Part 2

“I appreciate it,” said Huber Davis, not without anxiety. His anxiety was warranted. “If you will give me advice it shall be followed implicitly, I assure you.”

Li Mow Gee smoked until his long pipe sucked dry.

“Well, then, bring to me that candlestick and whatever else was with it--candles, perhaps. I will make good whatever sum your honorable relative expended, and I will see to it that the matter is adjusted in the right quarters in case trouble has arisen. But, remember, time is an element of importance.”

“In half an hour,” said Huber Davis earnestly, “I shall return with the things.”

Li Mow Gee picked up his cup of tea, signaling that the interview was ended.

Huber Davis dropped business and hurried home. If he could have reconciled it with his conscience, he would have let matters alone in the confidence that before a great while Reginald Carefrew would be removed from this mortal sphere; but Huber Davis had a stiff conscience. Besides, there was Ruth. If Ruth still loved this swindler, Huber Davis intended to protect and further him--for her sake. There was a good deal of the old conventional spirit in Huber Davis.

He expected trouble, and was prepared to handle it firmly; but he wanted to avoid a scene if possible. So, finding Carefrew engaged in packing, he lighted his pipe and watched for a few moments without broaching the subject on his mind.

“How much,” he said at last, “do you expect to get for that candlestick if you sell it?”

Carefrew looked at him in surprise.

“Eh? Think I have some judgment, after all, do you? Oh, I ought to get a hundred easily.”

“Well, see here,” proposed Huber Davis, “I do like the thing, Reggy. Tell you what: I’ll give a hundred and twenty-five, cash down, if you’ll turn it over. Eh?”

Carefrew grinned. “Hundred and fifty takes it,” he said.

“You nasty son of--” thought Huber Davis. With an effort he controlled himself and produced his check-book. By the time he had written the check Carefrew had unpacked the candlestick. Huber Davis remembered the negligible remark which Li Mow Gee had made about the candles.

“Throw in the candles,” he said, waving the check to dry it. “I want ’em.”

Carefrew assented with a laugh. “You are welcome, old boy! I’ve never yet got that damned red stuff off my hands; nothing touches it. It ‘ll have to wear off. And it itches!”

Huber Davis paid little attention to him, but picked up the wrapped candlestick, took the two-foot bamboo sections, and started off down the hill.

“Now, you dirty whelp,” he mentally apostrophized his relative, “I’ve got you out of a cursed bad situation, only you don’t know it and would never believe it!”

Upon reaching the funny-bone in the Street of the Heavenly Elbow, he sent in his name and was ushered quickly to the presence of Li Mow Gee.

“There’s the stuff,” he said, with a deep breath of relief. “And I’m in your debt, Li. I’ll remember it.”

Li Mow Gee smiled slightly, ironically, as though Huber Davis might stand more in his debt than was known or dreamed of.

“Don’t forget the price,” he said quietly. “Accounts must be kept straight, my friend. What was the cost of this thing?”

“Nineteen florins, but don’t bother about that,” returned the other, saying nothing of his payment to Carefrew.

“Pardon me, but it must be made all straight.” Li Mow Gee counted out nineteen florins from his pocketbook, which Huber Davis accepted. “Now a little wine to our friendship, eh?”

Huber Davis drank a thimble-cup of hot wine and took his departure, feeling that his hundred and fifty dollars had been well spent, having pulled Carefrew out of a bad situation, and thereby benefited Ruth.

Li Mow Gee, alone with his charcoal brazier and his pictures and his pipe, left the wrapped candlestick as it was, but took the three candles in their bamboo wrappings and opened a door in the wall where no door appeared to sight. He entered a long, narrow room which contained a great many queer little bottles, many of them old Chinese flasks carved from agate or amethyst, and a long table; the room did not appear in the least like a laboratory.

When he had laid the candles upon the table Li Mow Gee carefully cut the wrappings, but left each candle lying in its cradle of bamboo. Then he took a large glass bottle from the corner, and poured oil over each candle until the bamboo cradles were filled. When he lighted a match and ignited the oil one realized that the table was of ironwood.

Li Mow Gee stood placidly watching while the three candles became reduced to scorched and smoking masses of black grease, then blew out the lingering flames, cleaned the débris from the table into a brass jar, and returned to his own apartment.

When he had emptied six cups of wine he clapped his hands four times, and promptly the venerable Mr. Chang appeared, removing his spectacles and blinking.

“I return to your keeping the honorable candlestick of our lodge,” said Li Mow Gee, “and I thank you for the loan, venerable master.”

“Are the spirits of the dead satisfied?” queried Mr. Chang.

Li Mow Gee poured himself another cup of wine and positively grinned.

“If they are not,” he said, this time in English, “they are damned hard to please!”

It will be observed that Li Mow Gee was out nothing whatever--except certain obscure labors--for while he had paid Huber Davis nineteen florins, Carefrew had paid nineteen florins to agents of Li Mow Gee. And this, according to Oriental notions, was the acme of honor and propriety.

V

The Royal Mail boat, the “through packet” on which Ruth Carefrew was coming, held due for Sabang late in the afternoon. Upon the morning of that day Huber Davis went to the wireless station and sent a message to Ruth, aboard the steamer, to prepare to leave ship at Saban and cancel passage.

Then Huber Davis returned to his own bungalow, and met Dr. Brossot as the latter was leaving.

“Well,” inquired Huber Davis quickly, “what’s the trouble?”

The physician shrugged his shoulders.

“It has come, that’s all. Java has been swept, the west coast of Sumatra has seen them die by thousands, and now--it is here.”

“The influenza?’ said Huber Davis.

“It can be nothing else. High temperature, and you say he had chills yesterday; much pain, everything according to the ritual. I am sorry, Mynheer Davis; his room had better be quarantined, of course.”

“You think it is dangerous?”

“No. The danger, of course, lies in the pneumonia afterward. We must wait and see?”

After this, events moved fast. At noon the doctor arrived again, in response to a hurried message from Huber Davis. An hour later the two men sat in the study of Davis.

“But, Brossot,” said the latter, staring at the doctor, “what the devil was it, then? You say there was no pneumenia--”

The honest Dutchman shook his head. “Mynheer, upon my word of honor, I don’t know! I shall call it heart-failure; that’s what we all say, you know, to conceal our ignorance. The Chinese would say that he had swallowed gold, another polite way of saying the same thing. If you want an autopsy--”

Huber Davis rose, paced up and down the room, his brow furrowed.

“That’s not half bad, that Chinese saying,” he muttered. “No, Brossot, no autopsy. His wife arrives this afternoon, you know; my sister Ruth. Swallowed gold, did he? I believe it’s the truth, at that!”

But he never thought again about the red grease-paint on those candles, and he did not know anything about Li Mow Gee having a little laboratory--in the Chinese style--opening off his apartments. Nobody knew about that laboratory, except Li Mow Gee; and Mr. Li never boasted of his methods.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 3, 1919 issue of Argosy And Railroad Man's Magazine.]