Poets and Murder

XVI

A bevy of young maids was bustling about the three official palankeens that stood in the main courtyard of the residence. Some were putting brocade covers on the cushions, others were loading tea-baskets and boxes of sweetmeats. Their gay twitter jarred on Judge Dee's nerves. He went over to the housemaster. The greybeard was talking with the headman of the two-dozen palankeen bearers, who were squatting along the side-wall, neatly dressed in brown jackets with broad red sashes. The housemaster informed Judge Dee that the poetical meeting in the library was over. The guests had gone to their rooms to change, and Magistrate Lo had followed their example.

The judge went to his own quarters. He drew the armchair up in front of the open sliding-doors, and sat down wearily. Cupping his elbow in his left hand, he rested his chin on his tightly closed fist and stared sombrely at his rock garden, very quiet in the bleak sunshine of the late afternoon.

A long, drawn-out cry overhead made him raise his eyes. A flock of wild geese came flying over, their wings flapping leisurely in the blue sky. A sure sign of autumn.

At last he got up and went inside. Listlessly he changed into the same dark-violet robe he had worn the afternoon of the previous day. As he was placing the high cap of stiff black gauze on his head, he heard the clanging of iron boots in the front-yard. The military escort had arrived, which meant that the party would be leaving soon.

Crossing the main courtyard, he was joined by Loo. The sexton wore a faded blue gown, fastened round his ample waist by a straw rope, and large straw sandals on his bare feet. He was carrying a crooked stick, from which dangled a bundle of clothes. When the two men ascended the marble terrace in front of the main hall, where Magistrate Lo, the Academician and the Court Poet stood, resplendent in brocade robes, the sexton told them gruffly:

'Don't worry about my costume, gentlemen! I'll change in the temple on the cliff. This bundle contains my best robe.'

'You look impressive in any dress, Sexton!’ the Academi­cian told him genially. 'I'll ride with you, Chang. We must thrash out our differences over the poetical essay.'

'Go ahead!’ the sexton said. 'I am going to walk.'

'Impossible, sir!' Magistrate Lo protested. 'The mountain road is steep, and ...'

'I know the road well, and I've climbed steeper ones,' the sexton snapped. 'I like the mountain scenery, and the exer­cise. Just came here to tell you you needn't bother about transport for me.' He strode off, his crooked stick over his shoulder.

'Well, in that case I hope you'll ride with me, Dee,' Lo said. 'Miss Yoo-lan'll take the third palankeen, with my First Lady's chambermaid to look after her.' Turning to the Acade­mician, he asked, 'May I lead you to the first palankeen, sir?'

The magistrate descended the marble steps with the Acade­mician and the Court Poet, and the thirty soldiers presented their halberds. Just as Lo and Judge Dee were about to ascend the second palankeen, they saw the poetess appear on the terrace, an exquisite figure in a thin robe of white silk flaring out at her feet, and a long-sleeved blue brocade jacket with a silver flower motif. The mass of her hair was done up in an elaborate high coiffure, held in place with long silver hair-needles, their ends decorated with gold filigree pendants in which blue sapphires glittered. She was followed by an elderly maid in a plain blue gown.

Making himself comfortable in the cushions, Lo asked crossly:

'Did you see that dress and the hair-needles, Dee? She borrowed them from my First Lady! Well, our poetical meet­ing didn't last very long. The Academician and Chang seemed a bit reluctant to give their candid opinion of my poetry. And the sexton didn't even try to hide his boredom! Unpleasant chap! Must say that Yoo-lan made a couple of very pertinent remarks. Fine feeling for language, the old girl has.' He turned up the points of his small moustache. 'Well, as to their whereabouts at the time of General Mo's trial, Dee, there I had no trouble at all. As soon as I had mentioned the case, the Academician promptly delivered a lecture on it. The Censor had summoned him for advice on the local situation, you see. As to Chang Lan-po, he was stay­ing here too, for negotiations with discontented tenant farmers. The fellow's family owns about half the arable land in this district, you know. Chang attended the sessions of the tribunal, in order to observe conflicting human pas­sions. That's what he said, at least. And Sexton Loo was stay­ing in an old temple here, delivering a series of lectures on a Buddhist text. Didn't get around to asking them whether they were in the Lake District two months ago, when the poetess was arrested. Where did you put that girl from the Black Fox Shrine, Dee?'

'She's dead, Lo. From rabies. Must have got it from a fox. Was always fondling them, you know, even let them lick her face. And so ...'

'Holy heaven, that's bad, Dee!’

'Very bad. For now we've no one to ...' He broke off, for there was a loud clanging of gongs.

The palankeens had been carried from the residence to the tribunal, and had now arrived at the main gate of the com­pound. Twelve constables drew themselves up at the head of the cortиge, four of them beating brass gongs. The others carried long stakes, with red-lacquered boards, some inscribed in golden letters with 'The Tribunal of Chin-hwa', others with 'Make way!’ The rest had lanterns with the same inscriptions, which would be lit when the party returned to the city that night.

The heavy, iron-bound main gate was pushed open, and the cortиge moved out into the street. First the constables, next the three palankeens, escorted by ten soldiers on each side, and lastly ten soldiers, armed to the teeth, bringing up the rear. The milling crowd, dressed up for the feast, hastily made way for them. There were repeated shouts of 'Long live our magis­trate!’ Judge Dee noticed with satisfaction this further proof of his colleague's popularity in the district. After they had left the shopping street and it had become more quiet outside, the judge resumed:

'I had counted on Saffron to identify our man. Her death is a terrible blow, Lo. For I haven't a shred of proof. I do have proof, however, that it must have been one of your three guests. One of them must be Saffron's father, the same man murdered her half-brother, the student Soong — as I told you after my visit to Saffron's aunt. Now I can add that it was also the same man who murdered the dancer Small Phoenix.'

'Merciful heaven!' the magistrate shouted. 'That means that I...'

Judge Dee raised his hand.

'Unfortunately my discovery doesn't help you much as long as we can't prove who of the three is our man. Let me try to sum up the situation. The murder of the dancer Small Phoenix yesterday supplies a convenient starting-point. Then I shall take the murder of the student the day before yesterday, taking into account the background of General Mo's trial eighteen years ago. Finally we shall tackle together the mur­der of the maid in the White Heron Monastery. In this man­ner we shall be able to see all these problems in the correct chronological setting.

'Well, to begin with the murder of the dancer. The crucial point is that Small Phoenix had seen Saffron's father on the wasteland, when he was on the way back from a visit to his daughter. The meeting did not mean anything to the dancer at that time, for she had never seen the man before. Yesterday afternoon Small Phoenix wanted to have a look at your ban­quet hall where she was going to perform in the evening, and Yoo-lan, who was enamoured of her, took her along to your residence. She had told the poetess that she was going to per­form "A Phoenix among Purple Clouds", which she con­sidered her best number. Then she met your three guests. It was that brief meeting, Lo, that made the dancer suddenly decide to change her programme. She dropped the plan for the Purple Cloud dance which she knew so well and which always made a hit with the audience, and changed to the "Black Fox Lay" — which she had never performed in public before, and of which she didn't even have a good musical score!’

'By heaven!’ Lo shouted. 'The wench had recognized the man she met on the wasteland!’

'Exactly! She had recognized him, but he had given no sign of recognizing her. Well, she would jog his memory! The Black Fox Dance would remind him! After her dance, when she would sit for a while with each of the guests for a cup of wine, as is customary, she would tell him she knew he was Saffron's father, and make her demands. Since she was an ambitious girl devoted to her art, I assume that in the case of Shao or Chang, she would ask to be introduced into the highest circles of the capital, probably adding a demand for a substantial monthly income. And in the case of the sexton, insist that he constitute himself her patron, adopt her as his daughter, for instance, and put all the weight of his great name behind her artistic career. Blackmail, pure and simple.'

The judge stroked his beard, and continued with a sigh:

'She was a clever girl, but she had underestimated her vic­tim. As soon as he had recognized her, he began to plan her removal. Your announcement that she was going to dance to the "Black Fox Lay", a clear warning that she had recognized him as the visitor to the wasteland, and that she meant busi­ness, made him decide to murder her as soon as a suitable opportunity presented itself. The interval of the fireworks supplied that opportunity, and he utilized it. In the manner I explained to you last night. It is on the basis of this reason­ing, Lo, that I maintain I have irrefutable proof that one of your three guests is the murderer.'

'Am I glad that Yoo-lan didn't do it!' the magistrate ex­claimed. 'It's true that we don't know which of the three did do it, but you have saved my career, elder brother! For now I can report the dancer's murder in good conscience as a local affair that had nothing to do with the poetess! I'll never be able to repay you for this, I ...'

He was interrupted by shouted commands and the clatter of arms. The cortиge was passing outside through the west city gate. Judge Dee began quickly:

'Second, the murder of the student Soong. He was a child of five at the time of his father's trial, and was taken to the capital at once, by an uncle. We can only guess when and how he obtained data which convinced him his father had been falsely accused. I presume he knew the story of his mother's adultery; his uncle or another relative must have told him that after he had grown up, for his aunt said he had never visited her here in Chin-hwa. Somehow or other he must have discovered that Saffron was the issue of the adulter­ous liaison, and that's why he came here and established contact with his half-sister. At the same time he searched the records in your archives for the details of his father's trial. Saffron had not told him she had a father who came to see her occasionally, but she must have told her father about the student. That his name was Soong I-wen, that he had come to Chin-hwa to bring his father's murderer to justice, and that he was staying with the tea-merchant Meng. The criminal went to Merchant Meng's house, and killed Soong.' The small magistrate nodded eagerly.

'Then he searched Soong's lodgings, Dee, looking for even­tual notes that might give a clue to his own identity. Perhaps he did find old letters of General Mo, or of his mother. The authorities had confiscated all the general's property, but the family will have taken one or two robes, and many years later the student may have discovered confidential papers sewn into the lining, or heaven knows what!'

'That, Lo, we shall know only when we have identified the murderer, and collected sufficient evidence to question him. But I can't see a ghost of a chance that we ever will, for the moment! Before going into that problem, however, I want to discuss my third point, namely the case pending against the poetess, for having allegedly whipped to death her maid in the White Heron Monastery. Tell me, what did you make of those two anonymous letters I gave you?'

'Not much, Dee. Both were composed by a good scholar, and you know how strict the rules of our literary style are. There is a fixed expression for every conceivable aspect or contingency of human life, thought, and action, and every scholar will use exactly the right phrase in exactly the right place. If the letters had been written by an uneducated person, it would have been different, of course. Then it's easy to pick out similar mannerisms, or similar mistakes. As it is, I can only say one notices a resemblance in the use of some pre­positions, that might suggest both letters had been written by the same man. Sorry, Dee!’

'Wish I could see those letters in the original!’ Judge Dee exclaimed. 'I have made a close study of handwriting, and I am sure I would then know for certain! But that would neces­sitate a journey to the capital. And I doubt whether the Metropolitan Court would allow me to inspect the letters!’ Vexedly he tugged at his moustache.

'Why do you need to know about the letters, Dee? With your sharp eyes, elder brother, you must have other means of deciding which of my three guests is the murderer! Heavens, the fellow must have been leading a double life! You must have caught something in their talk, or in their ...'

Judge Dee shook his head emphatically.

'Not a hope, Lo! Our basic problem is that all three are extraordinary men, whose actions and reactions cannot be gauged by ordinary means. Let's admit it, Lo! These three men are our betters in learning, talent and experience — not to speak of the prominent position they occupy in our national life! Questioning them directly would be courting disaster, both for you and for me. And to try to get at them indirectly by the normal tricks of our trade would be of no avail. These are men of superlative intellectual attainments, my friend, self-possessed people, wise to the ways of the world! And the Academician, for one, has had longer experience as a criminal investigator than you or me! Trying to bluff them, or to startle them into an unguarded word, is just so much labour lost!'

Lo shook his head. He said disconsolately:

'To tell you the truth, Dee, I can't yet get accustomed to the idea that one of these three great writers is a murder sus­pect. How could you possibly explain such a man committing brutal, callous crimes?'

Judge Dee shrugged his shoulders.

'We can only make rough guesses. I could imagine, for instance, that the Academician is suffering from a surfeit of experience. Having had all that normal life has to offer, he seeks for abnormal sensations. The Court Poet, on the con­trary, labours visibly under the impression that he has only lived on second-hand emotions, and that therefore his poetry is no good. And a feeling of frustration may engender the most unexpected actions. As to Sexton Loo, you told me that before his conversion to the new creed he cruelly oppressed his monastery's tenant farmers. And now he has apparently chosen to place himself beyond good and evil, and that is a very dangerous attitude to take. I just mention a few simple explanations that come to mind, Lo. It's doubtless much more complicated than that!’

The small magistrate nodded. He opened one of the baskets, took a handful of sweetmeats, and began to munch them. Judge Dee wanted to pour himself a cup of tea from the tea-basket under the seat but the palankeen began to list back­wards at a sharp angle. He drew the window-curtain open. They were ascending a steep mountain road, lined by tall pine trees. Lo delicately wiped his hands on his handkerchief and resumed:

'Routine checks aren't any use either, Dee. As regards Shao and Chang, at least. Both told me they had gone to bed early the day before yesterday when the student was murdered. Now you know that the government hostel where they stayed is a big and busy place; all kinds of officials are going in and out there at all times. Impossible to check their movements. Especially since either of them will have taken good care he wasn't noticed when he slipped out late at night! How about the sexton, though?'

'Just as bad. Anyone can enter or leave that temple, as I found out myself. And there's a short cut from there to the quarter near the East Gate, where the tea-merchant lives. Now that Saffron is gone, I greatly fear that we have come to a dead end, Lo.'

The two magistrates sank into a morose silence. Judge Dee let his sidewhiskers slowly glide through his fingers. After a long pause he said suddenly:

'Just now I went over last night's dinner party again in my mind. Didn't it strike you, Lo, how very nicely your guests be­haved to each other? All four of them, including the poetess? Courteous but reserved, friendly but impersonal, and with just that touch of light banter one expects among a small gathering of colleagues in letters, each of whom has reached the top in his particular field. Yet these four people have been seeing each other on and off for a number of years. Who knows what they really think about each other, what mem­ories of mutual or shared love or hatred bind them? None of the three men will ever give as much as a hint of their real emotions. The poetess, however, is another proposition. She's by nature a passionate woman, and the six weeks in prison and the trials have put her under a heavy strain. Last night she lifted one tip of her mask. Only once, but I felt a definite tension in the air, for one brief moment.'

'You mean after she had recited that strange poem on "The Happy Reunion"?'

'Precisely. She likes you, Lo, and I am firmly convinced she would never have composed the poem if she hadn't been in such a state of emotional tension that she simply forgot you were there. Later, when we were watching the fireworks on the balcony, and when she had calmed down, she more or less apologized to you. The poem was meant for one of your three guests, Lo.'

'I am glad to hear that,' the small magistrate said dryly. 'I was really shocked by her violent denunciation. Especially since the poem was damned good, for an improvisation on the spot.'

'What did you say? I am sorry, Lo, I was thinking again about those two anonymous letters. If they were written by the same man, it means that one of your guests hates Yoo-lan. Hates her so deeply that he wants to bring her to the scaffold. Again we come back to the crucial question: which of the three is it? Well, I promised you I would discuss the White Heron case with the poetess. I hope that tonight I shall have an opportunity. Then I shall broach the subject of the anony­mous letter, and unobtrusively watch their reactions, especi­ally those of the poetess. I must tell you frankly, however, that I don't expect much of that attempt!’

'A cheerful thought!’ the magistrate muttered. He leaned back into the cushions, and resignedly folded his hands over his paunch.

After some time they came on to level ground again. The palankeen halted amidst the noise of confused voices.

They were on a stretch of table land, in an open space among the huge old pine trees whose deep, bluish-green colour had given the Emerald Cliff its name. Further ahead, on the very edge of the cliff, stood a single-storeyed pavilion, open on all four sides, the heavy roof supported by stately rows of thick wooden pillars. The cliff was overhanging a deep mountain gorge. Opposite rose two mountain ranges, the first ridge about level with the pavilion, the second towering into the red-streaked sky. At the other end of the cliff was a small temple, its pointed roof half hidden by the high branches of the pine trees. In front of the temple stood a cluster of small food-stalls, closed now because of the magistrate's visit. Lo's cooks had established there an open-air kitchen. Servants carrying hampers and large wine-jars were busy about the trestle tables put up under the trees. It was there that all the constables, guards and other officers of the tribunal would be entertained. The chair-bearers and coolies would take care of the rest of the food and the wine.

When Magistrate Lo was standing by the first palankeen to welcome the Academician and the Court Poet, the dishev­elled figure of Sexton Loo came into sight. He had tucked the slips of his faded blue gown under his straw belt, revealing his muscular, hairy legs. He carried the clothes bundle over his shoulder on the crooked stick, as peasants do.

'You look like a real mountain recluse, Sexton!’ the Acade­mician shouted. 'But one who thrives on better things than just pine-seeds and morning dew!’

The obese monk grinned, revealing his brown, uneven teeth. He went off in the direction of the temple. Magistrate Lo conducted his other guests up a path strewn with pine-needles, leading to the granite steps of the slightly raised base of the pavilion. Judge Dee, who was bringing up the rear, noticed that three soldiers had not followed the others to the improvised kitchen. They were squatting together under a tall pine tree, about half-way between the pavilion and the temple. They wore spiked iron helmets, and had their swords strapped to their backs. He recognized the broad-shouldered sergeant he had seen in the tribunal: they were the guards, the Prefect's escort of the poetess. Magistrate Lo's guarantee for the poetess only covered her stay in the residence. Now that she was outside, her escort was on the alert again. They were right, for they were answerable for the prisoner with their lives. But their grim presence at this gay excursion gave the judge a sudden pang of anxiety.