CHAPTER XIV

Wilson stared at the door and felt deathly ill. Sergi had opened the door and stepped aside, revealing Mr. Moto, with his purple necktie awry and with a smudge of black earth on his cheek, walking carefully as though the ground were hot. The reason for his care was supplied by Mr. Maddock who came directly behind him, with the muzzle of a pistol pressed against Mr. Moto’s back.

“Easy, pal,” said Mr. Maddock. “The boss wants to see you, pal.”

“Close the door, Sergi,” said Mr. Chang. He paused and examined Mr. Moto, thoughtfully. “It is nice to see you, Mr. Moto,” Mr. Chang said. “You have given us a great deal of trouble.”

Mr. Moto bowed.

“Easy, pal,” said Mr. Maddock. “Keep your hands still, pal.”

“Excuse me,” said Mr. Moto. His voice was as steady as ever. “I did not know you were here, Mr. Chang, though I suppose I should have guessed. Everything has been done so very, very well—except last night you were so clumsy.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Chang, gently. “I felt that circumstances demanded my management.”

The gold in Mr. Moto’s teeth gleamed. He was looking at Sergi with the lively interest of a professional, who forgets personal discomfort and danger in a pursuit of knowledge. Sergi looked back at him, with a cigarette still drooping from the corner of his mouth.

“How do you do, Mr. Moto,” Sergi said.

“How do you do,” said Mr. Moto. “I am so very, very glad to know who it has been. It is so very, very nice to know that a skillful man has been working. I hope you have been well since Mongolia.”

“Yes,” said Sergi. “Thank you.”

“I am so very, very glad,” said Mr. Moto, politely. “It is such an uncertain life. I have always respected your work so very, very much. Do you remember the code at the Naval Conference?”

The other man’s face brightened and he smiled.

“Yes,” he answered. “Naturally.”

“You stole it so very, very nicely,” Mr. Moto said. “I am so very glad to see Mr. Sergi, Mr. Chang. Now, I do not feel that I have been slow or stupid. He is so very, very clever.” Mr. Moto drew his breath through his teeth. “And now I suppose,” he inquired, “you are leaving for Harbin?”

“Yes,” said Sergi, “in that general direction. I am a fur buyer for a London house.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Moto. “How very, very nice. It would be so nice to know, even though it does no good.”

“You are quite right,” agreed Mr. Chang. “It will do no good, but of course, you understand why.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Moto. “Yes, of course. There is only one solution, naturally. Please do not think I am begging for any other.” His glance had moved swiftly toward Wilson Hitchings. “So you did not take my advice,” Mr. Moto said. “But then, I was very sure you would not, Mr. Hitchings. Please do not shake your head. All this is very natural, quite to be expected.”

Mr. Chang placed his hands on his knees.

“Tie his wrists, Sergi,” he said. “Gag him! You have made all the arrangements, Mr. Maddock?”

“Okay, boss,” said Mr. Maddock.

“And they know where to bring him afterwards?”

“Yes, boss,” said Mr. Maddock. “It’s all okay.”

“Do you need any help, Mr. Maddock?” Mr. Chang inquired. “I should be glad to spare Pierre to help.”

“Nix,” said Mr. Maddock. “I can manage him okay.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Chang. “I think you had better start.”

“Come on, pal,” said Mr. Maddock.

“Good-by, Moto,” said Sergi, smoothly. “I suppose it will be my turn some day.”

Mr. Moto nodded. The door opened. Standing very straight and walking carefully, Mr. Moto stepped into the dark and Mr. Maddock followed him, noiselessly. Sergi bent down and locked the traveling bag. Mr. Wilkie sat staring at the floor. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something—including Mr. Chang, who had not moved from his chair. Wilson could hear Mr. Chang’s breath, smoothly and regularly. Then Mr. Chang was studying him attentively.

“Listen to me,” said Mr. Chang. “In a few minutes it will be over. I know you are not a fool, Mr. Hitchings. Listen to me carefully. You and Miss Hitchings will remain here for a few hours. Mr. Wilkie will stay to look after you. He will take every care of your comfort. I shall go to see that Sergi arrives properly at the Eastern Light. By the time I come back, I hope you will have had opportunity to think. I hope that you will be reasonable with so much to gain and so little to lose. I shall be surprised if you are not. I shall dislike making other plans. Pierre, you shall come with us to the dock. I shall want my raincoat. Are you ready, Sergi?”

Sergi nodded, and lighted a cigarette.

“Then we have nothing to do but wait for Mr. Maddock,” said Chang. “What are you doing, Mr. Wilkie?”

“I am getting a drink, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Wilkie said. He opened a drawer of the desk, pulled out a bottle of whisky, drew out the cork and tilted the bottle to his lips.

Wilson waited for a sound outside. He strained his ears, but he heard no sound.

“Don’t be nervous, Mr. Wilkie,” said Mr. Chang. “I shall be back soon enough. I shall manage everything correctly. You must not let these matters trouble you. There are a hundred other things to do, if our friends are not reasonable. Open the door, Sergi, Mr. Maddock is knocking.”

Mr. Chang rose and straightened his coat, as Mr. Maddock stepped jauntily across the threshold.

“Everything went through properly?” Mr. Chang inquired.

Mr. Maddock shrugged his narrow shoulders.

“Hell,” he said. “Why shouldn’t it? You didn’t hear no roughhouse, did you? He croaked easy without a sound. He’s on his way to take a dive over the cliff by now.”

“Very good,” said Mr. Chang. “You are highly satisfactory, Maddock, and now you can go out with us on the boat. You first, Sergi. I shall see you later, Mr. Hitchings.”

What amazed Wilson even then in that moment of incredulous revulsion was Mr. Chang’s extreme casualness. He recalled that his uncle had once told him that a foreigner could never wholly comprehend the Eastern point of view. The actions of Mr. Chang and of Mr. Moto must have been bound up in an etiquette of behavior that was admirably mixed with pride. He had seen Mr. Moto being conducted into the dark under Mr. Chang’s directions, to be murdered in cold blood; yet the control of Mr. Moto and of Mr. Chang had been so perfect that there was no more emphasis on the whole affair than there might be in the exchange of ordinary social amenities. Mr. Chang had said that life was cheap, and Mr. Moto must have been in most emphatic agreement. The philosophy of those two men held something more than life. There was no doubt that manners were placed above it—manners that had placed them beyond the sickening horror which Wilson felt. He could have believed that they both would have considered his emotions uncivilized and barbaric. Mr. Chang, who had just indulged in murder, was leaving the room as calmly as a businessman might leave his office. Sergi had put on a dark hat and looked like an innocent traveling salesman. Mr. Maddock was noiseless and impersonal. He even took the trouble to lean over and pat Wilson’s cheek almost affectionately, and he grinned when Wilson winced away from his cold touch.

“So long, pal,” said Mr. Maddock, softly. “Seeing life, ain’t you, pal?”