The Dragon's Claw/Chapter 8

HE suites allotted to Princes Liu Chi and Ten Shin were costly according Ld. their capaciousness, running the full length of one corridor of the famous New York hostelry. A private elevator was part of the equipment and to this McNeill, having arranged his appointment, was ushered by the urbane secretary of the imperial entourage that, despite their affectation of democracy, still retained the attributes of Chinese aristocracy and accompanying wealth.

A Chinese boy was elevator pilot and, once on the floor of the suite, America gave place to the Flowery Kingdom. There was no suggestion of anything Occidental, save in the electric fixtures, disguised beneath oiled-silk lanterns, and the telephones. Either brought with them, or secured from New York Oriental merchants, the furniture, the rugs, the hangings—every detail were those of an imperial apartment in the Forbidden City.

The secretary, in American clothes, disappeared in the ante-chamber and presently a giant Chinaman, whose silken garb bore the insignia of the royal house, ushered McNeill into a room where Liu Chi and Ten Shin, arrayed in magnificent brocades, rose to meet him and bade him be seated upon a lounge tapestried with sprawling dragons.

McNeill still wore the dragon pin, dressed as he was for the morning appointment, and a compact automatic was ready to his hand. It would not be hard to dispose of him, he reflected, if he gave them the chance. He had come up in a private elevator. No one would know when he went down, if he ever did, save a Chinaman. His body could be smuggled out in some trunk and got rid of quietly. McNeill was not morbid about this possibility. It was quite on the cards and he prepared for it as best he could.

"I expect an important call in some fifteen minutes," he said after the due ceremonial of greeting had been gone through. "Would it be too much if it was transmitted to me here?"

Liu Chi smiled and gave orders in his own language to that effect.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Mr. McNeill? We have heard that you have visited our country, have, in fact, lived there for several years. That is interesting. You will realize, for one thing, the difficulty of assimilation that besets a land like ours in taking up Occidental thought and ideas, when my countrymen are so steeped with ignorance and superstition. But we must do the best we can."

The idea of these two imperious beings, bred of a thousand years of despotic measure, being seriously inclined to simplicity of any sort that bespoke equality, struck McNeill as absurd. It would take many generations for China to become a true republic. Liu Chi and Ten Shin were merely going with the current and taking good care of themselves meanwhile. He decided to match Oriental guile with Yankee-Irish bluntness of attack.

"I have come here to tell you a straight tale," he commenced and recited, omitting no detail, the history of the claw from the time he had first met Remsden and, attracted by Helen, agreed to act as guide and interpreter. Through it all the two princes sat like statues, immutable, their eyes only shown by narrow bars of glittering jet between their narrowed lids. So did the imperial mandarins sit in justice. At the close Ten Shin started to exchange a few words with his cousin, but McNeill interrupted:

"I understand the Mandarin dialect," he said.

Ten Shin and Liu Chi gravely nodded an acknowledgment.

"That is very honorable of you," said the latter. "And honor does not dwell in unclean places."

But, for all their politeness, McNeill believed the thing had been a test. Anyway he had scored.

"Your tale is well told," said Liu Chi. "Yet we can not think why you should think us especially interested. The museums of England, of France, of all countries hold relics of past races. Our own country has long been overrun by conquerors; it is the most polyglot of nations, of mixed blood, mixed faiths. 'The old order changeth, yielding place to new,' as Tennyson writes. And we, my cousin and myself, are of the new order.

"We can not hold any responsibility for Mr. Remsden's emotions. The Hoang Lung is a far-reaching organization, linked by mysticism as it is. It is possible that some of their members may have attempted to threaten Mr. Remsden and play upon his fears, but, of a surety, we do not wish the claw. We were curious to see it, yes, but there our interest ceases. We came here for things concerning this generation and those to come, Mr. McNeill, long before Mr. Remsden visited the temple of Hoang Lung. You must be aware of that.

"You seem to make it very plain that neither Miss Remsden nor yourself were implicated in this matter or in the substitution. I sincerely trust that, if any members of the Hoang Lung are in doubt as to this, they may be convinced before they carry out any threats, if they so intend."

McNeill, listening to the smooth syllables, with all the difficult r's sounded perfectly, knew that Liu Chi was lying, but he could do nothing. They also thought that he had bed concerning the innocence of Helen and himself in the affair, or they did not care. Ten Shin took up the talk.

"We can not pretend to influence such of our countrymen who may still cling to superstition," he said. "We have deliberately severed ourselves from such. We shall hope, of course, to teach them better in time. We are sorry we can do nothing for you, glad to have listened to you. We would suggest that, for Mr. Remsden's peace of mind, he might open up negotiations for the return or exchange of the claw, speaking merely as those having knowledge of the workings of the Chinese trend of thought. One unfortunate national characteristic of ours is revenge, particularly when allied to faiths, however loosely founded.

"You evidently, from the style of the communication conveyed to Mr. Remsden, have to do with a clever mentality. I would suggest that any reprisal that might be intended would be divided into two parts—punishment and insistence upon the return of the true relic. As long as Mr. Remsden seems the key, the only key to that return, so long will he be safe from punishment. As to the reference to Miss Remsden, speaking again from the general understanding of my more bigoted and ignorant countrymen, I fear, I greatly fear that, even if we could interfere, it would be too late."

"Just exactly what do you mean?" asked McNeill.

The absolutely unemotional, even pronunciation, like drops of water falling on the bar of a xylophone, the mask-like faces, the atmosphere of the room with its dim lights, masked windows, a hint of incense, had gradually chilled him. These men were pitiless.

"Mr. Remsden was warned yesterday."

Then Helen had been already struck in some mysterious way. McNeill's fingers gripped his automatic. His muscles tensed.

A telephone sounded.

"Your call, I think, Mr. McNeill."

He had asked Helen to call him, partly to assure her that he was working in her interests, partly as a bluff to the princes. His spirit lightened as he heard her voice.

"And I suppose I have you to thank for the magnificent roses," she was saying. "You mustn't be so extravagant."

"It was not I," he answered. "But I'll see you this afternoon."

He hung up the receiver in relief. He was certain that the two princes were watching him covertly, as cats might watch a mouse. But Helen was safe, despite their covert threats.

Again he tried the direct method.

"If I succeed in getting Mr. Remsden to relinquish the claw," he said, "could I count upon your influence to have the news transmitted to those most interested—to Tao Chan for example?"

"You may be assured, Mr. McNeill, that we will do all that we can. For your own warning, if you so regard the pin you found on your pillow, we can hardly better recommend you than to the wonderful protective methods of your great city, many of which we hope to ultimately adopt or adapt. Before we leave we hope to give a banquet to those with whom we have come in close contact. May I hope that you will be present?"

, down in the private elevator and back into America again, McNeill went chagrined to his own room. He knew that he had failed, that he had touched only the shell of the consciousness of the princes. Not one shade of doubt, of surprize, of anger or pity, not one atom of any emotion had they shown. He might as well have spoken to the lacquered images in the temple at Hoang Lung. But from that minute he would watch the safety of Helen. She must be made to understand her danger. The infinite sarcasm of his reception burned within him. He had been as impotent as a small boy blowing bubbles at the feet of the great statue of Buddha at Laiting.

He was before his time at the Remsden residence, but Helen was expecting him. The roses she had spoken of were in a tall vase of metal—gorgeous American Beauty roses several feet tall.

"The most exquisite, royal things," she said. "And the thorniest! But you have to pay for them by the length of the stem, I understand. I thought they were from you and I was going to scold you for the pricks I got in arranging them."

"I wish I had thought of them," said McNeill regretfully. "And I am very sorry for the damaged fingers. Was there no card with them?"

"No. I looked carefully. But they came from your hotel."

McNeill looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I have promised to see your father before I go," he said. "I failed to convince the princes. They pleaded lack of interest and, in almost the same breath, emphasized the threat. You have got to be careful of your comings and goings, Helen. Promise me that you will?"

She noted his first free use of her name as she blushed and then answered: "Very well, Neill, what do you suggest?"