RGL e-Book Cover 2019©
RGL e-Book Cover 2019©
Short Stories, 10 May 1932, with "The Devil's Hat-Rack"
O'NEILL finished shaving as well as the primitive aids of the little Hôtel d'Europe, in the Cathedral's shadow, would permit. He turned to Burket, who was dressing carefully.
"I'm off," he said, and slipped into his jacket. "Meet you in a couple of hours at that tea-house. Sure you don't want me along?"
Burket looked up with a grin on his brawny, sun-blistered features. They had come by air from Chungking the previous afternoon. Burket, bronzed soldier of fortune that he was, had been badly burned by the hot sun and wind of interior China.
"I do not," he replied. "This fellow Wang is touchy as the devil, a regular tyrant of the old school. I knew him well when he was a mere general; he won't forget that I saved his life in the old days, and I can handle him. Let me work it. You're too apt to explode, you wild Irishman! Besides, he's probably heard of you and might shy off if you were along."
O'Neill shrugged. "Well, we need money. I may produce some. See you later in jail!"
He took up his sun-helmet and left the little French hotel, the only one in Chengtu.
WHEN O'Neill wanted to walk, as now, he walked; he did
not have the usual foreigner's fear of losing his dignity.
Besides, he wanted to see Chengtu. This great "City of the Plain"
was like home to him. His boyhood had been largely spent here.
Now a wanderer, a careless, homeless soldier of fortune, an air
pilot who lived anywhere in China that he might be momentarily
engaged, Terence O'Neill strode along with a blithe heart and a
reckless eye. If Burket, he reflected, had nerve enough to brace
Governor Wang, they might both be in jail this night.
For they were both broke, and being broke in China is something else again.
As he came into the old city from the southern suburb, the foreign quarter, O'Neill found about him the pulsating heart of China, too remote for tourists to reach. Here he saw again the palace walls of the Han emperors. Here had been the ancient state of Shu, before the days of Confucius. But the past decade had brought more changes to Chengtu than had the past thousand years.
Wang, the savage "field-marshal" who had gripped the city and district in these days of republican chaos, ruled with an iron hand. The narrow streets had been brutally widened with no respect for property owners or house fronts, and were new forty-foot avenues.
Momentarily crowded aside with the throng to let a party of soldiers and chain-gang prisoners by, O'Neill caught a voice close to him in the explosive Szechuan dialect, which not one white man in a thousand here could understand.
"How long must we follow this foreign devil with the gray jade eyes?"
Amused, O'Neill listened for the reply. "Obey orders," it came. "When the word is given, and not until, he ascends the dragon. Follow him carefully."
No longer amused, O'Neill glanced around. It was impossible to tell who had spoken. The crowd surged thickly, busily, on every hand. Officers, soldiers, coolies, merchants; perhaps two officers had spoken.
"A pleasant homecoming!" he reflected whimsically. "Slated to ascend the dragon, eh? And who's going to bump me off, and why? Ah! There's the place at last."
Sighting the Fu Shun, "Return of Spring" silk emporium, he threaded his way through the press of men and vehicles filling the Great East Street. Eyes followed him with curious looks.
He was not tall. The fore-and-aft topee shaded his features, gave only a glint of bluish gray eyes, the impression of a swift smile. Perhaps his square shoulders, the easy, lithe swing of his body, drew men's notice; here was obviously a soldier. He turned in at the Fu Shun shop and removed his headgear, revealing crisp, brownish hair, thin and eager features, heavy brows, a sharply square chin.
"I want to see Mr. Fu Shun," he said to the youth who greeted him, alluding to the Chinese custom of calling a merchant after the name of his shop.
"Velly solly," was the English response. "Not here now. Maybe not come back. Gone."
"Gone three hundred years ago, eh?" said O'Neill. "I'm talking about the last man of the name Lui Sung. Where is he?"
"Gone," repeated the youth. O'Neill's smile vanished.
"Go and find him," he snapped in the harsh dialect. "Say that Captain O'Neill is here to claim his father's goods and money."
Astonishment leaped in the saffron features, and the youth bowed profoundly. He had heard the name. Half China had heard it, since O'Neill's spectacular formation of the Yunnan air force and his exploits with a plane in Manchuria a year ago.
"If the venerable ancestor will deign to wait, this poor slave will deliver the word."
Left alone, O'Neill sniffed ironically. Lui Sung had been old even then, years ago, when the elder O'Neill lived here and bought silk for export. Lui had been his father's friend, advisor, intimate. With Lui, his father had left money and his hoard of treasures, picked up during twenty years in China, before that last fatal journey.
And now the son had returned to claim these things. Incidentally, he and Bert Burket had other business in Chengtu, if Burket could swing it; but it was a risky business as well.
The youth reappeared, holding back a curtain. A wrinkled old man came through, peered at the visitor through horn-rimmed spectacles, then advanced quickly.
"Lui!" and O'Neill's hand shot out.
"It is you, little one! Hai! It is good to look into your father's eyes again! We have heard of you. Your name has become famous. You are a soldier?"
"Not now. Out of a job. Your son is well?"
"He has eaten gold." This was another of the Chinese euphemisms for death, which they dislike to mention by name. "In the riots of last year, we lost everything. All we owned was seized. Your father's goods went with the rest."
"Oh!" and O'Neill shrugged. "You don't know what became of them?"
"Certainly. The honorable Wang has them. Since I shall soon join my ancestors, you must know the truth. Before I eat gold, however, I should give you the money your father left with me. Tell me where you are staying. I will send it to you this evening."
"The Hotel de Europe."
"Very well. You must not remain, for it is unhealthy here. Let us consider this the third cup of tea. It grieves me that you entered this unlucky building."
Old Lui bowed, shook hands with himself, and was gone. O'Neill, amazed and bewildered by this abrupt dismissal, took his departure. He understood that something was radically wrong, but was slow to put a finger on it. Out in the thronged Great East Street again, he strode swiftly onward, ill at ease. So Wang, the governor, had seized his father's treasures!
Lui was in some danger, of course. Probably his shop was watched, and he was slated for an early demise; hence his desire to get O'Neill away at once. Decidedly, Chengtu had changed!
Outward evidences of this change met his eye on every hand. The old wheelbarrows for which the city was once famous had disappeared with the fronts of houses and shops on the ruthlessly widened streets, and rickshaws had taken their places. The tea-houses, however, remained the same, wide-fronted, with the curious big bamboo chairs peculiar to Chengtu. Coming to one such place, the Abode of Ten Thousand Joys, which had served its customers before Columbus sailed from Spain, O'Neill turned in and cast a glance around. Burket had not yet arrived. He took a chair and ordered tea, and settled down to see whether he could spot his shadower.
In this, he failed entirely; it might have been any one of the hundreds passing along the street every instant. He was still sitting there, sipping his tea and smoking, when the crowd was peremptorily scattered by a dozen soldiers who laid about them with rifle-butts, and in front of the Abode of Ten Thousand Joys halted a large and gorgeous sedan-chair, fluttering with yellow curtains. From it stepped Burket, who shoved back his hat nonchalantly, waved his hand to the officer in charge and sauntered into the place with a grin at his friend.
"Clicked!" he exclaimed, dropping into a chair "Did you see the palanquin? No less than Wang's. Did it up brown."
O'Neill lifted one eyebrow quizzically.
"Indeed? A polite refusal to talk business, eh?"
"Not much!" snorted Burket triumphantly. "The arsenal is ours."
"What?" O'Neill frowned. "You didn't conclude everything in this short time?"
"All preliminaries. First, Wang has become civilized. He's sleek, polished, cultured, even speaks French. His Russian wife taught him that. He's rolling in money; bought a concubine yesterday for forty thousand Mex. He's gone in for art."
"At my expense," murmured O'Neill, "Go on. Come to the worst."
Burket stretched out and chuckled. "One thousand gold a month for each of us. I'm to be in charge, you're my assistant. He didn't want to take you on. Said he had heard of you, that you knew air fighting but were insubordinate and knew nothing about shells. I said you were an expert at manufacturing shells and had taught much even to me, so he yielded. He wants us to go away for a couple of days, then show up for a big reception committee. We get a colonel's rank, by the way. We'll be welcomed, brought to the palace and received by him, and then take over the arsenal—"
"He wants to advertise the matter fittingly before we arrive officially, eh?" said O'Neill shrewdly. "Good idea. But, Bert! I don't know a thing about making shells."
"I do," said Burket cheerfully. "You'll learn. By the way, did you raise any money?"
"I'll have some later today. Don't know how much. Didn't you get an advance?"
"Wang side-stepped that." Burket grimaced. "We're to move tonight to some joint on the river, the Tsau-tang temple. Wang is sending over today, commanding rooms to be made ready for us. Day after tomorrow he'll send chairs and an escort. Bang-up reception. Suit you?"
O'Neill shrugged. At his mention of a shadower and the remark he had overheard, Burket nodded. The governor had known all about them; probably had known five minutes after their arrival. Nothing to be worried about. Wang was not a bad sort at all.
So O'Neill accepted the situation. They had been cleaned out in efforts at business, and had decided to go into what they knew best—soldiering. Both men were well, if not favorably, known. Even so, it was rather surprising that they could walk into Chengtu and be placed in charge of the arsenal; on the other hand, nothing is surprising in China of today, where anything conceivable may happen in the course of the day's work.
"A BAG of silver dollars and a bill on a Shansi banker, good anywhere, for a couple of thousand, gold," said Terence O'Neill cheerfully.
"Grand! That'll keep us for a while. What does the note say?"
O'Neill crumpled up the vermilion paper. The messenger from Lui Sung had come and gone, and the two friends were packing up for their change of abode.
"Nothing definite. An intimation that I'd better clear out. Poor old Lui! He's one of the sufferers from advancing enlightenment. Well, let's go."
A sedan chair was awaiting them. In five minutes, they were on their way.
O'Neill perceived the futility of dwelling on the warning from Lui. Bert Burket was an incorrigible optimist, with a superb confidence in his own ability combined with that of O'Neill. He had that day accomplished a real feat, and accepted it as such, yet O'Neill was not satisfied. He knew that the German in charge of the arsenal had recently died, leaving the post vacant, but still he wondered why, having an accurate knowledge of Wang.
Wang nominally ruled most of Szechuan. His actual authority was limited to the Chengtu district, with its population of twelve hundred to the square mile, the richest portion of China, far from Manchuria and threats of war, with the peaks of Tibet on the horizon. Wang was one of the newer type of bandit rulers, personally charming but collectively worthless, that had reduced China to chaos.
"Know anything about this temple place?" asked Burket, as their chair swayed along.
"Sure. The poet Tu Tzu-mei, the friend of Li Po, lived there in the eighth century. His temple, on the site of his residence, is close to the main temple. It's one of the prettiest places in China. You'll see for yourself. There's the Lo-han Bridge ahead; almost there now."
By nature an intensely practical person, Burket cared little for scenery, and there was little to be seen of the place that night; the Buddhist monk who received them took them to a quiet room by the river, severe but clean, with fresh sleeping mats. With morning, however, it was very different. Even Burket was amazed and deeply impressed by the buildings, by the courtyards abloom with magnolias and orchids, and insisted on O'Neill getting out for an early walk.
Upon this walk hung the scales of destiny.
The immense oak-grove, circled on three sides by the Chin River, that surrounded the buildings tempted them with its quiet and peace. They strolled along, Burket indulging in forceful and eager observations on how he meant to run the arsenal, and presently came back to the temple entrance. Here, O'Neill halted at sight of a woman beggar who sat beside the walk, a bowl before her. Something in her face, although she was blind, struck at him. A monk was approaching, and O'Neill went up to him with a greeting.
"Who is this woman?" he asked. "Why is a woman permitted to beg in the temple grounds?"
The monk fingered his rosary, darted a glance around, and looked hard at the speaker.
"Honorable sir, she is the daughter of the Yu family."
"Impossible!" exclaimed O'Neill. "Why, I knew Yu Shen-tsai well! He was immensely wealthy, his family went back to the Han Dynasty, he owned farms across the river—"
"He is now crippled, old and living in a hut by the stream," said the monk. "This woman is his daughter and supports him by begging. She also is blind, as you can see. Through respect for her family, the abbot permits her to remain here, and sees that she does not lack food if pious alms are not given her."
"How did this happen?" demanded O'Neill. The monk lowered his voice.
"The governor seized all that Yu owned, and had him beaten with rods until he gave up the secret of his buried wealth; this made him a cripple. Also, the governor desired this woman to bear him sons, but Yu refused to sell her. The governor even offered marriage, and the woman spat upon his gifts. So he had her blinded, being angry, and spoiled her beauty."
"The governor?" said O'Neill, looking at the woman whom he had once known as a girl. "Not the present governor?"
"Of course," said the monk, and then went his way, rather hastily, for he was afraid.
Burket heard the story without any great emotion, and frowned upon O'Neill's heated commentaries. As he pointed out, it was in no way unusual, either for China or for Russia of late years; in fact, the Yu family were lucky to be surviving at all.
O'Neill shrugged and said no more. Yet he remembered the stately old Yu, who traced his unbroken family strain for two thousand years, and he remembered this blind woman as a girl, reared in the most delicate luxury, in the most artificial and sheltered manner imaginable, and could not get the picture out of his mind.
RETURNING to their room, they breakfasted, and then
O'Neill left Burket to his own devices and sought one of the
secluded nooks by the stream. Here, he settled down in solitude,
looking out across the sail-dotted water, puffing at his pipe,
trying to reach some solution of the problem that had arisen
before him.
"I can't go back on Bert, now that he's landed a big thing," he reflected. "If I told him how I feel, he'd throw up the job. But devil take it all! I've got a big bone to settle with Wang, and I'm inclined to go right to work settling it, even if we do need the job. Hm! Discretion battles impulse. Common sense fights against a hot imagination. When in doubt, cool off."
He proceeded to cool off, after his own fashion.
His first hot Irish impulse was to leap into things with both fists. He had a score of his own to settle with Wang. Also, he suspected the wily governor of having some trick hidden behind his offer of the arsenal.
If there were none, however, he could not fly off the handle. This would embroil Bert Burket with Wang, and would lose him a very solid and substantial job. No, it would not do. For an hour O'Neill sat there by the stream, meditating, still unsettled in his own mind about the whole thing, still fighting against temptation. When at length he started back to his quarters, he had come to no decision, but he felt cool and clear-headed. Well it was, too, for on gaining their room, he found Burket striding up and down in a towering rage, and beside his own sleeping-mat was a large wicker case.
"What's up?" he demanded abruptly.
"Everything. There's a present for you from Wang. His private secretary was just here."
O'Neill opened the case and produced a brocade-covered box. From this he took the several sections of a gold and copper hat-rack, ten inches high, magnificently enameled on a background of imperial yellow. It looked like a terrestrial globe on a standard, but the globe was pierced with numerous circles of filigreed gold. O'Neill eyed it grimly.
"And what's the thing for?" demanded Burket, his high-boned features flushed with anger.
"Hat-rack, Chinese style, for a mandarin's cap. Incense tray inside the globe. The cap is reverently placed on the globe, the incense is lighted, and the cap is perfumed. This particular piece is from the Palace of Heaven. Beautiful thing. My father had it as a present from a Manchu prince, years ago."
"Oh!" said Burket. "So this is one of your father's things, eh? Wang had his nerve!"
O'Neill nodded, his eyes glinting a trifle. "A gentle hint of what? It remains to be seen. Package of incense inside, too. All ready to shoot. Well, what's got you all riled up?"
Burket grunted. "The secretary chap. His brother's the Commissioner of Public Safety, which means chief of police. Smooth devil, too. Old man, I'm cursed sorry I got you into this mess! Damn it, I don't know what to do."
"Spill the news," and O'Neill smiled a little. "They want you to shake me?"
"How did you guess?" Burket stared at him.
"It fits in. Well, go ahead. I'm not sensitive. What's their suggestion?"
"We're to go to the yamen tomorrow morning in time for luncheon. Wang receives us both first, then I'm to go and talk business with the secretary while he talks to you. This bird felt me out today to see if I'd come through, and I assured him I would. I mean to kick him out of his pants, but I want to do it in the yamen, you see. Only I'm worried about spoiling things for you. This chap intimated that Wang had decided on keeping only one of us, that the other would have to go. Didn't say which, but hinted that if I—"
O'Neill broke into a peal of laughter. He sprang up and caught the other in his arms, his eyes dancing.
"And I've been hanging fire over spoiling your chances, Bert! Tell me, do you want to play with Wang and run his arsenal?"
"Upon my soul, I want nothing better than to kick this secretary chap until he's blue in the face!" said Burket. "The dirty, lowdown rascal—"
"It'll queer you with Wang."
"Wang be cursed!" roared Burket. "And his arsenal with him! What do you mean, that you were hanging fire? What about?"
"Everything," said O'Neill, and regarded the gorgeous enameled hat-rack speculatively. "I saw some cats running around outside. Go catch one, like a good chap, will you? They're tame. I'd like to burn a little incense for the good of the cat's soul."
"Hm!" said Burket. "I don't savvy it."
"You will," and O'Neill's voice rang like steel. "You will, or I'm a Dutchman!"
AT eleven the following morning, a magnificent sedan-chair on high, upcurved poles came for each of the two new colonels. Each chair contained a spick and span uniform, and a full-blown general commanded the escort of soldiers.
Disdaining to don the uniforms, the two friends entered the chairs, O'Neill carrying the hat-rack in its case. The escort broke into a trot and the procession got under way. Outside the south gate of the city, it was met by a further guard of honor. Flags waved, drums and trumpets pierced the air, brazen gongs lifted high clamor, and like visiting princes, the two white men were borne to the yamen of the governor.
Then through the many gateways, through the yamen buildings, across the courtyard to the residence of Wang himself. Here the self-styled field-marshal stood, with half a dozen officers, and gravely shook hands and welcomed the two to Chengtu, and turned into the building with them. A little over forty, Wang looked every inch the soldier, and one accustomed to Chinese faces would read some surprising things in his smooth, apparently boyish features with the heavy-lidded eyes. Before alighting, O'Neill had handed the case to an officer, asking him to bring it inside, and Wang had given the box one sharp glance, but without comment.
Passing into the hall of audience, Wang seated himself, straightened the decorations on his uniform tunic, and eyed the two approaching white men. His officers were around him, and there were plenty of guards close at hand. Burket, bulking above O'Neill, strode up and a seat was brought for him, but none for O'Neill. Wang addressed them in French.
"Messieurs, I am glad to see you. Contracts have been prepared and signed; my secretary will attend to this matter presently. Colonel Burket, as commander of the arsenal, you will have living quarters within the grounds; so will your assistant, Colonel O'Neill. I trust this will be satisfactory?"
"Eminently," said Burket, and launched into a glowing, eulogistic speech about the new regime in Chengtu, whereat Wang almost purred in delight.
O'Neill followed suit, but now Burket gave him a quickly-veiled glance of astonishment, for his usual crisp, business-like utterance was completely lost. He spoke in a loose-lipped way that drew slight smiles to the saffron faces watching him, and his speech meandered all over the place; he was very obviously a fatuous, impressionistic sort of ass, and made it quite plain that his mind was filled with folly.
Then he broke into a paean of thanks for the gift that had been sent him, speaking now in Mandarin, and appeared to hold Wang in the most grateful esteem.
"Although you know it not, venerable ancestor," he exclaimed, "in my childhood, this same object stood in my home, and was frequently used by my father. In fact, before his death, he hid away a great treasure, an enormous treasure in pure gold, and left the secret of it with this very hat-stand, that none might find it. I have searched half across China for it, all in vain—until it came to my unworthy hand as a gift. And now, I have only to light the incense afresh and bring out the concealed writing on the surface of the enamel—and behold! There will be great treasures to be found. All of which I owe to you."
"They are hidden in this city?" asked Wang with unconcealed interest.
"Close to the city, venerable maternal uncle, very close! In a certain place known to no one, not even to me. Last night, unfortunately, I was ill with fever, and did not try to learn the hiding place. The heat of the incense brings out the secret writing."
"I should like to see it done," said Wang, his eyes glittering a little. O'Neill laughed.
"What? Here in public? No, no! This humble slave is no such fool, excellency. I have brought the hat-stand with me. Perhaps the venerable ancestor would like to see it done in private? That would be different, of course. No one else can read the writing, because it is in a secret code known only to me."
Wang looked away, to the officer who held the case, and motioned with his hand.
"Let it be taken into my private office," he said. "Colonel Burket, if you will join my secretary, you may discuss details with him and sign the contracts. Colonel O'Neill will be with you presently, when he has shown me this interesting matter. You will not object, Colonel O'Neill, if two of my bodyguard remain with me?"
"If you are certain that they are faithful men, venerable ancestor!" said O'Neill, in the naive manner he had assumed. His words caused a smile to appear and vanish again on the faces around. Wang rose, beckoned forward two soldiers of his bodyguard, and ordered them to go into his private office. He turned in at the entrance himself, spoke rapidly to them, and then beckoned O'Neill. The latter turned to Burket.
"Don't kick too fast," he said in English. "Wait till I send for you."
He passed into the private office, a large, sunny room strictly Occidental in style, strictly business in its air of simple efficiency. A desk heaped with papers, a few chairs, maps on the wall; nothing more. Here, Wang became the governor, alertly ruling. He was seated at the desk, the two soldiers stood at either side of the door with drawn pistols, their eyes on Terence O'Neill, who seemed quite at his ease.
The latter lit a cigarette, offered his case to Wang, who accepted, then slid back the cover of the wicker box on the desk.
"Have you incense, honorable ancestor?" he asked. "There was some with this gift, but it fell into a dish of water, unfortunately."
Wang nodded, as though this had answered some mental query, and from a drawer of the desk produced a box of incense. O'Neill got out the hat-stand and fitted it together, took off the lid of the globe and dumped incense into the tray. Lighting it, he fitted on the lid and took a step back.
"There!" he exclaimed, as the first curl of grayish fumes issued from the filigreed openings, rising into the air in serrated patterns. "Now watch this central swell of the enamel and you will see something."
Wang regarded it intently. So did O'Neill, who leaned forward and deposited his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk, then examined the hat-stand attentively on either side. As he did this, he came between Wang and the two men at the door, to whom his back was turned.
"Look!" He pointed quickly. "I said you should see something! Look!"
"What?" Wang leaned forward a little, frowning. "There is nothing there—"
"No, but here is something."
The pistol seemed to leap from under O'Neill's coat into his hand and covered Wang. The men at the door could not see it. Suddenly jerked from the smoking hat-rack, Wang's attention was centered on the weapon gaping at him from across the corner of the desk. His saffron face paled slightly. He sat motionless.
"Tell them to go out, leave us alone, that we are not to be disturbed," said O'Neill in French. "Either that or—take your chance!"
Wang was taking no chances. This was not his nature by a good deal, although he had full store of courage.
When the door closed, he leaned back in his chair and regarded his visitor.
"You justify your reputation, honorable sir."
"Thank you, venerable ancestor. So do you."
Wang smiled slightly at this. "It was a lie, about the treasure? I see that your manner has changed."
"A lie? Of course," said O'Neill cheerfully. "I tried out that incense you sent me on a cat. The cat died very quickly. So now we're talking business."
Wang's lips tightened a little at this information, and at the hard glint in the gray eyes before him.
"You must be mad to attempt this," he said slowly.
"Of course," agreed O'Neill. "You put men on my trail, telling them I was to be killed when the word was given. Why?"
Wang gestured with one slender hand. "I was not glad to hear that you had come to Chengtu. You are known to be audacious, a man who makes trouble, without respect for authority."
"Also because you had seized my father's treasures," said O'Neill, and Wang nodded. "And those treasures—where are they now, the others?"
"Gone," returned Wang calmly. "Gifts here and there. Some were sold. This hat-stand is the last, so I gave it to you."
"I appreciate your humor," and O'Neill chuckled. "Now let us speak of a man named Yu, and his daughter. Perhaps you remember them?"
Wang's eyes narrowed. "What are they to you?"
"Much," said O'Neill. "But take out the pistol that is in your holster, and the pistol in that desk drawer; lay them here in front of me. Try a shot, if you like—that is, if you think you can beat the pressure of my finger."
Wang looked into the cold gray eyes, and realized fully that he had best not try the experiment. He drew out his pistol, laid it down on the desk, and added to it a pistol from the top drawer. O'Neill took the two weapons, removed the clips of cartridges, returned them.
"There you are. Now, venerable Wang, you are going to do exactly as I tell you. If you raise any alarm, make any signal, I shall not kill you—that is, at once. No! But I shall take you by the shoulders and kick you very hard and severely, you understand? Before all your men. And you know enough about me to realize that it will be done."
Wang certainly did, for stories had gone far and wide about this wild Irishman.
It is certain that while Wang would have been cautious before the threat of a bullet, he would ultimately have risked it or disregarded it. The threat of a good sound kicking and manhandling was infinitely worse. Not only did his Chinese soul rebel in horror before the mere thought of being struck, but his pride and dignity were threatened at the very root. If such a thing happened in public, he would lose face.
To a man of his stamp, in his present position, face meant everything. By it he ruled, with no more right to power than had any of his officers. Let him lose face, and above all at the hands of a foreign devil, and he would not last a day. He knew it, and O'Neill knew it—and he knew that O'Neill knew it.
"Once before," said O'Neill slowly, repeating a story that Wang had previously heard, "I slapped the face of a tu-chun, slapped it hard. Now he has lost his province and clings to one small city, and men despise him. Remember this, honorable Wang. Summon your secretary, who will be accompanied by Colonel Burket. Give him an order to place ten thousand silver dollars in the hand of the man Yu, and another ten thousand in that of his daughter immediately. Have him write a notice, which you will seal and sign here, that Yu and his daughter are under your protection, and that they shall remain under your protection indefinitely, with all honor due them. Have this notice placed before the door of the yamen, that the whole city may read it. Tell your secretary to order luncheon served here to us three, privately, and let him depart."
Wang regarded him fixedly. "And suppose, after you are dead," he asked, "that I disregard this notice and take back this money of which you rob me?"
"After all the city has read it?" O'Neill laughed a little, and got out his cigarettes. "Not much. Besides, your secretary will tell them to go at once to the Christian university in the south suburb and place themselves under the protection of the foreign devils. Well, get along with your business, honorable Wang. I shall be here, close at your elbow, remember?"
Wang reached out and pressed a button on his desk.
"You do not expect to escape me?" he asked calmly.
"I do," said O'Neill, lighting his cigarette. "But I shan't tell you how, at the moment."
It was clear that Wang could not quite credit his own position, was inwardly bewildered and adrift, unable to focus his faculties. Knowing the type of man with whom he dealt, O'Neill had counted on exactly this point. A couple of pipes of opium would make Wang a very different person, but O'Neill did not intend to allow them.
The secretary entered, with Burket at his heels and a number of officers following. A low word from O'Neill, and Wang curtly ordered these others out. The doors closed. Wang gave his orders. The secretary, looking anything but happy, sat down at his own table and fell to work with brush and paper. Burket gave O'Neill an inquiring look, and the latter nodded cheerfully.
"Sorry, Bert," he observed, "but your ambition must be postponed in the interests of better government. Have a cigarette?"
The other assented. O'Neill gave his close attention to the dictation, made one or two slight changes in the wording, impressed Wang with his alertness. When it was finished, Wang ordered luncheon served privately here, adding that he had certain important business with his two new colonels. The secretary departed.
"Watch him closely, Bert," said O'Neill in French. "If anything goes wrong, beat him up brutally. If nothing goes wrong, he saves face."
Wang lost his temper for an instant.
"You fools!" he cried angrily. "Do you expect to rob me and get away?"
O'Neill regarded him with a cold and glittering eye.
"Yes," he said. The one word, no more; so pregnant was it with unuttered things that Wang shrank from it, shrank from the cold, steady gaze, as from a blow.
And in this fashion, Governor Wang lunched with his two honored guests.
AS Terence O'Neill afterward confessed, it would have made a grand story had he held to his plan and made his getaway in a blaze of fireworks. He had every step of it schemed to the last detail; but human nature and champagne intervened. For there was copious champagne, of the best quality, served with the interminable Chinese meal, and Wang partook thereof.
The three talked of this and that, chiefly of China and her problems, but Wang listened more than he talked. His shrewd eyes flitted from the incisive, laughing O'Neill to the more prosaic and commonsense Burket; he watched them meditatively, appraisingly, and sipped his champagne.
"Do you know," he asked abruptly, "that I am governor of Szechuan?"
"I knew that you appointed yourself governor and field-marshal," said O'Neill coolly, "and that Nanking perforce confirmed it. But you don't govern outside of Chengtu and its district."
"Exactly," said Wang blandly. "That is just the trouble. Nominally, the general ruling each city acknowledges my authority; that is as far as it goes. Some of your father's treasures, by the way, were gifts to these generals. For instance, the watch sent by Louis XVI of France to the Emperor Chien-Lung in 1783 was given to General Cheng, at Suifu."
"In the presence of debtors," asked O'Neill ironically, "is it good form to mention debts?"
Wang smiled thinly.
"Yes, if the mention will turn them from enemies into allies," he said. "Allow me to occupy the table of my secretary for a few moments."
O'Neill nodded. Wang settled himself at the table, selected a brush, and fell to work, with Burket at his elbow, watching him closely. O'Neill waited, curious to see what the Oriental mind of Wang had evolved, and alert for some trap or trick. Wang wrote on, took up his jade seal, smeared it with vermilion, and affixed his seal to the paper. Then he looked up.
"May I ask how you expected to leave Chengtu?" he asked. O'Neill looked at him for a moment and then shrugged.
"Certainly. By air. When we landed here yesterday, I observed an excellent Fokker two-seater at the port, and heard that it had just arrived—the nucleus of your air force."
"I have several other planes," said Wang gently. "And you desired money from me, perhaps?"
"Undoubtedly," said O'Neill. "I think twenty thousand Mex would be about right."
Wang lit a cigarette. "I desire to make a proposal," he said. "You might or might not get away. If you did, I would send wires everywhere that you had stolen my plane and money; then we would be definite enemies. Now, it is quite true that I do not want you here; after what has taken place, I want to see neither of you again, and if you return, you shall be shot on sight. This, however, need not make us enemies."
He smoked thoughtfully for a moment, then resumed his slow and careful proposal.
"There are no other men like you in this country," he said. "But there are many generals who flout my authority. I shall draw up a list of my complaints against each one; each will be fined a large sum. I shall fine General Cheng, for example, fifty thousand China dollars, since he has grown rich at Suifu."
"How do you expect to collect?" asked Burket amusedly.
"Through you." Wang extended the paper he had written to O'Neill. "Here is your appointment as my foreign advisors, with the rank of general. I will give you that Fokker airplane, and you may go. You shall be my agents. Half of all the fines you collect shall be yours. Remember, however, you are not to return here! You are given full authority to act in my name. I believe you will not abuse it."
O'Neill's twinkling eyes met those of Burket, and for an instant he was close to a burst of laughter. This proposal was typically Chinese, typical of men like Wang. Caught in a pinch, the enemy was bought off handsomely and made an ally—with the very obvious hope that his neck would be stretched by someone else.
As he glanced over the document, however, O'Neill was startled into sober reflection. He perceived in the writing, firm and precise, a flash of the undoubted character and genius that had made this man Wang what he was today. He perceived in the proposal much that lay beneath the surface. Wang saved face publicly, got rid of two most undesirable gentlemen, pitched them into keenly dangerous work, and if they lost—was out nothing. If they won, he won largely, and they paid themselves.
"Upon my word!" said O'Neill, looking up. "Bert, this is exactly as he says. Yes or no?"
"Might be safer to run him out to the airport as we planned, and make our getaway," said Burket, and drew a coin from his pocket. "Heads, yes. Tails, no."
He spun the coin, and it fell heads.
TWENTY minutes later, the shiny automobile of Governor
Wang, the only automobile in all Chengtu, left the yamen
with proud escort before and behind, with siren blaring and flags
waving, and bumped its slow way to the airport outside the
tremendous walls. Only once did it halt, as it passed the palace
gateway of the ancient Han emperors. Wang leaned forward and
pointed to the four characters graven there above the entrance,
and still legible.
"You see those?" he said, and read them aloud. "Wei kuo chiu hsie—Seek wise men to serve the State! That was the motto of the wise men of old. And that, gentlemen, is also my motto. That is why I have employed you."
He glanced at the secretary beside him. This assiduous soul was already making a note of the saying, preserving to posterity the wisdom of his master.
"Hey! That motto stuff is all boloney!" shouted Bert Burket, leaning forward and tapping O'Neill on the shoulder as the Fokker mounted into the blue sky. "Do you know what a hat-rack is for, feller? To hang something on, of course."
O'Neill glanced at the wicker box under his feet.
"Sure," he rejoined, his voice blaring above the roar of the motor. "Sure. And he hung something on us, all right. Who cares?"
"Not I," rejoined Burket, settling back comfortably. "On your way, General, and don't run into any trucks, you wild Irishman!"
O'Neill grinned happily.