Dinner over, we adjourned to the main section of the shrine, which had been converted into a sort of living room and study combined. Here Wan Shih left us, being due at some kind of religious exercises, and Baron Rosoff entertained us with his escape from the Bolshevists.
That went off very well. He was a Germanophile, as John Li had warned me, and I caught him in a couple of finely fluent lies, but kept my mouth shut. When he came out with the usual propaganda about the Shanghai government being Bolshevist, however, I cut loose and gave him a head-full of facts. He got the idea that I wanted to impress upon him—namely, that I was an ardent young fool, carried off my feet by the patriotic fervor of Young China.
In the midst of my argument, I reached for my pipe and tobacco, and drew them out of my pocket. Something else came with them, and fell tinkling to the floor—something I had completely forgotten. It was the thin oval of copper which I had taken from the neck of John Li.
Rosoff leaned over, picked it up, and handed it to me. His face was inscrutable. For a moment I was startled into fear; then I reflected that no harm had been done. I did not know what the thing was, but certainly it had nothing to do with the service. A personal charm, I thought.
After a little, Groot got the baron tangled up in some involved discussion about the Arabic importation of asbestos into China, and Mary took the opportunity to invite me to see the moonlight view of the river. I accepted promptly, and we got outside on the terrace before Rosoff could untwist from his argument. I had the feeling that his eyes followed us in a disagreeable fashion.
Outside, I cleaned my pipe and refilled it. Neither of us spoke for a moment, for the scene was rarely beautiful—even in this province, where the most beautiful spots have been preserved as places of spiritual culture for thousands of years. Above us the gray buildings, dotted with faint lantern-lights; the terraced garden and the dark walls below, and upon the reaches of the river the faint moonlight.
“When did the baron get here?” I asked casually. Mary gave me a glance.
“A little before noon. Uncle Alan went in to the city this morning, you know.”
I nodded. This checked up pretty well. John Li reached here with Rosoff, knew that he was dying, and only got away sometime in the course of the afternoon.
“By the way,” said Mary, her voice quite low and soft, “do you know any one named John Li?”
I must have jumped, for the pipe fell out of my hand and lay on the stone at her feet.
CHAPTER IV
A Nocturnal Visitor
“Look here, Mary, don’t startle me any more! I have a weak heart,” I said, retrieving the pipe and staring at her. “What’s the big idea?”
She frowned slightly. We stood quite alone, with only the new moon to overhear us. “My dear Captain Breck—or may I adopt my uncle’s familiarity and call you Sam?—I do hope that you won’t do any more pretending; with me, at least. I read in your eyes at dinner that you understood, and I comprehended your answer perfectly. It was all I needed to make me quite certain of you.”
“Oh!” I said, confused by this direct frontal attack. “Oh!”
“Precisely—oh!” she mimicked me, smilingly.
“Why did you mention John Li?”
She went sober at this.
“I’ll tell you, Sam. A year ago I attended the graduation exercises at Harvard. John Li was being graduated, that same year, from Johns Hopkins. He had run up from Baltimore to attend the Harvard commencement where some of his friends were getting degrees. I met him, and I liked him.”
She paused a moment, then went on.
“Today Baron Rosoff came. He had come from Siam by the mountain road over the Yunchan pass, with only one servant besides his muleteers. I was down at the gate when they came up, and I recognized that servant, in spite of his coolie disguise, as John Li.”
“Good lord!” I breathed. “You didn’t speak his name?”
A smile curved her lips—an unwontedly grim smile for that sweet face!
“No. He was ill, and the priests took care of him. Later I went to see him, when they were not around. He was shut in a room, and I drew the bars. He would not talk, and insisted that I go back to our own quarters immediately. He said that he could get away. Half an hour later, I heard shooting down by the river—and I was afraid—”
She paused, and I knew that there was no escape. She was the kind to trust.
“Well,” I said, plunging into it, “you heard what your uncle said about meeting a chap who had been killed by bandits? That was John Li. He had time to tell me a little—before he died.”
“He died! Today, this very afternoon?” The girl caught her breath.
“Poisoned by Rosoff,” I went on. “He was serving his country as a spy—and he paid the price.”
“Baron Rosoff!” she breathed. “Why!—I suspected Wan Shih!”
“You did? Suspected him of what?”
“Nothing definite. But strangers have been here, most of them coming by river. Twice I was certain that I saw Japanese faces. I thought perhaps he might be concerned in smuggling opium or morphia—except that he’s a man of such deep character, such high ideals—”
I laughed harshly.
“Right enough, Mary! He’s a fanatic, and I think he is one of those who have been fooled and tricked into trusting the politicians. Damn the politicians! Look here, I want to get you and your uncle out of here and inside the walls of Cheng-tu. That’s why I came. Rosoff is in charge of operations here for the Jap party.
“His business is to stir up an open fuss that will give Peking an excuse to intervene. My business is to prevent it. You will disappear; your uncle will be killed. He is well known as a scholar, and while of course America won’t give a hang, Peking will set up a loud yell and ask those dear Japs for help. Then Young China’s fat is in the fire. Savvy?”
Even in the moonlight I could see that she was very white, and her brown eyes seemed like patches of old Han jade set against white satin.
“You—you mustn’t talk that way about America—”
“I’m talking sense, not ideals or theories,” I intervened. “They are using agents provocateurs by the wholesale, and Rosoff is the chief of them all. Now, we’re going out for a boat ride tomorrow afternoon, see? And we’re not coming back. You be ready—”
Her hand touched my arm, and she broke into laughter.
“Captain Breck, you’re absurd! I don’t believe a word of it! I suppose you’ll be saying next that Alexander the Great was here! Uncle, Captain Breck was just telling me that the Romans had founded Cheng-tu, and that some Roman remains had been found near there!”
I turned to see Groot blinking owlishly at us. Behind him, in the shadow, loomed Rosoff.
“Romans?” repeated Groot. “No, no—you must be mistaken, Sam! Of course, Antoninus Pius sent an embassy to China, and so did Theodosius, but I have heard of no Roman remains—”
This was sheer good luck, nothing else. As Mary admitted afterward, only chance had guided her words, but it was confounded good fortune for me. I fancy Rosoff had caught a few indiscreet words from me, and now I was able to clinch what Mary said.
“Quite so, Alan,” I cut in coolly. “There’s an American named Hanecy, a dealer in antiques and so forth. He was up this way a few months ago, with a partner. I hear they really unearthed some Roman stuff. They got into a devilish row with the civil magistrate, a grafter of the old school. They killed him, I believe; at all events, that is what led to the general upheaval in the province, and won Cheng-tu to our side.”
“Roman?” queried Groot. That was the only word he had caught. “Roman? You’re sure?”
“I had it on hearsay,” I rejoined. “Yes, it was Roman.”
This let Groot expand on the Han annals and other ancient lore, and presently we all went inside. I was satisfied—more than satisfied. This girl was a wonder! Besides, she had been keeping her eyes open. She had clinched the fact that Wan Shih was acting as chief cook and bottle
washer for the deviltry that Rosoff meant to pull off.
The Russian, who must have traveled hard and fast, was more than a little wearied from his long trip over the mountains. So, after a little, he said good-night, and departed to the separate quarters that had been assigned him elsewhere in the temple.
Groot accompanied him outside, came back and closed the door, and started to speak. I beat him to it.
“Not a word!” I said, with a cautious gesture. “Can’t take chances, Alan, by talking too much. Get ready to grab your most valuable stuff in a hurry tomorrow. Now, if you folks don’t mind, I want to turn in. I’ve been at work since six A.M., and tomorrow looks like a busy day. I’m going to get what sleep I can.”
Mary understood me, and would have Groot ready to light out in all haste. In such old temples as this, the very walls have ears, and to talk over our plans would have been sheer folly.
They took me to one of the four side-rooms, and said good-night. Mine was a small chamber, adorned with tattered brocades and phosphorescent fungi. The shrine must have been used as a guest-house for a long time, since a brick bed had been put up in one corner. There was a single window, without glass or shutters, opening upon a tree-masked portion of the terraced gardens. I got as nearly ready for bed as I cared, which was not far. The bricks had been faced with some straw and a pair of blankets, but I knew that if I wasn’t hopping before morning, other things would be. I had slept on these brick beds before.
When I had blown out the cotton-wicked candle that lighted the room, I got out my pipe and sat down on the bed, watching the pale smoke drift across the moonlit window-frame, and vainly seeking for inspiration.
“Sam Breck, old top, you’re in one hell of a mess!” I reflected. “How you’ve fooled Rosoff so far, I don’t know; but you’ve done it. There’s no doubt on earth that Wan Shih has framed up a scheme of action with Peking agents, and that Rosoff has been sent down to pull off the event in style. He’ll do it without any delay, either—the damned, sly devil! I never met a Russian yet that wasn’t a liar six ways from the post! There’s no ninth commandment in their decalogue.
“This Rosey is one bad actor. Either a Korean or a Jap is perched up in the attic this minute, attending to that wireless. Wan Shih has at least two more among his priests, and all the priests will be quick enough to take a hand in any robbery. Unlike most Taoist joints, this is a celibate outfit; and a dozen fighting monks make up a bad crowd. Added to these, there are river-men down below—those are the chaps who shot at John Li.”
Taking it all around, I hardly liked the looks of things. The sole hope I could see was in taking a boat ride on the river—then shooting the boatman and beating it. This river was only a side creek that emptied into the Min a couple of miles away and was quite navigable. The scheme was pretty desperate, but it was the best I could think up.
I had my regulation automatic at my hip, and another, a smaller one, out of sight, I took this smaller one and shoved it under my straw pallet, in case of accidents, and put my swagger stick with it. That was a nice stick. I had overseen the making of it myself, and it not only held private documents conveniently, but the ferrule was a bluntly tapering bit of steel with four razor edges and a needle point. Not a regulation weapon by a long shot, but mighty handy when rightly used.
Well, I had about concluded to entrust myself to the arms of Morpheus, when I heard a crunch on the gravel outside my window. That did not surprise me, but the low sound of my name in the voice of Rosoff surprised me considerably.
“Breck!” His figure appeared close to the window. “Breck! Are you awake?”
I grunted, and muttered something unintelligible as though waking up. He spoke again, and now I had him covered as I made sleepy response.
“Hello! Someone want me?”
He had not come to start any offensive, however.
“Breck! Slip outside, will you? I want to have a word with you where we can’t be overheard. Don’t disturb anybody.”
“All right. Wait till I get into my shoes.”
I stowed away the automatic, and presently tiptoed to the window. He stood outside, a shadowy smile on his handsome lips, and gave me a hand. I climbed out beside him. With a gesture, he led the way to a wooden bench set beside a terrace of flowers, and sat down. We were out in the open, the moon thin and fine in the heavens.
“Sorry I disturbed you, Captain,” he apologized affably. “I did not know that you had retired so early, I couldn’t sleep myself—too tired, perhaps.”
I replied in kind. Inwardly, I was wondering whether this were some new method of assassination, or an attempt at bribery. I had half expected nocturnal visitors, but I had not thought to be summoned forth in this fashion.
Rosoff lighted a cigarette, offered me one, which I refused, and then spoke.
“I say, Breck! When you pulled your pipe out of your pocket, after dinner, a little disk of copper slipped to the floor. May I have another look at it, if you’ve no objections?”
This staggered me. I had to go it blind.
“Why, sure!” I returned. “Let’s see—where did I put the thing? Ah, yes—here it is. So small and thin it’s hard to find.”
I laid it in his hand, and unobtrusively opened my holster flap. I flattered myself that I was ready for anything; but at that, I was not prepared for what happened.
CHAPTER V
John Li’s Legacy
“You know what this is, don’t you?” asked Rosoff.
“Certainly,” I said promptly. “It’s part of a curio I picked up in Cheng-tu the other day—a rather odd ink-slab holder made of carved stone, with copper mounts. This was one of the mounts. I have carried it around waiting to get it soldered in place but the confounded thing has slipped my mind.”
Baron Rosoff regarded me admiringly.
“I congratulate you upon your curio,” he said dryly. I had an unhappy conviction that my lie was rotten. “Probably you know the meaning of these ideographs?”
“Sure thing,” and I tried to carry it off. “It reads t’ou stone. That’s a peculiar kind of stone found only near Cheng-tu.”
To my surprise, Rosoff went into a hearty burst of laughter, genuinely amused.
“Breck,” he said, chuckling, “you’re positively a genius! Upon my word, old chap, you know how to do the thing right, and no mistake! If I hadn’t had a glimpse of that thing when you dropped it, I would never have suspected the truth.”
“The devil you say!” I stared at him. “Well? What are you driving at?”
He sobered, gave me one searching look, and lowered his voice.
“I’ll tell you. The Japanese pronunciation of the name is chuseki. What it actually means is ‘brass stone’—in other words, zinc. Shall I translate any further?”
“You’ll have to, I guess,” was my cool response. This, for some reason, seemed to please him immensely.
“Very well. Zinc is the alloy used to make brass. Without that alloy, brass could not be. And brass is today one of the most useful and beautiful of metals. I trust you follow my translation? Having entered into brass, zinc remains unseen, undiscovered, but ever potent. Now, if you wish to bring the matter into politics, and in place of brass use the word China, and in place of zinc use the word Nippon—”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “The devil you say!”
He chuckled again. “I hope that I have convinced you fully of my identity? I might add, by the way, that these disks were one of my contributions to the cause. The little parable is very appealing to the Japanese mind, you understand. Besides, it is so very innocent! Not one person in a hundred, even in China, knows what t’ou stone really is; and if everybody knew, what harm would be done? None whatever. Only those who have had the translation carefully given to them will understand that there is any ulterior meaning.”
“An admirable idea,” I responded. “I congratulate you with all my heart!”
Heaven knows I meant the words! This was the most valuable thing I had yet picke
d up. Of course, John Li had picked it up first. Somehow, somewhere, that wonderful man had stumbled on the fact that Rosoff’s spy system used these copper disks as identification tags; he had secured one of the tags, and was bringing it in with him. Probably he had known nothing of the “translation,” or he would have sprung it on Rosoff and saved himself.
It was a soundly practical idea—up to a certain point. Some system of identification was needed, especially since Rosoff was not himself a Jap, and he had devised something which would never be suspected by the enemy; or if suspected, would not be deciphered. John Li had of course suspected, but he had evidently not deciphered. The danger-point of such a system came when one of the tags got into the hands of the wrong party: the present situation.
Rosoff slipped up there, yet his reasoning was good. I had lied most absurdly about the thing—why? To conceal its real nature. He reasoned that if I knew his connection with Peking I would not have lied about it. Consequently I was one of his friends. He must have argued this out with Wan Shin after leaving us, and the two gentlemen must have been pretty well staggered by their conclusions. Rosoff had come to test me out. My lie, and the way I made him explain the tag, impressed him with my caution.
All this went through my head in a flash.
“Have I satisfied you of my knowledge?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I said, taking up the cards he had given me and playing them. “So far as I know, you’re a Russian savant, a friend of Groot.”
He nodded, and stretched out his powerful left hand. Pulling up his cuff, he held his wrist under my eyes. Sewed to the leather strap of his watch was another disk, identical with mine.
“That’s more like it,” I observed, settling back on the bench. “Well?”
He dropped his cigarette and set his foot upon it.
“I have been placed in charge of all operations in this province,” he said. “How is it, Captain Breck, that I knew nothing of your presence, and that you had not reported to me?”
“Don’t ask me,” I retorted. “Ask the big boss! I was working in Shanghai, when without warning I was ordered to Cheng-tu on aviation construction work. I had only time to send a brief message stating my abrupt departure, and received no answer. So I’ve been marking time and awaiting instructions. None have come.”
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 17
