Judge Dee turned the bench round and sat down, his folded arms on the balustrade, facing the dark mountain slope. He knew exactly what the Flying Tigers were at, for he had seen the stakes the tiny black figures in front of the fire were moving about. He had not told Yen Yuan, in order not to frighten him — although the fellow seemed the least disturbed of all the inmates of the country house. The bandits were in fact constructing a battering-ram. But he did not think they would attack before dawn unless the sky cleared and the moon came out, of course. He could do nothing but wait.
What the bailiff had just told him about the death of Kee-yu tallied with what Mr Min's old servant had said. Yet he had the uncomfortable feeling that there had been more there than met the eye. The old landowner must have suspected something of that kind; that was the only explanation of the sick man's eagerness to let him, a magistrate, stay in his dead daughter's room. The old man evidently hoped that he, as an experienced criminal investigator, would discover there clues that would throw a new light on her demise.
It was curious that the landowner had quoted the almanac on stellar portents. The almanac was drawn up every year by the Board of Rites, and all passages on the occult meaning of the signs appearing in the sky during the coming year were drawn up after a careful study of the Book of Divination. These indications were therefore not to be lightly dismissed, for they embodied the wisdom of the Ancients. He himself had been born under the Sign of the Tiger. Was it the mystic influence of this animal of the zodiac that had brought him here to this lonely house tonight?
Shaking his head he decided that it was better to leave occult considerations alone, and to concentrate on factors subject to human control. What the old man had said about portents pointing to violent death, could have referred to the impending attack of the Flying Tigers as well as to his daughter's sudden demise. It was a great pity that no competent doctor had been present. Mr Min had doubtless a fair knowledge of medicine, most elderly householders had, it used to be part of their general education. But he could not be compared to a professional physician, of course, and certainly not to a coroner. The judge himself was thoroughly familiar with forensic medicine and he would have liked to do an autopsy on the dead girl. But that was of course out of the question.
Then he thought about his retinue, left at the gap. He hoped it would have proved possible to maintain the bridgehead, so that the soldiers could pass the night in the barracks there. He was a bit worried about the two Senior Investigators from the capital who had brought to Pei-chow the Imperial Decree concerning his promotion and who were now part of his retinue. Born and bred in the capital, they were accustomed to travel in comfort. This made him think of his wives and children. It was fortunate that they had still been in his native place when the news of his promotion arrived in Pei-chow. The day he left there he had ordered his assistant Tao Gan to stay behind to receive his successor, and sent his trusted lieutenants Ma Joong and Chiao Tai to Tai-yuan, to inform his First Lady and escort her, his two other wives and his children direct to the capital. It was a safe route, he need not worry about them.
Time passed surprisingly fast. Sooner than he had expected the bailiff's head appeared again at the head of the step-ladder.
'Anything new?' Yen asked eagerly as he stepped on to the platform.
'Nothing,' the judge replied. 'But it looks as if the sky is going to clear. If that should happen, you had better keep a close watch on those scoundrels over there.'
He picked up the lantern and went down.
When he was about to enter the main building, he met the steward Liao. The gaunt man was coming from the stable yard.
'I thought I heard the horses neigh, and went to see whether the stables were dry. When will the bandits come, do you think, sir? This terrible waiting ...'
'Hardly before dawn. Isn't it very cold in those outhouses over there? What about the women and children among the refugees?'
'They are all right, sir. The walls are heavy, and we put a thick layer of straw on the floor.'
The judge nodded and went inside. The fire in the hall had gone out now; it was stone cold there. All was quiet as the grave. Aided by his lantern, he found his way up to the landing on the second floor without difficulty. Then he climbed the stairs to the third floor, treading carefully in order to avoid the creaking steps.
Upon entering the dead girl's room he was surprised to find it lit by a silvery, diffuse light. It came from the paper panes of the sliding doors. He crossed the room and pushed the doors open. The moon had come out, bathing the mountain scene in its white, eerie light.
He stepped out on the balcony. The floorboards and the plain wooden balustrade were still wet with the rain. At the extreme left was a bamboo flower rack. A few empty pots stood on the three shelves, one above the other, like library steps.
Now he could see clearly that it was indeed a battering-ram the bandits were working on. He did not think, however, that they could have it ready before dawn, for they had to construct a wheelcart too, in order to bring the ram down the slope and up to the gatehouse. Leaning over the balustrade, he saw, about twenty feet below, the roofs of the buildings in the back part of the compound. He looked up. The broad eaves of the roof hung over the balcony. Above the lintel of the sliding doors there was a row of wooden panels about three feet square, each carved with an intricate design of dragons sporting among clouds. He reflected that this careful finishing of all details proved that the country house was at least two hundred years old. Later architects did not spend so much loving care on such details any more.
There was a pleasant nip in the air; it looked as if the frost might set in again before long. He decided to leave the doors half open. That would also help him to hear the gong better, should there be an alarm. He was about to prepare himself for bed, but changed his mind when his eye fell on the music table at the back of the room. He did not feel sleepy, really, and trying his hand at the lute would help him to pass the time. Besides, all the old lute handbooks recommended a moonlit night as the most suitable time for playing this instrument. He had played the seven-stringed lute in his youth, for it had been the favourite musical instrument of the Immortal Sage Confucius, and its study was part of the literary education. But the judge had not touched the strings for many years. He was curious to see whether he could still remember the complicated finger technique.
HE PULLED THE SILK STRINGS IN SUCCESSION
He pulled the music table round and placed the ebony seat behind it so that he sat with his back to the wall. Massaging and flexing his cold fingers, he examined the instrument with interest. The red laquer of the flat, oblong soundbox was covered with small bursts, indicating that this particular instrument was at least a hundred years old, and a valuable antique. He pulled with his forefinger the seven silk strings in succession. The lute had an uncommonly deep tone, its vibrating notes echoed in the silent room. The tuning was still approximately correct, which proved that she must have played it shortly before her death. While he adjusted it by turning the agate pegs on his right hand, he tried to remember the opening of one of his favourite melodies. But when he had started to play he soon realized that, although he remembered the melody quite clearly, he had forgotten the finger technique. He pulled out the drawer where lute players usually keep their musical scores. Leafing through the slender volumes, he found only the more difficult classical compositions, which would be far beyond him. There were several copies of the well-known melody 'Three Variations on the Plum-blossom Motif' — which was only to be expected since the dead girl had been so fond of those flowers. At the bottom of the drawer he discovered the score of a brief, rather simple melody, which bore the title of 'Autumn in the Heart'. He had never seen it before and the words, written by the side of the notation in a small, neat hand, were completely new to him. A few words had been crossed out, and the score had been corrected here and there. Evidently this was one of the dead girl's own compositions. The song consisted of two parts: