Poets and Murder

III

The tea-merchant's house was located in a lane so narrow that the palankeen could hardly pass, but the high brick walls on both sides, decked with weatherbeaten green tiles, indi­cated that this was an old residential section of the town, in­habited by well-to-do people. The bearers halted in front of a black-lacquered gate, lavishly decorated with metal work. The headman who stood waiting there raised his whip, and the small crowd of curious onlookers scattered. The double-gate was pushed open. The high canopy of the palankeen just cleared the heavy age-blackened rafters of the gatehouse.

Stepping down from the palankeen after Magistrate Lo, Judge Dee threw a quick look at the well-kept front court­yard, quiet and cool in the shadow of two tall yew trees. They flanked the granite steps leading up to the impressive, red-pillared main hall. A thin man dressed in a long, olive-green gown and wearing a square black cap of pleated horsehair came hurriedly down the stairs to welcome the visitors. Lo went up to him with quick, mincing steps.

'You are the merchant Meng, I presume? Splendid! Glad to meet the owner of our most famous tea firm. Terrible thing, murder and robbery in your old-established, distinguished house! And on the eve of the Mid-autumn Festival, too!’

Mr Meng made a low bow and began to apologize for the trouble he was causing the authorities. But the small magis­trate cut him short.

'Always at the citizens' service, Mr Meng! Always! This gentleman is a friend of mine, by the way. A colleague who happened to be with me when the murder was reported.' Lo put his winged cap at a jaunty angle. 'Well, take us to the place where it happened. Your back-courtyard, if I remember correctly.'

'Indeed, Your Honour. May I be allowed to offer some re­freshments in the main hall first? Then I can explain to Your Honour exactly how ...'

'No, no need to stand on ceremony, my dear fellow! Lead the way to the back-yard, please.'

The tea-merchant's face fell, but he made a resigned bow and took them along a covered corridor that went round the main hall to a walled garden at the back, lined by rows of potted flowers. Two maidservants scurried away when they saw their master and the two high officials coming round the corner. The headman brought up the rear, the iron manacles suspended on his belt clanking together at his every step. Mr Meng pointed at the sprawling building opposite.

'Those are my family quarters, sir. We'll go round them by the pathway on the left here.'

Walking along the narrow paved path which ran under the protruding eaves, close to the red-lacquered lattice windows, Judge Dee got a glimpse of a pale face inside. He thought it was a young and rather handsome girl.

They came to an extensive orchard where a variety of fruit trees stood in tangled undergrowth.

'My late mother was greatly interested in the cultivation of trees and plants,' the tea-merchant explained. 'She person­ally supervised the gardeners. After her demise last year, I couldn't find time ...'

'Quite,' Magistrate Lo said, gathering up the lower hem of his robe. The winding footpath leading through the orchard was lined by thorny weeds. 'Those pears up there look de­licious.'

'It's a special kind, Your Honour. Large and tasty. Well, the back-yard rented by Mr Soong is over on the other side there, you can just see the roof. Your Honour'll understand now why we didn't hear any outcry or commotion at midnight. We ...'

Lo halted in his steps.

'Last night? Why then was the murder reported only this noon?'

'That was the time the body was discovered, sir. Mr Soong always breakfasted on a few oil-cakes from the stall on the corner, and he used to brew his own morning tea. But his noon and evening rice were served by my maids. When Soong didn't open up when the maid brought his noon meal, she fetched me. I knocked several times, and called Mr Soong's name. When no sound came from inside I feared he had fallen seriously ill. I ordered my steward to break the door down and ...'

'I see. Well, let's go on!'

A constable was guarding the door of the low brick build­ing at the back of the orchard. He opened the door carefully, for the panel was cracked and the hinges out of joint. As they stepped inside the small library, the tea-merchant said vexedly:

'Look how the murderer ransacked the place, sir! And it was my late mother's favourite room. After my father's death she came here nearly every afternoon — it was so quiet, and she could see her trees right in front of the window. She sat here at the desk, reading and writing. And now ...' He cast a dejected glance at the rosewood desk by the window. The drawers had been pulled out, their contents strewn on the paved floor: papers, visiting-cards, and writing implements. Beside the cushioned armchair lay a red leather cash-box, the lid half wrenched off. It was empty.

'I see that madame your mother liked poetry,' Magistrate Lo said with satisfaction. He eyed the volumes piled up on the shelves against the side wall, the titles marked on neat red labels. The books were bristling with reading marks stuck among the leaves. Lo went to take a volume down, then thought better of it and asked curtly:

'The door-curtain back there leads to the bedroom, I sup­pose?'

As Meng nodded, Lo quickly pulled the curtain aside. The bedroom was somewhat larger than the library. Against the back wall stood a simple bedstead, the quilts turned back, and beside its head a small bedside table bearing a candle that had burnt out completely. A long bamboo flute was hanging from a nail on the wall. Opposite stood a dressing-table of carved ebony. The clothes-box of red pigskin had been pulled out from under the bed, its open lid revealing a mass of rumpled men's garments. In the back wall was a solid door, provided with a large bolt. A squat man in a blue gown was kneeling by the side of the dead man on the floor. Judge Dee saw over Lo's shoulder that the student had been a thin, bony man with a regular face adorned by a small moustache and chin­beard. His topknot had come loose; the hair was sticking to the pool of clotted blood on the floor mat. His black cap, spattered with blood, was lying beside his head. He was clad in a white nightrobe, and he had soft felt shoes on his feet, the soles of which showed traces of dried mud. There was an ugly gash under his right ear.

The coroner came hastily to his feet and made a bow.

'The artery on the right side of his neck was cut by a savage blow, Your Honour. With a large knife or chopper, I'd say. About midnight, judging by the condition of the body. He was lying right here, on his face. I turned him over to verify whether there were other signs of violence, but I found none.'

Magistrate Lo muttered something, then devoted his atten­tion to the tea-merchant, who had remained standing just inside the door. Twirling the points of his small moustache with thumb and forefinger, he gave Meng a thoughtful look. Judge Dee thought that Meng had a rather scholarly air: a long, sallow face, the thinness of which was stressed by the drooping moustache and ragged goatee.

'You also mentioned midnight, Mr Meng,' Lo suddenly said. 'Why?'

'It had struck me, sir,' the tea-merchant replied slowly, 'that although Mr Soong was dressed in his nightrobe, the bed had not been slept in. Now we know he kept late hours; there usually was a light in his window till midnight. Therefore I supposed that the murderer surprised Soong just when he was about to go to bed.'

Lo nodded. 'How did the murderer get inside, Mr Meng?' The other sighed. Shaking his head, he replied: 'Mr Soong seems to have been a little absent-minded, Your Honour. The maids told my wife that he would often just sit and brood when they set the table for his meals, and did not reply when addressed. Last night he forgot to bolt the back door of this room, and also omitted to bar the garden gate. This way, please, Your Honour.'

The constable sitting on the ramshackle bamboo bench in the small garden sprang to attention. It crossed Judge Dee's mind that Lo had seen to it that his personnel were trained well: posting guards at all approaches to the scene of a crime was a precaution neglected by many more perfunctory magis­trates. He bestowed a cursory look upon the shed that served as kitchen and washroom, then joined Lo and Meng who were going out through the narrow gate in the high garden wall. The headman of the constables followed them into the alley that ran between the forbidding garden walls of the houses in Mr Meng's lane and in the street running parallel to it. Pointing at the heaps of refuse that cluttered up the narrow passage, the tea-merchant remarked:

'Late at night vagabonds and ragpickers often roam about here, Your Honour, exploring these piles of rubbish. I warned Mr Soong always to keep the garden gate barred at night. Last night he must have gone out for a walk, and on his return forgotten to do so. Nor did he bolt the bedroom door, for when I found his dead body, it was standing ajar. The garden gate was closed but not barred. I'll show it to you, exactly as I found it.'

He took them back into the garden. A heavy wooden cross­bar was propped up against the garden wall, beside the gate. Mr Meng resumed:

'It's easy to reconstruct what happened, Your Honour. A ruffian passing through the alley noticed that the garden gate was ajar. He slipped into the garden and inside the house, assuming that the occupant was asleep. But Soong, who was just preparing for bed, spotted him. When the ruffian saw that Soong was all alone, he killed him on the spot. Then he ransacked the bedroom and the library. After he had dis­covered the cash-box, he took the money and left in the same way he had come.'

Magistrate Lo nodded slowly. 'Did Mr Soong usually keep a large sum of money in the cash-box?'

'That I couldn't tell you, sir. He paid one month's rent in advance, but he must have left at least travelling funds for his return journey to the capital. And there may have been some trinkets in his clothes-box.'

'We'll get the scoundrel soon enough, Excellency!' the headman remarked. 'Those ruffians always start spending freely as soon as they've made a good haul. Shall I order my men to make the round of the wine-houses and gambling-dens, sir?'

'Yes, do that, Headman. Let them also make discreet in­quiries in the pawnshops. Place the body in a temporary coffin, and convey it to the mortuary in the tribunal. We must also inform the next of kin.' Magistrate Lo turned to the tea-merchant and asked, 'Soong will have had some friends or relatives here in this town, I suppose?'

'Apparently he hadn't, Your Honour. No one ever came to my house inquiring after him, and to the best of my know­ledge he never received visitors. Mr Soong was a serious, studious young man, kept himself very much to himself. I told him at our first meeting that he was always welcome for a cup of tea and a chat after dinner, but all through the past two weeks he never availed himself of my invitation. That astonished me a bit, sir, for he was a polite, well-spoken youngster. As a common courtesy to one's host, one'd have expected that ...'

'All right, Mr Meng. I'll tell my counsellor to write a letter to the Board of Education in the capital, asking them to in­form Soong's family. Let's go back to the library.'

Lo offered Judge Dee the armchair at the desk. He himself pulled up a barrel-shaped seat to the bookshelves. He took a few volumes down and began to leaf through them.

'Aha!’ he exclaimed. 'Your late mother was a lady of excel­lent literary taste, Mr Meng! She also read the minor poets, I see. Minor by the official standard, at least.' He shot a quick look at the judge and added with a smile, 'My friend Dee, being rather conservative, Mr Meng, probably won't agree. But personally I find those so-called minor poets more original than those who receive official recognition in the Imperial Catalogue.' He replaced the books, and took down a few others. While leafing through them he resumed without look­ing up, 'Since Mr Soong had no friends or relatives here in Chin-hwa, Mr Meng, how did he know that you wanted to rent your back-yard?'

'I happened to be visiting Your Honour's counsellor, Mr Kao, when Soong came to register two weeks ago, sir. Mr Kao was aware that I wanted to rent this section of my residence after my mother's death, and he kindly introduced me to Mr Soong. I took the student home with me, and showed him the yard. He was very pleased, said that it was exactly the kind of quiet lodging he had been looking for. He added that if his research in the old records would take more time than expected, he would like to prolong the tenancy. I was pleased too, for it isn't easy to ...'

The tea-merchant broke off, for Lo didn't seem to be listen­ing. He was absorbed in reading one of the paper slips tucked in the volume in his lap. The small magistrate looked up.

'Your mother's comments are very much to the point, Mr Meng. And she wrote a beautiful hand!'

'She practised calligraphy every morning, Your Honour, even after her eyesight deteriorated. And since my late father was also interested in poetry, they often discussed to­gether the ...'

'Excellent!' Lo exclaimed. 'Your house can boast of an elegant literary heritage, Mr Meng. You yourself continue that noble tradition, I trust?'

The tea-merchant smiled sadly.

'Unfortunately, Heaven decided to withhold its blessings for one generation, Your Honour. I myself have no talent for literature at all. But it seems that my son and daughter ...'

'Very good! Well, Mr Meng, we shan't detain you any longer. You're doubtless eager to go to your shop. On the corner where our main thoroughfare is crossed by Temple Street, isn't it? Do you keep bitter tea from the south in stock? Yes? Good! I'll tell my housemaster to place an order with you. Best tea to drink after a heavy dinner. Shall do my utmost to get the ruffian who committed this brutal murder as soon as possible. Let you know at once when there's news. Good-bye, Mr Meng.'

The tea-merchant made his bow in front of the two magis­trates, and the headman took him outside. When he was alone with Judge Dee, Lo slowly replaced the books on the shelf. He straightened the volumes carefully, then he folded his hands over his paunch. Rolling up his eyes, he exclaimed:

'Holy heaven, what terrible luck, elder brother! To be saddled with a complicated case of premeditated murder, just when I have to entertain such illustrious guests! And it'll take much hard work to solve this case, for the murderer was a clever devil. You agree that the cap was the only real mis­take he made, don't you, Dee?' a document. These are Soong's notes on his historical research. The first six pages are covered with his small, scholarly hand­writing, the fifty or so that remain are still blank. You see that Soong was a methodical fellow, for he numbered each sheet. Yet the pile is askew, and on some of the blank sheets there are dusty fingermarks. Which indicates that the mur­derer carefully went through this pile. And what vagrant ruffian will ever bother to go through a bundle of manuscript notes?'

Lo got up with a deep sigh.

'Since the scoundrel had all night to search for the blasted paper, he probably found it too! But I am afraid we'll have to go over the place anyway, Dee. Just to make sure.'

Judge Dee got up too. Together they searched the library thoroughly. When the judge had sorted out the papers strewn on the floor and replaced them in the drawers, he remarked:

'All these documents are bills, receipts and so on of the Meng family. The only item that belonged to Soong is this small volume entitled Tunes for the Straight Flute, written in his hand, and marked with his seal. It's a complicated musical score unknown to me, consisting of abbreviated characters, as far as I can see. There are a dozen or so tunes, but the titles and the words have been omitted.'

Lo had been looking under the floormat. He righted himself and said:

'Yes, Soong played the flute. A long bamboo flute is hang­ing in his bedroom. Noticed it because I used to play the flute too, formerly.'

'Have you ever seen this system of notation?'

'No. I always played by ear,' Lo replied loftily. 'Well, we'd better go to work on the bedroom now, Dee. There's nothing here.'

The judge put the music book in his sleeve, and they went to the other room. The coroner was laboriously writing out his report on the autopsy, standing at the dressing-table, his portable writing-set at his elbow. Magistrate Lo took the flute that was hanging by a silk tassel from the nail in the wall. He shook back his sleeves with a determined gesture, and put the flute to his lips. But he succeeded only in producing a few disconcertingly shrill notes. Quickly lowering the flute, he said with a pained look:

'Used to play rather well, but I am out of practice. A good place to hide a document in, though. Tightly rolled up.' He peered into the flute, then shook his head disconsolately.

They went through the clothes-box, but the only papers they found were Soong's identity card and a few documents relating to his literary examinations. There was not one per­sonal note or letter.

Shaking the dust from his robe, Judge Dee said:

'According to his landlord, Soong knew nobody here in your district. But Meng admits he hardly ever saw his lodger. We must question the maids who brought him his food, Lo.'

'That I must leave to you, elder brother! I really have to go home now. Have to pay my respects to my distinguished guests, you know. And my first, seventh and eighth wives told me this morning they want to consult me about purchases for the Moon Festival.'

'All right, I'll do the questioning.' While conducting his colleague to the door, the judge resumed, 'The feast'll be a big treat for your children, Lo. How many have you?'

Lo smiled broadly.

'Eleven boys and six girls,' he announced proudly. Then, however, his face fell. 'I've eight wives, you see. Quite a bur­den, Dee. Emotionally, I mean. Set out on my official career with only three wives, but you know how it goes. One con­tracts a friendship somewhere outside, then it seems so much simpler to put the lady in a pavilion within one's compound, and the next thing you know is that she's formally installed as a secondary wife! And it's sad to see how such a change in status will affect a woman's character, Dee. If I remember how nice and accommodating my eighth was when she was still dancing in the Sapphire Bower... .' Suddenly he smote his forehead. 'Holy heaven, I nearly forgot! I must drop in at the Sapphire Bower on my way back. To select the dancers for the dinner party tonight, you see. Always make it a point to choose them personally, feel it's my duty to see that my guests get only the best. Well, fortunately the Sapphire Bower is only a couple of streets from here.'

'Is it a house of assignation?'

Lo gave him a reproachful look.

'My dear fellow! Of course not! Call it a distribution centre of local talent. Or a training institute for the liberal arts.'

'Training institute or distribution centre,' Judge Dee said dryly, 'since the student Soong was all alone here, he may have paid a visit there late at night. Better inquire whether they remember a man answering the student's description, Lo.'

'Yes, I'll do that.' Suddenly the small magistrate chuckled. 'Must see also about a little surprise tonight. Specially for you, Dee!'

'You'll do nothing of the sort!’ the judge told him acidly. 'I must say I fail to understand how you can be thinking of frolicking with women while this murder case ...'

Lo raised his hand.

'You have me all wrong, elder brother! My surprise con­cerns an intriguing judicial problem.'

'Oh yes. I ... I see,' the judge said contritely. He resumed quickly, 'Anyway, I think we can do without another judicial problem, Lo. Soong's murder is intriguing enough! If that unfortunate student had been a local citizen, we'd at least know where to look for clues. But since Soong arrived here out of the blue, so to speak, I fear that ...'

'You know that I never mix business with pleasure, Dee,' Lo said primly. 'The brutal murder of Soong is official busi­ness. My surprise for you, on the other hand, is a purely theoretical problem, for its legal consequences concern neither of us. You'll meet the main person at dinner tonight, Dee! Tantalizing puzzle. It'll tickle you no end!’

Judge Dee shot his colleague a suspicious look. Then he said briskly, 'Please order the steward to bring the maid who used to serve Soong here, Lo. And send a palankeen to fetch me, will you?'

As Magistrate Lo took the path across the orchard, two guards carrying a bamboo stretcher made way for him. Judge Dee took them to the bedroom. While the guards rolled the dead body in a reed mat and placed it on the stretcher, the judge read the official report the coroner had handed him. Stuffing it into his sleeve, he said:

'You state here only that the mortal blow was inflicted by a sharp instrument. I noticed it wasn't a clean-cut wound — a jagged gash, rather. What about a chisel or a file, or some other carpenter's tool?'

The coroner pursed his lips.

'Quite possible, sir. Since the murder weapon was not found, I didn't like to commit myself.'

'I see. You may leave now, coroner. I'll hand your report to the magistrate.'

An elderly man with a pronounced stoop herded two girls inside. Both wore simple blue gowns with black sashes round their waists. The younger was small and rather plain-looking, but the other had a round, attractive face, and her carriage showed she was well aware of her good figure. Judge Dee motioned them to follow him to the library. When he had let himself down into the armchair again, the old steward pushed the small girl to the front and said with a bow:

'This is Peony, sir. She used to serve Soong his noon rice, clean up and make the bed. The other is called Aster. She brought him his evening meals.'

'Well, Peony,' the judge addressed the plain girl kindly, 'Mr Soong must have given you quite a lot of extra work. Especially when he had company.'

'Oh no, sir, Mr Soong never had any visitors. And I didn't mind a little extra work, sir, for it's an easy household, since the Old Lady died. There's only the master and the first and second mistress, and their son and daughter. Very kind per­sons, all of them, sir. And Mr Soong also was a kind gentle­man. Gave me a tip for doing his laundry.'

'He often engaged you in small talk, I suppose?'

'Only good morning and so on, sir. He was a scholarly gentleman, sir. Terrible to think that now he ...'

'Thank you. Take Peony outside, Steward.' When he was alone with the elder girl, the judge resumed, 'Peony is a little country lass, Aster. You look like a girl about town who knows what's what, and ...' He had expected a smile, but she just stared fixedly at him, a glint of fear in her wide eyes. Suddenly she asked:

'Is it true what the steward said, sir? That his throat was bitten through?'

The judge raised his eyebrows.

'Bitten through, you say? What nonsense is this? Mr Soong's neck had been cut with a ...' He broke off in mid-sentence, remembering the jagged gash. 'Speak up!’ he re­sumed testily. 'What do you mean by bitten through?'

Looking down at her tightly clasped hands, she said in a surly voice:

'Mr Soong had a girl friend. I am going steady with the head-waiter in the large tea-house in the next street, and the other night when we stood talking on the corner of the back alley, we saw Mr Soong slip outside, stealthy-like. All dressed up in black.'

'Did you see him meet his girl there?'

'No, sir. But a couple of days ago he asked me whether the silver shop behind the Temple of Confucius still sells those hairpins with round filigree knobs. He wanted a present for his girl, of course. And she ... she killed him.'

Judge Dee gave her an uncertain look.

'What exactly do you mean?' he asked quietly.

'She was a fox, sir! A fox posing as a beautiful young girl, so as to bewitch him. And when he was completely in her power, she bit his throat.' Seeing Judge Dee's contemptuous smile, she went on quickly, 'He was under a spell, sir, I swear it! And he knew it, for he asked me once whether there were many foxes here, and where they ...'

'A level-headed young woman like you,' the judge inter­rupted, 'ought to know better than to believe those silly stories about fox-magic. Foxes are just nice, clever animals that harm nobody.'

"The people here don't think so, sir,' she said stubbornly. 'I tell you that he was bewitched by a female fox. You should've heard those weird tunes he used to play on his flute at night! That strange music carried all across the orchard. I could hear it when I was combing my master's daughter's hair.'

As I passed the family quarters, I saw a handsome young girl looking through the window. That was Mr Meng's daugh­ter, I suppose?'

'Must've been her, sir. Handsome is as handsome does, and she's an open-handed, nice girl. Only sixteen, but very good at making poetry, people say.'

'To come back to your boy friend, Aster. Has Mr Soong ever visited the tea-house where he works? It's quite near, you said.'

'No, sir. He's never seen the student anywhere. And he knows all the tea- and wine-houses in this neighbourhood — too well! Please don't tell the master about my boy friend, sir. The master is very old-fashioned, and ...'

'Don't worry, Aster, I shan't.' The judge rose. 'Thanks very much.'

Outside he told the steward to take him to the main gate, where a small litter stood waiting.

As he was carried back to the tribunal, the judge reflected that the student's murder would probably not be solved before his departure for Poo-yang. It had all the makings of a vexing, time-consuming case. Well, Magistrate Lo would know how to deal with it. His colleague had handled the investigation on the spot in a businesslike manner, and he was a shrewd observer. Doubtless he also would have realized that this might after all turn out to be an inside case. The tea-merchant had seemed over-eager to convince them that a vagrant ruffian from outside had committed the crime. There were all kinds of interesting possibilities.

He pulled the six pages of the student's notes from his sleeve, and read them through carefully. Then he leaned back, pensively tugging at his moustache. The notes were to the point. Names of rebel leaders were listed that apparently were not mentioned in the official history, and data on the economic situation in the district at the time of the peasant revolt, two hundred years ago. Yet it seemed but a meagre result, if one remembered that Soong had spent every after­noon in the chancery archives during the past two weeks. The judge decided he would draw Lo's attention to the possibility that Soong's historical research had been only a pretext, and that he had come to Chin-hwa for quite a different reason.

It was curious that the superstition about fox-magic was so strong in this district. Popular belief all over the country credited the fox with supernatural powers, and the storytellers on the market loved to expand on old tales of foxes changing themselves into beautiful young girls to bewitch young men, or into old gentlemen of venerable appearance who led un­suspecting young girls astray. But classical literature, on the contrary, stated that the fox had mystic powers over malicious spirits. Therefore one would often find in old palaces and public offices a small shrine dedicated to the fox spirit, which was supposed to ward off evil, and to protect especially the official seals, the emblems of authority. He thought he had seen such a small shrine in his colleague's residence.

He wondered uneasily what surprise his colleague had in store for him at dinner, for he profoundly distrusted Lo's par­ticular kind of impish humour. Heaven only knew what mis­chief he was up to now! Lo had suggested that one of his guests was involved in a judicial problem. The person con­cerned could hardly be the Academician or the Court Poet, both high-ranking officials and famous men of letters, cer­tainly capable of dealing effectively with all their personal problems, judicial or not! It had to be that mysterious sexton who had got himself into trouble. Well, he would know soon enough. The judge closed his eyes.