Poets and Murder

The obese monk, sitting cross-legged on a corner of the broad bench, silently regarded his visitor with unblinking eyes. After a while he replied in a hoarse, grating voice, 'The answer is no, I have to leave the city this afternoon.' The thick, hairy fingers of his left hand closed round the dog­eared volume on his knee.

The other, a tall man in a neat, black silk coat over a blue gown, was momentarily at a loss for words. He was tired, for he had been obliged to walk down the entire length of Temple Street. And his gruff host had not even deigned to offer him a chair. It might be just as well if this ugly, rude monk did not join the distinguished company. ... He surveyed with disgust the monk's large, shaven head sunk between bulky shoulders, the swarthy face with the sagging, stubbly cheeks, the fleshy nose above the thick-lipped mouth. With his un­usually big, bulging eyes, the man reminded him forcibly of a repulsive toad. The odour of stale sweat from his patched monk's robe mingled with the fragrance of Indian incense in the close air of the bare room. The visitor listened for a few moments to the drone of voices raised in prayer, over on the other side of the Temple of Subtle Insight, then he suppressed a sigh and resumed:

'Magistrate Lo will be distressed, sir. This evening there'll be a dinner in the residence, and for tomorrow night my master has planned a Mid-autumn banquet, on the Emerald Cliff.'

His host snorted. 'Magistrate Lo ought to know better! Dinner parties, forsooth! And why did he send you, his coun­sellor, instead of coming to see me himself, eh?'

'The Prefect is passing through here, sir. Early this morning he summoned my master to the government hostel in the West City, to take part in a conference of all the fourteen district magistrates of this Prefecture. Afterwards my master'll have to join the noon meal the Prefect is giving in the hostel.' He cleared his throat and continued apologetically, "The feasts I mentioned, sir, are quite informal affairs, and very small. Poetic gatherings, as a matter of fact. And since you ...'

'Who are the other guests?' his host interrupted curtly.

'Well, to begin with, there's the Academician Shao, sir. Then Chang Lan-po, the Court Poet. Both arrived in the residence this morning, and ...'

I've known them both for many years, and I know then-work. So I can well do without meeting them. As to Lo's doggerel ...' He cast his visitor a baleful look and asked abruptly, 'Who else?'

'There'll be Judge Dee, sir, the magistrate of our neighbour district, Poo-yang. He was also summoned by the Prefect, and arrived here yesterday.'

The ugly monk gave a start. 'Dee of Poo-yang? Why the devil should he ...?' he began. Then he asked testily, 'You don't mean to say that he would take part in a poetical gather­ing? Always heard he is of a rather pedestrian turn of mind. Dull company.'

The counsellor carefully smoothed his black moustache before he replied primly:

'Being my master's friend and colleague, sir, Magistrate Dee is considered as a member of the household, and attends all parties in the residence as a matter of course.'

'You're a cautious kind of chap, aren't you?' the other scoffed. He thought for a while, puffing out his cheeks, which made him resemble a toad even more than before. Then a lop­sided grin parted his sensual lips, revealing a row of brown, uneven teeth. 'Dee, eh?' He stared at his visitor with his bulging eyes, pensively rubbing his stubbly cheeks. The rasping sound grated on the neat counsellor's nerves. Lowering his eyes, the monk muttered, half to himself, 'It might be an interesting experiment, after all. Wonder what he thinks about foxes! Fellow is deuced clever, they say.' Sud­denly he looked up again and croaked, 'What did you say again your name was, Counsellor? Pao or Hao or some­thing?'