Judge Dee at Work

'Did Mr Ho know about those visits?' 'No, of course not! We would wait till the master was away for the day, then I would take a note from my mistress to Mr Fung, and he would slip inside by the garden door and have a cup of tea with her here in the pavilion. I know these occasional visits were the only thing that kept Mr Fung going, all through the last three years, after my mistress married. And she enjoyed their talks so much! And I was there, always... .'

'You connived at clandestine meetings,' the judge said harshly. 'And probably at murder. For your mistress did not commit suicide, she was killed. At half past four, to be precise.'

'But how could Mr Fung have anything to do with that, Your Honour?' the maid wailed.

'That's what I am going to find out,' the judge said grimly. He turned to the coroner. 'Let's go to the gatehouse!'

The headman and his two constables were sitting on the stone bench in the front courtyard. Springing to attention, the head­man saluted and asked, 'Shall I tell my men to fetch a temporary coffin, sir?'

'No, not yet,' the judge said gruffly, and walked on.

In the doorkeeper's lodge the small steward was cursing a wizened old man in a long blue gown. Two grinning palankeen-bearers were looking inside through the window, and listening with relish.

'This man maintains that nobody came to the house, Your Honour,' the steward said angrily. 'But the old fool confessed that he took a nap between three and four. Disgraceful!'

Disregarding this remark, the judge asked abruptly: 'Do you know a painter called Fung?'

The astonished steward shook his head, but the elder coolie called out, 'I know Mr Fung, Excellency! He often buys a bowl of noodles at my father's stall round the corner. He rents an attic over the grocery, behind this house. I saw him standing about near our garden gate an hour or so ago.'

Judge Dee turned to the coroner and said: 'Let this coolie take you to Mr Fung's place, and bring him here. On no account let Mr Fung know about Mrs Ho's demise!' Then he ordered the steward: 'Lead me to the reception room. I shall see Mr Fung there.'

The reception room proved to be rather small, but the simple furniture was of good quality. The steward offered the judge a comfortable armchair at the centre table, and poured him a cup of tea. Then he discreetly withdrew.

Slowly sipping the tea, Judge Dee reflected with satisfaction that the murderer had now been traced. He hoped the coroner would find the painter in, so that he could interrogate him at once.

Sooner than he had expected the coroner entered with a tall, thin man of about thirty, clad in a threadbare but clean blue robe, fastened with a black cotton sash. He had a rather dis­tinguished face, with a short black moustache. A few locks of hair came out from under the faded black cap he was wearing. The judge took in his large, rather too brilliant eyes, and the red spots on the hollow cheeks. He motioned him to take the chair on the other side of the table. The coroner poured a cup of tea for the guest, then remained standing behind his chair.

'I have heard about your work, Mr Fung,' the judge began affably. 'I have been looking forward to making your acquain­tance.'

The painter straightened his robe with a long, sensitive hand. Then he spoke in a cultured voice: 'I feel most flattered by your interest, sir. Yet I find it hard to believe that Your Honour urgently summoned me here to Mr Ho's house just to engage in a leisurely talk about artistic matters.'

'Not in the first place, no. An accident has occurred in the gar­den here, Mr Fung, and I am looking for witnesses.'

Fung sat up in his chair. He asked worriedly: 'An accident? Not involving Mrs Ho, I trust?'

'It did indeed involve her, Mr Fung. It occurred between four and five, in the pavilion. And you came to see her at that time.'

'What has happened to her?' the painter burst out.

'You ought to know the answer to that yourself!' Judge Dee said coldly. 'For it was you who murdered her!’

'She is dead!' Fung exclaimed. He buried his face in his hands. His narrow shoulders were shaking. When after a long time he looked up, he had himself under control again. He asked in a measured voice: 'Would you kindly inform me, sir, why I should have murdered the woman I loved more than anything else in the world?'

'Your motive was fear of exposure. After her marriage you con­tinued to force your attentions on her. She grew tired of it and told you that if you didn't stop seeing her she would inform her husband. Today you two had a violent quarrel, and you killed her.'

The painter nodded slowly. 'Yes,' he said resignedly, 'that would be a plausible explanation, I suppose. And I was indeed at the garden gate at the time you mentioned.'

'Did she know you were coming?'

'Yes. This morning a street urchin brought me a note from her. It said that she had to see me, on an urgent matter. If I would come at about half past four to the garden gate, and knock four times as usual, the maid would let me in.'

'What happened after you had gone inside?'

'I didn't go inside. I knocked several times, but the gate re­mained closed. I walked up and down there for a while, and having made one more fruitless attempt, I went back home.'