Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER IX

  When Peter emerged from the wireless room, having completed hisbusiness for the morning, he found Romola Borria with elbows on therail gazing thoughtfully at a small Chinese girl who sat cross-leggedon the hatch cover immersed in her sewing.

  And Peter marveled at the freshness of Romola Borria's appearance, atthe clarity of her sparkling brown eyes, the sweet pinkness of hercomplexion, and the ease and radiance of her tender smile.

  "You look troubled," she said, as her smile was replaced by a look oftender concern. "What is it?" She lowered her voice to a confidentialundertone. "Last night's affair, _desu-ka_?"

  Peter shook his head with a grave smile.

  "I am discovered, Miss Borria. That is to say, I have just givenmyself away to the Manila navy station, not to speak of the commanderof a gunboat, not far from us, off the coast of Mindanao. Itseems"--he made a wry face--"Peter Moore is not popular with theauthorities for deserting a certain ship in Shanghai."

  "The _Vandalia_!" said the girl, and suddenly bit her lip, as thoughshe would have liked to retract the statement.

  Peter sank down on his elbows beside her, until his face was very closeto hers, and his expression was shrewd and cunning.

  "Miss Borria," he remarked stiffly, "I told you last night you'reclever; and now you've given me just one more reason to stick to myguns; one more reason to believe that you know more than you'resupposed to know. Now, let's be perfectly frank--for once. Let's noterase any more rouge stripes, so to speak. Won't you please tell mejust what you do know about my activities in this neighborhood?"

  His outflung gesture indicated the whole of Asia.

  The girl pursed her lips and a hard twinkle, like that of a frostyarc-light upon diamonds, came into her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Moore," shesaid vigorously, "I will. But you must promise--promise faithfully--toask no questions. Will you do that?"

  Peter nodded with a willingness that was far from assumed.

  Romola Borria placed the tips of her slender, white fingers togetherand looked down at them pensively. "Well," she said, looking up andraising her voice slightly, "you escaped from the liner _Vandalia_ inthe middle of the Whang-poo River, at night, in a deep fog, in asampan, with a young woman named Eileen Lorimer in your arms. Thisoccurred after you had delivered her from the hands of certain men,whom I prefer to call, perhaps mysteriously, by the plain word _them_.

  "You sent this young lady home on the _Manchuria_, or the _Mongolia_, Iforget just which. That night on the bund near the French legation,you met, quite by accident, another young lady who found yourcompanionship quite desirable. Her name was Miss Amy Vost, a brightlittle thing."

  "You don't happen to know," put in Peter ironically, "what Miss Lorimerhad for breakfast this morning, by any chance?"

  "At last accounts she was studying for a doctor's degree in theuniversity at San Friole, Mr. Moore."

  "Indeed!" It was on the tip of Peter's tongue to tell this astoundingRomola Borria that she was nothing short of a mind-reader. Instead, henodded his head for her to continue.

  "As I was saying, you met Miss Vost, quite by accident, and danced withher at a fancy dress ball at the Astor House. You wore the costume ofa Japanese merchant, I believe, thinking, a little fatuously, if youwill permit me, that those garments were a disguise. A little later inthe bar at the Palace Hotel, after you left Miss Vost, you met a seacaptain, ex-first mate of the Toyo Kisen Kaisha steamer, the _SunyadoMaru_. He was an old friend.

  "With Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost you made a trip on theYangtze-Kiang in a little river steamer, the _Hankow_, which founderedin the rapids just below Ching-Fu. This occurred after you had stabbedand killed one of their most trusted spies.

  "When the _Hankow_ sank, you followed what now appears to be yourprofessional habit of a trustworthy gallant, by taking a lady indistress into your arms, and swam the whirlpools to the little villageacross the river from Ching-Fu. Then Miss Vost was met by her father,an incurable missionary from Wenchow, and by devious routes, well knownto _them_, you joined a caravan, owned by a garrulous old thief whocalls himself a mandarin, the Mandarin Chang, who told you many lies,to amuse himself--

  "Of course they were lies, Mr. Moore. Chang is one of _his_ mosttrusted henchmen. He even permitted you to kill one of his coolies.The coolie would have died anyway; he was beginning to learn too much.But it tickled Chang, and _him_, to let you have this chance, to seehow far you would go. And Chang had orders to help you reach Len Yang.It gave you confidence in yourself, did it not?"

  "I don't believe a word," declared Peter in a daze. He refused tobelieve that Chang, kindly old Chang, was in league with that man, too.

  "Then you entered Len Yang, the City of Stolen Lives, and _he_ watchedyou, and when you heard a difficult wireless message on the instrumentsat the mine, _he_ gave you a present of money--five hundred taels,wasn't it?--hoping, perhaps, that you would 'give up your foolishness,'as he expressed it, and settle down to take the place of theopium-befuddled wireless man you fooled so cleverly. _He_ valued you,Mr. Moore, you see, and he was not in the least afraid of you!

  "A dozen times, yes, a hundred times, he could have killed you. But hepreferred to sit back and stroke those long, yellow, mandarin mustachesof his, and watch you, as a cat watches a foolish mouse. I can see himlaughing now. Yes! I have seen him, and I have heard him laugh. Itis a hideous, cackling laugh. Quite unearthly! How he did laugh atyou when you rescued Miss Vost, dear little clinging Miss Vost, fromthe jaws of his white palace!

  "But he let you go; and he and his thousand sharpshooters who lined thegreat, green walls, when you and Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vostgalloped bravely out, with one poor little mule! A thousand rifles, Isay, were leveled upon you in that bright moonlight, Mr. Moore. But_he_ said--_no_!"

  Peter looked up at the stolid rigging of the _Persian Gulf_, at thesunlight dancing brightly on the blue waves, which foamed at theircrests like fresh, boiling milk; at the passengers sleeping or readingin their deck chairs; and he refused to believe that this was not adream. But the level voice of Romola Borria purred on:

  "Then you joined a caravan for India, and, for a little while, theythought your trail was lost. But you reappeared in Mandalay, attiredas a street fakir; and you limped all the way to Rangoon. Why did youlimp, Mr. Moore?"

  "A mule stamped on my foot, coming through the Merchants' Pass intoBengal."

  "It healed rapidly, no doubt, for you were very active from that timeon. You took passage to Penang, to Singapore, doubling back to Penang,and again to Singapore, and caught a blue-funnel steamer for Batavia."

  "But, Miss Borria," writhed Peter, "why, with all this knowledge,hasn't he done away with me? You know. _He_ knows. You've had yourchance. You could have killed me in your stateroom last night.Please----" And Peter cast the golden robe of the adventurertemporarily from him, becoming for the moment nothing more than aterribly earnest, terribly concerned young man.

  "I gave you an inkling last night," replied Romola Borria composedly."Until you left Batavia _he_ believed that you had given up yournonsense. The coolie you threw overboard in Batavia was there, not tostab you, but to warn you away from China. Those warnings, of whichyou have had many, are now things of the past. You have thrown downthe glove to him once too often. He is through toying.

  "It was great fun for him, and he enjoyed it. He treats his enemiesthat way--for a while. You have now entered upon the second stage ofenmity with him. Last night was a sample of what you may expect fromnow on. Only the sheerest luck saved you from the coolie's bullet--andmy almost-too-tardy intervention."

  Peter gave her a hard, thoughtful and a thoroughly respectful stare.

  "I take it," he said, "that you are a special emissary, a sort ofminister plenipotentiary, from the Gray Dragon. As a matter of fact,you are here simply to persuade me to correct my erring ways; topersuade me to give you my promise for _him_ that I will put China andLen Yang forever out of my plans."

>   "Express it any way you please, Mr. Moore. I have told you about allthat I am able. I know this game, if you will permit me, a little,just a little better than you do, Mr. Moore. I know when fun stops anddownright danger begins. The moment you put your foot in China, youare putting your foot in a trap from which you can never, never so longas you are permitted to live, extricate yourself. And, believe me,seriously, that will not be for long. A day? Perhaps. An hour? Verylikely not any longer than that.

  "Call me a special emissary if you choose. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I amonly a friend, who desires above everything else to help you avoid amost certain and a most unpleasant death. I have given you youropportunity. From my heart I gave you, and I still do give you, thechance to leave--with me. Yes; I mean that. Your promise, backed byyour word of honor, is a passport to safety for both of us. Yourrefusal, I might as well confess, means to me--death! Won't you stopand consider? Won't you say--yes?"

  Peter's head had snapped back during this epilogue; his white-cladshoulders were squared, and his blue eyes were lighted by a fire thatmight have made a Crusader envious.

  "You may report to him," said he, "that I have listened to hisproposal; that I have considered it calmly; and that, as long as thegauntlet is down--it is--_down_! I want but one thing: a man's chanceat that beast. You can tell him just that from me, Miss Borria. I amsorry."

  She seemed on the point of uttering a final word, a word that mighthave been of the greatest importance to Peter the Brazen; but the wordnever got beyond her lips.

  Into her eyes crept a look of despair, of mute horror. She half raisedher hand; withdrew it. Her shoulders sagged. She staggered to a deckchair, and sank into it, with her head back, her eyes closed, her long,dark lashes lying upon cheeks that had become marble.

  Standing there with his eyes glued to the blue of the sea, Peter theBrazen felt the confidence oozing from him as water oozes out of aleaky pail. He felt himself in the presence of a relentless powerwhich was slowly settling down upon him, crushing him, and overpoweringhim.

  It occurred to him as his thoughts raced willy-nilly, to flash a callof help to the gunboat which prowled south of Luzon, a call which wouldhave met with a response swift and energetic.

  Yet that impulse smacked of the blunderer. It would put an end foreverto his high plan, now boiling more strongly than ever before, in theback of his racked brain: to meet and some day put down the beast inLen Yang.

  A bright, waving hand distracted his attention from the sea. The maidfrom Macassar was endeavoring to attract him. He looked down with apale, haggard smile.

  "You have not forgotten--Kowloon, _busar satu_?" said her tinklinglittle voice.

  "Not I, small one!" Peter called back in accents that entirely lackedtheir accustomed gaiety.