"Well," Chiao Tai put in, "Fan's palmy days are over; he'll have to work under me and my friend here now. He must have collected plenty of bribes though. I hear he owns a small farm west of the city.
"That he inherited last year from a distant relative," the owner said. "It isn't much good, it's a lonely small place, and near the deserted temple. Well, if it's there he got lost, it's they who must have got him."
"Can't you talk plain Chinese for once?" Ma Joong exclaimed impatiently. "Who is `they'?"
The one-armed man shouted to the waiter. When he had placed two enormous bowls with noodles on the table, the owner spoke, softly.
"To the west of Fan's farm, where the country road joins the highway, there stands an old temple. Nine years ago four monks lived there; they belonged to the White Cloud Temple, outside the east gate. One morning all four were found dead, their throats slit from ear to ear! They were not replaced, the temple has been standing empty ever since. But the ghosts of those four men are still haunting the place. Farmers have seen lights there at night, and everybody gives it a wide berth. Only last week a cousin of mine who passed by there late in the night saw in the moonlight a headless monk slinking about. He saw clearly that he was carrying his severed head under his arm."
"August heaven!" Chiao T'ai shouted. "Stop those tales of horror, will you? How can I eat my noodles when they are standing on end in the bowl?"
Ma Joong guffawed. They started on the noodles in earnest. When they had finished their bowls to the last drop, Chiao Tai rose and groped in his sleeve. The owner quickly put his hand on his arm and exclaimed, "Never, sir! This restaurant and all in it is yours. If it hadn't been for you, those Korean lancers would-"
"All right!" Chiao Tai interrupted him. "Thanks for your hospitality. But if you want to see us back here, next time we'll pay cash!"
The one-armed man protested energetically, but Chiao Tai clapped his shoulder and they left.
Outside Chiao Tai said to Ma Joong, "Now that we have eaten our fill, brother, we had better do some work! Now how does one get an impression of a town?"
Ma Joong looked at the thick fog. Scratching his head, he replied. "I suppose it's done by sheer footwork, brother!"
They walked along, keeping close to the lighted shop fronts. Despite the mist there were a good many people about. The two friends looked idly at the local goods on display, and here and there inquired about prices. Arrived at the gate of the Temple of the War God, they went inside, bought for a few coppers a bunch of incense sticks and burned them before the altar, praying for the souls of the soldiers fallen in battle.
When they were strolling south again, Ma Joong asked, "Do you know why we are all the time fighting beyond our frontiers against those barbarians there? Why not let the bastards stew in their own grease?"
"You don't know a thing about politics, brother," Chiao T'ai replied condescendingly. "It is our duty to deliver them from their barbarism, and to teach them our culture!"
"Well," Ma Joong remarked, "those Tartars also know a thing or two. Do you know why they don't insist on their girls being virgins when they are married? Because, my friend, they make allowances for the fact that those Tartar girls, from childhood, are always riding on horseback! But don't let our own girls come to know about that!"
"I wish you would stop your prattle!" Chiao Tai exclaimed, irritated. "Now we have lost our way."
They found themselves in what seemed to be a residential quarter. The street was paved with smooth flagstones, and on either side they vaguely saw the high walls of large mansions. It was very still, the mist deadened all sound.
"'That there in front of us is a bridge, isn't it?" Ma Joong said. "That must be the canal that crosses the southern half of the city. If we just follow that canal in an easterly direction, we'll probably get to a shopping street again, sooner or later."
They crossed the bridge, and started to walk along the waterside. Suddenly Ma Joong laid his hand on Chiao Tai's arm. He pointed silently to the opposite bank, faintly visible through the mist.
Chiao Tai strained his eyes. A group of men seemed to be moving along there, carrying on their shoulders a small, open litter. In the gray moonlight that filtered through the mist he saw on the litter the figure of a bareheaded man, sitting cross-legged with his arms folded on his breast. He seemed all swathed up in white. "Who's that queer fellow?" Chiao Tai asked, amazed.
"Heaven knows," Ma Joong growled. "Look, they are halting." A gust of wind blew a wisp of mist away. They saw that the men had put the litter down. Suddenly two men standing behind the seated man lifted large clubs, and let them descend on his head and shoulders. Then the mist thickened again. They heard a splash. Ma Joong cursed.
"To the bridge!" he hissed at Chiao Tai.
They turned round and ran back along the canal. But they couldn't see well, and the ground was slippery; it took them quite some time to get back to the bridge. They quickly crossed it, then cautiously made their way along the opposite bank. But everything seemed deserted. After they had walked up and down for some time along the stretch where they thought they had seen the attack, Ma Joong suddenly stooped and felt the ground with his fingers.
"There are deep marks here," he said. "This must be the place where they dumped the poor bastard into the canal."
The mist was lifting a little now, they could see a patch of muddy water several feet below them. Ma Joong stripped naked. Having given his robes to Chiao Tai, he stepped out of his boots and lowered himself into the water. It came up to his midriff.
"It stinks!" he remarked sourly. "But I see no dead body."
He waded out further. When he came back to the bank he felt with his feet in the thick layer of dirt and mud on the bottom of the canal
"Nothing doing," he muttered disgustedly. "We must have mistaken the place. There's nothing here but a few large lumps of clay or stone, and caked waste paper. What a mess! Pull me up."
It started raining.
"That's the only thing we were lacking!" Chiao Tai said with a curse. Noticing that there was a porch over the back door of the dark, silent mansion behind him, Chiao Tai took shelter there with Ma Joong's clothes and boots. Ma Joong remained standing in the rain till it had washed his body clean again. Then he joined Chiao Tai under the porch and rubbed himself dry with his neckcloth. When the rain had stopped, they set out again in an easterly direction, along the canal. The mist had grown thinner. They saw on their left a long row of the high back walls of large houses.
"We didn't do too well, brother," Chiao Tai said ruefully. "More experienced officers would doubtless have got those fellows."
"Even experienced officers can't fly over a canal!" Ma Joong replied sourly. "What a weird sight was that swathed-up fellow. And that right on top of those cheerful tales your one-armed friend had been telling. Let's find a place where we can have another drink."
They walked on till they saw the blurred light of a colored lantern through the dripping mist. It marked the side entrance of a large restaurant. They went round to the front. Entering the beautifully furnished waiting room downstairs, they scowled at a supercilious waiter who looked critically at their wet robes, and went up the broad staircase. As they pushed upen the elaborately carved double doors they saw a spacious dining room, alive with the hubbub of voices.