The tomb of Ts'in
The party dismounted at the foot of the hill and took shelter in a
little gully, and six men only accompanied the two Europeans in their
climb. These carried spades and picks, a spare one each for Talham and
Tillizinni, and the eight men attacked the soft earth with feverish
haste.
It was easier work than even Talham had anticipated, and after an
hour’s work Tillizinni’s spade struck something hard and metalled.
“It’s the door,” he said exultantly.
He cleared away a space and examined his find with the aid of a pocket
lamp.
Here the hill fell sheerly, and it was at the foot of a sharp slope
that the top of the door was discovered.
Although the hill fell steeply there seemed to be no place from whence
a door might slide down in its grooves to block the entrance of the
cave.
This was the only doubt that had been in Talham’s mind, but the
explanation suddenly occurred to him.
“I see now,” he said excitedly. “It opens inward on hinges at the
top.”
This probably was the case.
They continued digging for half an hour before they reached the foot
of the bronze door.
Contrary to his expectations, there was no engraving upon the panel.
It was of solid bronze, green with age.
The men scraped carefully away at its foot, and then Talham on one
side and Tillizinni on the other, groped for the image between the two
stones. It was a long time before Talham discovered his, but
Tillizinni’s was soon revealed. It had deteriorated until it was
little more than the thickness of a curtain ring.
Tillizinni looked at it closely. It had been shaped crudely by these
old dishonest artisans, and even now its extemporised character was
revealed in the imperfection of the circle.
“Got it!” he heard Talham grunt.
“Does it give at all?”
“Yes,” said the other, “but, gently! It is any odds on the connection
being rotten with age.”
“Now!” said Tillizinni. “Are you ready? Now!”
He put a gentle strain upon the ring, and it gave, ever so little.
He was afraid to put his full strength upon it for fear it broke away
in his hand.
“Again,” said Talham’s voice.
Tillizinni pulled gently. Suddenly, without a warning, there was a
horrible squeak, which it seemed could be heard for miles, and the
great door sunk as if the earth had swallowed it up, and the big black
entrance of the cave was revealed.
From here on, they must depend upon their own exertions. The Chinamen
declined civilly enough to assist any further. So far they had acted
in accordance with their tenets. Beyond that they might not go.
Talham understood and dismissed them, telling them to wait at the
bottom of the hill.
He flashed an electric torch about the entrance of the cave. It was a
large spacious place carved out of a solid rock. At intervals around
its grim walls were placed huge statues in fantastic shapes, extending
from the dim roof to its polished floor.
Talham looked at them without awe.
He felt something about his feet, and flashed the light down. He was
treading on a little heap of bones. Further examination revealed a
dozen more such pitiful relics of the long-dead artisans who had
perished that they might not reveal the secret of the Emperor’s tomb.
For two thousand years they had laid thus, through all the centuries
pregnant with progress and with world-shaking events; as they had
fallen in death so they remained.
Talham was a curious mixture of the sentimental and the practical.
The practical side of him brushed the relics aside with his foot as he
walked forward sending the gleam of his light flashing up to the roof.
Yes, there were the two silver lamps; they were black under the
tarnish, but the delicacy of the workmanship was apparent.
Reaching up his hand, Talham could just clutch the dangle tassel
beneath the first lamp.
“Watch that entrance,” he said, and put his lamp upon the black door
at the further end of the vault.
He pulled and a chain gave slowly. Then, with a swift rush, the door
before him opened in the middle and parted. As it did, from the
interior of the inner chamber came a loud crash, something whizzed
between the two men, passed through the opening where the bronze door
had been, and buried itself in the hillside without.
“Phew!” said Talham, “that crossbow did work after all.”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“I trust nothing else unpleasant happens,” he said.
He looked round for the pelican which had been referred to on the
bracelet, but could see no sign of any such ornament.
The steps leading down into the inner room were clean and smooth. They
were of white marble, save in the centre was what appeared to be a
carpet. On closer inspection this proved to be “treads” of jade, two
feet wide and exactly in the centre of the stairway.
“Those are the spirit steps,” said Talham. “You had better keep to
them.”
“What are spirit steps?” asked Tillizinni in astonishment.
“It’s an old Chinese idea, and you’ll find it in a good many temples,”
replied Talham briefly. “It is popularly supposed to be the steps up
and down which the spirits of the departed pass to their devotions,
and is never under any circumstances used by mortals.”
“For a moment,” he said with a facetiousness which seemed to
Tillizinni to be entirely out of place, “we will regard ourselves as
disembodied and keep to the spirit steps.”
He walked down gingerly. Half way to the bottom were two little niches
on which stood carved representations of two of the earlier Chinese
deities. He stopped and looked at them thoughtfully. Then, leaning
over, he lifted one down. It was a tremendous weight, and he staggered
under it, but Talham was curious to see the result of his experiment.
He placed the statue upon one of the white marble steps which ran down
at either side of him. For a moment nothing happened, and then the
stairs opened under it and it disappeared.
In a second came the tinkle of smashing steel.
“I thought so,” said Talham. “If we had departed from the spirit
steps, we should have fallen into a most unpleasant mess.”
He watched the yawning hole where the steps had been. Three had
disappeared.
In a few seconds they came slowly back and jarred themselves back into
their place.
“They are balanced on an arm below,” explained Tillizinni. “I saw
something of that sort in Burma years ago.”
He led the way down, and so they came to the inner chamber.
“Look!” gasped Talham, and well might he be astonished, for as they
put their foot upon the lower stairs the whole of the inner chamber
was flooded with soft light.
It came from the cornices in the roof and was reflected down from the
glittering blue firmament of an artificial heaven.
“It’s electric!” said Talham in a whisper. “I never dreamt of this.”
Whilst they stood upon the steps the light continued. When they took a
step forward it went out. They returned to the lower step and the room
was again illuminated.
“It was from this step, you may be sure, that the Second Emperor took
his last view of his father,” said Tillizinni. “There is your river.”
They looked down in silent wonderment. There at their feet was
China--China as it was known to the ancients, with little townships
cunningly modelled, and the ever-moving river flowed from hill to sea.
So it had been flowing for two thousand years.
“Stand on the step,” said Talham, “and let me see.”
He stepped down quickly and leant over one of the tiny streams that
wandered tortuously through an artificial garden.
“It’s quicksilver all right,” he said.
At the far end of the room was a great block of polished black stone,
and upon this rested a stone coffin. The pedestal was reached by three
steps, but the steps were indistinguishable. They were covered with
rags, and, as it seemed, little pieces of white, glittering wood.
Talham surveyed them reverently. These, then, were the unfortunate
creatures of joy, who had gone down to death with their lord.
He made a rapid survey of the great stone room. At either side he saw
a square pit, and flashed a light down upon the white gems that still
glittered and sparkled in the light.
He was seeking something else, and presently he found it--a little box
of jade, upon the roof of which was the faded remnants of an
inscription. More to the point, there had been carved on its side, and
was as fresh to-day as when it left the carver’s hands, two thousand
years before, the words:
“This is the secret of the philosopher.”
He lifted the box and put it under his arm and made his way back to
Tillizinni.
“We can’t leave yet,” said the detective, all a-quiver with
excitement. He felt he was on the verge of a great discovery. “We must
find by what means this room is lighted.”
Then he remembered the urgent business that waited in Tai Pan.
“Perhaps we can come back,” he said regretfully, for he knew that when
they had once passed through the portals they would never again visit
the last home of the First Emperor.
Talham led the way upward, and was within twenty feet of the silver
door when somebody laughed, and the laugh rang hollowly through the
vaulted chamber. He looked up. Before he was conscious of what was
happening and before his hand could drop to the pistol at his side, a
voice called mockingly:
“You have ample time to complete your investigations, Captain Talham.”
It was the voice of Soo, and it came from the head of the stairs.
Talham and Tillizinni whipped out their revolvers and fired together,
and again came the laugh and something more ominous--the rumble of a
moving door.
They sprang up the stairs together, but before Talham could swing
himself through, the door had closed with a clang and a crash. They
were trapped in the house of the dead!
CHAPTER XIX.
THE YAMEN OF T’SI SOO.
Yvonne Yale was in the little room which overlooked the courtyard of
the Governor’s yamen. She sat on the edge of the _kang_, her hands
clasped on her knees, her face tense and pale.
So this was the meaning of it--the meaning of that telegram which had
sent her flying across Europe into the barbaric regions of Asia, that
had set her down at a little wayside station, where a polite and tidy
escort waited to convey her to her lover.
With no knowledge of the language, she had hesitated before
accompanying them, and had stood on the platform for half an hour
before she at last yielded to the agitated entreaties of the officer
in charge of the escort--a man with little English, and who knew that
his life depended upon his persuading the beautiful Westerner to
accompany him.
Why had not Talham come himself to receive her? The officer-escort had
been full of apologies and explanations in his pidgin English. Captain
Talham was honourably engaged, also he had honourably hurt his foot
digging and could not ride.
He had not sent her a line of welcome, which was strange, but she had
come so far, and it was absurd to shrink from the thirty miles journey
which she was promised.
A luxurious palanquin, borne upon mules and lined with rose silk, was
a tempting conveyance. The bottom of the shaky vehicle was covered
with down cushions. That novelty of the silken nest pleased her.
An impassive bystander, watching the departure of the caravan, sidled
up on some pretext to where she sat and muttered under his breath
“Ko’lien,” shaking his head the while.
She repeated it, “Ko’lien.”
“What does it mean?”
The officer rode by her side and chatted with her in such English as
he could master.
It occurred to her, after they had gone some ten _li_ on the road, to
ask carelessly the meaning of the words which the strange Chinaman had
employed.
“Ko’lien,” repeated the escort with a beaming smile. “He mean makee
piecee solly.”