CHAPTER II
Ralph Endacott, erstwhile professor of Oxford University and partner inthe great Oriental house of Johnson and Company, now an English countrygentleman, sat before wide-flung French windows leading out on to thelawn, sunken gardens and miniature park of the Great House at MarketBallaston. In front of him was an oak writing table upon which were penand ink and a steel-clamped coffer, apparently of great age but attachedto which was a modern Bramah lock. Upon the blotting paper were a fewsheets of yellow, unfamiliar-looking, thick paper, covered with weirdhieroglyphics; in his left hand a pair of magnifying glasses. The scentof the roses from outside had disturbed him in the midst of his labour.He rang a silver bell which stood upon the edge of the table--rang it asecond time. Claire, a flutter of cool white, swung herself out of ahammock close at hand and approached lazily.
"What is it, Nunks dear?" she enquired. "You know very well that none ofthe servants can hear that bell, only me."
"It was you I wanted," her uncle declared. "Tell me, child, in whatdevil-sent spirit of idiocy did I waste all those years in a musty,God-forsaken country, whose only charm is that no one can understand itand no one ever will. Was I a fool or am I a fool now?"
She laughed softly, leaning against the side of the open window.
"You were a fool," she decided. "I was a fool too, because I didn'tbelieve in England. I didn't believe in the green, or the trees, theflowers, the softness, the rest of it all."
"You were too young to be foolish," he said. "It is only the old who canfind the way to folly. Do you know that during the last few days I havediscovered some manuscripts which, if I had been seated in thatmusk-scented den in the corner of the warehouse, with the smell of theEast in my nostrils and the soft, purring call of mystery all the timein the atmosphere, would have sent me into a state of wild excitement.Here, to-day, I am gently and pleasantly interested. I have learnedvalues."
"Tell me about the manuscripts," she begged, passing finally through thewindow and throwing herself into an easy-chair close at hand.
"There is a love poem here," he confided, "written in his ownhandwriting by an emperor to a singing girl. I shall lock it away. Itwas not meant to be read by barbarians. Here are the details of thefirst plot to overcome the monarchy, and here," he went on, "is adocument more interesting than any I have yet come across--moredifficult to decipher, because there are priestly words in it andphrases not used in modern Chinese. However, I have mastered it so faras to know what it is about. In this atmosphere it is strange even todream of it."
He paused for a moment. It was a lazy hour in a July afternoon. Even thebirds had ceased to sing, but there were bees humming amongst theflowers and the sound of a reaping machine in a meadow on the other sideof the red brick wall. Every now and then the roses bent their heads ina flutter of the light west breeze and lent wafts of perfume to an airalready sweet with the odour of verbena and heliotrope.
"What about that last manuscript?" she asked.
He tapped the strange piece of thick, stained paper beneath his fingers,yellow in places, drooping at the edges, covered with what seemed to herto be meaningless hieroglyphics in the faintest of pink-coloured ink.
"This," he said, "is the letter of the High Priest of the Temple ofYun-Tse, addressed to the Emperor, and telling him what means he hadadopted for guarding the secret jewels."
"Yun-Tse," she murmured, "the home of the Body and the Soul?"
He nodded.
"These few lines," he continued, smoothing out the paper thoughtfullywith his long, bony forefinger, "to any one who can understand them,might easily be worth one of the great fortunes of the world."
"What are you going to do with it?" she enquired curiously.
He made no immediate reply, first folding up the letter and replacing itin the coffer, which he carefully locked. Then he rose to his feet andled the way out into the gardens.
"Tell me about that letter," she begged once more, as they seatedthemselves under the cedar tree.
"Part of the old story, at any rate, seems to be true," he confided."Those two Images have always contained a secret hiding place, andsomewhere inside them are stored the jewels of the temple. On the backof the document are instructions in the cipher of the priests, which asyet I have not been able to translate. I am not sure that I shall everattempt to."
"But why not?" she asked wonderingly.
"If I did," he murmured, "I should know how to appropriate the jewels."
"But don't you want them?" she persisted. "Wouldn't that be verywonderful?"
He looked up through the boughs of the tree; a worn, tired-looking man,over whose high cheek bones the skin seemed tightly drawn. In ordinaryEuropean costume he appeared somehow to have shrunken, to have lostflesh and a certain amount of presence.
"It is nothing," he said. "Since I arrived in England it has cost memany a weary hour to invest my money. Yesterday I heard from theaccountants who are winding up the affairs of Johnson and Company, andit seems that there are still great sums to come."
"All made in that strange warehouse!" she exclaimed.
"There and in Alexandria," he replied. "I went out to China, Claire, asyour father may have told you, giving up a Chair worth eight hundred ayear at Oxford, and owning, perhaps, a couple of thousand pounds. Ibecame sort of unofficial adviser to Johnson and Company simply becausethere were things about China which no other European knew. I was veryuseful to them without a doubt, and in the end they made me a partner.Now that we are winding up the business, it seems that my share is worthsomething between three and four hundred thousand pounds."
"Amazing!" the girl gasped.
"Here," he continued, "in these few sentences may lie another fortune. Iam an old man, and I ask myself what good could it do to me to placethose secret jewels in the markets of the world, to hang them round thenecks and the shoulders of American millionairesses and the world'scourtesanes? We cannot breathe sweeter air than this, or more deliciousperfumes. We cannot look upon fairer scenes. We could not eat more,drink more or sleep more. For your clothes and such pleasures as you maycare to indulge in you have already carte blanche. You are not one ofthose who will need money to buy herself a husband. So tell me, child,what could we do with more money?"
"I can think of nothing," she acknowledged.
"Then, for the moment, at any rate, we will let the fortune remain whereit is," he decided, "and keep our fingers unstained from sacrilege. Isthis a fairy prince, Claire, or a very handsome young man in greytweeds?"
She drew a little, fluttering breath. Her fingers closed over his.
"Nunks," she said, "it is Gregory Ballaston."
"That is a young man," her uncle observed, "with whom I might havesomething to say. Wave to him, Claire. He need not tug at that bell."
Gregory Ballaston, hat in hand, and probably less at his ease than onany previous occasion in his life, crossed the lawn towards them.Claire, leaning forward, watched him intently; her uncle with subduedand somewhat sardonic amusement. His attitude towards them both wasentirely tentative. Claire offered her hand which he took gratefully.
"I have come," he announced, "to welcome you to Ballaston."
"Your obvious duty as our landlord," Endacott remarked, also offeringhis hand. "Pray sit down."
Gregory dragged up a wicker chair, with an air of relief.
"When you spoke of settling down in Norfolk," he observed, turning toClaire, "I had no idea that we might possibly become such nearneighbours."
"Nor I, at the time," she answered. "How beautiful your house is. Ispent quite half an hour this morning looking at it from the other sideof the garden."
"I hope," he said, a little anxiously, "that you are going to give usthe pleasure of seeing you there this evening."
"Your father has been kind enough to ask us to dine," Mr. Endacottrejoined. "I have just despatched a note, accepting with much pleasure."
"I think you are very generous," Gregory declared, with a cer
taincontriteness in his tone.
"The adjective seems to me to demand explanation," Mr. Endacottruminated.
"You know very well, sir," Gregory continued, "that there arecircumstances which would have justified you in refusing this invitationand refusing to meet me anywhere."
"Ah!" Mr. Endacott murmured. "That affair of the Image, of course."
Claire rose to her feet. Gregory waved her back again.
"Please listen, Miss Endacott," he begged. "I want you to hear what Ihave to say. You know what happened?"
She assented gravely.
"My uncle has told me," she admitted.
"I can assure you, sir," Gregory went on, "that when I left thoseextraordinary premises of yours, I meant to send you the thing straightback. I had one last look at it, however, and the longer I looked, themore uncertain I felt about the whole business. I kept telling myselfthat it was a debt of honour. Then I kept on finding poisonous ideas inmy brain--ideas which I honestly believe I have never had before. I wasparting with perhaps a great treasure just on the turn of a card--aChinaman's turn of the card, too."
"You don't suggest," Mr. Endacott began----
"I suggest nothing," Gregory interrupted. "All I know is that my moralself--if I may use rather a grandiloquent term--was completely upset. Ilocked myself into my cabin with the Image. Soon after the ship sailed.Of course I know," he went on, "this must all sound stupidly inadequate,but there it is. Superstition or no superstition, I swear that thatImage has an evil influence. I have proved it."
Claire looked thoughtfully up into the trees; her uncle stroked his chinwith an air of profound meditation.
"Well," he enquired, "have you found the fortune yet?"
"Not yet," Gregory admitted. "My father has had an expert down and hecan discover no trace of any hiding place in it."
Mr. Endacott smiled very faintly.
"You must find that disappointing," he observed, "after all yourefforts."
"If the jewels are not in this one," Gregory said, "they are probably inthe other."
"Ah!" Mr. Endacott murmured.
"If it is not an impertinent question, sir," he proceeded, "is it truethat Johnson and Company are relinquishing the business?"
"Quite true."
"Then the other Image----?"
"The other Image is not for sale," Mr. Endacott said calmly.
"Who has it?" Gregory ventured.
"Well," Mr. Endacott confided, "the members of the firm were Wu Ling, anebulous Mr. Johnson and myself. When I consider," he continued, "theextreme measures which you and your friend took to possess yourselves ofthese Images--measures, by the way, which may be justified by precedentbut hardly by morality--I can scarcely, do you know, bring myself toreveal whether it is the domicile of Wu Ling, the possible mansion ofMr. Johnson in Alexandria, or my very conveniently near abode here,which might be indicated as the scene of your future adventures."
Gregory was already sunburnt, but he felt his cheeks grow hotter.
"Well, I suppose I asked for that," he admitted grimly. "What about theImage, which is at present in our possession? To whom do you considerthat it belongs?"
"The firm being now dissolved," Mr. Endacott mused, "the matter perhapsrequires reflection. I will answer you later on. In the meantime, Ishall leave you and my niece to better your acquaintance. My Easternhabits prevail. I desire to sleep."
He made his way towards the house; a lank, shambling figure, yet notwithout a certain dignity in his abstracted movements. Gregory glancedanxiously towards his companion. She remained seated in her chair,munching some chocolates from a box.
"Have one?" she invited, holding it out towards him.
He declined, but was conscious of a poignant sense of relief. With theairy tact of her sex she had demonstrated her position. It was to bepeace, not war; oblivion, if not forgiveness.
"What an extraordinary stroke of fortune it is," he declared, "that youshould have chosen this particular corner of Norfolk to settle down in."
"It makes the world seem a small place, doesn't it?" she remarked,frankly licking her delicately manicured fingers and placing the lidupon the box with a great air of determination. "It was my aunt livinghere, of course, which decided us."
"Madame," he confided, "has been the one picturesque figure in thisneighbourhood for years. She was always beautiful, and she is always onthe point of being cured. I believe that my father looks upon her as hisgreatest friend."
"She is very attractive," Claire admitted. "She wears the most beautifulclothes I have ever seen. I wonder whether it is a proof of vanity or ofan immense sense of self-respect which leads a woman who spends herwhole life upon a couch to take such pains with her appearance."
"If it be vanity, there is a leaven of philanthropy in it," he observed,"because every one loves looking at her. Besides, I believe now shereally is going to get well. This new doctor who comes over from Norwichhas performed some wonderful cures. It isn't as though the weakness hadbeen born with her. It was all the result of that motor accident, youknow."
"It would be wonderful if she got well," Claire murmured.
They talked for a while of trifles; the absence of other neighbours, thecountry around.
"When one gets over the spell of this lotuslike existence," she askedhim, "what is there to do here--in the way of exercise, I mean?"
He looked down at the sunken lawn.
"Your tennis court used to be good," he said. "One of ours is quiteplayable and there are plenty of golf links a few miles away."
"Where does one buy horses?"
"At Norwich. Dad will tell you all about that. The hunting isn't bad. Myfather is master of one of the packs that hunt near here. They begincubbing at the end of next month. The shooting parties will give youplenty of exercise too, if you are fond of walking."
"I like all these things," she admitted, a little more earnestly, "and Ilove this garden. The peace of it is almost stupefying. I feel somehowor other that I should like to grow old in this atmosphere."
"You never would," he rejoined.
She laughed at him. Suddenly she was serious. She leaned forward in herchair.
"In a few minutes," she said, "I must go in to see Madame. Before youleave, though, I want to ask you just one thing. What was the chiefreason which made you in the first instance come over to China on thatmad adventure?"
"Money," he answered bluntly.
"But why do you need money? You have the most beautiful home I eversaw."
He laughed with a bitterness which he took no pains to conceal.
"It is to keep that home," he explained, "that we need money. Perhapsyou scarcely understand the troubles that a certain class of Englishpeople have had to face lately, especially people who come ofextravagant stock, like my father and me. It wasn't pure love ofadventure that took me out to China. It was the hope of saving Ballastonif I succeeded."
"Is it really as bad as that?" she asked sympathetically.
"Worse," he rejoined. "I believe that my father has finally made up hismind that there is no chance of saving the place."
She was thoughtful for several moments, affected even perhaps more thanshe realised by the note of dejection in his tone. His enterprise, whichhad presented itself before to her imagination as a sort of buccaneeringfeat, not exactly reprehensible but faintly tinged with sordidness,suddenly showed itself in a new light. She realised alike the chivalryof it and the pathos, and how near he had been to success.
"Unless, after all, you discover the jewels," she observed, a littleabruptly.
"I am afraid there isn't much chance of that," he sighed. "Somehow, overhere it seems absurd to take these superstitions seriously, but I can'tget away from the feeling that if the jewels are in existence they willnever be discovered so long as the Images are separated."
She leaned a little towards him.
"The jewels do exist," she assured him softly.
A touch of the old frenzied earnestness came back to him. His eyesglistened
, not altogether with cupidity, but with the adventurer's pridein success.
"How do you know that?" he demanded.
She hesitated for a few moments. Yet, after all, why should there be anysecrecy? The adventure, such as it had been, was finished. Here in thisquiet backwater of life there seemed something grotesque about it all.Nevertheless she spoke uneasily, almost reluctantly.
"My uncle has discovered a manuscript," she confided. "The jewels arethere."
"In which Image?" he enquired breathlessly.
She shook her head.
"I cannot tell you any more," she said. "In fact, I do not know anymore. Everything rests with Uncle. If you can persuade him to let youhave a copy of the manuscript or to tell you what is in it, perhaps,after all, you will find yourself rich again. If I can help I will."
"If one only knew in which Image!" he muttered.
"Why, what difference could that make?" she asked, smiling. "If they arein yours, well, some day or other I am sure you will be able to securethem. If they are in his, then I am afraid your adventure will have beenin vain."
The sunlight caught her hair as she leaned once more back against thecushions. Gregory suddenly forgot the jewels. He was uneasy, unsure ofhimself, curiously stirred by an unexpected wave of feeling. His senseof proportion diminished. There had been a cataclysm and nothingremained on earth but this old-world garden with its elm trees and itsodorous cedar, and Claire!
"It will never have been in vain," he declared, with a curious littlebreak in his tone.
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