ONLY a few miles out of the ancient imperial city of Cheng-tu, Hanecy passed his rival and very good enemy, Benson.
Hanecy chuckled as his yellow bearers swept along with his chair, and he recognised Benson in the chair ahead. Benson's carriers were not hurrying particularly.
"He's been bullying the boys, has he?" thought Hanecy. "Then I'll beat him to it easily." As the two chairs came along side, Hanecy leaned forward and spoke. "Hello, Mr. Benson! Going up to the Lao-tzu Temple, are you? Pleasant trip."
Benson, who was always deadly smooth and who never lost his head, looked at Hanecy with a viperish intensity.
"The same to you!" he retorted calmly. yet the words held a deep fierceness. Hanecy only grinned and waved his hand as his chair went into the lead. He knew that Benson would not dare shoot him in the back, before witnesses.
At the edge of the mountains which girdle the historic plain of Cheng-tu no three sides lay the Lao-tzu-miao, a temple dedicated to Lao-tzu, founder of Taoism. Somewhere in the vicinity of this temple lived a man named Tung Ho, who had in his possession some red amber taken from the tomb of the Emperor Ling Ti of the eastern Han dynasty. Hanecy knew little about it all, except from verbal information. Whether the amber was carved or whether Tung Ho would sell it he did not know.
Learning that Benson was setting forth rather secretly, Hanecy had engaged bearers and started. It was enough that Benson was going, for anything Benson went after in person was bound to be unusual.
SO scarce are the things of ancient days now become in China, so keen is the rivalry among dealers and agents, that choice things are noted down from afar and native collectors and their collections are listed and known intimately. Hanecy had the impression that this Tung Ho was no collector, but some hillman who would not know the value of the red amber. He knew, too, that he might be walking into some trap set by Benson—the enmity between the two men would cease only with death, but this possibility did not worry Hanecy. It was enough for him that Benson was also on the trail.
It was the end of the afternoon when Hanecy came to the temple. This was not one of the splendid and wealthy Buddhist shrines which abound through the mountains, but a Taoist edifice built during the Sung periods. It was, of course, walled and nearby had grown up a village of respectable proportions.
Hanecy observed that a temple fair was in progress—a fete or celebration to which all the mountain folk had gathered, bringing goods for barter or sale. There were many peddlers also in and about the village.
Hanecy went direct to the temple. He had no baggage. Pistol, pipe and tobacco and a large amount of money were enough to carry him anywhere. Paying oft his bearers and bidding them wait in the village until the morrow, he entered the temple. He found himself greeted with the usual courtesy, and one of the many guest rooms was assigned him.
His first inquiry was for Tung Ho. The priests Informed him that Tung Ho lived alone with a brother, Tung Fel, three miles distant in the hills. It was now too late to go there and return before dark, hence no guides could be obtained, for fear of tigers. The mountain folk stick close to home after nightfall. Hanecy perceived also from the manner of his informants that he would be unwise to try the trip alone. He concluded rightly that the two brothers did not have the best of reputations, and reluctantly decided to wait until morning.
"Since I've beaten Benson to it, I might as well have the pickings of the fair," he reflected.
Hastily cleaning up, he sauntered forth. To his gratification, he was able to pick up a number of small objects—nothing of any great importance—and he then turned his attention to a small canvas booth outside the temple wall, where some sort of mountebank was holding forth. Hanecy was attracted to it by the giggles and squeals of delight from the crowd around the booth.
He found the entertainment nothing wonderful. A peddler, evidently a wandering Korean, sat and begged for money. His display consisted of a thin glass case, closed with wire at the ends, in which were a number of small birds. The man wheezed at a mouth-organ, talking between whiles.
"All the years of my life I have spent training these birds," whined the dirty Korean. "Now, see, when I play they will dance."
Sure enough, when the music began, the birds began to flutter and hop, since the thin glass cage was not high enough to let them fly. The crowd shrieked in ecstasy.
Hanecy's eyes grew a bit more steely. He noted the mouth-organ and saw that it was of Japanese make. He had little doubt that the Korean was one of the many peddlers who were distributing morphia throughout the country under Japanese auspices.