Part 16

"This foolishness must stop. I'm responsible for your lives and I'm not going to have you stuck up here for targets."

"But, Mr. Beauchamp," was the nonchalant reply, "we have won the first set from Dr. Sinclair. He has very nearly won the second from us. It would be cowardly of us to run away now without giving him a chance to finish it. I'm sure Mr. Carteret would never consent to that. Mr. Carteret, it's your service. We must get moving or we all may be killed."

"I think, Mr. Beauchamp," said Sinclair, "that what Miss MacAllister says is about right. There really appears to be less danger here than down in the town. Whether or not the French gunners have respected the consulate, their shells have done little damage just here."

But the consul was not to be put off so easily:

"Miss MacAllister, Mr. Carteret, Dr. Sinclair, I command you to stop this game and to go down to the rendezvous."

"Mr. Beauchamp, may I ask you one question?" Her voice was almost infantile in its innocence.

"Certainly, Miss MacAllister. If it be a short one."

"You remember the Canadian Indian song Dr. Sinclair sang at the consulate the evening after we arrived? Was that really Indian?"

"How do you think I know? I never lived among the Indians. It was all Greek to me."

"That's exactly what I thought. It was Greek to me. Mr. Carteret, it's your service. Please play ball."

The consul gave a long, low whistle, shrugged his shoulders, and said to himself:

"So that's where the wind lies. I fancy I might as well let them fight it out."

Sinclair's face crimsoned at her words; then paled a little. His jaw set hard and he returned Carteret's service with such a volley that neither of his opponents, though ordinarily better players than he, had any chance. In a few minutes he announced abruptly:

"Game! Set!"

"Set--all! We must play the rubber. I suppose you are willing to have a deciding set, Dr. Sinclair?"

"Certainly, Miss MacAllister."

There was something in his face and voice she had never seen or heard there before. She looked at him curiously--a little anxiously.

They exchanged courts, Sinclair taking the north or exposed end of the lawn, while his opponents had the south end and were sheltered behind the fort.

The consul looked at them for a moment, then seized a racket and joined Sinclair:

"If you young people are bound to be fools, I suppose I might as well jump into it and be a fool, too. It may finish the set so much the quicker."

It was not a long one. Miss MacAllister played well. But her partner, Carteret, usually an expert at tennis, was nervous and playing wretchedly. On the other hand, Sinclair, who ordinarily served well but was weak on the return, completely excelled himself. He drove his balls over the net with a savage strength which made his opponents' efforts to return them entirely hopeless. And on the return, where he was as a rule only moderately skilful, he let nothing pass him. Beauchamp played his usual swift, tricky, cheerful game.

The last game of the set had come. It was Sinclair's service.

"Play ball! ... Fifteen--love!"

He crossed to his left-hand court and lifted his racket. There was a long whine, a rush of wind, and a terrific crash. A slanting black groove was scored across the green almost at Sinclair's feet, and the earth thrown high in the air.

"Down! Down! Everybody down!" yelled the consul.

"Play ball!" shouted Sinclair, and drove a vicious service at Carteret. "Thirty--love!" he continued, and strode back to his right-hand court to serve again.

But there was no use continuing the game. Carteret, who had flung himself on the ground, arose with a hanging jaw and ghastly face, and a nerve too shaken to play any more that day. Miss MacAllister had thrown herself on a settee at the end of the lawn, her face covered with her hands to shut out the sight. The consul, though he had shouted to the others to down, had remained standing himself. He was staring fixedly at Sinclair:

"Doctor, you beat the devil."

"Nothing to get excited about, Beauchamp! Percussion fuse! If it did not explode when it hit the corner of the fort, it wasn't likely to when it went into the soft soil."

"Yes, that's all right. But you hadn't time to work that out before you served again. Besides, it passed within a yard of where you were standing."

"Well, what if it did? A miss is as good as a mile. There was no use going up in the air about it."

"Look here, Sinclair. What the devil ever induced you to play this fool game, anyway?"

"I had to."

The consul looked at him in silence for a minute.

"Well, perhaps you had," he said slowly.

"I'll leave you to see those people back to the rendezvous, Beauchamp. Carteret may need a stretcher. I see that Miss MacAllister is quite able to walk. I'm going to MacKay's."

He turned to go. As he did so he heard Miss MacAllister pronounce his name. He thought that she was only saying a conventional farewell. He lifted his hat and said:

"Good-afternoon, Miss MacAllister."

Without looking in her direction he was gone.

*XXVII*

*THE CHARGE OF THE TAMSUI BLUES*

During the week which lay between the first and second bombardments, Dr. Sinclair and Miss MacAllister saw very little of each other. The doctor was busy. But that was not the main reason why he did not meet Miss MacAllister. The previous week, no matter how busy he was, he could always find time to meet her.

The fact was that circumstances had changed. He did not want to see her. Between the halcyon days of the previous week and the gloom of this one some painful episodes had occurred. The stormy interview between mother and daughter had taken place. In her indignation the young lady had determined to make it plain to everybody in general, and to Dr. Sinclair in particular, that she was not enamoured of him and was not offering her love where it had not been sought.

In some respects she succeeded beyond her expectations. Sinclair was convinced. More than that! He was convinced that all along she had been only playing him. That reference to the song he had sung at the dinner made assurance doubly sure. All through those days when she had been so fascinatingly kind she had only been leading him on so that her revenge might be the sweeter.

If Sinclair had been a melodramatic individual, he would probably have torn out whole handfuls of his fair hair, thrown them two or three feet above his head in the direction of the high heavens, and raved some foolish and incoherent ravings, telling his wrongs to the winds and the wild waves, if they cared to listen. If he had been a profane person, he would have sworn picturesquely and would have asked Sergeant Gorman or some one else equally vigorous to kick him down the steep hill, on which the consulate was built, and up again for being a fool.

As he was neither melodramatic nor profane, he did neither of those things. He merely made up his mind in a cool, determined way that he would avoid Miss MacAllister as much as the narrow limits of their little community would allow, and when he was forced to meet her he would not grow enthusiastic over her, to say the least. When he met Gorman he did not ask to be kicked, but said:

"Look here, sergeant, there are going to be some lively times round here, or I'm no prophet. The French are not going to be satisfied with bombarding. And if they land a force and it comes to rifle-fire and perhaps the bayonet, there'll be some Chinese hurt."

"Right you are, docther. The shells don't take manny lives, barrin' thim that the noise scares to death. But the rifle bullets, they're the little divils that do the wurrk."

"Well, supposin' that you get leave again and we offer our services to General Soon to organize an ambulance brigade."

"I'm wid you, docther, from the drop of the hat."

So it came about that all that week Sinclair and Gorman were out on the wide commons in the vicinity of the Chinese camps, with squads of Chinese detailed for that service, to use General Leatherbottom's expression, "lickin' them into shape." Gorman gave them drill. Sinclair taught them how to splint and bandage, to put on a tourniquet and check the flow of blood, to make improvised stretchers and carry patients without irritating their wounds past recovery.

Soon the fair-haired "Life-healer" was nearly as well known and as popular among General Soon's yellow-skinned, slant-eyed hordes as he had become in Liu Ming-chuan's army before Keelung. But none of these Chinese soldiers knew how much of the training they received they owed to the fact that the "Red-haired Life-healer" had been badly used by the "barbarian girl" at a game of "phah-kiu," or strike ball.

One day Sinclair and Gorman were out as usual drilling their corps and training them in the principles of first aid. An exclamation of "Tai-eng-kok lang" (British people) from some of their men caused them to look up. Passing them some distance away were Miss MacAllister and Carteret. The latter was carrying an easel, for among his accomplishments he included considerable skill in sketching and painting.

They were making their way towards a little eminence which commanded a magnificent view in all directions. Carteret had asked her to take a walk, that he might point out the beautiful scenery. She had accepted the invitation in the hope of meeting Sinclair, whom she had not seen since he had so abruptly left the tennis lawn.

"Fwhat the divil is the spalpeen takin' the lady there for, wid thousands of Chinese soldiers rampagin' around for some diviltry to do?"

Sinclair took one look, then lowered his head, and went doggedly on with his work, giving the Chinese ambulance corps a demonstration of how to splint a broken thigh. Gorman looked at him wonderingly for an instant; then without a word joined him, pulling the shortened leg out into position and explaining each movement in the vernacular.

Meanwhile, the prime danger to which Miss MacAllister and Carteret were exposed was not from the Chinese soldiers. A herd of water-buffaloes were feeding on the short grass of the downs. Docile as these huge beasts are with the little native herd boys, they are often exceedingly vicious towards strangers, especially those dressed in a style to which they are unaccustomed. Now they were irritated by the bombardment and frequent ill-usage by the soldiers.

At the sight of the man and woman in foreign dress they began to show signs of excitement. Crowding in a dense mass of blue-grey, hairless bodies, they moved in arcs of a circle, of which the centre was the object of their intended attack. Their ugly snouts were thrust forward on a level with their shoulders. Their great, curved horns lay back on their necks. They pressed closer and closer behind the two foreigners. Suddenly one enormous brute with a snort threw itself forward in a charge.

A yell from one of the Chinese attracted the attention of Sinclair and Gorman. Miss MacAllister had turned to face the beast, with the light walking-stick she carried upraised in her hand. Carteret flung his easel at it, but did not interpose himself between his companion and the danger.

With a shout Gorman sprang to his feet and started to run, waving a heavy stick in his hand. He had not taken a half-dozen paces when a rifle cracked behind him. A bullet sang past and the great blue beast plunged forward on its knees, then rolled over on its side almost at Miss MacAllister's feet. Gorman glanced back. Sinclair was lying on the ground, in the act of throwing another shell into the breach of the rifle he held in his hands.

"Better go on, Gorman, and drive off the rest of the herd. You may have to escort these people home. It's not safe for them to be out."

With some shouts and a few resounding thwacks of his stick on their tough hides, Gorman drove off the buffaloes, and then turned savagely on Carteret:

"Tearin' ages! Fwhat in the name of all the saints possessed you to bring the young lady here? ... Fwhat? ... For a walk! ... Faith, an' if it hadn't been for the docther here, God bless him!--it's a walk her young ladyship wud have been takin' to hivin and you to hell this very minnit."

"You make very fine distinctions, Sergeant Gorman," said Carteret sarcastically.

"Distinction, is it? Begorra, the only man that has come out of this wid distinction is Dr. Sinclair here. An' you had better be afther thankin' him that the angels and the divils are not this minnit holdin' a celebration over your two souls respectively."

In spite of the danger she had just passed through, this was too much for Miss MacAllister's gravity. Her merry peal of laughter rang out at the evident discomfiture of Carteret. It was with eyes dancing with fun as well as full of gratitude that she met Sinclair as he came to inquire courteously for her well-being. He received her warm thanks quietly and made light of his skill as a shot, which she praised so highly.

"I am only too glad to be of any service to you. As for the shot, that was nothing. I have been accustomed to hunting in Canada since I was a small boy. I had to learn to take sure aim and shoot quickly."

Carteret thanked him in courteous terms, but without warmth.

Sinclair did not wait for any further conversation.

"It is really not safe for you to be out here without an armed escort," he said; "when the country is so disturbed and there are so many camp-followers about. Even we who are in a sense in the Chinese service always carry arms. Sergeant Gorman will see you safely home. I am on duty here."

He did not mention the obvious fact that Sergeant Gorman was also on duty. But Miss MacAllister did not fail to notice it, and understood. She thanked him as bravely as she could, and turned away with her escort. But it was some time before even Gorman's quaint humours and repetitions could draw a laugh from her.

That was the only time Sinclair and Miss MacAllister met that week.

*XXVIII*

*UNHOLY CONFESSORS*

That evening De Vaux and Carteret sat in the latter's quarters in the buildings of the customs compound. There were a number of other occupants of the room. De Vaux and Carteret sat on chairs, at least they did during the earlier part of the evening. The others sat on the table. They were highly honoured and necessary guests. They consisted of sundry bottles of Scotch whiskey, a nearly equal number of bottles of soda, and a varied assortment of bottles of wine.

Carteret felt that he needed some comfort and sympathy after the exciting experiences of the day. He had called in the guests, who now sat on the table to comfort him. De Vaux, as being somewhat permanently installed in Carteret's quarters, was helping to entertain. Indeed, De Vaux had a singular facility in entertaining and being entertained by guests of this nature.

"A man needs something after such experiences as I have had those last few days," said Carteret, pouring out a glass of whiskey and starting to fill up with soda. "Talk about war! By Jove! I have been in more uncomfortable places in the last five days than I was in a whole campaign in Egypt."

"Not so much soda, Carteret! Not so much soda! ... it spoils the flavour and weakens the effect. 'Pon my honour, it does! ... If my nerves are shaky and I want the taste to stay in my mouth, a little less than half soda is my rule."

"To the devil with the taste! There's lots more taste where this came from. But you're right. My nerves are all on the jump."

"The consul tells me that you had a narrow escape. Those infernal water-buffaloes! Bless my soul! I'm more afraid of a herd of them than a whole regiment of Chinese.... 'Pon my word, I am."

"So am I, the ugly brutes! And if the girl had got killed or injured there would have been the very deuce to pay. The consul and her father would have blamed me."

"The consul blames you as it is."

"Yes, that's the way with Beauchamp. He's an Englishman. But he's down on his own countrymen and his own class, and all for those damn boors of Canadians. He thinks more of MacKay and that upstart doctor than he does of a whole colony of English."

"Well, I shouldn't like to say that. Beauchamp has always been awfully decent with me. 'Pon my soul, he has! ... But he is vexed at you. He says that you ought to be deported."

"Only wish he would deport me! Anyway, he can't till the next boat. And on it he's going to have to deport his wife and Mrs. Thomson and Miss MacAllister. That will hurt him worst of all. Don't you fret. There'll be no deporting by that boat, unless I deport myself."

"You are pressing your case with Miss MacAllister deuced hard.... How is it looking? You should have some results by this time. 'Pon my honour, you should!"

Carteret drained his glass and filled it again.

"The mother's with me. She knows that the heir has only one lung."

"And the father?"

"Says nothing one way or the other. Don't think that he is quite satisfied with my religious principles."

"Bless my soul! Could you blame him?"

"Not if he knew all about them. But, thank the Lord, he doesn't!"

Carteret laughed disagreeably, cynically as he spoke.

De Vaux took his cigar out of his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and tipped his long glass so high that one might fancy that he feared lest even the moisture adhering to its sides should escape him. He set it down and wiped his lips with a sigh of satisfaction. Then he said:

"And what about the young lady herself?"

"An uncertain quantity."

"Has she given you no sign?"

"Signs enough sometimes that she wished I was in Jericho, or at the North Pole, or some other equally remote and cheerful place."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Just at present she's taken with that Canadian peasant's muscles. Like the rest of the women, she is more attracted by the body of a man than by his birth or brains."

He laughed again, and his laugh was unpleasant to hear.

De Vaux gulped down another drink and answered with a little bit of angry stutter:

"You've said enough, Carteret.... By Jove! there are lots of decent women.... If you and I haven't met many of them, it's our own fault.... 'Pon my honour, it is!"

"There may be. But they are not in the Far East. When I was in Shanghai, every woman in the settlement had her price, if you only knew what it was."

"I don't know what they are in Shanghai," replied De Vaux. "But I do know what they are in some other places, and I'll stake my honour on it they are not all like that. 'Pon my soul, they're not."

"Name one."

"Mrs. Beauchamp."

"Bound by conventionalities and kept in a glass case by her husband," sneered Carteret. "Get her out of that and she'd be just like the rest."

De Vaux struggled to his feet, his face purple, his voice choking with rage.

"Carteret," he stuttered in his high voice, "that's a lie---a damned lie! ... If you don't take it back"--he shook his fist across the table--"if you don't take it back, by God, I'll expose you!"

Carteret paled, sat up in his chair, and took the pipe out of his mouth.

"Look here, De Vaux," he said, "don't make a confounded fool of yourself. One would think that you were the lady's husband. I didn't mean anything. I was only joshing."

"Well, that's a kind of joshing I don't like when it is about my friends.... 'Pon my soul, I don't!" replied De Vaux, settling himself back into his chair.

"All right, De Vaux, there'll be no more of it. What'll you have? ... Let's break a bottle of champagne."

That was irresistible, and in a few minutes De Vaux's good-humour was restored. Presently he said:

"So you have hopes of winning the fair MacAllister yet?"

"Sure of it when I get her away from here and can use the title as a bait."

"The title! Is it so near as that? Have you had any word?"

"Had word from my agent and solicitor by the last boat. My dearly beloved brother's cough is quite distressing. He has been ordered to Mentone for the winter. The agent does not think that he will ever get there. And, if he does, he's sure that he'll never get back. The old man is taking on about it. He's not at all in love with the idea of the succession of the heir presumptive. They do not think that he will live through the autumn. If October does not finish him, November will."

De Vaux had little reason to love his own parents and family, whoever they were. But the cynical heartlessness of Carteret grated on him. He turned the conversation a little:

"So you intend to leave the island soon?"

"By the next trip of the _Hailoong_, if the French do not bottle us up for the winter."

"And then you'll bring matters to a conclusion with Miss MacAllister?"

"Yes. Her people intend to spend the winter in Hong-Kong. So do I. If the old man and my beloved brother are only sufficiently obliging to depart in peace with reasonable expeditiousness, I shall be Lord Lewesthorpe. You know what that means in the colony. I haven't yet seen the tradesman's daughter who could resist. They are all falling over each other in their willingness to exchange their money for a title. Quite envious of the preeminent success of their fair American cousins, as the newspapers say, in getting so many titles knocked down to them. The mother is ready to bid mine up. The decayed Lewesthorpe fortunes need the money more than I need the girl."

Drunk as he was getting to be, De Vaux was disgusted with the callousness of his companion. He sat silent for a few minutes, looking straight at Carteret out of his bulging, bloodshot eyes. Then he blurted out:

"Carteret, what are you going to do with the Chinese girl?"

"Nothing in particular," was the reply, with a cynical laugh. "Any of you fellows can have her, if you want her. If not, and the French take this beastly island, one of them will take her. They are generally ready for an _affaire d'amour_."

"And you are going to desert that Chinese girl and her child--your child--and let them go to the devil? And then you're going to ask Miss MacAllister to marry you, she of course knowing nothing of the other?"

"Of course. Why not? It won't hurt her so long as she doesn't know anything about it. If she does find it out afterwards, she can make the best of it. It would be the same if she married any other man."

"Carteret, you are a scoundrel.... 'Pon my soul! ... That's what you are--a double-dyed scoundrel."

Carteret rose to his feet and faced De Vaux across the table. His face was pale and ugly:

"Come now, De Vaux. A little of that goes a long way. If I am a scoundrel, you are five times as much a scoundrel. For, if my arithmetic and memory are right, that is just the number of half-breed youngsters I counted in your house up river."

De Vaux stood for some moments gasping for breath and struggling to get control of himself. He was dangerously near the apoplectic fit which had been so often foretold for him. But he passed the danger point, recovered himself, and said:

"Yes, Carteret, your memory and your arithmetic were right. There _were_ five. But they are all the children of one woman. And that woman, though she is a Chinese, is just as much my wife as things out here go as if the banns had been published and the service read.... 'Pon my honour, she is! ... I am educating my children. They are safe in Hong-Kong at the present moment.... Bless my soul, I had a letter from the oldest by the last mail.... More than that, Carteret, since I have had that Chinese woman, I have never sought a white woman, and never intend to.... Thank God, I have a little bit of a man in me yet!"