He swung in, tested the depth of the water and the strength of the lily stems, then pushed a way through. He found himself in a shaded pool, the water deep and crystal clear.
Yueh Hua woke up and prepared a meal, which included the inevitable rice, and tea. As he smoked a cigarette, Tony’s eyes began to close.
“Now you must rest awhile,” Yueh Hua insisted. “I will watch until you’re ready to go on. There is an early moon tonight. It will help us to find the way.”
And he fell fast asleep with the words, “It will help us to find the way”, ringing in his ears like a peal of fairy bells . . .
He had no idea how long he slept, nor what wakened him. But he sat up with a start and looked around.
It was night. The moon hung like a great jewel over the bamboo jungle . . . and he couldn’t see Yueh Hua!
He got to his feet, listening, staring to right and left about the pool. He could see no one, hear nothing.
A sense of utter desolation crept over him. He was just going to call out her name. But he checked the cry in time. He crouched back under shelter of the plaited roof and stared, enthralled.
He had seen Yueh Hua.
She was swimming across the pool to a shallow bank on which they had cooked their dinner. Part of it was brightly and coldly lighted. The other part lay in shadow.
He saw her walk ashore and stand, wringing water from her dark hair. Then, she stretched her arms above her head and looked up at the sky as he had seen her do before. But that had been Yueh Hua, the river girl. This was Moon Flower, the goddess of night.
Her agility and grace he had noted. He had never suspected that she had so slimly beautiful a body, such smooth, ivory skin and perfect limbs.
He almost ceased to breathe.
When Yueh Hua came back to the sampan after her bath, he pretended to be asleep, and let her wake him.
But the light touch of her hand affected him strangely . . .
On the way to Niu-fo-Tu he tried to conquer a sense of awkward restraint which had come over him. He felt guilty. He rarely met Yueh Hua’s glance, for he was afraid she would read his secret in his eyes.
Surely no river girl was ever shaped like that?
He rowed furiously, pushing the sampan ahead as if competing in a race.
The river, when he came to it, gleamed deserted in the moonlight. The current favored him, and he made good going. He passed a tied-up junk but there seemed to be nobody on board, or nobody on watch. He couldn’t see if Yueh was asleep, but she lay very still. A slight breeze rattled the junk’s sails, making a sound like dry palm fronds in a high wind.
“Chi Foh!”
She was awake.
“Yes, Yueh Hua?”
“We have to look out for lights. Then we have to cross to the other bank and find the creek which will take us behind Niu-fo-Tu. We mustn’t miss it.”
Remembering his experience at Chia-Ting, Tony had no intention of missing it.
“Are there soldiers there, Yueh Hua?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“A jail?”
“No.” She laughed, that musical laugh. “Criminals have to be sent up to Chia-Ting.”
“And that, then, is where your father takes care of them?”
He rowed on. He knew Yueh Hua was watching him, and presently:
“Were you angry with me for being such a liar?” she asked.
“Don’t be silly, Yueh Hua! I never admired you more.”
“Oh.”
He had said too much. Or said it the wrong way. She had spoken the “Oh” like a wondering sigh.
He decided on a policy of silence. And Yueh Hua didn’t speak again. The river swept round in a long, flattened curve. Tony detected faintly a twinkling light ahead.
“Is that Niu-fo-Tu, Yueh Hua?”
“No.” She hesitated. “I think it must be another junk.”
So she had been awake all the time!
“I hope they are all asleep!”
“Let me row, Chi Foh. It is better. Don’t risk being seen.”
He wavered for a moment, then gave way and passed the oar over to her.
Navigation called for little but steering. The current carried them along. He crouched out of sight, watching Yueh Hua handle the long sweep with an easy grace he had never acquired. Beyond doubt, she had been born on the river.
She gave the junk as wide a berth as possible. If anybody was awake, it was someone who paid no attention. They passed unchallenged. Yueh Hua stayed at the oar, and Tony sat studying her, a silhouette against the moonlight, as she swayed rhythmically to and fro. They were silent for a long time, until she checked her rowing and stared intently ahead.
“Niu-fo-Tu!” she said. “Somewhere here we turn off.”
* * *
General Huan personally conducted Andre Skobolov to the apartment in his country residence reserved for distinguished guests. The Russian agent, a native of a Far Eastern province, had marked Mongolian features and spoke almost flawless Chinese. He had requested his host to invite no other guests to meet him, as he wished to talk business and to avoid attention. He was traveling by unfrequented roads, he explained, as he had many contacts in out-of-the-way places.
He had been entertained in a manner which recalled the magnificence of pre-Communist days, a fact upon which he congratulated General Huan so warmly that that monument of cunning knew that Skobolov suspected his loyalty to the present regime.
The “business” which Skobolov discussed introduced the names of so many members of the Order of the Si-Fan that the old strategist began to wonder if Skobolov might be an expert cryptographer who had already broken the cipher in which the Si- Fan Register was written. He had carefully inspected the visitor’s light baggage and had noted a large briefcase which Skobolov kept with him even during dinner. The Russian had apologized, explaining that it contained dispatches and must never be out of his sight.
General Huan bade Andre Skobolov good-night, regretting that some other method could not have been found to silence him; for he had a soldier’s respect for brave men.
Skobolov, when the door had closed, placed the briefcase under his pillow and once more, as he had already done on his arrival, checked every item of his baggage, locked the door, examined the window which opened on a balcony overlooking the beautiful gardens, and reexamined every compartment of a large and priceless lacquered cabinet which was set against one wall.
He did this so carefully, with the aid of a flashlamp that Dr. Fu Manchu, who was watching his every movement through a spy-hole in a part of the cabinet which formed the back of a closet in an adjoining room, was compelled to close the aperture.
Such devices for ensuring the comfort of guests were known in China long before the days of the Borgias.
When Skobolov, who had dined and wined well, finally retired, the spacious double room became dark except for furtive moonbeams stealing through the windows.
There was a brief silence, presently broken by the snores of the sleeping man.
Fu Manchu flashed a signal from the next room and returned to his observation post at the back of the closet.
He had watched and listened no longer than half a minute when the shadow of a man swept down past the moonlighted window and temporarily vanished. A moment later, the shadow reappeared as the man outside stood slowly upright. He had dropped from the roof to the balcony silent as a panther.
A nearly soundless manipulation, and the window opened. Although the night was warm, this resulted in a draft of cold air penetrating the room, perceptible even at the spy-hole.
The ghostly figure of the Cold Man became visible briefly in moonlight. His body, as well as his face, had an unearthly grey tinge. He wore only a grey loincloth. His eyes were lifeless as the eyes of a dead fish. He carried what looked like a small cage covered with gauze. Gliding nearer to the sleeping Skobolov, he removed the gauze.