THE DOOR IS GUARDED
A subdued glow appeared above Gray's head, as the narrow stairs
twisted. The glow grew stronger, and he caught the buzz of voices.
Cautiously he climbed to the head of the steps and peered into the
chamber from which came the light.
He saw a peculiar room. It was empty of all furniture except a
teakwood chair. The light came through a large aperture in the
floor. An ebony railing, gilded and inlaid, ran around this square
of light. The voices grew louder.
It was clear to Gray that they were in some kind of gallery above the
room where the assembly was--for the voices seemed to be rising
through the floor.
He walked to the chair--and stopped abruptly.
The opening in the floor was directly above the temple proper. Gray
and Delabar could see the shrine, with the usual bronze figure of the
almond-eyed god, the burning tapers and the incense bowls.
On the floor by the shrine the gathering of priests squatted. They
were facing, not the image of Buddha, but a chair which stood on a
daïs at one side. On this chair an imposing mandarin was seated with
the red button and silk robe of officialdom.
"Wu Fang Chien!" whispered Delabar.
Gray nodded. It was their friend of Honanfu, with his thin beard,
placid face and spectacles.
"What are they doing?" asked Gray softly.
The murmur of voices persisted. For some time Delabar listened.
Then he pointed out a man in beggar's dress kneeling beside the
mandarin's chair.
"It is some kind of trial," he said doubtfully. "The priest by Wu
Fang Chien is an ascetic--what they call a _fakir_ in India. But he
is not the criminal."
They moved nearer the opening, being secure from observation from
below. Gray wrinkled his nose at the mingled scent of incense and
Mongolian sweat that floated up through the opening.
"Wu Fang Chien is saying that he has come to Liangchowfu to sit in
judgment on the evildoers who are enemies of the god," interpreted
Delabar. "He has called the priests to witness the proceedings."
Gray looked at Delabar curiously. He had caught a word or two of the
talk.
"Does he name the offenders?" he asked.
"No. He says the priesthood has been informed that two men plan to
desecrate a holy place. He has come to catch them red-handed."
Wu Fang Chien, Gray reflected, could not know they were in the
gallery of the temple, by the seat reserved for a distinguished
student, or the emperor. The mandarin must have discovered their
mission, as Delabar feared. He peered over the rail.
Directly underneath three priests were stripped to the waist. They
held a bronze bowl of considerable size.
As Gray watched, a silence fell on the room below.
"They are going to try divination," whispered Delabar, and Gray saw
that his face was strained. "The divination of the ivory sticks and
the bowl. That is a custom of the sorcerers of the interior. The
priests believe in it implicitly. I have seen some wonderful
things----"
He broke off as the ascetic prostrated himself before Wu Fang Chien,
holding out a sandalwood box. Gray saw the mandarin lean forward and
draw what looked like a short white stick from the box.
"That is to determine the distance the criminals are from the
temple," explained Delabar. "It is a very short stick--representing
perhaps a _li_ or one-third of a mile."
"That would include the inn," was Gray's comment. "Hello, the bowl
boys are coming into action."
The three priests were turning slowly on their feet, supporting the
bronze bowl above their heads. They moved in a kind of dance, and as
they revolved, came nearer to the shrine--then retreated. Delabar
watched intently.
"They will keep up the dance for twenty-four hours," he said,
"without stopping. Meanwhile the other priests will watch, without
taking food or drink. It induces a kind of hypnotism. They believe
that at the end of the twenty-four hours, the god will enter the
bowl."
Gray nodded. Wu Fang Chien had sat back and was eyeing the dance
complacently.
"When this happens," Delabar went on, "the priests will leave the
temple, holding the bowl in front of them. They will be followed by
the townspeople who do not doubt that the god will conduct them to
the criminals."
"I guess we're nominated for the guilty parties."
Gray surveyed the scene curiously, the revolving trio of brown
bodies, the silent mandarin and the watching priests. He followed
idly the smoke fumes that eddied up from the shrine of the bronze
god. Wu Fang Chien, he mused, had decided that it was time to
strike. And the mandarin was going about it with the patience of the
Mongol, sure of his victim, and his own power.
Wu Fang Chien had warned them. They had not heeded the warning. The
attack in Honanfu had been a prelude--possibly to get Gray's weapons
away from him. It had failed, but Wu Fang Chien had formed another
plan. Why else had he come to Liangchowfu?
Watching the whirling priests, Gray guessed at the plan. In
twenty-four hours the sorcery of the bowl would come to a head. The
three priests would bear it to the inn--in a state of semi-hypnotism
themselves, and followed by a fanatical crowd. They would confront
Gray and Delabar. They would search the belongings of the white men,
and find the maps of Sungan--the maps that had been seen by the
intruder at the Honanfu inn. After that----
Delabar gripped his companion's arm. "Some one is coming," he
whispered.
Gray listened, and heard a faint sound of footsteps. It came from
the stairs--the soft pad-fad of slippered feet ascending the steps.
Gray shot a quick glance into the temple below. The scene had not
changed, except that the priest in the tattered robe was no longer at
Wu Fang Chien's side.
"We are caught," muttered the scientist. "There is no other door."
Gray was aware of this. The only openings in the chamber where they
stood were the door and the aperture in the floor. The _pad-pad_
came nearer, but more slowly. He was reasonably sure that they had
not been seen. It was abominably bad luck that some one should visit
the gallery just then.
"We left the temple door open," Delabar whispered, staring at the
dark stairs behind them. "One of the priests observed it and
came----"
"Steady," Gray cautioned him. He drew the trembling Syrian back into
the shadows at one side of the door. Here they were in
semi-obscurity. Stepping quietly to arm's reach of the head of the
stairs, Gray waited.
He heard the steps approach, then become silent as if the intruder
was looking into the room.
A moment passed while Gray silently cursed the heavy breathing of
Delabar who seemed possessed by uncontrollable excitement. Then a
shaven head appeared in the doorway, followed by a naked shoulder. A
pair of slant, evil eyes flickered around the gallery, failing to
notice the two white men in the shadow.
Gray's hand went out and closed on the throat of the priest. His
grip tightened, choking off a smothered gasp. The man fell heavily
to his knees.
The floor echoed dully at the impact. Gray realized that it must
have been heard by those in the temple below. Snatching up the frail
priest by throat and leg, he lifted him easily and started down the
stairs headlong.
"This way, Professor," he called. "Better hurry."
Concealment being useless now, they plunged down the steps. By the
time the lower floor was reached, Gray's grip had stilled the
struggles of the man--whom he recognized as the ascetic.
The sound of running feet came to him as he waited for Delabar to
come up. The professor shot through the temple door like a
frightened rabbit.
Gray tossed the unconscious priest on the doorsill, and pushed the
heavy portal nearly shut, wedging the man's body in the opening.
Then he trotted after Delabar through the garden.
"Let's hope you're right about the penalty for opening the door
there," he laughed. "That priest will have his hands full explaining
how he happens to be lying on the emperor's threshold--when he comes
to. Probably he'll say that devils picked him up."
Looking back at the edge of the temple garden, Gray saw a crowd with
lanterns standing inside the door, over the form of the priest. They
were some distance away by now. Following the circuit of the city
wall, Gray succeeded in gaining the alleys back of the inn without
being observed.
Once safely in their room, Delabar threw himself on the bed, panting.
Gray took up his rifle and laid it across his knees, placing his
chair so that he could command both door and window.
He did not want to sleep. And he feared to trust Delabar to watch.
Throughout the remaining hours until daylight whitened the paper of
the window, he sat in his chair. But nothing further happened. The
festivities in the streets had ended and the inn itself was quiet,
unusually so.
Daylight showed Delabar lying on the bed, smoking innumerable
cigarettes. The scientist had maintained a moody silence since their
arrival at the inn. The sound of excited voices floated in from the
courtyard. Vehicles could be heard passing along the street. But
the ordinary pandemonium of a Chinese hostelry at breakfast time was
subdued.
Gray tossed his rifle on the bed, yawned and stretched his powerful
frame. He was hungry, and said so. He brushed the dirt from his
shoes, changed to a clean shirt, looked in the pail for water.
Finding none, he picked up the pail, strode to the door and flung it
open.
On the threshold, his back against the doorpost, was sitting a
Buddhist priest. It was an aged man, his face wrinkled and eyes
inflamed. His right shoulder and his breast were bared. In one hand
he clasped a long knife. His eyes peered up at the white man
vindictively.
Gray recognized the ascetic of the temple. He could see the dark
marks where his hands had squeezed the scrawny throat.
He reached for his automatic with his free hand. The priest did not
stir. The man was squatting on his heels, fairly over the threshold;
the knife rested on one knee. How long he had been there, Gray did
not know.
Priest and white man stared at each other intently. Gray frowned.
Plainly the man at the door did not mean well; but why did the fellow
remain seated, holding the knife passively? He noted fleetingly that
the main room of the inn was vacant.
"Don't move!" Delabar's voice came to him, shrill with anxiety.
"Don't take a step. Shut the door and come back here."
"Why?" Gray asked curiously. "I want to go out for water, and I'm
blessed if this chap is going to keep me in----"
"It's death to move!"
"For me?"
"No, the priest will die." Delabar clutched his companion's arm.
"You don't understand. The priest is here on a mission. If you step
through the door, he will stab himself with the knife. And if he
commits suicide at our door, we'll have the whole of Liangchowfu down
on us."
Gray pocketed the automatic with a laugh. "I don't see why we are to
blame if this yellow monkey sticks himself with his own knife."
Delabar crossed to the door and closed it on the watching Buddhist.
"You know very little of China, my friend," he said gloomily. "One
of the favorite methods of revenge is to hire a priest to sit at a
man's door, like this. Then, if any one leaves the house, the priest
commits suicide. That fixes--or the Chinese believe it fixes--a
crime on the man in the house. It's a habit of the Chinese to kill
themselves in order to obtain vengeance on an enemy."
Gray whistled. "I've heard something of the kind. But, look here, I
could grab that fellow before he can hurt himself."
"It would be useless. As soon as he was free, he'd commit suicide,
and the blame would fall on us. By now, all the Chinese in the town
know that this priest is here. If he should die, it would be a
signal for a general attack on us."
Meditatively, Gray seated himself on the bucket and considered the
situation.
"You know the working of the yellow mind, Professor," he observed.
"Do you suppose this fellow has marked us out as the guilty parties
who manhandled him in the temple and left him in the sacred door?"
"It's more likely that Wu Fang Chien guessed we were the intruders.
We were probably watched more closely than you knew. Then, according
to the temple law, this priest is guilty of sacrilege in crossing the
emperor's door. So Wu Fang Chien has ordered him to guard our door,
to wipe out his own sin, and incriminate us at the same time."
Gray grinned cheerfully.
"The working of the Mongol mind is a revelation, Delabar. I guess
you're right. This is Wu Fang Chien's way of keeping us quiet in
here while the boys with the bowl get their magic primed. Also, it
will help to make the townspeople hostile to us."
Slowly, Wu Fang Chien's plan was maturing. Gray saw the snare of the
Mongol mandarin closing around them. It was a queer, fantastic
snare. In the United States the situation would have been laughable.
Here, it was deadly.
Wu Fang Chien had made his preparations carefully. The temple
festival had stirred up the Buddhists; the arrival of the bronze
bowl, borne by the priests, would implicate the two white men; the
discovery of the maps of the forbidden district of the Gobi would do
the rest.
Gray could destroy the maps. But then he would have no guide to the
course to be followed, if they should escape from Liangchowfu. He
was not yet willing to destroy all prospect of success.
He sought out the maps, in one of their packs, and pocketed them.
"Does this hocus-pocus of the bowl in the temple always take
twenty-four hours?" he asked Delabar.
"Always."
"Well, Wu Fang won't want to break the rules of the game--not when he
has the cards so well in hand. Professor, we have fourteen hours to
think up a line of action. We have food enough here to make a square
meal or two. Also wine--as a present to the city mandarins--that
will keep us from becoming too thirsty."
Delabar shrugged his bent shoulders. He looked ill. His hand was
trembling, and it was clear to Gray that the man was on the verge of
a breakdown.
"What can we do?" the Syrian asked plaintively. "Except to destroy
the maps, which would incriminate us."
"We won't do that."
There comes a time when fatigue undermines weak vitality. Delabar
complained, begged, cursed. But Gray refused to burn the papers
which meant the success or failure of their expedition.
"You're sick, Delabar," he said firmly. "You seem to forget we're
here on a mission. Now, pay attention a minute. I've been getting
ready, after a fashion, for a move on Wu Fang's part. I've paid our
coolies four times what was owing them, and promised 'em double that
if they stick by us. I think they may do it. If so, we stand a good
chance of getting clear with our necessary stores--emergency rations,
medicines, a few cooking utensils and blankets. But we can't start
anything until it's dark. Sleep if you can. If you can't--don't
worry."
He cast a curious glance at the scientist--a glance of mixed
good-natured contempt and anxiety.
"This guardian of the gate trick works both ways," he concluded. "If
we can't get out, no one will want to get in."
He took a few, sparing swallows of the strong wine, a mouthful of
bread and rice and tilted his chair back against the wall. The room
was hot and close, and he soon dropped off into a nap. Delabar did
not sleep.
Gray, from habit, dozed lightly. He was conscious of the sounds that
went on in the street. Several times he wakened, only to drop off
again, seeing that all was as it should be. Once or twice he heard
Delabar go to the door and peer out to see if the priest was still at
his post. Evidently he was, for the Syrian maintained his brooding
quiet.
As time wore on, Gray thought he heard Delabar laughing. He assured
himself that he must have been mistaken. Yet the echo of the laugh
persisted, harsh, and bitter. Delabar must have been laughing.
The officer wondered drowsily what had been the cause of the other's
mirth--and sat up with a jerk. He caught at the hand that was
stealing under his coat, and found himself looking into Delabar's
flushed face, not a foot from his own. The scientist drew back, with
a chuckle. There was no mistaking the chuckle this time.
Gray felt at his coat pocket and assured himself the maps were still
there.
"So you lost your nerve, eh, Professor?" he said, not unkindly--and
broke off with a stare. "What the devil----?"
Delabar staggered away from him, and fell on the bed, rocking with
mirth. He caught his head in his hands and burst into the laugh that
Gray had heard before. Then he lay back full length, waving his
hands idiotically.
Gray swore softly. He noticed the wine bottles on the table, and
caught them up. He assured himself grimly that one was empty and
another nearly so. He himself had taken only a swallow of the liquor.
Delabar had drunk up approximately two quarts of strong wine. And
Gray knew that the man was not accustomed to it.
The scientist was drunk, blindly, hopelessly drunk.
The room was dark. A candle, probably lighted by Delabar on some
whim, guttered on the floor. Outside the room, the inn was very
still.
Gray regretted that his sleep had enabled Delabar to drink up the
liquor. But the harm was done. His companion was helpless as a
child. He looked at his watch. It was after eight. As nearly as he
could remember, the proceedings at the temple had started about ten
o'clock. Not quite two hours of quiet remained to them.
Delabar sat up and regarded him with owl-like wisdom.
"Drink, my friend," he mumbled, "you are a strong man, and it will be
hard for you to die if you are not drunk. You were a fool to come
here. You are a child before the ancient wisdom of China. The
secrets of the Mongols have been before your God had eyes to see the
earth. Why did you pry into them?"
A laugh followed this, and Delabar made a futile grab at one of the
bottles.
"You think I am afraid of Wu Fang Chien?" the mumble went on. "No, I
am not afraid of him. He is only a servant of the slave of Buddha,
who is Fate. We can not go where Fate forbids--forbids us."
Gray surveyed him, frowning.
"Look outside the door," chuckled Delabar. "Look--I stepped outside
the door, my friend. And I saw----"
Waiting for no more, Gray crossed to the door and opened it. At his
feet lay the priest. The slant eyes stared up at him. The knife was
fixed in the man's throat, and a dark circle had gathered on the
floor behind his head.