Frank had every reason to suppose that he would be recognised in spite
of his disguise. To deceive Men-Ching was one thing, but Yung How had
known the boy for years. More than ever he desired to escape. It was
clear that both Yung How and even Ah Wu himself were equally anxious to
get away from the room. All three of them, however, were caught like
rats in a trap, for Ling guarded the entrance, and it was as much as the
life of any one of them was worth to attempt to pass, either by force or
stealth.
Ling approached Yung How, lifted the man's coat and drew a large
nickel-plated revolver from his belt.
"I thought so," said he. "I draw the jackal's teeth."
So saying, he thrust the revolver into his pocket.
"And now, Ah Wu," he cried, "is Men-Ching here or not?"
Some seconds elapsed before Ah Wu could summon sufficient courage to
answer.
"Yes," said he at last. "He is."
"Where?" asked Ling.
"In the little room--asleep."
"Asleep! He could not have arrived more than an hour ago!"
"He was very frightened," said Ah Wu, who was now certainly speaking the
truth. "His nerves were shaken. He knew you were in pursuit. He
smoked opium to calm himself, and now he sleeps."
"Lead the way," said Ling. "And you too," he added, addressing himself
to Yung How. "I drive you before me like a herd of pigs."
This was indeed a very accurate description of the proceeding, for Ling
was determined that neither of the Chinese nor Frank should for a moment
get out of his sight. It was remarkable that one man should have so
much power--by which we mean will-power as well as physical force. But
undoubtedly, the most extraordinary thing about him was the unbounded
confidence he seemed to have in himself. And it was this
self-confidence, even more than his courage and great physical strength,
that made this man a master over others.
Into the little room under the staircase he hustled the three of them.
There he locked the door and pocketed the key. Upon the only couch in
the room lay Men-Ching in his faded scarlet coat--sound asleep.
Ling bent down and placed both hands upon the sleeper's chest. Then he
smiled, and turning slowly round, looked Ah Wu straight in the face.
"They are here," said he. "It is the custom of the gods to reward those
who deserve to prosper."
"What do you seek?" asked Ah Wu, upon the features of whose face was
stamped an expression of the most profound dismay.
"The letters," said Ling. "The letters for which I have searched for
fourteen days."
"Fourteen days ago," retorted Ah Wu, "they were not written."
"Of that," answered the other, "I confess I know nothing, and care less.
It is sufficient for me--and for you, too--that I have found that for
which I sought."
There was a pause. And then Yung How asked a question.
"How did you know about these letters?" said he.
Ling smiled again. "Do you think," he asked, "that when I found you
three rascals with heads together in this very room--do you think I did
not know that something was afoot, something into which it might be
worth my while to inquire? Do you suppose for a moment I believed your
lies? No. I watched. And I sent a spy here to smoke opium and to
pretend to sleep--a spy who listened to all you had to say, who told me
that Cheong-Chau had sent a messenger with the news that the fish had
been landed high and dry, and a promise that both Ah Wu and yourself
would have your share of the ransom as soon as it was paid. I had but
to watch the river. And when I was told that one of Cheong-Chau's men
had been seen in Sanshui, and the description of that man agreed with
Men-Ching, I should be little short of a fool if I did not guess that
Men-Ching carried with him letters demanding a ransom. And now," he
concluded, "these same letters are mine."
He bent down, and very gently unbuttoned Men-Ching's coat. Then,
without waking the sleeper, who appeared to be heavily drugged with
opium, he tore open the lining and drew out the two letters: that of
Cheong-Chau, written in Chinese, and Sir Thomas Armitage's letter,
written in English.
Neither of these was in an envelope, but both were sealed in the Chinese
fashion. Without a moment's hesitation Ling broke the seals, and Sir
Thomas's gold signet ring fell to the floor. He stooped and picked it
up, and then read both letters to himself. And as he read his smile
broadened, displaying his fang-like yellow teeth.
"It is fortunate," said he, "that I can read English. It is of
advantage in this life to be a scholar. The ignorant man works in the
paddy-field wading knee-deep in the mud, but the wise man eats the
rice." Then he remained silent for some minutes, still reading to
himself.
"I see," he remarked, "this matter has been well arranged. Cheong-Chau
threatens to take the lives of the foreigners if he does not receive a
ransom of twenty thousand dollars before the new moon. It interests me
to learn that the money must be hidden before that date in the Glade of
Children's Tears, upon the banks of the Sang River. I know the place
well. I even remember the red stone--though I admit I did not know
there was a vault beneath that stone. Certainly the matter has been
well arranged."
During this soliloquy--for Ling had to all intents and purposes been
speaking to himself--Frank could not help regarding the countenances of
Ah Wu and Yung How. The expression upon the face of each was suggestive
of the most complete disgust. Disappointment and infinite distress were
conveyed in every feature. Ling looked at them and burst into laughter.
"Two fools!" he cried. "Had you been wise men you had taken me into
your confidence and allowed me a share of the plunder. As it is, you
may see not a cent of it. It will be very simple for me to deliver
these letters and to keep watch upon the Glade of Children's Tears."
His laughter had disturbed the sleeper, for Men-Ching turned over upon
his back and mumbled a few incoherent words in his sleep. Then, still
sleeping, he moved a hand to the breast of his coat, to the place where
he had carried the letters.
Almost at once he sat bolt upright--wide awake.
"Stolen!" he cried, his hands still clutching at his coat. "Stolen," he
repeated.
Then he set eyes upon Ling.
Upon his face an expression of dismay turned, as in a flash, to one of
uncontrollable anger. He sprang to his feet, at the same time drawing
from his belt a long curved knife. Though he stood upon the couch
itself, he was little taller than Ling. With a savage oath he raised
the knife above his head. And then he struck downward, straight for the
heart of the gigantic Honanese.
The tragedy that now took place was the work of a few seconds.
Men-Ching's wrist was caught. He let out a shriek of pain as that grip
of steel tightened under such steady, inevitable pressure that the very
wrist-bone was in danger of breaking like a piece of rotted wood. Then
he was caught by the throat. He was jerked forward. Something snapped.
And then he was thrown down upon the floor--dead. It was all over in an
instant.
Frank Armitage was horror-stricken. He had never seen anything so
terrible in all his life. And this was murder. And the man who had
committed the crime merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Take warning," said he. "Behold the fool who tried to kill me. He who
lives by violence comes to a violent end. I had no wish to kill him; he
attempted to stab me. I have dealt with him in the same way as I would
snuff a tallow candle."
Here Ah Wu fell into a kind of hysterical panic. Wringing his hands
together, he worked himself up to such a pitch of emotion that the tears
streamed from his eyes.
"What is to become of me?" he cried. "This thing has happened in my
house. If the _tao-tai_ hears of it I shall be led to my execution in a
potter's yard. Woe is me that such a crime should be committed under my
roof!"
Ling laughed.
"You make a great fuss about nothing," said he. "Put him away till
darkness falls. Then set him up in a ricksha, place a lighted cigarette
between his lips, run him down to the river, and throw him in. Such
things have happened before in this city of Canton. You make much of
nothing. What was the old scoundrel worth? Not a snap of the finger.
And in any case he had but a few years to live."
Ah Wu seated himself upon the couch, immediately above the body of the
murdered man. Placing his elbows upon his knees and his head between
his hands, he rocked himself from side to side. As for Frank, the whole
thing seemed to him like some terrible nightmare. He had lived in China
all his life, but he had lived in a different China--a land of comfort
and civilisation. This was a world of devilry and crime. And all this
time Yung How stood by, motionless, speechless, his face pale with
terror.
Ling stooped down and thrust the body under the couch.
"What is death?" he asked. "A sleep--no more. A long sleep in
which--for aught we know--the divine spirit roams the eternal heavens.
Sweeter by far the adventures of the soul than the dreams that come from
opium. A moment since he slept upon the couch, and now he sleeps
beneath it. Why grieve, old fool? Why weep? Men-Ching is already with
the spirits of his fathers."
Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door.
"Come," said he. "We will hold converse together; there are many things
that I wish to discuss. See that the outer door is locked, that no one
is allowed to enter the house. We four will be alone."