and encounter physical violence. All types of esteemed seers and prophets say the same, alas, alas.’
‘You don’t believe all that rot, do you, Li Han?’ asked Derrick, who believed at least half of it himself, in spite of being a missionary’s child – one cannot go to sea and be brought up in China without superstition soaking in through one’s skin.
‘In words of immortal Duck of Bacon,’ cried Li Han, trying in spite of his agitation to tie the bundle to the unwilling horse, ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, esteemed Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.’
‘Who ban this Horatio?’ asked Olaf, curiously.
‘Could we but cause the Old Man to delay,’ moaned Li Han, taking no notice, ‘to procrastinate, to sit in silent contemplation of the Temple of Heaven for a day. No hope, alas, alas.’
‘Never mind, Li Han,’ said Derrick, ‘think of the face you will gain in the Professor’s company.’
‘Yes, immense face will be gained. But doubt whether biggest face in Asia is of much use with no head behind it. I deplore violence, especially physical violence to the person.’
‘He ban gotten cold feet,’ said Olaf, with a snort of laughter that made the camels start.
‘You mustn’t be a coward,’ said Derrick.
‘Have been most timid of cowards from day of birth,’ replied Li Han, without shame, ‘and this is an inauspicious day.’
‘No it ain’t,’ said Olaf, ‘it ban Thursday.’
Ross and Sullivan came out, followed by Professor Ayrton, who was muttering about his lost spectacles.
‘All shipshape?’ asked Sullivan, running his eye over the beasts. ‘Derrick, go and give Hulagu a shout, will you? Professor, they’re on your forehead.’
‘Forehead? Oh, yes, the spectacles. Why, so they are. Thank you very much.’ For forty years Professor Ayrton had been losing his spectacles on his forehead, and for forty years he had been intensely surprised and grateful to find them there.
The three Mongols, mounted and armed, with two of their men to mind the camels, took their places, and when Li Han had lighted eleven Chinese crackers to ward off the demons of the road, the expedition moved off. They wound through the streets of Peking, a strange procession in strange surroundings, but in that city they passed unnoticed. At length they came out of Peking, and in the clear light of the early morning they went away towards the north, as straight as they could go for the Great Wall of China.
For day after day they marched along the ancient road, spanned here and there with triumphal arches to commemorate emperors dead these many hundred years. They passed through cultivated country, with the sorghum standing high on either side, and sometimes they met with other caravans coming down from the north, who told them the news of the road. Then, on the fourth day, they came in sight of the Great Wall, stretching like a ribbon away across the rolling country farther than the keenest eye could reach, a wall with innumerable towers; and on the fifth day they passed through the Hsiung Gate, a great dark tunnel through the wall, guarded by four enormous towers that were already ancient two thousand years ago.
Soon the country changed: they travelled over vast plains of thin, wiry grass, and Derrick saw, for the first time, the black yurts, the felt tents of the Mongols who grazed their herds on the rolling steppe. Li Han saw them and shuddered, for now he knew that he was in the land of the barbarians against whom his ancestors had built the wall.
On and on they marched, starting before the first light and going on through the long and dusty day. They were making a great detour round the north-western provinces of China, and Sullivan explained it to Derrick as they pored over the maps one evening, while the camp-fires of the Mongols twinkled against the dark horizon.
‘Here, you see,’ he said, pointing at the map, ‘is a part of the world which a peaceful scientific expedition must avoid if it wants to go on being peaceful, scientific and an expedition. There are seven or eight different war-lords knocking sparks out of one another all over this area, so we have got to go round and strike the Old Silk Road to Sinkiang here,’ he pointed with his pencil.
‘Won’t this lead us through Hsien Lu’s province, Uncle?’ asked Derrick, studying the map.
‘Who has been telling you about Hsien Lu?’
‘I heard about him in the serai,’ replied Derrick. ‘He’s the bandit who rules over Liao-Meng, isn’t he?’
‘Well, in point of fact he is the Tu-chun appointed by the government – the war-lord or military governor or whatever you like to call him. But it’s as near as makes no difference to being a bandit. He is the sole ruler of Liao-Meng for all practical purposes, and what he says goes, whatever the central government may think. But we don’t have to worry about him. Mr Ross knew him fairly well at one time, and they say his country is quiet now. Anyhow, it will save three weeks going through Liao-Meng, and we haven’t all the time in the world.’
‘How did you come to know him, Mr Ross?’ asked Derrick.
‘If you question your elders,’ said Ross, ‘you will end on the gallows. But perhaps for once I will gratify your curiosity. I first had the pleasure of beholding Hsien Lu’s face in a bar in Cheringpitti, after I had picked two Malays and a Japanese off it.’
‘What were they doing on Hsien Lu’s face, sir?’
‘I did not think to ask them, but I suppose they were trying to improve it in some way. It was a very plain face, as I remember it.’
‘Please would you tell me about it from the beginning?’ Derrick saw that for once Ross was in a yarn-telling mood, and he was determined to profit by it – it was so rare that the opportunity was not to be lost.
Ross stretched, yawned and lit a long cheroot. ‘We had put the Wanderer into dry-dock,’ he began. ‘And if I remember rightly it was in the year after we had come through Sinkiang with – well, anyhow, it was when your worthy uncle was off on one of his characteristic wild-goose chases, and I was left alone to do all the donkey-work. We were having her copper-bottomed, and it was hot in this perishing mangrove swamp where we were berthed. So one day I walked into Cheringpitti with the intention of taking a little light refreshment in Silva’s bar, the only decent place in the town. As I approached, I heard a violent shindy going on inside; and when I went in I saw that everyone was hiding behind the bar or under the tables. The reason for this, I soon discovered – for I have a very logical mind – was that four men were skirmishing about in the far end of the room, throwing bottles about and shrieking in a very tiresome way. There was no service to be had: I was thirsty, and this vexed me. I thought for a while, and I decided that the only way to be served was to restore order. I got up, and carrying my table by way of a shield I approached the men at the far end. Before I reached them, three of them had got the fourth down in the corner. Well, to cut a long story short, I induced them to leave. The two Malays were easily persuaded: one went through the door – which was closed, by-the-bye – and the other, after I had broken his knife arm, went through the window. But the third one, a little Japanese, had a ju-jitsu hold on the fellow underneath, and although I reasoned with him until my table came to pieces, he would not let go. He was slowly killing the man on the floor, and he was chewing his ear at the same time: I am afraid I had to take him to pieces, more or less, before I could make him stop. Then, when I had finally picked him off and tossed the remains through the window, I saw Hsien Lu’s face for the first time. I raised him gently to his
