The Phantom of the Temple

The judge paused. He took a comb from his sleeve and began to comb his beard and whiskers. Giving the sergeant a grave look, he resumed, 'Yet you'll realize, Hoong, that there are still a few loose ends to be tied up. I don't think I shall have to take any further legal action, but it is my duty to make sure. Ma Joong is still busy up in the deserted temple, supervising the cleaning of the crypt. If you aren't too tired, Hoong, I would like you to go with me when I make a call down town.'

'I would like very much to accompany you, sir,' the sergeant said quietly. 'For I don't think it'll be a very pleasant call.'

Judge Dee smiled wanly. How well his old friend always gauged his mood!

'Thank you, Hoong. We'll go as we are, and leave the tribunal by the back door. We'll hire a sedan chair in the street.'

The bearers put the chair down in front of the Temple of the War God. While the judge was paying them off, Sergeant Hoong made inquiries from two loafers who were sitting on the broad stone steps of the temple gate. He asked the way to a cheap brothel, housed in an old military barrack. They told him, with a contemptuous sneer.

Together they walked on to the poor quarter. A street urchin took them to the barrack on the corner of the crooked lane. Now all the windows of the ramshackle wooden building were open. Heavily made-up women were leaning out. Fanning themselves with fans of gaudy silk, they shouted inviting remarks at the passers-by. But the men in the street didn't heed them. Standing about in small groups, they were discussing the happenings in the deserted temple. The coolies and beggars who had accompanied Judge Dee's cortege had rushed back to the city to tell the news.

Judge Dee recognized the barred arch window Ma Joong had described, and the low, dark door-opening farther on. It reminded the judge of the entrance to a tomb.

He descended the steep steps, followed by Sergeant Hoong.

After the noise in the street outside, the stillness that reigned in the cellar was uncanny. The old man in black was sitting huddled up in his window, his head resting on the bamboo stick across his knees. In the rear the candle shone on the large head of the King, cradled on his folded arms. He seemed to be sleeping.

When Judge Dee stepped up to the table, there came a fluttering sound from above, and a thin voice screamed:

'A beard, Monk! A beard! Wake up!'

The stick swept down in a threatening curve.

'Be quiet, you!' Judge Dee barked at the bald man. 'I am the magistrate.'

The man in the window shrank. He pressed his frail body against the iron bars, in a dead fright.

The King had raised his head from the table. He pointed at the stool in front.

'Sit down, judge. You must be tired, for I am told you had a heavy night.'

Judge Dee took the bamboo stool. Sergeant Hoong came to stand behind him. Silently the judge took in the giant's broad, grooved face, the still eyes, the high fore­head. Then his eyes strayed to the table-top, covered with intricate carved designs. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his stiff knees. He had been on his feet the entire night.

'Well, what can I do for you?' the other asked in his deep voice.

'You can help me with some expert advice, Monk,' the judge replied quietly. 'You aren't called the Monk for nothing, are you? You were a real monk, once. Of the Temple of the Purple Clouds. Long ago, when the esoteric ritual was still being practised there. And, after the authorities had the temple vacated, you built the Her­mitage. You and one priestess. Therefore I consider you an expert on temples, Monk.'

The giant nodded slowly.

'Yes, judge, those who call you an exceedingly clever man are right. You need no advice, judge, none what­soever. And certainly not from me.'

'I do. On a minor detail, you see. Aren't the airshafts of a crypt under a temple always provided with gratings? To prevent rats from entering them? I don't mention rabbits, of course.'

The King sat very still. His immensely broad shoulders sagged still further. Looking up at the judge from under the ragged fringe of his long grey eyebrows, he muttered, 'So you know. Yes, you are clever, judge. I have said it before, and I'll say it again!'

'You forgot about the gratings, Monk, but you also made a more serious mistake. The wording of the message you put in the box was all wrong. Why should a girl who is dying from hunger and thirst add the year to the date of her message? I saw at once that it was utterly wrong. And then, after I had understood that the jade disc on the box was intended to hint at the place where she allegedly was kept captive, I knew for certain that the entire message was a hoax. Granted that she might have found such an ebony box among the litter in the crypt, and granted that she had a tinderbox to light one of the old candles there, nobody in his senses would ever believe that a frantic girl who feels that her life is ebbing away would think up such an elaborate puzzle.' Point­ing at the table-top, he resumed: 'Such a puzzle would rather emanate from the warped brain of some­one who sits brooding over magic figures, for days on end.'