CHAPTER IX
The bund of Shanghai was striped with the long, purple shadows ofcoming night, a night which seemed to be creeping out of the heart ofthe land, ushering with it a feeling of subtle tension, as though thetouch of darkness stirred to wakefulness a populace of shadows, whichskulked and crouched and whispered, comprising an underworld ofsinister folk which the first glow of dawn would send scampering backto a thousand evil-smelling hiding-places.
The rhythmic chant of coolies on the river ended. Mammoth go-downs,where the products of China flowed on their way to distant countries,became gloomily silent and empty. Handsome, tall sikhs, the police ofthe city, appeared in twos and threes where only one had been stationedbefore; for in China, as elsewhere, wickedness is borne on the night'swings.
With the descent of the velvety darkness the late wireless operator ofthe transpacific greyhound, the _Vandalia_, slipped out of an obscure,shadowy doorway on Nanking Road and directed his steps toward theglittering bund, where he was reasonably sure his enemies would havedifficulty in recognizing him.
Peter's uniform now reposed on a dark shelf in the rear of a silkshop.He had no desire to be stabbed in the back, which was a probability incase certain up-river men should find him. The Chinese gentleman whoconducted the silkshop was an old friend, and trustworthy.
Peter now wore the garb of a Japanese merchant. His feet weresandaled. His straight, lithe figure was robed in an expensive graysilk kimono. Jammed tight to his ears, in good Nipponese fashion, wasa black American derby. His eyebrows were penciled in a fairlypraiseworthy attempt to reproduce the Celestial slant, and he carried alight bamboo cane.
Yet the ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ was not altogether sure that thedisguise was a success. If the scowling yellow face he had detectedamong the throngs on the bund that morning should have followed him tothe silk-shop, of what earthly use was this silly disguise?
He padded along in the lee of a money-changer's, keeping close to thewall. By degrees he became aware that he was followed; and heendeavored to credit the feeling to imagination, to raw nerves. Aghostly rickshaw flitted by. The soft chugging of the coolie's barefeet became faint, ceased. A muttering old woman waddled past.
He looked behind him in time to see a gaunt face, lighted by the dimglow of a shop window, bob out of sight into a doorway. Turning againa moment later, he saw the man dive into another doorway.
Peter ran to the dark aperture, seized a muscular, satin-covered arm,and dragged a whispering Chinese, a big, brawny fellow, into thecircular zone of the yellow street-light. Quickly recovering from hissurprise, the Chinese reached swiftly toward his belt. Peter, hopingthat only one man had been set on his trail, gave a murderous yell, andat the same time drove his fist into a yielding paunch.
With a groan the Chinese staggered back against the shop window, cavingin a pane with his elbow. Peter raised his fist to strike again.
Then a monumental figure, with a clean turban coiled about his head,strode austerely into the circle of yellow light.
"_Ta dzoh sh[=e]n m[=o] szi_?"
"Thief," said Moore simply, indicating the broken shop window.
"L[=a]o sh[=e]n l[=a]o sh[=e]n!" growled the sikh. He seized theluckless window-breaker by both shoulders, backed him against an irontrolley-post, and strapped him to it.
With a jovial, "Allah be with you!" Peter Moore continued his strolltoward the bund. Now that the trailer was out of his way for the nightat least, he could make his way in peace to the Palace bar and find outwhat might be in the wind for him.
As he crossed Nanking Road where it joined the bund, a frantic shout,mingled with a scream of fear or of warning, impelled him to leap outof the path of a rickshaw which was making for him at a breakneckspeed. A white face, with a slender gloved hand clutched close to thelips, swept past.
Peter gasped in surprise quite as staggering as if the girl in therickshaw had slapped him across the face. He shouted after her. Butshe went right on, without turning.
"Licksha?" A grinning coolie dropped the shafts of an empty rickshawat Peter Moore's heels.
He ceased being angry as a softer glow crept into his veins. Therickshaw turned to the right, following the other, which occupied thecenter of the almost deserted bund, and speeding like the wind.
"_Ni chue ba_!" shouted Peter Moore. The girl seemed to be headed forthe bund bridge. But why? A number of questions stormed futilely inhis brain. Why had the girl ignored him? Why had she not gone aboardthe _Manchuria_, as she had promised?
The coolie joggled along, his naked legs rising and fallingmechanically. The wireless operator drew the folds of the kimono moreclosely about his throat, for the night air blowing off the Whang-poowas chill and damp.
At the bridge the rickshaw ahead suddenly stopped, waiting. PeterMoore drew alongside, and leaped to the ground.
The near-by street-light afforded him the information that he had madea mistake. Undeniably similar to the girl he had sent away on the_Manchuria_ that morning was the young lady in the rickshaw. She hadthe same white, wistful face, the same alert, appealing eyes, the samerosebud mouth. Any one might have made such a mistake. It was veryembarrassing.
"Why are you following me?" she demanded.
"I thought I knew you. I am sorry. I'll go at once."
"No! Wait." Her volte relented. It was a fresh young voice, notindeed unlike that of Miss Lorimer's. She was smiling. "Why are youdressed as a Jap?"
"I am sorry," Peter faltered, retreating. "Mistake. You're not thegirl I--I expected. _Sayonara_!"
"_Please_ don't run away," said the girl with a soft laugh. "I'm notafraid, or I would have run, instead of waiting, when you followed me.I've just come up from Amoy--alone. And I leave to-morrow forChing-Fu--alone. You're American!" she murmured. "But why theJap--disguise? I'm American, too. I used to live in New York, onRiverside Drive. Oh! It must have been ages ago!"
"Why?" asked Peter unguardedly.
"I haven't met one of my countrymen in centuries! And to-morrow I goup the river, 'way beyond Ching-Fu, beyond Szechwan!"
"Bad travelling on the river this time of the year," Peter murmuredpolitely. "She's out of her banks up above Ichang, I have been told."
"Yes," replied the girl sadly. "If I could only have just one eveningof fun--a dance or two, maybe--I--I--wouldn't mind half so much.I--I----"
Peter advised himself as follows: I told you so. Aloud he said:
"I believe there's a dance at the Astor Hotel. If we can get atable----"
"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the girl. "Do--do you mind very--much?"
"Tickled to death," Peter declared amiably.
Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China Page 9