Chapter 20

There was no time to think what a fool she had been. There was no time to think of anything. Eleanor Joyce had been asking why no one could do anything and Eleanor Joyce had done it. In a single, impetuous, uncalculated gesture she had upset all the tenuous, emotional balances.

“You fool!” I was saying to myself. “Now we’re in for it. You’ve finished everything. We’re going to be killed.” The worst of it was that there was no time for anything, no time for consecutive thought. Yet it is curious how alert one’s senses are in such a fraction of a second. My observation had never been so keen; my impression of every detail was incontrovertibly distinct. It was as though a swiftly unrolling film had stopped, leaving all the actors poised and momentarily motionless. Wu Lo Feng was turning, probably in a flash though it did not seem so. His expression was one of incredulous astonishment, mingling with a ludicrous touch of insulted dignity. Mr. Pu on his hands and knees among the pictures looked like a grandfather playing with the children in the nursery. The man who had been helping him was scrambling for his rifle. The guard by the door was holding his rifle ready; Mr. Takahara was moving; Mr. Moto was moving; I was moving. Prince Tung was the only one who remained still. I could hear Eleanor Joyce’s voice calling:

“Tom! Tom! Quick!”

I was moving, not because I wished to, or even knew what to do, because I was under a compulsion. I had to move. That first instant is clear enough but the next is always vague and beyond my powers of reconstruction.

“You fool!” my mind was still saying, “we’re in for it now.” But I must have reached Eleanor Joyce in the same instant. I have a recollection of snatching the pistol and of pushing her behind me. Then I was standing, pointing the pistol at the body of Wu Lo Feng. For a second time that night, unfamiliar though I was with its mechanism, I had a pistol in my hand. I was thinking that it was up to me to say something when I found that I was already speaking.

“Don’t!” I was saying in Chinese. “Please not to move, Your Excellency.” But Mr. Moto was moving. I had a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. He had seized Mr. Takahara by the throat. He was pushing Mr. Takahara into a chair. Then I was speaking again; my mind was on the guard by the door.

“Excellency,” I was saying to Wu Lo Feng, “tell your guard not to fire. I shall certainly kill you first.”

Wu Lo Feng was a man who was used to action and accustomed to quick decision. His shaved head snapped around to the doorway.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Wait!” Then his head turned back to me. “Let everyone be still,” he added. His head had moved but the rest of him was motionless. He certainly believed that I would kill him and I think that he was right. His forehead puckered into an incredulous frown and the room was very still. All that I remember hearing was Wu Lo Feng’s deep breathing.

“This is most ridiculous,” said Wu Lo Feng, “this is entirely irregular. Try to be calm. You are being very foolish.”

I could agree with him that this was most irregular and entirely beyond my own abilities of prediction, but I was calm enough, probably out of stark terror. I have never been able to take much credit for my actions. They were all, I think, dictated by unadulterated fear. There was only one thing that was clear to my mind. In all probability I would be able to kill Wu Lo Feng before Wu Lo Feng had me killed, and Wu Lo Feng was balanced enough to recognize the fact. At the time my reasoning did not go any further, except that I was quite convinced that I would have no compunction in killing Wu Lo Feng. I definitely did not like him. I wanted to tell him that I did not like him. I wanted to tell him that he was a mad dog but instead I said:

“Walk over to that chair, Your Excellency. Draw it back from the table and sit down in it. I shall be standing just behind you.”

Wu Lo Feng hesitated and our glances met. Beads of perspiration were making his round head and his whole face shiny. I thought he was going to speak, but instead he walked carefully to the chair and sat down. I believe he understood that I did not like him. I stood just behind him. I allowed the muzzle of his Luger pistol to touch the back of his scrawny, unwashed neck just at the base of his skull. He did not cringe away from it but I am sure he felt the coolness of the muzzle. I am sure he did not like it any more than I should have.

“Wait, you turtle’s egg!” said Wu Lo Feng to the guard at the door. “Do not finger that rifle. Do you not see that this fool has lost his wits.”

Then he was addressing me. He did not turn his head. “There is nothing you can do, you fool,” he remarked. “You can kill me but you will certainly be killed. Try to calm yourself. Try calmly to consider the consequences of your actions.”

His advice was undoubtedly good. I have never tried so earnestly to think calmly and consecutively.

“That is exactly what I wish to do,” I said. “I wish to think calmly, Your Excellency. Tell that man to set down his rifle. It makes me very nervous. Prince Tung, will you be so kind as to pick up those two weapons, and put those two men in a far corner, and make them both sit down.”

I was thinking and Wu Lo Feng must have been thinking, too; except for an occasional glimpse about me, my sight was concentrated on the back of Wu Lo Feng’s neck and on the back of his shaven head. I could see the veins pounding in the back of his neck but his muscles were motionless.

“Can you listen to me calmly,” Wu Lo Feng asked. The thickness in his voice indicated that he was not calm himself. “Your ancestors were turtles. Your grandmother was a fallen woman. Your male ancestors were carriers of filth.”

I prodded him softly in the neck, not that his interpretation of my ancestry disturbed me. I should have been interested to have heard him at another time.

“And you were a love child,” I told him. I was sufficiently diverted at being able to insult him to forget the potentialities of our situation. “Your parents lived on the offal from the city trash heaps. Keep you mouth closed unless you can be polite. Careful! Careful!” And I prodded him in the neck again. Wu Lo Feng cleared his throat.

“You are seized with madness,” said Wu Lo Feng. “Someone will come in here at any moment. My messengers, my lieutenants. Do you not realize I am here on affairs. If someone comes in it will be the end of you.”

I had been thinking of a possibility that seemed obvious and certain.

“Just as soon as the door opens you will end,” I said. “It only needs the pressure of a finger.”

There was a pause. I do not suppose that the pause lasted more than a few seconds, although it seemed much longer. He was thinking, I suppose, and I know that I was thinking desperately, without being able to arrive at any conclusion except that we had reached a stalemate. In another incarnation I once had possessed the reputation of being a good negotiator and of having a facile way of reconciling disputes between contending parties. I tried to think logically and fast, embarrassed because the whole room was waiting. Eleanor Joyce was watching me. Prince Tung and Mr. Pu on the floor, the two gurads, Mr. Moto and Mr. Takahara—all were watching me respectfully. I was relieved to see that Mr. Moto had thrust a handkerchief into Mr. Takahara’s mouth, because Mr. Takahara was held by no bonds of loyalty or fear. Eleanor Joyce, by her impetuosity, had arranged it so that I was holding the destiny of everyone in that room in my hands, tenuously, temporarily perhaps, but nevertheless certainly. I centered my thoughts upon the single obvious point which existed. The point was that I could kill Wu Lo Feng. He was astute enough to share the same conviction. He spoke again in a different tone.

“Wait!” he said. “Wait! Let us endeavor to be sensible. I repeat to you someone may come in here at any instant. That would be bad for you and bad for me. I have been very careless. I did not suppose the young woman could commit such an indiscreet act. It was too irregular to be considered, but now I shall make you a proposal. I think I have seen enough of you. The odor of you behind me nauseates me. I shall be pleased to let you leave here safely.”

“Will you,” I asked him. “How do I know you will?”

“My word, of course,” said Wu Lo Feng. “You will be sensible if you abide by my sense of mercy.” He must have known that his promise was a feeble one and that his integrity could have no possible negotiable value, because he added, rather pathetically, I have often thought:

“I declare to you that I really mean it.”

“Think of something else,” I suggested, “or I shall think of something.” I was still trying to think of something when Mr. Moto spoke, in English, softly, like someone in a sick room, taking great care not to upset the patient:

“Excuse me,” Mr. Moto said. “There is one thing which I think might be very, very nice. Mr. Wu Lo Feng will be reasonable, I think. If there is a demonstration to start at the railroad station, as my friend Mr. Takahara has said, there cannot be very many people waiting here. If Mr. Wu were to go to the door and open it and simply give the order for the men to start ahead—they will go in motors I presume—and if he were to add that he will follow in a moment and in the meanwhile does not wish to be disturbed, I think, don’t you, that it would be very, very nice. Of course, you must be careful of him, very, very careful. Please, I believe you can do it. He will understand that he must be truthful I think. If you would rather, you may take care of Mr. Takahara, and I shall be so glad to try. It is, of course, a suggestion; but I think it would be very nice.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moto,” Eleanor Joyce said, and the sound of a woman’s voice just then was pleasant. “I think it is a very good plan. I am sure that Mr. Nelson can arrange it. For an amateur he seems to be doing rather well.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Moto, “very well indeed. Mr. Nelson is very nice. I like him very, very much. And you, Miss Joyce, I like you very, very much.”

“Get up,” I said to Wu Lo Feng, “slowly. Now walk slowly to the door. Never mind the pictures on the floor. Walk across the pictures.”

“Yes,” said Eleanor Joyce, “never mind the pictures.”

I walked just behind Wu Lo Feng, with a pistol prodded in his spine and I explained to him what he was to do.

“Or if you have any ideas, use them,” I said. “I shall be glad to leave the details to Your Excellency. You must see by now how important it is to have people out of the way, and for us to be private here. If you do so you shall have my promise that I shall try to save your life.”

Wu Lo Feng halted in front of the faded red woodwork of the door. He did not turn to look at me but he spoke emphatically:

“It is impossible,” he said. “They will not understand.”

“Think,” I said. “Your Excellency is an adroit man. Major Best himself has told me so. Think, if you do not want to die like Major Best.”

“It is impossible,” said General Wu. “If everyone goes they will understand there is some mistake.”

“Your Excellency,” I told him, “must understand that there can be no mistake. Send away as many as possible and do so in a way which I can understand, because we must have completest faith in one another.”

I have often lived over the moment when I stood behind Wu Lo Feng when he opened the temple door. I have lived over all the imponderables which surrounded us both. They have awakened me often out of a sound sleep, to leave me staring, frightened, at the dark. Wu Lo Feng was a brave man. I know of no people who have a greater indifference than the Chinese to a certain type of danger. Wu Lo Feng was desperate and capable. I was the only person who controlled his actions. Those depended entirely upon his opinion of me and thus I could only hope that he had a higher opinion of myself than I had. I could only hope that he still clung to a certain conviction that he was very close to death, and yet at the same time had a chance for life provided he did what I told him. I had given him my promise honestly. I could only hope that he believed in my promise sufficiently not to make a dash for safety. As it happened, he must have believed it. He began to open the door.

“Not too wide, Excellency,” I advised him. “It would be better for no one to see me.”

He did not open the door too wide. I dislike to think what wild temptations must have been running through him. I could feel his back quiver as I prodded it. Once I believed that he was going to make a dash for it. I am quite sure he was on the point of it but he did not. He opened the door and shouted out an order, calling a man’s name, and I could detect no anxiety in his voice. It was as loud, as unmusical, as arrogant as ever.

“You may go ahead,” he shouted. “Have my car made ready. I shall be leaving in a moment.”

The man had a sense of psychology. He must have known that I would be relaxed as soon as I heard him speak, and that my attention would be more on his words than on him because the instant he spoke he whirled around, with one of those strange, snakelike gestures of the Chinese boxer and slashed a fist at me. I had never known that I could be so nimble. I must have jumped back as soon as he moved. I had contrived to get just out of his reach and we were standing face to face. My pistol was still levelled at him.

“I should not do that again,” I said. “That was unfortunate, Your Excellency. Turn around slowly and close the door.” I could hear him breathing in deep gasps as he closed it. The strain was beginning to tell on Wu Lo Feng. “And now,” I said, “walk back to your chair, and don’t startle me again. It will be better for us both.”

Wu Lo Feng walked back and Mr. Moto addressed me as he did so.

“Very, very nice,” said Mr. Moto, with a sibilant hiss like a tea kettle. “Oh, yes, you did that very, very nicely. I think things will be a little easier now. There will not be so much strain. I shall not suggest anything more. I see that I can safely leave negotiations in your hands.”

There is a time for action and a time for thought. There is a time when it is better to do something, even if it is wrong, than to hesitate and think. Although I knew we were on the verge of such an occasion, I found myself unready for it. The sounds outside indicated that a number of Wu Lo Feng’s men were moving away in accordance with his orders. Yet I knew there would be others left. The desire to get out of that place alive was overwhelming enough to make my thoughts illogical; my mind leaped at possibilities vainly, like an animal leaping at the bars of a cage. The situation of my holding a pistol against Wu Lo Feng’s neck was growing ridiculous.

“We must get out of here,” my mind was saying. “We must all get out. But how.”

Wu Lo Feng must have understood what was passing through my mind because he was probably wrestling with exactly the same problem. I think this is the only thing that he and I ever had in common, except perhaps a mutual and increasing dislike. At any rate, Wu Lo Feng added an idea to the maze of ideas which surrounded me.

“You are getting nowhere,” he said, “and you can get nowhere. This whole matter grows ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “but then neither are you getting anywhere.” As it happened I was to see that I was mistaken. I should have known that the element of time was playing in Wu Lo Feng’s favor. I should have known that he would be thinking and I should not have given him time to think. I had sense enough to know that there were too many prisoners in the room and that the mesmerism of the pistol at Wu Lo Feng’s head would not affect them all indefinitely.

Over by the mud figures in a distant corner, I could see the two raggedy guards crouching on their heels, with the sleek but venerable Prince Tung standing near them holding one of their rifles and placing his velvet slippered foot upon the other weapon. I was relieved to see that the guards seemed moronically, apathetically stupid, but already they were shifting doubtfully and restlessly upon their heels. In the centre of the room, where it was lighter, Mr. Pu still knelt, undecided, by his pictures. I had an idea that Mr. Pu was simply thinking which side to take, but in the meanwhile he was being careful not to be a disturbing element. Mr. Moto was holding Mr. Takahara, who sat relaxed and motionless, too motionless I thought, but that was Mr. Moto’s business. Eleanor Joyce was standing near the ruined altar. She was stooping, picking up something. She was picking up one of the ropes with which we had been tied.

“That’s right,” I said. “Bring some of those ropes to Mr. Moto. Take some others to Prince Tung and start tying those men by their hands and feet. Don’t mind if you hurt them. Quick about it now. And you, Mr. Pu, roll up those pictures. I’ll see that you are made rich to-night if you help me, Mr. Pu.”

Mr. Pu looked at me carefully.

“Yes,” he answered softly, “yes, my master.”

Things were going very well for the next half minute, better than I could have hoped, and I believe it was that half minute which saved us. At any rate, it took that length of time for Wu Lo Feng to think of something. Eleanor Joyce was as efficient as a trained nurse in an operating room. She had tossed two lengths of rope to Mr. Moto and Mr. Moto was securing Mr. Takahara’s arms to the back of his chair. He worked swiftly, with an expertness which I should have expected in a man of Mr. Moto’s broad experience. Without a single waste motion, Mr. Takahara’s arms were pinioned to the chair. The bloody handkerchief from Mr. Moto’s head was tied securely over Mr. Takahara’s mouth. There is a conscientious thoroughness and neatness about Japanese handcraft which was pleasingly apparent in Mr. Moto’s work.

“And now,” Mr. Moto said, seizing another length of rope and skipping across the room, “permit me to help if you please, Miss. Joyce.” I watched him almost complacently. He was like an expressman strapping up a trunk.

“On your faces,” snapped Mr. Moto to the guards. “Hands behind you.” The guards were very obedient. They must have known very well that they were pawns in a game of chance. They sprawled upon their faces. Mr. Moto had just finished with the wrists and ankles of one of them, hissing briskly through his teeth, when an interruption came. There was a banging on the temple door. For a second I think the sound made everyone motionless.

“Excellency,” a hoarse voice was saying outside, “Excellency.” I spoke softly to Wu Lo Feng.

“Say you’re busy,” I whispered, “say that you do not wish to be disturbed.”

Wu Lo Feng drew in his breath and I thought he was going to say it, but it was there I was mistaken. Wu Lo Feng’s breath came out of him in a shout that made me start.

“Help!” he bellowed, “Murder!”