I started to back away. Slowly at first.
The black mouth of the alley was behind me, and perhaps I had a wild idea of melting into its darkness. Or there was the shop—would the old crone help me?
I could see the small slight figure advancing, silhouetted now against the street light. In a sudden swell of terror, I began to run.
He caught up with me in no more than a few steps. I felt his bony fingers through my sleeve.
‘Please to wait, missis.’
It was a wonder I didn’t scream. ‘Go away?’ I said loudly. ‘Go away and leave me alone!’
To my surprise he freed my arm at once. ‘I wish only to talk,’ he said mildly. ‘I mean you no harm, Missis Jonathan Harwood.’
‘You know my name... ?’
‘I know very much about you,’ he said in his thin, chanting voice. ‘There is something I wish to inform you, if you please, missis. Something you must hear.’
Strangely, now that the man was close to me, I got no sensation of the evil I had seen in his face. Rather there was a dignity about him, and a kind of gentle courtesy in the way he was speaking to me.
Even so, it was madness to stay here in the alley, blanketed by darkness, cut off from any hope of help. I began to move back towards the lighted pavement and he trotted beside me, not attempting to touch me.
‘I sent away your carriage, missis,’ he said. ‘I paid the driver and told him it was not wanted that he should wait.’
‘How dare you... !’
‘But I wish to speak with you,’ he said simply, as if that was quite sufficient justification.
‘What can you possibly have to say to me?’ I demanded.
‘It is necessary for you to know, missis, that we killed your husband.’
He spoke with such complete calm that for a moment the meaning of his words did not register. I took two or three more steps before stopping short in my tracks.
‘What... ?’
‘It was a mistake, he said quickly, adding as an afterthought: ‘A most regrettable mistake. We are very sorry.’
I had a curious sense of being remote from all this. I felt that I should be fainting, though in fact my mind was perfectly clear. It was an icy clarity, frozen into the present moment. I was not looking backwards or forwards.
The little man touched my elbow again. ‘Come with me, please, missis,’ he begged.
With a violent reaction I shook my arm free. But I knew I should have to hear him out.
He began walking away from me slowly but with purpose, as if confident that I should follow.
‘Where are we going?’ I said uncertainly, taking a step after him.
‘There is a tavern very close to here. It is quiet. It is respectable enough for a lady such as you.’
‘I can’t possibly... !’ I protested.
But I did go along with him, walking one pace behind on the wet, litter-strewn pavement. Very soon we reached the public house and he held the door open for me. I scarcely noticed anything as we entered the dingy saloon bar except to register that there were a few other people in there. I was glad of that. We crossed to a corner and sat down at a small round table.
‘Tell me... !’ I began at once.
‘No, missis. Not yet.’
I had to wait, curbing my impatience until two glasses were set before us. Politely, but firmly, he prompted me to sip my drink before he would say anything more.
‘It is very sad,’ he said at last. ‘We made a most regrettable error when we put to his death Mister Jonathan Harwood.’
‘But I don’t understand! My husband shot himself. It was an accident.’
‘No. That is incorrect. Your husband’s death was not an accident. We made it look to be so.’
‘Who are you?’ I whispered fiercely. ‘Who do you mean by “we”?’
‘You should know the answer to that question, Missis Jonathan Harwood.’
‘How can I know?’ The fact that I could feel anger was a mercy. Without this, I think my reason might have been in danger. ‘You sit there calmly and tell me that you murdered my husband... !’
‘It was not I, Missis Harwood. I was not the person who put him to his death.’
‘Your friends then! And you think it is enough to say it was all a mistake.’
Sitting very straight in his chair, he held out his bony yellow hands, palms up, making a formal gesture of apology.
‘We very much regret our error. We put to death the wrong man.’
I was utterly dazed and confused. ‘I don’t understand you at all,’ I said wretchedly.
‘How could you be expected to understand, Missis Harwood? Your husband was an honest man who did business with us in good faith. Regrettably, we did not know until it was too late that he was not the traitor.’
Dimly, through all the torment and agony of my mind, there was a faint glimmer of light.
‘Are you saying that Harwoods were swindling you in some way?’
‘Most assuredly!’ He was nodding in vigorous agreement. ‘But your husband did not know that the guns he had sold us were not good. Many of them were dangerous. They exploded in the hands of our own men with terrible consequences.’
‘Guns!’ I exclaimed, with a clutch of fear. ‘But Harwoods do not deal in guns.’
He looked pained, as if thinking I was being willfully obtuse. ‘Come, Missis Harwood, I am not discussing with you the lawful side of the business.’
‘Do you mean... ?’ I faltered. ‘Are you telling me that Harwoods sold you guns without the knowledge of the Sarawei authorities?’
‘Of that you must have been aware, Missis.’
‘And my husband was connected with this illegal trade?’
He was staring at me, his slit eyes opened wide. ‘Can it be true that you knew nothing?’ His shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. ‘Ah well! At least it may help your sorrow for you to understand that your husband was not a traitor to us. As we have discovered, he believed the weapons to be in satisfactory condition.’
I put my hands to my forehead, pressing hard as if that would help me make sense of this terrible story.
‘Please explain from the beginning. I must know everything.’
‘It is very simple, missis. You will know very well that there is great unrest in Sarawei, The organisation which I am honoured to serve has in past months been purchasing supplies of weapons from the firm of Harwoods. It seemed a satisfactory arrangement.’
I shook my head in bewilderment. ‘I cannot believe this! Harwoods is a most reputable concern.’
He nodded gravely, ‘Their excellent reputation made it possible for us to conduct business with them without arousing the Rajah’s men’s suspicions. The firm of Harwoods saw the opportunity of profitable trade with our organisation, and your husband was sent to Sarawei in order to make communication with us.’ Carefully, almost daintily, the Chinaman put his hands to his chest, linking the tips of his fingers. Then in his remarkably good English he continued, ‘For a little while everything was very satisfactory. But then, Missis Harwood, we received a delivery which consisted of old and rejected weapons, and ammunition that was damp and useless. You will understand that we were very angry indeed. We believed your husband guilty of treachery, and carried out immediate execution. Too late, we discovered that he was not the one to blame. Mister Jonathan Harwood did business with us in good faith. He was an honourable man.’
Honourable? Selling weapons to a band of rebels!
I realised to my horror that I was believing this dreadful story as it unfolded, every word. There is a breaking strain to a woman’s loyalty. Love cannot remain forever blind.
There was a tightness in my throat as I whispered unwillingly : ‘How did you discover that Jonathan was ... was not ...?’
The Chinaman’s wrinkled yellow face was impassive. ‘A man dying in agony, Missis Harwood, speaks only the truth. Your husband lived long enough to clear his name and make us understand that we had shot the wrong person.*
I closed my eyes and tried to empty my mind of pain. But I couldn’t evade the terrible memory of that night. I heard again the shot coming from outside, remembered again, with consuming guilt, that for a few minutes I had been unconcerned, thinking that Jonathan was only practising with his guns. If I had gone immediately into the garden I should have seen the assassins, seen them tormenting him with questions as he lay there dying.
Now at last the dreadful mystery of Jonathan’s death was explained.
For just a second, when I opened my eyes, the Chinaman was smiling at me, and through his smile I caught a glint of the evil I had seen before in that face.
‘And now I, Lee Chan, have come to England to square the account. To seek out and to kill the man who was in truth responsible for cheating us.’
‘Oh no!’ I moaned. ‘Please God, no more killing!’
‘But of course! It is very necessary to lay the blame where it rightly belongs. You should be pleased, Missis Harwood, Your husband’s honour will be vindicated.’
I felt sick with horror. This man, Lee Chan was clearly well educated, and from his knowledge of the English language, I guessed he was widely travelled, too. Yet his mind still worked with a cruel Oriental logic that I should never understand.
‘What can you hope to achieve by more killing?’ I protested. ‘My husband is dead. The thing is done now; it is finished.’
He looked at me inscrutably, the slit eyes nearly closed. I knew it was hopeless to appeal to him for western standards of behaviour.
‘Nothing is finished,’ he said in his precise voice. ‘We must square the account. We killed your husband in error. His death must be avenged, and the real culprit dealt with. Is that not evident to you?’
The ebb and flow of people talking in the background seemed only to accentuate the tense silence between Lee Chan and myself. We faced one another across the small table without the tiniest grain of understanding.
And then, in a murmur so soft that I could scarcely hear the words, he added, ‘And you shall help me, Missis Harwood.’
‘Me...? I gasped.
‘Yes. You shall revenge the death of your husband by bringing this other man to justice.’
I was appalled. ‘Vengeance is not justice,’ I whispered.
He replied with the bitter dignity of an outcaste. ‘We have our own kind of justice, Missis Harwood. ‘We understand it very well. And so do our enemies.’
‘I shall do nothing whatever to help you in this awful plan of yours.’
I stood up quickly, feeling a desperate need to escape from this blandly courteous little Chinaman who carried murder in his heart.
But on the very point of flight, I hesitated. How could I simply turn away? How could I leave like this, knowing his evil intention? Relentlessly, he had travelled half across the world to put a man to death. Who was to be his victim?
Even now I could not ask the question directly. Instead, gazing down at him with a mask of cold severity, I said, ‘Suppose I report what you have told me to the ... the authorities?’
The little smile stayed calm and confident. ‘You would not do that, Missis Harwood. You value your husband’s good name. You would not wish to bring it into disrepute.’
‘My husband is dead. Dishonour cannot hurt him now.’
For the first time I seemed to detect a glimmer of uncertainty in Lee Chan’s eyes. Then, placidly, he stood up and took my arm.
‘Please, Missis Harwood, I beg you to be seated. People are observing us.’
‘I don’t care,’ I said, helpless tears filling my eyes. But all the same I did sit down, hazily aware of curious glances from all sides.
The Chinaman looked relieved, his confidence flowing back. Quietly he continued, ‘Your part, Missis Harwood, will be to provide me with certain details concerning the daily routine at the house they call Edenhythe. And perhaps to leave unlocked a door, when I am ready to enter. Never again will the very respectable firm of Harwoods engage in treachery.’
The question I had not asked was hammering at me, battering my brain, numbing me with fear.
‘Who is it?’ I burst out.
He didn’t hear me. Or he misunderstood.
‘I have been given the honour of attending to the death of the traitor,’ he said with proud serenity.
‘Who?’ I whispered again, hoarsely.
Lee Chan heard me this time. He looked surprised, as if I must surely know the answer.
And of course I did. But I was shutting my mind to intelligent thought. Before I would believe, the name had to be spoken aloud.
‘Who?’ I whispered yet again, fearfully.
‘Who else could it possibly be but Mister Esmond Harwood? You will please help me to kill him.’