The Chinese Nail Murders

Twenty-first Chapter

The next morning Judge Dee went out for an early ride. But in the streets the people shouted at him, and near the Drum Tower a stone nearly hit him.

He rode to the old drill ground, and galloped around it a few times. Back at the tribunal he reflected that he had better not show himself outside till he could call a session of the tribunal and announce a solution of the case of Mrs. Loo.

The next two days he passed dealing with matters connected with the district administration. His three lieutenants went out every day, searching frantically for new clues. But all their attempts were in vain.

The only good news came on the second day, in the form of a long letter from his First Lady. She wrote from Tai-yuan that the crisis had been tided over, and that her old mother was now well on her way to a complete recovery. They were planning to return to Pei-chow in the near future. The judge reflected sadly that unless he solved the case of Mrs. Loo, he would never see his family again.

Early in the morning of the third day, when Judge Dee was sitting in his office eating his breakfast, the clerk announced the arrival of a captain from the Generalissimo's headquarters, carry­ing a letter which he had to hand to the magistrate personally.

A tall man came in, clad in full armor covered with snow. He bowed and handed the judge a large sealed letter, saying stiffly:

"I am under orders to take the answer back with me."

The judge shot him a curious look. "Be seated," he said curtly and opened the letter.

It stated that the secret agents of the military police had re­ported unrest among the population of Pei-chow. There were also reports about military preparations among the barbarian hordes high up in the north, and the Generalissimo deemed it a military necessity that the area at the back of the Northern Army be at peace. It was intimated that if the Magistrate of Pei-chow would send a request for the stationing of a garrison in his district, it would be complied with at once. The letter was signed and sealed by the Commanding General of the Military Police, on behalf of the Generalissimo.

Judge Dee grew pale.

He quickly took up his brush and wrote a reply of four lines: "The Magistrate of Pei-chow appreciates the prompt communica­tion but begs to report that he himself will take this morning the necessary steps for ensuring the immediate return of peace and order in his district."

He impressed the large red seal of the tribunal on the letter, and gave it to the captain, who accepted it with a bow and took his leave.

Judge Dee rose and called the clerk. He told him to take out his full ceremonial dress, and to call his three lieutenants.

Ma Joong, Chiao Tai and Tao Gan looked astonished when they saw the judge clad in his court dress and wearing the gold-lined velvet ceremonial cap.

Looking sadly at the faces of the three men who had become his trusted friends, the judge said:

"This situation can't go on. I have just received a veiled com­plaint from the Generalissimo's headquarters about the unrest among the population of this district. They propose to station troops here; my capacity for administering Pei-chow is being questioned. I shall require your presence as witnesses to a brief ceremony in my own house."

As he walked along the covered corridors that connected the chancery with his private quarters, Judge Dee reflected that this was the first time he had visited his own house since his family had left for Tai-yuan.

The judge took his lieutenants straight to his ancestral shrine at the back of the main hall. The chilly room was bare except for a large cupboard that reached up to the ceiling, and an altar table on the left.

Judge Dee lighted the sticks in the incense burner, then knelt in front of the cupboard. His three lieutenants knelt down near the entrance.

Rising, the judge reverently opened the high double doors of the cupboard. The shelves were crowded with small, vertical wooden tablets, each standing on a miniature pedestal of carved wood. Those were the soul tablets of Judge Dee's ancestors, each marked in golden letters with their posthumous name and rank, and the year, day and hour of their birth and death.

The judge knelt again, and touched the floor three times with his forehead. Then, with closed eyes, he concentrated his thoughts.

The last time the ancestral shrine had been opened was twenty years ago, in Tai-yuan, when his father had announced to the ancestors Judge Dee's marriage with his First Lady. He had been kneeling with his bride behind his father. He saw before him the thin, white-bearded figure with the dear, wrinkled face.

But now his father's face was cold and impersonal. The judge saw him standing at the entrance of an immense assembly hall, lined on left and right by a crowd of grave men, standing motion­less, all eyes fixed on himself, kneeling there at his father's feet. Across the vast expanse of the floor, at the back of the hall, he saw faintly the long robe, shimmering with gold, of the Grand Ancestor, sitting there motionless on his high throne. He had lived eight centuries ago, not long after the Sage, Confucius.

Kneeling humbly before this solemn assembly, the judge felt at peace and relaxed, like a man who has finally come home after a long and arduous journey. He spoke in a clear voice:

"The unworthy descendant of the illustrious house of Dee, named Jen-djieh, eldest son of the late Councillor Dee Cheng-yuan, respectfully reports that having failed in his duties to the state and the people, he will today tender his resignation. At the same time he will accuse himself of two capital crimes, namely having desecrated a grave without sufficient reason, and having falsely accused a person of having committed a murder. He was sincere in purpose, but his slender capacities proved unequal to the task entrusted to him. Reporting these facts this person re­spectfully begs forgiveness."

As he fell silent the vast assembly slowly faded away before his mind's eye. The last he saw was his father calmly rearranging the folds of his long red robe, in the gesture so familiar to him.

The judge rose. Having bowed again three times, he closed the doors of the shrine.

He turned around and motioned the three men to follow him.

Back in his private office the judge said in a steady voice:

"I now want to be alone. I shall draw up the official letter of resignation. You'll come back here before noon, and have the text of my letter put up on placards throughout the city, so that the people will be at rest."

The three men bowed silently, then fell on their knees and touched the floor three times with their foreheads, to signify that nothing could change their allegiance, whatever might befall the judge.

When they had gone, Judge Dee wrote his letter to the Prefect, describing his failure in detail, and accusing himself of the two capital crimes. He added that there were no grounds for asking leniency.

Having signed and sealed the letter, he leaned back in his arm­chair with a deep sigh. This had been his last official act as mag­istrate of Pei-chow. In the afternoon, as soon as the text was promulgated, he would hand the seals of office temporarily to the senior scribe, who would administer the district until another official arrived to take over.

Sipping his tea Judge Dee found that now he could view his own coming trial dispassionately. The death sentence was certain; the only point in his favor was that once, when serving as mag­istrate of Poo-yang, he had been granted an Imperial Inscription. He fervently hoped that the Metropolitan Court in consideration thereof would refrain from confiscating all his property. His wives and children would of course be taken care of by his younger brother in Tai-yuan. But the judge reflected that it is sad to live on charity, even with one's own relatives.

He was glad that at least his First Lady's mother had recovered. She would be a great help to her daughter in the trying days that lay ahead.