The Pagan Madonna

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER VI

  Now, then, the further adventures of Ling Foo of Woosung Road. He was anhonest Chinaman. He would beat you down if he were buying, or he wouldovercharge you if he were selling. There was nothing dishonest in this; itwas legitimate business. He was only shrewd, not crooked. But on this dayhe came into contact with a situation that tried his soul, and tricked himinto overplaying his hand.

  That morning he had returned to his shop in a contented frame of mind. Hestood clear of the tragedy of the night before. That had never happened;he had dreamed it. Of course he would be wondering whether or not the manhad died.

  When Ling Foo went forth with his business in his pack he always closedthe shop. Here in upper Woosung Road it would not have paid him to hire aclerk. His wife, obedient creature though she was, spoke almost nopidgin--business--English; and besides that, she was a poor bargainer.

  It was hard by noon when he let himself into the shop. The first object hesought was his metal pipe. Two puffs, and the craving was satisfied. Hetook up his counting rack and slithered the buttons back and forth. He hadmade three sales at the Astor and two at the Palace, which was fairbusiness, considering the times.

  A shadow fell across the till top. Ling Foo raised his slanted eyes. Hisface was like a graven Buddha's, but there was a crackling in his ears asof many fire-crackers. There he stood--the man with the sluing walk! LingFoo still wore a queue, so his hair could not very well stand on end.

  "You speak English."

  It was not a question; it was a statement.

  Ling Foo shrugged.

  "Can do."

  "Cut out the pidgin. Your neighbour says you speak English fluently. AtMoy's tea-house restaurant they say that you lived in California forseveral years."

  "Twelve," said Ling Foo with a certain dry humour.

  "Why didn't you admit me last night?"

  "Shop closed."

  "Where is it?"

  "Where is what?" asked the merchant.

  "The string of glass beads you found on the floor last night."

  A sense of disaster rolled over the Oriental. Had he been overhasty inridding himself of the beads? Patience! Wait a bit! Let the stranger openthe door to the mystery.

  "Glass beads?" he repeated, ruminatively.

  "I will give you ten gold for them."

  Ha! Now they were getting somewhere. Ten gold! Then those devil beads hadsome worth outside a jeweller's computations? Ling Foo smiled and spreadhis yellow hands.

  "I haven't them."

  "Where are they?"

  The Oriental loaded his pipe and fired it.

  "Where is the man who stumbled in here last night?" he countered.

  "His body is probably in the Yang-tse by now," returned Cunningham,grimly.

  He knew his Oriental. He would have to frighten this Chinaman badly, orengage his cupidity to a point where resistance would be futile.

  There was a devil brooding over his head. Ling Foo felt it strangely. Hischarms were in the far room. He would have to fend off the devil withoutmaterial aid, and that was generally a hopeless job. With that twist ofOriental thought which will never be understood by the Occidental, LingFoo laid down his campaign.

  "I found it, true. But I sold it this morning."

  "For how much?"

  "Four Mex."

  Cunningham laughed. It was actually honest laughter, provoked by a livelysense of humour.

  "To whom did you sell it, and where can I find the buyer?"

  Ling Foo picked up the laughter, as it were, and gave his individual quirkto it.

  "I see," said Cunningham, gravely.

  "So?"

  "Get that necklace back for me and I will give you a hundred gold."

  "Five hundred."

  "You saw what happened last night."

  "Oh, you will not beat in my head," Ling Foo declared, easily. "What isthere about this string of beads that makes it worth a hundred gold--andlife worth nothing?"

  "Very well," said Cunningham, resignedly. "I am a secret agent of theBritish Government. That string of glass beads is the key to a coderelating to the uprisings in India. The loss of it will cost a great dealof money and time. Bring it back here this afternoon, and I will pay downfive hundred gold."

  "I agree," replied Ling Foo, tossing his pipe into the alcove. "But no onemust follow me. I do not trust you. There is nothing to prevent you fromrobbing me in the street and refusing to pay me. And where will you getfive hundred gold? Gold has vanished. Even the leaf has all butdisappeared."

  Cunningham dipped his hand into a pocket, and magically a dozen doubleeagles rolled and vibrated upon the counter, sending into Ling Foo's earsthat music so peculiar to gold. Many days had gone by since he had set hisgaze upon the yellow metal. His hand reached down--only to feel--but notso quickly as the white hand, which scooped up the coin trickily, with theskill of a prestidigitator.

  "Five hundred gold, then. But are you sure you can get the beads back?"

  Ling Foo smiled.

  "I have a way. I will meet you in the lobby of the Astor House at five";and he bowed with Oriental courtesy.

  "Agreed. All aboveboard, remember, or you will feel the iron hand of theBritish Government."

  Ling Foo doubted that, but he kept this doubt to himself.

  "I warn you, I shall go armed. You will bring the gold to the Astor House.If I see you after I depart----"

  "Lord love you, once that code key is in my hands you can go to heaven orthe devil, as you please! We live in rough times, Ling Foo."

  "So we do. There is a stain on the floor, about where you stand. It is theblood of a white man."

  "What would you, when a comrade attempts to deceive you?"

  "At five in the lobby of the Astor House. Good day," concluded Ling Foo,fingering the buttons on his counting rack.

  Cunningham limped out into the cold sunshine. Ling Foo shook his head. Solike a boy's, that face! He shuddered slightly. He knew that a savagedevil lay ready behind that handsome mask--he had seen it last night. Butfive hundred gold--for a string of glass beads!

  Ling Foo was an honest man. He would pay you cash for cash in a bargain.If he overcharged you that was your fault, but he never sold youimitations on the basis that you would not know the difference. If he soldyou a Ming jar--for twice what it was worth in the great marts--expertswould tell you that it was Ming. He had some jade of superior quality--thetranslucent deep apple-green. He never carried it about; he never evenspoke of it unless he was sure that the prospective customer was wealthy.

  His safe was in a corner of his workshop. An American yegg would havelaughed at it, opened it as easily as a ripe peach; but in this districtit was absolute security. Ling Foo was obliged to keep a safe, for oftenhe had valuable pearls to take care of, sometimes to put new vigour indying lustre, sometimes to peel a pearl on the chance that under the dullskin lay the gem.

  He trotted to the front door and locked it; then he trotted into hisworkshop, planning. If the glass beads were worth five hundred, wasn't itlikely they would be worth a thousand? If this man who limped had stuck tothe hundred Ling Foo knew that he would have surrendered eventually. Butthe ease with which the stranger made the jump from one to five convincedLing Foo that there could be no harm in boosting five to ten. If there wasa taint of crookedness anywhere, that would be on the other side. Ling Fooknew where the beads were, and he would transfer them for one thousandgold. Smart business, nothing more than that. He had the whip hand.

  Out of his safe he took a blackwood box, beautifully carved, Cantonese.Headbands, earrings, rings, charms, necklaces, tomb ornaments, some ofthem royal, all of them nearly as ancient as the hills of Kwanlun, fromwhich most of them had been quarried--jade. He trickled them from palm topalm and one by one returned the objects to the box. In the end heretained two strings of beads so alike that it was difficult to discernany difference. One was Kwanlun jade, royal loot; the other was a copy inNanshan stone. The first was priceless, worth what any fool collector wasrea
dy to pay; the copy was worth perhaps a hundred gold. Held to thelight, there was a subtle difference; but only an expert could have toldyou what this difference was. The royal jade did not catch the light sostrongly as the copy; the touch of human warmth had slightly dulled thestone.

  Ling Foo transferred the copy to a purse he wore attached to his beltunder the blue jacket. The young woman would never be able to resist thejade. She would return the glass instantly. A thousand gold, less the costof the jade! Good business!

  But for once his Oriental astuteness overreached, as has been seen. And toadd to his discomfiture, he never again saw the copy of the Kwanlun,representing the virtue of the favourite wife.

  * * * * *

  "I am an honest man," he said. "The tombs of my ancestors are notneglected. When I say I could not get it I speak the truth. But I believeI can get it later."

  "How?" asked Cunningham. They were in the office, or bureau, of the AstorHouse, which the manager had turned over to them for the moment."Remember, the arm of the British Government is long."

  Ling Foo shrugged.

  "Being an honest man, I do not fear. She would have given it to me but forthat officer. He knew something about jade."

  Cunningham nodded.

  "Conceivably he would." He jingled the gold in his pocket. "How do youpurpose to get the beads?"

  "Go to the lady's room late. I left the jade with her. Alone, she will notresist. I saw it in her eyes. But it will be difficult."

  "I see. For you to get into the hotel late. I'll arrange that with themanager. You will be coming to my room. What floor is her room on?"

  "The third."

  "The same as mine. That falls nicely. Return then at half after ten. Youwill come to my room for the gold."

  Ling Foo saw his thousand shrink to the original five hundred, but therewas no help for it. At half after ten he knocked on the panel of Jane'sdoor and waited. He knocked again; still the summons was not answered. Thethird assault was emphatic. Ling Foo heard footsteps, but behind him. Heturned. The meddling young officer was striding toward him.

  "What are you doing here?" Dennison demanded.

  His own appearance in the corridor at this hour might have beensubjectable to inquiry. He had left Jane at nine. He had seen her to thelift. Perhaps he had walked the Bund for an hour or two, but worriedly.The thought of the arrival in Shanghai of his father and the rogueCunningham convinced him that some queer game was afoot, and that ithinged somehow upon those beads.

  There was no sighing in regard to his father, for the past that was. Anastonishing but purely accidental meeting; to-morrow each would go hisseparate way again. All that was a closed page. He had long ago readjustedhis outlook on the basis that reconciliation was hopeless.

  A sudden impulse spun him on his heel, and he hurried back to the Astor.The hour did not matter, or the possibility that Jane might be abed. Hewould ask permission to become the temporary custodian of the beads. Whatwere they, to have brought his father across the Pacific--if indeed theyhad? Anyhow, he would end his own anxiety in regard to Jane by assumingthe risks, if any, himself.

  No one questioned him; his uniform was a passport that required no vise.

  Ling Foo eyed him blandly.

  "I am leaving for the province in the morning, so I had to come for myjade to-night. But the young lady is not in her room."

  "She must be!" cried Dennison, alarmed. "Miss Norman?" he called, beatingon the door.

  No sound answered from within. Dennison pondered for a moment. Ling Fooalso pondered--apprehensively. He suspected that some misfortune hadbefallen the young woman, for her kind did not go prowling alone roundShanghai at night. Slue-Foot! Should he utter his suspicion to thisAmerican officer? But if it should become a police affair! Bitterly hearraigned himself for disclosing his hand to Slue-Foot. That demon hadforestalled him. No doubt by now he had the beads. Ten thousand devilspursue him!

  Dennison struck his hands together, and by and by a sleepy Chinese boycame scuffling along the corridor.

  "Talkee manager come topside," said Dennison. When the manager arrived,perturbed, Dennison explained the situation.

  "Will you open the door?"

  The manager agreed to do that. The bedroom was empty. The bed had not beentouched. But there was no evidence that the occupant did not intend toreturn.

  "We shall leave everything just as it is," said Dennison, authoritatively."I am her friend. If she does not return by one o'clock I shall notify thepolice and have the young lady's belongings transferred to the Americanconsulate. She is under the full protection of the United StatesGovernment. You will find out if any saw her leave the hotel, and what thetime was. Stay here in the doorway while I look about."

  He saw the jade necklace reposing in the soap dish, and in an ironicalmood he decided not to announce the discovery to the Chinaman. Let him payfor his cupidity. In some mysterious manner he had got his yellow claws onthose infernal beads, and the rogue Cunningham had gone to him with asubstantial bribe. So let the pigtail wail for his jade.

  On the dresser he saw a sheet of paper partly opened. Beside it lay a tornenvelope. Dennison's heart lost a beat. The handwriting was his father's!