The Chinese steamer, if indeed it were she, although we could not be
sure in the darkness, had sent us to the hotel when we had made up our
minds not to go. We in the boat hovered near the yacht long enough for
the captain to make a hurried examination of the damage. The wreck
certainly looked serious, for the overhang of the stern had been
smashed into matchwood, while the derelict rudder hung in chains like
an executed pirate of a couple of centuries agone. It was impossible at
the moment to estimate with any degree of accuracy the extent of the
disaster. The captain reported that she was not leaking, and therefore
her owner need have no fear that she would sink during the night.
The rudder had certainly been carried away, and probably one of the
propellers was damaged. In any case the yacht would have to go into
dry-dock; so, being satisfied on the score of immediate safety, Mr.
Hemster gave orders to pull ashore, and thus we became guests of the
Nagasaki Hotel.
Next morning the Chinese steamer was nowhere in sight, so it was
reasonably certain she had been the cause of our misfortune. The yacht
rode at its anchorage, apparently none the worse so far as could be
seen from the town. Before noon the craft was in dock, and we learned
to our relief that her propellers were untouched. She needed a new
rudder, and the rest was mere carpenter work which would be speedily
accomplished by the deft Japanese workmen. Mr. Hemster had his desk
removed to a room in the hotel, and business went on as before, for
there were still many details to be settled with Mr. John C. Cammerford
before he proceeded toward San Francisco. I think we all enjoyed the
enlarged freedom of residence on shore, and the old gentleman said that
he quite understood his daughter’s desire to get away from sight of sea
or ship. It struck me as remarkable that he was not in the slightest
degree alarmed for the safety of his daughter, nor did he doubt for a
moment her assertion that she was going to stop at the country house
of the Countess. On the other hand I was almost convinced she had been
kidnapped, but did not venture to display my suspicions to her father,
as there seemed no useful purpose to be served by arousing anxiety
when my fears rested purely on conjecture. Of course I consulted
confidentially with Hilda, but a curious transformation had taken place
in our several beliefs. When she spoke of the probability of the girl’s
committing suicide or doing something desperate, I had pooh-poohed her
theory. We had each convinced the other, and I had adopted her former
view while she had adopted mine. She had heard no scream on the night
of the disaster, and regarded it as a trick of my imagination.
But what made me more uneasy was the departure of the Prime Minister.
His fears for himself and family were genuine enough, and he was not
likely to abandon a quest merely because his first effort had failed.
It meant death to him if he returned to Seoul without the girl, so, if
he had not captured her, it seemed incredible that he should return
the same night without a single effort to accomplish his mission.
The second,--and, as far as he knew, successful,--essay to sink the
yacht, must have been to prevent pursuit. He was probably well aware
that the yacht was the fastest steamer in the harbour, and, if it
were not disabled, would speedily overhaul him. He also knew that his
officers and crew were no heroes, and that with half-a-dozen energetic
Japanese in addition to our own crew we could capture his steamer on
the high seas without the slightest effort being put forth to hinder
us. He had now a clear run to Chemulpo, and, however resolute we were,
there was no possibility of our overtaking him. I had offered him my
assistance, which he had accepted in a provisional sort of way, yet
here he had disappeared from the scene without leaving word for me,
and apparently had returned to the land where his fate was certain if
he was unsuccessful. Of course, he might have made for Yokohama or
Shanghai, but I was convinced, after all, that he cared more for the
safety of his family than for his own, and indeed, if he was thinking
only of himself, he was as safe in Nagasaki as elsewhere. I could
therefore come to no other conclusion than that the girl was aboard the
Chinese steamer and was now a prisoner on her way to Seoul, but of this
I could not convince Hilda Stretton, and Mr. Hemster evidently had no
misgivings in the matter.
Obviously the first thing to do was to learn the antecedents of the
so-called Japanese Countess, and with this intent I called at the
American Consulate. The official in charge received me with the
gracious good-comradeship of his nation, and replied with the utmost
frankness to my questions. He remembered Miss Hemster’s visit of a few
days before, and he assured me that the Countess was above suspicion.
As for her knowledge of Corean, that was easily accounted for, because
her late husband had been a Japanese official at Seoul a dozen years
or so ago, and she had lived with him in that city. Corea, indeed, had
been in a way the cause of the Countess’s financial misfortunes. Her
husband, some years before he died, had invested largely in Corean
enterprises, all of which had failed, and so left his wife with
scarcely anything to live upon except the country house, which was so
remote from Nagasaki as to be unsalable for anything like the money he
had expended upon it. Exactly where this country house was situated
the United States Consul professed himself ignorant, but said he would
endeavour to find out for me, and so genially asked me to take a drink
with him and call a few days later.
This conversation did much to dissipate my doubts. Of course, without
Mr. Hemster’s permission I could not tell the Consul the full
particulars of the case, or even make any reference to them. So far as
that courteous official knew, I was merely making inquiries on behalf
of Mr. Hemster about the woman engaged to be his daughter’s companion,
and about the country house which the girl had been invited to visit.
The Consul assured me that everything was right and proper, and that
Miss Hemster would get a glimpse of the inner life of the Japanese
not usually unfolded to strangers, and thus my reason was convinced,
although my instinct told me there was something unaccountable in all
this. The scream I had heard simultaneously with the crashing of the
collision might of course have been the shrill shriek of one of the
Chinese sailors, but at the time it had sounded to me suspiciously
like the terrified exclamation of a woman. Then, again, the action of
the Prime Minister remained as unaccountable as ever, unless my former
theory proved correct. However, I got the name of the Countess, which
none of us who remained had known before, and I promised to return and
learn the situation of the country house. My visit, on the whole, was
rather reassuring; for, after all, there was little use in attaching
too much importance to the actions of any Corean, even though he were
Prime Minister of that country; so the problem began to appear to be a
self-conjured one, and I gradually came to recognize that I had been
troubling myself for nothing.
The week that followed was one of the most delightful in my existence.
The captain was superintending the repairs on the yacht, and the
intricacies of Mr. Hemster’s business activity were such that I could
not be of much assistance to him; so there was practically nothing to
do but to make myself agreeable to that dear girl, Hilda, to whom I
showed whatever beauties Nagasaki possessed, and surely no one knew the
town better than I did. She took a vivid interest, not only in the
place, but also in my own somewhat doleful experience there in former
and less happy times, not yet remote, the recital of which experiences
rendered the present all the more glorious by contrast.
On our tenth day ashore Hilda told me that the old gentleman was
beginning to worry because he had heard nothing from his daughter, and
Hilda herself expressed some uneasiness because of the long silence.
This aroused all my old doubts, and I called a second time on the
American Consul. He told me that the information I sought had been
in hand several days. The villa was called “The House of the Million
Blossoms,” and it was situated nearly ten miles from Nagasaki. He
produced a sketch map, drawn by himself, which he said would guide me
to the place, so I resolved to visit it without saying a word to anyone.
I found the villa of the Blossoms without the least difficulty, and a
most enchanting spot it appeared to be. Situated inland, at the bottom
of a sheltered valley, through which ran a trickling stream, the place
had evidently been one of importance in its day; but now the entrance
lodge showed signs of dilapidation, and the plantation itself was so
marvellously overgrown as to be almost a wilderness, with foliage too
thick for me to see anything of the house itself. The custodian of
the lodge received me with great urbanity but no less firmness. He
confessed that the ladies were there, but added that he had strict
orders to allow no one to enter or even to approach the house. I asked
him to take my card to the stranger lady, and, although at first he
demurred, I overcome his reluctance by an urbanity which I flatter
myself was a stage imitation of his own, and, what was more to the
purpose, I induced him to accept a present in the coinage of the realm.
Nevertheless he securely barred the gate and left me outside, showing
that his trust in my good faith was either very weak, or that his
politeness was confined to the flowery language of his country. After a
long absence he returned, and handed to me a folded sheet of note paper
which I recognized as belonging to the stationery of the yacht. It bore
these words in English, and in Miss Hemster’s handwriting:
“I wish to remain here in seclusion, and I consider it very
impertinent of you to have sought me out. I am perfectly happy
here, which I was not on board the yacht, and all I wish is to
be left alone. When good and ready I will write to the yacht and
to the Nagasaki Hotel. Until that time it is useless for you to
intrude.”
This was definite enough, and I turned away angry with myself for
having played the busybody, not knowing enough to attend to my own
affairs. I had intended to tell the young woman of the accident to the
yacht, making that in some way the excuse for my visit; but in the
face of such a message I forgot all about the information I desired to
impart, and so returned in a huff to Nagasaki. This message set at rest
all thoughts of kidnapping, although it left my honoured friend Hun
Woe’s precipitate departure as much a mystery as ever.
On my arrival at the hotel I showed the note to Hilda, who averred
there could be no doubt about its genuineness, and she asked my
permission to give it to Mr. Hemster to allay his rapidly arising
anxiety, which mission it certainly performed as completely as it had
snubbed me.
Next day the yacht was floated and appeared none the worse for the
collision. The captain took her out to the anchorage, and so we waited
several days to hear from the girl, but no word came. Finally her
father wrote a letter to her, beseeching some indication of her plans,
and this was sent by messenger to the House of the Million Blossoms.
The old gentleman had become exceedingly tired of Nagasaki, and very
evidently did not know what to do with himself. The messenger returned,
but brought no answer. He said the man at the gate had taken in the
letter, and brought out the verbal message that the lady would write
when she was ready to do so. This was the reverse of satisfactory, and
Mr. Hemster roamed about disconsolately like a lost spirit. Hilda said
he told her that his daughter had never before remained in the same
mind for two days together, and this prolonged country house visit
caused him great uneasiness. He now became infused with the kidnapping
idea, not fearing that she had been taken away to Corea, but believing
that the Japanese were holding her prisoner, perhaps with the idea of a
ransom later on. Finally Mr. Hemster determined to visit the House of
the Million Blossoms himself, and he insisted on Hilda’s accompanying
us, which she did with some reluctance. Never did she believe that this
was other than one of the girl’s prolonged caprices to make us all
anxious, hoping to laugh at us later on for being so.
At the gateway we were met by the same imperturbable guardian, who was
as obdurate as ever. He would take in any message, he said, but would
not permit us to enter even the grounds. Mr. Hemster sent a letter he
had written at the hotel, and in due time the keeper came out with a
signed note, somewhat similar to the one I had received. It said:
“DEAR FATHER:
“Do not worry about me; I am perfectly happy and wish to remain
here a few days longer.
“Your affectionate daughter,
“G.”
After reading this he passed it on to Hilda and me in silence. He
got into his ’rickshaw without a word, and we entered ours. The men
tottered along until we were out of sight of the lodge, and then Mr.
Hemster called a halt. He sprang out, and, approaching me, said:
“Well, Tremorne, what do you make of it?”
The voice in which his question was put quivered with anguish, and,
glancing at his face, I saw it drawn and haggard with an expression
that betokened terror.
“Oh, there’s nothing to make of it, Mr. Hemster, except that the young
lady, for some reason unknown to me, desires to make you anxious and
has succeeded.”
“Tremorne,” he said, unheeding this attempted consolation, “look at
this note. It was not written to-day, but weeks ago. It was written on
board the yacht, and so was the one you received, although I did not
notice that at the time. This was written with a stub pen, the same
that she used in sending me the first letter; but this pen she did not
take away with her, nor the ink. My poor girl has been deluded into
writing those letters by some one who had a subtle end to serve. I
cannot fathom the mystery, but I am certain she is not in that house.”
I sprang down from my ’rickshaw.
“I’ll soon settle that point,” I cried, “I will crush through the
boundary hedge, and break in the door of the house. If there are any
ladies within they will soon make an outcry, which will reveal their
presence. You wait for me here.”
To this he at once agreed, and with some difficulty I got into the
thick plantation, through which I made my way until I came to the
house, the first look at which convinced me it was empty. There is
something of desolate loneliness about a deserted house which instantly
strikes a beholder.
There was no need for me to break in, for one of the windows was open,
and, tip-toeing up on the broad veranda, so that there would be no
chance of the custodian hearing me, I entered a room through this
window, and the whole silent house was at my disposal.
The interior would have struck a European unacquainted with Japan as
being unfurnished, but I saw that it remained just as the Countess had
left it. On a small table, standing about a foot from the floor, I
saw a note similar to the one that had been handed to me when I first
inquired at the gate, also three long slips of Japanese paper on which
were written instructions in the Japanese language. I read them with
amazement. The first said:
“This letter is to be given to a young man who calls, and who
speaks Japanese and English.”
On the next slip:
“This letter is to be given to an old man who speaks nothing but
English.”
The third slip bore:
“This is to be given to a young woman who speaks nothing but
English.”
There was also a minute description of Mr. Hemster, Miss Stretton,
and myself, so that the man at the gate could make no mistake, which
indeed he had not done. Hilda had not asked for a letter, therefore the
remaining note had not been delivered.
Whoever concocted the plot had expected a search to be made for the
House of the Million Blossoms, and of course knew that its situation
could easily be found. I put all the documents into my pocket, and now
went out by the public exit, greatly to the amazement of my urbane
friend at the gate. I fear I may be accused of adopting Western
methods, but the occasion seemed to me too serious for dilly-dallying.
I pulled Mr. Hemster’s revolver from my pocket and pointed it at the
man’s head.
“Now, you scoundrel,” I said in his own tongue, “when did those women
leave here? Answer me truly, or I shall take you prisoner to Nagasaki,
where you will have to face the authorities.”
I showed him the written instructions I had captured inside the house,
and he saw at once that the game was up.
“Excellency!” said he, still politely enough, “I am but a poor man and
a hireling. Many days ago a messenger brought me these instructions
and three letters. No lady has been in this house for some years; the
instructions were written by my mistress, the Countess, and I was
compelled to follow them.”
I saw that the man spoke the truth, and proceeded to cross-examine
him on the motives which he imagined actuated this extraordinary
complication; but he had told me all he knew, and was apparently as
much in the dark regarding the motive as I was myself. I left him
there, and hurried along the road over the hill to the spot where I had
left Mr. Hemster and Hilda. Here I explained the conspiracy so far as
I had discovered it, but the record of my investigation naturally did
nothing to calm the fears of my employer, whose shrewdness had given a
clue to the real situation at the House of the Million Blossoms. There
was nothing to do but get back to Nagasaki as speedily as possible,
and lay the case before the authorities. Hemster seemed suddenly to
have become in truth an old man. We went directly to the hotel, and the
clerk met us in the passage-way.
“Mr. Hemster,” he said, “this telegram came for you about two hours
ago.”
The old gentleman tore open the envelope, read the dispatch, then
crushed the paper in his hand.
“Just as I thought,” he said. “She is in Seoul and has found some way
of communicating with me. Poor little girl, poor little girl.”
The father’s voice broke momentarily, but he at once pulled himself
together again.
“Tremorne, tell the captain to get the yacht under way. We will go on
board immediately. We shall want an escort from Chemulpo to Seoul;
can we depend on getting them at the port as we did before, or had we
better bring them from Nagasaki?”
“I think, sir,” said I, “that it would be well to take a dozen from
here. They are men I can trust, and I shall have them aboard the yacht
before steam is up.”
“Very well,” he said, decisively, “see to it.”
I sent a messenger to the captain, then devoted all my energies to the
selecting of my twelve men, taking care that they were properly armed
and provided with rations. I sent them aboard one by one or two by two
in sampans, so that too much attention might not be attracted toward
our expedition.
This task accomplished, I hurried back to the hotel, and found Mr.
Hemster and Hilda waiting for me. Cammerford was there also, talking in
a low voice very earnestly with the old gentleman, who stood with his
eyes bent on the ground, making no reply to the other’s expostulations
beyond shaking his head now and then. Hilda and I went on ahead to the
landing, the two men following us. To my surprise Cammerford stepped
into the launch and continued talking to the silent man beside him.
When we reached the yacht Mr. Hemster without a word mounted the steps
to the deck. Hilda followed, and Cammerford stood in the launch, a
puzzled expression on his face. After a momentary hesitation he pushed
past me, and ran up the steps. I also went on deck, and by the time I
reached there my chief was already in his wicker chair with his feet
on the rail, and a fresh unlit cigar in his mouth. Cammerford went
jauntily up to him and said with a laugh that seemed somewhat forced:
“Well, Mr. Hemster, I propose to continue this discussion to Corea.”
“Just as you please,” replied the old man nonchalantly. “I think we can
make you very comfortable on board.”