often, would have seen but for the duck a face that did not know how to
quit. Yet Romney who knew what physical condition meant was surprised
at his own lack of form. The Japanese ran with a limp--ran for his
Emperor in whose service he had given youth and all the fine edge of his
vitality. It was not until he was spent that he turned fox. Luck was
not with him. The white man neared and the streets they passed
furnished no hiding place, not even an open door. At his last turn
Romney met a creature on the ground with fists upraised. Perhaps at no
other time would he have found the spy without a weapon.
The fists of an Oriental are always pathetic, but these were piteously
so. Romney did not join action with them, but sat down on a door-step,
gasping, laughing a little. The ludicrous cringing attitude was a clue
to a still greater pathos. The white man in his exhaustion was struck
again suddenly with the darkness of the whole drama. Why should he
return this heroic little figure to his death? It was true that he was
somehow in the service of the Big Three, that he had touched the secrets
of their devoted lives, but now, as in the shop of Minglapo, the great
zeal and patience, the unswerving fealty of this spy's service to his
most human and impossible God, had a merit to it that touched him where
he was tenderest. Nifton Bend and the two Chinese leaders meant
adventure; reinstatement into the world of real men; more than that they
meant initiation into the deepest crafts of men.... Ti Kung had picked
him up from the gutter of the world's darkest slum, placed him on his
feet, trusted him with a matter of life and death, sent him on a journey
to his masters. Minglapo was a figure to tie to; and as for the
Hunchback, Romney had uncovered an emotion that startled himself. He
knew now what it meant to love a leader--something of the old mystery of
what it means to die for another.
And yet they had thrust their responsibilities upon him. To take back
this old man, all broken with exhaustion, meant to deliver him to his
death. The personal side of the subject was big and near. He had run
down the spy but didn't know what to do with him.... The little Jap had
his life to live, his work to do. He had already done great silent
unanswering tasks. He lay face downward on the turf now, panting
hard--too old a man, his vitality too far spent, to be used so roughly.
The fact that Romney had been too long in Asia to care much for Japan
and her ambitions and that he was deeply called to the mysterious
activities of such men as the Big Three, didn't change a whit his
incapacity just now.
He sat down on a doorstep, just at the feet of the spy, and mopped his
brow laughingly, though his mental movements were heavy and severe. The
way he personally panted and perspired, disgusted a mind in which the
old ideal of an athlete still remained.... He saw for the first time
the expediency of Pilate's memorable washing of hands.... The sound of
hurried footsteps came up the narrow way.
Romney gambled with himself. If these were Minglapo's servants--the
affair of course was out of his hands. If not--well, he couldn't
exactly let the Jap escape with information that would betray the lives
and work of his friends.... The hurrying feet had not to do with the
house of Minglapo. They were Tientsin policemen--three of them--summoned
to duty doubtless by the chase. Perceiving the American now, and his
game on the ground before him, they brought lanterns to bear upon the
two faces, talked long and with much gravity. Romney blinked into the
lantern light again, an extra-long exposure. Then his life-story in
full was hypothecated by one of the officers. The two others afterward
relieved themselves of prolonged intonations in many high keys, having
little to do with the facts of the case. Their manner became
sumptuously courteous, even deferential, so that the American felt in
justice to them he should rise from the doorstep. They touched his
elbows on either side--slight, lifting pressures, bowing repeatedly to
him and pointing over their shoulders in a direction contrary to the
shop in Merchant's Square. Romney did not care to return just then to
Minglapo. In fact, he doubted whether he ever would again. Two of the
officers had lifted the spy between them.
As they walked, a little ray came down upon the American from the
future. Policemen meant calaboose, even in China. Calaboose meant on
some occasions an inconvenient chance to think. Minglapo of course
would exert himself in behalf of them, but delivery meant a return to
the dais and resumption of the murder process. Meanwhile in the little
old head walking behind, between the two Chinese policemen, were facts
and suspicions enough to break entirely what Romney was willing to grant
as the biggest game in Asia at the present moment.... Just now it
occurred that a properly trained Japanese spy would be able to talk in
English, which would prove utterly unintelligible to the Chinese police.
"Oh, I say, we'd better fix matters somehow--so we'll pull together--"
"Good," came the answer.
"You--why didn't you say something before?"
"There was nothing to say. I expected death when I fell in the
street--"
"I suppose that was my business."
"I do not understand--"
Romney was charged with queer elation. He would have known the spy was
Japanese by his English--probably a University of Tokyo training. He
was familiar with Japanese students. Always they bent forward with the
effort of thinking in a foreign language. The Chinese were inclined to
sit back and let the other do the heavy work of listening.
"You mean you don't understand why I didn't kill you?"
"Yes, that is what I mean."
"I'm not a murderer. I haven't got anything against you."
"Then you are not with them?"
"Yes--"
"I do not understand--"
It was the East and West again, a chasm that could not be bridged.
Romney dropped the subject.
"We'd better fix matters--as to what front is best to put up--"
"Front?"
"What we'd better tell them, so that our stories will fit--"
"Stories?"
"Listen," said Romney, straining for the non-idiomatic. "They will ask
questions at the station. We must answer. If we answer differently, it
would be better if we had not spoken--"
"Yes. I am your servant. We had a disagreement. You started to beat me
and I ran--"
"Just a little domestic difference," Romney remarked.
"Yes."
"Where do we live?"
"I came with you from Shanghai four days ago. We have been in the
country since arrival--"
Romney was further amused. Minglapo had been studiously avoided in the
arrangement. The spy had a fertile mind. These things were a part of
his work. He was aware even of Romney's coming from Shanghai.
"You are not to remember the place we have been since Shanghai and
Tongu," the Japanese added. "I have been showing you our country. You
are rich. You just play and pay.... You must speak sharp to me now, as
if you did not like my talk--"
Romney noisily rebuked his servant. The hands of the little policeman
tightened on his arm. "Good," said the Japanese in frightened, cringing
tones. "Now I will explain to them that I am your servant and that you
were displeased with me."
There were suspended explanations to the policeman; long, voluble
breaths and fresh beginnings, as if the spy were releasing a memorized
address; after that a moment of silence, and a low wailing sentence in
English:
"It does not please them altogether."
They were locked presently in the same cell. Voices of the drugged and
drunken beat through the corridors, and screams of madness from lower
passages. And still Romney had his chance to think. The Big Three
wouldn't be pleased to learn that he had permitted the spy to fall into
the hands of the law. Even the Japanese didn't understand a white man's
mercy. These nationalists were an interesting sort. They didn't ask
from others what they were unwilling to give themselves. Failure meant
forfeiture of life in their work. But the West didn't breed this sort of
thing in a man. Romney found himself not as intrinsically of the East
as he imagined. He could conceive a big system doing away with a host
of lives, but still he didn't care to be the direct instrument of taking
the life of one man.
Presently he found himself in the midst of conjecture as to how the Big
Three meant to strangle Japan. For many moments this matter wavered
back and forth through his mind, and did not take real form until he
happened to recall the laboratory in Minglapo's cellar. There might be
a connection here. He had heard of a ghastly, almost incommunicable
horror having to do with the slaying of multitudes without any formal
arrangement of platoon, brigade or corps....
He dozed in his chair at last, dreaming of a nation stricken with
pestilence--its soldiers all away in the clean and ancient barbarities
of war.... He would wait for Ti Kung and then possibly it would be well
to clear himself from the Big Three. Perhaps they wouldn't trust
him--even to keep his mouth shut.... The little old spy slept at his
feet.... In the heart of the night, a prison-guard entered with a
lantern, drawing the cell-door shut behind him.
Romney opened his eyes, and saw a queer intelligence in the glance of
the other--a face he had not seen before. The prison guard was intent
for an instant upon the figure at Romney's feet, the lantern-ray pouring
over the spy's length from feet to queue--then back to Romney's face.
"Sit quiet and say nothing," he whispered, "Your friends are working for
you. To-morrow you will be free. This--remember--is a madman. He is
not responsible.... Say only that he attacked you and me--now--"
The voice of the prison-guard came from the dark, behind the
lantern-ray. Romney caught up sleepily with the full significance of
the words. Suddenly the lantern fell and the stranger raised a terrible
outcry, springing upon the spy, who had half-risen. Now they were on
the floor together, and a shot was fired.
The prison-guard was the one to arise. The lantern was spraying the
stone floor with light, above was darkness. Romney's face was caught in
the hands of the policeman, and these words were driven in his mind,
even as he struggled to be free:
"Listen. He leaped upon me and tried to take my pistol. I had to
shoot. He is done and cannot deny. They are coming--"
The officer now raised his voice for help, and the corridors drummed
with hurrying feet.
*8*
Romney did not sleep during the rest of the night. They were slow about
taking the body of the little spy forth from the cell. The murder
passage recurred repeatedly. It had been very swift and matter of fact,
the prison-guard explaining what Romney should say as he watchfully
prepared to assassinate the Japanese, who in his turn arose slowly and
empty-handed to meet the end--all this in a treacherous lantern-ray.
Romney did not fancy such patriotism. Of course he realised that the
cause of the Big Three would have been ruined had the Japanese spy
managed to live to make his report. He granted that the Big Three
dreamed of a greater and purer China; even granted that if their dream
were applied to the machinery of nationalism, the result would be finer
for the Orient and the world, than if Japan became the dominant power of
Asia. At the same time he was not so modern in holding a curious
repugnance for the present episode.
In mid-afternoon the murderous prison-guard found an opportunity to
whisper that Romney's liberty would have been obtained hours before, had
there not been found another charge against him, the nature of which was
not yet clear. The prisoner was asked to be patient, however, that
great forces were at work to set him free. Romney took another long
breath. At times like this, the period of his life, since the parting
at Longstruth's seemed altogether irrational.
They had not yet cleansed the floor of his cell.
It was not until toward evening that he was led forth to meet this
mysterious new charge. A bearded Chinese in lavender robes sat in a high
box and appeared four-eyed behind his spectacles. Before him stood the
avid McLean of the _John Dividend_, now turning at the step of his prey
and feasting his single eye on the length and thinness of the American.
Romney's laugh was doubtless charged to him.
"Hello, Mac," he said, "I heard you had gone way down--"
"It has cost me a great deal to bring you face to face--"
"If I had seen you ten minutes after our meeting over the wall in
Shanghai, I could have fixed that little matter--"
"It is to be fixed now. The cost of collection and the payment for
personal damage received--brings the amount to twenty-five pounds. The
items are all here--"
McLean presented a long paper of charges.
"I may not have that much--what in that case?"
"Back to _John Dividend_ or rot here--"
Romney recalled that he had slightly less than a hundred dollars, which,
with his other belongings, was now in the hands of the police. He
offered seventy-five dollars to close McLean's claim.
To his surprise this amount--three times the original loan--was refused.
"Come around to-morrow--maybe I can raise the wind," Romney suggested.
"I've made you a lot of trouble and you've got a right to be sore."
Romney was still further surprised that the money-lender did not wabble.
He had not expected to be led back to the cell. An hour later, however,
he was called to the office again and after an evening's performance of
formality, extending through trial, initiatory and several deeper
degrees, he found himself in the street, his own money not used in
obtaining this freedom, and a secret verbal order, imparted by the
prison-guard, for him to report at once to the shop of Minglapo.
Dr. Ti Kung had returned.
The three were gathered at the dais when Romney was admitted. Dr. Ti
Kung raised his hand and apologised for not rising.
"From what they tell me," he said with a tired smile, "your former
proficiency in athletics has stood you in good stead."
Minglapo glanced whimsically at the forward casement, repaired since
Romney had crashed through. The deep bubble of a laugh started, but
dripped back.
The Hunchback bowed toward his countryman, studying him with a strange
mixed expression of anxiety and compassion. The long, narrow,
wolf-hound head held something that invariably lifted Romney--something
very deep that had to do with the love of man for man.
"I'm afraid," he remarked, "that I don't take the joy in a foot-race
that I once did. And it's mainly knowing how now. I'm really far from
fit."
"We trust that there will be no more of that for your portion. We have
reserved a task for you, Friend Romney--not more important, perhaps, but
of a much higher form of activity."
It was in Romney's mind at that moment to state certain objections, but
the face of Nifton Bend held him silent.
"I have been honoured," Dr. Ti Kung added, "in that my friends have
found you all that I promised--and more. It is strange that Mother
China should uncover among her most valuable workers, two men of your
country--"
"I have been wondering if I have the training for such ardent
nationalism," Romney said quietly.
Dr. Ti Kung turned to Nifton Bend who replied:
"We have thought of that. I can answer you best in my own experience.
I was without a country--and dared to be a citizen of the world. It was
this old Yellow Mother who took me in. China is not a nation. She is
the bed-rock of Asia. All elements are in her breast--the most ancient,
and conceptions so modern that they cannot be spoken aloud. For one must
_whisper_ the absolutely new. There is no place as yet for a visionary
in America--but there is a place here. One who works for China works
for all the East--and for the world, since out of the East all great
things come to light."
The Hunchback smiled. "I do not speak much in this way. There is
something in you that draws forth the dream.... But I see you are
troubled."
"Perhaps it was because he was locked up for a night and a day," said
Dr. Ti Kung.
"No, it is not that," said Nifton Bend. "I saw it here before the
little house-servant escaped. He won your heart, Mr. Romney?"
"Yes," the word came eagerly.
"You lost your sense of the greatness of a cause--that could sacrifice
him so ruthlessly?"
"Yes. He was all tempered with suffering--so absolute in fortitude....
They murdered him at my feet in the cell."
"He has done well. Perhaps you can see that we too love a servant like
that--"
"Yes--but to put him out of the way--"
"The cause is greater than the man."
"I do not mean to argue. I can either take it or leave it." Romney
could not say more. There was an encompassing understanding in the
Hunchback's eye.
"We are glad to discuss this with you. The East regards these things
differently. Tell us how you overtook him and what happened before the
arrest--"
"He fell from fatigue. His hands were held up to me from the ground. I
knew that you wanted him dead, knew what you expected of me, but I sat
down on a doorstep to think it out. He expected death. He was trained
your way. He asked me afterward why I had not killed him then. I knew
you could not rest while his thoughts held together in that gritty head.
Presently the police came along. It occurred to me if he were a trained
spy, he would know English, and it was so. We arranged our story on the
way to the lock-up--arranged it so as to keep out the name of
Minglapo.... When I saw him trying to take care of that dry kneecap
right here in this room--why, the stuff of me went out to him."
"Europe has gone mad," the Hunchback said wearily. "France, England,
Italy, Austria, Russia, Germany, all goring each other--America
threatened--Japan standing ready to take up the murderous confession of
her material-mindedness. Mother China can stop all that forever."
Except for the presence of the Hunchback, Romney would have assumed a
Western point of view fully at this time and explained that life had
taught him to do most of his dreaming at night. Instead, he said:
"Of course, I should be very glad to hear about China's power of
mastering Japan without arms and ending war forever from the
hard-pressed earth--"
It was one of the strangest moments. Romney had come very close to the
truth several times in his own thoughts, but never so close as now. His
question had put the answer into three minds. It was not that any one
of the three intended to speak, but what he had asked had brought the
picture of the truth as each saw it into a kind of form of words. If
there is anything to the transference of thought, the mental pictures of
the three may have helped Romney to the solution at that moment. He had
turned from Nifton Bend to Dr. Ti Kung. Queerly enough, just now he
recalled the extraordinary interest and capacity of the Chinese in
chemical and biological matters during his work in Palo Alto. Instantly
upon this was added the sharp recollection of the trap entrance to the
basement laboratory in this very house. Then came the large seeming
importance of the packet he had delivered to Minglapo from Dr. Ti Kung.
Might not the documents contained in that represent the fruits of Ti
Kung's studies in the laboratories of the States? All this was in a
flash, and over it all--it was like a panorama--a Japan with desolated
streets and highways, an Island of Pestilence.... Nifton Bend next
spoke:
"You see, Mr. Romney, as you now stand troubled by this dramatic little
matter having to do with our spy--it would not be well for us to
complete our plans for you. You are honest. You are of the
West--called to us and called from us, by your ideals. Our measure is
heroic. A measure to accomplish such a result as we deem to be required
now must be heroic.
"Without knowing exactly the form our activity will take, you can
continue to serve us. If we told you the exact truth--your very
possession of it would endanger your life in the event of its making you
waver in your allegiance to us--"
"You mean like the spy. You had to kill him because he had learned too
much. But I know as much as he now--"
"Perhaps not. He has been in this house for two years, and during the
last day or two, he has been used in a particular service."
"Then you think what he heard here was not all, but merely an added
inkling to the full understanding."
"He became dangerous to us."
"You do not think that I am dangerous to you now?"
"Your case is different. We have seen your trustworthiness. We know
that any difference now is moral and that our cause is safe in your
hands. At the same time any explicit methods which we might use must
not become the property of any mind which is not imbued with the great
passion which we feel."
"You say you could use me without divulging further?"
"Yes. We wish--"
"You are not treating me then, as you would treat an Oriental--"
"That is because I am an American. My friends have learned to trust
me--and I have chosen to trust you--"
Romney thanked him.
"What plan have you for me?"
The two Chinese turned to Nifton Bend who arose.
"This morning we planned to send you to Japan. The delay in securing
your release from custody has changed that. You are to start for the
Gobi Desert. The plan is written, the progress of your journey set
down, the policy and full meaning of your mission. These papers are in
my chamber on the floor above. There may be a detail or two to finish
in regard to them. Your servant will bring you to me in a few minutes.
If you can be ready within an hour, it would be well for you to reach
Peking in the morning. Let me add that this is a mission of great
mercy, not a mission of death--"
Romney made himself ready in his own quarters. A lift had come to his
heart which he did not pretend to understand. It had seemed that his
acceptance of the mission had been ordained deep in his own
volition--the decision arising finished in his consciousness while the
Hunchback spoke.... Many of the preparations for travel had already been
made by Bamban, who left him to bring the word from Nifton Bend.
... Romney was in one of the halls, his servant walking ahead. A door
opened a little distance forward and low in it, the place a half-grown
child's head would occupy, appeared the long face of the
Hunchback--beyond that, golden lamplight, the sound of a softly-playing
fountain, and an instant later, the movement of another figure in the
mellow light.
Romney halted. The figure had come forward. The head and breast were
above Nifton Bend and two bare white arms rested upon the low shoulders.
One was held out.
Her head turned slightly, the light touching that perfect profile. She
was smiling. Romney could not feel his limbs, yet they carried him
forward to the outstretched hand.
"It's good to see you again, Sir Romney."
Something had broken within him. The strange elation had changed to a
tangible power. There was sorrow in her loveliness. But such a sense of
the beauty in the presence of the two together--a kind of entering into
the heart of a sacred place. And queerly enough he felt himself at the
end of commonness--mere man movements and matters put away, an end to
the drift of the waterfronts, all helplessness and the stress of hand to
hand. She was close, looking into his face.
"You have put on something that I could not find a year ago, Sir
Romney," she whispered.
"For awhile I thought I had lost rather than gained. I hope you are
right," he answered.
His eyes were held to the yellow rug. It lay over a low chair by the
fountain. She led Nifton Bend to it, the bare arm ever close to his
shoulder.
"I am glad that he is chosen for the mission to the desert," she was
saying to the Hunchback. "I am glad you two know each other, for I
found Sir Romney very much a man."
*PART TWO: THE GOBI*
*ANNA ERIVAN*
*1*