On that same afternoon Sir Polworth Urquhart, returning home to Mount Street at six o’clock, found among his letters on the study table a thin one which bore a Hong Kong stamp. The superscription was, he saw, in a native hand. He hated the sly Chinese and all their ways.
On tearing it open he found within a slip of rice-paper on which some Chinese characters had been traced. He looked at them for a few seconds and then translated them aloud to himself:
“Tai-K’an has not forgotten the great English mandarin!”
“Curse Tai-K’an!” growled Sir Polworth under his breath. “After ten years I thought he had forgotten. But those Orientals are slim folk. I hope his memory is a pleasant one,” he added grimly as he rose and placed the envelope and the paper in the fire.
“A very curious message,” he reflected as he passed back to his writing-table. “It’s a threat—because of that last sign. I remember seeing that sign before and being told that it was the sign of vengeance of the Tchan-Yan, the secret society of the Yellow Riband. But, bah! what need I care? I’m not in China now—thank Heaven!”
As he seated himself to answer his correspondence, however, a curious drama rose before his eyes. One day, ten years ago, while acting as Deputy-Governor, he had had before him a criminal case in which a young Chinese girl was alleged to have caused her lover’s death by poison. The girl was the daughter of a small merchant named Tai-K’an, who sold all his possessions in order to pay for the girl’s defense.
The case was a flimsy one from the start, but in the native court where it was heard there was much bribery by the friends of the dead lover. Notwithstanding the fact that Tai-K’an devoted the whole of his possessions to his daughter’s defense, and that strong proof of guilt fell upon a young Chinaman who was jealous of the dead man, the poor girl was convicted of murder.
Sir Polworth remembered all the circumstances well. At the time he did not believe in the girl’s guilt, but the court had decided it so, therefore why should he worry his official mind over the affairs of mere natives? The day came—he recollected it well—when the sentence of death was put before him for confirmation. Tai-K’an himself, a youngish man, came to his house to beg the clemency of the great British mandarin. With him was his wife and the brother of the murdered man. All three begged upon their knees that the girl should be released because she was innocent. But he only shook his head, and with callous heartlessness signed the death-sentence and ordered them to be shown out.
The girl’s father then drew himself up and, with the fire of hatred in his slant black eyes, exclaimed in very good English:
“You have sent my daughter to her death though she is innocent! You have a daughter, Sir Polworth Urquhart. The vengeance of Tai-K’an will fall upon her. Remember my words! May the Great Mêng place his curse upon you and yours for ever!” And the trio left the Deputy-Governor’s room.