Poets and Murder

XI

As she began to sway on her feet, the judge, who was nearest to her, jumped up and took her arm. 'Are you wounded?' he asked sharply.

The poetess looked up at him with vacant eyes.

'She ... she's dead,' she faltered. 'In the green-room. A gaping wound ... in her throat. I ... I got it on my hands... .'

'What the devil does she say?' the Academician shouted. 'Did she cut her hands?'

'No, it seems that the dancer had an accident,' Judge Dee told them soberly. 'We'll see what we can do for her.' He beckoned to Lo, and led the poetess outside; she leaned heavily on his arm. In the side-hall Counsellor Kao and the house­master were giving instructions to a maid. They gave the poetess a startled look, and the maid let the tray she was carrying clatter down on to the floor. As Magistrate Lo came rushing outside, the judge told him in a whisper, 'The dancer was murdered.'

Lo snapped at his counsellor:

'Run to the main gate and tell them to let no one pass! Order a clerk to call the coroner!’ And to the housemaster: 'See to it that all the gates of the residence are locked at once, then call the matron!’ Swinging round to the dumbfounded maid, he barked, 'Take Miss Yoo-lan to the anteroom at the end of the balcony, make her comfortable in an armchair and stay with her till the matron arrives!’

Judge Dee had pulled the napkin from the maid's sash and now he quickly wiped Yoo-lan's hands. There was no wound. 'How do we get to the green-room?' he asked his colleague, handing the fainting woman over to the maid.

'Come along!' Lo said briskly and went down a narrow side-passage along the left side of the banquet hall. He pushed open the door at the end, then halted with a gasp. After a quick glance at the dark flight of stairs that led down opposite the door, Judge Dee followed him inside the narrow, oblong room that smelled of sweat and perfume. No one was about there, but the light of the high, white-silk floor lamp shone on the half-naked body of Small Phoenix, lying on her back across the ebony bench. She was clad only in a transparent underrobe; her white, muscular legs hung down on to the floor. Her thin bare arms were flung out, her broken eyes stared up at the ceiling. The left side of her throat was a mass of blood that was slowly spreading on the reed-matting of the bench. Fingermarks in blood stood out on her bony shoulders. Her heavily made-up, mask-like face, with its long nose and dis­torted mouth that showed a row of small sharp teeth, re­minded the judge of the snout of a fox.

Magistrate Lo put his hand under one of her small, pointed breasts.

'Must've happened only a few minutes ago!’ he muttered as he righted himself. 'And there's the murder weapon!’ He pointed at a pair of scissors on the floor, stained with blood.

While Lo bent over the scissors, Judge Dee cast a quick glance at the woman's garments, neatly folded on the chair in front of the simple dressing-table. On the high clothes-rack in the corner hung a voluminous green silk robe with wide sleeves, a red sash and two long scarves of transparent silk. Turning to his colleague, he said:

'She was killed as she was about to slip into that dancing-robe.' He picked up the student's score book from the table, and put it in his sleeve. His eyes fell on a small door, at a right-angle to the one through which they had come in. 'Where does this lead to?'

'To the banquet hall. It's right behind the wall screen.'

Judge Dee turned the knob. When he had opened the door a crack, he heard the voice of the Court Poet: '... that Lo keeps a physician on the premises. For ...'

Pulling the door shut softly, the judge said:

'You'll want to have a good look around, Lo. Don't you think I'd better go back to the banquet hall, and deputize as host?'

'Please do, Dee! Glad you said it was an accident. Let's keep to that; it won't do to upset the guests. Say she cut herself with a pair of scissors. See you later, when I have questioned everybody.'

The judge nodded and went out. He told the cluster of frightened servants in the side-hall to go about their business, and re-entered the banquet hall. Resuming his seat, he said:

'The dancer let her scissors drop on her right foot, and a vein was cut. The poetess tried to staunch the blood, but she got faint and rushed back to us for help. I'll deputize for Lo, if I may.'

'Trust a woman to lose her head on such an occasion!’ the Academician said. 'Glad it wasn't Yoo-lan who hurt herself. I am sorry for that Phoenix girl, though. But I can't say I mind missing that fox dance. We are gathered here for a more exalted purpose than to watch а wench tripping about!’

'Hard luck for a dancer to hurt her foot,' the poet remarked. 'Well, now that we are four, we might as well forego all for­mality. Why don't we have these three tables turned into one? If Yoo-lan picks up again, we'll make room for her.'

'Very good!’ the judge exclaimed. He clapped his hands and ordered the servants to push the two side-tables up against the main one. He and the sexton moved their seats up, so that now they sat facing Shao and Chang across the improvised square table. He motioned the maids to refill their cups. After they had drunk to the speedy recovery of the dancer, two servants brought a tray with roasted duck, and the orchestra began another melody. The Academician raised his hand and shouted:

'Tell'm to take that tray back, Dee! And send those fiddlers away too. We've had plenty to eat, and plenty of music! Now we can start to drink in earnest!’

The Court Poet proposed another toast, then Sexton Loo, and Judge Dee toasted the three guests on behalf of their absent host. The Academician involved the poet in a com­plicated discussion of the merits of classical prose as compared with modern styles. This permitted the judge to engage Sexton Loo in conversation. The sexton had been drinking heavily; his vows evidently didn't include abstinence from wine. The film of moisture covering his coarse face made him resemble a toad more than ever. Judge Dee began:

'Before dinner you said you were not a Buddhist, sir. Why then do you retain the title of sexton?'

'The rank was bestowed upon me when I was young, and it stuck,' the other replied gruffly. 'Undeservedly, I admit. For I leave it to the dead to bury their own.' He emptied his cup in one draught.

'There seem to be many Buddhists in this district. I noticed a street lined by half a dozen Buddhist temples. Had only time to look at one, the Temple of Subtle Insight. What de­nomination does it belong to?'

The sexton looked him over with his bulging eyes which now had a curious reddish gleam.

'To none. They have found that the shortest way to the ultimate truth lies in one's own self. We don't need the Buddha to tell us where and how to discover it. There are no gaudy altars, no holy books, no noisy religious services. It's a quiet place and I always stay there when I come here.'

'Hey, Sexton!’ the Academician called out. 'Chang here tells me that his own poems are getting shorter all the time! He'll end up by writing some of two lines only, just like you!’

'I wish I could!’ the poet said wistfully. His cheeks were flushed. The judge thought Chang couldn't stand his drinks as well as the Academician, whose heavy-jowled, pale face was as impassive as ever. Shaking his head, the poet went on, 'At first sight your lines seem trite, Sexton; sometimes they don't even seem to make sense! Yet you can't put them out of your mind, and one day you suddenly see the point. A special toast to our great couplet poet, gentlemen!’

After they had emptied their cups, the poet resumed:

'Now that we have the place to ourselves, so to speak, why don't you inscribe that screen for our host, eh, Sexton? Your unrivalled calligraphy'll compensate Lo for all the good toasts he is missing!’

The ugly monk set down his wine cup.

'I'll dispense with your levity, Chang,' he said coldly. 'I take my work seriously.'

'Ho ho, Sexton!' the Academician shouted. 'We'll have none of your excuses. You don't dare to write, because you've had too much. I bet your legs are getting wobbly already! Come on, it's now or never!’

The Court Poet burst out laughing. Ignoring him, the sex­ton told the judge quietly:

'It'll be quite a job to get that big screen down, and the servants are all in a dither. If you get me a sheet of paper, I'll write a poem for our host here at the table.'

'All right!’ the Academician told him. 'We are magnani­mous! Since you are too drunk to write your enormous char­acters, we'll let you off with one tiny little inscription. Tell those chaps to bring ink and paper, Dee!’

Two servants cleared the table, and a maid brought a roll of blank paper and a tray with writing implements. Judge Dee selected a sheet of thick white paper of five by two feet and smoothed it out on the table while the sexton rubbed the ink, mumbling something with his thick lips. When the fat monk took up the writing-brush, the judge put his hands on the upper end of the paper to keep it steady.

The sexton rose. He stared for one brief moment at the paper, then his hand shot out and he wrote two lines, each in practically one sweep of the brush, as quickly and surely as the lash of a whip.

'By heaven!' the Academician exclaimed. 'This is indeed what the ancients called inspired writing! Can't say I care much for the content, but the calligraphy is worthy of being engraved into stone, for posterity!’

The Court Poet read the lines aloud:

' "We all return to where we came from: Where the flame went of the doused candle." Care to explain the meaning, Sexton?'

'I don't.' The sexton selected a smaller brush, and dedicated the poem to Magistrate Lo, signing it in one flourish: 'Old Man Loo'.

Judge Dee told the maids to stick the sheet up on the central panel of the wall screen. It struck him that it was an apt epitaph for the young dancer whose dead body was lying in the room behind.

Counsellor Kao came in. Bending over, he whispered some­thing in Judge Dee's ear. The judge nodded and said:

'My colleague told me to inform you, gentlemen, that to his profound regret he has to forego the honour of attending upon you. The poetess Yoo-lan asks to be excused also, for she has a splitting headache. I hope that the distinguished company will kindly consent to make do with me as deputy host.'

The Academician emptied his cup. Wiping his moustache, he said:

'You are doing very well, Dee, but I think we'll call it a day, eh, gentlemen?' He got up. 'We'll thank Lo tomorrow morning, when we view the Moon altar together.' Judge Dee conducted him to the broad staircase, the counsellor following them with the poet and the sexton. Going down, Shao said with a broad smile:

'Next time the two of us must have a longer talk, Dee! Eager to hear your views on administrative problems. I am always interested in hearing what younger officials have to say about ...' Suddenly he gave the judge a doubtful look, as if debating whether he hadn't already said all this. He solved the problem by concluding jovially, 'Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow! Good night!’

After Judge Dee and Counsellor Kao had seen the three guests off and taken leave of them with many low bows, the judge asked:

'Where's the magistrate, Mr Kao?'

'In the anteroom down here in the main hall, sir. I'll lead the way.'

The small magistrate was sitting at the tea-table, hunched up in an armchair, his elbows on the table, head bent. Hear­ing the judge come inside, he looked up with haggard eyes. His round face was drawn; even his moustache was drooping.

'I am lost, Dee,' he said hoarsely. 'Ruined completely. For good!'