The Mandarin's Fan

"I do," said Tidman sitting down and wiping his bald forehead, "he isn't a man with a clean past, and Forge knows about it. It's just on the cards that, to revenge himself on Burgh for having told Hwei about the fan, Forge has written to the police giving an account of Master Clarence's delinquency."

"But, on the other hand, if Burgh warned Forge that I had written to Rodgers, the doctor might forgive him."

"Not he. Forge is a bitter hater, and after all, Clarence would only be trying to right, what he had put wrong. If he'd held his tongue about the fan and the murder, there would be no need for Forge to cut. As it is, I believe the doctor will make it hot for our mutual friend."

"When did you see Burgh last?"

"At dinner last night. He said nothing about going away, and I quite believed he would stop on. He's in good quarters here and Miss Pewsey is paying the bill. But he took a small bag with him, saying he was going up town for a few days, and left by the nine evening train."

"Ah! He may come back after all."

"He may: but I doubt it. He doesn't want to face an inquiry. You see he gave the tie to Forge and said nothing about it at the inquest, so that makes him an accessory after the fact."

"But Burgh didn't know Forge's game."

"No. All the same he should have spoken out at the inquest. Well, and what is to be done now?"

"Nothing. I'm sick of the whole business. But Forge told me that this Mandarin, Lo-Keong, holds eight thousand pounds belonging to my father. I intend to write for it."

Tidman looked doubtful. "I don't think you'll get it," said he, "unless you produce the fan."

"Oh! I expect Forge has taken that away with him."

"Well then, Tung-yu and Hwei will be on his track, and I shouldn't give much for his life."

"Wait a bit. He may get the money from Tung-yu."

"If he chances on Tung-yu's day. Queer start that," added the Major musingly, "the red boy appeared when I just had my big toe cut off and saved my life. It happened, much the same with you, and Hwei lost his power, as he was getting ready to kill you. I wonder these two scoundrels obey the god so slavishly."

"Oh, they are both afraid of the god," said Rupert, rising to take his leave, "but I must get home. There's nothing more to be discussed."

"Nothing," replied the Major chuckling, "unless it is about that old cat's disappointment. I'll go up to St. Peter's church and see how she takes it."

"Of course," said Ainsleigh lingering at the door, "it's her wedding day. I expect she knows by this time, that Forge has cut."

"I hope not," said the Major cruelly. "I wouldn't lose the fun for something."

Rupert didn't agree with his callous view of the case, as Miss Pewsey was a woman after all, although a bad one; and it would be hard that she should suffer, what she would certainly regard as a public disgrace. So Rupert avoided St. Peter's Church, and went home again. Here he found Olivia with a letter.

"This arrived by the early post," she explained, "but you went out so quickly, that I could not give it to you. Just look at it Rupert, such beautiful writing."

"A foreigner's evidently," said her husband, looking at the really elegant calligraphy. "They take more care than we do of their pot-hook and hangers. Olivia." He started.

"What's the matter?"

Rupert put the envelope under her nose. "Smell it. Don't you recognise the scent."

"No," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, "it's a strange scent."

"Very, and was used to perfume the letter which Tung-yu sent to Major Tidman. This may have to do with the fan again."

Olivia looked nervous. "I wish we could hear the last of it," she said. "It has caused enough trouble already. Open the letter, dear."

Rupert did so and was more astonished than ever. "Here's an unexpected development," he remarked passing the letter to Olivia, "Lo-Keong is in England."

Mrs. Ainsleigh read the few lines which stated that the mandarin was stopping at a fashionable hotel in Northumberland Avenue, and would do himself the honour of calling on the son of his old friend in a few days. "He's come to see after the fan personally," said Olivia returning the letter. "I am glad."

"So am I," said Rupert quickly. "I'll now learn the truth about my father, and see if I can't get that eight thousand pounds."

"Rupert, do you think Lo-Keong killed your father?"

"I can't say. Forge declared over and over again, that he died of dysentery, and that Lo-Keong seized the money for the Boxers. But I'll demand an explanation from the Mandarin."

"Will he give it?" asked Mrs. Ainsleigh doubtfully.

"He'll have to," replied Rupert grimly, "and he'll have to give the money back also. I don't care for Forge's cash, as a villain such as he is, doesn't deserve any reward. But I want my own eight thousand, and I'll have it."

"I hope so," sighed Olivia, "we could then pay off Miss Pewsey, or rather Mrs. Forge, as she no doubt is by this time."

"No. Forge has bolted."

"What, on the eve of the wedding?"

"Yes. He cleared out last night. Either he fears being arrested for the murder of your aunt, or he dreads lest Hwei should come down to kill him for the sake of the fan. At all events he has gone, and Miss Pewsey is no doubt waiting at the altar of St. Peter's Church, for a bridegroom who will never come. But we must attend to our own troubles, dear. I'll write to the Mandarin to-day and ask him to visit us when it suits him. Or else I can run up – "

"No," interrupted Olivia in a voice of alarm. "I won't have you go away again, until this fan business is settled. I'm always afraid of your falling into the hands of these Chinamen. I shall ask Mr. Lo-Keong, to stop them searching for the fan."

"He can stop Hwei," said Rupert rising, "but Tung-yu is in the employment of Hop Sing, the Mandarin's rival. Don't be afraid, my dearest, I have been protected by Providence these many days, and it is not likely that I'll come to grief. But I fear for Forge and for Burgh, who has likewise bolted. Those two will certainly get into trouble."

"It is wrong to say so," said Mrs. Ainsleigh with a sigh, "but I do dislike that man Burgh, and Dr. Forge also."

"Leave them in God's hands, dear," replied her husband gravely, "if they have sinned, they will be punished. What we have to do, is to learn if Lo-Keong will restore this money. I'll write, asking him to come down to Royabay," and Rupert went to the library forthwith.

It was an autumnal day with a promise of rain. Ragged clouds drifted across a cold blue sky, and the wind was rather high. Already many trees had shed their leaves, but the pine boughs still bore their sombre burdens. Everything looked old and miserable, and there seemed to lurk a premonition of evil in the air. At least, Olivia thought so, as she stood at the drawing-room window, looking out on to the terrace and down the avenue, which could be seen from this point of view. Rupert was in the library engaged on his letter to the Mandarin, and Olivia was half inclined to join him. She felt weary, chilly and out of spirits, and could not account for doing so.

"I'm the happiest girl in the world," she assured herself, "I have married the man I love, and he adores me. He rescued me from a miserable life, and is making me immensely happy. I should certainly be in the best of spirits, yet – "

She stopped short at this point and her eyes became fixed, while a colour flushed her somewhat pale cheeks. And no wonder. Up the avenue, battling against the force of the wind, came Miss Pewsey. She wore a bridal dress of white, a lace bonnet trimmed with orange blossoms, and carried a bouquet of flowers. To see this figure in such a dress walking under a sombre sky, between dripping trees, and with the winds blowing furiously against it, was a strange sight, and gave Olivia what the Scotch call "a grue." Then she became indignant. It was insolent, she thought, that this woman who had insulted her so often, who had made her life miserable, who had robbed her of her inheritance and who had tried to defame her character, should thus present herself. On the impulse of the moment and in spite of wind, and of the rain, which was beginning to fall, Mrs. Ainsleigh threw open the French window and stepped out on to the terrace. It was in her mind, to order Miss Pewsey away. She deserved little mercy at Olivia's hands.

The noise made by the opening of the window made Miss Pewsey raise her head, and then she came straight across the grass. As she drew near, Olivia was struck with the tragic horror of her face. She was always old in her looks, but now she seemed at least a hundred. Her lips were white, her eyes red and with dark circles under them; a myriad wrinkles ploughed her face, and her usually bright eyes were dim and blood-shot. To see this weird face under the bridal bonnet was at once grotesque and pathetic. Without a word, Miss Pewsey climbed the steps gasping at every step, and came directly towards Olivia. She passed her and entered the room. Mrs. Ainsleigh came after in a whirlwind of passion.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, "this is my house."

"I am aware of the fact," said Miss Pewsey dropping into a chair and shaking out her soiled and sodden bridal dress, "but it may be mine before the end of the year. But don't let us quarrel," she went on in a piteous way, "I'm in trouble."

"What is it?" asked Olivia, who could guess.

"Theophilus has left me. Yes! Last night he went away leaving a cold letter behind him which was to be delivered to me at the altar. And it was," wept Miss Pewsey, "that old woman Mrs. Bressy brought the note. It said that Theophilus has left me for ever. And all my friends were there, and I was awaiting the happy hour, then – then" – she broke down sobbing.

Olivia was touched. Miss Pewsey had always been her enemy, yet there was something about the unhappy creature which called for sympathy.

"I am sorry for your trouble," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, in a softer voice.

"No," said Miss Pewsey drying her eyes with a very wet handkerchief, "you can't be, I never liked you, nor you me."

"That is perfectly true, and you turned my aunt against me. All the same I am sorry, and anything I can do shall be done."

Miss Pewsey threw herself on her knees before her enemy, who was thus heaping coals of fire on her head. "Then ask your husband to leave my Theophilus alone," she whispered. "Clarence, who has also gone, wrote to me, and said that Mr. Ainsleigh accused Theophilus of the death of my dearest Sophia."

"What," cried Olivia, "does Mr. Burgh dare. Why he accuses Dr. Forge, himself. Rupert certainly wrote to the detective Mr. Rodgers, but Mr. Burgh has to substantiate his statement."

Miss Pewsey jumped up. "What," she said, much more her own evil self, "did Clarence accuse my Theophilus? It's a lie – a lie. I have kept silence too long – much too long."

"About what?"

"About the murder," screamed Miss Pewsey, "it was Clarence who killed my Sophia – yes – you may look and look Olivia – but it was Clarence himself. He took the tie from the coat-pocket. I told him, you had given it to him, and – "

"But he gave it to Dr. Forge."

"He did not. Clarence took Sophia out on to the steps – at least he appointed to meet her there, to tell her about the fan. Then he strangled her, thinking your husband would be accused. Theophilus came on Clarence when he was picking up the fan. Sophia held it in her death grip, and it was some time before he could get it loose. Theophilus came, and hearing steps, Clarence ran away down to the beach. Then he returned to the ball-room by the front of the hotel."

"But the fan?"

"Theophilus Forge has it," said Miss Pewsey, setting her face, "and I expect he has taken it with him."

"Why didn't you tell this at the inquest."

"Because I didn't. Clarence is my own sister's son. I could not see him hanged. He had to hold his tongue, although he wanted the fan back again. But I insisted that Theophilus should make the money out of it. This is Clarence's revenge. Because the fan is kept from him he threatens Theophilus; oh Olivia, do ask your husband to leave the matter alone. I will give up that mortgage – "

"I can do nothing," said Olivia, "it isn't in my husband's power. He has written to Rodgers – "

"But he has not told him anything," said Miss Pewsey eagerly.

"No. He merely asked him to call."

"Then he shall see me, and I'll tell him of Clarence's wickedness. But the fan – the fan – we'll get the money and Theophilus will come back to be loved and respected. I don't love him, but I see we can make a lot of money together. The fan," said Miss Pewsey counting on her lean fingers, "the money from Lo-Keong – the money of Sophia and – "

"Oh," cried Olivia in disgust, "go away you miserable creature, and think of the hereafter."

Miss Pewsey gave a shrill laugh. "You can't help me, and your husband can't help me, so I'll go. But when I come back here, it shall be as mistress. I hate you Olivia – I have always hated you – I – I – oh you" – she could utter no more, but gasping, shook her fist and ran out of the window and down the avenue with an activity surprising in a woman of her years.

After dinner and while they were seated in the library, Olivia told Rupert of Miss Pewsey's visit and accusation. He declined to believe the tale. "If Burgh was guilty he wouldn't have brought an accusation against Forge," he said, "as the doctor, if this is true, knows the truth. And Forge, if innocent, would not have cleared – "

While Ainsleigh was thus explaining, the door was burst open and Mrs. Petley, white as chalk, rushed in. "The ghost – the ghost," said she dropping into a chair, "the monk – in the Abbey."

Anxious to learn if there was any truth in these frequent apparitions reported by Mrs. Petley, Rupert left the swooning woman to the care of his wife and departed hastily from the room. Calling old Petley, he went out of the front door across the lawn and into the cloisters. Petley, hobbled almost on his heels with a lantern. The young man stopped at the entrance to the cloisters, and listened. It was raining hard and the ground was sopping wet. But beyond the drip of the rain, and the sighing of the trees, no sound could be heard. Snatching the lantern from Petley, Rupert advanced boldly into the open, and swung the light to and fro and round about. He could see no ghost, nor any dark figure suggestive of Abbot Raoul.

"Try the black square," piped the feeble voice of Petley, behind.

With a shrug Rupert did so. He thought that the housekeeper was mistaken as usual, and that the ghost was the outcome of her too vivid imagination. Walking deliberately to the black square where Abbot Raoul had been burnt three hundred years before, he swung the light over its bare surface. In the centre he saw something sparkle, and stooped. Then he rose with a cry. It was a fan. Rupert picked it up, opened it, and looked at it in the lantern light. There were the four beads and half a bead and the green jade leaves. The very fan itself.

CHAPTER XIX

A Visitor

How came the fan there – and on the accursed square of ground where no grass would grow? Rupert was not superstitious, yet his heart gave a bound, and for the moment he felt sick. This fan was the cause of much trouble in the past, it had cost one woman her life, and it might yet claim another victim. With the fan in his hand, and the yellow light of the guttering candle in the lantern gleaming on its beauty, he stood stupidly staring, unheeding the feeble piping of Petley's voice, as he peered in at the ruined archway.

"What's the matter, Master Rupert?" questioned the old butler with a shiver, "have you seen It?"

"No," said Rupert at length, and he hardly knew his own voice so heavy and thick it was, "there's nothing to be seen."

A cry came from the old man. "Don't stand on that accursed ground, Master Rupert," he said, almost whimpering, "and to-night, of all times."

"Why to-night," said Rupert, retreating back to the arch.

"Any night," shivered Petley putting his hand on his young master's arm and drawing him out of the cloisters, "it's not a good place for an Ainsleigh to be in at night. The Abbot – "

"John, I don't believe in the Abbot."

"But Anne saw him – or It. She's not the one to tell a lie."

"Mrs. Petley is deceived in some way." Rupert considered a moment, and thrust the fan into his pocket. In the darkness, and because he turned aside the lantern light, old Petley had not seen that anything had been picked up. "I'm going to search round," said Rupert.

The butler gave a long wail as Ainsleigh broke from his grasp. "No! no!" he cried, lifting his long hands, "not at night."

But Rupert, now quite himself, did not heed the superstitious cry. He disbelieved in ghosts more than ever. Some flesh and blood person had brought the fan, and recollecting Burgh's story, and what Olivia had reported of Miss Pewsey's talk that afternoon, he quite expected to find Dr. Forge lurking in the cloisters. He would search for him, and when face to face, he would demand an explanation. So Rupert swiftly and lightly, walked round, holding the light high and low in the hope of discovering some crouching form. And all the time Petley waited, trembling at the door.

The rain fell softly and there was a gentle wind swinging the heavy boughs of the pines, so that a murmurous sound echoed through the cloisters like the breaking of league-long waves on a pebbly beach. For at least half an hour Rupert searched: but he could see no one: he could not even find the impression of feet, sodden as was the ground. After looking everywhere within the cloister, and in the Abbey itself, he brushed past the old butler and walked down the avenue. Here also, he was at fault as he could see no one. The gates were closed: but there was a light in the small house near at hand. Ainsleigh knocked at the door, and shortly old Payne, holding a candle, above his head, appeared, expressing surprise.

"Has anyone entered the gates to-night?" asked his master.

"No sir. I closed them at five as usual. No one has come in."

There were no signs of the gates having been climbed, and the wall which ran round the estate was so high and the top was pricked with such cruel spikes, that no one could possibly have entered that way. Old Payne insisted that no one had entered: he had heard no voices, no footsteps, and seemed much perplexed by the insistence of his young master. At length Rupert desisted from making inquiries, being perfectly assured that he would learn nothing. He returned up the avenue slowly to the mansion, wondering how it came about, that Forge had entered the ground and left the fan on the very spot where Abbot Raoul had been burnt.

Mrs. Petley had recovered from her swoon and, with her husband, had retreated to the kitchen. So, Rupert learned from Olivia, and he then gave her a description of his finding of the fan. She was very amazed and curious. "Show it to me," she said.

"Not just now, dear," replied Rupert walking to the door. "I must ask Mrs. Petley first to explain what she saw."

"She declares it was Abbot Raoul."

"Pooh. Forge masquerading as the monk I expect. Though why he should come here and bring this infernal fan I cannot understand. What is the time, Olivia?"

"Nine o'clock," she replied, "we had dinner early."

"Yes. Well, I'll see Mrs. Petley. You need not say anything about the fan, and as old John didn't see me pick it up, there will be no difficulty with him."

"Why should there be any difficulty with him?" asked Mrs. Ainsleigh.

"Your aunt was killed for the sake of the fan, and the person who killed her must have been within these grounds to-night. I want to keep the matter quiet, until I see Rodgers to-morrow. Then I'll explain all, and place the fan in his hands."

"Then you think Dr. Forge has been here?"

"Yes – or Clarence Burgh. But, as they have left Marport, I don't see what they have to gain by remaining in a place fraught with so much danger to both."

"They can't both be guilty, Rupert."

"No. But Burgh declares that Forge strangled your aunt, and Miss Pewsey lays the blame on her nephew. But I don't believe either one of them. I shouldn't be at all surprised to learn that the assassin is Major Tidman after all. He wanted the fan badly, so as to get the money."

"But you were with him on the beach, between eleven and twelve."

"I was, and the evidence of Dr. Forge went to show that Miss Wharf was killed between those hours. But suppose, Olivia," Rupert sank his voice and drew nearer. "Suppose Forge knew from the condition of the body that your aunt had been killed before eleven, and had procured the fan from Tidman by threatening to say so, in which case the Major could not have proved an alibi."

"It might be so," replied Mrs. Ainsleigh, "but then the body would have been found earlier."

"No. There was not a single person, so far as I know, who went down those steps. Tung-yu certainly did, – but that was after the crime was committed, and we know he did not carry the fan with him. It is a very strange case. Perhaps after all, Tidman had already killed the woman when he joined me on the beach to smoke."

"Oh Rupert, how horrid. Was he disturbed?"

"He certainly seemed rather alarmed but I put that down to the circumstances. He never shook off his fear of that adventure he had in Canton, and of course the mere presence of Chinamen would make him uneasy. But he kept his own council. However, we can talk of this later. I must see Mrs. Petley," and Rupert disappeared.

The housekeeper stuck to her story. She had gone into the cloisters to gather mushrooms which grew therein, and had the lantern with her. While stooping at the archway to see what she could pick she heard, even through the moaning of the wind the swish of a long garment. The sound brought her to her feet, and – as she phrased it – with her heart in her mouth. The place was uncanny and she had seen the Abbot before. "But never so plain – oh never so plain," wailed Mrs. Petley, throwing her apron over her white hair and rocking. "I held the light over my head and dropped it with a screech, for, there, not a yard away, Master Rupert, I saw it, with a long gown and a hood over its wicked white face – "

"Did you see the face?"

"I did, just as I dropped the lantern. White and wicked and evil. I dropped on my knees and said a prayer with closed eyes and then it went. I took the lantern and ran for the house for dear life, till I burst in on you and the mistress. Oh, Master Rupert dear, what did you see?"

"Nothing! And I believe, Mrs. Petley, you beheld some rascal masquerading."

"No! No! T'was a ghost – oh dreary me, my days are numbered."

Mrs. Petley could not be persuaded that the thing she saw was flesh and blood, so Rupert gave up trying to convince her. He returned the lantern back to old John and told the couple to retire to bed. They were both white and nervous and not fit to be up. Then he came back to the drawing-room and found Olivia seated by the fire reading. At the door Rupert paused to think what a pretty picture she made in her rich dinner-dress – one of Miss Wharf's gifts – and with one small hand supporting her dainty head. She looked up, as though she felt the magic of his gaze, and he approached swiftly to press a kiss on the hand she held out to him. "Well?" asked Olivia.

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothing to be learned," said he, "Mrs. Petley won't give in. She believes she has seen a ghost, and declares that her days are numbered. As she is nearly seventy, I daresay they are. But this fan," – he took it out of his pocket.

"Let me see it," said Olivia stretching out her hand.

But Rupert drew it away and spread out the leaves. "No, my dear, I don't like you to handle the horrible thing. And besides, you have seen it often enough in the hand of your aunt."

"Yes, but now there is an awful significance about it."

"There's blood – "

"Blood," cried his wife shuddering, "but she was strangled."

"I speak figuratively, my dear. This little trifle has cost one life: it may cost more. I am quite sure Lo-Keong's life hangs on this fan, or he would not be so anxious to get it back. It has a secret, and I intend to learn what the secret is."

"Oh, you mean to wave it in the smoke," said Olivia remembering what Rupert had told her of Tung-yu's speech.