Murder in Canton: A Judge Dee Mystery Read online

  ‘It beats me how they manage those curved blades,’ Chiao Tai remarked.

  ‘You'd be surprised,’ Captain Nee said. Soon he and Chiao Tai were in animated conversation about different kinds of sword-fighting. Tao Gan listened absent-mindedly and concentrated on keeping the beakers filled. But when he heard the captain quote some technical terms in Arabic, he looked up and asked:

  ‘You know their lingo?’

  ‘Enough to get along. Picked up Persian too. All in the day's work!’ And to Chiao Tai: ‘I'd like to show you my collection of foreign swords. What about coming along for a drink at my place? I live over in the east city.’

  ‘Tonight we're rather busy,’ Chiao Tai replied. ‘Could you make it tomorrow morning?’

  The other darted a quick glance at the man at the counter.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘At the Five Immortals’ Inn, near the Moslem mosque.’

  The captain started to say something, but changed his mind. He sipped his wine, then asked casually, ‘Is your friend staying there too?’ When Chiao Tai shook his head, the captain resumed with a shrug, ‘Well, you're fully capable of looking after yourself, I dare say. I'll send a litter to fetch you, say about an hour after breakfast.’

  Tao Gan paid the bill, and they took their leave of their new acquaintance. The sky had cleared; the river breeze felt pleasantly cool on their flushed faces. The quay now presented an animated scene. Hawkers had set up their night-stalls all along the waterside, lit by strings of coloured lampions. The river was dotted with torches on small boats, moored stem to stern. The breeze wafted the smell of burning firewood to them. The waterfolk were preparing their evening rice.

  ‘Let's rent a litter,’ Tao Gan said. ‘It's quite a long way to the Governor's Palace.’

  Chiao Tai made no reply. He had been surveying the crowd with a preoccupied face. Suddenly he asked:

  ‘Don't you have a feeling that someone is keeping an eye on us?’

  Tao Gan quickly looked over his shoulder.

  ‘No, I don't,’ he said. ‘But your hunches are often right, I admit. Well, since our judge told us to report at six, we still have an hour or so. Let's do some walking, each on his own. That'll give us a better chance to see whether we are being spied upon. And I'll be able to test my memory of the city's layout at the same time.’

  ‘All right. I'll pass by my inn and change, then cut through the Moslem quarter. If I keep to the north-east, I'll sooner or later come to the large street that leads north, won't I?’

  ‘If you behave and keep out of trouble, that is! Do have a look at the Tower of the Water-clock on the main street, it's a famous sight. The exact time is indicated by floaters in a series of brass water vessels, put one above the other, like a flight of stairs. The water drips slowly from the higher into the lower vessels. Quite an ingenious contrivance!’

  ‘Think I need all those gadgets for knowing the time of day?’ Chiao Tai asked with a sniff. ‘I go by the sun and by my thirst. And at night and on rainy days I make do with my thirst only. See you later, in the palace!’

  II

  Chiao Tai turned the corner, crossed the bridge over the moat and entered the city by the Kuei-te Gate.

  As he pushed his way through the dense evening crowd, he glanced over his shoulder now and then, but no one seemed to be following him. He passed in front of the high, red-lacquered gate of the Temple of the Five Immortals, entered the first street on his left, and so reached his inn, named after the temple. It was a ramshackle building of two storeys. Over its roof he saw the top of the minaret belonging to the Moslem mosque, rising more than fifteen fathoms up in the air.

  Calling out a cheerful good-night to the surly innkeeper, who sat slumped in a bamboo chair in the small lobby, Chiao Tai went straight up to his room on the second floor, at the back. It was hot and stuffy inside, for the shutters of the single window had been closed the whole day. After renting it that morning he had only stayed to put his travelling bundles on the bare plank-bed. With a curse he pushed the shutters wide open. He looked at the minaret, of which he now had a complete view.

  ‘Those foreigners can't even get up a real pagoda,’ he muttered with a grin. ‘No storeys, no curved roofs, no nothing! Straight as a piece of sugar cane!’

  Humming a tune, he changed into a clean shirt, put on his coat of mail again and wrapped his helmet, iron gloves and high military boots in a piece of blue cloth. Then he went downstairs.

  Down in the street it was still very hot; the river breeze did not penetrate this far into the city. Chiao Tai was sorry that he could not take off his jacket because of the coat of mail. After a casual glance at the passers-by, he took the alley next to the inn.

  The narrow streets were lit by the lampions of the night-stalls, but there were few people about. He saw several Arabs, conspicuous by their white turbans and their quick, long stride. After he had passed the mosque, the streets assumed a foreign aspect The white-plastered houses had no windows on the ground floor; the only light came from those on the second floor, filtering through screens of intricate latticework. Here and there an arched passage across the street connected the second floors of the houses on either side. Chiao Tai was still in such a cheerful mood after the wine that he forgot to check whether he was being followed.

  When he had entered a deserted alley, he suddenly found a bearded Chinese walking by his side, who asked curtly:

  ‘Aren't you a guardsman called Kao or Shao, or something like that, eh?’

  Chiao Tai halted. In the uncertain light he scrutinized the stranger's cold face with the long sidewhiskers and greying beard, taking in also his torn brown robe, well-worn cap and mud-covered boots. The fellow looked shabby enough, yet he had the natural poise of a person of consequence, and he had spoken with the unmistakable accent of the capital. He said cautiously:

  ‘My name is Chiao.’

  ‘Ha, of course! Colonel Chiao Tai! Tell me, is your boss, His Excellency Dee, here in Canton too?’

  ‘What if he were?’ Chiao Tai asked truculently.

  ‘None of your lip, my man!’ the stranger snapped. ‘I have to see him, urgently. Take me to him.’

  Chiao Tai frowned. The fellow did not seem to be a crook. And if he were, so much the worse for him! He said:

  ‘It so happens that I am on my way to my boss. So you can come along with me right now.’

  The stranger quickly looked over his shoulder at the shadows behind him.

  ‘You walk ahead,’ he said curtly; ‘I'll follow. It's better that we aren't seen together.’

  ‘As you like,’ Chiao Tai said, and walked on. He had to be careful now, for there were many deep holes among the stone flags, and the only light came from an occasional window. There was no one about; the only sound was the heavy tread of the stranger's boots behind him.

  After Chiao Tai had turned yet another corner he found himself in a pitch-dark street. He looked up to verify whether he could see the top of the minaret, in order to orientate himself. But the high houses on either side were lurching towards each other; he could see only a narrow strip of starlit sky. He waited till the other had come up behind him, then said over his shoulder:

  ‘Can't see a thing here. We'd better turn back and look for a litter. It's still quite some way along the main street.’

  ‘Ask the people in the house round the corner there,’ the stranger said. His voice sounded hoarse.

  Chiao Tai peered ahead, and now saw indeed a glimmer in the darkness. ‘The old geezer's voice is a bit off, but his eyes are all right!’ he muttered, walking towards the faint light. After he had rounded the corner, he saw that it came from a cheap oil lamp, placed in a niche high up in the forbidding blank wall on his left. A little further on he saw a door, embossed with copper ornaments. Over his head was another cross-passage connecting the second floor of the house with the one opposite. He stepped up to the door. As he knocked hard on the shutter of the peephole, he heard hi
s companion behind him stop. Chiao Tai called out to him:

  ‘There's no answer yet, but I'll rouse the bastards!’

  He knocked vigorously for some time, then pressed his ear against the wood. He heard nothing. He gave the door a few kicks, then rapped against the peephole till his knuckles hurt.

  ‘Come on!’ he shouted angrily at his companion. ‘We'll kick this blasted door in! There must be someone at home, else that lamp wouldn't be burning.’

  There was no answer.

  Chiao Tai turned round. He was all alone in the alley.

  ‘Where could that bastard…’ he began perplexedly, then broke off. He saw the stranger's cap lying on the stone flags, under the cross-passage. With an oath Chiao Tai put his bundle on the ground, reached up and took the oil lamp from the niche. As he stepped forward for a closer look at the cap, he suddenly felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He swung round. There was nobody. But then he saw a pair of muddy boots dangling close by his head. With another curse he looked up, holding the oil lamp high. His companion was hanging by his neck from the other side of the cross-passage, head at an unnatural angle, arms stiff by his side. A thin cord ran over the sill of the open passage window.

  Chiao Tai turned to the door directly under the passage and gave it a violent kick. It swung inside and crashed against the wall. He quickly climbed the flight of narrow, stone steps that went up at a sharp angle, and so reached the dark, low passage crossing the street. Holding the lamp high, he saw a man clad in an Arab gown sprawling in front of the window. He was lying quite still, clasping a short spear with a long, needle-sharp point in his right hand. One look at his bloated face and protruding tongue sufficed to show that he was dead—strangled. One of his bulging eyes had a cast in it.

  Chiao Tai wiped the sweat off his forehead.

  ‘Just the sight for a fellow who has been drinking happily!’ he muttered. ‘If this isn't the worst way to sober up! It's the bastard I saw in the wine-house. But where's that ugly dwarf?’

  He quickly let the light of the lamp fall on the opposite end of the passage. A dark staircase led down from there, but everything was as quiet as the grave. He put the lamp on the floor, stepped over the body of the dead Arab, and began to tug at the thin cord that was fastened to an iron hook under the sill. Slowly he hauled the bearded man up. His horribly distorted face appeared in the window, blood trickling from its grinning mouth.

  Chiao Tai dragged the still-warm body inside and laid it on the floor, next to the Arab's. The noose had bitten deeply into its scraggy throat, and the neck appeared to have been broken. He rushed down the steps at the other end of the passage. Half a dozen steps down there was a low door. Chiao Tai gave it a thunderous knocking. When there was no answer, he threw himself against it. The old, wormeaten planks broke, and he tumbled into a semi-dark room, amidst a clatter of plates and pots and getting entangled with pieces of wood.

  He was on his feet again in a flash. An old Arab hag, huddled in the centre of the small room, looked up at him, her toothless mouth open in speechless fright. The light of a brass oil lamp hanging from age-blackened rafters shone on a young Arab woman squatting in the corner, feeding the baby at her breast. With a piercing scream of terror she covered her bare bosom with part of her ragged cloak. Chiao Tai was about to address them, but then the door opposite swung open and two gaunt Arabs rushed in brandishing curved daggers. They stopped abruptly when Chiao Tai ripped the lapels of his jacket apart, revealing his golden badge.

  As the Arabs stood there hesitating, a third one, much younger, pushed them aside and stepped up to Chiao Tai. He asked in halting Chinese:

  ‘What do you mean by forcing your way into our women's quarters, mister officer?’

  Two men were murdered in the passage outside,’ Chiao Tai barked. ‘Speak up! Who did it?’

  The youngster gave the battered door a quick look. Then he said sullenly, ‘What happens in that passage across the street is no concern of ours.’

  ‘It connects with your house, you son of a dog!’ Chiao Tai growled. ‘There are two dead men there, I tell you. Speak up, or I'll have all of you arrested and questioned on the rack!’

  ‘If you would kindly take a closer look, sir,’ the young Arab said contemptuously, ‘you'll see that the door you battered in hasn't been open for years.’

  Chiao Tai turned round. The pieces of wood he had become entangled with were the remains of a high cupboard. One glance at the dusty spot in front of the door-opening and the rusty lock he had shattered, proved that the man was right. The door leading to the passage had indeed been out of use for a long time.

  ‘If someone was murdered in the passage over the street,’ the youngster resumed, ‘any passer-by could have done it. A staircase leads up to it from the street on either side, and the doors below are never locked, as far as I know.’

  ‘What is that passage used for, then?’

  ‘Until six years ago, my father, the merchant Abdallah, also owned the house opposite. After he had sold it, the door at the other end was walled up.’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’ Chiao Tai asked the young woman. She made no reply, looking up at him in uncomprehending fear. As the youngster quickly translated, she shook her head emphatically. He said to Chiao Tai:

  ‘The walls are thick, and since the cupboard was standing in front of that old door…’ He raised his hands in an eloquent gesture.

  The two other Arabs had put their daggers back into their belts. As they began a whispered conversation, the old hag came to life and began to deliver a long harangue in shrill Arabic, pointing at the shards on the floor.

  ‘Tell her she'll be compensated!’ Chiao Tai said. ‘Come along, you!’

  He stooped and passed through the door-opening, followed by the youngster. When they were standing in the passage, he pointed at the dead Arab and asked:

  ‘Who is this man?’

  The youngster squatted by the dead body. After a casual look at the distorted face he pried loose the silk scarf that had been knotted tightly round the dead man's throat. Then he felt with his nimble fingers in the folds of the turban. Righting himself, he said slowly:

  ‘He did not carry any money or papers. I have never seen him before, but he must be from South Arabia, for they are expert there at throwing the short javelin.’ Handing the scarf to Chiao Tai, he went on, ‘It was no Arab that killed him, though. Do you see that silver coin tied to the scarf's corner? It weights it, thus enabling the strangler to swing it round the victim's neck from behind. It is a coward's weapon. We Arabs keep to our spears, swords and daggers—for the greater glory of Allah and his Prophet.’

  ‘Amen,’ Chiao Tai said sourly. He looked thoughtfully at the two dead bodies. He understood now what had happened. The Arab had meant to murder not only the bearded stranger, but also him. He had been lying in wait for them, at the window. He had let him pass underneath, but when his companion followed and stood waiting there while Chiao Tai knocked, he had thrown the noose over his head and hoisted him up with a fearful jerk. Then he had tied the end of the noose to the hook and taken his javelin. But when he was about to push open the window opposite in order to throw the javelin into his second victim's back, a third person had strangled him from behind with the scarf, then fled.

  Chiao pushed the window open and looked down into the street.

  ‘As I was standing there knocking on that blasted door, I must have made a perfect target!’ he muttered. ‘And that thin point would have gone right through my coat of mail too! I owe my life to that unknown benefactor.’ Turning to the young Arab, he said gruffly, ‘Tell someone to run to the main street and rent a large litter!’

  When the youngster had shouted something through the broken-down door, Chiao Tai searched the corpse of the bearded Chinese. But there was nothing to identify him by. He shook his head disconsolately.

  They waited in an uneasy silence till they heard lusty shouts in the street below. Chiao Tai leaned out of the window and saw four litter bearers,
carrying smoking torches. Slinging the dead Chinese over his shoulder, he ordered the youngster:

  ‘Stand guard here by the body of your countryman till the constables come to fetch it. You and your entire family will be held responsible if anything should happen to it!’

  Carrying his burden, he carefully trudged down the narrow staircase.

  III

  Tao Gan had walked back to the custom-house. Having passed underneath its high archway, he watched for a while the clerks who were still busily sorting out piles of bales and boxes. There was a pungent smell of foreign spices. He left by the back door, cast a brief glance at his dismal inn, then entered the city by the south gate.

  Strolling along in the teeming crowd, he noticed with satisfaction that he was able to identify most of the larger buildings he passed. Evidently Canton had not changed much in the twenty odd years since he had been there last.