After some confusion between the numbers of the checks, the dates, and the sums, Edward found the gist of the story the stubs told and soon was able to translate the monthly record, "To cash, such and such a sum," "To cash, such and such a sum," while the t'ai-t'ai noted the figures in her memory. Then appeared what she suspected, checks for sums she had never received. They began in the summer and continued through the autumn. She had Edward repeat them again and again till the figures were printed indelibly on her mind.
The t'ai-t'ai pondered this new problem at some length. She was quite certain that Kuei-lien could not have cashed checks for such large amounts without enlisting the help of her husband's old messenger. This faithful man had been associated so invariably with the process of getting money that the woman had come to believe his participation was an unalterable step in the procedure. He was not the man to be bribed in a day; the t'ai-t'ai was reasonably certain of his honesty. The probability then was that Kuei-lien still held the checks and was waiting a favorable chance to exchange them.
When once the t'ai-t'ai had reached this conclusion, her first impulse was to call the concubine to her husband and in her absence to search every corner of her boxes, every corner of her room; if this failed, to summon two strong servants, strip the girl, and search every article of her clothing. It was probably on her body that Kuei-lien would carry the checks.
"I should have to sell her after that," the woman decided.
Second thought, however, was more deliberate, not from any pity for Kuei-lien, but because there certainly would be scandal; the story would reach Herrick's ears—the t'ai-t'ai could trust her enemies for that—and no one knew what vengeance the man might exact, in his weakened, peevish condition, for the loss of a favorite concubine. Even this the angry woman might have risked, if the thought had not occurred to her that by making terms with Kuei-lien she could use the wiles of the concubine to get even larger sums from her husband, to get the money he always laughingly had insisted was safe, into the only safe form the t'ai-t'ai recognized, the safety of good, tangible silver. Yes, the concubine was worth winning over; she could do this; she might even persuade the old man to allow an earlier marriage for Nancy.
The t'ai-t'ai went to Kuei-lien's room and found the concubine seated cross-legged on the k'ang, the brick oven which served for divan and bed. She was smoking cigarettes, her incessant habit. At the t'ai-t'ai's entry, however, she jumped up, brought her mistress to the k'ang, and only after repeated urging by the t'ai-t'ai consented to sit on the warm rush mats beside her. There was much desultory talk during which the older woman searched Kuei-lien's appearance with keen eyes to see if she had acquired any unusual jewelry; Kuei-lien was fastidiously dressed, rather daringly, with short full trousers barely topping a startling length of cerise stocking, but there were no signs of jewelry. This was some evidence that the checks had not been cashed. Finally, when the time seemed ripe, the t'ai-t'ai became more direct in her speech. She had steered the conversation to the subject of Herrick's ill health.
"It is a pity he will go to these excesses," Kuei-lien agreed. "I can do nothing to stop him when the passion comes over him. Hai—at times I am afraid. He becomes like a madman and strikes me if I try to take his opium pipe away."
"Does he ever pay you for these blows?" asked the t'ai-t'ai shrewdly.
Kuei-lien winced a little.
"Oh yes, he pays me," she laughed, "pays me with bruises. I will show you my back; it is black and blue."