Poets and Murder

XIV

The obese sexton was now dressed in a brown robe of hemp, fastened on his left shoulder by a clasp of rusty iron. He gravely accepted the greetings of the two magistrates, then listened silently to Lo's effusive thanks for the scroll he had written for him the night before. Then he tapped the dossier in front of him with his thick forefinger and said in his hoarse voice:

'Dropped in here to read up on the peasant revolt, two hundred years ago. There was a massacre at the South Gate. If all the people who were then put to the sword were still about there, you wouldn't be able to shoulder your way through the gate! You need this particular file, Lo?'

'No, sir. Just came to locate a document.'

The sexton gave him his toad-like stare.

'You did, did you? Well, if you can't find it, just seal this room, and light a stick of incense in your fox shrine. When you come back here, you'll find the dossier you want stick­ing out beyond the others on those shelves. The fox spirit'll help an official. Sometimes.' He shut the file and got up. 'Well, isn't it time to view your Moon Altar?'

'I'll take you there now, sir! Hope you'll join us later, Dee. Ha, there's my counsellor! Help my colleague to find his way among the dossiers, Kao!’

Lo went out, respectfully opening the door for the sexton.

'What can I do for you, sir?' Mr Kao asked in his precise voice.

'I was told that in the Year of the Dog there occurred an unsolved murder here, Mr Kao. I'd like to have a look at the dossier on that case.'

'The Year of the Dog is notorious because of the conspiracy of the Ninth Prince, sir! But an unsolved murder, no, I don't remember ever having read about that. Perhaps the greybeard over there'll know, sir. He was born and bred here! Hey there, Liu, do you recall an unsolved murder in the Year of the Dog?'

The old clerk thought, fingering his ragged chinbeard.

'No, sir. It was a bad year for us here in Chin-hwa, all right, with the high treason of General Mo Te-ling. But no unsolved murder, no, sir.'

'I have read about the case of General Mo,' Judge Dee re­marked. 'He was a confederate of the rebellious Ninth Prince, wasn't he?'

'Oh yes, sir. All the documents are in that large red box, up on the fifth shelf on the right there. The paperbound dos­siers beside it deal with other judicial cases of that same year.'

'Let's get the whole lot down here on the table, Mr Kao.'

The old clerk put the stepladder up against the shelves, and took the files down one by one, handing them to the counsellor who placed them in chronological order on the table. As the row grew longer and longer, Judge Dee realized the magnitude of his task. It needn't have been an unsolved murder, of course. It might as well have been a case recorded as solved, but where an innocent man had been convicted. His accuser was then technically the murderer of the executed man.

'You keep the archives in excellent order, Mr Kao,' he re­marked. 'There isn't a speck of dust on them!’

'I have the clerks take all the dossiers down once every month, sir,' the counsellor said with a pleased smile. 'The boxes are polished, and the documents aired, which also keeps insects out!'

The judge reflected that in this case it was a pity that the archives were in such a spick-and-span condition. If these old files from the upper shelves had been covered with dust, recent smudges might tell which ones the student had been consult­ing.

'The murdered student used to work here at this table, I suppose?'

'Yes, sir. The files stacked on the lower shelf there are those regarding the peasant revolt which Soong was studying. A very intelligent young man, sir, with a wide interest in ad­ministrative problems. When I came in here, I often found him also reading files of a more recent date. A serious research worker, never tried to keep me here for a talk. Well, this is the lot, sir.'

'Thank you. I won't keep you from your work, Mr Kao. If I need a particular document, I shall ask the old clerk.'

When the counsellor had taken his leave, Judge Dee sat down at the table and opened the first dossier. The greybeard returned to the papers he was sorting out at the other end of the table. Soon the judge was immersed in a variety of cri­minal cases. One or two posed interesting problems, but none suggested a miscarriage of justice, and the name Soong occurred only once, as defendant in a minor case of fraud. When a young clerk brought fresh tea, he learned to his astonishment that it was already one hour before noon. The clerk informed him also that the magistrate was still in the fourth courtyard of the residence, together with his guests. It seemed that the noon meal would be served there too.

Heaving a sigh, the judge decided he would tackle the box containing the papers relating to General Mo Te-ling's high treason. A man found guilty of a crime against the State was executed together with all his accomplices, and it was not im­possible that one of those had been falsely accused.

As soon as he had opened the box, a thin smile of satis­faction curved his lips. The folders the box was packed with had been stuffed carelessly inside and not in the correct sequence. In these exceptionally well-kept archives, this was a sign he was on the right track. The student had evidently consulted this file, and hastily put the folders back when someone entered the room. He carefully arranged the dossiers on the table according to their serial numbers.

The first one gave a summary of the case against the Ninth Prince. It was suggested in guarded terms that the prince had been of unbalanced mind: morbidly suspicious, subject to fits of deep depression, jealous and quarrelsome. After he had nearly killed a courtier in a fit of rage, the Emperor had rele­gated him to the palace in Chin-hwa, hoping that the quiet life there would have a beneficial influence. However, the prince had begun to brood over imagined wrongs. His toady­ing courtiers kept assuring him that he was the favourite prince of the nation, and his ambitious, masterful consort goading him, he finally conceived the fantastic plan of foment­ing a rebellion and usurping the Dragon Throne. When he tried to win for his cause some disgruntled civil and military officials, the clumsy plot leaked out. The Emperor despatched a Censor with full executive powers to Chin-hwa, accom­panied by a regiment of Imperial Guardsmen. The guards surrounded the palace, and the Censor summoned the prince and his consort for questioning. He told the prince that the Emperor knew everything, but was willing to forgive him, on condition that he ordered his bodyguard to surrender their arms, and that he and his consort would return to the capital at once. The prince drew his sword and killed his consort on the spot, then cut his own throat. The guards entered the palace and placed the inmates under arrest while the Censor confiscated all documents. This happened on the fourth day of the second month, eighteen years ago.

That same day the Censor opened the investigation. All courtiers who had been cognisant of the scheme and all other accomplices of the prince were summarily executed. For although the Emperor had been willing to forgive the prince because of his sick mind, there was no excuse for the other plotters. During the hectic days that followed a number of false accusations were filed — evil people trying to utilize the opportunity for ridding themselves of personal enemies, as often happens in such serious cases with wide ramifications. The Censor had sifted these accusations, most of them anony­mous, with meticulous care. Among them was a long, un­signed letter, stating that the retired General Mo Te-ling had been in the plot, and that incriminating correspondence with the Ninth Prince could be found hidden in such and such a place, in the general's women's quarters. The Censor had the general's mansion searched, the letters were indeed found in the place indicated, and he was arrested on a charge of high treason. The general denied everything, maintaining that the letters were forged and planted in his mansion by some old enemy. Now the Censor knew that General Mo, thinking he had been passed over for promotion, had resigned from the service before his time and gone into retirement in his native district of Chin-hwa, brooding over his wrongs. Former associates of the general testified that he had often talked to them about impending changes, that would give all able men a chance to come into their own. The Censor studied the letters and found them perfectly authentic. The general was convicted and executed together with his two adult sons, as dictated by the harsh law on high treason. All his posses­sions were confiscated by the State.

Judge Dee leaned back into his chair. It was a fascinating account, and the fact that he was studying it here in the same tribunal where the sensational trial had been enacted gave it an immediacy that most old legal documents lacked. The judge selected the file listing the members of the general's household and his confiscated possessions. Suddenly he sucked in his breath. The general had had three wives, and two con­cubines. The surname of the second concubine was Soong. There were no further details about her, for she had not been questioned: she had committed suicide by hanging herself on the evening of the third day of the second month, one day before the Censor had arrived in Chin-hwa. She had given the general one son, named I-wen, who had been five years old when disaster struck the Mo household. Everything fitted! This was, at long last, the clue he had been hoping to find! He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile.

Suddenly, however, the smile froze on his face. The student had come back to avenge his father. This could only mean that Soong had discovered proof that General Mo had been inno­cent, that he suspected the writer of the anonymous letter of having planted the evidence, and therefore considered him as his father's murderer. And the fact that this unknown man had murdered the student was irrefutable proof that the student had been right. Heavens, there had been a terrible miscarriage of justice, eighteen years ago!

The judge took the dossier with the record of the hearing of the case. Slowly tugging at his whiskers, he read it through. There was but one point in General Mo's favour, namely that none of the other plotters had known that the Ninth Prince had won the general to his cause. The Censor, however, had dismissed this on the grounds that the Ninth Prince had been over-suspicious, and distrusted his own confederates. He had based his case on the letters found in the general's residence. These were in the handwriting of the prince, on his own private letter-paper, and provided with his own personal seal.

Shaking his head, Judge Dee selected the text of the anony­mous letter. It was a chancery copy in the indifferent hand­writing of a clerk, all original documentary evidence having been forwarded to the capital. But judging by the impeccable style, it must have been written by an accomplished man of letters. In the margin was a copy of the Censor's personal comment: 'This letter probably emanates from a disgruntled courtier. Check content and handwriting at once.' Reading the next document, Judge Dee found that despite all efforts by the Censor's men the writer had not been identified. The government had issued a proclamation promising him a sub­stantial reward, but no one had come forward to claim it.

Slowly stroking his long beard, the judge considered the case. It would have been impossible to forge the letters from the Ninth Prince, authenticated with the personal seal he always wore on his person. Also, the Censor had enjoyed the reputation of absolute integrity, a most capable criminal investigator, who had brilliantly solved a number of other difficult cases involving highly placed persons. Judge Dee re­membered that his own father, the late State Counsellor, had sometimes talked about those cases, highly praising the Cen­sor's acumen. Since he had found the general guilty, he must have been completely sure of his case. The judge got up and began to pace the floor.

What new evidence could the student have obtained? He had been only five years old when it all happened, so it had to be either hearsay or documentary evidence. How to trace what Soong had discovered? The student had been murdered, and the murderer had abstracted the documents Soong had concealed in his lodging. The family of Soong's mother seemed the first possibility that had to be explored. He beckoned the old clerk and asked:

'Are there many families of the surname Soong here?'

The greybeard nodded ponderously.

'A great many, sir. Rich and poor, related and unrelated. In olden times this county was called Soong, you see.'

'Get me the Register of Taxes of the Year of the Dog, the section Assessment, but only the part dealing with families of the surname Soong.'

When the old man had placed an open ledger on the table, the judge consulted the section of the lowest-income Soongs. Since Soong's mother had been only a second concubine, her father must have been a tenant farmer, small shopkeeper or artisan. There were only half a dozen items. The third re­garded Soong Wen-ta, owner of a vegetable shop, one wife and two daughters; the eldest married to a hardware dealer named Hwang, the younger one sold to General Mo as second concubine. Judge Dee put his forefinger on the item and said: 'Please find out in this year's Population Register whether Mr Soong is still alive.'

JUDGE DEE CONSULTS THE ARCHIVES

The old clerk went to the shelves on the side wall and came shuffling back with an armful of thick rolls. He unrolled a few and peered at the closely written entries, mumbling in his beard, 'Soong Wen-ta ... Soong Wen-ta ...' At last he looked up and shook his head. 'He and his wife must have died without male issue, sir, for no one of that particular Soong family is listed any more. Do you wish to know in what year they died, sir?'

'No, that's not necessary. Give me the list of members of the Guild of Hardware Dealers!’ The judge got up from his chair. This was the last chance.

The greybeard opened a large box marked 'Minor Guilds'. He selected a thin booklet and handed it to the judge. While the old man gathered up again the rolls of the Population Register, Judge Dee leafed through the booklet. Yes, there was a hardware dealer called Hwang, married to a woman of the surname Soong. The item was marked by a small circle in the margin, meaning that Hwang was in arrears with the payment of his membership fees. He was living in an alley near the East Gate. Judge Dee memorized the address, then he threw the booklet on the table with a satisfied smile.

Bending over the dossier of the Mo household, he verified that after the execution of the general the family had scat­tered. The dead concubine's son, Soong I-wen, had been adopted by a distant uncle in the capital. The judge detached from the file the copy of the anonymous letter accusing the general and put it into his sleeve. He thanked the old clerk, and told him he could replace all the files. Then he walked over to the residence.

On approaching the fourth courtyard, the judge was greeted by the shouts and laughter of children. It was a charming scene. About two dozen children, all dressed up in gaudy costumes, were romping about the man-high Moon Altar, which had been erected in the centre of the paved yard. On top of it was the white figure of the long-eared Moon Rabbit, fashioned out of dough and standing on a pile of Moon Cakes — round flour-cakes stuffed with sweet beans. At the base was a profusion of platters and bowls heaped with fresh fruit and sweetmeats, and at the corners high red candles and bronze incense burners; these would be lit after dark.

Judge Dee crossed the yard to the broad marble terrace where a small group of people stood watching: the Court Poet and Sexton Loo at the marble balustrade, Lo, the Academician and the poetess behind them, beside a capacious armchair of carved ebony, set on a low dais. In the armchair sat a frail old lady in a long black dress, her snow-white hair combed back straight from her forehead. She held in her wrinkled hands an ebony walking-stick with a handle of green jade. Behind the chair stood a tall, handsome woman of middle age, very stiff and erect in a close-fitting robe of embroidered green silk. She was evidently Magistrate Lo's First Wife. The two dozen or so women hovering in the shadows of the hall behind her would be his secondary wives with their personal maids.

Ignoring all others, the judge stepped up to the Old Lady and made a low bow in front of the dais. While she was surveying him with her keen old eyes, Lo bent over to her and whispered respectfully:

'This is my colleague Dee from Poo-yang, Mother.'

The old lady nodded her small head, and bade the judge welcome in a soft but surprisingly clear voice. He inquired respectfully after her age, and learned she was seventy-two.

'I have seventeen grandchildren, Magistrate!' she an­nounced proudly.

'A virtuous house is blessed by numerous progeny, Milady!’ the Academician pronounced in his loud voice. The old lady bobbed her head with a pleased smile. Judge Dee greeted Shao, then paid his respects to the Court Poet and Sexton Loo. Finally he inquired after the health of the poetess. She replied that she was feeling all right, thanks to the good care of the magistrate's First Lady. But the judge thought her face looked drawn and wan. He took his colleague apart and told him in a low voice:

'The student was a son of General Mo Te-ling, by an un­official concubine of the surname Soong. He came here to prove that his father had been falsely accused. Exactly as he told Saffron. He didn't come under an assumed name, because he left here when he was only five, and only an aunt survives. Cheer up, Lo! Even though the poetess should indeed prove to have murdered the dancer, if you can report at the same time that you have discovered that General Mo Te-ling has been wrongly executed, you'll stand a good chance of evading the impending crisis!’

'Good gracious, Dee, this is marvellous news! Tell me more about it while we are at table. It'll be an open-air affair, over there!’

He pointed at the open corridor running along the back of the terrace. Between the pillars stood tables, loaded with plat­ters of cold snacks, alternating with piles of moon-cakes, artistically heaped into pyramids.

'I must leave now, Lo. I have to pay a visit downtown, then go on to the Black Fox Shrine. But I'll try to be back before your poetical gathering at four.'

After they had rejoined the others, the old lady intimated that she wanted to retire. The Academician and the others made their bows, and Lo and his First Lady led her inside. Judge Dee told the Academician that urgent papers had arrived by courier from Poo-yang, and asked to be excused from attending the open-air meal.

'Duty before pleasure. Off you go, Dee!’