Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER X

  A match hissed; the flame of the lamp rose up slowly.

  With a flutter of skirts the girl followed, her head inclined, asthough she was humiliated or greatly embarrassed. She went to thecouch and faced him, while an attempt at calmness and a determined fearstruggled to control her expression. Her attire was negligee, of pinkJapanese silk, open at the throat, and revealing a neck and shouldersas white and smooth as bleached ivory.

  Peter closed the door and shot the bolt.

  The man who smiled so confidently had rolled the knife carrier with hisface to the wall. Then he crossed to the couch and took a stand besidethe girl, seemingly at ease under Peter's sharp and thorough inspection.

  As Peter examined the slender, colorless face he imagined for aninstant that the man, also, was Eurasian. But that impression hequickly realized was incorrect. The man simply was of a high order ofChinese intelligence, with smooth, dusky skin, thin, stubborn lips, astraight forehead, and eyes which were dark, watchful and sad.

  Yet these eyes seemed to twinkle now, shifting without a trace of fearfrom the unwavering gun-barrel in Peter's hand to the unwavering glintin Peter's blue eyes.

  And there was something undeniably imperial in the young Oriental'sbearing. Perhaps this was caused by his attitude, or the Orientalrichness of his garb. He might have been an Asiatic prince, or a sheikfresh from the desert, or a maharaja, from a jungle throne. Aglittering cluster of gems--diamonds and rubies--hung from a fine goldchain which encircled his bronzed neck. His tunic was of satin, thecolor of the tropical sea; his breeches were spotlessly white, and hisslippers were Arabian, with up-curled toes.

  "Well?" asked the young Asiatic, when Peter's gaze finally descended tothe scarlet slippers.

  "I am waiting," said Peter, impatiently.

  Black eyebrows went up inquiringly. "I am a merchant--from Shanghai."

  "What you are or who you are is of no importance," returned Peter in avoice of cordial doubt. "Perhaps you've aroused my idle curiosity; atall events, I want you to tell me why you were late in coming to yourwife's assistance."

  "His life is more precious," she interceded, hastily.

  The Oriental waved his hand, as if the answer were absurd. "Youanticipated me by three seconds," he replied. "I was drowsing. Ithought I had dreamed the scream. May I say--I am very grateful?"

  Peter's expression was dubious, but he nodded at length as thoughpartly satisfied. "Perhaps you can tell me what became of the man whoopened my door?"

  The man's face was frankly bewildered. "I am at a loss to account forany man entering your room--unless by mistake," he said with genuineconcern. "I think you are crediting me with an interest in an affairthat I know nothing of. Unless--unless----" He hesitated and paused,searching Peter's eyes with a glance suddenly startled. "Can it bepossible----?" he muttered. "I judge by your accent that you are anAmerican. I have spent the past four years myself in America--atHarvard. Somehow----" He paused again, and smiled faintly.

  Suddenly the smile departed, was displaced by the most murderous ofgrimaces. He was looking beyond Peter. His right hand flashed intohis blue tunic. And before Peter could turn or dodge, he sprang pasthim, colliding with an object which grunted and instantly cried out inagony.

  Peter turned in time to see a thin knife plunge into the throat of aswarthy Chinese, whose face was round as the Mongolian moon, and asyellow.

  The Chinese wiped his knife coolly on the fallen man's black jacket."Why, my good friend, should he attack you, unless----" He pausedagain, and searched Peter's face with those keen brown eyes, no longersad.

  "Unless what?" he asked, bluntly. "This man is from Len Yang."

  He heard the girl utter a sharp gasp, and a queer light was dawning inthe other's face.

  "Unless you are"--he hesitated--"unless you are the one man in theworld I wish you might be." He laughed. "Are you--Peter Moore, knownin some parts of China as--Peter the Brazen?"

  Peter nodded slowly.

  With a delighted cry the young Oriental sprang to him and seized hishand. "Do you hear, Naradia?" he exclaimed. "This is _Peter Moore_!"

  And Peter permitted his suspicions to drift, as he thought of the deadman on the floor, and of the reason why he died. He was compelled toadmit that the stranger had saved his life.

  "We must talk this over," the young Chinese was muttering. "Why, Icould not have arranged it more suitably!" He seemed to collecthimself then. "Before we talk, let us get rid of this man."

  He picked up the dead coolie by the waist, lifted him easily to thewindow, and dropped him, as if he were a sack of rice, into the mud.He whistled twice. Immediately three shadows were given up by thecaravansary. These gathered up the dead man and vanished.

  "They will dispose of him," said the stranger, helping himself to acigarette. He paused with the flaring match in his fingers and lookedat Peter quizzically. "My name is Kahn Meng. And I am _not_ fromShanghai."

  Peter nodded agreeably, although the explanation explained nothing.

  "I have returned to China to attack and capture the city of Len Yang.I came from there originally. Exactly five years ago I galloped overthe great drawbridge to study the classics in Peking. Fortunately Imet a man. He was an American missionary. He said to me: 'Kahn Meng,the classics are dead. Betake yourself to America, where you will findthe fountain of modern knowledge.' Of course, the missionary was aHarvard man."

  Peter frowned slightly.

  "What you don't understand probably, Mr. Moore, is why I can leave LenYang and return at will. I can't. I escaped from Len Yang at night.I am returning with a thousand men at my back. Those men have occupiedthis village. My conscience forbids my confessing to you how many ofthe spies of Len Yang have been fed to the hungry river since myarrival.

  "You understand, the monster of Len Yang, as I affectionately call him,must not know of my return. Otherwise he would make me prisoner. Thisfat-faced one slipped through the guard lines. There may be others."He grunted. "They do not dare kill me. For I----" He threw up hishandsome head proudly.

  "For you----" encouraged Peter.

  "Must hide my identity," finished Kahn Meng with a little laugh. "ButNaradia--they object to her. They have attempted to kill her, so manytimes. Naradia, how many?"

  "A score of times," she said darkly. "To-night they nearly succeeded.I am not wanted. I am a half-caste--a Chinese father, a poor Frenchmother. They desired him to marry of the----"

  "Hush!" cautioned her husband, for Naradia was almost hysterical andwas willing to prattle on. Kahn Meng smiled tenderly. "Naradia," hecontinued, lowering his voice gently, "now that Peter Moore and I areat last together, will you excuse us? You must be exhausted, mydear--after this unpleasant affair. Will you retire? Remember, littleChaya, in another week this terror will be at an end. Mr. Moore and Iwill begin planning instantly."

  Naradia laid her hands upon his and smiled sweetly. "Good-night!" shesaid, obediently. "Good-night,"--she lifted her brows archly--"Peterthe Brazen! I do hope that you are not a dream!"

  They watched the pink silk of her gown flit into the corridor,whereupon Kahn Meng took Peter's arm companionably and guided him tothe window.

  A keen, soft wind, tempered with the fragrance of ripening peppertrees, came in to them in delicate puffs. A mysterious light twinkleddistantly upon the river. The moon was sinking into a void, and thenight was becoming black.

  Kahn Meng was extracting from his satin blouse a gold-and-blackcigarette case. Peter accepted one of the white cylinders and struck amatch. In the flare he found that Kahn Meng was studying him shrewdly,dispassionately.

  "In the first place," began Kahn Meng, "let us settle the importantmatter of price. I will promise you whatever you desire. I want you."He spat into the darkness. "Why are you in Ching-Fu? I believed youto be in America, but I could not find you. What brings you here?Surely you were not planning to enter Len Yang again alone?"

  Pe
ter shook his head. "I came on another errand, which has nothing todo with Len Yang. But"--he threw away the half consumedcigarette--"you have made a mistake, Kahn Meng. The first matter tosettle is the more important one of identity."

  "Take me just as I am," pleaded Kahn Meng earnestly. "We have onedesire, I know, in common--to clean up that horrible city! You havevisited Len Yang. You know the wretched condition of theminers--slaves, poor devils. Perhaps you have seen them at nightfallcoming from the shaft, dripping with the blood-red of the cinnabar,starving--blind!"

  "I have seen all that," agreed Peter, grimly.

  "Ah! But are you acquainted with that man's methods? Do you know thathis corrupt influence has extended into every nation of Asia? Hisorganization is more perfect than any eastern government. His systemof espionage puts those of Japan and Germany to shame! You must know!You have encountered his underlings. Oh, I have heard of the RomolaBorria affair. Your escape was masterly! I believe you astounded him."

  Kahn Meng paused and puffed long at his cigarette.

  "Think, Kahn Meng, what might be accomplished," said Peter fervently,"if the power he wields, that tremendous human machine--hundreds andthousands of men--were devoted to the proper ends! Think what could bedone for China!"

  Kahn Meng turned quickly. His eyes seemed to shine above the ruby glowof his cigarette.

  "I wanted you to say that!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "The thinghas been in my mind for years--ever since I was a child! We can do it!We can!"

  "Yet one thousand men cannot enter Len Yang. It is a fortress."

  "There is another way into Len Yang--by the mines. It cuts off threedays of the journey. I remember it as a child. Tremendous blackravines lead to the entrance from the merchants' trail, and the openingis so small that you could pass it a thousand times without suspecting.Will you accompany us, Peter Moore--Naradia and I and our followers?We leave at dawn." He waited anxiously.

  Peter shook his head regretfully. The song of adventure was musical tohis ears, but he could not leave with Kahn Meng in the morning. Therewas Miss Lorimer--in Kialang.

  "I cannot leave Ching-Fu until to-morrow night."

  "That will be as well, perhaps," assented Kahn Meng after a moment'sthought. "We will rest for the night in the Lenchuen Pass. It is tothe right of the black road. My sentries will be watching for you."