“How?”
I brought some rice-paper, brush and ink from the cabinet, where there was a store of such material, and laid them on the table.
“Write the words I shall give you, in Chinese, as Mai Lo would have written them,” I said.
The eunuch smiled as if suddenly enlightened, and accepted the task cheerfully.
“‘Wishing to die, as it is my duty to do,’” I dictated, “‘I have loosed the Sacred Ape and trusted myself to his avenging hand. If I am dead after we have met, all the world will know that Mai Lo, Governor of Kwang-Kai-Nong and the trusted servant of Prince Kai Lun Pu, who lies with his ancestors, has done his full duty.’”
Wi-to nodded like an automaton and wrote with much skill upon the paper, beginning at one of the bottom corners of the sheet and working up.
The Chinese characters were neat and uniform, and when the document was finished Wi-to laid down the brush with a sigh of content.
“I have not used your words,” said he, “but I have used the idea. And the signature,” he added, with a sly leer, “is the signature of Mai Lo himself. I will now go and exhibit the head and the paper, and salute Mai-Tchin as the new governor.”
So eager was he that he caught up the head by its queue and dragged the grinning trophy away with him without having it wrapped into a neat parcel, as I had intended should be done.
Wi-to might not believe our story, but he was assuredly glad to be rid of his long-standing foe, and we had given the wily eunuch the clew that would enable him to deceive anyone who might be interested in knowing how the governor met his death.