Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

unlamented husband, who made me do those things. Peter----" Her attitude seemed to undergo some sort of subtle change, as if she were bitterly amused. "You say you are not in love. Then what of the little golden-haired girl--the two little golden-haired girls--you left this afternoon on the bund?" "They and the young man are passengers on the _King of Asia_. I brought them ashore to give them an insight into China-as-it-really-is." "They are in very capable hands, then, Peter. Aren't you running some risk, though? Isn't there some chance that the men in the Jen Kee Road place may take it into their heads----" "I am on my word of honor, Romola. I have come back to China, not to start trouble, but simply because--well, why are you in China?" "Because I haven't the will to leave, perhaps. I stay here in the same spirit that a man or a woman lingers before a dreadful oil painting, like the shark picture of Sorolla; it is terrible, but it is fascinating. I cannot leave. If I did, I would come back, as you come back, time after time. Is that why you've come back?" "Exactly." "And you imagine you're running no risk with the two golden-haired maids in tow?" Peter shook his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shouldn't have exposed them to danger. But they were determined, and it's partly to help the young man. Anthony is a plain American business man. He's in love with the youngest. And she, a hero worshipper. He wants to demonstrate himself." She interrupted in a whisper. "Peter, tell me, why is it? What have you ever done? What do you say? Why--why is it?" Peter the Brazen was looking at her blankly. She made a gesture of resignation with her beautiful white hands. "Well, never mind. Tell me more about Anthony." "Anthony believes that if he can demonstrate his valor to Peggy, she will come to his arms. He really is a fine, upstanding fellow. I had intended bringing them to Ching Tong's place out Bubbling Wells way, harmless enough and watched by the police of nine nations. Ching Tong, being a friend who will put himself out for me, will play the part of a very bad villain. Anthony's revolver is loaded with blanks. Mine isn't, but that's just my cowardly nature. You can never tell what might turn up, you know." "Naturally. Go on." "I intend to have Ching Tong stage a very realistic fight down in his cellar, in which Anthony can overpower eight or ten Chink giants, escape out of the window with the fainting Peggy in his arms, and--and----" "Simple enough," admitted Romola, with a mild frown. She drew him to a broad, low bench. "Somehow," she went on, "your idea rather appeals to me, too. I liked Anthony's looks--what I saw of him. And I rather liked the two little girls--twins, aren't they?" Peter nodded. "The heavenly twins!" "I think I'd quite agree with that plan, Peter, if you didn't happen to be in such disrepute in this neighborhood. You must realize that the Gray Dragon's men are watching you. Of course, you didn't recognize your rickshaw coolie. He is one of the Gray Dragon's men--naturally. Don't you think you are exposing those two nice girls unnecessarily to danger?" Peter lighted two cigarettes, and passed one of them to Romola. She accepted it with an air of abstraction and puffed slowly, blowing out a thin stream of pale smoke. "But circumstances are changed now. You see, I am on the fence--perfectly safe." "They are still anxious for you to come with them?" "That's it. They sent a representative last trip all the way to San Francisco." "Of course you refused? Peter----" Her soft, white hand was resting on his; her red lips were very close to his face. "Why don't you join them? You and I!" "You and I?" She nodded earnestly. Peter drew back a few inches. "I said 'no' when you asked me that before. No, I'll have nothing to do with that band--never! Going out into the wilderness, up into the mountains on some of their risky errands--with you--might have appealed to me. Not now!" "Peter, I am afraid I still love you!" "And yet, Romola, I'm not afraid of falling in love with you--again! But let's not speak of joining that man in Len Yang. What you're offering is--too tempting. I might give in! You are altogether too fascinating!" "Am I?" "I've told you that before." "Then you will go up-river with me?" "No--never! Why, you almost make me suspect that you're still in that beast's employ." "I never was. I told you that." "You've said many things that didn't stand the acid, Romola." He stood up, looking down at her with whimsical tenderness. She was very beautiful, and when she took on that forlorn air she had the appearance of a helpless, small girl. He wondered if he would ever regret his refusal. "Ching Tong must have time to make arrangements, and I have a dinner engagement at the Astor House with Anthony and the heavenly twins. Can't you and I have tea to-morrow afternoon?" Romola came to him and put her two hands on his shoulders. "No," she said. "We must not be seen together. It may mean danger for you. I've been thinking over your plan to convert Anthony into an adventurer. Why not bring them all here. I have seven servants, all Chinese, and they would give their lives for me. Let me see----" She bit her upper lip thoughtfully. "You can tell them that this place is--well, the heart of the Chinese smuggling trade. It's ridiculous, but it will appeal to them. I will dress up as a Chinese woman--oh, I've done it dozens of times in the past--and I shall be very mysterious. That will seem much more romantic to Peggy than a mere opium den. And it will be safer. I know Ching Tong's shop. It might do, if you were an ordinary person, Peter, but such an adventure should be provided with at least five times as many exits! I have them here." Peter looked at her doubtingly, although the idea appealed to him. Outriding his admiration of the idea, however, was a recurrence of his old impression of Romola Borria. He knew that he never had been a match for her cunning, her esoteric knowledge of China. "I have plenty of make-up pots. I'll paint up these _fokies_ to look like bandits! I'll have knives in their belts. And I'll plan the rehearsal before you come. Everything will be arranged." She seemed to hesitate. "You--you won't bring that dreadful automatic revolver of yours loaded--will you?" Peter smiled faintly. CHAPTER IV A light spring rain was drizzling down when Peter ordered four rickshaws of the proud Sikh who stood guard over the porte cochere of the Astor House. Long bright knives of light slithered across the wet pavement from the sharp arc lights on the Soochow bridge. The ghostly superstructure of a large and silent junk was thrown in silhouette against the yellow glow of a watchman's shanty across the dark canal, as it moved slowly in the current toward the Yellow Sea. It was a desolate night. The streets were deserted except for an occasional rickshaw with some mysterious bundled passenger, the footfalls of the coolies sounding with a faint squashing as of drenched sandals, slimy with the heavy sludge of the back-village streets. The world was lonely and awash. Peter busied himself with Peggy's comfort when the first rickshaw, dripping and wet, rattled up. He drew the waterproof robe up under her chin and fastened the loops, then tucked it in under her feet. Her cheeks were glowing with the pink of her excitement. Anthony meanwhile gave similar attention to the other twin. Peter glanced at his watch as they climbed in. He wondered how Anthony might be taking his first and relatively unimportant lap of their adventure, and he instructed his coolie, in "pidgin," to drop behind. Clear gray eyes shone with a confident reassurance. "You mustn't hit too hard, and be careful if you shoot your revolver to discharge it in the air. At close range even the wads from the blank cartridges are rather deadly." Anthony's clear voice came across to him: "Of course." They stopped at length before the rambling structure which was the abode of Romola Borria. The lamp was extinguished, probably beaten out long before by the pelting rain. Only a pale glow emanated from the place, this from a tiny upstairs window, covered over with oiled paper, and the only sounds were the ceaseless drip of the rain and the low gibberings of the coolies as they examined the coins given them in the greasy light of the rickshaw lanterns. Peggy, slipping her arm through Peter's and hugging him close to her, trembled with the excitement of anticipation. "We must not be separated," he warned them in a whisper. "Whatever happens--Peggy and Helen--stand close to us. In case of trouble, each of you stand behind whichever of us is nearest. Don't scream. Don't show any money. Peggy, put your pocketbook in your shirt-waist. Now--ready?" "Yes!" came the threefold whispering chorus. He raised his knuckles, and brought them down sharply--three times rapidly, twice slowly. Silence followed, the bristling silence of an aroused house. Slowly the door gave way, and a villainous-looking old Chinese in black beckoned with a long snake-like finger for them to enter. Only two candles now were burning on the lacquered rail in the smoky corridor. Curtains at the rear parted; there was a sweep of heavy silken garments, and a white-faced and beautiful woman made her way toward them. Deft employment of the make-up pot and painstaking searchings through a great number of trunks had blended a picture that was all but melodramatic. Romola Borria's wonderful dark hair was arranged in a great heap which sloped backward from her head. Her face was chalk white, from a bath in rice powder; her fine lips were curled in the most sinister of smiles; and her eyes glowed with a splendid abandon. She looked wicked; she radiated cruelty. And the twins gasped in sweet horror. It is probable that twin trickles of icy excitement chased up and down their twin spines. Anthony gaped, and his gray eyes expressed an unbounded infatuation. With a gracious stealth she moved beyond them, not once lowering her magnificent eyes, and shot a huge brass bolt in the door. They formed an expectant, a worshipful semicircle. In a low voice Peter made the introductions, dwelling at fastidious length upon the tremendous villainy of this slender sorceress, who swept him all the time with a proud and disdainful fire. She nodded stiffly at intervals. "The Princess Meng Da Tlang has a word to say to you." He bowed profoundly. "It is only this," said Romola Borria in tones as rich as the Kyoto temple gong, "what you have thus far seen, and what you are about to gaze upon, must always--forever--remain a secret within your hearts. Follow me." Romola, or the Princess Meng Da Tlang, floated down the dim corridor with a further silken rustle of skirts, and drew back the curtain at the far end. The quartette filed into a large and lofty room, flickering under the pallid flames of candles. The wax dripping from some of these hung like icicles or stalactites from the shallow bronze cups, and they illuminated a scene that was bizarre. The walls were burdened with heavy rugs which responded with a waxen sheen to the mystic light of the candles, and they were of the sombre hues of the China that passed its zenith many centuries ago. They served to give this place a solemn air of vast dignity and richness. Along the inner wall, placed so that it squarely commanded the doorway, grinned a huge green image of Buddha, surrounded by a clutter of brass candlesticks and mounted on a splendid throne of brass filigree underneath which red flames were burning.