Murder Up My Sleeve

An Acknowledgment

The Chinese characters in this book are fictitious, but the background is not. Such inaccuracies as exist are due to my own inability to concentrate upon that which has been shown me, and, in turn, to depict that which I have seen.

Cultured Chinese rarely mingle with foreigners, are particularly inaccessible to the “Tourist”. That I am privileged to enjoy the friendship of many of this group is a source of constant gratification. Their loyalty to friendship, the patience with which they have condoned my many errors, has created a lasting impression upon me.

It is hard for them to understand a memory which is less than photographic. My clumsy attempts at mastering their language, my glaring breaches of Chinese etiquette, must have provoked both mirth and embarrassment. That I have never seen evidences of either is typical of their innate courtesy.

Lest some of the things in this book seem exaggerated, may I observe that the most scholarly talk on concentration I have ever listened to was by a Chinese; that the one man I have met who seemed to have a perfect command of the English language, summoning with effortless ease the words by which he expressed the most subtle nuances of meaning, was Chinese; that the most satisfactory friendships I have ever enjoyed were with Chinese.

China is a large nation. Its people Comprise many classes. Too much has been written of the more accessible lower classes; too little of the aloof Chinese aristocrat, who considers the true teacher with a respect akin to reverence. I am not a novelist. I wish I were. But lest the reader consider the Chinese atmosphere in this book overdrawn, I assure him that I have known the exact counterpart of the characters described. I have had Chinese friends unhesitatingly risk their lives in my behalf. I am indebted to them for a most fascinating system of mental discipline, and I herewith make public acknowledgment of that indebtedness.

E. S. G.