The Phantom of the Temple

'I had it cremated, and the ashes scattered. That was her last wish.'

The other lifted his big hands in a hopeless gesture. 'That means I have lost her. For ever. The wind will blow her ashes over the plain, and they'll change into a white witch, rushing through the air, white and naked on her black steed, by the side of the red god, her master. They'll ride the gale together when it comes raging over the desert, and when the Tartars hear her scream they'll cower in their tents and say their prayers. You should've buried her ashes, Judge.'

'The rule is,' Judge Dee said dryly, 'that the ashes of a person who leaves no known relatives are scattered.'

'You don't believe the things I told you, do you, judge?'

'I neither believe nor disbelieve them. You asked a futile question, Monk. Tell me, where did the gold in the temple come from?'

'I don't know. Tala knew, but she never told me. Someone must have hidden it there, last year. In my time it wasn't there.'

'I see. Did Lee Ko meet Tala in the temple?'

For a long time the Monk remained silent. His large head sunk, he aimlessly traced with his finger the incised designs on the table-top. At last he spoke: 'Lee was a learned man and a great artist. But he wanted to know too much, far too much. There are things that even a wise man like you had better not know, judge. Therefore I shall tell you only this. Twenty years ago, when I was forty and Tala twenty, we were the high priest and high priestess of the Temple of the Purple Clouds. When, five years later, the authorities closed down the temple, we feigned to forswear the creed, and continued to practise it in secret, in the Hermitage. For we were adepts, versed in all the mysteries. We knew much about what people for want of better words call the beginning and the end of the spark of life. We knew too much. But we didn't know, judge, that man is bound to travel in circles, always. Just when you think you have arrived at the end, about to reach the ultimate mystery, you suddenly find yourself right back where you started. Tala, the high priestess, who knew all the secrets, fell in love with Lee Ko. And she left me.'

Suddenly he laughed. It echoed hollowly in the empty cellar. The old man in the window began to hop to and fro. The Monk checked himself. He said sombrely: 'You didn't laugh, judge. You are right. For the biggest laugh is yet to come. You'd think that I, the high priest of esoteric love, would just shrug at her folly, and go my way, wouldn't you? No. When she was moving from the Hermitage to the city, I begged her not to leave me, judge! Begged her!' With a superhuman effort he raised himself on his muscular arms and shouted: 'Laugh now, judge! Laugh at me, I tell you!'

Judge Dee met his haunted eyes levelly. 'I don't know how Tala felt about you, Monk. I do know, however, that she still loved her daughter. Last night she was luring my lieutenant to the spot behind the temple where Yang would kill him, letting the top of the crumbling wall crush him. But at the very last moment, she sud­denly saw your daughter coming up behind him, and she raised her arms in alarm. That frantic gesture frightened my lieutenant. He halted in his steps, and that saved his life.'

The Monk glanced away.

'I had hoped,' he said in a low voice, 'that Tala would discard Yang in the same manner as she had discarded Lee. Abandon Yang, as soon as he had got the gold. I also hoped I would then be able to wean her away from her terrible god. For although the spark of life has died in me, I am still familiar with the unnamed rites, and I still know the unutterable spells.' He heaved a deep sigh that swelled his broad chest. 'Yes, I had hoped to free her from her bonds, and take her and our daughter over the border, to our own people. To ride over the wide plain again! To ride on and on, for days on end, in the clean, crisp air of the desert!'

'I remember,' Judge Dee said slowly, 'that I told Yang that the horse that breaks loose from the team will roam over the plain, free and untrammelled. But the day will come when it grows lonely and tired. Then it finds itself all alone and lost — the track effaced by the wind, and the chariot vanished beyond the horizon.'

The Monk, lost in thought, did not seem to have heard him. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft.

'Without her god, Tala would have shrunk to an empty shell, just like me. For although the gods let us spend freely all we want to spend, they never give any of it back. But even two empty, old people who love each other can at least wait for death together. Now that I have lost Tala, I shall have to wait alone. It won't be too long.' His voice had become so low as to be hardly audible. He raised his head, and whispered hoarsely, 'It's getting late, judge. You'd better go. Unless you think you should take action against me, or ... or take my testimony...'