for their luggage to catch up with them, in a fairly clean and modern hotel. They avoided the other Europeans in the city. Gray knew that they were beyond the usual circuit of American tourists, and wished to travel as quietly as possible.
“We’re in luck,” he observed to Delabar, who had just come in. “In a month, if all goes well, we’ll be in Liangchowfu, the ‘Western Gate’ to the steppe country. What’s the matter?”
Delabar held out a long sheet of rice paper with a curious expression.
“An invitation to dine with one of the officials of Honan, Captain Gray—with the vice-governor. He asks us to bring our passports.”
“Hm,” the officer replaced the maps he had been overhauling in their case, and thrust the missive on top of them. He tossed the case into an open valise. “A sort of polite invitation to show our cards—to explain who we are, eh? Well, let’s accept with pleasure. We’ve got to play the game according to the rules. Nothing queer about this invite. Chinese officials are hospitable enough. All they want is a present or two.”
He produced from the valise a clock with chimes and a silver-plated pocket flashlight and scrutinized them mildly.
“This ought to do the trick. We’ll put on our best clothes. And remember, I’m a big-game enthusiast.”
Delabar was moody that afternoon, and watched Gray’s cheerful preparations for the dinner without interest. The army man stowed away their more valuable possessions, carefully hanging the rifle which he had been carrying in its case over his shoulder under the frame of the bed.
“A trick I learned in Mindanao,” he explained. “These towns are chuck full of thieves, and this rifle is valuable to me. The oriental second-story man has yet to discover that American army men hang their rifles under the frame of their cots. Now for the vice-governor, what’s his name? Wu Fang Chien?”
Wu Fang Chien was most affable. He sent two sedan chairs for the Americans and received them at his door with marked politeness, shaking his hands in his wide sleeves agreeably when Delabar introduced Gray. He spoke English better than the professor spoke Chinese, and inquired solicitously after their health and their purpose in visiting his country.
He was a tall mandarin, wearing the usual iron rimmed spectacles, and dressed in his robe of ceremony.
During the long dinner of the usual thirty courses, Delabar talked with the mandarin, while Gray contented himself with a few customary compliments. But Wu Fang Chien watched Gray steadily, from bland, faded eyes.
“I have not known an American hunter to come so far into China,” he observed to the officer. “My humble and insufficient home is honored by the presence of an enthusiast. What game you expect to find?”
“Stags, antelope, and some of the splendid mountain sheep of Shensi,” replied Gray calmly. Wu Fang Chien’s fan paused, at the precision of the answer.
“Then you are going far. Do your passports permit?”
“They give us a free hand. We will follow the game trails.”
“As far as Liangchowfu?”
“Perhaps.”
“Beyond that is another province.” The mandarin tapped his well-kept fingers thoughtfully on the table. “I would not advise you, Captain Gray, to go beyond Liangchowfu. As you know, my unhappy country has transpired a double change of government and the outlaw tribes of the interior have become unruly during the last rebellion.” He fumbled only slightly for words.
Gray nodded.
“We are prepared to take some risks.”
Wu Fang Chien bowed politely.
“It might be dangerous—to go beyond Liangchowfu. Your country and mine are most friendly, Captain Gray. I esteem your welfare as my own. My sorrow would greaten if injury happen to you.”
“Your kindness does honor to your heart.”
“I suggest,” Wu Fang Chien looked mildly at the uneasy Delabar, “that you have me vise your passports so that you may travel safely this side of Liangchowfu. Then I will give you a military escort who will be protection against any outlaws you meet on the road. In this way I will feel that I am doing my full duty to my honored guests.”
“The offer is worthy,” said Gray, who realized that the sense of duty of a town official was a serious thing, but did not wish an escort, “of one whose hospitality is a pleasure to his guests.”
Wu Fang Chien shook hands with himself. “But we have little money to pay an escort——”
“I will attend to that.”
“Unfortunately, an escort of soldiers would spoil my chances at big game. We shall pick up some native hunters.”
Wu Fang Chien bowed, with a faint flicker of green eyes.
“It shall be as you wish, Captain Gray. But I am distressed at the thought you may suffer harm. The last American who went beyond the Western Gate, died.”
Gray frowned. He had not known that one of his countrymen had penetrated so far into the interior.
“Without doubt,” pursued the mandarin, stroking his fan gently across his face, “you have a good supply of rifles. I have heard much of these excellent weapons of your country. Would you oblige me showing them to me before you leave Honan?”
“I should be glad to do so,” said Gray, “if they were not packed in our luggage which will not be here before we set out. But I have two small presents——”
The gift of the clock and electric light turned the thread of conversation and seemed to satisfy Wu Fang Chien, who bowed them out with the utmost courtesy to the waiting sedan chairs. Then, as the bearers picked up the poles, he drew a small and exquisite vase from under his robe and pressed it upon Gray as a token, he said, to keep fresh the memory of their visit.
At their room in the hotel Gray showed the vase to Delabar. It was a valuable object, of enamel wrought on gold leaves, and inscribed with some Chinese characters.
“What do you make of our worthy Wu Fang—hullo!” he broke off. Delabar had seized the vase and taken off the top.
“It is what the Chinese call a message jar,” explained the scientist, feeling within the vase. He removed a slim roll of silk, wound about an ebony stick. On the silk four Chinese characters were delicately painted.
“What do they mean?” asked Gray, looking over his shoulder.
The Syrian glanced at him appraisingly, under knitted brows. His companion’s face was expressionless, save for a slight tinge of curiosity. Delabar judged that the soldier knew nothing of written Chinese, which was the truth.
“Anything or nothing, my friend. It reads like a proverb. The oriental soul takes pleasure in maxims. Yet everything they do or say has a meaning—very often a double meaning.”
“Such as Wu Fang’s table talk,” smiled Gray. “Granted. Is
