Shih-niang’s murder had occurred shortly after midnight. For an hour Gregory had lain hidden on the roof of the great caravanserai, the second hue and cry after him had continued for over half an hour, and for another hour he had remained up in the tree contemplating the grim uncertainties of the future; so it was now a little past three in the morning.
As the date was October the 11th, dawn was still a good way off; but he wanted to be out of Tung-kwan by first light if possible and, even if everything went well, time must be allowed for various preparations before departure. A try for an early start also meant that if things went wrong, yet he had the luck to escape a third time, he would still have an hour or two of darkness in which to get out of the town on his own. On these considerations, He decided that without further delay he would put his plan into execution.
It was based on the opening of a short story that he had read many years before and always considered to be one of the best in the English language. Honours Easy was its title, and it was by that brilliant editor of the Manchester Guardian, C. E. Montague. Its hero, when living abroad as a small boy, was given by his foreign nurse a tortoise. She told him that it was a useful pet, because it ate cockroaches. He promptly captured a cockroach and set it before the tortoise, like an early Christian in front of a lion. While the tortoise thought, the cockroach acted. Realising its peril, it leapt for cover under the tortoise’s shell and saved itself by taking refuge in its enemy’s arm-pit. Gregory now intended to make a practical use of that admirable example—although he realised that there was always the unpleasant possibly that, in this case, the tortoise might think quickly and he would end up crushed between its jaws.
Lowering the ladder he came down out of the tree. Having checked his pistol again, he put it in his outer right-hand pocket so that without showing it he could cover anyone and, if necessary, shoot them through his coat; then he cautiously went forward.
When he reached the edge of the trees he was relieved to see that no lights showed at the back of the inn. Skirting the last of the tables to his left, he made for the corner below A-lu-te’s room, and entered the dark passage in which lay the servants’ quarters. No sign of life came from the lean-tos there and, taking his time so as to make a minimum of noise, he walked quietly past them. He was heading for the great courtyard and thought that he might have to go out into the street then enter it by its main gate; but just beyond the last of the lean-tos, he saw to his right the dim outline of a low, doorless arch in the wall of the inn. Turning into it, he found that it was the entrance to a low passage which ran through the building, enabling the servants to go to and fro without actually entering it. A moment later he emerged in the courtyard.
By getting so far without discovery he had got over his first fence, as had he been spotted on his way there by anyone who had participated in the hunt for him earlier that night, they would have challenged him as possibly being the murderer; but now he was temporarily safe. The great courtyard had upwards of a hundred people in it and scores of animals. In the semi-darkness he could make out, on all sides, lines of hobbled ponies, squatting camels, stacks of merchandise, and low bivvies under which porters and drivers were sleeping round dying fires. Now that he could mingle with them, any of them who were awake would take him only for one of themselves.
Going boldly forward, he zigzagged his way between the drowsing beasts and goat-skin shelters towards the right hand side of the courtyard near its gate, as it was there that Lin Wân’s men had made their little camp. It was so similar to the others that in the faint starlight it was by no means easy to pick out; but, knowing roughly its location, he managed to identify it by counting the number of men and animals.
Chou and his four companions lay huddled in their bivvie, one side of which they had left open so as to get the benefit of the fire they had built outside it. As they were swathed like mummies in their furs and blankets it was impossible to tell which of them was which, and all of them were sound asleep.
Halting beside them Gregory looked towards the gate. The way to it was clear, and he took some comfort from the fact that it was only about fifteen yards distant. If things went wrong, as Chou and his men would still be half bemused by sleep he reckoned that he would stand a fair chance of getting through it before they could lay hands on their weapons and aim them at him. His uncertainty about how much Chou knew of Lin Wân’s affairs made the step he was on the point of taking a most desperate gamble; but if it came off the reward would be high, so he was now determined to take it. Stooping down, he shook the nearest man awake, and whispered:
‘Are you Chou?’
The man poked his head up from under his coverings and muttered incoherently; then on Gregory’s repeating his question, he rolled over, thrust out a hand, prodded his neighbour into wakefulness and, rolling back again, fell asleep. As the second man growled out a curse and sat up Gregory kicked the remnants of the fire into a blaze. Turning back he looked down into a round lined face that might have been any age between forty and seventy, and have belonged to any of the older men lying asleep nearby, but the light given by a flickering flame was enough for Gregory to make out a heavy scar on the lower lip, which removed any doubt about the man being Chou.
Putting his right hand in his pocket he closed it round the butt of his automatic, so that if the need arose he had only to squeeze the trigger. Being now firmly of the opinion that Lin Wân had ordered Chou to close Shih-niang’s mouth, and fearing that Chou might seize this chance to pin the murder on him, he was fully prepared to shoot the Chinaman at the first sign of hostility. But he hoped first to intrigue and then to bluff him. Leaning forward, he said in a low voice:
‘We cannot now afford to wait till dawn. You must get ready to start as soon as possible.
Chou had been sleeping in his goat-skin cap, and his small dark eyes peered up through its shaggy fur like those of a Skye Terrier. After a moment, he said: ‘Why do you wake me in the middle of the night, Lord?’
Gregory took his finger off the trigger of his gun. Chou had recognised him and, although he did not know that he was covered with a pistol, had not made the slightest move to spring up, or rouse the courtyard by crying out that here was the murderer. That was another obstacle surmounted, and such a potentially dangerous one that it might prove the Becher’s Brook of the whole operation. But there were plenty of nasty hazards yet to be faced before the completion of the course. Keeping himself tensed, ready to meet the first sign of trouble, Gregory quietly repeated what he had said.
‘But why should we lose two hours’ sleep to start now?’ Chou asked.
‘Because I must get away before everyone wakes up,’ Gregory replied.
‘Are you, then, coming with us?’
‘Of course!’ Gregory made his voice sound impatient. ‘That was settled when the old Lord decided on the roles that all of us should play here.’
‘I know nothing of this,’ Chou said in a puzzled voice.
‘Do you mean to say that the young Lord, Tû-lai, did not tell you before he left us that I should be returning with you to the House of Lin?’
Chou shook his head. ‘He said nothing of that to me.’
‘Then his distress and the hurry of his departure must have caused him to forget. Anyhow, that was the arrangement. Had I been able to secure the precious thing unsuspected we could have left at dawn; but I was chased, and for the past three hours have been in hiding. That is why we must get away before everyone wakes up and I am recognised.’
‘Forgive me, Lord, but I do not understand,’ Chou muttered.
Gregory wondered anxiously if he meant that he did not understand his words or their meaning. Between themselves such men as Chou spoke a patois unintelligible to others, and their Mandarin Chinese was even less fluent than Gregory’s. Using the simplest expressions possible, he said:
‘The Lord Lin Wân desired a precious thing and charged me to get it for him. It was expected that the killing of the woman would lead to much confusion and—’
‘Ah!’ Chou interrupted. ‘We were aroused about midnight by much shouting, and learned that in the inn a girl had had her throat cut by a robber.’
‘Is that all you knew of it?’ Gregory asked, and he could not altogether keep a shade of doubt out of his voice.
‘Yes, Lord!’ replied the Chinaman in a tone of surprise. ‘What else should we know?’
Now, Gregory was again on extremely dangerous ground. Believing that Chou was responsible for Shih-niang’s death, he had visualised two possibilities. The first was that being aware that he, Gregory, was suspect, the Chinaman would seize on the opportunity further to divert suspicion from himself by raising a new alarm and endeavouring to get him captured. The second was that, endeavouring to get him captured. The second was that, if he posed as an accessory before the crime, Chou would believe that they had both been acting on secret instructions given them by Lin Wân, and so be bluffed into admitting to it.
The first possibility had been the immediate risk he had had to run in rousing Chou; and, having escaped it, to bring about the latter situation was the thing for which he had since been angling. But, if the Chinaman’s spontaneous reaction could be taken at its face value, he had had no hand in Shih-niang’s murder. Should that be so it destroyed the whole basis of the conception on which Gregory had been working.
That any of Chou’s companions could have done the job without his knowledge seemed most unlikely; yet if neither he, nor one of them, had killed the girl, who the devil had? There was, of course, the possibility that even to someone presenting themselves as an accomplice Chou thought if safer to pretend complete innocence. That seemed the only possible explanation.
Staring down at the dark inscrutable face, lit only faintly by the still flickering fire, Gregory wondered what line to take now. Then, it suddenly came to him that whether Chou admitted his guilt or not, or even should he really be innocent, made no material difference to the plan conceived in the tree fork. He was Lin Wân’s servant; therefore if he could be convinced that Gregory was obeying Lin Wân’s orders he might still be induced to play the role that Gregory had planned for him. The question was how much, how little, and exactly what to say.
Gregory had already spoken of the ‘killing of the woman’; but neither he nor Chou had so far given any indication who the woman was. If Chou were covering up he would know that she was Shih-niang, or anyhow the girl who for the past week they had all referred to as the Princess Josephine; so nothing must be said which with his secret knowledge he would know to be a lie. Yet that reference to a killing could not just be left in the air; as, if he was innocent, he would naturally expect to be told more about it.
Gregory’s first impulse was to endeavour to skim over it, with a few ambiguous remarks; but, on second thoughts, he decided that he would stand a better chance of winning Chou to his purpose if he spoke out with apparent honesty. Having stood silent for a moment while thinking furiously, he launched a slightly amended version of his original plan by saying:
‘The woman who died tonight was she whom we knew as the Princess. It is not for me to enquire who killed her. I know only that her death was ordered. My part was to secure the precious thing with which the Lord Kâo Hsüan had entrusted her, during the confusion resulting from her murder. See, here it is.’
As he spoke he drew from an inner pocket his British passport, and showed it to Chou. He did not open it but held it down at knee level so that the firelight showed the dull gold of the Royal Coat of Arms stamped on its cover. Putting it back in his pocket he went on:
‘I was with her when the killer came, ready to do my part. I did it, as you see, and got the precious thing. But then matters went wrong. The lady A-lu-te and her uncle arrived upon the scene. Instead of believing that, like themselves, I had been brought to the room by the woman’s death cry, they thought it was I who killed her. I got away and have been hiding in the garden until I felt it safe to come to you.’
Chou’s expression gave no indication of his thoughts. Unwinking he continued to gaze up at Gregory in silence for a full minute, then he said, ‘Neither the old Lord nor the young Lord spoke to me of you. I know nothing of all this.’
At this frigid declaration Gregory was aware of a slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Unless he could bluff Chou into co-operating, his situation was going to be even more dangerous than it had been when he entered the courtyard. By having presented himself as an accessory to Shih-niang’s murder, he had once more laid himself open to the risk that Chou—if he really were innocent—might suddenly decide to arouse the whole place against him. To plead for Chou’s help would, he felt certain, be taken as a sign of weakness; so he took a bold line and said with some sharpness:
‘I didn’t say that you knew anything about the woman’s death; but you will if you remain here till morning. Whoever killed her left their knife behind and—’
Chou stiffened, tapped his belt, and cut in aggressively, ‘I have mine here.’
‘What if you have!’ Gregory rapped back. ‘Men have been known to carry two knives before now. But that is beside the point. What matters is that in the morning the police will come. There will be a full inquiry. If you are not well away from the town you will be hauled back and questioned.’
‘Why should that worry me, Lord? I have nothing to fear.’
‘Oh, yes, you have! Do you not understand that when the Lord Kâo Hsüan finds that the precious thing he entrusted to the dead woman is not among her possessions, he will realise that it has been stolen by the orders of the Lord Lin Wân? How can he help doing so when he knows how greatly the old Lord desired it? And what then? He has no idea that I am secretly in the service of the House of Lin, so suspicion will be lifted from me. Instead it will fall on you and your companions.’
Much to Gregory’s relief he saw that Chou was beginning to look uncomfortable, so he pressed home his point. ‘You know what devils the police can be to poor men when they are accused by a rich lord like Kâo Hsüan. They will flog you all to within an inch of your lives. Whether one of you killed the girl or not you will confess to it, rather than endure further torment. Then they will hand you over to the executioner to be strangled.’
Suddenly flaring into anger Chou burst out, ‘It is you who should be strangled! I have no doubt now that to get the precious thing you killed the Princess yourself.’
The bitter accusation again seemed to attest Chou’s innocence, and it momentarily disconcerted Gregory. But now was no time to puzzle further over that. The implied threat had brought them back once more to the flash-point of danger at which Chou might make a grab at him and begin to yell that he had caught the murderer.
Slipping his hand into his pocket, Gregory again grasped his gun. With an effort he managed to keep his voice low and steady as he took up the challenge and sought to turn it to his purpose.
‘No. I did not kill her. But if I had, what of it? I should have done so only in order to carry out the wishes of your Lord.’
‘Why should I believe that? You have given me no proof that you are in his service.’
‘Is it not plain? Should I be here if I were not?’
‘Perhaps; since you are seeking to make use of me to get away.’
Mentally Gregory winced as this keen shaft of truth went straight to the mark. He was beginning to fear now that the shrewd, tough little half-Mongolian caravan guard would get the better of him; but he had so much at stake that he risked a desperate throw, and asked:
‘If your Lord had ordered you and your four men to take me as a prisoner from here to the House of Lin, do you think that during the journey I should be able to outwit or overcome the five of you and escape?’
For the first time the suggestion of a smile showed on Chou’s round, wrinkled face. ‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘It has been plain to us from the beginning that you are both a Longnose and a townsman. By night you might trick us and get away; but we would catch you again before you had gone five miles. Once clear of Tung-kwan, I would stake my life on getting you to the House of Lin.’
‘Very well then. Consider me as your prisoner. If I try to escape you can shoot me. I ask only that you should take me to your Lord. Surely that is proof enough that I am in his service.’
Chou did not reply. He sat there in silence, now staring at the ground; evidently still undecided whether to do as Gregory asked or to refuse and, perhaps, make some fateful move which would summon a crowd of a hundred men bent on administering rough justice.
The night was chilly, but Gregory’s anxiety was so great that little beads of perspiration were breaking out on his forehead. With his right hand still on his hidden gun he made his final bid. Kneeling down, he put his left hand on Chou’s shoulder, gave him a slight shake, and said:
‘Listen, Chou. By doing as I ask you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If you stay here you are going to be in bad trouble in the morning. Even if you get away later, but arrive at the House of Lin without me, your Lord is going to give you hell for leaving me behind. I have the precious thing—the thick paper with the gold designs on it—which will give him the power to humble his enemies. Take me to him so that I can hand it over and he will give you a handsome reward. Come! We have no time to waste! Wake your men and tell them to saddle the ponies.’
Chou’s little dark eyes had narrowed to slits, but he nodded. ‘If my Lord ordered the Princess’s death so that you might take from her the precious thing, his anger would be great if I prevent it reaching him. If he did not, then when we come to him he will have you impaled upon a stake and afterwards throw your body to the vultures. We have talked enough. It shall be as you wish.’
As what Gregory had termed ‘the precious thing’ was no more than a slim booklet containing his photograph and a record of his more recent travels up to the past April, it could be of no possible use to the master of the House of Lin; so he had no cause at all to be elated by Chou’s forecast of the situation in which he would find himself on reaching the house. Nevertheless, he had at last emerged victorious from their long wrangle, and that was all that mattered for the moment. Suppressing a sigh of relief, he stood up.
Chou, too, got to his feet and began to wake his companions. As they roused, one glanced at the still bright stars in the dark vault overhead was enough to tell them that dawn was still a long way off. In loud angry voices they began to curse him, and ask what the devil possessed him to have got them up in the middle of the night.
On tenterhooks, Gregory had to stand there, fearing that at any moment the noise they were making might arouse a score of other men sleeping nearby, and that a general argument would follow, during which the reason for Chou’s decision to make an early start would come out, with the result that he would yet find himself surrounded by a hostile throng.
In gutteral phrases of dialect, Chou stilled the clamour made by his fellows, and with surly looks they went about their preparations for departure. But others in the vicinity stretched out round dying fires were now stirring and calling questions; so Gregory knew that he was not yet in the straight.
He passed the next twenty minutes in an agony of apprehension; but, one by one, their more wakeful neighbours, whose curiosity had been aroused, accepted Chou’s trumped-up explanations and again dropped off to sleep. The ponies were given a few gulps of water from leather buckets, then saddled or loaded with their panniers containing tents and provisions; the camel that had brought Shih-niang down to Tung-kwan was prodded up on to its legs, and the little caravan was ready to start.
Mounting the pony that had been saddled for him, Gregory trotted it up beside Chou’s, and together they led the short procession out of the courtyard. Half an hour later they had left the last straggling houses on the outskirts of Tung-kwan behind, with dawn still a good hour away.
Gregory knew that he had much reason to be thankful; but, all the same, he was beginning to wonder if during the past hour he had not behaved like a crazy fool. He had pulled off an incredibly difficult coup, and was now safe in the arm-pit of the tortoise, but how the devil he was ever going to get out of it again he had not the faintest idea.