The Phantom of the Temple

IX

At approximately the same time that Judge Dee and his ladies sat down to dinner, Ma Joong walked up to the counter of a street stall selling cheap liquor behind the Temple of the War God. The two coolies sitting there quickly paid their coppers and left. The owner, a tall ruffian wearing a loose jacket that left his hairy breast bare, reached up and transferred the single oil-lamp that lit his stall from the front to the back.

Ma Joong understood. His official black cap marking him as a member of the tribunal frightened customers. He took a handful of coppers from his sleeve and placed them on the counter, at the same time ordering a drink. The owner stretched out his hand, but Ma Joong quickly put his large fist over the coppers.

'Slowly, my friend. You'll have to earn them! I want to talk to you about Seng-san. The fellow who was murdered last night. You know him?'

'Sure. That's another good customer gone! And he'd have become an even better customer shortly. Told me last week he was on to a big thing, with big money!’

'Something a foreign barbarian was mixed up with, eh?'

'Oh no! Seng-san wasn't what you'd call particular, but he drew the line at those blasted foreigners!’

'Who did he work for, then? He was all brawn and no brain, couldn't have managed a big affair single-handed.'

The other shrugged.

'Smelled like blackmail to me. And that Seng-san could handle by himself all right!’

'You know who he was blackmailing?'

'Not a hope! Seng-san was a big talker, but on this job he kept mum. Just said there was a pot of money in it.'

'Where did the bastard live?'

'Now here, now there. Often spent the night in the deserted temple of late. Have another drink?'

'No thank you. Perhaps the fellow he was blackmail­ing was staying in the temple too.'

Are you crazy? Who would you blackmail there, I ask you? The white spook?' He spat on the ground.

'The Head of the Beggars might know. Who is that, nowadays?'

'Nobody. This is a hell of a city for a poor man to make a living, mister. First the henchmen of that bastard Chien Mow took all the businesses in their own dirty paws. Then that bearded son of a — I beg your pardon, the present magistrate, I meant to say, took over. And he keeps an eye on everything, all right! Heavens, that was old Chow who passed! Without giving me a second look. Listen, mister, do me a favour and walk on, will you? You're ruining my business. If you want to have a long and cosy talk, go and see the old King of the Beggars.'

Ma Joong pushed the coppers over to him.

'You just said there was no such man!’

'There isn't. Not any more. The King was a very tough customer, once. A real giant, of Tartar descent, I think. He was the boss of the underworld. But he's old now, and he's got trouble with his ticker. Lives somewhere in a cellar, I believe. Many thanks for the coppers, but don't come again, if you can help it!’

Ma Joong grunted something and walked on. He thought that blackmail might well have been the motive of the double murder. The object hidden in the temple might be a package of compromising letters. First the victim tried to recover them; then, when he failed, he killed the two blackmailers.

Ma Joong spent the next hour visiting four wine-houses. When he left the last one, he muttered, 'Wish Chiao Tai were with me! Makes the job much more pleasant when you have a friend you can talk to. Wonder what Brother Chiao is doing with himself in the capital. Having one more unlucky love affair, I wager! Well, I have drunk a lot of bad liquor, but I haven't learned a thing. Everybody agrees that Seng-san was a mean bully, and that he had no friends except for Ah-liu. I don't expect much from the so-called King of the Beggars either. Seems to be a pitiful old wreck. Ekes out a miser­able existence with only one old fellow who used to be his chief henchman in the old days. I should—'

He looked round. A tall, lean man had overtaken him. It was the painter Lee Ko.

'What brings you to this part of the town, Mr Lee?'

'I am getting a bit worried about my assistant Yang, Mr Ma. Fellow hasn't turned up. He's been on a spree before, but then he always told me in advance. I am checking the taverns here. Where are you bound for?'

'The old temple on the hill. If you don't find Yang, let me know. The tribunal could make a few routine checks. So long!’

Ma Joong strolled on to the east city gate. He told the guards to lend him a small storm lantern, then he had a snack in one of the cheap eating-houses that lined the highway just outside the gate. After that he felt in the right mood for climbing the steep staircase. Now that night had fallen, it had become somewhat cooler. But the stiff climb still made him sweat profusely.

1 wonder why they must always build their blasted temples in such high places!’ he muttered. 'To be nearer to Heaven, I suppose!’

When he stepped on to the clearing in front of the triple temple gate, two men came out from behind a cypress tree, swinging their clubs. Recognizing Ma Joong, they saluted and reported that he was the first visitor they had seen so far. He saw with satisfaction that one was Fang, an intelligent youngster.

'I am going to have a look around in the temple grounds,' he told the constables. 'Stay where you are. If I need you, I'll whistle. If you see a suspect character, you nab him and whistle for me.'

He passed through the gate and surveyed the front yard for a while. It looked bleak in the pale rays of the full moon.

'That garden on the left must indeed be the father and mother of all jungles!’ he said to himself. 'Well, I'll do this properly. First I'll have a squint at the main hall; then I'll imagine I am a murderer with a corpse and a severed head on my hands!’

Going up the stairs of the main gate he found that, after Judge Dee's visit in the afternoon, the headman had sealed the six-fold doors. He tore the strip of paper down, and rattled the old, warped doors vigorously till he could push one panel open. About to enter the pitch-dark hall, he suddenly stood still. He had heard the sound of a door closing somewhere in the back of the hall. But now all was silent as the grave again. Suppressing a curse, he lit the lantern with his tinderbox and went inside, holding it high. The light shone on the heavy pillars and the massive altar table in the rear. He walked quickly to the small door to the left of the altar, for the sound seemed to , have come from there. He pushed it open. Two steps went down into a long, narrow paved backyard. There was no one about.

'The headman ought to have sealed this door too, of course!’ he grumbled. 'But probably I imagined hearing that sound.' He sniffed the air. Suddenly he felt alarmed. In the hall hung the same sickly stench of decay he had noticed in Tala's house. 'Heavens, suppose the corpse and head are hidden here in this very hall! The boss didn't make a search here, for the floor-tiles are all intact, and covered with dirt.' Raising the lantern above his head, he scanned the high rafters. 'What about that niche there over the entrance? You could get a corpse up there, if you had a ladder. And perhaps the murderer did have a ladder. There was plenty of time for doing the job, he had all night!’

He pulled the two central panels of the six-fold front door open. Having secured them in that position by wedg­ing flat stones underneath, he suspended the lantern on his belt, grabbed the upper edge of the panel and climbed up, putting his feet in the gaps among the latticework. Standing with spread legs, one foot on either door, he could just look into the dark cavity. A black shape flew into his face and nearly made him lose his balance.

'Damn those bats! There's plenty of room here for a thousand of them, and for a couple of corpses too. But there's no corpse and no head. And it doesn't smell as badly here as down in the hall.'

He climbed down again and extinguished the lantern. Standing in the door-opening, he surveyed the thick wilderness along the right side of the yard.

'That big oak tree there with the raised roots must be the one beneath which our good Ah-liu laid himself down for a well-earned rest. All right, I sling the corpse over my shoulder and step down into the yard. The severed head I carry in my neckcloth. Or perhaps I entrust that precious burden to my friend. Then ...'

He broke off and stared fixedly at the undergrowth, a little beyond the oak tree. He wiped his forehead.

'I'd have sworn I saw a white shape hovering about there! Could've been a woman. Rather tall, in a long, trailing white robe. After her!'

He ran across the yard. Beyond the oak tree, however, there was only a thick mass of thorny wild white roses.

'Where did the apparition ...' he began, then stooped and looked at the broken twigs. When he had carefully parted the low branches, he grinned. 'Yes, there is a pathway here! Was, I should have said. Overgrown with weeds.'

Going down on all fours, he crept under the overhang­ing branches. Being an experienced woodsman, he knew that he was on an old footpath, hidden under the straggling undergrowth. Soon he could walk upright. He went on, hardly making any noise, halting from time to time to listen. But he heard nothing but the chirping of the cicadas, and the occasional cry of some night animal. He lit the lantern and examined the shrubs. There were dark stains on some leaves. He was on the right track.

The abandoned path meandered among the tall trees, on to a small clearing. Here another path branched off.

'That must lead back to the rear of the temple, I'd say. But I must keep to the left.' He sniffed the air. The dank smell of rotting leaves was being superseded by a subtle fragrance. 'Almond blossom! There must be several trees ahead!'

A little farther he came upon an old well, surrounded by tall almond trees. Their white blossoms were strewn over the mossy stones like so many snow flakes. Beyond the thick shrubbery on the other side of the well he saw a high wall. A large portion of the masonry had crumbled down, leaving a gap several feet wide. A pile of broken bricks and large boulders was lying beside the well, over­grown with weeds.

He looked up. Through the open space between the branches of the trees he could see the left tower of the deserted temple. That gave him his bearings.

'This abandoned well must be located in the farthest corner, at the back of this blasted garden. Where has my kind spook gone now? It either disappeared through the gap in the wall over there, or it took the side path I saw on the way here. Anyhow, she isn't here now, and that's a consolation!’

He was talking aloud to himself, for he felt far from comfortable. Supernatural phenomena were the only things under the sun he was actually afraid of. He scanned the dark trees, but nothing stirred. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned to the well.

'This is, of course, the ideal spot for dumping un­wanted corpses. Yes, look at those dark stains on the rim! And down here along the bricks! Dark red!’ He peeped inside. 'Very deep, more than twenty feet, I'd say. Lots of vegetation on the walls. This pitcher rope is rotten to the core, but it'll bear the weight of my lantern, I dare say.'

He tied the end of the rope to the handle and lowered it into the well. Under the mass of ivy there were thick liana stems that had worked their way deeply into the grooves among the old bricks. Large sections of the masonry had dropped out, leaving gaps all the way down. He peered intently at the bottom of the well.

MA JOONG MAKES A DISCOVERY

'Nothing but stones and high weeds!’ he muttered, disappointed. 'Yet the corpse must be down there some­where.' He quickly hauled the lantern up and hooked the handle under his belt. Then he climbed over the rim, took a firm hold on a thick liana stem, and groped about with his feet for a foothold in the wall. He was a trained athlete, but he had to watch his every move, for in many places the old bricks gave way when he put his foot on them. At last he had descended so far that he could let himself drop down among the weeds on the bottom. He quickly stepped aside, for his right foot had struck some­thing soft. He stooped, and a pleased grin creased his face. It was a man's leg. Parting the weeds, he saw the stark naked, headless torso of a giant of a man, its tattooed back turned up.

Ma Joong squatted and let the light of the lantern fall on the complicated design decorating the man's back. It was tattooed in vivid green, blue and yellow colours.

'That must have cost him a pretty penny!’ he thought. 'The large tiger mask between his shoulders must have been meant to protect him against attacks from behind. But the charm let him down this particular time. For he was killed by that knife-thrust just under the left shoulder blade. It's Seng-san all right! Look at those heavy muscles on his arms and legs. But where is the head of the other chap?'

He searched the limited circular space, but only dis­covered a bundle of blue clothes. At one place a large portion of the masonry had crumbled away, leaving a kind of shallow niche in the brick wall, about four feet high and three feet deep. Squatting, he let the light of the lantern fall inside. A large toad stared up at him, blinking its protruding eyes.

Ma Joong shrugged. 'So the murderer took the severed head home. Well, I'd better climb up again. The con­stables will fetch ropes and a stretcher, and — Holy Heaven!’

A large block of masonry came hurtling down into the well, missing his left shoulder by the fraction of an inch. It landed on the back of the corpse with a thud. Quick as lightning, Ma Joong kicked his lantern over and, fold­ing double, worked himself backwards into the niche. Putting his arms round his drawn-up legs and pressing his chin down on his knees, he just fitted into the hole.

Several pieces of masonry came plummeting down one after the other.

'Stop that, you fool!' he shouted. 'Ah ... my shoulder. Stop ...' He produced a series of agonized cries, followed by a loud howling that died out in low groans. More blocks of bricks came down, then a succes­sion of mossy boulders. One bounced off the wall onto his left foot. With difficulty he suppressed a cry of pain. A few bricks fell into the well. Then everything was quiet again.

Ma Joong stayed in his cramped position as long as he could bear it, listening intently. When all remained quiet, he crept out of his shelter. Massaging his stiff legs, he stared up at the mouth of the well. When he was sure nothing was there, he retrieved his lantern and lit it.

Seng-san's body was buried under a heap of stones several feet high.

'We shall have quite a job delivering you of that burden later on, Seng-san,' he muttered. 'Right now, how­ever, it'll give me a start up to the mouth of the well. And then I'll have a good look around for the well-wisher who dumped that load on you.'