The Phantom of the Temple

The judge sat down on a large boulder under one of the lampions of the tribunal, Sergeant Hoong on a tree trunk. From the other side of the outer wall came a con­fused murmur of voices. The beggars and loafers who had followed the cortege from the east gate had eagerly ques­tioned the guards who took the prisoner away. Now they were busily discussing the astonishing developments.

Sergeant Hoong gratefully inhaled the fresh air. He tried to sort out the events that had followed one another in such quick succession, but he couldn't put all the pieces together; it seemed to him that Judge Dee had deliberately left some lacunae. The main point was, however, that the judge had recovered the Treasurer's gold! He smiled contentedly. This would certainly make the high authori­ties in the capital favourably disposed to the judge. It might mean promotion to a better post than this out-of-the-way, provincial district!

'How are you going to transport the government gold, sir?' he asked.

'We shall have it packed in oil-paper here, Hoong, then take it down to the tribunal in my palankeen. There we must have the amount verified at once, and in the presence of reliable witnesses.'

The judge fell silent. Crossing his arms in his wide sleeves, he looked up at the perfectly symmetrical sil­houette of the temple, outlined against the evening sky. The sergeant tugged pensively at his thin goatee, his right elbow in his cupped left hand. After a long while, he said:

'This afternoon Your Honour placed Yang's card on top of that of Lee Ko. Did you already suspect that Yang was impersonating the painter?'

Judge Dee looked round at him.

'Yes, I did, Hoong. It struck me that, although the self-styled painter was able to conduct an intelligent con­versation about the theory of pictorial art — and any student of literature is capable of doing that — he could not paint on short notice the picture I had ordered. His excuses were pure nonsense. A painter who could do the splendid work we saw in the atelier would have set to work at once on a picture of the border scenery, a subject he was thoroughly familiar with and for which I would have paid a good price. And I have never heard from my Third Lady that good paper is difficult to obtain here in Lan-fang. Also, when I visited him unexpectedly, together with Ma Joong, I noticed that the paint in the platters had dried out and was covered with dust, proving they hadn't been used for a day or so. His telling us that Yang was on a spree confirmed my doubts, although I had to admit that Ma Joong had a point when he said that innkeepers often give spurious information. Finally, Hoong, there was this curious outburst of violence of the past three days. Three people killed, and two murderous attacks on Ma Joong! I had the distinct feeling that a new element had entered the case, that an entirely new person was after the gold, a man who had a compelling reason for trying to leave here as soon as possible. That supported my theory of an impersonation. For, although both the painter and Yang were known for their erratic habits, there was still the risk of a shopkeeper or trades­man of their neighbourhood asking awkward questions. After the experiment with the trap door had proved that Mr and Mrs Woo, Lee Mai and the Abbess were innocent, I knew that Yang Mou-te was our man.'

The sergeant nodded.

'It would have taken superhuman self-restraint not to jump back knowing one was standing on a trap door that was about to open on a crypt twenty feet deep!'

'Exactly. Well, a capricious fate willed that neither Yang nor Lee opened the ebony box, and that I found it and discovered its full import through Spring Cloud's floor-plan of the temple. And it's even more curious that Yang, eager to make up for his failure to produce the painting, tried to make a good impression on me by telling me how he got that ebony box — never suspecting what weighty consequences that simple gesture would have! A strange case, Hoong. A very strange case indeed!'

The judge shook his head and began to caress his long side whiskers.

Sergeant Hoong gave him a sideways glance. After some hesitation, he cleared his throat and said, 'You have explained everything, sir. Except the phantom.'

Judge Dee came out of his reverie. Looking hard at the sergeant, he said slowly, 'The Phantom of the Temple shall never stalk about here again, Hoong. The strange ties, mystic and otherwise, that bound it to this old temple have been severed. For good. Ha, there we have Ma Joong!' Seeing the tall man's dejected face, the judge asked, alarmed, 'Has Fang taken a turn for the worse?'

'Oh no, sir. I just had a look at him, after I had seen the Abbess home. He's doing fine.'

Judge Dee got up. 'Good. There's a lot of work to be done, Ma Joong. We shall go back to the hall and open the crypt. The constables will be here soon with every­thing needed for hauling up the two corpses and the gold.'

The judge crossed the yard, his two lieutenants follow­ing behind.

Ma Joong heaved a deep sigh. 'Women,' he told the sergeant sombrely, 'are fickle creatures.'

'So they say,' the sergeant replied absent-mindedly.

Ma Joong laid his large hand on his arm. 'Youth seeks youth, sergeant. One lives and learns. But it hurts.'

Sergeant Hoong suddenly remembered the fond look the wounded young constable had given Spring Cloud, and her sudden blush. So he just nodded and quickly walked on.