The Flying Boat Part 16

"No. Chung Pi is sure to have heard of the flying boat, and he'd have smelt a rat. Why?"

"I've just had an idea," said Errington eagerly.

"Gently, old chap. I'm not at all sure that Reinhardt can't hear if you raise your voice. What is it?"

In a low tone, but with great animation, Errington explained the plan which had suddenly suggested itself. For some time the two discussed it together. It was a strange conversation, conducted under the eyes of the German, glaring at them as he lay fierce and helpless on the floor.

They were interrupted by the entrance of the cook man bringing the midday meal. It was a generous repast; the cook had taken a hint from what happened at breakfast-time, and provided food in even greater variety than before. Burroughs and Errington took their chop-sticks and sat on the floor in front of the pots and pans. Errington glanced at Reinhardt.

"We can't feed while he goes hungry," he said.

"Speak for yourself," said Burroughs. "I've not the slightest objection."

"But they've brought grub for him. He'd better have his share."

"Just like you! All right; but he'll be a sort of skeleton at the feast."

"A substantial skeleton! He won't depress me. But it's a rummy go, when you come to think of it."

Burroughs went to the German and released him.

"Some of this food is for you," he said, speaking close to Reinhardt's ear. "Errington suggests that you should join us."

He went back to his place beside Errington. For some seconds Reinhardt made no movement beyond sitting up and stretching himself, with a sullen stare at Burroughs. Then either the matter-of-fact consideration that he was hungry, or something in the humour of the situation, caused him to banish his sulks. He crossed the room, and squatted heavily opposite the Englishmen.

"Whatever happens to any of us, this is certainly the last time we three are likely to have a meal together," said Errington.

The situation was certainly novel. Men have sat down at table with murder in their hearts; quarrels have arisen at the board; but it is not common for two men to eat with a third whom one has just knocked down, and whose moustache the other is wearing.

There was naturally a constraint upon the party--upon Errington more particularly, for he could not forget that he had once been Reinhardt's friend, nor that he owed him money. He might suspect that the German had cheated him, but a debt is a debt. Yet to eat in silence was impossible, and presently Burroughs broke the ice.

"Have some of this," he said to Reinhardt, looking into one of the pans.

"I beg pardon," said Reinhardt. "I am a little hard of hearing."

The Englishmen glanced at each other.

"Better go the whole hog and do it decently while we are about it," said Errington.

"Perhaps you can do something to cure yourself," said Burroughs in a loud tone to the German.

Reinhardt removed the wads from his ears, and looking at them doubtfully for a moment, laid them down on the floor beside him.

"Zanks," he said. "Now I am all attention."

"Not at all," said Burroughs. "Have some of this--I don't know what it is."

He ladled a sort of stew on to Reinhardt's plate. For a few moments there was silence as they plied their chop-sticks. Then Reinhardt, glancing up under his eyebrows, said gravely--

"I zink it is chow--puppy-dog, you know."

The others held their chop-sticks suspended.

"I'll try something else," said Burroughs, looking suspiciously into another pan.

"In China one must not inquire too much," the German went on. "One must have faith. Once I was at an inn, deep in ze country. I demand dinner; zey say zere is none. Naturally I must have dinner, and I command ze innkeeper very loud. Zat is effective. Soon he bring me a ragout--excellent; I eat it wiz gusto. Afterwards I discover it is rats."

The Englishmen's faces expressed their disgust, and again there was silence.

"China is a great country for rats," said Errington lamely.

"Zat is true; zere are rats all up ze Yang-tse."

"Water-rats," suggested Burroughs.

"So; four legs--and two," said the German.

"Tails--and pigtails," said Burroughs.

"I make a study of zem all."

"My boy says that rats' whiskers are lucky," said Errington after a pause.

"White rats!" added Burroughs.

Reinhardt's eyelids flickered. He seemed to avert his gaze with an effort from Burroughs' moustache.

"I zink he is perhaps mistaken," he said.

Then he appeared to feel that he was skating on thin ice, towards a danger-mark. An observant onlooker might have discovered a resemblance between these three men, talking so quietly over their meal, and fencers, warily feeling for each other, but careful not to engage. Each was trying to "make" conversation, and found, almost in spite of himself, that it trended towards the personal. Reinhardt, the keenest and most experienced of the three, was the first to feel the tendency, and to attempt to divert it.

"Ze Chinese," he went on, "zey are very superst.i.tious. Zey believe in spells and charms, zings which Europe dismissed hundred years ago, and more. Zey talk always of luck."

"Don't you see that men make their own luck," said Burroughs.

"Perhaps, but not at cards," said Reinhardt. "Zat is skill." He pulled himself up suddenly. "Ze Chinese are indeed extremely skilful. As you English say, zey will catch a weasel asleep."

"And skin him!" said Errington artlessly.

"I have heard of that too," said Burroughs, catching Reinhardt's eyes again fixed on his moustache.

"Is zere any more cabbage?" asked the German, bending forward over the pan.

"No, but there is some parsley," replied Burroughs, in best phrase-book style; and a minute or two afterwards the meal and the difficult conversation came to an end together.

During the pauses each of the party had been busily thinking: Burroughs and Errington of the scheme which they had partially discussed, Reinhardt of the extraordinary circ.u.mstances in which he found himself.

For once, at any rate, the German felt that he had no trumps. He saw through Burroughs' imposture; and he was pretty sure that the moustache which had fascinated his eyes during the meal was his own. Inwardly boiling with indignation and outraged vanity, he was sportsman enough to enter into the spirit of the situation so far as speech was concerned; his brain was cogitating an exemplary vengeance, and he hugged himself with the thought that the hour of revenge was at hand. The apparent coolness of the Englishmen amazed him. With Su Fing already on his way down the river, their heads were as good as gone. Yet n.o.body watching them, or listening to their talk, could ever have imagined that their lives hung on a thread.