He took up his writing-brush, but suddenly he checked himself and resumed:
'Now that I have worked together closely with you alone on a case, Tao Gan, I want to tell you that I shall be very glad to have you on my permanent staff. I have but one piece of advice to give to you for your further career as a criminal investigator. That is that you must never allow yourself to become emotionally involved in the cases you are dealing with. This is most important, Tao Gan, but most difficult to achieve. I ought to know. I have never learned it.'
THE NIGHT OF THE TIGER
Huddled up in his heavy fur coat, the judge was riding all alone along the highway across the deserted plain. It was late in the afternoon, the grey shadows of the winter night were hovering already over the bleak, flooded land, through which the raised highway cut like a crack in a tarnished mirror. The water reflected the leaden sky that seemed to hang very low over the rippling waves. The north wind drove masses of dark rain-clouds towards the mist-covered mountains in the distance.
Deep in thought, the judge had ridden ahead, leaving the armed men of his escort more than half a mile behind. Hunched over the neck of his horse, his fur cap pulled well down over his ears, he stared straight at the road before him. He was aware that his thoughts ought to dwell on the future. In two days' time he would be in the imperial capital and assuming his new post, the high office he had been appointed to quite unexpectedly. But constantly his mind went back to the past week. The tragic experience that had marked his last days as magistrate of Pei-chow kept nagging at him, dragging him back to that small, dismal district high up in the frozen north which they had left three days before.* (*See The Chinese Nail Murders, London, Michael Joseph, 1961.)
For three days they had been riding south through the snow-bound northern country. Then a sudden thaw had set in. It was causing disastrous floods in the province they had entered now. In the morning they had met long files of peasants, fleeing north from their inundated fields, wearily trudging along bent under the bundles of their scanty belongings, their feet wrapped in mud-covered rags. When they had halted for the noon-rice at the traffic control station, the captain commanding the judge's escort had reported that they were coming now to the worst stretch, where the Yellow River had overflown its entire north bank; he had advised waiting there for more information on the water-level in the area ahead. But the judge had decided that they would travel on, for he was under orders to proceed to the capital without delay. Besides, he knew from the map that across the river the land rose, and there stood the fortress where he planned to stay the night.
The highway was completely deserted. A few isolated roofs of submerged farmsteads sticking up here and there from the mass of muddy water were the only signs that this had been until recently a fertile, well-populated plain. When the judge came nearer to the mountain range, however, he saw two barracks on the left side of the road ahead. About a dozen men were standing there, close together. As he rode up to them he saw that they were local militia, wearing thick leather caps and jackets and knee-high boots. A stretch of the highway had crumbled away there, leaving a gap of more than a hundred feet through which rushed a stream of turbid water. The men were worriedly looking at the low wall of faggots that reinforced the sides of their improvised bridgehead.
A narrow temporary bridge led across the gap to the opposite bank, where the highway went up the thickly wooded mountain slope. The bridge had been hastily constructed from heavy logs, lashed together with thick hemp-ropes. It rose and fell with the churning water it was half floating on.
'It isn't safe to cross, sir!' the leader of the militia called out. 'The current is growing stronger all the time, and we can't keep the bridge clear. Better turn back. If the ropes break, we'll have to abandon this bridgehead.'
The judge turned round in his saddle. Narrowing his eyes against the biting north wind, he peered at the group of horsemen in the distance. They were riding at a fast pace, he thought they would catch up with him soon. After a glance at the hills over on the other side of the gap, he decided to take the chance. According to the roadmap, it was only half an hour's ride across the mountain range to the Yellow River. There the ferry would carry him to the fortress on the south bank.
He drove his horse onto the slippery logs. The bridge swayed to and fro, and the thick ropes creaked as he advanced cautiously, his horse stepping ahead with stiff legs. When he was about half-way, muddy waves came lapping over the logs. He patted the neck of his horse reassuringly. Suddenly a tree trunk, carried along by the current, crashed against the bridge. The billows that came surging over the logs rose up to the belly of his horse and thoroughly wet his riding boots. The judge urged the prancing animal ahead, onto the second half of the bridge. There the logs were dry, and soon they were on firm ground again. He made his horse step quickly up the high bank, then halted under the tall trees. Just as he turned his head round there was a loud crashing sound. Now a large cluster of uprooted trees had smashed into the bridge. Its central section heaved upwards like the curving back of a dragon, then the ropes tore and the logs came apart. There was nothing left between him and the bridgehead but a mass of foaming water.
He waved his riding-whip at the militia to signify that he was riding on. His escort would come along as soon as the bridge had been repaired. He would wait for them in the fortress.
After the first bend he was under the lee of the dark, tall oak trees that rose on either side of the road. Now he realized, however, how cold his feet were in their soggy boots. But it was a relief to be on firm ground again after the long ride through the flooded region.
Suddenly there was the sound of breaking branches. A wild-looking horseman came out from the thick undergrowth. His long hair was bound up with a piece of red cloth, a short cape of tigerskin hung round his wide shoulders and a broadsword was dangling on his back. He brought his horse to a halt in the middle of the road, thus barring the way. Fixing the judge with his small, cruel eyes, he let his short spear whirl around by a quick, two-handed movement.
The judge halted his horse.
'Get out of my way!' he shouted.
The other let go of the tip of the spear, holding on to the butt end. The sharp point described a wide circle, grazing the forelock of Judge Dee's horse. As the judge pulled the reins, all the pent-up emotions of the last few days found an outlet in a sudden, savage rage. He raised his hand to his right shoulder and, quick as lightning, drew the sword hanging on his back. He aimed a long blow at the bandit, but the ruffian parried it expertly with the point of his spear, and at once tried to hit Judge Dee's head with the butt end. The judge ducked, but then the spear point came whirling down on him. He caught the shaft on the razor-sharp edge of his sword, and the wood was cut clean through. As the robber was looking, amazed, at the stump in his hand, the judge pressed his horse on close to the other, and raised his sword for the death blow on the other's neck. But the man swung his horse round with his knees practically at the same time, and the sword swished over his head. The ruffian uttered a vile curse but made no move to draw his sword. He urged his horse on to the farther side of the road and shouted over his shoulder:
'One more rat in the trap!'
JUDGE DEE CAUGHT THE SPEAR ON HIS SWORD
He grinned, then disappeared into the thick foliage.
The judge sheathed his sword. Driving on his horse, he reflected that he must pull himself together. An insolent highwayman ought not to be sufficient cause for losing his temper. The impact of the tragedy at Pei-chow had affected him deeply, so deeply that he wondered forlornly whether he would ever succeed in regaining his inward peace.