CHAPTER XIII
The hour lacked a few minutes of seven when Peter ascended in the liftto the second floor of the Hong-Kong Hotel and made his way between theclosely packed tables to the Desvoeux Road balcony.
Romola Borria was not yet in evidence.
He selected a table which commanded a view of the entrance, toyed withthe menu card, absent-mindedly ordered a Scotch highball, and slowlyscrutinized the occupants of the tables in his neighborhood. He feltvaguely annoyed, slightly uneasy, without being able to sift out thecause.
For a moment he regretted his audacity in encountering the curious eyesof Hong Kong society, a society in which there would inevitably bepresent a number of his enemies. It cannot be denied that a number ofeyes studied him leisurely and at some pains, over teacups,wine-glasses, and fans.
But these were for the larger part women, and Peter was more or lessimmune to the curious, bright-eyed glances of this sex.
His attire was somewhat rakish for the occasion; and it appeared thatsarongs were not being sported by the more refined class of malediners, who affected as a mass the sombre black of dinner jackets. Atall Hong Kong hotels the custom is evening dress for dinner, and Peterfelt shabby and shoddy in his silk suit, his low shoes, his soft collar.
An orchestra of noble proportions struggled effectively in the moist,warm atmosphere somewhere in its concealment behind a distant palmarbor with "Un Peu d'Amour," and also out of Peter's sight, animpassioned and metallic tenor was sobbing:
"Jaw-s-s-st a lee-e-e-edle lof-f-ff-- A le-e-e-edle ke-e-e-e-e-e-s--"
And Peter in his perturbation wished that both blatant orchestra andimpassioned tenor were concealed behind a sound-proof stone wall.
He was tossing off the dregs of the highball when there occurred alow-voiced murmur at his side, and he arose to confront the pale, wornface of Romola. She gave him her hand limply, and settled down acrossfrom him, her eyes darting from table to table, and occasionallynodding rather stiffly and impersonally as she recognized some one.
"You see"--he smiled at her, as she settled back and fostered upon hima look of brooding tenderness--"you see, my dear, I am here, untagged.Nearly twelve hours have passed since you sounded that note of ominouswarning. I have yet to feel the thrill, just before I die, of thatdagger sliding between my ribs."
She accepted this with a nod almost indifferent.
"Simply because I have persuaded them to extend your parole to oneo'clock. If you linger in China, you have--and need I say that thesame applies to me--six more hours in which to jest, to laugh, tolove--to live!"
"For which I am, as always in the face of favors, duly grateful," saidPeter in high humor. "None the less I have this day, since we partedthis morning, indulged in one pistol duel between sampans, with one ofyour admirable confreres----"
"Yes, I heard of that. But it stopped there. You winged his sampancoolie."
"And at the Canton station, if I may be pardoned for contradicting, Iencountered the red-faced one. To tell you what you may already know,I punched him in the jaw, dog-gone him!"
She seemed to be distressed.
"You must be mistaken."
Peter shook his head forcibly. "A choleric gentleman born with thehabit of reaching for his hip-pocket," he amplified.
She studied him with wide, speculative eyes. "He must be from thenorth. Some of them I do not know. But all of them have beeninformed."
"To permit me to live and love until one to-morrow morning?"
She nodded.
The aspiring and perspiring orchestra and the impassioned tenor hadagain reached the chorus of "Un Peu d'Amour."
"I could ge-e-e-eve you al-l-l my life for the-e-e-e-s--"
"Badly sung, but appropriate," commented Romola Borria.
Peter's countenance became a question mark.
"It may mean that I am giving you all my life for--this," she explained.
"For these few minutes, when we were to chatter, and make love, and behappy?" Peter demanded indignantly. "My dear----" He reached out forher hand, and she let him fondle it, not reluctantly. "I'd give all mylife, too, for these few minutes with you. Do you know--you'reperfectly adorable to-night! There's something--something irresistibleabout you--to me!"
"To you?"
"Yes," he said in a deep voice, and sincerely. "I'd come all the way'round the world, and lay my life at your feet--thus." And he placedhis knuckles on the white cloth, as if they were knees.
"Ah! But you don't mean that!"
"When I'm in love, I mean everything!"
"I know. You are fickle. Miss Lorimer--Miss--Vost--Romola--they come,they love, they are gone, quite as fatefully and systematically as lifefollows death, and death follows life."
"I do wish you wouldn't talk about death in that flippant manner," hegibed, wondering how under the sun he might get her out of this gloomymood.
"But death is in my mind always--Peter. When you have gone through----"
"Romola, I refuse to be lectured."
"Very well; I refuse to talk of anything but love and death."
"Excellent, my own love! Tell me now how it feels when _you_ are inthe heavenly condition."
"Most hopeless, Peter; because death, you see, is so close upon theheels of my love."
"Meaning--me?"
"No--my heart. The death of love and the death--of life follow mylove. Now I want to pick up the threads of a moment ago. Peter, don'thold my hand. That woman is--staring. You said--you said, you wouldcome away around the world to see me, to help me, possibly, if I werein trouble. You weren't serious."
"Cross my heart!"
"On the _Persian Gulf_ that day--that day I told you something of yourrecent adventures and your apparently miraculous escapes, I intended toask you----"
"Seeress, I am all ears----"
"I intended asking you a favor, a most important one, analternative----"
"The trip to Nara?"
"Yes; an alternative to that. Tell me truly how much at heart you hatethe man at Len Yang. Wait. Don't answer me yet. At heart, do youreally hate him, as you pretend, or are you simply bowing down to yourvanity, to the pride you seem to take in these quixotic deeds? For onething, there is very little money in what you are doing. If you shouldapproach these adventures a little differently, perhaps, you might putyourself in a position to be rewarded for the troubles you take, thedangers you risk. I mean that."
"I admit I'm not a money hater," frowned Peter, striving without muchsuccess to feel her trend.
"It would be so easy for you to make all the money you need in only afew years by--how shall I say it?--by 'being nice.' Wait! I have notfinished. You said I was a special emissary from him. You hit themark more squarely than you thought. Oh, I admit it! I was sent toBatavia to meet you, to intercept you, and, to be quite frank, to askyou your terms."
"From _him_?"
"Yes. He has observed you. He can use you, and oh!--how badly hewants you and your boldness and that unconquerable fire of yours! Heneeds you! He wants you, more than any man he has known! And he willpay you! Name your price! A half million gold a year? Bah! It is adrop to him!"
"Don't," begged Peter in a whisper. "Please--don't--go on."
His face had become almost as white as the tablecloth, and his lipswere trembling, ashen.
"God! I put my confidence in you, time after time, and each time youshow me treachery, deeper, more hideous, than before. Please don'tcontinue. I'm trying, as hard as I know how, to appreciate yourposition in this wretched mess--and trying to find some excuse for it.For you! And it's hard. Damned, brutally hard. Let's part! Let'sforget! Let's be just memories to each other--Romola!"
Her face, too, had lost its color, like life fading from a rose whenthe stem is snapped. Her hand sought her throat and groped there, asit always did in her moments of nervousness, and she drummed on thecloth with a silver knife. She stared curiously at him, with the otherlight dying hard.
> "Then I can only hope--a slender hope--to bring you back to the favor Iasked you originally, and I place that before you now, my request forthat favor--my final hope. You cannot refuse that. You cannot! Youprofess to be chivalrous. Now, let me--test you!"
Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China Page 31