CHAPTER V

THE MISSION OF STEPHEN POYNING

For the better part of a minute my tongue simply refused duty. I could no more than stand and gape, while the blood buzzed in my ears and the dim-lit doorway of Philipson's room seemed to rock sideways. Like words spoken in a dream I heard Philipson demand what was up, and Ah Sing's quaint pidgin-English as he panted out his version of the story.

Philipson started back as if he had been struck. His face was in shadow, but I had an impression that his features were working, the way of a man not quite in command of himself. That lasted for only a few seconds, however. When he spoke again it was in the brisk, matter-of-fact tones he would have used to order a fresh can of lubricant for the launch.

'Odd,' he muttered. 'Odd, and nasty in the extreme! God knows who those people could have been. I had reckoned with a native organisation, Mirlees, but nothing more. If there are Europeans in it too--'

'Then it--'

I broke off suddenly. Neither then nor thereafter could I imagine what it was, but something from outside myself seemed to close my lips by force, and there came down over my brain a most uncanny sense of hesitation and bewilderment.

We had all three rushed out on to the verandah, and stood listening, peering out and around in every direction. There was no sound, no sign of movement anywhere; the creek lay like a riband of orange-tinted silver in the staring moonlight, from Nanking itself came scarcely a murmur of noise. It was the short hour when even a vast Chinese city is quiet between the clamour of two days.

Ah Sing kept watch for the rest of that night, but there was hardly need--I remained vividly awake myself every minute of the time. In the morning I rose so utterly limp that Philipson diagnosed fever from the mosquitoes--which had bitten us both pretty voraciously--and dosed me with a quinine mixture into which I suspect he had dropped some pleasant opiate. At any rate, it wiped the restlessness out of me as if with a sponge, and I slept sound till lunch.

But if I was below par, Philipson himself seemed at the very pitch of his form, alert, vigorous, in the best of spirits. He busied himself at the table with maps and calculations and expense-sheets, and from an occasional remark he rapped out to me I knew he was in a downright itch for the hour of Poyning's return. The one thing that seemed equal to allaying his impatience during that day of forced delay was wine. Saunders Philipson consumed, I believe, seven bottles between breakfast and dinner time, and the proprietress was already predicting the exhaustion of her modest cellar.

Neither Philipson nor I alluded once to the episode of last night, yet I fancy it was in the thoughts of both of us. From time to time throughout the day he would shoot sudden glances towards the balcony, as if the affair had occurred to his mind; and I couldn't help connecting his overpowering excitement of to-day with what had happened in the night watches. For my part, I could think of little else. That two strangers should have gained access to the verandah without our hearing them approach was hardly less a matter for surprise than alarm. An active man might, it's true, have shinned up the wooden pillars and drawn his accomplice after him with a cord, yet even this supposition seemed wild enough to me when I remembered that one of the intruders was a woman. Or at least, I could have sworn at the time that it was a woman. Could it be the whole thing was an illusion--that I was half asleep when I looked out, and that my dreaming eyes had turned some short-coated Chinaman into Saunders Philipson and his taller accomplice into that mysterious lady of the long robe? If so, it was an astounding coincidence that both Ah Sing and myself should fall into the same remarkable error. Then again, who were these prowlers of the night? It wasn't like the enemies we had known--to be scared off by the mere sound of our voices, yet that alone is what could have happened. While we were talking at Philipson's door, they must have taken fright and escaped down the balcony pillars and right round the hotel by way of the water's edge. This might even have been done with the connivance of those inside, and there recurred rather significantly to my mind Philipson's remark that the proprietress of the inn would want watching.

Altogether, it was about as dark and mysterious a business as you could well conceive, and I was glad, after tiffin, of a relief from puzzling over it any longer. Philipson began to communicate his plans to me, to outline the route he proposed we should take, and to go into details of equipment, service and cost. As I listened to his quiet, confident words and followed the lines he drew across the map with such assurance and evidently first-hand knowledge of the country it represented, my own nerves forsook me, and before long I felt as confident and enthusiastic as himself. That was always the way with Saunders Philipson. His enthusiasm was more than contagious, it was epidemic; and he seemed to be gifted with so keen a zest of life that he spoke with enthusiasm of any subject he judged worth speaking about at all.

We dared not go out of the inn, of course, or even away from our wing of it. Meals were brought up to the sitting room, while Ah Sing fed himself in the cabin of the launch. The engineer-cook had come for orders that morning, and I could see that he, like myself, preserved an uneasy recollection of last night. There was fear in his eyes, the vague terror of a man who is frightened of something to which he cannot give a name; and it was not until Philipson took him by the shoulders and shook him and ordered him with fatherly severity not to be a gaping fool that the normal grin of adoration came back into Ah Sing's face. Then he went about his business and took, as I thought, a sound common-sense refuge from his terrors in hard work. Whenever I looked down from our verandah during the day I saw Ah Sing pottering to and fro with broom and rag, scouring the already speckless launch till she shone again.

I turned in after dinner for a little sleep against the watches we were to stand through the night. This programme of Philipson's we carried out, but with no recurrence of the alarm. Ah Sing remained on guard on the deck of the launch till one, then came up to wake Philipson, who stood a trick till four, rousing me at that hour to see us safely through the twilit marches of dawn. At about half-past six o'clock I was putting on a last pipe before breakfast when I heard a step along the landing, and Philipson entered my room.

'If he has succeeded,' he burst out abruptly, 'he will be here at any minute, and we shall start to-night with the fall of dusk. If not--'

'You think he's likely to have failed?'

'Honestly, I do not. I liked that boy from the moment I set eyes on him. That is why I took the trouble to verify his pretensions. I had collected all the available information about Stephen Poyning within five minutes of seeing him.'

Philipson stepped out through my window and walked to the end of the verandah, where it was blocked in by a cheek of brick wall. He peeped stealthily round the angle, then started back.

'Coming!' he muttered.

I took Philipson's place and a peep for myself. From this point a stretch of the winding creekside road into the city was visible, and along it, at a distance, I saw a ricsha approach at the walk. In it sat a huddled figure I recognised as Stephen Poyning. The road was already crowded with native traffic, but as I continued to look I noticed another ricsha, about a hundred yards farther off, which seemed to be keeping the first in sight and regulating its pace so as to remain at an even lapse behind.

'He's being followed,' I said.

Philipson pulled me away and stared eagerly round the angle of the building. For a few moments he watched, intently silent, and when he drew back it was with an expression of mingled seriousness and relief.

'You recognise the man behind?' he queried.

I took a closer look. 'Eh? Isn't it--'

'Lo Eng. My number-one boy. Something has gone awry. Also, Poyning is hurt--there is a bandage under that topee of his.'

We stepped back into the sitting room, where Philipson swiftly laid out a small surgical outfit and summoned a servant, bidding him fetch hot water. The boy who brought it had hardly disappeared when there were heavy, ill-guided steps on the stairs without, and Poyning, pale as a corpse, his pongees plastered with mud and dust, staggered in. He set down a suitcase he was carrying, wincingly removed his helmet, and sank into a chair.

Philipson laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Not a word, young man,' he said, 'till I have plugged that hole in your head.'

Poyning's white features broke into a drawn grin. 'Bacchus before Æsculapius, my dear sir,' he said. 'Give me a drink!'

I mixed him a stiff champagne and brandy, which he swallowed at a go, and then Philipson, with the speed and firm skill of a surgeon and more than a woman's tenderness, bathed and dressed an ugly gash over the boy's forehead. He lay back for some moments with his eyes closed, while a spot of colour came slowly into his cheeks; then sat up and demanded a cigarette, which having received and lighted, Stephen Poyning plunged without further ado into his tale. Lo Eng had meanwhile entered the room. Philipson pointed to a chair, on the edge of which he sat, demurely listening.

'I reached Shanghai North Station at about half-past seven yesterday morning,' began Poyning. 'If there was one native watching the gates, there were a dozen, but these people all seemed to be there on legitimate business--I certainly saw no sign of any of them following me. I got to the Marco Polo Hotel in the unobtrusive manner prescribed by you, cleaned off the travel stains, took nourishment, invited the manager to my room, and settled Mirlees' debt. The manager seemed, if I may say so, relieved to see his money. The instructions regarding your manuscripts, Mirlees, have been carried out to the letter, and your other treasures are stored in the warehouse next door; here are the keys, and the receipts for your chattels and your accommodation charges. Here, Philipson, are receipted bills for the chronometer and sextant, which you will find in that suit case--intact, I trust, though it must be confessed they received some brusque jolts during the later developments of my adventure. Here is the letter of credit on Chungking, which the manager of the Cathay Bank made out in his private sanctum and handed to me with very excellent good luck to you, Philipson, and a hope that the inquiries from your well-wishers in Shanghai would not prove too searching. I did not, to be candid, know what in Hades he was driving at, but I winked in the sophisticated manner of one who did, and the genial financier seemed very well satisfied.'

Philipson whistled softly. We exchanged glances.

'I pass,' resumed Poyning, 'to the really momentous phase of the expedition.

'I left the hotel at half-past eight, when twilight was falling--as the late Tennyson sang--and reached the fair pleasaunces of Bubbling Well about half an hour afterwards. Here I dismissed my ricsha-coolie, much to his chagrin--it was ten minutes, in fact, before I could shake the ardent fellow off--and loitered along waiting for a suitable person to ask my way. This took some time, as all the white community seemed to be at mess, and I deemed it impolitic to seek guidance from a native. At last I got the required direction, and struck out on foot. I had not marched far down the New Highgate Road before I saw that I was followed. It was a Chinese, a pretty well-nourished subject of medium stature, who dogged my steps, keeping about twenty yards behind. He made no attempt to conceal himself, and when I drew up short, came straight on.

'"You wanchee find some housum dis road?" he said, debonairly enough. "My gib you look-a-look anybody housum. My sabbee anybody housum allee same-same."

'"Very obliging of you," I said, "but who might you be?"

'"My b'long Misser Philipson numbah-one boy," he said. "Him housum burn down so my no hab housum lib jus' now."'

Philipson whistled again, louder.

'"You sabbee Misser Philipson?" continued my would-be cicerone. "You sabbee where him gone jus' now?"

'"Never heard of him," I said. "What's your name?"

'"My b'long all same Lo Eng," replied the fellow, with an expansion of his already wide mouth. "My wanchee sabbee where master hab gone. Jus' now no can tell him him housum burn down."

'Well, gentlemen, God knows I am no purist, but I could not bring myself to regard that man's conversational style as good English--which you told me Lo Eng spoke. He had given the name correctly, true, but I remained profoundly unsatisfied with his bona fides. I got rid of him, strode on down the road, and soon came to a house which had been gutted. Yes, alas, Philipson, it was only too true. Standing guard in the road were two Sikh policemen, whose presence had the desirable effect of finally scaring away my plausible informant--or so I thought. He had followed me thus far, but when I looked round a moment later he had melted into the atmosphere. I walked on briskly, came to a bend in the road, and sprinted down it on noiseless toes. It had occurred to me that I might get to the house from across the fields behind it without apprising the Law; and this I was able to do, though I could have wished for a drier route. I wallowed perdu in mud and luxuriant vegetation for about ten minutes, then, thinking all clear, crept towards the charred ruin. I had actually got into the garden when I heard a scuffle somewhere behind me. I fancy the police must have heard it too, for there were footsteps on the gravel walk in front of the house. Then came, from behind, a curious gurgling noise, then a dull thud, then silence. A hand grasped my arm.

'"Come, sir," whispered a voice, and I felt myself dragged into a clump of laurels. I was subtly aware that my present companion was a friend, and I followed him without question. We crouched together for a while, until the police, presumably supposing they had been deceived, scrunched back into the road. He then put his lips to my ear.

'"I am Mr. Philipson's boy, sir," said he, in excellent English. "You have some message for me?"

'"What is your name?" I asked him.

'"Lo Eng. You have a sign from my master?"

'I gave him the seal to feel, and I heard him murmur his satisfaction. "Listen," he said, "Those devils set fire to the house a few hours after the master went. I took the papers out of the safe, but everything else was destroyed."

'"You are to give me the bundle marked with a letter B," I said.

'He took out a thick wad, and handed me an envelope from among them. "Those are the ones," said he. "There is nothing else in the house, for I have searched it. Please tell the _Lao Yeh_ I did everything possible to protect his property, but they had lined the walls with kerosene, and all went up very swiftly. Since then I have watched here for my master. Those villains have also watched. One of them followed you down this road to-night. I recognised him from the night of the house-burning. I heard him tell you he was Mr. Philipson's boy. When you ran, you thought you had left him behind, but you had not. He followed you across the fields, so close that he could have killed you. But I was just behind him."

'"Where is the fellow now?" I whispered.

'My ally drew me deeper into the shrubbery, where I kicked against something soft. "He will not follow you any more," he said. "Help me to cover him up, lest the police find him."'

At this point Lo Eng sat a little farther forward on the edge of his chair, and broke in, with extreme deference.

'That man struggled very hard, master,' he said sweetly. 'I discovered afterwards that I had strangled him.'

Philipson gravely nodded, and Poyning resumed his story.

'Lo Eng showed me a way across to the main traffic routes without touching the New Highgate Road at all, and left me. I caught an inward bound cabriolet to the city, cleared my own debit at the Eastern Seas Hotel, collected my bag from the Marco Polo and settled up there, and eventually reached the station with fifteen minutes to spare. I had been zealously on the watch for followers all the way, and could have pledged my faith that I had none; and yet, as I paced the platform, to my supreme disgust I saw that two natives in the throng at least were taking an abnormal amount of interest in my movements. They had been over against a fruit stall in full view of the wicket I should have to pass, but when they saw me, they edged unmistakably in my direction. I walked up and down twice: they moved _pari passu_. I realised that if I boarded the Nanking train, even if they did not follow me I should have given away the route you had followed--always supposing these men had connected me with you, which seemed tolerably plain. Then a device occurred to me. There was a local train standing in the station. It was due to leave for Wusung at ten-fifty. I regarded this as proof that the gods were on my side. I went to the booking office and bought a ticket for Wusung, intending to board that train, walk straight through it, and gain my own by way of the track, trusting to providence and a villainously illuminated station; but my two rascals were too quick for me. I saw them get into a compartment about four distant from mine. The situation, gentlemen, was growing strained, and I had already decided not to travel at all that night, but to slink back into the city and try again later, when yet another subterfuge came to my mind. I knew that I could not leave that train without detection--at any rate so long as it stood in the station. But if I waited until it started, and then jumped, I might yet outwit the enemy. This course I followed, though without the smooth success I had hoped. I waited too long before jumping, and came the very disastrous cropper which resulted in this bloody cockscomb you have been good enough to patch for me; and even at that sacrifice I did not elude my two ruffians. As I fell I had a blurred consciousness of other bodies falling from the train, and I know that they fell with more agility than I did, for they were up and upon me in an instant. I began to lay about me, but not dangerously, for my head was swimming and I had frankly given up hope of getting out of the imbroglio alive, when I realised that there was more in it than at first appeared. There were three mirky shapes on that mirky railway track--we were over a hundred yards out of the station--but one of them was fighting on my side. I plucked up heart, and gave one of the roughs such a taste of the fighting blood of the Poynings that he fell backwards across the metals, struck his head, and lay still. The other appeared to have had the worst of it with my ally, and the next thing I knew, I had grabbed the suitcase and was bundling back along the track with Lo Eng--to whose battling abilities throughout I would take this occasion to bear the very warmest testimony. You'd better ask him what happened after, for the world was waltzing around me again, and my recollection becomes valueless as evidence.'

Lo Eng waited for a sign from Philipson, then delivered himself to this effect:

'I feared that Mr. Poyning would be followed back into Shanghai, so I followed him myself, all the way to the station. There it was as I feared. I do not know how those men knew he was the gentleman they were looking for, but they did know. I could see that he knew he was being observed by them too. They were so intent on Mr. Poyning that they did not see me get into the next carriage of the Wusung train. When they jumped out, I jumped also. Then we fought, as Mr. Poyning has said, and left those two men on the rails and ran back to the Nanking train. It was just moving. He was so injured that he could not get up from the ground, so I climbed into the train with the suit case and pulled him up behind me. It was very difficult to do, and by the time we were on board, the train was moving too fast for me to get off again. I had no ticket, but Mr. Poyning paid my fare to the conductor. Then I bound his head, which was bleeding, and he fell asleep until we reached here this morning. We have not been followed since.'

Philipson rose from his chair and patted the servant's shaven head. 'You have done well, Lo Eng,' he said. 'You are a boy to be proud of.'

The expression of dog-like fidelity on the man's face deepened. 'Master is going up country?' he said.

'Such is the case, Lo Eng,' replied Philipson, his eye twinkling.

The boy looked down at his demurely folded hands. 'There is no house in Shanghai for me to guard now,' he murmured. 'The car was destroyed too.'

'Eh? That's the way the wind blows, is it? Very well, we shall be glad of such a trusty servant, I have no doubt. You will go down and stay on board the launch with Ah Sing now, and wait for orders.'

As soon as Lo Eng was out of the room, Philipson took Poyning's hand and shook it. 'I am eternally beholden to you, Poyning,' he said warmly. 'You have handled this business not only with discretion but with a most commendable quantity of pluck. You had better lie down now till breakfast is ready. After that, we will go into the future.'

'Well,' said Philipson to me, when we were alone, 'what think you? Should we take the youth into partnership?'

'Seems to me,' I said, 'the question is, will he take us?'

Philipson had unlocked the suit case by the key Poyning left with him, and was unwrapping the instruments from several yards of cotton wool. Both came out quite undamaged.

'I am inclined to think,' said Saunders Philipson deliberatively, 'that that _is_ the more correct way to put it.'