CHAPTER II
Wu Ling, the trader, Chinese representative of the great house ofJohnson and Company, at home and amongst his merchandise, was strangelyinstalled. He sat in the remote corner of a huge warehouse, packed fromfloor to ceiling with an amazingly heterogeneous collection of allmanner of articles. There were bales of cotton and calico goods fromManchester, woollens from Bradford, cases of firearms from Birmingham,and six great crates of American bicycles in the foreground. A Fordautomobile stood in the middle of the floor, and, farther back, in therecesses of the room, which seemed to be of no particular shape, andwhich wandered into many corners, were piles of Chinese silks, shelfafter shelf of china bowls and ivory statuettes. Hanging from the wallswere mandarins' robes of green and blue, embroidered with many-colouredsilks, fragments of brocade, and one great pictorial representation ofthe grounds of an emperor's palace, woven with miraculous skill into abackground of pale blue material. From the more distant parts of thewarehouse came an insidious, pungent odour, as of a perfume from whichthe life had gone but the faintness of which remained; a perfume whichspread itself with gentle insistence into every corner of the place andseemed to envelop even its more sordid details with an air of mystery.In the great open yard, blue-smocked Chinamen were packing and unpackingin amazing silence. The only sound in the warehouse itself came from theclicking of a typewriter before which, on a plain deal bench, was seateda black-haired, sallow-faced youth in European clothes. From outside,there drifted in through the open window, in a confused medley, thestrange noises of the quay, the patter of naked feet, the shrill cry ofthe porters and occasional screech of a siren. A white mist hung overthe harbour; a hot, damp mist, concealing in patches the tangled mass ofshipping....
Into this curious chamber of commerce, ushered by a Chinese boy, cameGregory Ballaston, the Englishman whom Wu Ling had rescued a short whileago. The Chinese boy murmured something and departed. Wu Ling nodded awelcome to his visitor--a grave, reserved welcome.
"No gone England yet," he observed.
The young man sank into the chair which the other's gesture indicated.He had evidently found his clothes, for he was very correctly dressed inthe European fashion. His manner was self-possessed and his voice level.Nevertheless his pallor was almost ghastly and there were still bluelines under his eyes. He had the air of a man who has been through someform of suffering.
"You have heard the story of my friend, Wu Ling?" he asked.
The Chinaman shook his head and pointed around.
"Much affairs," he explained. "Very busy. Smoke cigarette?"
Gregory Ballaston helped himself from the open box.
"My friend got away," he recounted; "reached Pekin and got safely on tothe train. At some God-forsaken place on the way here, the train washeld up. There seems to have been confusion for an hour or so. When thesoldiers arrived, my friend was found with his throat cut, and theChinaman who had been his guide and interpreter was killed too."
Wu Ling inclined his head gravely. The story was not an unusual one.
"Robbers in China are bad men," he declared. "And the Images?"
The young Englishman touched his forehead. The heat was great and therewere drops of moisture upon his fingers.
"One was still amongst the train baggage," he confided. "It is nowsafely on board the steamer. The other was taken away by the robbers."
Wu Ling reflected for several moments, looking downward upon the table.He seemed indisposed for speech, and presently his visitor continued.
"Of course," he went on, "according to the superstition, one is supposedto be worthless without the other. I am going to risk that, however.Mine is under lock and key in the purser's safe, and I sha'n't even lookat it until we're well out of these seas."
"The steamer sail at four o'clock to-morrow," Wu Ling remarked, glancingat a chart.
The young man nodded.
"I have been on board already," he said. "I came back to pay my promisedcall upon you and to thank you once more for all you did for me."
Wu Ling waved his hand.
"It was nothing," he declared. "Wu Abst, bad man. If he had killed you,there would have been trouble on the river. My trading all disturbed.You safe now. Better leave the Image behind."
"I'm damned if I do," was the emphatic reply. "It's cost my pal's lifeand very nearly mine. I am going to stick to it."
Wu Ling was thoughtful. Apparently he was watching some of the portersat work in a distant corner of the warehouse.
"Which Image you have?" he enquired. "Body or Soul?"
"I haven't undone the case," the young man answered. "I don't care whichit is, so long as the jewels are in it."
"You think you get the jewels?" Wu Ling asked gently.
"If they are there, I shall," was the dogged reply. "Superstitions areall very well in a way, but a wooden image is a wooden image, afterall."
Wu Ling said nothing. There was a curious significance about his silencewhich seemed somehow to embarrass his visitor, who rose presently to hisfeet and looked around. He was inspired with a desire to change theconversation.
"What an amazing place this is!" he exclaimed. "I suppose you have somewonderful Chinese things."
"We spend life collecting them," Wu Ling answered. "In return you seewhat we give," pointing to the bales of calico and woollen goods and thecrates of bicycles. "Perhaps you care buy some curios?"
Gregory Ballaston shook his head.
"No money," he confessed. "I shall have to get a credit from the purseras it is."
Wu Ling rose slowly to his feet.
"Come," he enjoined. "I show you something. Follow!"
The young man, not altogether willing, followed his guide to the extremeend of that amazing warehouse, through a recess into a further dark roomalso filled with a strange conglomeration of articles from which seemedto come with even more troublous insistence the same curious odour,lifeless yet disturbing. Beyond was still another door towards which WuLing made his way. His companion hesitated.
"I have not a great deal of time," he said. "I want to see the Consulbefore the place closes."
"You have time to see what I shall show," was the almost ominousrejoinder.
They paused before the door which, to Ballaston's surprise, was studdedwith great nails and of enormous strength. Wu Ling produced a long, thinkey from his pocket, which he inserted into a very modern-lookingaperture. The door swung ponderously open. Inside there was no window,nor apparently any form of ventilation, and again that odour, cloyingand nauseating, swept out in stabbing little wafts, almost stupefying.The young man, confronted with a pool of darkness, would have drawnback, but there was suddenly a grip upon his arm like a ring of iron.
"Wait!" Wu Ling ordered. "There shall be light."
And immediately there was. From some unseen switch the dark chamber wasflooded with the illumination of many electric bulbs. Ballaston gaspedas he looked around. It was almost as though he had found his way intosome Aladdin's cave. On shelves of red, highly polished wood were rangedlumps of jade and quartz, bowls of ancient china of which even hisinexperience could gauge the pricelessness, silk coats, faded butmarvellously embroidered, barbaric stones in open trays, a great circletof Malay pearls, and, on a shelf alone, staring at him, bland andunmistakable, the other of the twin Images which he and his friend haddragged down from their pedestals in the Temple. Ballaston stared at itspeechless. The face itself had a touch of sphinxlike mysticism, theremoteness of a god, the benevolence of a kindly spirit. The work in itseemed so slight; the result so prodigious. Ballaston found words atlast.
"The other Image!" he cried. "Where did you get it?"
"In this city," Wu Ling explained, "nothing of this sort is sold unlessit come first to us. Three nights since there appeared a messenger. Isought the man from whom he came at his hiding place in the city. Withhim I traded for the Image."
"You purchased it!" the young man gasped.
"Whom else?" was the composed reply.
"In this country, from the darkforests of Northern Mongolia, the temples of Pekin, or the mines on theSiberian borders, all that there is for which men seek gold comes here.We pay. They sell."
"But you can't keep it," Ballaston exclaimed, "not in this country. Thepriests will hear. You will be forced to return it. If it belongs to anyone----"
He stopped short. Wu Ling read his thoughts and smiled.
"The priests of the temple, which you and your accomplice ravaged," heannounced, "live no longer. They were murdered by the people many daysago, for their sin in permitting you to enter the temple. Furthermore,the Images are now defiled. The hand of the foreigner has touched them.They can never again take their place by the side of the Great Buddha.You bought with blood, and I with gold."
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps close at hand. An elderlyman, dressed in shabby European clothes, stood behind them. He lookedover their shoulders at the Image, and there was for a moment almost aglow in his worn and lined face.
"This," Wu Ling confided, "is a man of your race. He is of the firm--apartner--not because of business, but because he is a great scholar. Hereads strange tongues, manuscripts from the monasteries of Thibet, thearchives of ancient China. He was once a professor at one of youruniversities--Professor Endacott. He is now of the firm of Johnson andCompany."
The newcomer acknowledged indifferently the young man's greeting.
"You are looking at a very wonderful piece of carving," he said. "I oncespent a year in Pekin to see that and its companion Image."
"Young man has other," Wu Ling explained blandly. "He and friend stoleboth from temple. This one come here--you know how. The other he has onship, taking with him to England."
Endacott's whole frame seemed to stiffen. He frowned heavily. His tonecarried a far-off note of sarcasm, which might have belonged to the daysof his professorship.
"The young man has chosen as he would," he remarked. "He possesses theBody, and here, still in the land which gave it immortality, remains theSoul. Now they are separated. What will you do with your Image, youngman, if you reach your country safely?"
"There is a legend of hidden jewels," was the eager reply. "You perhapsknow of it."
"I know the legend well," the other admitted. "There is treasure in one,perhaps in both. Which do you think might hold the jewels--the Body orthe Soul?"
"I am hoping that there are some in mine, anyhow," Ballaston answered.
"That may be," was the tranquil comment. "On the other hand, we may findthe whole story to be an allegory. You may discover nothing butemptiness and disappointment in the Body. Here, at least, in the Soul,you find reflected by the divine skill of the craftsman, the jewels ofpure living and spiritual thought. You were of Oxford, young man?"
"Magdalen."
"You have the air. Nearly all of your age and small vision scoff in yourhearts at any religion which may seek to express the qualities for whichthat Image stands. It is your ill-fortune that you have the Body. Whenyou are home you will unpack your case, you will place the Image amongstyour treasures, and I can tell you, even though it is thirty years sinceI saw it, what you will see. You will see a brooding face and eyes castdown to the dunghills. You will see thick lips and coarse features. Youwill see expressed as glaringly as here you see the triumph of thespirit, the debasement of the body. You will watch your Image and youwill sink. You will never look at it, you or others, without conceivingan unworthy thought, just as you could never look upon this one withoutfeeling that some one has stretched down his hand, that somewhere thereis a murmur of sweet voices speaking to you from above the clouds."
"But the jewels!" the young man persisted.
"Bah!" Endacott muttered, as he turned on his heel.
Ballaston, with wondering eyes, watched the erstwhile professordisappear.
"Looney!" he murmured, under his breath.
"I desire pardon," Wu Ling interpolated politely.
"A madman!"
Wu Ling smiled.
"He is a personage of great learning," he declared. "He is a friend ofChinese scholars who have never spoken to any other foreigner. He hasgreat knowledge."
"What are you going to do with that?" Ballaston asked, motioning towardsthe Image.
Wu Ling sighed. He stood for a moment in silent thought, his eyes fixedupon his treasure. Then gently and almost with reverence he turned away,beckoned his companion to precede him, passed out and locked the door.
"Who can tell?" he ruminated. "We have a great warehouse here filledwith strange goods, as you see, another and larger in Alexandria, anagent in New York. All the things come and go. We do not hurry. We havejade there which we have not even spoken of for twenty years, silk robesfrom the chests of him who was emperor, ivory carvings from his SummerPalace, denied even to the great merchants. Perhaps we sell. Perhapsnot."
"You must be rolling in money," the young man sighed.
"I desire pardon," Wu Ling rejoined, mystified.
"You must be wealthy--very rich."
Wu Ling smiled tolerantly. He turned back, swung open once more thedoor, and turned on the light. He pointed to the Image, serene andbenevolent.
"What counts money?" he murmured.
They were about halfway through the outer warehouse on their way to thelighter room beyond, when a thing happened so amazing that Ballastonstopped short and gripped his companion by the shoulder. Returningtowards them was Endacott, and by his side a girl. She was dressedsimply enough in the white clothes and shady straw hat which the climatedemanded, but there were other things which made her appearance in sucha place curiously incongruous. She broke off in her conversation andlooked at Gregory Ballaston in frank astonishment. It was certainly anunusual meeting place for two young people of the modern world.
"I am taking my niece to see our new treasure," Mr. Endacott observed, alittle stiffly. "Will you lend me the key, Wu Ling, or will you take usback yourself?"
"I will return," Wu Ling replied gravely. "The young gentleman willexcuse."
"If I too might be permitted one more glimpse," Ballaston begged.
The girl smiled at him and glanced at her companion. Mr. Endacottrecalled the conventions of his past.
"I should like, my dear," he said, "to present our young visitor to you,but I am not sure that I remember his name, or that I have even heardit."
"Ballaston," the young man interposed, with some eagerness, "GregoryBallaston."
"This, then, is my niece, Miss Claire Endacott," the ex-professorproceeded. "She will be your fellow traveller, I imagine, if you leaveon to-morrow's steamer."
The two young people shook hands, and they all turned back into therecesses of the warehouse.
"You are coming to England?" Ballaston asked.
She nodded.
"It is so nice to meet some one who is going to be on the ship," shesaid. "I came from New York here last month, knowing scarcely a soul."
After that they remained without speech for a few moments. Somehow orother their surroundings and their mission seemed to demand silence. WuLing gravely opened the door and turned up the light. The girl drew alittle breath of joy as she gazed at the Image.
"But that is wonderful!" she exclaimed.
"It is the work of a great master," her uncle explained gravely. "Thehand which fashioned that Image was the hand of a man who knew thesecrets of the ages, who came as near the knowledge of what eternitymeans as any man may. There is much to think about--little to speak of."
Their silence was the silence of entrancement; Ballaston's attentionalone curiously distracted. It was a strange environment for her modernand vivid beauty, this chamber with its clinging odours, its ancienttreasures of silk and ivory, the time-defying Image gazing serenely pastthem. Wu Ling and Endacott himself seemed entirely in the setting; thegirl, with her masses of yellow hair and almost eagerly joyousexpression, a butterfly wandered by chance into a vault. Yet he hadanother impression of her before they left. He caught a glimpse of herparted lips, the strained light in
her clear, grey eyes, as though in asense her spiritual self were reaching out towards the allegory of theImage. Then her uncle gave the signal. Wu Ling gravely switched off thelight and they trooped back into the warehouse.
"Somehow," the girl reflected--"I suppose it is because I have just comefrom the art classes and the museums of New York--I feel as though thatwere the first real thing I have ever seen in my life."
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