“But you do not suffer from leprosy.”
Yeh started up and leant on his elbow.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, almost thoroughly aroused.
“I mean,” responded To Tao, “that Su Sing and her attendant were my creatures and with me in a plot to kill you. Many times I could have killed you by poison, but I wished to make you suffer first, and I think I have indeed succeeded by persuading you that you had contracted that loathsome disease.”
Yeh remained silent for a while, and To Tao feared that he would sink into the sleep of death. At last he dreamily asked—
“Why did you wish me this ill?”
“Because you slew my mother, the old prisoner in the gaol. She is now avenged.”
Again a silence. The drug was rapidly gaining entire possession of Yeh’s brain. Very slowly he spoke his last words.
“Brother, you did well. You acted as a filial child should. I have a wife and two sons in Szechuen. If my sons heard of the manner of my death they would do the same to you and more also. But they will never know. I think, perhaps, it is better they should not, for, indeed, you are a marvellous gardener. Send my body to Szechuen and now—now—I would—sleep——”
So Yeh the magistrate slept, To Tao religiously carried out his dead master’s last wishes, and then returned to his gardens.