III
A Chinese candlestick is meant to hold, upon a long, upright prong, a candle painted with very soft red wax, so soft that the finger cannot touch the paint without blurring and marring it. Otherwise, it is like Occidental candlesticks in general respects.
Reginald Carefrew, who had plenty of money in his pocket, but who had left Singapore in something of a real hurry, walked into the Benevolent Brethren Bazaar in search of silks and pongees to take home to Europe. The bazaar, which bore no other name, confined itself almost exclusively to such goods. In the front of the shop, which was upon one of the half-Dutch streets overlooking the harbor, were strewn about a few objects of brass, bronze, and the cheap champlevé cloisonné which are made for tourists.
Almost as he entered the place, however, the vigilant eye of Carefrew discovered a very different object, placed in a niche which concealed it from view of the street. It was no less than a candlestick of three arms, a most unusual thing; also, it was made chiefly from jade, highly carven, while the upright prongs and the trimmings were of brass. Altogether, a most extraordinary and wonderful candlestick—priced at nine florins.
Carefrew, naturally, thought that his eyes lied to him about the price. With excitement twitching at his nerves, he walked back and bought several bolts of silk, ordering them sent to him at the residence of Huber Davis.
Then, casually, he inquired about the candlestick of the smiling clerk.
It was, he learned, a worthless object, left here for sale long years ago by some now forgotten Hindu native, or maybe Arab; one could not be certain where years had elapsed and the insignificance of the object was great, but of course the books would show, should it be desired that the affair be looked into.
Naturally, Carefrew did not desire the affair looked into, because some one was then sure to discover that the candlestick was real jade. There was no doubt about that fact, and he was too shrewd to be deceived. A passing wonder did enter his mind as to how yellow men, especially men of T’ang from the middle provinces, could have supposed the candlestick to be worthless; but, after all, mistakes happen to all men—and other men profit by them. The candlestick was not a wonder of the world, but was worth a few hundred dollars at least.
So Carefrew laid down his nine florins, and carried his purchase away with him, wrapped in paper.
Carefrew found the bungalow deserted except for the native boys; the siesta hour was over, and Huber Davis had departed to his office. After a critical inspection of his purchase, resulting in a complete vindication of his former judgment, Carefrew set the triple candlestick on the dining-table and swung off to Chinatown again.
It was the most natural desire in the world to want to complete that princely candlestick with appropriate candles; particularly as Carefrew was now on his way to Europe and would have little further chance to get hold of the real articles.
Being down-town, Carefrew dropped into the office of Huber Davis, and found a letter which had come in that morning by the coast steamer from Batavia. The letter was from Ruth, confirming her passage on the next fast Royal Mail boat. Upon the fourth day from this she would be at Sabang, having taken passage as far as Colombo for herself and Carefrew, whose loose business ends she was arranging.
“I suppose,” inquired Huber Davis in his cool, semi-interested fashion, “you did not take her into your confidence regarding your late financial ventures?”
“Why in hell would I want to bother her about finances?” retorted Carefrew, with his bold-eyed look. “She doesn’t understand such things.”
“Damned good thing she doesn’t, perhaps,” reflected the other. “Well, see you later! By the way, here’s the receipt for that thirty thousand you laid in my safe.”
“I don’t want receipts from you.” protested Carefrew virtuously.
“Maybe not, but I want to give ’em to you,” and Huber Davis smiled.
“Damned rotter!” reflected Carefrew as he passed on his way.
He was not acquainted in or with Sabang. It was not hard to see what he desired, however, and presently he succeeded beyond his expectations. A dirty window filled with dried oysters and strings of fish and other things, after the Chinese fashion, carried also a display of temple candles. They had only appeared in the window that morning, but Carefrew did not know it, and would not have cared had he known it.
Carefrew stopped and inspected the candles, which were exactly what he wanted. There was a half-inch wick of twisted cotton, around which was built the candle, two inches thick. The outside was gaudy red and blue with sticky greasepaint, and at the lower end was a protruding reed four inches long.
By this reed one might handle the affair without marring the paint, and into this reed fitted the upright prong of a candlestick. The whole candle was bound inside a big joint of bamboo, which held it without harm.
Noting that there was one candle on display, and that there seemed to be but two more with it, Carefrew entered the shop, found the proprietor, and priced the candles. The proprietor had brought them from Singapore ten years previously and did not want to sell them. However, Carefrew offered a ten-florin note, and carried them home.
He was, for the moment, a child with a new toy, completely absorbed in it, and utterly heedless of all the rest of the world. Another man might have had weights upon his conscience, but Reginald Carefrew was not bothered by any such.
He laid the three bamboo cylinders upon the dining-table, after it had been laid for dinner, and opened them, cutting the shrunken withes that held them securely. The glaring red candles lay before him, and for a moment he pulled at his cigarette and studied them. Knowing what sort of candles they were, he tentatively touched them with his forefinger. The touch left a red blotch at the end of his finger, so soft was the greasepaint.
One by one he set them carefully upon the three prongs of his jade candlestick. One could not blame his ardent admiration. Even to an eye which knew nothing of Chinese art, the picture was exquisite; to one who could appreciate fully, it was marvelous. Candles and candlestick blended into a perfect thing, a creation.
“And to think that it cost me,” said Carefrew to his brother-in-law, when Huber Davis appeared, “exactly nineteen florins—ten of which were for the candles!”
Huber Davis gazed at the outfit appraisingly, a slight frown creasing his brow.
“If I were you,” he said after a moment, “I’d get rid of it, Reggy. You certainly picked up something there—but it doesn’t look right to me. You don’t catch John Chinaman handing out stuff like that at a bargain price, not these days!”
“Bosh!” ejaculated Carefrew. “A pickup, that’s all—one of the things that comes the way of any man who keeps his eyes open.”
Huber Davis shrugged his shoulders.
“Got the red stuff on your hands, eh?”
Carefrew smiled vaguely—his smile was always vague and disagreeable—and glanced at his hands. He rubbed them, and the red spots became a fine pink rouge.
“I’ll light ’em up,” he said, “and then wash for dinner, eh?”
Huber Davis said nothing, but watched with cold-growing eyes as Carefrew lighted the three wicks. He was somewhat long in doing this, for they were slow to catch. When they did flare, it was with a yellow, smoky light that sent a black trail to the ceiling. Carefrew turned to leave the room, but the voice of his brother-in-law brought him about quickly.
“Wait! I had a letter to-day from my agent in Batavia, Reggy. He said that Ruth had been in the office—he was helping her straighten up some of your affairs.”
A subtle alarm crept into the narrow eyes of Carefrew as he met the cold, passionless gaze of Huber Davis.
“Well?” he demanded suddenly. “What is the idea?”
“You didn’t say anything was wrong with Ruth,” said Huber Davis calmly. “But my agent mentioned that her right arm looked badly bruised—her sleeve fell away, I imagine—and she said it had been a slight accident. What was it?”
Carefrew’s brows lifted. “Damned if I know! Must have hurt herself after I left, eh? Too bad, now—”
He turned and left the room, whistling. Huber Davis gazed after him; one would have said that the man’s cold eyes suddenly glowed and smoldered, as a shaft of sunlight suddenly strikes fire into cold amethyst.
“Ah!” he muttered. “You damned blackguard—it goes with the rest, it does! You’ve laid hands on her, and yet she sticks by you; some women are like that. You’ve laid hands on her, all right. If I could prove it, by the Lord I’d let out your rotten soul! But she’ll never tell.”
Presently Carefrew’s gay whistle sounded, and he sauntered back into the dining-room.
“That’s queer!” he observed lightly. “The red ink wouldn’t come off. I’ll get some of your cocoa butter after dinner and try it on. Hello! Real steamed rice, eh? Say, that’s a treat! I despise this Dutch stuff.”