Judge Dee At Work

by Robert Van Gulik

  ‘The trick-sword ought to have been lying on top of the rack,’ Lau said, ‘and the real sword below it. After the stabbing trick the boy would get up, and his father would perform a dance with the real sword.’

  Bao had risen. Stepping up to Ma Joong, he asked hoarsely: ‘Who exchanged the swords? ‘ As Ma Joong only pursed his lips, Bao grabbed his shoulder and shouted: ‘Who did it, I ask you?’

  Ma Joong gently loosened his grip and made him sit down again. ‘That’s what we are going to find out,’ he said. ‘Are you quite sure that you put the trick-sword on top?’

  ‘Of course! Haven’t we been through that routine a hundred, a thousand times?’

  Ma Joong shouted downstairs for more wine. He motioned Chiao Tai and Lau to follow him to the table in front of the window. When they had sat down he whispered to Lau, ‘My mate and I were looking out from this window here. We saw you and a tall ruffian standing close by the bamboo box and the sword rack. Who else was standing near you two?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ Lau replied with a frown. ‘When the boy was doing his somersaults that tall rogue, who had been standing by my side for some time, suddenly asked me for money. When I refused he began to threaten me. I told him to make himself scarce. Then … it happened.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Chiao Tai asked.

  ‘Never saw him before. Perhaps Bao knows.’

  Chiao Tai got up and asked the actors. Bao, his wife and his daughter all shook their heads, but the old drummer said in a wheezing voice, ‘I know him all right, sir! He came to our show in the temple yard every night, paid one copper only! He is a vagabond; his name is Hoo Ta-ma.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else come near the sword rack?’ Chiao Tai asked.

  ‘How could I, seeing I had to keep my eyes on the performance all the time?’ the greybeard replied indignantly. ‘I only noticed Mr Lau and Hoo Ta-ma, because I happen to know both of them. But there were lots of others, all packed close. How could I see what was going on there?’

  ‘I suppose you couldn’t,’ Chiao Tai said resignedly. ‘And we couldn’t have arrested the whole crowd.’ Turning to Bao again, he asked: ‘Did you notice anyone you know standing close to the mat?’

  ‘I don’t know anyone here,’ Bao replied in a toneless voice. ‘We have been to Woo-yee and Chin-hwa, but this is our first visit to this city. I only know Mr Lau. He introduced himself to me when I was surveying the temple yard for the setting up of our stage, and he kindly offered his help.’

  Chiao Tai nodded. He liked Bao’s open, intelligent face. He turned back to the others and said to Lau, ‘You’d better take the actors back to their quarters, Mr Lau. Tell them that the magistrate is expected back here later tonight, and he’ll investigate this foul murder at once. Tomorrow they’ll have to attend the session of the tribunal, for the formalities. Then the boy’s body will be handed back to them for burial.’

  ‘Can I come too, Mr Chiao? Bao is a nice fellow; I’d like to do all I can to help him in this awful predicament.’

  ‘You’ll have to be there anyway!’ Ma Joong said dryly. ‘You are an important witness.’

  He and Chiao Tai rose and said a few comforting words to the stricken family. When Lau had taken them and the greybeard downstairs, the two friends sat down again at the window table. Silently they emptied their wine beakers. While Ma Joong was refilling them he said, ‘Well, I hope that’s everything. Tonight we’ll put it all before the judge. It’ll be a hard nut to crack, I’d say. Even for him!’

  He gave his friend a thoughtful look, but Chiao Tai made no comment. He idly watched the waiter who had come upstairs with a large oil lamp. When the waiter had gone, Chiao Tai banged his beaker down and said bitterly, ‘What a dirty murder! Tricking a father into killing his own son, and before his mother’s eyes! You know what? We’ve got to get the mean bastard who did it! Here and now!’

  ‘I agree,’ Ma Joong said slowly, ‘but a murder is no small matter. I am not so sure that our judge would like us meddling in the investigation. One wrong move might spoil everything, you know!’

  ‘If we do only what the judge would have ordered anyway, I don’t see that we can do much harm.’

  Ma Joong nodded. Then he said briskly: ‘All right, I am with you! Here’s luck!’ Having emptied his cup, he added with a wry smile, ‘This is a chance to prove our mettle! When those worthy citizens talk to us here, butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. But behind our backs they say we are just a couple of vulgar bullies, all brawn and no brain!’

  ‘Up to a point,’ Chiao Tai said judiciously, ‘they are right. We are not men of letters, after all. That’s why I wouldn’t dream of tackling a case involving the gentry, for instance. But this murder is just the thing for us, for all concerned are the kind of people we are familiar with.’

  ‘Let’s plan out the investigation, then!’ Ma Joong growled. He refilled their beakers.

  ‘Our judge always starts by talking about motive and opportunity,’ Chiao Tai began. ‘In this case, the motive is as plain as a pikestaff. Since nobody could have had anything against that poor boy, the murderer must have hated Bao. Like poison.’

  ‘Right. And since Bao is here in Poo-yang for the first time, our suspects are narrowed down to the people who have been in close contact with him and his troupe these last few days.’

  ‘There still is the possibility that Bao met an old enemy here,’ Chiao Tai objected.

  ‘In that case Bao would have told us about him at once,’ Ma Joong said. He thought hard for a while. ‘I am not too sure that nobody could have had anything against the boy, you know. Youngsters like that have a knack of turning up in the most unexpected places; he could have seen or heard something he shouldn’t have. Someone wanted to close the boy’s mouth, and the sword-trick was a godsend.’

  ‘Yes,’ Chiao Tai admitted. ‘Heavens, there are too many possibilities!’ He sipped his wine, then frowned and put his beaker down. ‘This stuff tastes funny!’ he remarked astonished.

  ‘It’s the same we had before, but it doesn’t taste right to me either! Tell you what, brother! Wine is only good when you are happy and carefree! You can’t do real drinking with problems weighing on your mind!’

  ‘That’s why our judge is always sipping tea then, the poor sap!’ Chiao Tai scowled at the wine jar, then grabbed it and put it down on the floor, under the table. Folding his muscular arms in his sleeves, he resumed: ‘As to opportunity, both Lau and Hoo were standing close to the rack, so either of them could have exchanged the swords. What about their motives?’

  Ma Joong rubbed his chin. After a while he answered, ‘As regards Hoo, I can think of only one. Or two, rather. Meaning Mrs Bao and her daughter. Heavens, I wouldn’t mind having a go at those wenches myself! Think of the acrobatic tricks they can do! Suppose Hoo wanted either of them or both, and Bao said hands-off, and Hoo took this badly?’

  ‘Possible. If Hoo is a degenerate, mean type of scoundrel, he might take revenge on Bao in a dirty way like this. But what about Lau?’

  ‘Out of the question! Lau is the old-fashioned, prim type. If he engaged in extramural amorous games, he’d sneak off to some discreet brothel. He wouldn’t dare start something with an actress.’

  ‘I agree that Hoo is our best chance,’ Chiao Tai said. ‘I’ll go along now and have a talk with him. Then I’ll look up Lau too, just for the sake of completeness, so to speak. You had better go to the temple, brother, and get to know more about the general background. Our judge will want to know everything about the Bao family, I expect.’

  ‘All right, I’ll pump the two women; that’s the smoothest approach, I’d say!’ He got up briskly.

  ‘Maybe not as smooth as you think,’ Chiao Tai said dryly as he rose also. ‘Those two women are acrobats, remember! They know how to use their hands if you annoy them! Well, we’ll meet later, in the tribunal.’

  Chiao Tai went straight to the small winehouse in the east city where Sheng Pa, the head of the Beggars’ Guild, had his
headquarters.

  The only occupant of the dingy taproom was a man of colossal proportions reclining in an armchair, snoring loudly. His mastlike arms were folded over his large bare belly, which protruded from under his worn-out black jacket.

  Chiao Tai shook him roughly. The man woke up with a start. Giving Chiao Tai a baleful look, he said crossly, ‘You would give a peaceful old man a fright! But sit down, anyway. Let me profit by your conversation.’

  ‘I am in a hurry. You know a rogue called Hoo Ta-ma?’

  Sheng Pa slowly shook his large head. ‘No,’ he said ponderously, ‘I don’t know him.’

  Chiao Tai caught the crafty look that flashed through the other’s eyes. He said impatiently, ‘You may not have met him, but you must know about him, you fat crook! He’s been seen in the yard of the old Taoist temple.’

  ‘Don’t call me names!’ Sheng Pa said with a pained look. Then he added wistfully, ‘Ah, that temple yard! My old headquarters! Those were the days, brother! Gay and carefree! Look at me now, master of the guild, burdened with administrative duties! I …’

  ‘The only burden you carry is your belly,’ Chiao Tai interrupted. ‘Speak up! Where do I find Hoo?’

  ‘Well,’ Sheng Pa replied resignedly, ‘if you must push matters to extremes … I have heard it said that a man who calls himself by that name can usually be found in a wine stall below the east city wall-the fifth one north from the East Gate, as a matter of fact. It’s only hearsay, mind you, I …’

  ‘Thank you kindly!’ Chiao Tai rushed out.

  In the street he stuffed his cap into his sleeve, and rumpled his hair. A brief walk brought him to a shed of old boards put up against the base of the city wall. He surveyed the dark, deserted neighbourhood, then pulled aside the door curtain and stepped inside.

  The shed was dimly lit by a smoking oil lamp, and was filled with a nauseating stench of rancid oil and cheap liquor. An old man with bleary eyes was serving wine dregs behind a rickety bamboo counter. Three men in tattered gowns were standing about in front of it, Hoo Ta-ma’s tall frame towering above the others.

  Chiao Tai stood himself next to Hoo. The men eyed him indifferently; evidently they didn’t know him for an officer of the tribunal. He ordered a drink. After he had taken a sip from the cracked rice-bowl that served as a wine cup, he spat on the floor and growled at Hoo: ‘Filthy stuff! It’s bad when you are down to your last coppers!’

  A wry smile lit up Hoo’s broad, sun-tanned face. Chiao Tai thought he looked like a rough-and-ready rascal, but not entirely unprepossessing. He resumed, ‘You wouldn’t know a job with something in it, would you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Besides, I am the last man to ask, brother! I am having a spell of dirty luck, these days. Week ago I was supposed to pinch two cartloads of rice on the road, in Woo-yee. Easy job, only had to knock out the two carters. Affair had been nicely planned-on a lonely stretch, in the forest. My bad luck spoiled it.’

  ‘You are getting too old, maybe!’ Chiao Tai sneered.

  ‘Shut up and listen! Just as I knock the first carter down, a small brat comes running round the corner. He looks me up and down and asks, silly-like: “What are you doing that for?” I hear noises, and jump into the undergrowth. From my hideout I see a tilt cart with travelling actors come round the corner. The second carter tells them the sad story, adding that I took to my heels. They move on together, rice-carts and all!’

  ‘Bad luck!’ Chiao Tai agreed. ‘And you may be in for more of it too. Yesterday I saw a troupe performing in the street here, there was a boy doing somersaults. If that’s the same brat, you’d better be careful. He might spot you.’

  ‘Spotted me already! Caught me in the act again! With his sister, this second time! Can you imagine worse luck? But the brat had bad luck too. He’s dead!’

  Chiao Tai tightened his belt. This was a simple case, after all. He said affably, ‘You certainly have bad luck, Hoo! I am an officer of the tribunal, and you are coming along with me!’

  Hoo cursed obscenely, then barked at the two others, ‘You heard him, the dirty running-dog of the tribunal! Let’s beat the thief-catcher to pulp!’

  The two vagabonds slowly shook their heads. The elder said, ‘You don’t belong here, brother. Settle your accounts yourself!’

  ‘Rot in hell!’ And to Chiao Tai: ‘Come outside, I’ll get you or you’ll get me!’

  A beggar who was loitering in the dark alley scurried away when he saw the two men come out and take up boxers’ stances.

  Hoo started with a quick blow at Chiao Tai’s jaw, but he parried it expertly and followed up with an elbow thrust in Hoo’s face. The other ducked and grabbed Chiao Tai’s waist with his long, muscular arms. Chiao Tai realized that in a body-to-body fight Hoo was no mean opponent; he was of the same height, but much heavier, and he tried to throw Chiao Tai by utilizing this advantage. Soon both men were panting heavily. But Chiao Tai knew more about technique, and he succeeded in slipping out of the other’s bear-like hug. He stepped back, then placed an accurate blow in Hoo’s face that closed his left eye. Hoo shook his head, then came again for him, growling angrily.

  Chiao Tai was on his guard for foul tricks, but apparently Hoo didn’t go in for them. He made a feint, then gave Chiao Tai a blow in his midriff that would have floored him if he hadn’t ducked and caught it on his breastbone. Chiao Tai feigned to be winded and staggered back. Hoo aimed a straight blow at his jaw to finish him off. Chiao Tai caught Hoo’s fist in both hands, ducked under his arm and threw him over his back. There was a snapping sound as the rogue’s shoulder dislocated and he crashed to the ground, hitting his head on a stone with a sickening thud. He lay quite still.

  Chiao Tai went into the shed again and told the greybeard to give him a rope, then to run out and call the warden and his men.

  Chiao Tai tied Hoo’s legs securely together. Then he squatted down and waited for the warden. Hoo was carried to the tribunal on an improvised stretcher. Chiao Tai ordered the jail keeper to put Hoo in a cell, call the coroner and have him revive the unconscious man, then set his shoulder.

  These things having been attended to, Chiao Tai walked over, to the chancery deep in thought. There was one point that was worrying him. Perhaps the case was not so simple after all.

  In the meantime Ma Joong had walked from the Kingfisher Restaurant back to the tribunal, where he had taken a bath. When he had put on a nice clean robe he strolled to the Taoist temple.

  A mixed crowd was standing about below the raised stage of bamboo poles, lighted by two large paper lanterns. The show had started already, for Bao couldn’t afford to let the death of his son interfere with the theatrical routine. He, his wife and his daughter, all three dressed in gorgeous stage costumes, stood in front of two superimposed tables representing a throne. Mrs Bao sang to the accompaniment of a strident fiddle.

  Ma Joong went to the bamboo cage next to the stage where the greybeard was vigorously scraping his two-stringed violin, at the same time working a brass gong with his right foot. Ma Joong waited till he put the violin aside and changed to a pair of wooden clappers. He nudged him and asked with a meaningful grin:

  ‘Where can I meet the women?’

  The old man pointed with his bearded chin at the stepladder behind him, then beat his clappers extra hard.

  Ma Joong climbed up to the improvised green-room, separated from the stage by screens of bamboo matting. There was only a cheap dressing-table littered with platters for rouge and powder, and one low tabouret.

  Loud shouts of approval from the audience indicated that the actors had reached the end of a scene. The dirty blue curtain was drawn aside and Miss Bao came in.

  She was dressed for the part of a princess, in a long green robe glittering with brass-foil ornaments, and wearing an elaborate headdress decorated with garish paper flowers. Two long tresses of glossy black hair hung down from her temples. Although her face was covered with the thick layer of stage make-up, Ma Joong thought that she still looked remarkabl
y attractive. She gave him a quick look, then sat down on the tabouret. Leaning towards the mirror to inspect her painted eyebrows, she asked listlessly:

  ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘Nothing in particular!’ Ma Joong replied cheerfully. ‘I just came round for a talk with a charming girl!’

  She turned her head and gave him a contemptuous look. ‘If you think that’ll get you anywhere with me,’ she snapped, ‘you are wrong!’

  ‘I wanted to talk about your parents!’ he said, taken aback by this abrupt rebuff.

  ‘Parents? About my mother, you mean! Well, for her you need no intermediary, she’s always open to a fair business proposition!’

  Suddenly she buried her face in her hands and started to sob. He stepped up to her and patted her on the back. ‘Now don’t get upset, dear! Of course this terrible affair of your brother has.. .’

  ‘He wasn’t my brother!’ she interrupted him. ‘This life … I can’t stand it any longer! My mother a whore, my father a stupid fool who dotes on her … You know what part I am acting now? I am the daughter of a noble king and his chaste queen! How’s that for a joke?’ She angrily shook her head, then started to dab her face energetically with a wad of paper. She resumed in a calmer voice, ‘Imagine, mother produced that boy half a year ago, out of nothing! Told father she had made a little mistake, eight years ago. The fellow who had got her into trouble had looked after the boy all that time, then decided he couldn’t keep him any longer. Father gave in, as always …’ She bit her lips.

  ‘Have you any idea,’ Ma Joong asked, ‘who could have played that infernal trick on your father tonight? Has he met an old enemy here, perhaps?’

  ‘Why should those swords have been exchanged intentionally?’ she said curtly. ‘My father could have made a mistake, couldn’t he? The two swords look exactly the same, you know. They have to, else the trick wouldn’t look genuine.’