The Chinese Nail Murders

Sixth Chapter

Sergeant Hoong went with Ma Joong and Chiao Tai to the guardhouse to have their noon meal together, but Tao Gan left the tribunal straightaway.

He walked along the east side of the old drill ground, covered with glittering snow. An icy wind was blowing, but Tao Gan just pulled his caftan close about his spare frame, and accelerated his pace.

Arrived in front of the Temple of the War God, he inquired about Yeh's paper shop, and was directed to the next street. He soon saw its large signboard.

Tao Gan went to the small vegetable shop opposite, and in­vested one copper in a pickled turnip.

"Cut it up neatly and wrap it up in a piece of good oil paper!" he told the proprietor.

"Don't you eat it here?" the man asked, astonished.

"I consider eating in the street bad manners!" Tao Gan said haughtily. But seeing the other's sour look, he added quickly: "I must say that you have a nice, clean-looking shop. I suppose you do good business here."

The man's face lit up.

"Not too bad," he replied. "I and the wife have our daily bowl of rice and vegetable soup, and no debts." Then he added proudly: "And we have a slice of meat every two weeks."

"I suppose," Tao Gan remarked, "that the big paper merchant across the street has plenty of meat every day."

"Let him," the proprietor said indifferently. "Gamblers won't eat meat for long!"

"Is old Yeh a gambler?" Tao Gan asked. "He doesn't look it."

"Not him," the other said. "It is that big bully of a younger brother of his. But I don't think he'll have much money to gamble with from now on."

"Why shouldn't he?" Tao Gan asked. "That shop looks very prosperous."

"You don't know a thing, brother," the other said condescend­ingly. "Now listen carefully. One, Yeh Pin is in debt, and he doesn't give one copper to Yeh Tai. Two, Yeh Tai used to borrow his pocket money from his sister, Mrs. Pan. Three, Mrs. Pan is murdered. Four . . ."

"Yeh Tai can't get any money," Tao Gan completed the sen­tence.

"There you are," the proprietor said triumphantly.

"That's how it goes," Tao Gan remarked. He put the wrapped-up turnip in his sleeve and went out.

He wandered about in that neighborhood, looking for a gam­bling club. As a former professional gambler he had a second sense for those and soon was climbing the stairs to the second floor of a silk shop.

In the large, neatly whitewashed room four men were playing dice at a square table. A squat man sat alone at a side table, sip­ping his tea. Tao Gan sat down opposite him.

The manager looked sourly at Tao Gan's patched caftan, then said coldly:

"Walk out again, my friend. The lowest stake in this establish­ment is fifty coppers."

Tao Gan took the other's teacup, and slowly ran his middle finger two times around its rim.

"Excuse my rudeness," the manager said hurriedly. "Have a cup and tell me what I can do for you!"

Tao Gan had given the secret sign of professional gamblers.

"Well," he said, "to tell you the truth I came for some confi­dential advice. That fellow Yeh Tai from the paper shop owes me a tidy bit of money, and he claims he hadn't got one copper now. It's no use sucking a chewed-out sugar cane, so I wanted to make sure before I put the screws on."

"Don't let him fool you, brother," the manager said. "When he came here last night, he played with silver pieces."

"The lying bastard!" Tao Gan exclaimed. "He told me that his brother is a skinflint, and that his sister who used to help him has been murdered!"

"That may be true," the manager said, "but he has other re­sources. Last night after he had drunk a bit he said something about milking a stupid fellow."

"Couldn't you find out who the milk cow is?" Tao Gan asked eagerly. "I grew up on a farm, I am not too bad a hand at milking, myself."

"That's not a bad idea!" the manager said with appreciation. "I'll try to find out tonight, when Yeh Tai comes along here. He has a lot of muscle, but the head-piece isn't too good. If there's enough in the deal for two, I'll let you know."

"I'll drop in again tomorrow," Tao Gan said. "By the way, are you interested in a little betting game?" "Always!" the manager said jovially.

Tao Gan took the pieces of the Seven Board from his sleeve. Putting them on the table he announced:

"I bet you fifty coppers that I can make with these pieces any­thing you tell me."

Giving the pieces a cursory look, the manager said: "Done! Make me a round copper cash, I always like the sight of money."

Tao Gan set to work, but without success. "I can't understand this at all!" he exclaimed, annoyed. "The other day I saw a fellow do it and it looked quite easy."

"Well," the manager said placidly, "last night I saw a man here in my establishment throw a winning hand eight times in suc­cession; that looked quite easy, too. But when his friend tried to imitate him, he lost all he had." As Tao Gan ruefully scooped up the pieces he added: "You can pay me now; you'll agree that we professionals must always set an example of prompt settlement, don't you?"

When Tao Gan nodded sadly and started to count out the cop­pers, the manager added earnestly:

"If I were you, brother, I'd drop that game. It seems to me that it might cost you a lot of money."

Tao Gan nodded again. He rose and took his leave. As he was walking toward the Bell Tower he reflected dejectedly that the information about Yeh Tai was quite interesting, but at what a price.

He located the Liao mansion without difficulty; it stood near the Temple of Confucius. It was a beautiful house, with a gate richly decorated with carved woodwork. Tao Gan was getting hungry; he looked left and right for a cheap eating house. But this was a residential section; the only shop in sight was a large restaurant, opposite the Liao mansion.

With a deep sigh Tao Gan entered. He decided that this was going to be quite an expensive investigation. He went upstairs and sat down at the table facing the window, from where he could keep an eye on the house opposite.

The waiter greeted him pleasantly, but his face fell as Tao Gan ordered only a small jug of wine, the smallest they had. When the waiter brought the miniature jug, Tao Gan eyed it with distaste.

"You people encourage drunkenness, my friend," he said re­provingly.

"Look here, mister," the waiter said disgustedly, "if you want thimbles, you must go to a tailor's." Slamming a platter of salted vegetables on the table, he added: "That'll be five coppers extra!"

"I have my own," Tao Gan said calmly. He took the wrapped-up turnip from his sleeve and started nibbling it, keeping an eye on the house opposite.

After a while he saw a fat man dressed in thick furs leave the Liao mansion. He was followed by a coolie, staggering under a large bale of rice. The man looked at the restaurant. He gave the coolie a kick, barking: "Get that bale to my shop, and quick!"

A slow smile spread over Tao Gan's face. He saw the prospect of getting information and a free meal at the same time.

When the rice merchant came puffing and blowing upstairs, Tao Gan offered him a seat at his table. The fat man heavily dropped into the chair, and ordered a large pot of hot wine.

"It's a hard life nowadays," he wheezed. "If the merchandise is just a little bit wet, they return it to you. And I have a weak liver too." He opened his fur coat and tenderly laid his hand on his side.

"Not so hard for me," Tao Gan remarked cheerfully. "I'll eat rice at a hundred coppers a peck for a long time to come."

The other sat up quickly.

"Hundred coppers!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Man, the market price is a hundred and sixty!"

"Not for me," Tao Gan said smugly.

"Why not for you?" the other asked eagerly.

"Ha!" Tao Gan exclaimed. "That is a secret; I can only discuss it with professional rice-dealers."

"Have a drink on me," the fat man said quickly. And as he poured out a beaker: "Do tell me, I love a good story, you know."

"I haven't much time," Tao Gan replied, "but I'll give you the gist of it. This morning I met three fellows. They came to the city with their father, bringing a cartload of rice. Last night their father died from a heart attack; they need money quick for en-coffining the body and bringing it home. I agreed to take the whole lot, at a hundred the peck. Well, I had better go now. Waiter, the bill!"

As he rose the fat man quickly grabbed his sleeve.

"What is the hurry, my friend?" he asked. "Join me in a plate of roasted meat. Hey, waiter, bring also another pot of wine, the gentleman here is my guest."

"I don't want to be uncivil," Tao Gan said. Sitting down again he said to the waiter: "I have a weak stomach, make it roast chicken. And the largest plate."

As the waiter went away he muttered:

"First he wants 'm small, then he wants 'm big. What a waiter has to put up with."

"To tell you the truth," the fat man said confidentially, "I am a rice merchant, and I know my business. If you store that amount of rice for your own use, it'll spoil. And you can't sell it on the market, because you are not a member of the guild. I'll help you, though, and buy that lot from you at a hundred and ten."

Tao Gan hesitated. After he had slowly emptied his cup he said:

"We might talk this over. Have a drink."

He filled their cups to the rim, then pulled the platter with roast chicken toward him. Quickly choosing the best pieces, he asked:

"Doesn't that house opposite belong to Guildmaster Liao, whose daughter disappeared?"

"So it does," the other said. "But he was lucky to get rid of the wench. She was no good. But to come back to that rice ..."

"Let's hear a spicy story," Tao Gan interrupted him, grabbing a new piece of chicken.

"I don't like to tell stories about wealthy clients," the fat man said reluctantly. "I didn't even tell my own old woman."

"If you don't trust me . . ." Tao Gan said stiffly.

"No offense meant," the other said hastily. "Well, it was this way. The other day I walk in the south section of the market. Suddenly I see Miss Liao, without a duenna or anything, coming out of a closed house there, near the wine house called The Breeze of Spring. She looks up and down the street, then quickly walks away. I think that's strange, so I walk over to the house to see who lives there. Then the door opens, and out comes a thin young fel­low. He also looks up and down the street, then also runs away. I ask in a shop about that house. What do you think it was?"

"A house of assignation," Tao Gan said promptly, scooping up the last pieces of salted vegetable.

"How did you know that?" the fat man asked, disappointed.

"Just a lucky guess," Tao Gan said as he emptied his cup. "Come back here tomorrow at the same time, then I'll bring the bills for the rice. We might do business. Thanks for the treat."

He briskly went to the staircase, leaving the fat man looking in astonishment at all the empty plates.