'Would that be near the pumpkin patch of the Crab?'
'Yes! How could you possibly know that?'
'We officers of the tribunal know more than you'd think!' Ma Joong answered smugly.
'The Crab and the Shrimp are good fellows, they once helped me to get away from that horrid old curio-dealer. And the Shrimp is a formidable fighter.'
'The Crab, you mean.'
'No, the Shrimp. They say that six strong men wouldn't dare to attack the Shrimp.'
Ma Joong shrugged his shoulders. No use to argue with a woman about fighting. She went on:
'As a matter of fact, it was the Crab who introduced me to Miss Ling, now and then he brings her medicine, for her cough. The poor dear's face is horribly disfigured by pock-marks, but she has the most beautiful voice. It seems that thirty years ago she was a famous courtesan here, of the first rank, and very popular. Isn't it sad that such an ugly old woman once was a great courtesan? It makes you think that some day you yourself . . .'
Her voice trailed off. In order to cheer her up Ma Joong began to talk about their village. It turned out that he had met her father once, in his shop on the marketplace. She said that later he had got into debt, and thus had had to sell his two daughters to a procurer.
The widow Wang came back with new tea and a platter of dried melon seeds and candy. They had an animated conversation about people they knew. When the widow had set out on a long story about her husband, Ma Joong suddenly noticed that Silver Fairy had fallen asleep.
'We'd better call it a day, auntie!' he said to the widow. 'I'll have to leave here tomorrow morning before dawn. Don't bother about breakfast, I'll pick up a few oil cakes in a street stall. Tell the girl that I'll try to pass by here again about noon.'
After the widow had gone down Ma Joong loosened his belt, stepped out of his boots and stretched himself out on the floor in front of the bed, his head on his folded arms. He was accustomed to sleeping in unusual places; soon he was snoring loudly.
VII
In the Red Pavilion Judge Dee didn't find it so easy to get sleep on the floor. The red rug was but a poor substitute for the thick, springy bedmat of soft reed he was accustomed to. It took a long time before he dozed off.
But he didn't sleep well. He was visited by strange dreams, reflecting the uneasy thoughts about the Red Room that had flashed through his mind just before he laid himself down. He had lost his way in a dense, dark forest and was trying frantically to find a path through the thorny undergrowth. Suddenly something cold and scaly fell onto his neck. He grabbed the writhing thing, then threw it away with a curse. It was a large centipede. The animal must have bitten him, for he suddenly felt dizzy, everything grew black. When he came to he found himself lying on the bedstead of the Red Room, gasping for air. A formless dark shape was looming over him, pressing him down relentlessly and enveloping him in a foul, putrid smell. A black tentacle began to grope for his throat in the slow but purposeful manner of a blind beast that knows its prey can't escape. When he was nearly suffocating, the judge woke up with a start, drenched in perspiration.
He sighed with relief when he realized that it had only been a nightmare. He was going to sit up to wipe off his streaming face, when he suddenly checked himself. There was indeed a nauseating smell in the room, and the candles were no longer burning. At the same time he saw out of the corner of his eye a dark shape flitting past the barred window, faintly lit by the light from the park.
For one brief moment he thought he was dreaming again, then knew that he was fully awake. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Lying perfectly still, he peered intently at the window and the black shadows round it. He strained his ears. Then a furtive scratching came from the bedstead, followed by a flapping sound, near the ceiling above his head. At the same time a floorboard creaked, outside on the veranda.
Noiselessly the judge got up from the floor and remained there in a crouching position, his sword ready. When all remained silent, he suddenly leaped up and stood himself with his back to the wall, opposite the bedstead. A quick look around convinced him that the room was empty. The table was still standing against the door, where he had put it. In three strides he was over at the barred window. The veranda was deserted. The wistaria clusters were swinging to and fro in the breeze that had got up.
Sniffing the air, he noticed that the offensive smell was still there. But now he thought it might well have been caused by the smoke of the two candles, snuffed out by the draught.
He opened his tinderbox, relighted the candles, and took one over to the bedstead. He could see nothing unusual there. After he had kicked against one of the legs, he thought he could hear a faint sound of scratching again. It might be mice. Raising the candle he scrutinized the thick roofbeams. The flapping sound might have been caused by a bat that had been hanging there, and now had flown outside through the barred window. Only the dark shape he had seen there had been much larger than any bat could be. Sadly shaking his head, he pushed the table away from the door, and crossed the antechamber into the sitting-room.
The door leading to the veranda was wide open, as he had purposely left it to let the cool night air in. He stepped out on the veranda, and tested the floorboards with his foot. One of the boards in front of the barred window creaked, making exactly the same sound as he had heard.
He went to stand at the balustrade, looking out over the deserted park. The cool breeze moved the garlands of coloured lampions. It must be long past midnight now; no sound came from the park restaurant, but some of its second-floor windows were still lit. He reflected that the extinguished candles, the smell, the dark shape, and the scratching and flapping could all have a perfectly innocent explanation. But the creaking floorboard proved that something or someone had passed by the barred window.
The judge pulled his thin under-robe closer to him and went inside. He stretched himself out on the couch in the sitting-room. Now his fatigue asserted itself, soon he sank into a dreamless sleep.
He woke up when the bleak light of dawn was filling the room. A waiter was hovering about near the table, preparing hot tea. Judge Dee told him to serve his morning rice out on the veranda. The coolness of the night still lingered on, but as the sun gained strength it would soon become hot again.
The judge selected a clean under-robe, then went to the hostel's bathroom. At this early hour he had the sunken pool all to himself, and he let himself soak there for a long time. When he came back in the Red Pavilion he found a bowl of rice and a platter of salted vegetables standing ready on the small table on the veranda. He was just taking up his chopsticks when the wistaria clusters at the veranda's right end were swept aside. Ma Joong appeared and wished the judge a good morning.
'Where did you come from?' Judge Dee asked, astonished.
'Last night I had a quick look around, sir. I found that there's a sidepath of the main park road that leads to this veranda. From the left end another path goes straight to the Queen Flower's pavilion. So she spoke the truth, for once, when last night she said that this veranda here affords a short-cut to her place. It also explains how she could come here and to the Red Room without the people of the hostel knowing about it. Did Your Honour sleep well?'
Munching a piece of salted cabbage, the judge decided that he'd better not tell Ma Joong his doubts about what he had seen and heard during the night. He knew that ghostly phenomena were the only thing his stalwart lieutenant was really afraid of. So he answered:
'Fairly well, thank you. Did you have any luck on the landing stage?'