On the outskirts of Shanghai he was challenged by an English voice. It was a cheerful sound in the darkness of China, and the sight of a small detachment of Regulars, sitting at ease round a brazier in a sandbag redoubt, was also comforting. The sergeant in charge was sympathetic when he heard that Juan, having fallen off his horse, had been chasing it all day.
‘A nasty annual, the ‘orse,’ he said. 1 never see one without thinking, Thank God for progress. All my people are in the garage and cycle business. You’d better ‘ave a cup of tea, sir. You must be tired after all that walking.’
After a cup of strong tea, Juan felt better, but discomfort, both mental and physical, again assailed him when he at last arrived at his hotel. For a long time he could not sleep, and twice during the night he woke with a curious feeling of anxiety and dissatisfaction. But not until the morning, when he was shaving and the Japanese guns were again registering on the ruins of the North Station, did he realize what had been worrying him, and remember his most grievous blunder.
He had left Lo Yu’s plan, in its dragon-painted bamboo case, on a small table beside a bowl of fine Satsuma ware in Hikohoki’s country house. And now the war had started again, and the house was beyond the frontier, and once more the plan was lost. To tell Kuo that he had held the salvation of China in his hands, and confess that he had forgotten to bring it home, was going to be very difficult and thoroughly unpleasant.
The sly thought came that there was no need to tell her. Kuo knew nothing about his meeting with Hikohoki, and in all probability would never know – unless he told her. He was tempted to let her remain in ignorance. It would save a lot of trouble.
Before he had finished shaving, however, he realized the impossibility of silence. Kuo’s heart was set on regaining the plan – to her it was of infinite and irreplaceable value – and to deny her news of it would be unforgivable. He must confess to losing it. He would have to admit his inefficiency, his futility, forgetfulness, unpardonable folly, his dismal hebetude, and anything else that Kuo might charge Mm with. She would probably accuse him of more than folly, of worse than futility.. She had been angry enough when, in the Chinese City, he had lost his way; it was difficult to imagine how angry she would be when she learnt that he had lost Lo Yu’s plan. He must brace himself for a really horrible half-hour.
He ate a hearty breakfast and under the stabilizing influence of food discovered that things were not so bad as he had thought. In the first place, though he told Kuo where the plan was, there was no need for him to explain that Hikohoki had given it to him and he had forgotten to take it away. That would help no one. And in the second place he could avoid actual contact, and most of the dangers of cross-examination, by using the telephone. The telephone was a very mitigating instrument.
He put his call through and waited with a reasonable degree of confidence… ‘Juan speaking. How are you, darling?… No, I’m not being flippant, only polite. As a matter of fact I’ve got some very important news. I’ve found Lo Yu’s plan… Well, wait a minute and I’ll tell you… No, I haven’t actually got it, but I know where it is… I’m going to, if you’ll give me time. It’s in Hikohoki’s country house, about eight or nine miles away. I’m quite sure that he hasn’t made any use of it, and I don’t believe he knows its value… What?… But there’s no need for that. I can tell you everything from here, and I’m rather busy this morning… What?… Oh, all right.’
Kuo had insisted on his coming to Min Cho-fu’s flat immediately. She had supplemented insistence with an emotional appeal. She had fortified her appeal with a brief reference to their mutual affection. And Juan, though reluctant, had agreed to go.
In the cab that took him to Min Cho-fu’s he considered a variety of ways in which he might be greeted, but he failed to anticipate the sight that awaited him.
There was a certain disorder in the flat that accentuated the trim smartness of the two young officers there. Though hardly so well-tailored as an English uniform, their tunics and breeches were decently cut, and among soft civilian furnishings their polished belts and revolver-holsters gave them an aggressively military air. One of them, who had seemingly had difficulty with his belt, was being assisted by Miss Min, who knelt beside him and wrestled with its buckle and tongue.
To his great surprise Juan recognized Kuo in this unfamiliar and unexpected attire. Though it did not suit her, it transformed her into a better-looking subaltern than was usual on a Chinese parade-ground, and she wore it without embarrassment. Her manner, indeed, was as soldierly as her uniform, and Juan felt sure that when he spoke to her over the telephone, she had not yet put on her breeches. She had been, for a moment or two, so entirely and successfully feminine that he had almost heard the emotional susurrus of her petticoat. It was only within the last few minutes that she had hardened her heart and her legs with those sternly martial trappings.
Before he could inquire the purpose of her disguise, she brusquely ordered him to tell her the whole story of his discovery of the plan. He, with responsive coldness, said he had gone paper-chasing; his horse had bolted and thrown him; pursuing it, he had come by accident to Hikohoki’s agreeable residence, where in the course of conversation, he had mentioned his interest in Lo Yu’s plan, and Hikohoki had shown him the piece of bamboo containing it.
‘Why,’ said Kuo, ‘did you not bring it away with you?’
Juan looked at the polished holster, so prominently attached to her belt, and thought a little dissimulation would be more tactful than the naked truth.
‘It is sometimes,’ lie said, ‘considered ill-mannered to help yourself to other people’s property.’
‘The plan is not Hikohoki’s property,’ said Kuo, and spoke in Chinese to the young officer, to whom Juan had not been introduced. They had a brief discussion and Kuo inquired where Hikohoki’s house was situated.
Juan told her, as well as he could, and said in a friendly way: ‘It’s a pity it’s out of bounds. I’m afraid you won’t be able to pay him a visit till the war’s over.’
‘Did you learn anything about his present activities in espionage?’
‘My dear, I’ve told you a score of times that Hikohoki isn’t a spy. He used to be an insurance agent, which was almost as reprehensible, but he’s given even that up now. He’s rather a nice little man.’
Kuo had another conversation with her fellow-officer, and Juan exchanged a few words with Miss Min. Then he asked Kuo the reason and purpose of her military attire.
‘I have been given a special commission by the Generalissimo,’ she answered proudly. ‘I am going to play my part in the defence of China.’
‘I promised,’ said Juan doubtfully, ‘to do something about that myself
‘Are you still eager to fight?’
‘Well, I’m quite willing, if you want me to. It might be a bit ostentatious to say that I was eager. But if there’s anything I can do in a modest way…’
Again Kuo spoke to the young officer, and presently told Juan that his proposal would be considered, and if his services were required he would be duly informed.
‘That’s splendid,’ he said, referring rather to the postponement of his offer than to the possibility of its acceptance. He turned to Miss Min: ‘How is Peony getting on?’
She is much better,’ said Miss Min, in her soft whispering voice. ‘We are very fond of her, and it is nice to have her here.’
Kuo put on her military cap, and prepared to go. Juan would have liked to stay and talk to Miss Min, and possibly to Peony, but Kuo, giving him no chance to loiter, ushered him firmly out.
‘I’m sorry about the plan,’ he said. ‘I wish I had brought it with me.’
One cannot do more than one’s character permits,’ said Kuo; and before Juan could decide whether he had been forgiven or insulted, she bade him good-bye.
‘Good luck,’ he said.
Kuo gravely saluted.
Chapter 19
Juan spent the rest of the day in dullish idleness. He went to the
Club and played a game of billiards with a hearty young man who, for the last year or so, had been commanding a gun-boat on the upper reaches of the Yangtze. He looked at the papers and the illustrated weeklies, and found a mild entertainment in contrasting the news of worldwide unrest and violence with the inanimate elegance of Society at its fashionable restaurants and First Nights. Then he began to write a letter to his mother, but did not finish it because he could not decide how to answer her often-reiterated question, ‘When are you coming home?’
In her last letter she had tried to force a decision by enclosing the money for his fare. They had become very wealthy, she said, for Sir Hildebrand had retired from the Civil Service and been made a director of two Banks, three Investment Trusts, and several Limited Companies. His character, she added, had undergone a curious change as a result of prosperity. ‘He is now convinced,’ she wrote, ‘that this is the best of all possible worlds, and he spends four evenings a week playing with a model railway that he has built in the library. I suppose his brain is softening, as his father’s did, but he is very happy and making far more money than we can spend. Noel has resigned his commission and is also going into the City. He says the Stock Exchange offers more scope than the Rifle Brigade, and perhaps he is right. But I dislike him so much in a bowler hat. Rhea is also a disappointment. She is a model of virtue, dresses worse than ever, and her baby has two disgustingly superior nurses and a voice like a guinea-fowl. So I wish you would come home, for life has become very dull now that I have no need to worry about my bridge losses.’
He would probably go home before very long, thought Juan, but he was unwilling to commit himself to any definite date. He disliked the making of plans and their regimentation of behaviour, preferring by far the fluency of spontaneous movement. He could hardly leave China, moreover, without coming to an understanding with Kuo. A friendly understanding, if possible; but at present that would be difficult, for though she had practically discarded him as a lover, and no longer attached any importance to his collaboration in her nationalist ambitions, she would probably denounce his suggestion of going home as rank desertion. Everything would be very much easier if only the war would come to an end; but unfortunately there was neither hint nor sign of a conclusion. There was, of course, no need for him to make an immediate decision, or even to seek an early settlement with Kuo. In time the problem would solve itself, or disappear from view; and the pendant difficulty of how to answer his mother’s question could be dealt with by not answering it. To postpone the arbitrament, to await the pointer of circumstance, and for the present to submit to the flux of events, appeared not only the easiest but the most sensible decision.
He played another game of billiards, ate a light dinner, went early to bed, and slept soundly.
In the morning he was wakened by the summons of the telephone. It was Harris who wanted to speak to him, and Harris had important news. General Wu Tu-fu and his Invincible Tanks – all four of them had arrived in Shanghai, and both he and Rocco would be at General Sun Sat-lo’s headquarters at noon. Harris had arranged an interview, and if Juan and Flanders wanted to go with him, he could take them. He was leaving at eleven, and he would meet them at the Club. But if they weren’t ready by then, he couldn’t wait.
He rang off, and Juan, having telephoned to Flanders and told him the news – he was audibly ill-humoured at being fetched from his bed – dressed without more delay and breakfasted in some haste.
He met Flanders in the reading-room at the Club, and was much surprised by his manner and appearance. He sat on a leather couch, his legs thrust out, his great paunch rising above them like the round hill of Morvern, his hands on the seat of the couch as though he were about to lever himself up, but had not yet nerved himself to so much labour. His chin, on double rolls of good firm fat, was sunk on his chest, his mouth was petulant, his eyes behind their gleaming spectacles were angry and perplexed. When Juan came in he was greeted by a muffled and rumbling voice that growled, ‘It’s raining.’
‘Quite heavily,’ Juan agreed. ‘It must be horrible to be at war in weather like this.’
Flanders grunted again. ‘They’ve got umbrellas. All Chinese soldiers have got umbrellas.’
‘Harris is coming at eleven,’ said Juan.
‘The fellow’s killing himself. Work and drink. He can’t stand both of them.’
‘It’s very good of him to take us to see Wu Tu-fu.’
‘Who wants to see him? I’ve seen thousands of Chinamen.’
‘But you want to see Rocco, and I want to see Rocco’s reaction when he sees you.’
‘Have they brought the tanks here?’
‘Yes. Harris said he thought they were going to take them into action almost immediately. I’d like to see a tank attack.’
‘Seen it again and again. There’s nothing in it.’
‘A bit liverish this morning, aren’t you?’
‘Nothing of the sort.’
‘I expected to find you roaring like a forest fire to get hold of Rocco.’
Flanders heaved his huge body forward – his fore-arms stiffened, his paunch impended – and sitting upright and looking seriously at Juan said: ‘The trouble’s this: I’m too sensitive, Motley. I’ve a sort of delicacy, I shrink from the brutality of commerce, and to quarrel about money is a thing I’ve never liked. It’s distasteful, do you see? The whole business of chaffering and bargaining is foreign to my nature. I was meant for other things, and peace and philosophy, and sitting quietly in a corner.’
‘But you can’t sit in a corner till after you’ve dealt with Rocco. He’s robbed you of seven thousand pounds.’
Flanders groaned. ‘More than that. Of seven years, and my old age in Gloucestershire.’
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’
‘If I could see Rocco…’
‘You’re going to see him. Harris is quite sure he’ll be there.’
‘With an audience about him, with Wu Tu-fu and an army at his back! I want to see him alone. If I had him alone I could talk to him.’
‘But having an audience isn’t going to suit Rocco. He’s the swindler, and swindlers like a quiet life as much as you do. You still have the counterfeit money he gave you? Well, there’s half your evidence, and the other half is the tanks. You sold them four tanks, and got bad money in exchange. Your case is complete, and neither Rocco nor Wu Tu-fu can dispute it.’
Flanders, wrestling with some private anger, had no words to express the turmoil of his thoughts. With a furious gesture he tousled his thick grey hair till it stood like tufts of benty grass. Then he exclaimed: ‘Come and have a drink.’
‘It’s rather early, isn’t it?’
‘Come and have a drink!’
Under the impulse of some tremendous decision, he rose gigantically from the sofa, and striding into the bar addressed the little group of unoccupied and listless attendants in the voice and manner of a squadron-leader bidding his Lancers to charge the guns. ‘Brandy and ginger-ale!’ he commanded, and the air was filled with the thought of thundering hooves, and the menace of a long line of spears.
He emptied his glass in two gulps, and loudly smacked his lips, as though to symbolize the clash of cavalry and the waiting batteries.
‘I’ll come,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll not lose my pension without a fight for it.’
‘Good,’ said Juan.
At that moment Harris appeared, tired and brisk, untidy and alert, his hat on the back of his head and his waterproof flapping open. With his handkerchief he dabbed blood from his chin, where he had cut himself shaving, and nodding to Flanders and Juan, told the nearest barman to give him a Horse’s Neck.
‘All ready?’ he asked.
‘All ready,’ said Juan.
Harris finished his drink. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
In the vestibule, where coats were hung, Flanders paused irresolute, his ulster half-on, and said: ‘I’ve forgotten something. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Wher
e has he gone?’ asked Harris.
‘To have another drink, I expect.’
‘Isn’t he feeling well?’
‘He didn’t want to come with us. I think he’s frightened of Wu Tu-fu.’
‘He is, is he? Then I know what he’s been up to,’ said Harris. ‘But Rocco got the better of him.’
‘I’m looking forward to their meeting.’
‘So am I.’
‘And my sympathies are with Flanders.’
Harris looked at Juan with speculation in his gaze, and was about to ask another question, when Flanders returned with a certain moisture on his lips and in his eyes, a protrusion in one pocket, and the expression of a man well pleased with his own sagacity. He patted the protrusion and muttered confidentially, ‘Emergency rations. Trust an old soldier, eh?’
They got into the car that was waiting. Flanders and Juan sat in the back, Harris drove, and beside him was a young Chinese journalist who was to act as interpreter. They left the portentous architecture of the Bund and turned into the busy traffic of Nanking Road. The black waterproof hoods of the rickshaws glistened in the rain, and the many-coloured banners with their gold or scarlet ideographs hung heavy and motionless. As though both sides had been disheartened by the dreary weather, there were no sounds of war. The guns were silent, and the ordinary noises of traffic seemed louder than usual; the iron screeching of tram-cars, the grunting shout of rickshaw-pullers, the scream of a motor-car’s tyres and the blare of its horn, had acquired a tone of triumph or complacency.
Driving through the endless streets – innumerably intersecting, parallels beyond counting – Juan felt curiously abashed by the magnitude of human effort and its manifest absurdity. To work so hard and so long for no better purpose and to no wiser end than the building of a huge and ugly town was obviously a perversion; and to go to war in order to acquire a dingy segment of such a town was stark insanity. What could be more wildly idiotic than to fight and die for the conquest of a patch of hideous buildings rich in. dirt and disease, for a new burden of responsibility, and dubious wealth that would be spent only on producing yet more ugly streets, dirt, disease, and tedious liability? Much of the world – most of it, perhaps – was certainly mad, and Juan, though thankful to have so far escaped the contagion of its grosser lunacies, was momentarily perturbed by their nearness and immensity.
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