Charlie Chan in the Temple of the Golden Horde

by Michael Collins

  “Such beauty is met with only a few times in a long life,” he said.

  “Flattery undeserved, but pleasing,” Madame Li said. She smiled, bowed, and then looked boldly at Chan. “Yet I must say again that we cannot allow outsiders to invade our peace. You bring alien spirits, Inspector Chan, to disturb our peace.”

  “Peace is to be prized,” Chan said softly, “yet, somehow, peace seems to elude young Angela Smith. She is troubled.”

  Madame Li shook her tiny head. “Angela has been with us but a short time. Inner peace is not bought quickly in a discount shop. Truth is slow, like the cleaning action of the wind and rain.”

  She looked toward the tall girl who was still on her knees, calm now, and still looking at the Khan with that sense of love, of total trust, of a kind of sensuality. Madame Li stepped to her, touched her.

  “She came to us very sick, and we have helped her along the path of recovery,” the tiny Princess said, “but she has far to travel, is still confused, and must not be disturbed.”

  Carleton Sedgwick said, “She has hallucinations, Inspector; sees visions that scare the hell out of her. That’s what happened tonight. She had a spell, escaped from the sanctuary house, and I was chasing her when she attacked you.”

  “Now she must rest,” Madame Li said, “return to the peace of the sanctuary. Come, child.”

  The woman bent to raise the kneeling girl. For an instant, Angela seemed to resist, her eyes fixed only on the Khan. She trembled, shrank away, and her high voice was shaking:

  “The… demons… I saw the… demons…”

  The Khan nodded, smiled gently, “But they are gone, the demons. You are safe, you are one with The Golden Horde. You must return to the oneness of our love. Go now, my child.”

  “One,” she said. “Yes. Peace.”

  She stood, smiling now, and seemed to walk in a trance, inside a glass bubble, toward the Temple portal. Madame Li was beside her, and Sedgwick just behind her. The Khan and Chan came last. They all walked across the dark, misty grounds to the largest of the two ordinary buildings. It was a square building of yellow stucco, two-stories high, with all its windows barred. There was light on the first floor.

  Inside, the lobby looked like a hospital or rest home lobby. Madame Li turned the tall girl over to a burly man and a big, heavy woman, both wearing kimonos decorated with some of the same magical symbols from the Temple. They escorted the girl away down a corridor behind a locked, barred gate.

  “We will go to my office, Inspector Chan,” The Khan said.

  They went out and crossed under the dark trees to the third building. Smaller, it was also yellow stucco, two stories high, but without the bars on the windows. The Khan’s office was more like a small chapel, lit by flickering candles and full of the smell of some clean, forest-like incense. There were no chairs or couches, nothing but thick rugs and cushions on the floor, and a low Japanese-style desk a few inches high. The Khan sat cross-legged behind his desk, and waved Chan to sit facing him on a cushion in the same Oriental manner. Madame Li and Sedgwick reclined on cushions across the dim room. Sedgwick did not seem comfortable, his long legs unaccustomed to sitting Oriental fashion.

  “So,” the Khan said, smiled sadly, “you have come, of course, to speak of Benny, of his accident. It weighs on us all, a thing difficult to understand. I have communed with the spirits, but as yet they have given no answer.”

  “You do not think it was an accident?” Chan said quickly.

  “In Western eyes, perhaps it was what you call an accident. But to us, Inspector, there are no accidents. All is in the realm of the spirits, all is the will of some spirit. It is for us to try to understand the will of the spirits, accept the event.”

  “The girl, Angela Smith, spoke of demons pursuing one who had violated the sacred scroll carried by Benny Chan. Perhaps she has seen something? Saw Benny Chan do something?”

  Madame Li snapped, “Angela is lost in visions out of time!”

  “Hallucinations, Mr. Chan,” Carleton Sedgwick said. “Maybe Benny’s accident set her off, scared her, gave her nightmares.”

  “A deluded girl frightened by the accident?” Chan said.

  “That’s it,” Sedgwick agreed.

  “No!” the Khan said suddenly. They all looked at the thin shaman. His eyes burned. “The demons are real, Inspector. The demon spirits of evil! Angela saw real demons!”

  The Khan’s eyes seemed to glow in the flickering candlelight of the exotic room heavy with incense.

  “There are no accidents, and Angela saw demons. I know that; it is my calling to know,” the thin, intense man said. “She has been granted a vision of the demons who caused Benny to die.”

  “A vision?” Chan said, frowned at the Khan. “I am confused, Mr. Li. Did Angela Smith see demons pursue Benny Chan, or did she only have a vision of seeing demons?”

  “There is no difference,” the Khan said. “Demons do not live as we, do not have time and space as we. To see demons in a vision of sleep is the same as seeing demons awake in the night.”

  “Was she there when Benny fell into the sea?”

  “She was there, and she was in her room. If she saw the demons she was there no matter where she had been in flesh.”

  Madame Li said, “He does not understand our faith, great Khan. For him Angela saw or dreamed.” She looked at Chan. “For the Khan, Mr. Chan, flesh and spirit are one. A vision, a dream, a hallucination are all as real as touch. But in your terms, no. Angela was not there, and there are no demons.”

  “There are demons,” the Khan said, “and they pursued poor Benny. How else would a man who feared water drown? It was known that Benny would not go near water, only a demon could have made him go where he could drown. That is truth!”

  Carleton Sedgwick laughed; “It’s not a truth an American cop is going to believe. They don’t arrest visions. Not that I ever heard.”

  “Yet it is the truth,” the Khan said quietly. His deep eyes looked now at Chan. “Around all things of this world are the spirits of good and evil. Around great things are very strong spirits. Benny Chan carried from Honolulu the sacred scroll of Batu Khan, and its spirits and demons came with it. You know of the sacred scrolls of The Golden Horde, Inspector Chan?”

  “Some knowledge,” Chan said.

  The thin, intense man seemed lost in a trance in the dim, incensed room. “The scrolls are sacred to us; we have lived by their words of contemplation and love, the words of soldiers who had come through the fires of violence to peace. But we have had only copies. A scholar in Hawaii, a benefactor, agreed to lend us the originals. Four came to us, carried by Benny Chan. The fifth was on its way when Benny disappeared.”

  The Khan shook his head sadly. “They are powerful things, the scrolls, with powerful spirits - and powerful demons. The demons wish to keep the scrolls from our Temple, so destroyed Benny Chan. But he was true to his trust, and the scroll was not destroyed. Soon, we will have it.”

  The Khan finished and fell silent. No one spoke.

  “They are valuable, the scrolls?” Chan said at last.

  But the Khan didn’t answer. He sat on his cushion behind the low desk and slowly began to rock back and forth, his mouth open and chanting some slow song in Mongol words. Madame Li spoke from the corner.

  “He cannot hear you now, Inspector. He is in his trance, at his devotions. But I will answer. The value of the scrolls is beyond price and it is also nothing at all. No one could sell the scrolls because none would buy them. Each scroll is unique, known to every scholar of Russian or Chinese history.”

  “There are those who steal for other rewards than money,” Chan said. “Simply to own what is unique.”

  “But no one tried to steal the scroll,” Carleton Sedgwick said. “The police have it, found it where poor Benny dropped it. If someone wanted to steal the scroll, they wouldn’t have left it on the beach.”

  “It would not seem so,” Chan agreed, watched Madame Li and Sedgwick. “Death o
f Benny Chan appear not caused by valuable scroll. Yet I have observed a sudden interest in Benny’s sister and in myself after contact by his sister.”

  “Interest, Mr. Chan?” Madame Li said. “What interest do you mean?”

  “Unknown men follow both Benny’s sister and myself in San Francisco. Unknown men who tried very hard to remain unknown and unseen.”

  Chan spoke casually, but his hooded eyes had been watching Madame Li and Sedgwick the whole time. For a split second, the lawyer seemed startled. A flash of reaction, no more, and gone just as quickly. Madame Li sat impassive.

  “You have no knowledge of who these men could be?” the tiny Snow Princess said.

  “Not at the moment,” Chan admitted. “Is it possible that you would know some explanation?”

  “No, Inspector, we do not,” Madame Li said.

  “Unless they’re some more of Li Po’s demons,” Sedgwick said.

  Chan smiled. “Ah, perhaps so. Perhaps the same imaginary demons seen by Angela Smith, and the same demons that forced a man afraid of water to drown.”

  “There are forces and shadows on this earth we mortals do not know, Mr. Chan,” Madame Li said.

  “But also forces and shadows known only too well - forces of fear and greed,” Chan said quietly. He bowed briefly. “I’ll not disturb you further tonight.”

  He turned and left the dim, candlelit room with its heavy atmosphere of incense. The Khan had not moved an inch since he had last spoken, except to rock gently from side to side like a tree in the gentle wind. Madame Li sat equally impassive, her sharp eyes following Chan as he left. Only Carleton Sedgwick moved, seemed to lick his lips, nervous.

  Outside, Chan walked back down the gravel drive in the dark night. As he walked, he thought about The Temple Of The Golden Horde. One thing was clear to him; the Khan believed in the truth of his Temple, and perhaps Madame Li did also, but Carleton Sedgwick was no believer in spirits or demons or temples.

  VII

  THE WINTER DAWN of the next morning was clear in San Francisco. The city came awake slowly, the streets starting to move as the first early-morning people emerged from the old frame houses on the steep hills that bordered the great bay.

  Charlie Chan, the windows of his suite wide open to admit the clear dawn air, sat immobile and silent in the ‘lotus’ position. He had been in this position of contemplation since dawn.

  He breathed deeply and without any visible effort.

  At precisely a half an hour after dawn, he moved, rose, and began his daily ten-minute exercise of the ancient Chinese discipline of T’ai-Chi-Chuan. The system of ballet-like calisthenics for physical fitness and self-defense was an art of balance and grace without overt strength, and in the hands of a lifetime practitioner like Chan, it gave a skill absolutely deadly in effect.

  His ten minutes over, the detective showered, dressed, and sat for a time in thought. Only his veiled, black eyes moved as he concentrated on his thoughts. At last, he stood and went to the telephone. He placed a long-distance call to Honolulu and instructed his office to make a complete check of the activities of Benny Chan in Hawaii.

  He then made a local call to the San Francisco Police and his old friend Captain Mort Wade.

  “Charlie!” Captain Wade cried. “When did you get to town?”

  “Some days ago. I intended to call for a social visit with my old friend when all the speechmaking was concluded.”

  “Just name the time, Charlie,” Wade said at once.

  “I’m afraid it must wait a few days. This call is prompted by business not pleasure. You know of a cult named Temple Of The Golden Horde?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Wade said. “Somewhere down the peninsula near Half Moon Bay, isn’t it? A legitimate operation as far as I’ve heard. Why?”

  Chan explained about Benny Chan, and the doubts of Betty Chan. “I’d like to learn more of the background of Li Po who is Khan of cult, and of his wife, Madame Li. And I need to know the same for lawyer named Carleton Sedgwick.”

  “I’ll get someone on it right away. Anything, else?”

  “Yes, some background on Betty Chan, daughter of Chan Wu Han, once waiter at Kung Shi Restaurant. She lives in Chinatown,” and he gave the girl’s address.

  “Okay, Charlie, and don’t forget the social visit.”

  “The pleasure will be mine.”

  Chan’s third call was to Betty Chan. There was no answer. This made him frown. It was too early for the girl to be at her work. He looked at his watch, and stood up. It was time for breakfast. As he walked to his door, there was a heavy knocking.

  “Mr. Chan? It’s C.V. Soong. I have to speak to you!”

  Chan hesitated a second, found his pistol and slipped it into his pocket, and then opened the door. The tall, bone-thin old philanthropist hurried into the suite, motioning for Chan to close the door quickly.

  His dignified face with its long white mustache was agitated. He wore western dress now, a gray suit, blue shirt, and tie, and seemed suddenly much older. He carried the heavy, brass-bound box of the sacred scroll.

  “I think I’m being watched, Inspector! Followed!”

  Chan’s eyes narrowed. “Can you describe your suspected watchers?”

  Soong described two men, one of them much like the man Chan had seen following himself!

  “You know these men?” Chan. asked.

  “I… I’m not sure, Inspector,” the old man said. “It’s possible I’ve seen one of them before - in Honolulu! Some time ago, perhaps six months. Near my house.”

  “At about the time you decided to present scrolls for loan to Temple Of The Golden Horde?”

  Soong nodded. “Yes, just about then! But I have no idea who they could be. Only -” The old man bit his lip, looked around nervously, and then sat down on a couch. He was pale as he looked up at Chan.

  “I was about to take the scroll down to Li Po at the Temple, but now I’m afraid. Perhaps someone does want to steal it!”

  “For what reason, Mr. Soong? All agree that the scroll is unique, could not be sold.”

  “I know, and the great value of the scrolls is largely for scholars, for study. Even an eccentric collector would get little pleasure if he couldn’t show them. But -” the old man hesitated again, went on chewing his lip nervously. “It would be of great value in two places, Mr. Chan, where it could be shown without any danger of arrest by American authorities. Two places where it could be wanted very much, and shown publicly in defiance of being returned - by the governments of Communist China and Soviet Russia!”

  “They would want the scrolls?”

  “They have for a long time, part of the history of both nations. Their scholars have made many offers, but I have always refused. The scrolls would be of immense national value to both countries.”

  Chan considered for a time. The men he had seen tailing him and Betty Chan, and now C.V. Soong, could be professional agents.

  “Yet,” Chan said slowly, “if agents are attempting to steal the scrolls, why was the fifth scroll found abandoned on a beach?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps Benny Chan dropped it in the fog, and the agents were scared away by something before they could find it that night.”

  “Perhaps so,” Chan said, and he thought about Angela Smith and her vision of seeing demons.

  “Mr. Chan, I’m scared,” C.V. Soong said. “Would you take the scroll to the Temple? In your hands I know it would be safely delivered.”

  “If agents of China or Russia want the scrolls, would they not attempt to steal all of them from the Temple?” Chan asked.

  “I don’t know. The Khan has them locked up well. I made sure he had strong security.”

  Chan rubbed his chin. “It’s odd that only the fifth scroll would be target of theft and possible murder. What is special about this scroll? What changed on this trip of Benny Chan from Hawaii?”

  “Nothing that I know of, but… Please, Inspector. I’m too old to risk agents attacking me.”

&nbs
p; “Very well. I will deliver the scroll.”

  “Thank you!” Soong said fervently. “I’ll see that you are well paid for your trouble.”

  “Pay is not required. Perhaps you will donate to some charity in my name.”

  “Of course,” the old man agreed, and stood up. He smiled now. “I am most grateful, Inspector.”

  Chan nodded, and the old man left the suite. After Soong had gone, Chan opened the heavy chest and looked again at the priceless scroll. He examined the heavy vellum, and the polished wood spindles it was rolled on. There was nothing unusual about either. He opened the scroll and read the ancient writing. It was slow work, Chan knew only a little ancient Mongolian, but the words seemed to be what they were supposed to be.

  He closed the box, and went to the telephone again. Once more he dialed Betty Chan’s number. There was still no answer. A trace of worry appeared on his smooth, ivory face. He got his black overcoat, picked up the box, and went out. He rode down in the elevator, and had the scroll placed in the hotel safe.

  Then he went out into the cold sun and hailed a taxi.

  VIII

  BETTY CHAN lived in an old, three-story walk-up building on a narrow Chinatown Street near the edge of North Beach on one of the old Barbary Coast hills. Chan stood in a shadowed doorway across the street and watched the building and the street.

  In the morning hours the street was thronged with the busy traffic and bustles of the crowded quarter, the hardworking Chinese-Americans hurrying to their destinations. Chan watched quietly, looking for any signs of the men who had been following Betty Chan, C.V. Soong, and himself. He didn’t see a sign of them. The only men lounging on the crowded street, not hurrying past, were three Chinese youths in modern-American long hair and jeans and black leather jackets.

  Chan noted these youths with a small sigh - the new ways of youth had reached even into the close-knit society of Chinatown. Chan neither approved nor objected to the new youth, he was only a little sad to see the good ways of the past fade away. It was inevitable, time and distance changed all, and an intelligent man did not oppose the inevitable, but a man could regret the loss of identity. The great culture of China had…