“China custom habit differs no end from Western custom habit.”
“Naturally. Yes. But what was Kang really up to?”
“I'm driving at that. After banquet all attendant retinue mandarins withdraw out of rooms except secretaries.”
“Why didn't they go too?”
“Oh, well, it was felt by Kang that His Excellency might put it all over him with knives of armed men. And His Excellency had not forgotten tricky thought of Kang in eighteen-ninety-eight in Shantung when he asks disagreement but very strong mandarins to banquet and then sends out soldiers to remove heads in a wink while mandarins ride out to their homes when all good nights are said.”
“You mean that Kang's men beheaded all his dinner guests, because they disagreed with him?”
“Oh, yes.” Here Mr. Po grew reflective. “Kang is very queer old son of a gun—very tall, very thin, very old, with face all lines that come down so”—he drew down his smooth young face in excellent mimicry of an old man—“and he stoops so, and squints little sharp eyes like river rat, so. A mighty smart man, the reprobate! Regular old devil!” Mr. Po laughed a little. “My bosom friend Chih T'ang slipped himself in to me and explained in whisper talk that yamen of His Excellency was surrounded by Western soldiers of that old Manchu devil. And within yamen, up to third gate itself, swarmed a hell of a crowd of Manchu guard of Kang. It was no joke, by thunder!”
“I should say not,” observed Brachey dryly. “You were going to tell me what Kang was really up to.”
“Oh, yes! I will tell that post haste. When all had gone except four—”
“That is, Kang, and His Excellency, and two secretaries?”