Murder in Canton

XXV

Night had fallen when Tao Gan, working with the four agents, wound up the case of the Censor's death. With quiet efficiency he had covered up all evidence of what had really taken place. The Arab dancer's dead body had been secretly taken to the tribunal, then openly brought to the Temple of the Flowery Pagoda to be cremated. Liang's accomplices had been taken away by the mili­tary police, without even having been interrogated. They would be disposed of as soon as the convoy arrived in the mountains up river. Tao Gan was dead tired when at last he signed and sealed all the necessary documents, in Judge Dee's name. For the judge had left Canton as soon as he had personally made the arrange­ments for Chiao Tai's body to be removed to the capital. He had left in a special mounted convoy. A platoon of military police rode in front to clear the road. They carried the red-bordered banner signifying that they were entitled to requisition new horses at every post they passed. It would be a gruelling ride, but it was the quickest way to reach the capital.

Tao Gan left the tribunal and told the litter bearers to take him to the Liang mansion. The main hall was brilliantly lit by oil lamps and torches. Mr Liang's body was lying in state on a mag­nificent canopied bier. A steady stream of people was passing in front. They burned incense and paid their last respects to the de­ceased. A dignified elderly gentleman whom Tao Gan took to be the uncle received the visitors, assisted by the old housekeeper.

As Tao Gan sourly watched the solemn ceremony, he suddenly found Mr Yau Tai-kai standing by his side.

'A sad, sad day for Canton!’ Mr Yau said. But his melancholy voice was belied by the crafty look on his face. Evidently he was gleefully calculating already which of the dead man's interests he could now take over. 'I hear that your boss has left,' Yau resumed. 'He seemed to suspect me of something, you know, for he ques­tioned me closely, once. But now that he has gone back to the capital without summoning me, that means that I am in the clear, I suppose.'

Tao Gan gave him a baleful look.

'Well,' he said slowly, 'I am not allowed to discuss official busi­ness with outsiders, really. But since I like you, I'll give you a piece of inside information that might come in useful. When a person is put on to the rack, he shouldn't forget to ask the executioner's assistant to place a wooden gag between his teeth. It happens not infrequently, you see, that people in their agony bite their tongue off. But I wouldn't worry too much, Mr Yau, if I were you! Worrying has never yet saved a man. Good luck!’

He turned round and walked off, leaving Mr Yau standing there, a look of stark terror in his bovine eyes.

Somewhat cheered by this encounter, Tao Gan dismissed his litter and went on to the market place on foot. His back was aching and his feet were sore, but he felt he needed time to sort out his thoughts. The market was teeming with noisy humanity, and the dark back street he entered seemed by contrast even more dismal than before.

When he had climbed the narrow staircase, he stood still in front of the door for a moment and listened. He faintly heard a soft, whirring sound. His surmise had been right.

He knocked and stepped inside. The small cages hanging from the eaves were outlined against the evening sky, and in the semi-darkness he vaguely saw the tea-basket on the table.

'It is I,' he said when she came round from behind the bamboo screen. He took her sleeve and guided her to the bench. They sat down there, side by side.

'I knew I would find you here,' he resumed. 'I am travelling back to the capital early tomorrow morning, and I didn't want to leave without saying good-bye. Fate has struck heavily, both at you and at me. You lost your brother and your sister, I my best friend.' He told her briefly about Chiao Tai's death. Then he asked anxiously, 'How are you going to get along all alone now?'

'It's very thoughtful of you to remember me, in your great sorrow,' she said quietly. 'But don't worry about me. Before leav­ing the mansion, I had my uncle draw up a document wherein I renounce all my claims to my late brother's possessions. I don't need anything. I have my crickets, and with them I shall get along all right. With them I shan't be lonely.'

Tao Gan listened for a long while to the whirring sound.

'I carefully kept those two crickets of yours, you know,' he said at last. 'The one you sent me and the one I found in your room in the Examination Hall. I too am beginning to appreciate their song. It is peaceful. And I am feeling old and weary, Lan-lee; peace is the only thing I am longing for.

He cast a quick glance at her still face. Lightly laying his hand on her arm, he resumed diffidently:

'I would be very grateful indeed if you would come to stay with me in the capital some day. With your crickets.'

She did not draw her arm away.

'If your First Lady does not object,' she said in her even voice. 'I shall be glad to think it over.'

'I am all alone. There is no First Lady.' Then he added softly, 'But there will be one. Any time you say so.'

She raised her blind face, listening intently. One sound was now drowning that of the other crickets, a sustained, clear note.

'That's the Golden Bell!' she said with a contented smile. 'If you listen well, you'll know that his song means more than peace alone. It means happiness.'