The Phantom of the Temple

'If Lee Ko has a well-to-do elder brother, why then is he living in poverty?' Judge Dee asked.

The other shrugged his thin shoulders.

'They had a quarrel last year, people say. Your Excel­lency knows how it is nowadays, the people don't under­stand any more that fathers and sons, elder and younger brothers should always keep together. I always say—'

'Quite. Here is the money. No, you needn't wrap them up.'

The judge put the jade bracelets in his sleeve. When they were outside he said to Ma Joong, 'It's only a ten minutes' walk to the Bell Tower. Since we have pursued our inquiries this far, we had better call on Mr Lee Ko.'

They crossed the main thoroughfare again and walked round the raised platform of the Bell Tower. The bronze surface of the huge bell suspended from the red-lacquered rafters shone dully. It was beaten every morning, to rouse the citizens at daybreak. An obliging water carrier direc­ted them to a barrack-like wooden house in a narrow back street, apparently inhabited by small shopkeepers.

The front door was of plain boards, the cracks here and there clumsily repaired. The windows flanking the door were shuttered.

'Lee's house doesn't look very prosperous,' Judge Dee commented as he rapped his knuckles on the door.

'He should've become a curio-dealer!’ said Ma Joong sourly.

They heard the sound of heavy footsteps. A crossbar was removed and the door swung open.

The tall, slovenly dressed man suddenly stepped back. 'Who ... what ...?' he stammered. Evidently he had been expecting only a tradesman. Judge Dee quietly took in the other's lean face with its small black moustache and large, alert eyes. His long brown gown, stained with paint, hung loosely about him; his black velvet cap was threadbare.

'Are you Mr Lee Ko, the painter?' Judge Dee asked politely. And when the other nodded silently, he went on, 'I am magistrate Dee, and this is my assistant, Ma Joong.' Noticing that Lee's face grew pale, he resumed affably, 'This is quite an informal visit, Mr Lee! I am interested in landscape painting, you see, and I have heard that you are an expert. When my morning walk took me to this neighbourhood, I decided on the spur of the moment to drop in and have a look at your work.'

'A great honour, sir! A great honour indeed!’ Lee said quickly. Then his face fell. 'Unfortunately, my house is in a terrible state just now. My assistant didn't come home last night. He always cleans up for me, you see. If Your Excellency could come perhaps after ...'

'I don't mind a bit!’ the judge interrupted him jovially and stepped inside the dark hall.

The painter took them to a large, low-ceilinged room at the back, dimly lit by two broad windows pasted over with soiled tissue-paper. He pushed a ramshackle high-backed chair up to the table on trestles in the centre, and offered Ma Joong a bamboo tabouret.

When Lee went to the wall table to prepare tea, Judge Dee glanced casually at the litter of rolls of paper and silk and vases of paint brushes on the table. The paint in the small platters had dried to a cracked crust, and a thin film of dust covered the inkslab. The painter had appar­ently just taken his breakfast, for on the end of the table stood a cracked bowl of rice gruel, and beside it lay a piece of oil-paper with a small quantity of pickles on it.

Against the wall on the left hung dozens of landscape paintings, all done in black and white. Some of them the judge thought quite impressive. When he turned to gaze at the scrolls displayed on the wall opposite, however, he frowned. All those pictures represented Buddhist deities. Not the serene, beautiful gods and goddesses of older Buddhism, but the half-naked, fierce-looking demons of the later esoteric school. Terrifying figures with many heads and arms, monstrous faces, rolling eyes and wide-open mouths, wearing garlands of severed human heads. Some were clasping their female counterparts in their arms. These pictures were executed in full colours, with a liberal use of gold and green.

When Lee had put two teacups on the table, the judge remarked, 'I like your landscapes, Mr Lee. They aim at achieving the grand manner of our ancient masters.'

The painter looked pleased.

'I love landscapes, sir. In spring and autumn I make long trips in the mountains to the north and east of our city. I don't think there's one peak in this district which I haven't climbed! In my paintings I try to render the essence of the scenes of nature I have seen.'

Judge Dee nodded with approval. He turned round and pointed at the religious paintings.

'Why should a high-minded artist like you stoop to those barbarian horrors?'

Lee sat down on a bamboo bench in front of the win­dow. Smiling thinly, he replied, 'Landscapes don't keep my rice-bowl full, sir! But there's a big demand for those Buddhist scrolls among the Tartar and Uigur population of this city. As you know, these people believe in that disgusting new creed that teaches that the intercourse of man and woman is a replica of the mating of Heaven and Earth and a means of reaching salvation. The devotees identify themselves with those fierce gods and their female counterparts. Their ritual includes—'

Judge Dee raised his hand.

'I know all about those abominable excesses, committed under the cloak of religion. They lead to lechery and dark crimes. When I was serving as magistrate of Han-yuan I had to deal with several disgusting murders com­mitted in a Taoist monastery where that ritual was secretly followed.* (* See The Haunted Monastery, London 1963.) Whether the Buddhists took this ritual over from the Taoists or vice versa, I don't know and I care less.' He angrily tugged at his beard. Then he gave the painter a sharp look. 'You don't mean to say that those awful rites are still being practised here in this district?'