The Pagan Madonna Part 9

"I agree," replied Ling Foo, tossing his pipe into the alcove. "But no one must follow me. I do not trust you. There is nothing to prevent you from robbing me in the street and refusing to pay me. And where will you get five hundred gold? Gold has vanished. Even the leaf has all but disappeared."

Cunningham dipped his hand into a pocket, and magically a dozen double eagles rolled and vibrated upon the counter, sending into Ling Foo's ears that music so peculiar to gold. Many days had gone by since he had set his gaze upon the yellow metal. His hand reached down--only to feel--but not so quickly as the white hand, which scooped up the coin trickily, with the skill of a prestidigitator.

"Five hundred gold, then. But are you sure you can get the beads back?"

Ling Foo smiled.

"I have a way. I will meet you in the lobby of the Astor House at five"; and he bowed with Oriental courtesy.

"Agreed. All aboveboard, remember, or you will feel the iron hand of the British Government."

Ling Foo doubted that, but he kept this doubt to himself.

"I warn you, I shall go armed. You will bring the gold to the Astor House.

If I see you after I depart----"

"Lord love you, once that code key is in my hands you can go to heaven or the devil, as you please! We live in rough times, Ling Foo."

"So we do. There is a stain on the floor, about where you stand. It is the blood of a white man."

"What would you, when a comrade attempts to deceive you?"

"At five in the lobby of the Astor House. Good day," concluded Ling Foo, fingering the b.u.t.tons on his counting rack.

Cunningham limped out into the cold suns.h.i.+ne. Ling Foo shook his head. So like a boy's, that face! He shuddered slightly. He knew that a savage devil lay ready behind that handsome mask--he had seen it last night. But five hundred gold--for a string of gla.s.s beads!

Ling Foo was an honest man. He would pay you cash for cash in a bargain.

If he overcharged you that was your fault, but he never sold you imitations on the basis that you would not know the difference. If he sold you a Ming jar--for twice what it was worth in the great marts--experts would tell you that it was Ming. He had some jade of superior quality--the translucent deep apple-green. He never carried it about; he never even spoke of it unless he was sure that the prospective customer was wealthy.

His safe was in a corner of his workshop. An American yegg would have laughed at it, opened it as easily as a ripe peach; but in this district it was absolute security. Ling Foo was obliged to keep a safe, for often he had valuable pearls to take care of, sometimes to put new vigour in dying l.u.s.tre, sometimes to peel a pearl on the chance that under the dull skin lay the gem.

He trotted to the front door and locked it; then he trotted into his workshop, planning. If the gla.s.s beads were worth five hundred, wasn't it likely they would be worth a thousand? If this man who limped had stuck to the hundred Ling Foo knew that he would have surrendered eventually. But the ease with which the stranger made the jump from one to five convinced Ling Foo that there could be no harm in boosting five to ten. If there was a taint of crookedness anywhere, that would be on the other side. Ling Foo knew where the beads were, and he would transfer them for one thousand gold. Smart business, nothing more than that. He had the whip hand.

Out of his safe he took a blackwood box, beautifully carved, Cantonese.

Headbands, earrings, rings, charms, necklaces, tomb ornaments, some of them royal, all of them nearly as ancient as the hills of Kwanlun, from which most of them had been quarried--jade. He trickled them from palm to palm and one by one returned the objects to the box. In the end he retained two strings of beads so alike that it was difficult to discern any difference. One was Kwanlun jade, royal loot; the other was a copy in Nanshan stone. The first was priceless, worth what any fool collector was ready to pay; the copy was worth perhaps a hundred gold. Held to the light, there was a subtle difference; but only an expert could have told you what this difference was. The royal jade did not catch the light so strongly as the copy; the touch of human warmth had slightly dulled the stone.

Ling Foo transferred the copy to a purse he wore attached to his belt under the blue jacket. The young woman would never be able to resist the jade. She would return the gla.s.s instantly. A thousand gold, less the cost of the jade! Good business!

But for once his Oriental astuteness overreached, as has been seen. And to add to his discomfiture, he never again saw the copy of the Kwanlun, representing the virtue of the favourite wife.

"I am an honest man," he said. "The tombs of my ancestors are not neglected. When I say I could not get it I speak the truth. But I believe I can get it later."

"How?" asked Cunningham. They were in the office, or bureau, of the Astor House, which the manager had turned over to them for the moment.

"Remember, the arm of the British Government is long."

Ling Foo shrugged.

"Being an honest man, I do not fear. She would have given it to me but for that officer. He knew something about jade."

Cunningham nodded.

"Conceivably he would." He jingled the gold in his pocket. "How do you purpose to get the beads?"

"Go to the lady's room late. I left the jade with her. Alone, she will not resist. I saw it in her eyes. But it will be difficult."

"I see. For you to get into the hotel late. I'll arrange that with the manager. You will be coming to my room. What floor is her room on?"

"The third."

"The same as mine. That falls nicely. Return then at half after ten. You will come to my room for the gold."

Ling Foo saw his thousand shrink to the original five hundred, but there was no help for it. At half after ten he knocked on the panel of Jane's door and waited. He knocked again; still the summons was not answered. The third a.s.sault was emphatic. Ling Foo heard footsteps, but behind him. He turned. The meddling young officer was striding toward him.

"What are you doing here?" Dennison demanded.

His own appearance in the corridor at this hour might have been subjectable to inquiry. He had left Jane at nine. He had seen her to the lift. Perhaps he had walked the Bund for an hour or two, but worriedly.

The thought of the arrival in Shanghai of his father and the rogue Cunningham convinced him that some queer game was afoot, and that it hinged somehow upon those beads.

There was no sighing in regard to his father, for the past that was. An astonis.h.i.+ng but purely accidental meeting; to-morrow each would go his separate way again. All that was a closed page. He had long ago readjusted his outlook on the basis that reconciliation was hopeless.

A sudden impulse spun him on his heel, and he hurried back to the Astor.

The hour did not matter, or the possibility that Jane might be abed. He would ask permission to become the temporary custodian of the beads. What were they, to have brought his father across the Pacific--if indeed they had? Anyhow, he would end his own anxiety in regard to Jane by a.s.suming the risks, if any, himself.

No one questioned him; his uniform was a pa.s.sport that required no vise.

Ling Foo eyed him blandly.

"I am leaving for the province in the morning, so I had to come for my jade to-night. But the young lady is not in her room."

"She must be!" cried Dennison, alarmed. "Miss Norman?" he called, beating on the door.

No sound answered from within. Dennison pondered for a moment. Ling Foo also pondered--apprehensively. He suspected that some misfortune had befallen the young woman, for her kind did not go prowling alone round Shanghai at night. Slue-Foot! Should he utter his suspicion to this American officer? But if it should become a police affair! Bitterly he arraigned himself for disclosing his hand to Slue-Foot. That demon had forestalled him. No doubt by now he had the beads. Ten thousand devils pursue him!

Dennison struck his hands together, and by and by a sleepy Chinese boy came scuffling along the corridor.

"Talkee manager come topside," said Dennison. When the manager arrived, perturbed, Dennison explained the situation.

"Will you open the door?"

The manager agreed to do that. The bedroom was empty. The bed had not been touched. But there was no evidence that the occupant did not intend to return.

"We shall leave everything just as it is," said Dennison, authoritatively.

"I am her friend. If she does not return by one o'clock I shall notify the police and have the young lady's belongings transferred to the American consulate. She is under the full protection of the United States Government. You will find out if any saw her leave the hotel, and what the time was. Stay here in the doorway while I look about."

He saw the jade necklace reposing in the soap dish, and in an ironical mood he decided not to announce the discovery to the Chinaman. Let him pay for his cupidity. In some mysterious manner he had got his yellow claws on those infernal beads, and the rogue Cunningham had gone to him with a substantial bribe. So let the pigtail wail for his jade.