The tomb of Ts'in
He looked up at the detective.
Tillizinni had been infected with something of the fever which
possessed the other.
“What do you think?” asked Talham.
“I think it is a wonderful discovery,” said Tillizinni, and he meant
it, for that document to him was as precious as anything which Talham
might secure from the vaults beneath Mount Li.
It was written on paper of extraordinary texture. Indeed, it was as
thin as that quality which is known as “Indian paper” to-day.
Very few of the characters had been damaged, and such obliterations as
there were, were caused by the folds in the document.
Talham looked up with a puzzled frown.
“Still, this tells us nothing as to the locality of the mountain?” he
said.
Tillizinni shook his head.
“Curiously, I have never thought that the locality was ever likely to
be established,” he said. “Probably the Chinese ambassador referred to
the locality of the tomb rather than the exact geographical position
of the mountain.
“I have been looking through some books in the British Museum,” he
said, “and it appears that the Emperor had expressed a desire to be
buried in the land of his birth. As you knew, he was practically a
usurper of the Chinese throne. The Empire as we know it to-day had no
existence until he brought the provinces together into a united whole.
He was a sort of prehistoric Bismarck.”
“I have thought of that, too,” said Talham. “The old kingdom of Ts’in
was situated in a rough circle, of which the town of Hoo Sin is the
centre. It is obviously not the Mount Li in the neighbourhood of
Pekin.”
There was a long silence; which Talham broke.
“Delay,” he said, “is repugnant to the active mind; action is the
essence of vitality. Seconds, strenuously saved at one end, are
lessened hours of peace at the other.”
“When you have finished delivering these excellent maxims,” said
Tillizinni with a faint smile, “perhaps you will come to the point.”
“My point is this,” said Talham shortly; “we must go along and find
that tomb before somebody else discovers it. You see, we have the
information which was denied to De Costa and to his confederates--the
information contained in the jade bracelet.”
“We?” said Tillizinni, raising his eyebrows.
“We,” said Talham calmly. “You have been so kind to me, and have
offered me such hospitality, even going so far to advance me the small
sums which were necessary to my sustenance. No, no,” he went on, for
Tillizinni would have hushed him down, “these matters, material as
they are, show the tendencies of a soul. I once thought,” he mused,
but Tillizinni cut him short.
The orations of Captain Talham were inclined to err on the side of
longevity, and Tillizinni regarded himself as more or less ephemeral.
Besides which, Tillizinni had work to do, a description of Soo had
been circulated up and down the country, and every haunt which might
shelter him had been systematically searched. The ports were being
watched, and no Chinaman went on board an ocean-going liner without
first passing the strict scrutiny of detectives who were watching the
outgoing steamers. In spite of this fact no trace of the man could be
found.
Neither Talham nor Tillizinni agreed with the theory that he had been
drowned in his attempt to escape, and Talham, who invariably held
stronger views than most men, and expressed them with greater
strength, even went so far as to accompany the dragging parties on the
banks of the canal, and at intervals to deliver little speeches on the
futility of vain effort--an embarrassing situation from which
Tillizinni delivered the searchers by the exercise of his tact.
By Tillizinni’s instructions, the house in Curzon Street was watched
day and night. He had no illusions, he knew full well that if Soo
could strike a blow at Talham through the girl, he would do so.
The newspapers had arisen to the occasion and had referred exultantly
to the “bottling up” of the fugitive Chinaman. It was a little phrase
coined in a hurried moment which caught the fancy of the great public;
the “bottling up” of England to hold an escaping murderer, appealed to
the popular imagination.
Curiously enough, the greatest difficulty had been found in
identifying Soo with any known person in China. The Governor of
Tai-pan, with whom the Chinaman claimed relationship, had telegraphed
to his Government that his only son was pursuing his studies in
Nanking, and could not possibly be the wanted man.
Nevertheless, though the Chinese Government had promised every
assistance to bring the culprit to justice, and to thoroughly punish
him if he reached Chinese territory, Tillizinni knew that it was for
China that the man would make.
Talham had gone home, and the precious document had been locked in
Tillizinni’s safe, and he himself was preparing for a greatly-needed
night’s rest, when his sleepy servant brought a plain envelope
addressed to the detective.
“How did this come?” asked Tillizinni.
“By a little boy, sir,” said the man.
Tillizinni held the envelope to the light. It showed nothing more
sinister than a folded sheet of paper, and he slit it open. There were
only a few words, but those words were particularly interesting.
The letter was without superscription, and ran:
“Some day I will ‘bottle up’ somebody who is very precious to your
friend, and you may be sure that when she is once again in my hands,
nothing you can do will save her.”
Tillizinni re-read the letter and sent for the messenger.
The boy could tell him little, except that a man had given the letter
to him to deliver, and since the description of that man did not in
any way tally with the description of Soo, Tillizinni gathered that
the messenger originally sent, had chosen a deputy, for reasons of his
own.
He sent the boy away, read the letter for the third time, and after
telephoning to assure himself that the guards he had fixed in Curzon
Street were at their posts, he went to bed and slept as soundly as any
man could sleep who had not closed his eyes in slumber for forty-eight
hours.
It was broad daylight when his servant brought him in his chocolate
and toast. With it came one of the few letters which were addressed
personally to him. It was from Yvonne Yale, a charming little note of
thanks for the service he had rendered, but she made no mention of
Talham.
Tillizinni smiled.
Now that the excitement had passed, and the exhilaration of the rescue
subsided, he imagined that the girl might very properly blame Talham
for the part he had played. In this he was wrong, as he was to
discover.
He spent the whole of the day at Scotland Yard in the laboratory,
making experiments to demonstrate the value of a new finger-print
method.
He did not see Talham that night, nor the next day either, for the
matter of that, but on the third day following the discovery of the
paper, and the fourth after the abduction of the girl, Talham came to
see him in a state of great excitement.
“Soo is in London,” he said briefly, and seemed pleased with himself
that he could report information to the encyclopædia detective.
Tillizinni nodded.
“I know that,” he said.
“What is more,” said Talham, “I’ve been followed about for the last
two days by a couple of men. I tried to lure them into a dark court
last night to beat them up.”
“I’m very glad you didn’t,” said Tillizinni drily, “because those were
eminently respectable members of the Metropolitan Police, whom I have
put on to protect you from whatever harm might be coming to you.”
Talham looked a little crestfallen. He had come prepared to accept a
little praise from the other for his acumen and his powers of
perception.
“But how do you know that Soo is in London?” asked Tillizinni.
“Because I saw him,” said the calm Talham, and secured his sensation.
Tillizinni raised his eyebrows.
“Saw him and did not arrest him?”
“It was rather difficult,” explained Talham. “I was on the platform of
a tube station at Piccadilly Circus just as the train was moving out.
In a rear carriage as it went past me, gathering speed at every
second, I saw a man whom I’ll swear was Soo, with a perfectly fitting
beard. I know him, moreover, by the scar above his left eye. Just as
he came abreast of me he raised his eyes, and then I was sure. I
couldn’t stop the train--which reminds me,” he said portentously,
“that I must report the station-master and several of the employées
on the Underground Railway for marked insolence.”
Tillizinni gathered that Talham had made himself objectionable, and
sympathised with the station officials.
“I couldn’t telephone through to the next station, and if I had, I
probably should not have got through in time,” he said, “and if I got
through----”
“Anyway, you didn’t telephone at all,” said Tillizinni with a smile,
“and he alighted at the next station, and disappeared.”
Talham nodded.
“I have known he’s been in London for some days,” said Tillizinni. “As
a matter of fact, there is nothing very clever in finding that out,
because I received a note which was unmistakably from him. Scotland
Yard can do no more than they are doing, and unless he leaves in an
aeroplane, and we have made provision for that contingency, I don’t
see how he is to escape from England.”
Tillizinni had applied for leave, he told the other, and was prepared
to leave for China the following week. If he had expected Talham to be
excited or elated or in any way pleasantly surprised, he was doomed to
disappointment.
Talham had taken it for granted that Tillizinni, despite all his
multifarious interests, would grasp the opportunity to visit the
Celestial Kingdom and enjoy the adventure which his enterprise
promised.
“Everything, of course, depends upon what happens to Soo,” the
detective went on. “I can’t leave if he’s arrested, I can’t leave if
he’s not arrested. Our only hope for my holiday is that Soo, in some
mysterious fashion which is peculiarly his, makes his escape from this
country.”
As a matter of fact, the detective did not leave that week nor the
next, nor that which followed.
On the Saturday of the third week came a letter; it bore the postmark
of Madison Square Gardens post-office, and was in the handwriting of
Soo. It was brief, and reiterated the threat which he had uttered in
his shorter epistle, but more specifically, in language which need not
be repeated nor transcribed.
Tillizinni locked it away with the other documents affecting the case
and prepared for his departure.
* * * * *
There was one man as interested in the movement of Soo as Tillizinni.
Old Raymond de Costa, a bitter and hateful man, and also a fearful
man. He dreaded the law on the one side, and the vengeance of Soo on
the other, if it ever came out that it was he who had played him
false.
The news published in the morning papers that Soo had reached America
came as a great relief to the old man; it freed him to pursue his
private feud against Tillizinni and his insufferable friend.
He discovered the loss of the document for which he had sacrificed so
much, yet did not associate the detective with the theft until his
valet drew attention to the ink-spot on the dress shirt which came
back from the laundry.
“You’ve had some ink on your shirt, sir,” said the man.
With a scowl De Costa remembered the circumstances under which it had
been acquired.
“Yes, throw it away,” he said shortly.
The man folded up the garment with a little smile.
De Costa detected it, and turned on him the vials of his vitriolic
wrath.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” said the man apologetically. “I wasn’t smiling
at the shirt, I was just remembering how a gentleman I once valeted
was robbed of fifty pounds.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” growled the old man.