“And that is all you know?” said Burton.
“Absolutely all. I had to leave about that time, you remember, and
afterward went to France.”
“Yes, I remember. It was while you were away that the scandal arose
respecting the mandarin. Extraordinary story, Knox. I should like to
know what it all meant, and what the end of it was.”
Dr. Matheson broke his long silence.
“Although I am afraid I cannot enlighten you respecting the end of the
story,” he said quietly, “perhaps I can carry it a step further.”
“Really, Doctor? What do you know about the matter?”
“I accidentally became implicated as follows,” replied the American: “I
was, as you know, doing voluntary surgical work near Singapore at the
time, and one evening, presumably about the same period of which Knox is
speaking, I was returning from the hospital at Katong, at which I acted
sometimes as anaesthetist, to my quarters in Singapore; just drifting
along, leisurely by the edge of the gardens admiring the beauty of the
mangroves and the deceitful peace of the Eastern night.
“The hour was fairly late and not a soul was about. Nothing
disturbed the silence except those vague sibilant sounds which are
so characteristic of the country. Presently, as I rambled on with my
thoughts wandering back to the dim ages, I literally fell over a man who
lay in the road.
“I was naturally startled, but I carried an electric pocket torch, and
by its light I discovered that the person over whom I had fallen was a
dignified-looking Chinaman, somewhat past middle age. His clothes, which
were of good quality, were covered with dirt and blood, and he bore all
the appearance of having recently been engaged in a very tough struggle.
His face was notable only for its possession of an unusually long
jet-black moustache. He had swooned from loss of blood.”
“Why, was he wounded?” exclaimed Jennings.
“His hand had been nearly severed from his wrist!”
“Merciful heavens!”
“I realized the impossibility of carrying him so far as the hospital,
and accordingly I extemporized a rough tourniquet and left him under
a palm tree by the road until I obtained assistance. Later, at the
hospital, following a consultation, we found it necessary to amputate.”
“I should say he objected fiercely?”
“He was past objecting to anything, otherwise I have no doubt he would
have objected furiously. The index finger of the injured hand had one of
those preternaturally long nails, protected by an engraved golden case.
However, at least I gave him a chance of life. He was under my care for
some time, but I doubt if ever he was properly grateful. He had an iron
constitution, though, and I finally allowed him to depart. One queer
stipulation he had made--that the severed hand, with its golden
nail-case, should be given to him when he left hospital. And this
bargain I faithfully carried out.”
“Most extraordinary,” I said. “Did you ever learn the identity of the
old gentleman?”
“He was very reticent, but I made a number of inquiries, and finally
learned with absolute certainty, I think, that he was the Mandarin Quong
Mi Su from Johore Bahru, a person of great repute among the Chinese
there, and rather a big man in China. He was known locally as the
Mandarin Quong.”
“Did you learn anything respecting how he had come by his injury,
Doctor?”
Matheson smiled in his quiet fashion, and selected a fresh cigar with
great deliberation. Then:
“I suppose it is scarcely a case of betraying a professional secret,”
he said, “but during the time that my patient was recovering from the
effects of the anaesthetic he unconsciously gave me several clues to
the nature of the episode. Putting two and two together I gathered that
someone, although the name of this person never once passed the lips of
the mandarin, had abducted his favourite wife.”
“Good heavens! truly amazing,” I exclaimed.
“Is it not? How small a place the world is. My old mandarin had traced
the abductor and presumably the girl to some house which I gathered
to be in the neighbourhood of Katong. In an attempt to force an
entrance--doubtless with the amiable purpose of slaying them both--he
had been detected by the prime object of his hatred. In hurriedly
descending from a window he had been attacked by some weapon, possibly
a sword, and had only made good his escape in the condition in which I
found him. How far he had proceeded I cannot say, but I should imagine
that the house to which he had been was no great distance from the spot
where I found him.”
“Comment is really superfluous,” remarked Burton. “He was looking for
Adderley.”
“I agree,” said Jennings.
“And,” I added, “it was evidently after this episode that I had the
privilege of visiting that interesting establishment.”
There was a short interval of silence; then:
“You probably retain no very clear impression of the shadow which you
saw,” said Dr. Matheson, with great deliberation. “At the time perhaps
you had less occasion particularly to study it. But are you satisfied
that it was really caused by someone moving behind the curtain?”