The Lacquer Screen

'Behind the Temple of the War God you'll find a terrain especially reserved for physical exercise, Mr Shen.'

'Thank you,' the judge said primly, 'but I prefer to avail myself of the facilities offered by this hospitable inn.'

They went outside.

The two men made slow progress, for it had grown a little cooler, and a dense crowd was about. But when they crossed the open square in front of the tribunal compound, they saw no one near the gatehouse. Apparently the session had started already and the spectators were assembled in the court hall. They passed underneath the stone archway of the gatehouse, where hung the huge bronze gong that announced the beginning of each court session. The four guards sitting on the bench eyed them indifferently.

They hurriedly ran across the empty main courtyard and entered the shadowy hall. From far in the back they heard a monotonous voice droning a lengthy statement. The two men remained standing just inside the door, letting their eyes adjust themselves to the half darkness. Over the heads of the crowd of spectators standing together farther down, they saw against the back wall the high bench, covered with scarlet cloth, standing on a raised dais. Behind it was en­throned Magistrate Teng, resplendent in his official robe of shimmering green brocade, and wearing the black judge's cap, its two stiffened wings standing out on either side of his head. He seemed engrossed in the document in front of him, slowly tugging at his thin goatee. Counsellor Pan stood by the side of his chair, his hands folded in his sleeves. The magistrate's bench was flanked by two lower tables where the court clerks were sitting. Behind the one on the right stood a grey-haired man, evidently the senior scribe, reading aloud a legal document. The entire back wall of the hall was covered by a dark-violet screen-curtain. In its centre the large image of a unicorn, the symbol of perspicacity, was beauti­fully embroidered in gold thread.

Judge Dee went on and joined the crowd of spectators. Raising himself on tiptoe he could see four constables stand­ing in front of the bench, carrying iron chains, clubs, hand screws and the other terrifying paraphernalia of their office. Their headman, a squat brutish-looking man with a thin ringbeard, stood somewhat apart, fingering a heavy whip. As usual everything in the tribunal was calculated to impress the public with the majesty of the law, and the awful con­sequences of getting involved with it. Everyone appearing there, old and young, rich and poor, and no matter whether complainant or accused, had to kneel on the bare stone floor in front of the bench, shouted at by the constables and, if the magistrate ordered so, cruelly beaten on the spot. For the fundamental rule of justice was that everyone appearing be­fore the bench was considered guilty until he was able to prove his innocence.

'We didn't miss much' Judge Dee whispered to Chiao Tai. 'The scribe is reading out the new constitution of some guild or trade organization, I think he is coming to the con­cluding paragraphs.'

When, a little later, the scribe fell silent, the magistrate raised his head and spoke:

'You have all heard now the new text of the constitution of the Guild of Metal Workers, as submitted by the said guild and amended by this court. Is there any objection?' He waited a moment, surveying the audience. Judge Dee quickly ducked. When no one spoke up, Teng resumed: 'This court then declares that the new constitution is approved, and shall stand as such.'

He rapped the bench sharply with the gavel, an oblong block of hardwood significantly known as the 'Wood that frightens the hall '.

A rotund, middle-aged man with a large paunch stepped forward and knelt in front of the bench. He was clad in white mourning dress.

'Nearer!' the headman growled at him.

As the man in white obediently crawled closer to the dais, Judge Dee nudged his neighbour and asked:

'Who is that?'

'Don't you know? That's the banker Leng Chien. He is the associate of Ko Chih-yuan, the old silk merchant who committed suicide last night.'

'I see,' Judge Dee said. 'Who is he in mourning for?'

'Heaven, you don't know a thing, do you? He is in mourn­ing for his younger brother, of course. The famous painter Leng Te, who died two weeks ago. It was that lingering lung disease of his that did it.'