Poets and Murder

'Not much, Dee. Both were composed by a good scholar, and you know how strict the rules of our literary style are. There is a fixed expression for every conceivable aspect or contingency of human life, thought, and action, and every scholar will use exactly the right phrase in exactly the right place. If the letters had been written by an uneducated person, it would have been different, of course. Then it's easy to pick out similar mannerisms, or similar mistakes. As it is, I can only say one notices a resemblance in the use of some pre­positions, that might suggest both letters had been written by the same man. Sorry, Dee!’

'Wish I could see those letters in the original!’ Judge Dee exclaimed. 'I have made a close study of handwriting, and I am sure I would then know for certain! But that would neces­sitate a journey to the capital. And I doubt whether the Metropolitan Court would allow me to inspect the letters!’ Vexedly he tugged at his moustache.

'Why do you need to know about the letters, Dee? With your sharp eyes, elder brother, you must have other means of deciding which of my three guests is the murderer! Heavens, the fellow must have been leading a double life! You must have caught something in their talk, or in their ...'

Judge Dee shook his head emphatically.

'Not a hope, Lo! Our basic problem is that all three are extraordinary men, whose actions and reactions cannot be gauged by ordinary means. Let's admit it, Lo! These three men are our betters in learning, talent and experience — not to speak of the prominent position they occupy in our national life! Questioning them directly would be courting disaster, both for you and for me. And to try to get at them indirectly by the normal tricks of our trade would be of no avail. These are men of superlative intellectual attainments, my friend, self-possessed people, wise to the ways of the world! And the Academician, for one, has had longer experience as a criminal investigator than you or me! Trying to bluff them, or to startle them into an unguarded word, is just so much labour lost!'

Lo shook his head. He said disconsolately:

'To tell you the truth, Dee, I can't yet get accustomed to the idea that one of these three great writers is a murder sus­pect. How could you possibly explain such a man committing brutal, callous crimes?'

Judge Dee shrugged his shoulders.

'We can only make rough guesses. I could imagine, for instance, that the Academician is suffering from a surfeit of experience. Having had all that normal life has to offer, he seeks for abnormal sensations. The Court Poet, on the con­trary, labours visibly under the impression that he has only lived on second-hand emotions, and that therefore his poetry is no good. And a feeling of frustration may engender the most unexpected actions. As to Sexton Loo, you told me that before his conversion to the new creed he cruelly oppressed his monastery's tenant farmers. And now he has apparently chosen to place himself beyond good and evil, and that is a very dangerous attitude to take. I just mention a few simple explanations that come to mind, Lo. It's doubtless much more complicated than that!’

The small magistrate nodded. He opened one of the baskets, took a handful of sweetmeats, and began to munch them. Judge Dee wanted to pour himself a cup of tea from the tea-basket under the seat but the palankeen began to list back­wards at a sharp angle. He drew the window-curtain open. They were ascending a steep mountain road, lined by tall pine trees. Lo delicately wiped his hands on his handkerchief and resumed:

'Routine checks aren't any use either, Dee. As regards Shao and Chang, at least. Both told me they had gone to bed early the day before yesterday when the student was murdered. Now you know that the government hostel where they stayed is a big and busy place; all kinds of officials are going in and out there at all times. Impossible to check their movements. Especially since either of them will have taken good care he wasn't noticed when he slipped out late at night! How about the sexton, though?'

'Just as bad. Anyone can enter or leave that temple, as I found out myself. And there's a short cut from there to the quarter near the East Gate, where the tea-merchant lives. Now that Saffron is gone, I greatly fear that we have come to a dead end, Lo.'

The two magistrates sank into a morose silence. Judge Dee let his sidewhiskers slowly glide through his fingers. After a long pause he said suddenly:

'Just now I went over last night's dinner party again in my mind. Didn't it strike you, Lo, how very nicely your guests be­haved to each other? All four of them, including the poetess? Courteous but reserved, friendly but impersonal, and with just that touch of light banter one expects among a small gathering of colleagues in letters, each of whom has reached the top in his particular field. Yet these four people have been seeing each other on and off for a number of years. Who knows what they really think about each other, what mem­ories of mutual or shared love or hatred bind them? None of the three men will ever give as much as a hint of their real emotions. The poetess, however, is another proposition. She's by nature a passionate woman, and the six weeks in prison and the trials have put her under a heavy strain. Last night she lifted one tip of her mask. Only once, but I felt a definite tension in the air, for one brief moment.'