There were other snags, too, about the theory that the Communists were responsible for Shih-niang’s death. Why hadn’t they just pulled her in on any trumped-up charge and liquidated her at their leisure? Again, if Lin Wân had known their intentions and, with Kâo’s knowledge, deliberately planted her as a scapegoat, why, when she had taken the expected rap, had Kâo, without even bothering to inquire into what had happened, immediately accused Gregory of having killed her?
It seemed much more probable that Lin Wân had been playing a lone hand, and that Kâo knew nothing of the substitution. But wait! That was impossible, because Kâo had met the real Josephine in San Francisco.
Berating himself that such an important point should have escaped him for so long although the past two hours had been anything but ideal for quiet reasoning—Gregory sought to relate the whole picture to this new and definite fact that had so suddenly emerged from his cogitations.
Yet a moment later he was back where he had started. It was not a definite fact at all; no more than an assumption. Kâo had called on Madame Août in San Francisco, but he had never said or indicated in any way that her daughter had been present at their meeting. There was not one atom of proof that he had ever seen her.
That being so, the theory which remained by far the most plausible was that, for some purpose of his own, Lin Wân had palmed Kâo off with a fake, and, having done so, had had a good reason for wanting to get rid of the fake as soon as it could be done without suspicion attaching to himself. But for what reason? Surely not just to get back a few thousand dollars?
Suddenly Gregory got it. Lin Wân had been afraid that Shih-niang would not be able to keep up the pretence of being dumb, even for three weeks. If her mouth could be closed before she gave the game away, he would be in the clear for good and all. Kâo and A-lu-te would return to the island and report that they had found the Princess Josephine, but on the way back she had been murdered, and that would be the end of the matter.
Another thought: Tû-lai had been in the plot but had not approved it. He had known that Shih-niang had been secretly condemned to death by his father, but, out of compassion, he had warned her of her danger. There could be more to it than that, though. Perhaps he had felt repugnance at the idea of being on the spot when the deed was done. If so he could have arranged before leaving for a courier to overtake him before they reached Tung-Kwan, with an urgent message necessitating his immediate return. It would have had to be something of considerable gravity. What more suitable than that his father had suddenly died? Kâo’s party would return to their island and not learn that the message was a lie until many months or, perhaps, years later. If that was the set-up old Lin Wân was still alive.
As Gregory’s mind revved over, he was more than ever intrigued by these riddles:
Why had Lin Wân substituted Shih-niang for Josephine?
Had Kâo been aware that she was a fake?
Was Lin Wân still alive?
If so, what were his intentions with regard to the real Princess?
Was she still at the House of Lin?
If not, what had become of her?
Suddenly it occurred to him that to solve this extraordinary conundrum would be much more fun than sitting drinking gin-slings in the club at Hong Kong while waiting for a passage home.
Swiftly he began to tot up his assets and liabilities. On the one hand he was dressed as a Chinaman and now spoke colloquial Chinese with considerable fluency; he had papers which would keep him out of trouble with the Communists; he was armed and had plenty of money. On the other, he was now friendless and wanted for murder.
He had not much doubt, given reasonable luck, of his ability to get away from Tung-kwan without being caught, and of reaching Hong Kong safely; but to take on the powerful Lin Wân single-handed was a very different matter.
All the same, for a moment he contemplated the kick he would get out of a complete triumph—if he could find the Princess, take her to the Island where everybody would suppose her to be dead, clear himself in the eyes of the delighted A-lu-te, and earn her smiling gratitude.
That, he realised, with a sudden access of sobriety, was far too much to hope for; but he might at least get at the truth for his own satisfaction.
To do so he would have to return to the House of Lin, for it was there that the heart of the secret lay. How could he manage to get there? Wanted for Shih-niang’s killing as he was, he could not possibly go openly into the great yard of the inn and bargain with a caravan master to take him up there in a day or two’s time. He had got to be out of Tung-kwan an hour or two after dawn. But wait; there was a way.
It would be damnably risky, and the approach to it needed a lot of thinking out. Yet with luck and nerve he might pull it off. Even if he succeeded in reaching Lin Wân’s great house again, the moment he entered it he would now be putting his head into the lion’s mouth. But he had already taken his decision. Unless his old subtle skill in handling men had failed him, by the light of dawn he would once more be on his way to find the lost Princess.
18
The Arm-Pit of the Tortoise
Shih-niang’s murder had occurred shortly after midnight. For an hour Gregory had lain hidden on the roof of the great caravanserai, the second hue and cry after him had continued for over half an hour, and for another hour he had remained up in the tree contemplating the grim uncertainties of the future; so it was now a little past three in the morning.
As the date was October the 11th, dawn was still a good way off; but he wanted to be out of Tung-kwan by first light if possible and, even if everything went well, time must be allowed for various preparations before departure. A try for an early start also meant that if things went wrong, yet he had the luck to escape a third time, he would still have an hour or two of darkness in which to get out of the town on his own. On these considerations, He decided that without further delay he would put his plan into execution.
It was based on the opening of a short story that he had read many years before and always considered to be one of the best in the English language. Honours Easy was its title, and it was by that brilliant editor of the Manchester Guardian, C. E. Montague. Its hero, when living abroad as a small boy, was given by his foreign nurse a tortoise. She told him that it was a useful pet, because it ate cockroaches. He promptly captured a cockroach and set it before the tortoise, like an early Christian in front of a lion. While the tortoise thought, the cockroach acted. Realising its peril, it leapt for cover under the tortoise’s shell and saved itself by taking refuge in its enemy’s arm-pit. Gregory now intended to make a practical use of that admirable example—although he realised that there was always the unpleasant possibly that, in this case, the tortoise might think quickly and he would end up crushed between its jaws.
Lowering the ladder he came down out of the tree. Having checked his pistol again, he put it in his outer right-hand pocket so that without showing it he could cover anyone and, if necessary, shoot them through his coat; then he cautiously went forward.
When he reached the edge of the trees he was relieved to see that no lights showed at the back of the inn. Skirting the last of the tables to his left, he made for the corner below A-lu-te’s room, and entered the dark passage in which lay the servants’ quarters. No sign of life came from the lean-tos there and, taking his time so as to make a minimum of noise, he walked quietly past them. He was heading for the great courtyard and thought that he might have to go out into the street then enter it by its main gate; but just beyond the last of the lean-tos, he saw to his right the dim outline of a low, doorless arch in the wall of the inn. Turning into it, he found that it was the entrance to a low passage which ran through the building, enabling the servants to go to and fro without actually entering it. A moment later he emerged in the courtyard.
By getting so far without discovery he had got over his first fence, as had he been spotted on his way there by anyone who had participated in the hunt for him earlier that night, they would have ch
allenged him as possibly being the murderer; but now he was temporarily safe. The great courtyard had upwards of a hundred people in it and scores of animals. In the semi-darkness he could make out, on all sides, lines of hobbled ponies, squatting camels, stacks of merchandise, and low bivvies under which porters and drivers were sleeping round dying fires. Now that he could mingle with them, any of them who were awake would take him only for one of themselves.
Going boldly forward, he zigzagged his way between the drowsing beasts and goat-skin shelters towards the right hand side of the courtyard near its gate, as it was there that Lin Wân’s men had made their little camp. It was so similar to the others that in the faint starlight it was by no means easy to pick out; but, knowing roughly its location, he managed to identify it by counting the number of men and animals.
Chou and his four companions lay huddled in their bivvie, one side of which they had left open so as to get the benefit of the fire they had built outside it. As they were swathed like mummies in their furs and blankets it was impossible to tell which of them was which, and all of them were sound asleep.
Halting beside them Gregory looked towards the gate. The way to it was clear, and he took some comfort from the fact that it was only about fifteen yards distant. If things went wrong, as Chou and his men would still be half bemused by sleep he reckoned that he would stand a fair chance of getting through it before they could lay hands on their weapons and aim them at him. His uncertainty about how much Chou knew of Lin Wân’s affairs made the step he was on the point of taking a most desperate gamble; but if it came off the reward would be high, so he was now determined to take it. Stooping down, he shook the nearest man awake, and whispered:
‘Are you Chou?’
The man poked his head up from under his coverings and muttered incoherently; then on Gregory’s repeating his question, he rolled over, thrust out a hand, prodded his neighbour into wakefulness and, rolling back again, fell asleep. As the second man growled out a curse and sat up Gregory kicked the remnants of the fire into a blaze. Turning back he looked down into a round lined face that might have been any age between forty and seventy, and have belonged to any of the older men lying asleep nearby, but the light given by a flickering flame was enough for Gregory to make out a heavy scar on the lower lip, which removed any doubt about the man being Chou.
Putting his right hand in his pocket he closed it round the butt of his automatic, so that if the need arose he had only to squeeze the trigger. Being now firmly of the opinion that Lin Wân had ordered Chou to close Shih-niang’s mouth, and fearing that Chou might seize this chance to pin the murder on him, he was fully prepared to shoot the Chinaman at the first sign of hostility. But he hoped first to intrigue and then to bluff him. Leaning forward, he said in a low voice:
‘We cannot now afford to wait till dawn. You must get ready to start as soon as possible.
Chou had been sleeping in his goat-skin cap, and his small dark eyes peered up through its shaggy fur like those of a Skye Terrier. After a moment, he said: ‘Why do you wake me in the middle of the night, Lord?’
Gregory took his finger off the trigger of his gun. Chou had recognised him and, although he did not know that he was covered with a pistol, had not made the slightest move to spring up, or rouse the courtyard by crying out that here was the murderer. That was another obstacle surmounted, and such a potentially dangerous one that it might prove the Becher’s Brook of the whole operation. But there were plenty of nasty hazards yet to be faced before the completion of the course. Keeping himself tensed, ready to meet the first sign of trouble, Gregory quietly repeated what he had said.
‘But why should we lose two hours’ sleep to start now?’ Chou asked.
‘Because I must get away before everyone wakes up,’ Gregory replied.
‘Are you, then, coming with us?’
‘Of course!’ Gregory made his voice sound impatient. ‘That was settled when the old Lord decided on the roles that all of us should play here.’
‘I know nothing of this,’ Chou said in a puzzled voice.
‘Do you mean to say that the young Lord, Tû-lai, did not tell you before he left us that I should be returning with you to the House of Lin?’
Chou shook his head. ‘He said nothing of that to me.’
‘Then his distress and the hurry of his departure must have caused him to forget. Anyhow, that was the arrangement. Had I been able to secure the precious thing unsuspected we could have left at dawn; but I was chased, and for the past three hours have been in hiding. That is why we must get away before everyone wakes up and I am recognised.’
‘Forgive me, Lord, but I do not understand,’ Chou muttered.
Gregory wondered anxiously if he meant that he did not understand his words or their meaning. Between themselves such men as Chou spoke a patois unintelligible to others, and their Mandarin Chinese was even less fluent than Gregory’s. Using the simplest expressions possible, he said:
‘The Lord Lin Wân desired a precious thing and charged me to get it for him. It was expected that the killing of the woman would lead to much confusion and—’
‘Ah!’ Chou interrupted. ‘We were aroused about midnight by much shouting, and learned that in the inn a girl had had her throat cut by a robber.’
‘Is that all you knew of it?’ Gregory asked, and he could not altogether keep a shade of doubt out of his voice.
‘Yes, Lord!’ replied the Chinaman in a tone of surprise. ‘What else should we know?’
Now, Gregory was again on extremely dangerous ground. Believing that Chou was responsible for Shih-niang’s death, he had visualised two possibilities. The first was that being aware that he, Gregory, was suspect, the Chinaman would seize on the opportunity further to divert suspicion from himself by raising a new alarm and endeavouring to get him captured. The second was that, endeavouring to get him captured. The second was that, if he posed as an accessory before the crime, Chou would believe that they had both been acting on secret instructions given them by Lin Wân, and so be bluffed into admitting to it.
The first possibility had been the immediate risk he had had to run in rousing Chou; and, having escaped it, to bring about the latter situation was the thing for which he had since been angling. But, if the Chinaman’s spontaneous reaction could be taken at its face value, he had had no hand in Shih-niang’s murder. Should that be so it destroyed the whole basis of the conception on which Gregory had been working.
That any of Chou’s companions could have done the job without his knowledge seemed most unlikely; yet if neither he, nor one of them, had killed the girl, who the devil had? There was, of course, the possibility that even to someone presenting themselves as an accomplice Chou thought if safer to pretend complete innocence. That seemed the only possible explanation.
Staring down at the dark inscrutable face, lit only faintly by the still flickering fire, Gregory wondered what line to take now. Then, it suddenly came to him that whether Chou admitted his guilt or not, or even should he really be innocent, made no material difference to the plan conceived in the tree fork. He was Lin Wân’s servant; therefore if he could be convinced that Gregory was obeying Lin Wân’s orders he might still be induced to play the role that Gregory had planned for him. The question was how much, how little, and exactly what to say.
Gregory had already spoken of the ‘killing of the woman’; but neither he nor Chou had so far given any indication who the woman was. If Chou were covering up he would know that she was Shih-niang, or anyhow the girl who for the past week they had all referred to as the Princess Josephine; so nothing must be said which with his secret knowledge he would know to be a lie. Yet that reference to a killing could not just be left in the air; as, if he was innocent, he would naturally expect to be told more about it.
Gregory’s first impulse was to endeavour to skim over it, with a few ambiguous remarks; but, on second thoughts, he decided that he would stand a better chance of winning Chou to his purpose if he spoke out wit
h apparent honesty. Having stood silent for a moment while thinking furiously, he launched a slightly amended version of his original plan by saying:
‘The woman who died tonight was she whom we knew as the Princess. It is not for me to enquire who killed her. I know only that her death was ordered. My part was to secure the precious thing with which the Lord Kâo Hsüan had entrusted her, during the confusion resulting from her murder. See, here it is.’
As he spoke he drew from an inner pocket his British passport, and showed it to Chou. He did not open it but held it down at knee level so that the firelight showed the dull gold of the Royal Coat of Arms stamped on its cover. Putting it back in his pocket he went on:
‘I was with her when the killer came, ready to do my part. I did it, as you see, and got the precious thing. But then matters went wrong. The lady A-lu-te and her uncle arrived upon the scene. Instead of believing that, like themselves, I had been brought to the room by the woman’s death cry, they thought it was I who killed her. I got away and have been hiding in the garden until I felt it safe to come to you.’
Chou’s expression gave no indication of his thoughts. Unwinking he continued to gaze up at Gregory in silence for a full minute, then he said, ‘Neither the old Lord nor the young Lord spoke to me of you. I know nothing of all this.’
At this frigid declaration Gregory was aware of a slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Unless he could bluff Chou into co-operating, his situation was going to be even more dangerous than it had been when he entered the courtyard. By having presented himself as an accessory to Shih-niang’s murder, he had once more laid himself open to the risk that Chou—if he really were innocent—might suddenly decide to arouse the whole place against him. To plead for Chou’s help would, he felt certain, be taken as a sign of weakness; so he took a bold line and said with some sharpness:
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