CHAPTER VII
IN THE TEMPLE OF BUDDHA
It was but a few moments after midnight, when I entered the house inKingsgate Street, and it must have been nearly or quite an hour before Ifinally removed the bag from my head and realized the nature of mysurroundings. Immediately after the attack upon me, I was lifted bodilyby two or three silent figures, and carried a considerable distance,part of the way down a steep flight of stairs, and through what from itsdamp and musty smell might have been a tunnel or cellar. Presently Iheard the opening of a heavy door, and in a moment I was thrown roughlyupon a bench, and my pockets were systematically searched. My captorsevidently were not looking for money for the only things they took fromme were my keys. After this they left me, huddled up in a corner of thebench, afraid to cry out or make a move in any direction.
The room in which I now found myself was as silent as the tomb, and yet,from some subtle instinct, I felt that it was lighted brightly, and thatthere were others in it besides myself. I could feel that it was warm,and through the folds of the bag about my head came the acrid,half-sweet smell of opium or Chinese incense, or both. I realized atonce that I was in the hands of some of Li Min's friends, and no doubtthe note which purported to come from McQuade had been merely a decoy.How, I wondered, did they know my address? Possibly they had followed mycab from the station. I recollected now with vividness the interview Ihad witnessed, the afternoon before, between Li Min and some fellowcountryman of his at the gateway in the hedge back of The Oaks. No doubtthe crafty Oriental had in some way kept his confederates in Londonfully posted as to both my movements and those of Sergeant McQuade. Whaton earth they could want with me I was unable to imagine. I reached outsoftly with my right hand--I had not been bound--and touched a wall,hung with heavy embroidered satin. The bench upon which I sat was ofhard polished wood. I reached up quickly, loosed the cord which held thebag tightly about my neck, and, with a swift motion, lifted it from myhead.
The sight I beheld astounded me. I was in a long, low room, the benchupon which I sat being at the extreme end of it. The walls were hungfrom end to end with bright-colored satin, wonderfully embroidered withbirds, flowers, dragons and strange Chinese characters. The floor was ofwood, dark, and polished with the walking of many soft-shod feet. Facingme at the far end of the room was a great red-and-gold wooden screen,carved and lacquered, and representing some mysterious Chinese figures,whether gods or demons I could not tell. In the center of this screenwas an opening, a sort of altar, brightly lighted by a large number ofwax candles within which hung a representation of the god Buddha,marvelously embroidered upon dull red satin, with gold and silverthreads. Behind the candles stood a small gold casket, or shrine, thedoor of which was standing open, disclosing an empty interior. The altarin front of the candles was covered with a profusion of dishescontaining flowers, rice and other foods. Before the altar knelt a tall,gaunt figure, his back turned toward me, bowed in prayer. He wore along, dark-brown robe, girdled loosely about the waist with a leatherbelt, and his gray hair was confined in a long queue which hung belowhis waist. He took no notice whatever of my movements, and remained insilent contemplation of the picture of the god before him. A number ofsticks of incense were burning in a brass jar upon the altar, and theroom was filled with a thin, waving blue haze, which circled softlyaround the great painted silk lanterns which hung from the ceiling. Ifelt as though I had been suddenly and mysteriously transported from adark and gloomy London street to some wonderful temple in the far-offcity of Pekin. I rubbed my eyes, and moved uneasily upon my hard bench,but no movement upon the part of the silent worshiper indicated that heso much as knew of my presence.
I endured the tension of the situation for several minutes in silence,and had about made up my mind to speak to the kneeling figure before me,when suddenly a door at my left was opened, and I observed two dark andforbidding-looking Chinamen enter, carrying between them a limp andapparently lifeless figure, which they placed upon the bench beside me.The figure was that of a man, and he was not blindfolded as I had been,and, as I bent over and glanced at his bloodless face, I recoiled, sickand trembling. It was Sergeant McQuade.
The Chinamen paid no attention to me, and quietly withdrew. I placed myhand upon the detective's heart, and was overjoyed to find that it stillbeat. I dragged him to a sitting position, and shook him, hoping toarouse him from his lethargy. In a few moments I saw his eyes slowlyopen, and he clutched feebly at his throat. I followed his movements andfound a heavy cord about his neck, so tightly drawn as almost to preventhim from breathing. This I quickly removed, and in a few moments he wasable to speak. His first words, after a glance of intense surprise atour surroundings, were to ask me why I had sent for him. I told him thatI had not done so.
"But you sent me a note, asking me to come to this address at once, thatyou had important news. I have two men outside, but these devils got mebefore I could blow my whistle. Not much use to try it now," heobserved, looking about grimly.
"I sent you no note," I replied. "On the contrary, I got one from you.That is why I am here."
"We are both nicely trapped, it seems," he growled. "I wonder what thesefellows are up to. They have searched me, but they took nothing, so faras I can see. I can't figure the thing out at all. What have youlearned--anything?" He turned to me with a quick look of interrogation.
"Nothing. They took my bunch of keys, and left me here about an hourago. I am as much in the dark as you are."
"Your keys," he muttered, softly; "your keys. What could they havewanted with them?" He seemed lost in thought.
Our further conversation was interrupted by the sudden opening of thedoor on our left. Some score or more of Chinamen crowded in, and were atonce joined by the figure of the priest, who rose to his feet andadvanced toward the center of the room. He was a terrible-looking oldman, his face drawn and leathery, his eyes like burning coals, his mouthcruel and thin-lipped. All the others seemed to pay him deep respect.One of their number advanced and handed him a large object which heeagerly grasped. It was my Gladstone bag. McQuade and I glanced at eachother in sudden comprehension. "It's my bag," I whispered to him. Now Iknew at least why they had taken from me my keys.
The old priest placed the bag upon the floor and, kneeling beside it,proceeded to open it with eager, trembling hands. The others crowdedabout, every face tense and full of expectation. The kneeling figureproceeded slowly to remove and examine every article of clothing,throwing each one impatiently aside as he apparently failed to find thatfor which he sought. Presently his eye fell upon the small, green cakeof soap which I had thrown loosely into the bag upon my departure fromThe Oaks. He seized it with a cry of triumph, and, taking a knife fromhis girdle, proceeded with extreme care to cut the cake of soap in two.The crowding figures about him hung upon his movements with intenseanxiety. The room was as silent as death. I heard McQuade's muffledbreathing as he watched the old man's every move, but I could see fromthe expression of his face that the scene meant no more to him than itdid to me. Suddenly, with a loud cry, the priest broke the cake of soapin two, and there, within it, in a cavity about two inches long, lay thelost emerald Buddha, its wonderful color flashing and glowing in thelight from the lantern above. I was absolutely dumb with amazement.Undeniably there before me lay the cause of Mr. Ashton's death, yet howit came to be in that cake of soap, and what light its presence therethrew upon the manner of his sudden and tragic end, was beyond mycomprehension. At least, however, I understood why Li Min had tried tomake away with my satchel, but the fact that the presence of the jewelamong my belongings might cause suspicion to point in my direction didnot for the moment occur to me. It evidently did, however, to McQuade,as I before long had reason to know.
The kneeling priest rose to his feet with a glad cry, and, holding theimage reverently in the hollow of his two hands, advanced toward thealtar, the others crowding closely about him. Arrived at the shrine, heplaced the figure carefully upon its pedestal within the golden casket,and, as the light of ma
ny candles fell full upon it, the whole crowdknelt down and began a weird sing-song prayer, that must have been achant of joy, or some service of purification, now that their long-lostdeity had been returned to them. Presently the strange sounds died away,and the various Chinamen placed offerings of fruit, flowers and foodupon the altar. At length the priest rose, and faced us. The service wasover. I had a feeling that our turn was now to come.
The tall, gaunt figure came close to us, and examined both our facesminutely. I fancy he was the same priest that Ashton had all but donefor in Ping Yang, and, from his look of intense hatred and ferocity, Ifeel sure that, had he recognized McQuade or myself as either hisassailant, or Major Temple, our moments in this life would have beennumbered. He must of course have heard of Ashton's death, but no doubthe wanted to make sure that Ashton was actually the man who had sonearly strangled him. After completing his scrutiny of our far fromhappy faces, he drew back, and in answer apparently to the questions ofhis followers shook his head vigorously. Then ensued a heatedaltercation between himself and part of the Chinamen on the one handand the remainder of the crowd on the other, the subject of which, Icould plainly see, was the fate of the detective and myself. At lastthey all turned back to the altar, and the priest took from it twopieces of wood, slightly curved, some four or five inches long, andshaped not unlike the half of a banana, if it were cut in twolengthwise: that is, round on one side and flat upon the other. I sawthat they were the Chinese luck sticks, which the petitioner castsbefore the altar, wishing as he does so, for that prayer which hedesires the god to grant him. If the sticks fall with the flat sides ofboth upward, he is lucky--his prayer is granted; if with the flat sidesof both downward, his prayer is refused. If one stick falls each way,there is no decision and the trial is made again. As the priest took upthese sticks from the altar, a gleam of comprehension passed over thefaces of the crowd about him. Several of their number sprang forwardand, seizing us by the arms, dragged us before the altar. It wasevidently their intention to leave the matter of our fate in the handsof the Buddha, and, as I glanced at the peaceful and beneficent face ofthe image before me, I wondered whether he, or blind luck, would controlour destinies.
McQuade they took first. He was led directly in front of the altar, andthe two sticks, placed with the flat sides, together, were put into hishands. He was then directed, by signs and a few muttered English words,to cast them upon the slab before the altar. He did so, not in the leastunderstanding, I felt sure, what it was all about, and in a moment thehardwood sticks clattered before the altar. I leaned forward anxiouslyand looked at them. The flat sides of both were upward. McQuade wassafe. The Chinamen thrust him aside angrily, and bent upon me theirangry glances. I was pushed forward by many hands, and the luck sticksforced into my unwilling fingers. I had never thought much about death,and now it approached me in all its grisly terrors. McQuade had beenspared my agony, for I felt sure he did not know the meaning of theceremony through which he had just passed. He had thrown dice withdeath, and won, and yet he did not know it. But, to me, the trial camein all its horrible reality. I knew that upon the fall of those bits ofwood depended my life, that within a few seconds of time I would eitherbe free, or condemned to die by one of those unspeakably horrible meansthat only the Chinese understand and delight in. Their deity had beenprofaned and they wanted a victim, and, if his down-turned thumb claimedme as a sacrifice, I knew that no power on earth could save me. I shookwith nervous dread--not so much through fear of death itself as of themanner of dying. My hands trembled; I could scarcely keep the sticksfrom falling to the floor. Presently I pulled myself together anddetermined to put a brave face upon the matter. The Chinamen about mewere evidently enjoying my sufferings keenly as I could see from thediabolic grins upon their dark faces. I threw the sticks from me with aquick nervous movement, and then almost feared to look upon them. Atlast I did so, and what I saw was almost as bad as what I feared to see.Instead of the two flat sides of the sticks being uppermost, they layone each way, and I was forced to throw again. The Chinese wereevidently delighted. Any method of torture which is prolonged seems toplease them beyond measure. I have heard that one of the most terriblethey have invented is that of keeping a prisoner awake. For days anddays sleep is prevented--the victim ultimately goes raving mad.
I determined to end the matter at once. My nerves were too much shakento prolong the agony. I cast the sticks again upon the altar slab andbent over them with a prayer to God. One stick fell at once with itsflat side uppermost. The other rolled over and over until it restedalmost at the Buddha's feet. At last it trembled, half turned over, thenstopped. It, like the other, gave the favorable sign. I was saved. Inthe sudden relief from the nervous tension I almost fell, but theChinamen, cheated of their revenge, gave me no time for any suchexhibitions of emotion. McQuade and I were seized, and in a few momentsour arms were tightly bound behind us, and heavy bags similar to the oneI had worn were placed over our heads. We were then roughly hurriedthrough a series of rooms, once crossing what seemed to be a brick-pavedcourt, which was undoubtedly in the open air, from the sudden change oftemperature I experienced; then for an interminable distance throughwhat seemed to be dark, narrow lanes and muddy streets, until at lastour hoods were removed, our feet bound, and we were thrown into anarrow area way, some cotton waste being jammed into each of our mouthsto prevent our making any outcry. Here we were discovered at daybreak,some four or five hours later, nearly frozen to death, by a watchman,who released us from our bonds and, upon hearing from Sergeant McQuadewho he was, hastened to find us a cab.
Our first step after it came was to drive to the nearest public houseand get each a steaming drink of hot brandy, after which we ate a hastybreakfast. The detective, who seemed thoughtful and little inclined totalk, then drove at once to Number 30, Kingsgate Street, and, findinghis two men still on duty, ordered them to enter the house. The bell wasfirst rung several times without any response, and then McQuade and hismen burst in the door. There were no lights within, and, when thelong-closed shutters were at last forced open, it was seen at once thatthe house was completely unfurnished. We descended into the cellar, butfound no signs of occupancy anywhere. The place had evidently been longclosed. McQuade looked about in perplexity. Evidently there was a tunnelsomewhere, leading from this house to some other in the neighborhood, orelse the Chinamen had boldly carried us out through the backyard andinto some house adjoining. The Sergeant explained the case to his men,ordered them to return to Scotland Yard, obtain a relief and investigateevery house in the block, and even those on the opposite side of thestreet, since a tunnel might as well have led in that direction as anyother. Personally I felt no great interest in the capture of theChinamen. They had the emerald Buddha, it is true, but they had a betterright to it than ever Ashton had, I fancy, and, now that he was dead, itseemed useless to bring trouble upon his relatives, in case he had any,by placing in their hands so dangerous an article. I was infinitelymore concerned in determining who was responsible for Robert Ashton'sdeath, and I could not see that the events of the evening had thrownmuch light upon it. I left McQuade and returned to my studio, agreeingto meet him there at three the same afternoon, and return to The Oakswith him. Just why he intended returning there, or why he wished me toaccompany him, I did not then see, but I was only too glad of anopportunity again to see Miss Temple. The detective seemed especiallyserious and taciturn, and, in reply to my questions as to the twoChinamen from Exeter, he informed me that they knew nothing of thematter and had been discharged. I went back to my studio in rather anunpleasant frame of mind, took a hot bath, and slept until luncheon.