"I do know!" the judge interrupted her fiercely. "I know what made you act as you did five years ago, and I know that you . . . I know what made you tell me."
She bent her head and sobbed, strange, soundless sobs.
"The pattern must be restored," the judge continued in a broken voice, "even ... if it destroys ourselves. Believe me, this is stronger than me myself. The days that come will be a living hell for you . . . and for me. I wish to Heaven I could do otherwise. But I can't. . . . And it was you who saved me! Forgive me . . . please!"
"Don't say that!" she cried out. Then, smiling through her tears, she added softly: "I knew, of course, what you would do, else I wouldn't have told you. I would never want you to be other than you are."
The judge wanted to speak but emotion strangled his voice. He gave her a despairing look.
She averted her eyes.
"Don't speak!" she panted. "And don't look at me. I can't bear to see . . ."
She buried her face in her hands. The judge stood motionless. He felt as if a cold sword were slowly cutting through his heart.
The last meeting on Medicine Hill
Suddenly she looked up. The judge wanted to speak, but she quickly laid her finger on her lips.
"Don't!" she said. Then she added with a tremulous smile: "Be still now! Don't you remember, about the blossoms falling down in the snow? If we listen, we can hear the sound . . ."
Gaily pointing at the tree behind him, she continued quickly: "Look, the blossoms came out today! Please, look!"
The judge turned around. As he lifted his head, the beauty of what he saw took his breath away. The tree stood silhouetted against the moonlit sky; the small red blossoms seemed like glittering red jewels covering the silvery boughs. A faint current stirred the cold air. A few petals detached themselves and slowly fluttered down on the snow below.
Suddenly he heard behind him the sound of splintering wood. He whirled around and saw the broken fence. He was alone on the crag.
Twenty-fifth Chapter
The next morning Judge Dee woke up late after a tormented night. The clerk who brought his morning tea said sadly:
"Our coroner's wife had an accident, Your Honor. Last night she went as usual to the Medicine Hill to gather herbs. She must have leaned over the balustrade and it gave away. At dawn a hunter found her dead body at the foot of the crag."
The judge expressed his regret, then ordered him to call Ma Joong. When they were alone the judge said gravely to him:
"Last night I made a mistake, Ma Joong. You must never tell anyone about our visit to the graveyard. Forget it!"
Ma Joong nodded his large head. He said quietly:
"I am not much use for brainwork, Your Honor, but the one thing I can do is follow orders. If Your Honor says 'Forget,' I forget."
Judge Dee dismissed him with an affectionate look.
A knock sounded on the door, and Kuo came in. The judge rose quickly and went to meet him. He formally expressed his condolences.
Kuo looked up at him with his large, sad eyes.
"It was no accident, Your Honor," he said calmly. "My wife knew that place like the palm of her hand, and the fence was quite strong. I know that she killed herself."
As Judge Dee raised his eyebrows, he continued in the same even voice:
"I confess being guilty of a serious crime, Your Honor. When I asked my wife to marry me, she warned me that she had killed her husband. I said it made no difference to me, because I knew her husband was a cruel brute who took delight in hurting men and animals alike. I feel that such persons ought to be destroyed, although I lack the courage to do it myself. I am not the kind of man who accomplishes great things, Your Honor."
He raised his hands in a hopeless gesture. Then he resumed:
"I did not ask her for particulars then, and the subject was never again mentioned between us. But I knew that she was often thinking about it, torn by doubts. I should of course have urged her to report the crime, but I am a selfish man, Your Honor. I could not bear the thought of losing her. . . ."
He stared at the floor, his mouth twitching.
"Then why do you raise this subject now?" Judge Dee asked.
Kuo looked up.
"Because I know it's her wish, Your Honor," he replied quietly. "I know that Mrs. Loo's trial affected her deeply; she felt she had to atone for her crime by killing herself. She was a woman of utter sincerity and I know she wishes her crime to be reported officially, so that she can enter the Hereafter with a clean record. Therefore I come to report now, also accusing myself of being an accomplice after the deed."
"Do you realize that yours is a capital crime?" the judge asked.
"Of course!" Kuo said, amazed. "My wife knew that I wouldn't mind dying after she had passed away."
Judge Dee silently stroked his beard. He felt deeply shamed by this supreme loyalty. After a while he said:
"I cannot initiate a posthumous case against your wife, Kuo. She never told you how she killed her husband, and I cannot open a grave for an autopsy, just on hearsay evidence. Moreover, I think that if your wife really had intended that the crime she said she committed be reported, she would, of course, have left behind a written self-accusation."
"That is true," Kuo said pensively. "I hadn't thought of that. My mind is so confused. . . ." Then he added softly, as to himself: "It will be lonely. ..."
Judge Dee left his chair and walked over to him. He asked:
"Isn't that small daughter of Mrs. Loo staying in your house?"
"Yes," Kuo said with a slow smile. "She's a nice little thing. My wife became very fond of her."
"Then your duty is clear, Kuo!" the judge said firmly. "As soon as the case against Mrs. Loo is closed, you will adopt the girl as your daughter."
Kuo gave the judge a grateful look. He said ruefully:
"I was so upset that I didn't even apologize for my failure to notice the nail during the first autopsy, Your Honor. I do hope . . ."
"Let's forget the past," Judge Dee interrupted quickly.
Kuo knelt and three times touched the floor with his forehead. When he had risen again he said simply:
"Thank you, sir." Turning to go he added: "Your Honor is a great and good man."
As Kuo slowly shuffled to the door, the judge felt as if he had been hit across the face with a heavy whip.
Staggering back to his desk he sat down heavily in his chair. Suddenly he thought of what Kuo had said about his wife's doubts. "Joy passes, it's remorse and sorrow that last"—she had indeed known the entire poem. "Oh that but once new love . . ." His head sank on the table.
After a long time he righted himself. A conversation with his father, long forgotten, suddenly came to his mind. Thirty years ago, when he had just passed his first literary examination, he had eagerly told his father his great plans for the future. "I trust you'll go far, Jen-djieh," his father had said, "but be prepared for much suffering on the way! And you'll find it very lonely—at the top." He had answered confidently: "Suffering and loneliness make a man strong, sir!" He had not understood his father's sad smile. But now he knew.
The clerk came in with a pot of hot tea, and the judge slowly drank a cup. Suddenly he thought, amazed: How strange that life goes on, as if nothing had happened. Yet Hoong died, a woman and a man made me deeply ashamed of myself, and I am sitting here, drinking my tea. Life goes on, but I have changed. It goes on, but I don't want to take part in it any longer.