Bill for the Use of a Body

by Dennis Wheatley

  His fellow tourists were much as he had expected: more than half of them were middle-aged or elderly Americans—one couple having with them a most horrid little boy whose raucous utterances and rude interruptions of the guide they smiled on indulgently, evidently regarding them as early indications of a forceful personality—a number of middle-class Japanese, two blonde German hikers, an Englishman, who looked as though he might be a professor, with a faded wife and a young couple who were obviously both French and on their honeymoon.

  For several miles the cumbersome coach negotiated its way through the narrow streets of Kyoto and its suburbs. Meanwhile the little male guide, constantly flashing his teeth, two of which were aluminium, told them that Nara was one of the oldest cities in Japan and, before Kyoto, had been the capital of the country from A.D. 710 to 784. Gripping his microphone firmly, he went on to tell them about the temples they were to see there and gave a brief account of the religions of Japan, interspersing his talk now and then with some well-rehearsed wisecrack that made Julian groan mentally.

  When at last they emerged from the built-up area the pace of the coach increased only over short stretches for, as with the highway between Osaka and Kyoto, the road was in a deplorable condition and so narrow that it could hold only two lanes of traffic. However, at least most of it was free from shoddy little factories, junk yards and back lots, and as they bumped along at twenty miles an hour Julian had ample opportunity to observe the people in the villages and the countryside through which he was passing.

  It was mainly flat, with ranges of hills on both sides in the distance, and had little of the beauty of the country Julian had seen on the previous day while making his journey from Tsu by train. The greater part of it consisted of market gardens which supplied Kyoto with vegetables. Every inch was cultivated and there were scores of forcing houses, mostly consisting of semi-circular wooden supports covered with polythene or thick oiled paper, and the care with which the crops in the open had been cultivated testified to the thrift and industry of the Japanese peasants. On the right of the road, too, the guide pointed out a hillock on which was the most famous tea plantation in Japan but, disliking Japanese tea as Julian did, the sight of it left him cold.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock before they had accomplished the twenty-six miles to Nara and, somewhat to Julian’s surprise, he saw that it had not grown into an industrial centre like Kyoto. Here there were many open or wooded areas, no factories, few shops and the curved roofs of several temples could be seen from a distance. It was, in fact, far more like the picture of Japan that he had envisaged.

  Their guide took them first to the Kasuga Shrine, one of the oldest in Japan. It was situated in a huge park about which roamed eight hundred deer. They were believed to be the messengers of the gods and were so tame that they were an active nuisance. Not content with food bought from the many vendors by tourists and thrown to them, they came up and nuzzled in people’s pockets then, if disappointed, snapped at their fingers.

  The approach to the shrine was through a wood and up broad shallow flights of worn steps. On either side there were innumerable stone lanterns, erected by pious families as memorials to their dead, some of them dating back to the fourteenth century. One night in every year they provide a fairyland scene; for the great majority of Japanese still have a deep regard for ancient customs, so come to the shrine and light a candle or a little oil lamp in their family lantern.

  At the top of the rise stood the famous shrine, painted a bright vermilion and with hundreds of lanterns hanging from its curved eaves. It was said to be the oldest wooden building in the world and round it were growing trees of enormous girth. Out of a slice from some of them a table could have been made at which a dozen people could have dined, and the guide declared that the oldest had been planted two hundred years before William the Conqueror invaded England.

  Returning to the coach, they drove on to see the Todaiji Temple. This again had a worthy approach along a broad avenue, and on either side of its entrance towered up a terrifying wooden image of a demon king, threatening with raised fists anyone who dared profane the sacred portals. Inside there was a huge seated Buddha. It was fifty-three feet in height, and weighed over four hundred and fifty tons. Aloof and serene it had sat there all through the centuries since before Charlemagne had ruled in France and the Caliph Haroun el Raschid in Baghdad, and neither before nor since had any people ever cast a larger bronze figure.

  Looking up at it brought home to Julian more than anything else had yet done the antiquity of Japan’s civilisation. The temples in Kyoto were no more than delicate buildings with attractively designed roofs, that might have been built in any age; but it was a staggering thought that there should have been craftsmen in Nara capable of designing and casting this colossal figure, that radiated peace and benignancy, when London was no more than a huddle of wooden houses on land retrieved from a swamp.

  While admiring this ancient work of art, one thing detracted from Julian’s enjoyment. As at the Kasuga Shrine, and at the shrines and temples he had gone to see with Bill Urata in Kyoto, the whole area swarmed with people. Encouraged by their Government, so he had been told, as an antidote to modern tensions and fears of a nuclear war, the Japanese had developed an absorbing interest in their country’s past. Rain or shine, every day, outside every place of major interest could be seen from twenty to fifty parked coaches that had brought numbers of trade guilds, fraternities of housewives, groups of students and other organisations on excursions from distant cities. Black-haired, shiny-faced schoolgirls dressed in neat sailor suits were to be seen by the hundred, and in the milling crowd one could not walk ten paces without having to step aside for some youth, or dapper little man, who was taking a photograph or using a cine-camera.

  The coach party were to lunch at the Nara Hotel and, on entering it, became mixed up with the guests about to attend a smart wedding reception. The little bride was almost buried under a traditional head-dress and the women were all dressed in magnificent satin kimonos with enormous bows in the middle of their backs; but the men, in morning coats, lavender waistcoats and carrying ‘toppers’, would not, if suddenly transported on a magic carpet, have looked at all out of place in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot. The sight typified in Julian’s mind the extraordinary way in which the Japanese, in so many ways, appear to have adopted the ways of Western civilisation yet at heart maintain their ancient beliefs and customs.

  Over a very passable lunch the people seated at Julian’s table talked about temples they had seen in Kyoto, and others that they were to visit that afternoon, until he threw a bombshell among them. He had noticed on the folder describing the tour that those who preferred it could be dropped off for two hours at Nara’s Disneyland. And he remarked that, as he was thoroughly tired of being jostled by crowds of gaping students, that was what he intended to do.

  Most of those present were horrified. They had paid good money to come thousands of miles to see temples, and nothing short of collapse would have prevented them from going to stare at every one that was on their itinerary. But the young Frenchman laughed, looked at his pretty wife and said in French, ‘Little one, I think the English gentleman’s idea commends itself. Already my mind is confused by the number of temples we have seen in Kyoto, and there are other ways of amusing oneself.’

  With a smile, Julian addressed them in French. ‘That is just how I feel. Please, Madame, agree; and brighten my afternoon by permitting me to accompany yourself and your husband.’

  The girl returned his smile and inclined her head. ‘Enchanté, Monsieur. Je vous remercie infiniment?

  An hour later, some way from the centre of Nara, Julian and the French couple were dropped outside a gaily painted walled city two miles or more in circumference. He had learned that the couple’s name was Rimbaud and that they came from Saigon. The husband had been born there and was in the employ of the French Line; the wife had come out two years earlier as governess to the young children of a wealthy
official.

  The coach had put them off at the bottom of a long slope that led up to the fairy tale city, and as they walked up it Julian received a sudden shock. Ahead of them was a small group of people who had been dropped off from another coach. Among them were a tall man who was dressed like an American and, with him, a dark-haired girl. As they paused before going through the turnstile, Julian caught sight of the girl’s profile. She obviously had Chinese blood and for a moment he could have sworn that she was Merri. Her height and figure and the bronze lights in her hair all contributed to the illusion. In spite of the improbability of finding Merri there his heart seemed to turn over. But as he drew nearer he saw the girl’s face again. She was considerably older and, although very good-looking, nowhere near as beautiful. Then he heard her speak in broad American and put her, and the man with her, down as tourists from San Francisco’s Chinatown.

  The episode caused him to feel a sudden pang of guilt. For the past hour he had been quite enjoying himself, while poor little Merri must be confined in some dismal room, probably ill-fed and ill-treated and, in any case, eating her heart out with worry about what was to become of her. Desperately he wished that by some magic it could be this time the following day; for by then the Kuan-yin should have arrived and he would be twenty-four hours nearer to making his bid to secure her freedom.

  Thoughts of her would have plagued him all the afternoon had it not been for the Rimbauds; but they were young and gay, and it was impossible not to be affected by their enjoyment of the plywood city with its miniature castles, pagodas, dwarf houses in the style of every land, Aladdin’s caves and innumerable side shows. They went first in the little train, drawn by the first steam engine ever to be imported into Japan, that ran all round the city’s wall, and from it looked down on the stucco jungle inhabited by stuffed animals and primitive hunters, the Indian reservation, the Chinese village and Treasure Island in the middle of a lake. Later they went aboard the pirate ship, down the helter-skelter and on the scenic railway.

  At half past three the coach picked them up and made its irritatingly slow journey back to Kyoto. The Rimbauds were staying at an inexpensive hotel, and Julian, dreading another long evening of suspense on his own, pressed them to dine with him at the Miyako. They needed little pressing, as they were far from well-off, and Rimbaud had said that had not the shipping line that employed him given them their passages free they would not have been able to afford to go so far afield for their honeymoon.

  Julian was only too happy to give them a good evening with the best of everything, and they particularly enjoyed the French wines he ordered, as the prices in Japan were far too high for them to be able to pay when on their own. Over dinner it emerged that they had spent the first week of their holiday in Hong Kong, so were able to compare with Julian their impressions of the Chinese and Japanese. All three of them thought the Chinese handsomer, better dressed, more amusing and more attractive; but they agreed that the Japanese were an exceptionally clean and more efficient people, and that their politeness and willingness to oblige foreigners were unequalled anywhere.

  About in which place they would rather live they unhesitatingly decided for Hong Kong, both on account of its amenities and weather. Central Japan, although twenty degrees nearer the Equator than central England, has an even worse climate. In the summer it could be very hot, but few days passed without rain; in the spring it was chilly, rainy and windy; and in winter it was very cold with frequent bliszards. Madame Rimbaud declared that she thought she would die if she had to live through a winter in one of the little paper-walled houses that so many of the Japanese still dwelt in; and Julian laughingly agreed that she probably would unless she gave up pretty clothes to encase herself in the hideous padded garments and felt boots with which the Japanese protected themselves.

  It was after midnight when the Rimbauds left, but when Julian turned in he could not get to sleep for a long time owing to his fears that he might fail to get Merri out of Hayashi’s clutches the following night.

  While he was breakfasting in his room next morning, the elder Urata rang him up from Osaka with the good news that the Lubeck had just docked, and that Hayashi had accepted the invitation to dine at the Nest of the Phoenix that evening in order to inspect the Kuan-yin. He added that important business would detain him in Osaka until well on in the afternoon; so he proposed that Julian should meet him at the Phoenix at eight o’clock, to which Julian agreed.

  Knowing that several hours must elapse before Pao Tin-yum and his wife could reach Kyoto with the Kuan-yin, Julian decided to kill time by having another look at Hayashi’s house and also finding out exactly where the Phoenix was situated. As soon as he had dressed he hired one of the hotel cars and drove, as he had done with Bill Urata, down to an old quarter of the city. Leaving the car on the corner of a lane, he again walked slowly round Hayashi’s property. As on the previous occasion, the high walls and big wooden gates prevented his seeing into the garden; so he had to content himself with staring for a while at the section of long tiled roof that he could see through the pine trees and silently praying that Merri had come to no harm there.

  Returning to the car, he told the driver to take him to the Phoenix. It proved to be in the same quarter of the city and only about half a mile away. But unlike Hayashi’s house it was not surrounded by a garden. It was a large ancient two-storeyed wooden building on the corner of a street and on both sides of it were rows of shoddy shops.

  By eleven o’clock Julian was back at the Miyako sitting in the hall impatiently awaiting the arrival of Pao Tin-yum, his mind going round like a squirrel in a cage about his chances of making a deal with Hayashi. Optimistic as he tried to make himself feel, he could not overcome the belief that those chances were far from good. There could be no doubt that it was Tilly Sang whom Hayashi wanted to get his hands on, and that he had had Merri kidnapped only to force her mother to come to Japan. Could he really be tempted to forgo a chance to eliminate the woman who had done so much harm to his dope trafficking and whose husband had been in part responsible for having him sent to prison for ten years, simply to add another antique to his fine collection? And what if he refused or, clever devil that he was, managed to trick them out of the Kuan-yin, as it seemed almost certain that he would attempt to? If either happened then, Julian realised, his only hope would be in Rinzai. If the wisened little detective secured definite information that Hayashi had Merri in his house it might be possible to get in and rescue her.

  It was not until half past twelve that Pao Tin-yum and his wife Pao Ping at last arrived with their precious package. At first sight Julian was by no means favourably impressed by them. The couple were well on in middle age. The man was tall, gaunt and with a fleshy nose. He was sallow-skinned, but his features suggested that he had European blood as well as Chinese. His mouth was cruel and his eyes inclined to be shifty. The woman was squat, fat and had a waddle. Her mouth, too, was hard and her eyes shrewd. She was wearing a well-made dark blue coat and skirt and a rope of good-sized pearls; pinned to the lapel of her coat there was a diamond brooch that must have cost well over three figures in pounds sterling. Her husband’s long grey overcoat was also of good quality, and his large feet were encased in well-polished shoes.

  They asked at once to be taken to their room, but would not allow the seven-foot-long oval-shaped wicker basket that contained the Kuan-yin to be taken up in the luggage lift. As it was now in the same city as the unscrupulous Hayashi, Julian agreed that it could not be too carefully guarded; so it was placed on end in one of the electric passenger lifts and all three of them went up with it to the double room that Julian had engaged for the Paos in the same corridor as his own. Having seen the Kuan-yin carried into it, he asked them to meet him in the upstairs lounge when they were ready to go in to lunch; then he left them to unpack and have a wash.

  Over lunch he found them decidedly taciturn. They had left Mrs. Sang in as good a state as could be expected and had had an uneventful voyage. Pao T
in-yum’s grandmother, it transpired, had been a Portuguese and he had been born in Macao, but had lived since the war in Hong Kong. About his business he was somewhat vague. He said that he owned an interest in an amusement parlour and in a small restaurant and that, as he had been a friend of Mrs. Sang’s husband, when she had come to live in Hong Kong he had taken over the management of her affairs.

  Finding it difficult to extract any further particulars of interest from him, and that Mrs. Pao was even less inclined to be communicative, Julian told them about the arrangements for that evening. He then raised the question of transporting the Kuan-yin to the Phoenix, but learned that the problem could easily be dealt with. Mrs. Sang had realised that it was too large to go in a car, so had cabled a garage in Osaka to have available a small closed van in which it could be taken to Kyoto. Pao, with his wife in the cab, had driven the van himself, and it was now in the hotel garage; so it could be used again to take the Kuan-yin to the Phoenix. It remained only for him to be guided there; so Julian said that he would take a taxi and tell the driver to go at a moderate pace, then Pao would have no difficulty in following him.

  To assess the social status of quite well dressed foreigners, particularly when they are Asiatics, is never easy; but Julian had soon decided that the Paos were very far from being the sort of people he had visualised when thinking of them. He had not expected them to be high-caste Chinese but had supposed that Tilly Sang’s man of affairs would probably be a sedate lawyer, or at least a business man of some standing who spoke good English. But clearly the Paos, although they appeared to be quite well-off, were not of a type that would have been accepted in such circles, or even reasonably well educated. Both of them at times fumbled with their knives and forks—which showed that they habitually used chopsticks—the man ate voraciously, cramming his food into his mouth, and the woman repeatedly began to suck her teeth, then remembered not to.