The beautiful woman seemingly effaced herself between the two men. She became an instrument, mild, almost shy. William all but forgot her as he pressed his arguments with the Tiger. But she was neither mild nor shy. A supreme actress by natural gift, she took his English words and remolded them into her fluent Chinese, stressing this word, muting that. When she perceived that he understood something of what she was saying, she varied her dialect slightly, slipping into a sort of Fukienese, excusing herself with adroitness.
“My husband comes from Fukien, and he understands that language better than Mandarin. It is essential that he grasp your every word.”
William could make nothing thereafter of what she said. He did not want to believe that she added meanings of her own. There was no reason why she should. He was ready for the utmost gift.
One hour, two hours went by. Suddenly the Tiger stood up.
“Hao!” he cried in his thin sharp voice. “It is all good. We will do these things. I will command my men. I shall not rest until the yellow devils are driven into the sea.”
He folded his hands, this time without pretense of foreign custom, nodded twice to William, and went out of the room, his step silent and swift.
William was left with the beautiful woman. She put one soft pale hand upon his sleeve. “Dear Mr. Lane, your coming is an answer to prayer. I believe that. I believe so much in prayer, don’t you? Every morning my husband and I pray together.”
Tears came to her eyes and she took a little lace handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped them away. “You know China.” Her voice was a whisper now, broken with her tears. “I can speak to you. You see my husband. He is so strong, so good, he is really good. He wants to save our people not only from the present enemy but from those who are far worse. You understand me, Mr. Lane. I am sure you do. But my husband must be helped. He has not had the advantage of education. He has many impulses. I try to control them through praying with him, Mr. Lane. What I cannot do, God will do.”
William listened with rising sympathy.
“You have a very responsible work to do,” he said. “Perhaps you are in the key position of the whole world.”
His voice was grave and he meant it to be so, and she looked at him sorrowfully. Her big black eyes were shining and the tears were gone. Her hands were outstretched to him again.
“You must help me, promise me you will help me!”
He took her hands in his own. “I promise.”
A week later, after incessant flying, from the dried sands of the northwest to the green provinces of the south, hours broken only by descents into cities where he sat out long feasts given in his honor, he went southward and then across the mountains and seas homeward. Wherever he went the beautiful woman had gone with him, and with them was always a third, a general usually, whom they picked up from the region and who could give them the latest news of the war. She translated for William as she had for the Tiger, giving him a continuing drama of a brave poverty-stricken people, patriots who wanted only guns in their hands, a few tanks and planes, to become invincible.
“Like your own Washington,” she urged. “Like Jefferson, like Lincoln!”
He might have distrusted her eagerness, but she was always ahead of his mood. She knew when to let tears fill her eyes, but she knew also when to make her eyes hard and her voice firm. She knew when to show anger at a subordinate, when to be a queen and when to be a woman. Watching her he felt a new regret that the Phoenix Throne, too, had been destroyed. She would have made an empress fit to sit beside the Tiger on the Dragon Throne. People feared her, that he perceived, and he admired her for it. There must always be some whom the people fear.
At the end of the week he left convinced that because of her it was safe to uphold the Old Tiger. Without her there might be treachery; with her there was no danger. When they parted at the final airport she used her tears again.
“Dear America,” she breathed. “Give her my love. Give everybody my love! Tell them I spend my life to teach my people the lessons that I was taught over there!”
He reached Washington exactly on schedule and made his report, and took the next plane home. It was snowing softly when he got out of the plane. The chauffeur was there to meet him. When he stepped into the car he found Emory, looking very pretty in a silver-gray frock and hat.
“This is good of you, Emory,” he exclaimed.
“Not good of me. I’ve missed you terribly.”
He crushed her shoulders in his arm and kissed her. She smelled of a delicate perfume, clean and warm, and he was grateful for all that was his, his wife, his home, his business, his country.
“I’m glad to be back. China is hell now.”
“Is it, William? Then do you feel your trip was wasted?”
“No, far from it. I made them feel that America is behind them. I made them promises that I must see fulfilled. My work is cut out for me, Emory, I can tell you. I’ve got to shape public opinion to support those two people who are all that stand between us and defeat in Asia.”
“Don’t tell me now, William. You look fearfully tired.”
“I hope we haven’t any guests tonight.”
“No, of course not. Just you and me.”
He sighed and relaxed as much as he could. Everything had a new meaning for him. He felt as he never had before the value of being an American. The big car gliding over the great highways, the smokestacks of the factories, the lifted outlines of the city beyond, this could only be America. If China was hell, this was heaven, and it was his own. Nothing must be allowed to destroy it or bring it down to dust, now or ever. Holding Emory’s hand in his, he dedicated himself afresh and with all his heart to his own country.
Upon reflection, even after a night’s sleep, William felt that his mission to China had been a successful one. He had performed it in the quiet private way he liked to do large things, simply flying across the world alone in a plane for which he had paid a fabulous sum. The money was spent as he liked to spend money, by himself alone, for an end chosen by him but which would affect the world. The world knew nothing of it and would never acknowledge its debt to him, perhaps, while he lived. But some day, when historians were able to penetrate the shades of the past, they would see that through him, perhaps above all men, the war which might have been lost was won. Let others pour their energies upon the small tormented countries of Europe. He would save China, and by saving that vast territory the enemy would be foiled. He commanded Emory to invite no guests, accept no invitations. For two weeks he must stay at the office, coming home only to sleep. During that time he would give directives to his entire staff. Those who could not obey with efficiency he would discharge at once. His whole organization must concentrate now upon his directives. Techniques must be worked out for the papers, compelling simplicity, subtle argument, plausible presentation, every visual aid, every mental persuasion.
At the end of the first day he fired four persons, among them Miss Smith and Lem Barnard. Miss Smith was nobody. He ordered the office manager to have another ready for his dictation tomorrow morning. But Lem was difficult to replace. The Chinese would not tell a foreigner things unless he had charm, although charm was something William did not care for in his own office. It was then that he thought of Jeremy. Jeremy might do very well with the beautiful woman, even with the Old Tiger, if he were accompanied by someone to buy his tickets and take care of his baggage and see that he got his stuff on time. Besides, it would move Jeremy out of the office. When he did not show up it was a bad example. Acting instantly, with that abrupt complete co-ordination which was the source of his extraordinary energy, he pressed a buzzer.