This, Doane knew, was enough. He waited, now, himself. Waited and waited.
“Mr. Doane”—Kane, at last, was speaking—“I would be glad to have you approach the viceroy for me. To-night, if you think best. I will be glad, of course, to pay you a commission.”
“Shall I make a definite offer—for the paintings and the jewels?”
“No.” Kane considered. “Let him set a price. Then we will make our offer.”
“It is safe to say, Mr. Kane”—Doane was remembering experiences of men in church and educational work who had had to approach the great capitalists for gifts of money—“that you could sell half the paintings for what you might pay for the two collections at this time. That would enable you to give the other half, as a collection bearing your own name, to one of the art museums at home, at no cost to yourself.”
Kane smoked thoughtfully. “I presume, Mr. Doane,” he said, “that the predicament you spoke of can not interfere in any way with the safe delivery of the collections.”
Doane considered. How much did this man know? That Japanese, behind his mask of a smile, would be deep, of course. With a sudden sinking of the heart, Doane perceived that Kane might easily know the whole story. But even if he did he would admit nothing. He trusted no one; that was his calm cynical strength. He would trade to the last.... Another swift, if random, perception of this tense moment was that much of the common talk regarding the “inscrutable” East was utter nonsense. Read in the light of history and habit the Oriental mind was anything but deeply mysterious; it was, indeed, very nearly an open book. Whereas the Western mind, with its miraculous religion, its sentimentality and materialism and (at the same time) its cynically unscrupulous financial power, could be baffling indeed.
Desperate now, seeing no other way through, Doane spoke out from his tortured heart. “Mr. Kane, the simple fact is that his excellency has been condemned to death, and his daughter to a fate that will almost certainly end in death for her as well. They are seizing his property....”
“Who are they?”
“The Imperial Government—the empress dowager and her crew. They are sending the chief eunuch, Chang Yuan-fu, to take his paintings and jewels, and his daughter, to Peking. Frankly, it may be necessary to hurry matters—smuggle the things out. But the fan paintings can be packed in parcels, the scrolls rolled small on their ivory sticks, the jewels gathered in a few boxes. Once in white hands they would be safe. I think. I believe I can arrange it. The porcelains and carvings you would probably have to leave behind.”