XV
In the course of his professional duties Tab Holland had been brought into contact with the master of the Golden Roof on two occasions. The first followed a small scandal, which only remotely touched the restaurant (the woman who was the subject of Tab’s investigation had dined there at an important date) and once in connection with a dead-season topic dealing with the nutritive values of food.
He had found the Chinaman reserved to a point of taciturnity, monosyllabic in speech; a most unsatisfactory person.
Tab knew nothing about him except that he was a successful Chinaman who had gravitated into the restaurant business. He asked Jacques for enlightenment, well knowing that if the news editor could not satisfy his curiosity, it was because Yeh Ling was altogether uninteresting. Jacques was one of those rarities, to whom reference is so frequently made that it might be imagined they were as common as straws in a stable. He was a veritable “mine of information.” The genus occurs sometimes in newspaper offices. Jacques knew everybody and everybody’s wife. He knew why they married. He also knew why stars twinkled and the chemical composition of tears. Quote him a line from any classic and he would give you its predecessor and that which followed. He knew the dates of all important earthquakes and was an authority on the Mogul Emperors. He could sketch you with equal facility the position of Frossard’s second corps at Rezonville on August 17th, 1870, or the military situation at Thermopylæ—and dates.
The only serious students of the “Megaphone” reference library were the reporters who went there to confound Jacques. They never succeeded.
“Yeh Ling? Yes—queer bird. An educated Chink—got a son who is quite a swell scholar by Chinese standards. He ought to make a good story some day; that house he is building at Storford—it is on the way to Hertford; says that one day his son will be the Chinese Ambassador here and he wants him to have a house worthy of his position. That is what he told Stott. Know Stott? He is a dud architect who knows it all. Weird little devil who looks as if he might have been clever with a different kind of brain. Stott laid out the ground work, sort of Chinese temple with two enormous concrete pillars that are going to stand half-way down the drive. The Pillar of Cheerful Memories and the Pillar of Grateful Hearts. That’s what he is going to call them. Stott thought it was heathenish and wondered if the Bishop would like it. Yes, you ought to see that place, Tab. No, it isn’t built. Yeh Ling has nothing but Chink labour. The Secretary of the Builders’ Union went to see him about it. Yeh Ling said his ancestors had a union of their own which put the bar upon non-Taoist labour. Taoism——”
“I hate to wade into the foaming torrent of your eloquence,” said Tab gently, “but how did you come to meet Stott?”
“Same lodge,” said Jacques. “It is not for me to talk down a brother craftsman—are you one of us by-the-way?”
Tab shook his head.
“Ought to be. Get a little respect for authority into your system. As I was saying, I don’t want to knock Stott, but he’s not everybody’s meat. Go and see that temple or whatever it is, Tab. Might be a good story.”