Page:Weird Tales Volume 37 Number 01 (1943-09).djvu/83

 dangerous; a fifth, that he was a shopkeeper, a seller of ivory and jade, who liked to spend his evenings playing fan-tan at the inn; but the sixth, merely believed that he was a general, an important leader in China's fight to be free.

Unfortunately, Chung Kuo knew every one of them and if he had any part in the fictions that had been so deviously planted in craven minds, he was shrewd enough to divulge the matter to no one. However, he had excellent lieutenants who had proved good reporters. Chung Kuo considered it droll that seven men had come on so slight a mission, a mission that the lowliest poisonous insect might so easily accomplish. To him it seemed an abundant waste of manpower. It did not speak well for the ability of Colonel Nagai, a Japanese officer, who wished to have Chung Kuo obliterated.

The inn went by the euphonious name of Five Elm Lodge because of the stately trees that guarded it like sentinels. But locally it was called the Black Inn, because in Chinese parlance, a Black Inn is a den of thieves. Certainly on the present occasion it was living up to its reputation.

They had come to Hangchow by circuitous routes even though they had been granted safe passage by Japanese officials. But not even a renegade trusts a Jap; he will fatten on his money, but steer clear of his treachery. The seven preferred to work carefully and in their own manner. At the inn they were shown to a large room with seven beds, to use the term rather carelessly, for the sleeping accommodations consisted of only thin mattresses spread upon the cold hard floor. But the air was good for there were plenty of windows with oiled paper panes that were thrown open upon a slumbering garden.

In the dead vast middle of the night, long after the others had retired to rest, San Tak decided that he would stroll in the garden. He was irritable and upset. He had hoped that he might slay Chung Kuo and be away before morning rice, but now it appeared as if his quarry had gone from the inn and he would have to await his return. Time means nothing to the Chinese as a general thing but it meant everything to San Tak who had set out to kill. Colonel Nagai had promised him even a more lucrative assignment if he was able to complete this one with speed and efficiency. Colonel Nagai believed in war by assassination.

An enemy shot in the back was a good enemy. His entire code was built upon treachery. The Japanese war lords had praised his record many times. It was the code of the gangster but also their code. The colonel was a brilliant warrior but he had a craven's heart. He flinched when facing an enemy, but when planning nefarious schemes he was valiant. No officer had a more arrogant manner.

AN TAK met with no opposition as he climbed through the window into the garden. Perhaps all his companions were sleeping. He hoped they were, for he was annoyed by their proximity.

The fog still haunted the garden. The air was damp and chill. Nevertheless he walked somberly along, his thoughts blending with the gloom of the night. Momentarily he regretted that he had heeded the honeyed words of Colonel Nagai. To be tracking down an unknown foe was as futile as wrestling with a wraith.

He strode along, unaware that there was hidden danger in the fog. A dry well yawned hungrily in front of him and he plunged head-first to the bottom. The bones of his neck snapped as if they were as brittle as porcelain. Thereafter he was not concerned with human affairs. In the blackness, a figure climbed down into the well and drew a good-luck piece from San Tak's sleeve.

San Tak returned not to the Inn.