The valley of eyes unseen
with enthusiasm of any subject he judged worth speaking about at all.
We dared not go out of the inn, of course, or even away from our wing
of it. Meals were brought up to the sitting room, while Ah Sing fed
himself in the cabin of the launch. The engineer-cook had come for
orders that morning, and I could see that he, like myself, preserved
an uneasy recollection of last night. There was fear in his eyes, the
vague terror of a man who is frightened of something to which he cannot
give a name; and it was not until Philipson took him by the shoulders
and shook him and ordered him with fatherly severity not to be a
gaping fool that the normal grin of adoration came back into Ah Sing's
face. Then he went about his business and took, as I thought, a sound
common-sense refuge from his terrors in hard work. Whenever I looked
down from our verandah during the day I saw Ah Sing pottering to and
fro with broom and rag, scouring the already speckless launch till she
shone again.
I turned in after dinner for a little sleep against the watches we were
to stand through the night. This programme of Philipson's we carried
out, but with no recurrence of the alarm. Ah Sing remained on guard
on the deck of the launch till one, then came up to wake Philipson,
who stood a trick till four, rousing me at that hour to see us safely
through the twilit marches of dawn. At about half-past six o'clock I
was putting on a last pipe before breakfast when I heard a step along
the landing, and Philipson entered my room.
'If he has succeeded,' he burst out abruptly, 'he will be here at any
minute, and we shall start to-night with the fall of dusk. If not--'
'You think he's likely to have failed?'
'Honestly, I do not. I liked that boy from the moment I set eyes on
him. That is why I took the trouble to verify his pretensions. I had
collected all the available information about Stephen Poyning within
five minutes of seeing him.'
Philipson stepped out through my window and walked to the end of the
verandah, where it was blocked in by a cheek of brick wall. He peeped
stealthily round the angle, then started back.
'Coming!' he muttered.
I took Philipson's place and a peep for myself. From this point a
stretch of the winding creekside road into the city was visible, and
along it, at a distance, I saw a ricsha approach at the walk. In it sat
a huddled figure I recognised as Stephen Poyning. The road was already
crowded with native traffic, but as I continued to look I noticed
another ricsha, about a hundred yards farther off, which seemed to be
keeping the first in sight and regulating its pace so as to remain at
an even lapse behind.
'He's being followed,' I said.
Philipson pulled me away and stared eagerly round the angle of the
building. For a few moments he watched, intently silent, and when he
drew back it was with an expression of mingled seriousness and relief.
'You recognise the man behind?' he queried.
I took a closer look. 'Eh? Isn't it--'
'Lo Eng. My number-one boy. Something has gone awry. Also, Poyning is
hurt--there is a bandage under that topee of his.'
We stepped back into the sitting room, where Philipson swiftly laid out
a small surgical outfit and summoned a servant, bidding him fetch hot
water. The boy who brought it had hardly disappeared when there were
heavy, ill-guided steps on the stairs without, and Poyning, pale as a
corpse, his pongees plastered with mud and dust, staggered in. He set
down a suitcase he was carrying, wincingly removed his helmet, and sank
into a chair.
Philipson laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Not a word, young man,'
he said, 'till I have plugged that hole in your head.'
Poyning's white features broke into a drawn grin. 'Bacchus before
Æsculapius, my dear sir,' he said. 'Give me a drink!'
I mixed him a stiff champagne and brandy, which he swallowed at a
go, and then Philipson, with the speed and firm skill of a surgeon
and more than a woman's tenderness, bathed and dressed an ugly gash
over the boy's forehead. He lay back for some moments with his eyes
closed, while a spot of colour came slowly into his cheeks; then sat up
and demanded a cigarette, which having received and lighted, Stephen
Poyning plunged without further ado into his tale. Lo Eng had meanwhile
entered the room. Philipson pointed to a chair, on the edge of which he
sat, demurely listening.
'I reached Shanghai North Station at about half-past seven yesterday
morning,' began Poyning. 'If there was one native watching the gates,
there were a dozen, but these people all seemed to be there on
legitimate business--I certainly saw no sign of any of them following
me. I got to the Marco Polo Hotel in the unobtrusive manner prescribed
by you, cleaned off the travel stains, took nourishment, invited the
manager to my room, and settled Mirlees' debt. The manager seemed, if
I may say so, relieved to see his money. The instructions regarding
your manuscripts, Mirlees, have been carried out to the letter, and
your other treasures are stored in the warehouse next door; here are
the keys, and the receipts for your chattels and your accommodation
charges. Here, Philipson, are receipted bills for the chronometer
and sextant, which you will find in that suit case--intact, I trust,
though it must be confessed they received some brusque jolts during
the later developments of my adventure. Here is the letter of credit
on Chungking, which the manager of the Cathay Bank made out in his
private sanctum and handed to me with very excellent good luck to you,
Philipson, and a hope that the inquiries from your well-wishers in
Shanghai would not prove too searching. I did not, to be candid, know
what in Hades he was driving at, but I winked in the sophisticated
manner of one who did, and the genial financier seemed very well
satisfied.'
Philipson whistled softly. We exchanged glances.
'I pass,' resumed Poyning, 'to the really momentous phase of the
expedition.
'I left the hotel at half-past eight, when twilight was falling--as the
late Tennyson sang--and reached the fair pleasaunces of Bubbling Well
about half an hour afterwards. Here I dismissed my ricsha-coolie, much
to his chagrin--it was ten minutes, in fact, before I could shake the
ardent fellow off--and loitered along waiting for a suitable person to
ask my way. This took some time, as all the white community seemed to
be at mess, and I deemed it impolitic to seek guidance from a native.
At last I got the required direction, and struck out on foot. I had
not marched far down the New Highgate Road before I saw that I was
followed. It was a Chinese, a pretty well-nourished subject of medium
stature, who dogged my steps, keeping about twenty yards behind. He
made no attempt to conceal himself, and when I drew up short, came
straight on.
'"You wanchee find some housum dis road?" he said, debonairly enough.
"My gib you look-a-look anybody housum. My sabbee anybody housum allee
same-same."
'"Very obliging of you," I said, "but who might you be?"
'"My b'long Misser Philipson numbah-one boy," he said. "Him housum burn
down so my no hab housum lib jus' now."'
Philipson whistled again, louder.
'"You sabbee Misser Philipson?" continued my would-be cicerone. "You
sabbee where him gone jus' now?"
'"Never heard of him," I said. "What's your name?"
'"My b'long all same Lo Eng," replied the fellow, with an expansion of
his already wide mouth. "My wanchee sabbee where master hab gone. Jus'
now no can tell him him housum burn down."
'Well, gentlemen, God knows I am no purist, but I could not bring
myself to regard that man's conversational style as good English--which
you told me Lo Eng spoke. He had given the name correctly, true, but
I remained profoundly unsatisfied with his bona fides. I got rid of
him, strode on down the road, and soon came to a house which had been
gutted. Yes, alas, Philipson, it was only too true. Standing guard in
the road were two Sikh policemen, whose presence had the desirable
effect of finally scaring away my plausible informant--or so I thought.
He had followed me thus far, but when I looked round a moment later he
had melted into the atmosphere. I walked on briskly, came to a bend
in the road, and sprinted down it on noiseless toes. It had occurred
to me that I might get to the house from across the fields behind it
without apprising the Law; and this I was able to do, though I could
have wished for a drier route. I wallowed perdu in mud and luxuriant
vegetation for about ten minutes, then, thinking all clear, crept
towards the charred ruin. I had actually got into the garden when I
heard a scuffle somewhere behind me. I fancy the police must have heard
it too, for there were footsteps on the gravel walk in front of the
house. Then came, from behind, a curious gurgling noise, then a dull
thud, then silence. A hand grasped my arm.
'"Come, sir," whispered a voice, and I felt myself dragged into a
clump of laurels. I was subtly aware that my present companion was a
friend, and I followed him without question. We crouched together for a
while, until the police, presumably supposing they had been deceived,
scrunched back into the road. He then put his lips to my ear.
'"I am Mr. Philipson's boy, sir," said he, in excellent English. "You
have some message for me?"
'"What is your name?" I asked him.
'"Lo Eng. You have a sign from my master?"
'I gave him the seal to feel, and I heard him murmur his satisfaction.
"Listen," he said, "Those devils set fire to the house a few hours
after the master went. I took the papers out of the safe, but
everything else was destroyed."
'"You are to give me the bundle marked with a letter B," I said.
'He took out a thick wad, and handed me an envelope from among them.
"Those are the ones," said he. "There is nothing else in the house,
for I have searched it. Please tell the _Lao Yeh_ I did everything
possible to protect his property, but they had lined the walls with
kerosene, and all went up very swiftly. Since then I have watched here
for my master. Those villains have also watched. One of them followed
you down this road to-night. I recognised him from the night of the
house-burning. I heard him tell you he was Mr. Philipson's boy. When
you ran, you thought you had left him behind, but you had not. He
followed you across the fields, so close that he could have killed you.
But I was just behind him."
'"Where is the fellow now?" I whispered.
'My ally drew me deeper into the shrubbery, where I kicked against
something soft. "He will not follow you any more," he said. "Help me to
cover him up, lest the police find him."'
At this point Lo Eng sat a little farther forward on the edge of his
chair, and broke in, with extreme deference.
'That man struggled very hard, master,' he said sweetly. 'I discovered
afterwards that I had strangled him.'
Philipson gravely nodded, and Poyning resumed his story.
'Lo Eng showed me a way across to the main traffic routes without
touching the New Highgate Road at all, and left me. I caught an inward
bound cabriolet to the city, cleared my own debit at the Eastern Seas
Hotel, collected my bag from the Marco Polo and settled up there, and
eventually reached the station with fifteen minutes to spare. I had
been zealously on the watch for followers all the way, and could have
pledged my faith that I had none; and yet, as I paced the platform, to
my supreme disgust I saw that two natives in the throng at least were
taking an abnormal amount of interest in my movements. They had been
over against a fruit stall in full view of the wicket I should have to
pass, but when they saw me, they edged unmistakably in my direction. I
walked up and down twice: they moved _pari passu_. I realised that if