The Mandarin's Fan
one else solve the third line, and the fourth also if he likes. My
advice to you is to marry a dollar heiress."
Rupert looked savage. "I love Miss Rayner, and I marry her, or no one."
Tidman selected another cigar carefully. "I think you are wrong," said
he decisively, "you have only a small income it's true, but you have
this grand old place, a fine old name, and you ain't bad-looking. I
guess Miss Jonathan of N'Yr'k would just jump at you."
"I love Olivia Rayner," repeated Ainsleigh doggedly.
"But the obstacles my dear Don Quixote," argued the Major lighting the
cigar, "you are poor and she, at the most, will inherit only a few
hundreds a year from that aunt of hers. And that mass of granite Miss
Wharf, don't like you, nor does her companion, the Pewsey cat."
"Why do you call her a cat--the harmless creature."
"Because she _is_ a cat," said Tidman sturdily, "she'd scratch if she
got a chance for all her velvet paws. But she hates you as old Miss
Wharf does. Then there's Lady Jabe--"
"Oh heavens," said Rupert and made a wry face.
"You may well say that. She's a bullying Amazon of uncertain age. But
she'll do her best to catch Olivia for her nephew Chris Walker."
"Oh he's a nice enough fellow," said Rupert still pacing the terrace.
"I've got nothing to say against him, except that he'd better keep out
of my way. And after all Olivia would never marry a clerk in a
tea-merchant's firm."
"But he's nephew to Lady Jabe."
"What of that. She's only the widow of a knight and hasn't a penny to
leave him. Why should she want him to marry Olivia?"
"Because Miss Wharf will leave Olivia five hundred a year. Lady Jabe
will then live on the young couple. And see here Ainsleigh, if you marry
Olivia with that income, you won't be taking to wife the poor girl
mentioned in the curse."
"Oh hang the curse," said Rupert crossly.
"By all means," said Tidman serenely, "you didn't bring me here to talk
of that did you?"
"No. I want to ask your advice?"
"I've given it--unasked. Marry a dollar-heiress, and let old Jabe make
Olivia her niece-in-law. By doing so you will be released from your
pecuniary difficulties, and will also escape the hatred of Miss Wharf
and that Pewsey cat, who both hate you."
"I wonder why they do?"
"Hum," said Tidman discreetly. He knew pretty well why Miss Wharf hated
his host, but he was too wise to speak, "something to do with a love
affair."
"What's that got to do with me?"
"Ask me another," replied Major Tidman vulgarly, for he was not going to
tell a fiery young man like Rupert, that Markham Ainsleigh, Rupert's
father, was mixed up in the romance, "and I wish you would sit down," he
went on irritably "you're walking like a cat on hot bricks. What's the
matter with you?"
"What's the matter," echoed Ainsleigh returning to the arm-chair. "I
asked you here to tell you."
"Wait till I have another glass. Now fire ahead." But Rupert did not
accept the invitation immediately. He looked at the lovely scene spread
out before him, and up to the sky which was now of a pale primrose
colour. There was a poetic vein in young Ainsleigh, but troubles from
his earliest childhood had stultified it considerably. Ever since he
left college had he battled to keep the old place, but now, it seemed as
if all his trouble had been in vain. He explained his circumstances to
the Major, and that astute warrior listened to a long tale of mortgages
threatened to be foreclosed, of the sale of old and valuable furniture,
and of the disposal of family jewels. "But this last mortgage will
finish me," said Rupert in conclusion. "I can't raise the money to pay
it off. Miss Wharf will foreclose, and then all the creditors will come
down on me. The deluge will come in spite of all I can do."
Major Tidman stared. "Do you mean to say that Miss Wharf--"
"She holds the mortgage."
"And she hates you," said Tidman, his eyes bulging, "huh! This is a nice
kettle of fish."
Rupert threw himself back in the deep chair with an angry look. He was a
tall finely built young man of twenty-five, of Saxon fairness, with
clear blue eyes and a skin tanned by an out-door life. In spite of his
poverty and perhaps because of it, he was accurately dressed by a crack
London tailor, and looked singularly handsome in his well-fitting
evening suit. Pulling his well-trimmed fair moustache, he eyed the tips
of his neat, patent leather shoes gloomily, and waited to hear what the
Major had to say.
That warrior ruminated, and puffed himself out like the frog in the
fable. Tidman was thickset and stout, bald-headed and plethoric. He had
a long grey moustache which he tugged at viciously, and on the whole
looked a comfortable old gentleman, peaceful enough when let alone. But
his face was that of a fighter and his grey eyes were hot and angry. All
over the world had the Major fought, and his rank had been gained in
South America. With enough to live on, he had returned to the cot where
he was born, and was passing his declining days very pleasantly. Having
known Rupert for many years and Rupert's father before him, he usually
gave his advice when it was asked for, and knew more about the young
man's affairs than anyone else did. But the extent of the ruin, as
revealed by the late explanation, amazed him. "What's to be done?" he
asked.
"That's what I wish you to suggest," said Rupert grimly, "things are
coming to a climax, and perhaps when the last Ainsleigh is driven from
home, Abbot Raoul will rest quiet in his grave. His ghost walks you
know. Ask Mrs. Pettley. She's seen it, or him."
"Stuff-stuff-stuff," grumbled the Major staring, "let the ghost and the
curse and all that rubbish alone. What's to be done?"
"Well," said the young man meditatively, "either I must sell up, and
clear out to seek my fortune, leaving Olivia to marry young Walker,
or--"
"Or what?" asked Tidman seeing Rupert hesitating.
For answer Ainsleigh took a pocket-book from the lower ledge of the
table and produced therefrom a slip of printed paper.
"I cut that out of 'The Daily Telegraph,'" said he handing it to the
Major, "what do you make of it?"
Tidman mounted a gold pince-nez and read aloud, as follows:--
"The jade fan of Mandarin Lo-Keong, with the four and half beads and the
yellow cord. Wealth and long life to the holder, who gives it to Hwei,
but death and the doom of the god Kwang-ho to that one who refuses.
Address Kan-su at the Joss-house of the Five Thousand Blessings, 43
Perry Street, Whitechapel."
"A mixture of the Far East and the Near West, isn't it?" asked Rupert,
when the Major laid down the slip and stared.
"Lo-Keong," said Tidman searching his memory, "wasn't that the man your
father knew?"
"The same. That is why I cut out the slip, and why I asked you to see
me. You remember my father's expedition to China?"
"Of course. He went there twenty years ago when you were five years of
age. I was home at the time--it was just before I went to fight in that
Janjalla Republic war in South America. I wanted your father to come
with me and see if he couldn't make money: but he was bent on China."
"Well," said Rupert, "I understood he knew of a gold-mine there."
"Yes, on the Hwei River," Major Tidman snatched the slip of print and
read the lines again, "and here's the name, Hwei--that's strange."
"But what's stranger still," said Rupert, bending forward, "is, that I
looked up some papers of my father and learn that the Hwei River is in
the Kan-su province."
"Address Kan-su," murmured Tidman staring harder than ever. "Yes. It
seems as though this had something to do with your father."
"It _must_ have something to do with him," insisted Rupert, "my father
found that gold-mine near the Hwei River in the Kan-su province, and
Lo-Keong was the Boxer leader who protected my father from the enmity of
the Chinese. I believe he sent my father's papers to England--at least
so Dr. Forge says."
"Forge," cried Tidman rising, "quite so. He was with your father. Why
not see him, and ask questions."
"I'll do so. Perhaps he may tell me something about this fan."
"What if he does?"
"I might find it."
"And if you do?" asked the Major, his eyes protruding.
Rupert sprang to his feet and took up the slip. "Wealth and long life to
the holder who gives it to Hwei," he read: then replaced the slip in his
pocket-book, "why shouldn't I find that fan and get enough money to pay
off Miss Wharf and others and keep Royabay."
"But it's such a mad idea?"
"I don't see it. If it hadn't to do with my father it would be," said
Ainsleigh lighting his pipe, "but my father knew Lo-Keong, and by the
names Hwei and Kan-su, it seems as though the locality of the gold-mine
had something to do with the matter. I'll see old Forge and try to find
this fan." "Oh," said Tidman, a light breaking on him, "you think
Lo-Keong may have given the fan to your father?"
"Yes, and Forge may know what luggage and papers were sent home, at the
time my father died--"
"Was murdered you mean."
"We can't be sure of that," said Rupert his face flushing, "but I'll
find that out, and get hold of the fan also. It's my chance to make
money, and I believe Providence has opened this way to me."
CHAPTER II
DR. FORGE
Royabay was distant five miles from Marport, a rising watering place on
the Essex coast. In fact so large was the town, and so many the
visitors, that it might be said to be quite risen, though the
inhabitants insisted that it had not yet attained the height it yet
would reach. But be this as it may, Marport was popular and fashionable,
and many retired gentlepeople lived in spacious houses along the cliffs
and in the suburbs. The ancient town, which lay in a hollow, was left to
holiday trippers, and these came in shoals during the summer months.
There was the usual pier, the Kursaal, the theatre, many bathing
machines and many boarding houses--in fact the usual sort of things
which go to make up a popular watering-place. And the town had been in
existence--the new part at all events--for only fifteen years. Like
Jonah's gourd it had sprung up in a night: but it certainly showed no
signs of withering. In fact its attractions increased yearly.
Major Tidman was a wise man, and had not travelled over the world with
his eyes shut. He had seen colonial towns spring up and fade away, and
knew how the value of land increases. Thus, when he returned to his own
country with a certain sum of money, he expended the same in buying
land, and in building thereon. This policy produced a lot of money, with
which the Major bought more land and more houses. Now, he possessed an
avenue of desirable villa residences in the suburbs which brought him in
a good income, and which, by reason of their situation, were never
empty. The Major did not live here himself. He was a bachelor and fond
of company: therefore he took up his quarters in the Bristol Hotel, the
most fashionable in Marport. As he had shares in the company which built
it, he managed to obtain his rooms at a comparatively moderate rate.
Here he lived all the year round, save when he took a trip to the
Continent, and, as the Bristol was always full of people, the Major did
not lack company. As he was a good-humoured little man, with plenty of
small talk and a fund of out-of-the-way information, he soon became
immensely popular. In this way the crafty Major had all the comforts of
home and the delights of society without bearing the burden of an
establishment of his own. His sole attendant was a weather-beaten
one-eyed man, who acted as his valet, and who knew how to hold his
tongue.
Sometimes the Major would walk up town and inspect his property with
great pride. It was balm to his proud heart to walk up and down the