The Phantom of the Temple
- Автор: ван Гулик Роберт Ханс
- Серия: Judge Dee #13
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Phantom of the Temple». Краткое содержание книги:
On a wooded hill in the Lan-fang district, a phantom stalks in a century-old Buddhist temple and three mysteries unfold-the vanishing of a wealthy merchant's daughter, the disapperance of twenty bars of gold, and the discovery of a decapitated corpse. In the Phantom of the Temple, the clever Judge Dee pieces together these strange occurrences to reveal one complex and gruesome plot.
'Stay where you are, you!’ a thin, reedy voice sounded above Ma Joong's head. He jumped aside and looked up. Against the iron bars of the window he vaguely saw a black bundle. Stepping up close, he saw that it was a small, incredibly old man who was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the arch. The completely bald, shining head, the long pointed nose and the scraggy neck coming out of the black rags made him closely resemble a vulture poised for swooping down on its prey. In his hands he held a long stick, ending in a wicked-looking iron hook. A pair of small, beady eyes squinted horribly at Ma Joong.
'Hold it!’ he called out. 'I want to see the King. For a bit of business advice.'
'Let him pass, Cross-eye!' It was a deep, rumbling voice from the rear of the cellar. 'Some people even pay for advice!'
The bird-like man in the window gestured with his stick that Ma Joong could go on. Footsteps sounded in the street outside. The small man peered through the bars with cocked head. Suddenly, with an incredibly swift movement, he brought the stick round, and stuck it outside through the iron bars. He hauled it back, plucked a mud-soiled piece of oil-cake from the hook and began to munch it contentedly. Ma Joong walked on to the table, thinking himself lucky not to have got the hook in his neck.
He strained his eyes but beyond the table he could discern only a pitch-dark vault, flanked by two heavy stone pillars. The one on the right seemed on the point of crumbling down, its outline showed large, uneven gaps covered with clusters of cobwebs.
'Sit down!’ the deep voice spoke.
As Ma Joong took the bamboo stool, a huge, hairy hand appeared out of the dark and trimmed the candle with a thick thumb and forefinger. Now that the flame was burning high, Ma Joong found that what he had taken for a heap of crumbling masonry was in fact the formless shape of a bearded giant. He was sitting behind the table, hunched up on the raised base of the pillar. His broad, bent back fitted exactly into the cavity formed by the missing bricks. His tousled grey head was bare; long untidy locks hung down over his high, deeply grooved forehead. From under ragged eyebrows large slate-coloured eyes fixed Ma Joong with an unwavering stare. He wore a patched jacket that had faded to the indeterminate grey colour of dust.
'I am Shao-pa,' Ma Joong told him gruffly. 'From Tong-kang. A cousin of Seng-san.'
'He lies, Monk!' the old man in the window screeched. 'Seng-san never said nothing about a cousin!'
'Lao-woo is doing time,' Ma Joong went on quickly. 'It's my duty to get the bastard who got Seng-san.'
'Why come to me, Shao-pa?'
'Because they say in Tong-kang that you are the boss here.'
'Was the boss!' Cross-eye shouted. He burst out in cackling laughter. The other reached down, took a broken brick from under the table and threw it at the old man. His laughter ended abruptly in a scream of pain. He began to hop up and down in the window like a frightened bird in its cage. The man whom he addressed as the Monk looked Ma Joong up and down.
'You have Seng-san's build,' he remarked. 'I don't know who killed Seng-san, but I do know what Seng-san was after.'
'A fat lot of use!' Ma Joong scoffed. 'The gold in the temple, of course. The blasted murderer'll tell me where he hid it all right. After I have got him!'
The other said nothing. He slowly rubbed the table top with his big hand. Geometrical figures had been cut into the wood, here and there marked with strange, complicated signs. Holding the candle up, the Monk peered at the maze of lines, his large head with the wild mass of grey hair bent. Then he looked up.
'No, I have drawn too many diagrams here; the pattern has become confused.' It struck Ma Joong that, although the man's voice was coarse, he used the language of an educated person. 'I can't tell you much, Shao-pa. Not much. But I can give you one piece of sound advice. Get the gold, and forget about the murderer.'
'I won't forget, but there's no harm in getting the gold first. How much do you want?'
'Two thirds, Shao-pa.'
'Are you crazy? Half. I have to split with Lao-woo, mind you!’
'Like you split with me, Monk!’ the man in the window called out.
'Done.' The Monk groped in his tattered sleeve and put a small square of wood on the table; it was inscribed with letters of some foreign script. 'Go tonight to the Hermitage, Shao-pa. That's a small temple, near the big red one, on the hill outside the east gate. Anybody can tell you. Climb over the wall and knock four times on the door of the servant's quarters, a small brick building to the left of the gate. Show this marker to the maid. Spring Cloud, her name is.'
'Spring in her pants!' Cross-eye jeered. The Monk threw a stone at him but missed. As it clattered to the floor, the old man burst out again in his cackling laughter.
'The eyes are going bad on you too, Monk!' he shouted.
'Has she got the gold?' Ma Joong asked.
'Not yet, Shao-pa. But she's mighty near to finding it. Together you'll get it.'
'That being so, why don't you go yourself?'
' 'Cause he can't walk!’ Cross-eye jeered. 'If I didn't get him his grub, he'd croak like a mangy dog! And they still call him the King!’
'I am a bit feeble on my legs,' the Monk grumbled. 'Rheumatism, you know, deep in my marrow. Back and legs grew crooked. But I can still ride a horse, and my head is all right. Make no mistake about that, Shao-pa!’
'What about Yang? Doesn't he get a share too?'
The other scratched in his long, straggling beard, all the time fixing Ma Joong with his strange, still eyes.
'So you know about Yang too, eh? Yang has disappeared. Better look sharp, Shao-pa! You might disappear too. I don't know who did your cousin in, but he knows his job. Go to the Hermitage tonight.'
'Stay with the wench up there!' Cross-eye shouted. 'Dirt cheap!’
The Monk half-rose, pushing himself up on his mastlike, muscular arms. Ma Joong saw that the hulking shape would top him by at least two inches. But the giant's back was bent and his immense shoulders were sagging at an unnatural angle.
The small man began to hop to and fro in the window, the black rags flapping about like wings.
'Sorry Monk! Sorry boss!’ he bleated.
'Shut up, Cross-eye. And stay shut up,' the Monk growled as he let himself down again. And, to Ma Joong: 'Goodbye, Shao-pa.'
He leaned back against the pillar. His head sunk on his breast.
Ma Joong got up, waved a hand at the old man in the window, and went to the stairs.
He strolled back to the tribunal, whistling a cheerful tune. His expedition had taken the whole of the afternoon, now dusk was falling. But the time had been well spent! The Abbess had warned Judge Dee already that her maid associated with vagabonds, and now he had learned that the wench had been planted there as an agent of the King of the Beggars! He might have an interesting evening — in more than one respect!
When the two enormous lampions of red oil-paper that lit the gate of the Temple of the War God came in sight, he again went up the broad stairs and burned incense. Evidently the deity was well disposed towards him!
At the tribunal the headman informed him that the judge and Sergeant Hoong were in Judge Dee's library, talking to the painter Lee Ko. Ma Joong went quickly to his own quarters, washed and put on clean clothes.
XV
The old housemaster was lighting the lanterns that stood in a row along the front of the marble terrace. Through the open doors of the library Ma Joong saw the judge standing at the large centre table of carved ebony, his hands behind his back. Sergeant Hoong was helping the painter to unwrap a few rolled-up scroll paintings.