The Mandarin's Fan

"Oh," said the detective, "so Mr. Burgh knew of the tie also?"

"He did not," put in young Ainsleigh rapidly, "he came in, after I put the tie away. He insulted me, about – about a lady," said Rupert hesitating, "and I knocked him down twice."

"Didn't the attendant interfere?"

"No. Burgh threw him a shilling and told him to cut. I ordered the man to stay, but he obeyed Burgh. Then we had a row, and I went away."

"Leaving Mr. Burgh in the cloak-room?" asked Rodgers shrewdly.

"Yes. But he knew nothing about the tie. He could not have taken it. I am sure he didn't."

The detective smiled in a puzzled manner. "Upon my word Mr. Ainsleigh, you defend everyone. First Tung-yu, now Mr. Burgh, who is your enemy."

"I have so many enemies," said Rupert with a shrug, "Tung-yu told me that Burgh and Forge and Major Tidman were my enemies."

"That's a lie on Tung-yu's part," chimed in the Major angrily. "I am not your enemy."

Rupert turned on him quickly. "Prove it then," he said, sharply, "by stating that I was with you on the beach last night after eleven."

"Oh, oh," cried Rodgers smiling, "so you can prove an alibi after all, Mr. Ainsleigh."

"Yes," said Rupert shortly. "But I did not wish to speak, until I heard what Major Tidman had to say."

Rodgers shook his head. "You have too nice a sense of honour," was his remark, "or else you are very deep."

Rupert did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the Major's face, which changed to various colours. "You knew my father well Tidman?"

"Yes. We were old friends – good friends," faltered the other.

"Do you know how he died?"

"No I do not." The Major wiped his face, "I can safely say I do not."

"But you know he was murdered."

The Major started. "Who told you that?"

"Tung-yu, and you know Tung-yu, who might have explained the circumstances of my father's death to you."

"He did not," said Tidman earnestly, "but I heard that Mr. Ainsleigh did die by violence. I don't know under what circumstances."

"This is all very well gentlemen," said the detective, "but it does not help me."

"It may help you, Mr. Rodgers. The murder of Miss Wharf is connected with this fan, and the Major can tell you about his Canton adventure which has to do with it also."

Major Tidman turned grey and his face looked fearful, "I came to tell you, Rupert," he said trying to be calm, "but it won't help this man," he nodded towards Rodgers, "to find the assassin."

"We'll see about that," replied Rodgers briskly, "let us go in and sit down. The fan is at the bottom of this business, and when I learn all about it, I may know how to act."

The Major shrugged his plump shoulders and walked towards the open French window. When he passed through to the library, the detective and Ainsleigh followed. In a few minutes, they were comfortably seated. Rupert asked the two if they would have some refreshments, and receiving a reply in the affirmative, rang the bell. "Though mind you, Mr. Ainsleigh," said Rodgers, "this drinking a glass of wine doesn't stop me from arresting you, if I see fit."

"You can set your mind at rest," said Rupert coldly, "I have no wish to tie you down to a bread and salt treaty. Some wine, Mrs. Petley."

The housekeeper, who had entered, was as plump as ever, but her face looked yellow, and old, and haggard, and there was a terrified look in her eyes. In strange contrast to her usual volubility, she did not speak a word, but dropping a curtsey, went out.

"That woman looks scared," said the detective.

"She is scared," assented Rupert, "we have a ghost here, Mr. Rodgers – the ghost of a monk, and Mrs. Petley thought she saw it last night."

"Really," said the detective with good-humoured contempt, "she thought she saw a ghost. What nonsense."

"No, sir. It ain't nonsense."

It was the housekeeper who spoke. Having seen the Major coming up the avenue, she knew that he would require his usual glass of port, and therefore had prepared the tray, while the conversation was taking place on the terrace. This accounted for her quick return, and she set down the tray with the jingling glasses and decanter as she spoke. "It was a ghost, sure enough," said Mrs. Petley, when the small table was placed before the three gentlemen, "the ghost of Abbot Raoul. I've seen him times and again, but never so plainly as last night. It was between eleven and twelve," added Mrs. Petley without waiting for permission to speak, "and I sat up for Master Rupert here. I took a walk outside, it being fine and dry, and like a fool, I went in to the abbey."

"Why shouldn't you go there?" asked Rodgers.

"Because Abbot Raoul always walks where he was burnt," replied Mrs. Petley, "and there he was sure enough. No moonlight could I see, but the stars gave a faint light, and he was near the square – the accursed square where they burnt the poor soul. I gave one screech as he swept past in his long robes and a cowl, and when I come to myself on the damp grass, he was gone. I hurried in and told Petley, who came out and searched, but bless you," went on the housekeeper with contempt, "he couldn't find a thing that had gone back to the other world – not he."

"It was a dream, Mrs. Petley," said Rupert soothingly.

"No, sir. Trouble is coming to the Ainsleighs, as always does when the Abbot walks. And this morning I went out and found this," and Mrs. Petley, fishing in her capacious pocket, produced a small stick which smelt like cinnamon. Round it was a roll of scarlet paper inscribed with queer characters. Rupert stretched out his hand to take it, but the detective anticipated him.

"It's a joss-stick," said Rodgers. "I've seen them in the Whitechapel opium dens. Humph! Why should the ghost of an old monk use a joss-stick, like the Chinese?"

Before anyone could reply, Mrs. Petley gave a cry, "I told you trouble was coming, Master Rupert, dear," she said with the tears streaming from her fat face, "and anything to do with that weary Chiner where your poor pa lost his life always do bring trouble. Oh, dear me," she put her silk apron to her eyes and walked slowly out of the room. "I must tell my John. He may be able to say what's coming, as he have a gift of prophecy, that he have."

When Mrs. Petley closed the door after her, the three men looked at one another. "Do you believe in this ghost, Mr. Ainsleigh?" asked the detective, examining the joss-stick.

Rupert did not give a direct answer. "I don't know what to believe, Mr. Rodgers. Our family traditions have always pointed to the walking of Abbot Raoul before trouble, and it might be so. I have never seen the ghost myself, though."

"Your ghost is a Chinaman," said the detective, tapping the stick.

"But what would a Chinaman be doing in the cloisters?"

"Ah. That's what we've got to find out. There was a yacht in Marport Harbour last night, which came at midday, and departed in a hurry after midnight. Burgh says he believes Tung-yu went away in her, after committing the murder."

"Even if he did," said Rupert, calmly, "that does not show how the joss-stick came here, or why a Chinaman should be masquerading as a monk, for that, I take it, is your meaning."

"It is. I believe there were other Chinamen on board that boat," was the detective's reply. "Perhaps this man Hwei came to the Abbey."

"He might have come," said Ainsleigh, carelessly.

"Or Tung-yu," went on Rodgers.

"No," said the Major who had kept silent all this time, but had observed everything, "it was not Tung-yu's day."

Rodgers turned on him. "What do you mean by that?"