Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER IV

  A light spring rain was drizzling down when Peter ordered fourrickshaws of the proud Sikh who stood guard over the porte cochere ofthe Astor House. Long bright knives of light slithered across the wetpavement from the sharp arc lights on the Soochow bridge. The ghostlysuperstructure of a large and silent junk was thrown in silhouetteagainst the yellow glow of a watchman's shanty across the dark canal,as it moved slowly in the current toward the Yellow Sea.

  It was a desolate night. The streets were deserted except for anoccasional rickshaw with some mysterious bundled passenger, thefootfalls of the coolies sounding with a faint squashing as of drenchedsandals, slimy with the heavy sludge of the back-village streets. Theworld was lonely and awash.

  Peter busied himself with Peggy's comfort when the first rickshaw,dripping and wet, rattled up. He drew the waterproof robe up under herchin and fastened the loops, then tucked it in under her feet. Hercheeks were glowing with the pink of her excitement.

  Anthony meanwhile gave similar attention to the other twin.

  Peter glanced at his watch as they climbed in. He wondered how Anthonymight be taking his first and relatively unimportant lap of theiradventure, and he instructed his coolie, in "pidgin," to drop behind.

  Clear gray eyes shone with a confident reassurance.

  "You mustn't hit too hard, and be careful if you shoot your revolver todischarge it in the air. At close range even the wads from the blankcartridges are rather deadly."

  Anthony's clear voice came across to him: "Of course."

  They stopped at length before the rambling structure which was theabode of Romola Borria. The lamp was extinguished, probably beaten outlong before by the pelting rain. Only a pale glow emanated from theplace, this from a tiny upstairs window, covered over with oiled paper,and the only sounds were the ceaseless drip of the rain and the lowgibberings of the coolies as they examined the coins given them in thegreasy light of the rickshaw lanterns.

  Peggy, slipping her arm through Peter's and hugging him close to her,trembled with the excitement of anticipation.

  "We must not be separated," he warned them in a whisper. "Whateverhappens--Peggy and Helen--stand close to us. In case of trouble, eachof you stand behind whichever of us is nearest. Don't scream. Don'tshow any money. Peggy, put your pocketbook in your shirt-waist.Now--ready?"

  "Yes!" came the threefold whispering chorus.

  He raised his knuckles, and brought them down sharply--three timesrapidly, twice slowly. Silence followed, the bristling silence of anaroused house.

  Slowly the door gave way, and a villainous-looking old Chinese in blackbeckoned with a long snake-like finger for them to enter.

  Only two candles now were burning on the lacquered rail in the smokycorridor. Curtains at the rear parted; there was a sweep of heavysilken garments, and a white-faced and beautiful woman made her waytoward them.

  Deft employment of the make-up pot and painstaking searchings through agreat number of trunks had blended a picture that was all butmelodramatic.

  Romola Borria's wonderful dark hair was arranged in a great heap whichsloped backward from her head. Her face was chalk white, from a bathin rice powder; her fine lips were curled in the most sinister ofsmiles; and her eyes glowed with a splendid abandon. She lookedwicked; she radiated cruelty.

  And the twins gasped in sweet horror. It is probable that twintrickles of icy excitement chased up and down their twin spines.Anthony gaped, and his gray eyes expressed an unbounded infatuation.

  With a gracious stealth she moved beyond them, not once lowering hermagnificent eyes, and shot a huge brass bolt in the door.

  They formed an expectant, a worshipful semicircle. In a low voicePeter made the introductions, dwelling at fastidious length upon thetremendous villainy of this slender sorceress, who swept him all thetime with a proud and disdainful fire. She nodded stiffly at intervals.

  "The Princess Meng Da Tlang has a word to say to you." He bowedprofoundly.

  "It is only this," said Romola Borria in tones as rich as the Kyototemple gong, "what you have thus far seen, and what you are about togaze upon, must always--forever--remain a secret within your hearts.Follow me." Romola, or the Princess Meng Da Tlang, floated down thedim corridor with a further silken rustle of skirts, and drew back thecurtain at the far end.

  The quartette filed into a large and lofty room, flickering under thepallid flames of candles. The wax dripping from some of these hunglike icicles or stalactites from the shallow bronze cups, and theyilluminated a scene that was bizarre.

  The walls were burdened with heavy rugs which responded with a waxensheen to the mystic light of the candles, and they were of the sombrehues of the China that passed its zenith many centuries ago. Theyserved to give this place a solemn air of vast dignity and richness.

  Along the inner wall, placed so that it squarely commanded the doorway,grinned a huge green image of Buddha, surrounded by a clutter of brasscandlesticks and mounted on a splendid throne of brass filigreeunderneath which red flames were burning.

  The odor of costly incense was heavy and sweet, the smoke from abrazier arising in a thin, motionless blue spar which, when it hadclimbed up through the air for a distance of about four feet, brokeinto a sort of turquoise fan and this drifted on up to the ceiling inheavy wisps. The incense pot was very old, of black lacquer and brass,greened with blotches of erosion.

  And above the green image of Buddha, before which the Princess Meng DaTlang was now kneeling and moaning in a faint voice, reposed a veryrealistic skull and cross-bones. Across the forehead of this hideousreminder of the hereafter was a deep green notch, attesting in allprobability to the cause of the luckless owner's death.

  "Please be seated--there," Romola requested.

  Her graceful, ivory-white arm indicated with a queenly gesture aheavily carved ebony bench, and her guests filed expectantly to thisseat.

  Peggy, with a long sigh, dragged Peter into the corner. "I'm almostscared. Oh, oh, isn't this simply romantic!" she whispered.

  Helen and Anthony gravely occupied the space on the other side of them.The Princess Meng Da Tlang was moving gracefully toward the doorwaythrough which they had entered.

  "I--I'm really a little afraid!" whispered Peggy, with her lips soclose to Peter's ear that he could feel her warm breath against hisneck. "Put your arms around me--please!" Peter slipped his arm behindher and around her. He squeezed her. "Oh," sighed Peggy, "this isgrand!"

  Helen gave her a sidelong look of surprise. "Peggy, I think you'rehardly discreet."

  "Let me die while I'm happy!" grinned Peggy. She turned a wistful faceto Peter. "Did you ever put your arm around another woman before?" shewhispered.

  "Heaven forbid!" groaned Peter. "Don't I act like an amateur?"

  "No; you don't!"

  Romola was holding back the curtains while a troop of four men, muddyand wet, as if from long travel, moved silently into the large room.

  "Mongolian smugglers," Peter whispered.

  The four large men crossed the room with dignified tread, depositingfour small bundles wrapped in blue silk at the altar of Buddha. Thenthey removed straw-matting rainproofs which dangled from their broadshoulders to their muddy sandals. They were garbed in black silk andfastened at the belt of each was a kris, curved and flashing where thegolden candle light skimmed along the whetted steel.

  After depositing their slight burdens they bowed low before the altar,muttered deep in their throats, arose and salaamed gravely, until thefour pigtails flapped on the heavy blue rug at Romola's bare feet. Shewore no sandals, which was probably the custom among pirate princesses.When the men were gone, Romola drew back a rug which hung close to thealtar, revealing a small cupboard flush with the wall. Even Anthonylooked at the black door and the brass hasp with his gray eyes round inwonder and interest.

  After disposing of the four silken parcels, Romola addressed them in amysterious voice: "Those packages contain gems; diamonds, rubies,p
earls from the Punjab, from Bengali, from Burma."

  "Can we see them?" pleaded Helen in rapt tones.

  "Aw, please!" inserted Peggy in an angelic whisper.

  Romola raised both of her hands as if in horror. "They would tempteven a saint," she muttered.

  "Be careful," warned Peter, laying his lips to Peggy's pink ear, "theprincess has a terrible temper. She has been known to strangle a manfor less than that!"

  "I don't believe it!" retorted Peggy. "I think the princess is justtoo sweet for anything."

  Romola gave Peter a look of indolent inquiry. She arose abruptly.

  "You must have some of my spiced wine. It is really delicious._P'eng-yu_ Moore, we won't bother the servants; won't you help me?"

  Peggy folded her hands demurely in her lap. "I hope it isn'tintoxicating," she murmured.

  Romola had moved graciously across the room, where in a bronzejardiniere protruded the dusty, slender necks of tall bottles. Sheknelt before this. "Nearer," she whispered, as he followed suit."Peter, tell me----"

  "Yes, Romola?"

  "What does this little girl mean to you?"

  Peggy's clear voice sounded: "Peter, my throat is dusty!"

  "In a minute, Peggy," he called back. Lowering his voice again: "She'smerely a child. But why----"

  "Peter, I've gone to more trouble to-night than you realize,perhaps----"

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to stop making love to that innocent child."

  The innocent child's sweet voice was clamoring again. "Peter, theSahara Desert is a flowing river compared with my throat!"

  "All right, Peggy; in a minute."

  "You said once that you--loved me."

  "I still stand by my guns. But I don't love any one now. You're atemptress, Romola. Why, you are a princess! I never saw you morebeautiful than to-night!"

  "Peter, can't you realize what a dreary life I've led since that nightyou ran away from me in Hong Kong? Won't you--for me--because I wantit--because I want _you_--reconsider, won't you stop, and think,and----"

  "We're getting back to forbidden grounds, Romola."

  "Oh, God! I know, I know! But what is there left in my life? Why,what is there left in yours? Perhaps you are the best operator on thewhole Pacific Ocean; you've had that reputation now--how long--fiveyears? But it is aimless! Where are you drifting? What will becomeof you as the years pass? You must be nearly thirty now, Peter. I? Iam younger, but I have suffered more. The only happiness I have knownhas been with you."

  Peggy's voice became petulant. "Peter, is that cork _awfully_obstinate?"

  "In a minute," he said absently.

  "Do you remember those wonderful days and evenings we spent together onthe Java Sea, on the old _Persian Gulf_? Do you remember thoseevenings, Peter, under the moon and the Southern Cross?"

  "I remember a great deal of treachery!"

  "But there is to be no more treachery," she said passionately. "Think,Peter, think! You are penniless--I have only a little money; it willnot last long. What follows? Do you know what happens to white womenwhen they are stranded, penniless, friendless, in this country?" Sheshivered. "And it would be such a simple thing to do---to go withme--to him. We would be together forever then--you and I! Tibet! ThePunjab! The merchant's trail into Bengal! You and I with ourcaravan--in the blue foot-hills!"

  "I'm sorry," confessed Peter sadly.

  Romola hung her head with a bitter sigh.

  Peggy pitched her voice: "Smash the neck, Peter; I don't mind a littlebroken glass!"

  Romola was pushing two silver cups along the floor to him.

  He spilled an amount of the sparkling golden liquid on the carpet,where it formed a dark, round stain. With slightly unsteady hands heconveyed the cups across the room, and Peggy, without another word,following a rather vexed: "Thank you, m'lord," emptied the cup in asingle swallow. She licked her lips daintily, and her eyes weresparkling.

  As Peter moved into the seat beside her, he saw the curtain over thedoorway slowly drawn back by an unseen hand. He looked smilinglytoward Romola, and her eyes were fixed on the moving curtain, her facerigid in surprise and concern. The thing seemed to puzzle her.

  White metal flashed coldly. A lean hand and arm appeared, and a short,fat knife, the haft sparkling with drops that resembled blood, wasprojected into the room, point down, quivering, in the wood, not fivefeet from Romola's lacquered bench!