energetic self though. “Yesterday,” said Yang quietly, “you rescued
me from an unfortunate situation..”
I was
painfully aware how embarrassing that must be for Yang. He had suffered the
supreme loss of face of being humiliated in front of an inferior and then
requiring that inferior’s help. He was, in his own way, the proudest of men.
The whole episode must have wounded his pride severely.
“Yes,” I
said. “I really am very sorry about that, Mr Yang.”
Yang opened
his mouth, and closed it again. Then he let out an unexpected bark of laughter.
It must have been the look on my face as I apologised for saving his life that
did it.
I laughed
as well, but two seconds later Yang had resumed his poker face. There might
just have been the faintest lines at the corners of his mouth. “I accept your
apology, Mr Stubbs,” he said at last and extended his hand.
We shook
hands. Yang no longer had that long nail on his little finger. It must have
broken off somewhere in the struggle.
“You fought
well,” he said simply.
I told him
about my meeting with Howard the previous evening and how Lavinia had been
unmasked as Roslyn D’Onston—according to Howard anyhow. Arthur might not
have appreciated my sharing that intelligence. On the other hand, Arthur had
asked me to help Yang, and that was what I was doing.
“This
places me in a difficult position,” I said. “I need to know what action you
plan to take with this person. But you understand that, whatever kind of feud
your people may have with Roslyn D’Onston, the law here is still the law.”
“In China,
foreigners are not subject to Chinese law. If, for example, you were to murder
someone in Shanghai, the local police could only hand you over to the British
Embassy. A curious quirk of our colonial history.” Yang spoke lightly but with
animation. “Of course, the moral justice of the universe is another matter.
Like water, it runs in its own way regardless of human concerns.”
“That’s as
may be.”
“Roslyn
D’Onston shot a Chinese man in California over some gold,” Yang added.
“That’s a
matter for the American authorities.” It was a pompous thing to say.
Yang shook
his head. “Mr Stubbs, Roslyn D’Onston is a very powerful individual—more
powerful than Powell guessed. My many efforts have not located him; he leaves
ripples, but that is all. He is as elusive as water in water.” Like Jack the Ripper, I thought, who
stayed invisible with all London looking for him. “If I were to confront this woman,
I could prove nothing. And if she truly is D’Onston…” Yang shrugged. “The
likely outcome would be my death.”
“Why did
you come here, if not for revenge?”
“My
superiors wished to make D’Onston show himself. I could have arrived quietly. I
did not need to advertise myself by sending a letter, and parading in
distinctive clothes and car.”
He took
another drag on his cigarette, waiting to see if comprehension would dawn.
“They sent
you as bait,” I said. “That’s a rotten thing to do.”
Yang gave
another shrug, indicating his life or death was not worthy of consideration.
“There is a story about a traveller chased by a tiger to the edge of an abyss.
The man took hold of a vine and started to climb down when he saw an angry
dragon at the bottom of the abyss, and when he looked up, the tiger was lashing
its tail above. As he hung on, a mouse started to gnaw away at the vine he was
clinging to. The man was ready for death when he noticed a wild strawberry
growing next to him, so he plucked it. It was the sweetest he had ever tasted.”
Yang took a
final puff and delicately crushed the stub of the cigarette into a china
ashtray. Then he became business-like.
“Collins is
gone, you said? This is unfortunate. It will be necessary to talk to the woman
Sally. You described how she was assaulted before Collins drove off the assailant
with a volley of shots. This may be an event of some
me from an unfortunate situation..”
I was
painfully aware how embarrassing that must be for Yang. He had suffered the
supreme loss of face of being humiliated in front of an inferior and then
requiring that inferior’s help. He was, in his own way, the proudest of men.
The whole episode must have wounded his pride severely.
“Yes,” I
said. “I really am very sorry about that, Mr Yang.”
Yang opened
his mouth, and closed it again. Then he let out an unexpected bark of laughter.
It must have been the look on my face as I apologised for saving his life that
did it.
I laughed
as well, but two seconds later Yang had resumed his poker face. There might
just have been the faintest lines at the corners of his mouth. “I accept your
apology, Mr Stubbs,” he said at last and extended his hand.
We shook
hands. Yang no longer had that long nail on his little finger. It must have
broken off somewhere in the struggle.
“You fought
well,” he said simply.
I told him
about my meeting with Howard the previous evening and how Lavinia had been
unmasked as Roslyn D’Onston—according to Howard anyhow. Arthur might not
have appreciated my sharing that intelligence. On the other hand, Arthur had
asked me to help Yang, and that was what I was doing.
“This
places me in a difficult position,” I said. “I need to know what action you
plan to take with this person. But you understand that, whatever kind of feud
your people may have with Roslyn D’Onston, the law here is still the law.”
“In China,
foreigners are not subject to Chinese law. If, for example, you were to murder
someone in Shanghai, the local police could only hand you over to the British
Embassy. A curious quirk of our colonial history.” Yang spoke lightly but with
animation. “Of course, the moral justice of the universe is another matter.
Like water, it runs in its own way regardless of human concerns.”
“That’s as
may be.”
“Roslyn
D’Onston shot a Chinese man in California over some gold,” Yang added.
“That’s a
matter for the American authorities.” It was a pompous thing to say.
Yang shook
his head. “Mr Stubbs, Roslyn D’Onston is a very powerful individual—more
powerful than Powell guessed. My many efforts have not located him; he leaves
ripples, but that is all. He is as elusive as water in water.” Like Jack the Ripper, I thought, who
stayed invisible with all London looking for him. “If I were to confront this woman,
I could prove nothing. And if she truly is D’Onston…” Yang shrugged. “The
likely outcome would be my death.”
“Why did
you come here, if not for revenge?”
“My
superiors wished to make D’Onston show himself. I could have arrived quietly. I
did not need to advertise myself by sending a letter, and parading in
distinctive clothes and car.”
He took
another drag on his cigarette, waiting to see if comprehension would dawn.
“They sent
you as bait,” I said. “That’s a rotten thing to do.”
Yang gave
another shrug, indicating his life or death was not worthy of consideration.
“There is a story about a traveller chased by a tiger to the edge of an abyss.
The man took hold of a vine and started to climb down when he saw an angry
dragon at the bottom of the abyss, and when he looked up, the tiger was lashing
its tail above. As he hung on, a mouse started to gnaw away at the vine he was
clinging to. The man was ready for death when he noticed a wild strawberry
growing next to him, so he plucked it. It was the sweetest he had ever tasted.”
Yang took a
final puff and delicately crushed the stub of the cigarette into a china
ashtray. Then he became business-like.
“Collins is
gone, you said? This is unfortunate. It will be necessary to talk to the woman
Sally. You described how she was assaulted before Collins drove off the assailant
with a volley of shots. This may be an event of some
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