The Mandarin's Fan
"Huh," said Burgh with contempt, "I guess I'd lay him out pretty smart.
I tell you, Major, I'm dead gone on that girl: but she treats me like a
lump of mud."
"And quite right too," said Tidman coolly, "you aren't worthy of her.
Now Ainsleigh is."
Clarence pitched away his cigarette with an irritable gesture. "Don't
get me riz," said he darkly, "or I'll make the hair fly with Ainsleigh."
"Pooh. He's quite able to look after himself."
"Can he shoot?" demanded the buccaneer.
"Yes. And use his fists, and fence, and lay you out properly. Confound
you, sir, don't you think I've travelled also. I've been in the Naked
Lands in my time, and have seen your sort growing on the banana plants.
You're the sort to get lynched."
"Oh, tie it up," said Burgh with sudden anger, for these remarks were
not to his mind. "I want to tell you about the fan."
"Why do you want to talk of that?" asked Tidman with suspicion, "I don't
care a straw for the fan."
"Oh, I reckon you do, Major. But you're well out of it. If you'd kept
that fan there would have been trouble--yes, you may look, but if you'd
held on to that article you'd have been a corpse by now."
Tidman sneered, not at all terrified by these vague threats. "What do
you mean by this drivel?"
"Let's come to anchor here," said Clarence pulling up beside a seat in a
secluded part, near the old town beach. "I'll spin the yarn."
"About the fan," said the Major sitting promptly. "I confess I am
curious to know how it came to England again, after Forge took it again
to the Far East. Didn't he give it to Lo-Keong?"
"So he says," said Clarence with a side-long look at his companion. "I
don't know myself. All I know is, that I got it from a pirate."
"From a pirate?"
"That's so. I was in Chinese waters a year or so ago, and I reckon
pirates swarm in those parts--"
Tidman shivered. "Yes," he admitted, "I had an adventure myself in
Canton with a pirate of sorts."
"Old Forge told me something about it," said Clarence lighting a fresh
cigarette, "but my yarn's different. I was out with some of the boys in
Chinese water, and a pirate tried to board us. We were down Borneo way,
looking out for a ruby mine said to be in those parts. My pals--there
were two of them, and myself engineering the job--hired a boat and cut
across to Borneo. The pirates tried to slit our throats and our Chinese
crew tried to help them. But we used our Winchesters and six shooters
freely, and shot a heap. The pirates cleared off and we brought our
barky into port safe enough."
"But about the fan?"
"I'm coming to that. The Boss pirate was shot by me--a big six foot
Northern Chinee, got up, to kill, like a tin god. He had this jade fan,
and directed operations with it. When his pals cleared I found him as
dead as a coffin and nailed the fan. It was pretty enough, but didn't
appeal to me much. I clapped it away in my box, and when I reached
England I offered it to Aunt Lavinia. She wants me to marry Miss Rayner,
and said I should offer it to her, and cut out that aristocratic
Ainsleigh chap. Olivia--ripping name, ain't it--well, she didn't catch
on, so I thought I'd gain the goodwill of old Miss Wharf, and passed it
along to her."
The Major listened in silence to this story, which seemed reasonable
enough. "Strange it should have come back to England, and to a small
place like this, where Forge had it," he mused. "A coincidence I
suppose. By the way did you see the advertisement?" he asked.
"You bet I did, and it made me sick to think I'd parted with the fan.
Leastways, it made me sick till I saw Hwei!"
"You mean Tung-yu."
"No, I don't. I mean the Chinee as calls himself Hwei, who put that
advertisement in every newspaper in London, and the United Kingdom."
"What, in everyone?" said the Major, "must have cost----"
"A heap you bet, Major. Well I struck Hwei--"
"That's the name of a river, man."
"Maybe: but it's what this celestial calls himself. I struck him near
the Mansion House, and knew him of old in Pekin I reckon, where we
chin-chined over some contraband biznai. I spoke to him in Chinese--I
know enough to get along on--and he told me he had come to this country
about Lo-Keong's fan. I never said I'd got it, though by that time I'd
seen the advertisement. I know Chinamen too well, to give myself away in
that fashion. I pumped him, and learned that Hwei intended to scrag the
chap who held the fan, so I concluded to lie low."
"But he offered wealth to whomsoever gave it up."
"Maybe. I don't know exactly how the thing figures out. I guess Hwei
does the killing, and Tung-yu the rewarding. But you can take it from
me, Major, that unless Miss Wharf gets rid of that fan she'll have her
throat cut. So I guess, you must be glad you didn't handle the biznai,"
and Clarence puffed a serene cloud of smoke.
"It's more of a mystery than ever," said the Major. And so it was.
CHAPTER VII
THE WARNING
The idea that the end of the year would see him ruined and homeless was
terrible to Rupert. Even if his home had been an ordinary house, he
would have been anxious; but when he thought of the venerable mansion,
of the few acres remaining, of the once vast Ainsleigh estates, of the
ruins of the Abbey which he loved, his heart was wrung with anguish. How
could he let these things depart from him, for ever? Yet he saw no way
out of the matter, although he had frequent consultations with his
lawyers. One day, shortly before the ball at the Bristol, he returned
from town with a melancholy face. Old Petley ventured to follow his
young master into the library, and found him with his face covered with
his hands, in deep despair.
"Don't take on so, Master Rupert," said the old butler, gently, "things
have not yet come to the worst."
"They are about as bad as they can be, John," replied Ainsleigh. "I have
seen Mr. Thorp. It will take thirty thousand pounds to put matters
right. And where am I to get it? Oh," the young man started up and
walked to and fro, "why didn't I go into the law, or take to some
profession where I might make money? Forge was my guardian, he should
have seen to it."
"Master Rupert," said the old butler, "do you think that gentleman is
your friend?"
"What makes you think he isn't, John?"
Petley pinched his chin between a shaky finger and thumb. "He don't seem
like a friend," said he in his quavering voice. "He didn't tell you or
me, Master Rupert, how bad things were. When you was at college he
should have told you, and then you might have learned some way of
getting money."
"My father trusted him, John. He was appointed my guardian by the will
my father made before he left for China."
"And Dr. Forge went with the master to China," said the old man, "how
did the master die?"
"Of dysentery, so Dr. Forge says."
"And others say he was murdered."
"Who says so, John?"
"Well sir, that Mandarin gentleman sent your father's papers and luggage
back here when your mother was alive. A Chinaman brought the things. He
hinted that all was not right, and afterwards the mistress died. She
believed your father was murdered."
Rupert looked pensive. He had heard something of this, but the story had
been so vague, and was so vague as John told it, that he did not believe
in it much. "Does Dr. Forge know the truth?" he asked.
"He ought to, sir. Dr. Forge came from China with a report of this gold
mine up in Kan-su, and your father was all on fire to go there and make
money. The mistress implored him not to go but he would. He went with
Dr. Forge, and never returned. The doctor, I know, says that the master
died of dysentery, when the doctor himself was at Pekin. But I never
liked that Forge," cried the old servant vehemently, "and I believe
there's something black about the business."
"But why should Forge be an enemy of my father's?"
"Ah sir," Petley shook his old head, "I can't rightly say. Those two
were at college together and fast friends; but I never liked Forge. No,
sir, not if I was killed for it would I ever like that gentleman, though
it's not for a person in my position to speak so. I asked the doctor
again and again to let me know how bad things were, when you were at
school, Master Rupert, but he told me to mind my own business. As if it
wasn't my business to see after the family I'd been bred up in, since
fifteen years of age."
"I'll have a talk with Dr. Forge," said Rupert after a pause, "if there
is any question of my father having been murdered, I'll see if he
knows," he turned and looked on the old man quickly. "You don't suppose
John that if there was a murder, he--"
"No! no!" cried Petley hurriedly, "I don't say he had to do with it. But
that Mandarin--"
"Lo-Keong. Why Forge hates him."
"So he says. But this Mandarin, as I've heard from the Major, is high in
favour with the Chinaman's court. If the doctor was his enemy, he could
not go so often to China as he does. And since your father's death
fifteen years ago, he's been back several times."
"Well I'll speak to him, John."
"And about the money, sir?"
Rupert sat down again. "I don't know what to do," he groaned. "I can
manage to stave off many of the creditors, but if Miss Wharf forecloses
the mortgage at Christmas everyone will come down with a rush and I'll
have to give up Royabay to the creditors."
"Never--never--that will never be," said John fiercely, "why the place
has been under the Ainsleighs for over three hundred years."
"I don't think that matters to the creditors," said Rupert wincing, "if
I could only raise this thirty-thousand and get the land clear I would
be able to live fairly well. There wouldn't be much; still I could keep
the Abbey and we could live quietly."
"_We_ sir?" asked the old man raising his head.
Rupert flushed, seeing he had made a slip. He did not want to tell the
old man that he was married, as he was fearful lest the news should come
to Miss Wharf's ears and render his wife's position with that lady
unbearable. "I might get married you know," he said in an evasive way.
"Lord, sir," cried Petley in terror, "whatever you do, don't cumber
yourself with a wife, till you put things straight."
"Heaven only knows how I am to put them straight," sighed Rupert. "I
say, John, send me in some tea. I'm quite weary. Thorp is coming to see
me next week and we'll have a talk."
"With Dr. Forge I hope," said old John, as he withdrew.
Ainsleigh frowned, when the door closed. Petley certainly seemed
possessed by the idea that Forge was an enemy of the Ainsleighs, yet
Rupert could think of no reason why he should be. He had been an
excellent guardian to the boy, and if he had not told him the full
extent of the ruin till it was too late to prevent it, he might have
done so out of pity, so that the lad's young years might be unclouded.
"Still it would have been better had he been less tender of my feelings
and more considerate for my position," thought Rupert as he paced the
long room.
While he was sadly looking out of the window and thinking of the wrench
it would be to leave the old place, he saw a tall woman walking up the
avenue. The eyes of love are keen, and Rupert with a thrill of joy
recognised the stately gait of Olivia. With an ejaculation of delight,
he ran out, nearly upsetting Mrs. Petley who was coming into the Library
with a dainty tea. Disregarding her exclamation of astonishment, Rupert
sprang out of the door and down the steps. He met Olivia half way near
the ruins of the Abbey. "My dearest," he said stretching out both hands,
"how good of you to come!" Olivia, who looked pale, allowed him to take
her hands passively. "I want to speak to you," she said quickly, "come
into the Abbey," and she drew him towards the ruins.