The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack. H. Bedford-Jones
talking sense, not ideals or theories,” I intervened. “They are using agents provocateurs by the wholesale, and Rosoff is the chief of them all. Now, we’re going out for a boat ride tomorrow afternoon, see? And we’re not coming back. You be ready—”
Her hand touched my arm, and she broke into laughter.
“Captain Breck, you’re absurd! I don’t believe a word of it! I suppose you’ll be saying next that Alexander the Great was here! Uncle, Captain Breck was just telling me that the Romans had founded Cheng-tu, and that some Roman remains had been found near there!”
I turned to see Groot blinking owlishly at us. Behind him, in the shadow, loomed Rosoff.
“Romans?” repeated Groot. “No, no—you must be mistaken, Sam! Of course, Antoninus Pius sent an embassy to China, and so did Theodosius, but I have heard of no Roman remains—”
This was sheer good luck, nothing else. As Mary admitted afterward, only chance had guided her words, but it was confounded good fortune for me. I fancy Rosoff had caught a few indiscreet words from me, and now I was able to clinch what Mary said.
“Quite so, Alan,” I cut in coolly. “There’s an American named Hanecy, a dealer in antiques and so forth. He was up this way a few months ago, with a partner. I hear they really unearthed some Roman stuff. They got into a devilish row with the civil magistrate, a grafter of the old school. They killed him, I believe; at all events, that is what led to the general upheaval in the province, and won Cheng-tu to our side.”
“Roman?” queried Groot. That was the only word he had caught. “Roman? You’re sure?”
“I had it on hearsay,” I rejoined. “Yes, it was Roman.”
This let Groot expand on the Han annals and other ancient lore, and presently we all went inside. I was satisfied—more than satisfied. This girl was a wonder! Besides, she had been keeping her eyes open. She had clinched the fact that Wan Shih was acting as chief cook and bottle washer for the deviltry that Rosoff meant to pull off.
The Russian, who must have traveled hard and fast, was more than a little wearied from his long trip over the mountains. So, after a little, he said good-night, and departed to the separate quarters that had been assigned him elsewhere in the temple.
Groot accompanied him outside, came back and closed the door, and started to speak. I beat him to it.
“Not a word!” I said, with a cautious gesture. “Can’t take chances, Alan, by talking too much. Get ready to grab your most valuable stuff in a hurry tomorrow. Now, if you folks don’t mind, I want to turn in. I’ve been at work since six A.M., and tomorrow looks like a busy day. I’m going to get what sleep I can.”
Mary understood me, and would have Groot ready to light out in all haste. In such old temples as this, the very walls have ears, and to talk over our plans would have been sheer folly.
They took me to one of the four side-rooms, and said good-night. Mine was a small chamber, adorned with tattered brocades and phosphorescent fungi. The shrine must have been used as a guest-house for a long time, since a brick bed had been put up in one corner. There was a single window, without glass or shutters, opening upon a tree-masked portion of the terraced gardens. I got as nearly ready for bed as I cared, which was not far. The bricks had been faced with some straw and a pair of blankets, but I knew that if I wasn’t hopping before morning, other things would be. I had slept on these brick beds before.
When I had blown out the cotton-wicked candle that lighted the room, I got out my pipe and sat down on the bed, watching the pale smoke drift across the moonlit window-frame, and vainly seeking for inspiration.
“Sam Breck, old top, you’re in one hell of a mess!” I reflected. “How you’ve fooled Rosoff so far, I don’t know; but you’ve done it. There’s no doubt on earth that Wan Shih has framed up a scheme of action with Peking agents, and that Rosoff has been sent down to pull off the event in style. He’ll do it without any delay, either—the damned, sly devil! I never met a Russian yet that wasn’t a liar six ways from the post! There’s no ninth commandment in their decalogue.
“This Rosey is one bad actor. Either a Korean or a Jap is perched up in the attic this minute, attending to that wireless. Wan Shih has at least two more among his priests, and all the priests will be quick enough to take a hand in any robbery. Unlike most Taoist joints, this is a celibate outfit; and a dozen fighting monks make up a bad crowd. Added to these, there are river-men down below—those are the chaps who shot at John Li.”
Taking it all around, I hardly liked the looks of things. The sole hope I could see was in taking a boat ride on the river—then shooting the boatman and beating it. This river was only a side creek that emptied into the Min a couple of miles away and was quite navigable. The scheme was pretty desperate, but it was the best I could think up.
I had my regulation automatic at my hip, and another, a smaller one, out of sight, I took this smaller one and shoved it under my straw pallet, in case of accidents, and put my swagger stick with it. That was a nice stick. I had overseen the making of it myself, and it not only held private documents conveniently, but the ferrule was a bluntly tapering bit of steel with four razor edges and a needle point. Not a regulation weapon by a long shot, but mighty handy when rightly used.
Well, I had about concluded to entrust myself to the arms of Morpheus, when I heard a crunch on the gravel outside my window. That did not surprise me, but the low sound of my name in the voice of Rosoff surprised me considerably.
“Breck!” His figure appeared close to the window. “Breck! Are you awake?”
I grunted, and muttered something unintelligible as though waking up. He spoke again, and now I had him covered as I made sleepy response.
“Hello! Someone want me?”
He had not come to start any offensive, however.
“Breck! Slip outside, will you? I want to have a word with you where we can’t be overheard. Don’t disturb anybody.”
“All right. Wait till I get into my shoes.”
I stowed away the automatic, and presently tiptoed to the window. He stood outside, a shadowy smile on his handsome lips, and gave me a hand. I climbed out beside him. With a gesture, he led the way to a wooden bench set beside a terrace of flowers, and sat down. We were out in the open, the moon thin and fine in the heavens.
“Sorry I disturbed you, Captain,” he apologized affably. “I did not know that you had retired so early, I couldn’t sleep myself—too tired, perhaps.”
I replied in kind. Inwardly, I was wondering whether this were some new method of assassination, or an attempt at bribery. I had half expected nocturnal visitors, but I had not thought to be summoned forth in this fashion.
Rosoff lighted a cigarette, offered me one, which I refused, and then spoke.
“I say, Breck! When you pulled your pipe out of your pocket, after dinner, a little disk of copper slipped to the floor. May I have another look at it, if you’ve no objections?”
This staggered me. I had to go it blind.
“Why, sure!” I returned. “Let’s see—where did I put the thing? Ah, yes—here it is. So small and thin it’s hard to find.”
I laid it in his hand, and unobtrusively opened my holster flap. I flattered myself that I was ready for anything; but at that, I was not prepared for what happened.
CHAPTER V
John Li’s Legacy
“You know what this is, don’t you?” asked Rosoff.
“Certainly,” I said promptly. “It’s part of a curio I picked up in Cheng-tu the other day—a rather odd ink-slab holder made of carved stone, with copper mounts. This was one of the mounts. I have carried it around waiting to get it soldered in place but the confounded thing has slipped my mind.”
Baron Rosoff regarded