His Excellency Prince Chu-Hsi-Han, Ambassador to the Court of St. James, picked up the card from the tray, and examined it calmly through his rimless glasses.
“Is the distinguished stranger below?” he asked.
“Excellent Highness,” said the Mongolian in the livery of the Embassy, “I placed the distinguished stranger in the red room.”
The Ambassador nodded.
“Conduct him to my unworthy presence,” he said, and the servant bowed twice and left the room silently.
He returned in a few minutes and announced the visitor in faultless English.
“Signor Tillizinni.”
Tillizinni, spare of build, with his keen, eager face and his black and white colouring, formed a strong note in that room of soft pearl-blue draperies and shaded lights. He offered his hand with a little bow to the impassive Oriental who rose from his desk to meet him.
“Your Excellency expected me?” he asked, and the Ambassador smiled, for Tillizinni spoke in the Chinese--that peculiar “Mandarin Chinese” which only the statesmen and diplomatists of China employ.
“You are a veritable signor,” he said quietly. “You have the accent which suggests a course of training in the forbidden city.”
Tillizinni flushed--he was susceptible on the intellectual side.
“I am flattered,” he said. “Yet I studied no nearer to Pekin than Florence.”
“I congratulate you,” said the Prince, and with his own hands drew a chair forward.
“Be seated,” he said, “and tell me exactly what you require.”
He was speaking in English now.
Tillizinni took from his pocket a long envelope and extracted a number of newspaper cuttings.
“Your Excellency wrote an article in the North American Review,” he said, “which dealt extensively with the early history of your country.”
The Ambassador nodded.
“You dealt extensively with the life of the First Emperor.”
Again the Ambassador nodded.
“One could not deal effectively with the history of China,” he smiled, “unless one wrote of the First Emperor. He built the great wall and stimulated all the best efforts of my countrymen--and though it was two thousand years ago, his influence is still felt.”
It was Tillizinni who smiled now.
“His influence is felt here in London,” he said grimly, “and in no place more completely than in Scotland Yard, which, as your Excellency may know, affords me employment.”
“At Scotland Yard?”
The Chinese Ambassador’s eyebrows rose.
“At Scotland Yard,” repeated the other. “But if your Excellency will proceed----”
The Prince was a great littérateur, and since he was riding his hobby, needed little encouragement.
“The First Emperor did many wonderful things,” he said. “He also did many things, which I say humbly and with due reverence to his illustrious memory”--he bowed his head--“were not wise, for he destroyed all the literature which China possessed, burnt books and documents, and forbade on pain of death any attempt on the part of students to retain the writings of the just. All this you will find dealt with in the story in a sketchy way.”
Again Tillizinni nodded.
“Here is a paragraph I would like to direct your special attention,” he said, and indicated a page on which a paragraph had been outlined with blue pencil.
“Pardon me!” said his Excellency. He was apologising for the fact that it was necessary for him to employ his pince-nez; for your well-bred Chinaman be he all but blind, does not wear his spectacles in the presence of his guest.
“Ah, that,” he tapped the blue paragraph with his finger, “that is a literal extract from the writings of our greatest historian, and describes the burial of the First Emperor.”
He read aloud in his soft English, tracing the printed lines with his tapered fingers as he proceeded:
“In the 9th moon the First Emperor was buried in Mount Li, which in the early days of his reign he had caused to be tunnelled and prepared with that view. Then, when he had consolidated the Empire, he employed his soldiery, to the number of 700,000, to bore down to the Three Springs (that is, until the water was reached), and there a firm foundation was laid and the sarcophagus placed thereon. Rare objects and costly jewels were collected from the palaces and from the various officials, and were carried thither and stored in huge quantities. Artificers were ordered to construct mechanical crossbows, which, if any one were to enter, would immediately discharge their arrows. With the aid of quicksilver, rivers were made--the Yangtsze, the Yellow River, and the great ocean--the metal being made to flow from one into the other by machinery. On the roof were delineated the constellations of the sky, on the floor the geographical divisions of the earth. Candles were made from the fat of the man-fish (walrus), calculated to last for a very long time. The Second Emperor said: ‘It is not fitting that the concubines of my late father who are without children should leave him now’; and accordingly he ordered them to accompany the dead monarch to the next world, those who thus perished being many in number. When the interment was completed, some one suggested that the workmen who had made the machinery and concealed the treasure knew the great value of the latter, and that the secret would leak out. Therefore, so soon as the ceremony was over, and the path giving access to the sarcophagus had been blocked up at its innermost end, the outside gate at the entrance to this path was let fall, and the mausoleum was effectually closed, so that not one of the workmen escaped. Trees and grass were then planted around, that the spot might look like the rest of the mountain.”
Tillizinni nodded.
“That is the trouble,” he said.
“Trouble?”
It is not etiquette for a high-born Chinaman to express his astonishment in the exclamatory style of the West; yet the Prince was obviously astonished.
As briefly as possible Tillizinni gave a résumé of the events which had preceded and followed the stranding of the China mail-boat.
His Excellency listened, his features composed to that immobility which is characteristic of his race. When Tillizinni had concluded, he asked:
“You suggest that the thieves were seeking information which they knew I would publish, and which is to be found in every historical text-book on China.”
“I suggest to your Excellency,” said Tillizinni quietly, “that amongst your documents there was one which threw greater light upon the Treasure House of the Dead than anything you have published.”
The Ambassador was silent. His delicate fingers played restlessly with a silver paper knife on his desk, and his eyes were averted from the other’s face.
Tillizinni offered no encouragement to speech. He understood that he had been right in his surmise. There was reason for the attempted burglary and the reason was to be found in the contents of the mail-bag.
It was fully three minutes--no inconsiderable period of time--before the Ambassador spoke:
“I can only imagine,” he said at last, speaking very slowly, “that the people who tried to rob the safe desired information which I am not prepared to give.”
He looked up sharply.
“Do you realise, Mr. Tillizinni,” he asked, “that buried with Ts’in Hwang Ti are jewels computed to be worth over two million pounds?”
“Two millions?”
The Prince nodded.
“Two millions,” he repeated. “All the authorities agree that even in those days, China was enormously wealthy in gold and precious jewels, and that the value of the First Emperor’s possessions were enormous. He was originally the King of Ts’in, and he it was who established the Empire. By conquest alone he must have secured enormous wealth apart from that which he obtained through the recognised revenues of peace.”
The knowledge that this wealth lies buried is sufficient to tempt the foreign adventurer--no Chinaman save some of the worst criminal characters would desecrate a tomb.
“I have in my possession the exact location of Mount Li,” he added simply.
“But----”
“You think that is easy to find, but as a matter of fact the Empire is filled with Mount Lis, and though on one of these--the most obvious one--the tomb has been located, the great Emperor is really buried on a small and barren island in the Gulf of Pe-chili.”
Tillizinni’s eyes narrowed.
What mystery there was in the burglary had now vanished.
“Why is not the location generally known?” he asked.
The Ambassador favoured him with one of his rare smiles.
“The Emperor himself forbade the disclosure,” he said. “In China in those days, the Divine Sun of Heaven controlled not alone the destinies by the memories of men.”
Tillizinni rose to go.
“One last question,” he asked. “Do you intend publishing the information you have at any future date?”
“I do not,” said the Ambassador briefly.
Tillizinni had occasion to go into the red drawing-room, where he had left his hat and walking-stick.
A man was sitting waiting--a tall, good-looking man, jaunty enough in spite of the poverty of his attire.
“Captain Talham, I believe,” said Tillizinni, and the other rose.
“You are the gentleman who searched my luggage at King’s Cross cloak-room,” said Captain Talham, without resentment, and the detective laughed aloud.
“That is a confession which I should not care to make,” he said. “How do you know your luggage had been searched?”
“I have had some experience,” said the other coolly, “and it may interest you to know that, since your search, a more conscientious search-party took away the whole of my baggage and has, so far, failed to replace it.”
Tillizinni was genuinely concerned. This strange man had a tender spot in his heart for the needy and it needed no second glance at the man from China to discover his straitened circumstances.
He drew a chair forward.
“I am interested in this,” he said. “Perhaps I can help you.”
Captain Talham raised a dignified and protesting hand.
“The normal mind,” he said “rejects without hesitation the instinct of rebellion against recognised authority. Undisciplined resentment toward social safeguards imposed by society for its own protection is aluvistic. I appreciate the necessity for the examination you made and regard as admirable the choice of agent which the government has made. Moreover, since I am directly and frankly interested in discovering the location of Mount Li, and came to this country by the same ship as certain documents revealing that location, your suspicion was pardonable.”
He said all this, scarcely pausing to take breath.
Tillizinni’s face, schooled to conceal his emotion, displayed no hint of his sensations. Had this man been listening at the door of the study, that he should take up the threads of the Ambassador’s discourse?
Talham seemed to divine the working of the Italian’s mind, and smiled.
“I gather you have been discussing the matter with Chu-hsi-han. I gather that because you did not make your call till after the publication of his article, and because I have reason for knowing that that article has excited a great deal of interest in circles with which you are probably unacquainted--the Society of Good Intention, for example.”
There was something in his tone which at once interested and nettled Tillizinni. The stranger had put him on his mettle, too, challenged his knowledge of forces. Yet the Italian was too big a man to allow pique to stand in his way of acquiring information. He was not too clever to learn.
“I know nothing whatever about the Society of Good Intention,” he said; “though I gather from its benevolent title that it is a Chinese secret society with a felonious propaganda.”
Talham was tickled. Here was a man after his own heart.
“The Society,” he began, as if to deliver a speech, then changed his mind. “The Society is purely criminal, though it had a political origin. It is an off shoot of the Guild of Honourable Adventurers which flourished in Canton twenty years ago. It has committed more crimes than any other in China, and it has reached a pass where----”
Clear and sharp above the conversation a pistol shot rang out.
It sounded overhead, and simultaneously the two men leapt to their feet. With one accord they darted to the door, across the wide hall, and up the soft-carpeted stairs, Tillizinni leading, an automatic pistol in his hand.
A servant was standing at the door of the Ambassador’s study, vainly twisting the handle.
“It is locked, Excellencies,” he said.
“Out of the way!” cried Talham.
The man obeyed with suspicious alacrity. He flew down the stairs, past the chattering crowd of servants hurrying up.
At the door of the house the Chinaman in the livery of the Embassy was joined by another.
“We will go quickly, brother,” said the first man, “else these people will know that we are not in the Tao-ae’s service.”
They passed through the door and out into the dark street as the sound of a crash told them that Talham had gained admission to the room above.
The room was in darkness, but the observant Tillizinni had noted the mother-of-pearl button switch, and his fingers found it now. Instantly the room was flooded with soft light.
Huddled in his chair was the Ambassador--dead.
There was no wound which the men could see, and Tillizinni, going swiftly to the side of the dead man, uttered an exclamation.
“He has been strangled!” he cried.
Talham leant over the desk, his brows puckered in a frown.
“Strangled! Then who fired that shot?” he asked.
Servants were coming into the room now. The English secretary pushed a way through a crowd of excited Chinamen. He had been writing in his study on the third floor when the shot aroused him.
“Marshall all the servants,” said Tillizinni, and whilst this was being done the detective made an examination of the apartment. The windows were closed and fastened with a catch, for the Ambassador shared with his countrymen a horror of ventilation. There was no possibility of entry from that direction.
Nothing had been disturbed with the exception of a large inlaid bureau which stood against one wall of the room. Here the door had been wrenched open, and a drawer forced and ransacked. Private papers lay scattered on the floor.
Tillizinni picked up a large envelope. It was inscribed in Chinese characters: “The burial-place of the First Emperor.” The seal on the envelope remained intact, but the cover had been slit from end to end, and was empty.
“Look!” said Talham’s voice explosively.
Tillizinni followed the direction of the pointing finger. The bottom of the bureau was formed by one huge drawer, the width and depth of the massive piece of furniture and some eighteen inches high.
From one corner bright red drops were dripping and forming a little pool on the carpet.
The two men grasped the bronze handles of the drawer and pulled.
The body of a man lay in the bottom. He was doubled up so that his knees were under his chin. He had been shot evidently from behind, and was quite dead.
“Do you know him?” asked Tillizinni.
Talham nodded.
“He called himself the ‘Star above the Yamen,’” he said, “and I had an interesting talk with him this afternoon.”
For this poor, inanimate thing had been the spokesman of Hyde Park.
