CHAPTER XVI.

IN THE CITY OF HOO-SIN.

The landscape which the travellers beheld was an especially uninviting one; the country was flat, except about the horizon, where a range of low hills were half veiled in mist.

Dreary paddy fields stretched left and right, and the roadway that led down into the village from the slope on which they stood was little more than an uneven track.

“That is our objective,” said one of the horsemen.

He looked around for the escort and the mule caravan which was following leisurely behind. There was no sign of either. Five _li_ back there was a particularly difficult piece of road to negotiate, and he gathered that with true Chinese philosophy and imperturbability, the muleteers were waiting for the rain to stop.

“That is the village of Cha-k’eo,” said the taller of the men.

They were both dressed in the conventional costume of China--thick felt shoes and white stockings, wadded silk coats and padded skirts. On the breast of one was embroidered a fantastic pheasant, and on the top of his little cap he wore a sky-blue button.

That same button had carried them through many seemingly impossible situations.

“It will be raining again in a minute,” said Talham with a glance at the sky. “Let us see what Cha-k’eo offers in the way of accommodation.”

He cantered down the slope, his sure-footed pony making light of the natural obstacles in the path, and trotted through the one grimy street of the grimy village, ankle deep in black mud.

He drew rein before a dwelling which might have been, in a western clime, a respectable cattle shed. There were two big windows, one of which was half filled up with loose flat bricks, and the other denude of any covering. The door gave entrance to the uninviting interior, but before he could reach the door the proprietor came out.

“How far are we from Shan Shi?” demanded Talham.

“Lord, you are fifty _li_,” said the man with a profound bow. “I would advise your excellencies to stay here for the night, for the road is very difficult, and is, moreover, patrolled by bad characters.”

He glanced nervously up at Talham as he spoke, for, for all he knew, this might be one of those bad characters against whom he felt it his duty to warn the unwary.

“The advice of the ‘chink’ in his native habitation,” orated Talham as he dismounted slowly, “is liable to be self-interested. On this occasion, however, I think his natural desire to rob us of our cash runs hand in hand with a proper appreciation of real danger.”

He spoke in English, and then turned to the fawning landlord.

“My friend,” he said benevolently, “tell me the name of the men who patrol this road.”

The landlord hesitated. He was evidently afraid to speak openly, yet the authority of Talham’s tone, the undeniable rank which he held, and, moreover, the familiarity of the stranger with the dialect of the district, compelled confidence.

“It is the honourable Society of the Bannermen of Heaven,” he said humbly. “As your Excellency knows, the city of Taupan, one hundred _lis_ south, is having much trouble. There is a rebellion, and His Excellency the Governor has been killed. It is said, too, that his honourable son has returned from the land of the foreign devils.”

Talham interrupted him sharply.

“You shall not say,” he said, “Iang kuei-tsi, but Iang-ren, for I am a foreigner, and your speech is offensive to me.”

The man bowed low. He was frightened almost to death, and was shaking in every limb, for the stories of the foreigner, and the events which had followed the taking of Pekin, had been exaggerated up and down the country. Moreover, as he knew, Iang-ren filled the Chinese army, holding high positions, as this great one evidently did.

“Lord, it was a slip of my tongue,” he said naïvely, “as we used to speak of foreigners in the days of Ihoch’uan.”

He gave the Boxers their full title, and Talham nodded.

“Take the horses and let them be cleaned and fed,” he said. “My friend and I desire your best room.”

The man led the way with many apologies into the interior of his shed. To Talham’s surprise, there was an interior room which had few of the objectionable features which Chinese caravanserai frequently present. It was tolerably clean, and free from the disagreeable odour of opium smoke.

A long, low _kang_ occupied the full length of one wall, and when an hour later the mule train came up, and rugs were spread upon the Chinese equivalent for bedstead, and a brazier of burning charcoal was brought in, the travellers had good reason for congratulating themselves upon the comfort of their lodging.

That the arrival of foreigners in a tiny village would attract the entire population goes without saying, but a word from Talham dismissed the rabble, and the landlord was placed outside the door with two of the escort to see that the foreign “lords” were not disturbed.

“You may say,” said Talham, “that we have now reached the most critical portion of our journey.”

Tillizinni was examining a map by the light of a Chinese lamp.

“If your surmises are right,” he said, “the Mount Li described in the Second Emperor’s account, is that somewhat insignificant hill that we saw as we came over the rise to the village.”

Talham nodded.

“I am satisfied that it is,” he said.

He seemed less inclined to orate than Tillizinni had ever remembered him. Indeed, so marked was his depression that presently the detective referred to it.

“I know,” said the other uncomfortably; “but the fact is, I am not too satisfied with the progress we have made, and less satisfied----did you hear what he said?”

He jerked his head in the direction of the landlord.

“I did,” said Tillizinni. “But, fortunately, my knowledge of the dialect isn’t as good as yours. I find that a conversance with ‘Mandarin Chinese’ isn’t always as useful as it might be.”

“He said that there had been a revolt in Taupan,” said Talham, “and that His Excellency the Governor had been killed, and that his son occupied what amounted to the kingship of this district. Do you realise who that man is?”

“Not Soo?” asked the detective.

Talham nodded.

“That’s just who it is,” he said, “and he has tricked us.” He was silent for a moment, then, “Anyway, I’m glad he’s here,” he said. “I’ve been getting jumpy about Yvonne.”

The thought that Soo might be within six or seven days’ journey had troubled him.

“It is better he should be here than there.”

He was almost cheerful at the thought.

“He’ll hear to-morrow that we’re in the district,” he went on, “and then the fun is going to begin.”

Before he went to sleep that night, Tillizinni saw that his revolver was loaded, and placed it under his pillow within reach of his hand. News travels fast in a country which does not depend so much upon the up-to-date telegraph, as upon some mysterious means of communication which is peculiarly the secret of a semi-barbarian people.

They were not to be disturbed that night, however, and Tillizinni woke to find the day broken and rain still falling heavily. Breakfast was prepared by the servant whom Talham had engaged at Shanghai, but in spite of the wretched surroundings and the unpleasant prophecy of the day, the two men made a good meal.

“Our immediate danger,” said Talham, “lies in the fact that we are going straight to Hoo Sin, a city which is in some way allied to our friend’s stronghold. What makes it rather awkward is the fact that Hoo Sin must be our base for a week or two, or, at any rate, until we can locate the tomb.”

Tillizinni nodded.

“I know the mandarin personally,” Talham went on. “An Oriental of exceeding affability, and it would seem to me that the possibility of the Oriental mind----”

He might have developed his speech into a discourse on Chinese metaphysics, but Tillizinni interrupted him.

“We have to go,” he said, “and the roads are pretty bad.”

They were worse than the men anticipated, and the progress along the wild and tortuous path, which was dignified by the name of road, was a painful experience.

The two leaders of the expedition could not afford to leave their escort. They were in an enemy’s country, and although the fifty soldiers which the First Mandarin of the Empire had supplied them was a formidable body, Talham knew the Chinamen well enough to know that they could not be depended upon if they were convinced that the object of his trip was the desecration of a grave.

He would gain nothing by explaining to them that he had no intention of robbing the grave of its treasures, or that he sought some wonderful mechanical secret which the dead years held--that was too supple a distinction for words.

He had sent messengers ahead a week before to collect as many of the soldiers who had served in his regiment as could be found, to meet him at Hoo Sin. Soo might send a story flaming through the bazaar that would set the city of Hoo Sin in a ferment--if he dared. That reservation was Talham’s only hope.

If Soo himself had designs upon the tomb, desired exact knowledge as to its location, and wished for himself to unravel the mystery and to take the treasures of the dead king, he would be silent. Once he set the city in a ferment he might spoil whatever chance Talham had of achieving his object, but he would just as assuredly defeat his own ends, and might, moreover, call down upon the city of Hoo Sin a detachment of Imperial troops, to say nothing of commissions of enquiry.

The thought comforted Talham as he jogged along, the rain falling in sheets above his head, the pony under him stumbling across rocks and through pools of liquid mud, towards the blurred horizon.

There is no more cheerless sight in the world than a Chinese landscape; on either side the flat black land stretched drearily to the stunted hills.

Now and again they would pass a half-ruined temple or a collection of squalid huts, too tiny it seemed to bear the long name which custom had given to them.

Night was falling when they clattered up the broad irregular street, littered with garbage, and passed through the high, gaunt city gates of Hoo Sin.

The rain had ceased, and the city was filled with people who looked curiously at the “foreign devils,” whom no Chinese costume could disguise. No demonstration was made, however, as the two men and their escort rode up to the Yamen and dismounted.

There was the inevitable delay.

The Mandarin’s assistant who interviewed him in the courtyard of the Yamen at Talham’s request for an interview had disappeared. He returned in a few minutes full of apologies and regrets. His Excellent Lio-le was indisposed, and regretted that he was unable to see the honourable visitors.

Talham turned to Tillizinni and said in English: “That is pretty ominous. If old Lio-le won’t see us, it is because he is afraid of our friend Soo.”

“Is it necessary that we should see him?” asked Tillizinni.

Talham nodded. He turned again to the secretary.

“You will go at once to His Excellency and say a Mandarin of the Empire, and a bearer of the Imperial Banner, desires an immediate audience in the name of the Daughter of Heaven, the Dowager Empress.”

The man bowed low and went back to the Yamen.

He returned almost immediately with the request that the two should follow him.

They passed through the big, cold entrance-hall into the throne-room of the Yamen. As they entered, a man, sitting in solitary state at one end of the room, fanning himself mechanically, rose and shuffled forward, stopping within a few paces of his visitors to give the customary Chinese kow-tow.

The old Mandarin was stout and ordinarily jovial, but now his face wore a troubled and fretful expression.

“Why do you come to this city?” he asked with asperity. “Where do you come from? How many miles have you travelled by road?” and so through the whole gamut of questions which are conventionally asked by those in authority of those who come within their sphere.

The servants brought tea--little cups and placed them handy. Tillizinni, to whom a cup of tea would have been very refreshing at that moment, almost mechanically stretched out his hand to take one, when Talham stopped him.

“To take tea,” he said, “is a sign that the interview is finished, and I have much to ask our friend before the tea-drinking stage arrives.”

“Does the honourable stranger intend staying in our perfectly beastly little village for any time?” asked the Mandarin.

Talham bowed.

“Though we are unworthy to walk through the beautiful streets of this most divine city,” he said, “we wish your noble citizens to tolerate our disagreeable presence for the space of a moon.”

The Mandarin eyed him coldly.

“At this season of the year,” he said significantly, “my mean and despicable city is very unhealthy for the honourable foreigner.”

“Yet we will stay,” answered Talham promptly, “if your Excellency will afford protection to two insignificant animals who, by the fortune of the gods, are very precious to the Daughter of Heaven, the Dowager Empress. So much does the Daughter of Heaven regard us,” he continued, “that though we are as dirt under her feet, every moon there will come a courier from Pekin to your glorious community to seek information as to our welfare, and if”--he was apologetic--“if we are so base and horrible that we cannot find health in so salubrious a spot, the courier will return to the Daughter of Heaven with news of our misfortune.”

It was threat for threat, and Talham carried the heavier guns. His passport was in order, and he was commended by the highest in the land, and at the end ran the “tremble and obey” of an exalted Prince of the Royal House.