell nothing but lies, eh?”
“I cannot tell what I don’t know.”
“And you know nothing and know that wrong, as we have just said? Ah.... Exactly.... Now my friend. You have given me no information whatever. Suppose I give you no food whatever?”
“Then I shall die of starvation, and you will still know nothing.”
“And suppose I allow you no sleep whatever?”
“Then I shall go mad and die from want of sleep, and you will still know nothing.”
“And suppose I allow you no drink whatever.”
De-Nha gave Captain Deleuze a quick look, and his eyes fell. He licked dry lips.
“I shall tell you nothing,” he said.
“We shall see,” replied Deleuze, eyeing his captive thoughtfully as he tapped his note-book with his pencil.
“Take him outside and wait in the verandah,” he ordered the Corporal of Annamese Tirailleurs.
Deleuze sat in silent thought for a minute.
“Well, Doi Linh Nghi,” he said. “What steps would you take to get information out of this man?”
“Just what you had better do, Ong-Quang-Ba,” grinned the Doi. “This jungle dog is fool enough to be an opium addict, and by the look of him has got to the point where he cannot live without it; where he’ll do anything for it. Keep him without any, until he’s going mad, and then allow him one pipe of sai. Just one pipe. That will make the craving far worse, and before long he’ll reach the stage at which he’ll do anything, anything, for more opium. Do anything on this earth—even tell the truth. Then save his life with half a dozen pipes of good chandu while you find out whether he has told the truth or not. Then cut off his opium again until he’s ready to tell you some more.”
“Better than torture, eh?” smiled Deleuze.
“Better than torture? It is torture. The very worst that could be devised. And the only one that will make him talk. You couldn’t get a word out of him with a knife or with fire. No—not if you crucified him upside-down on a sunny wall. I’ll say that for the dog. But no man who is as accustomed to opium as he is, could stand its being suddenly cut off. It isn’t possible. Even I couldn’t do it.”
“But you don’t use opium, Doi, surely?”
“Oh, no, Ong-Quang-Ba. Not to say use it. Just occasionally, perhaps I ...”
“But never more than once a day. And never more than ten pipes, eh?”
Doi Linh Nghi grinned sheepishly.
“Smoking opium is a very bad thing,” he said.
“Well, if smoking opium is a bad thing, we’ll see how bad not-smoking it is—for our friend De-Nha,” decided Deleuze.
