The Treasure in the Dragon's Maw

In Which the Proverbial Ogre of China Plays Its Part in a Peking Mystery

PAUL MORAND

THIS story goes back to the days during the War, before the young Emperor was exiled to Tien-Tsin, where he now is. It happened during the time when President Hou was enjoying a short-lived sway at Peking. In North China, presidents were succeeding one another every few months, but nobody thought much about them. Soldiers went on pillaging, diplomatists continued to drink as many cocktails as before, journeymen carpenters planed and knocked together as many coffins as ever. When vacation-time ended with the coming of autumn, a number of us Europeans in the Legation Quarter,-consular and diplomatic attaches, bank employees and several girls and young women,-refused to waste time over bridge or fake Ming antiques. Over-stimulated by the dry autumn air of North China, we never went to bed, were always anxious to start some new game and were ready for any original prank. We constituted a sort of "tribunal", something like the Court of Proctor's Clerks in the old Parliament of Paris. None of us was in the least disposed to work; we were hardly ever home before sunrise; we were somewhat rowdyish and perfectly carefree. Every day one or the other of our crowd would think up some unheard of manner of amusement, launch a new fad, set the fashion of the day, which the rest would follow with enthusiasm. The most daring among us was Armand de Mussegros, son of the French Minister. A great gambler and drinker who had risked his neck a thousand times in dangerous steeplechasing, he was famous both for his remarkable luck at the Peking and Shanghai racetracks, and for his good humour and graceful casualness. Mussegros was born in Peking, and spoke Chinese fluently. Lea Mallry, of the British Legation, and Clotilde van Meulcn, the American beauty of the Customs Office, swore by him, the one in blond, the other in brunette, —those two languages of the women-flowers.

FROM a recent trip to Europe, Armand de Mussegros had brought back a thousand novelties to gladden life in Peking for weeks to come; toy gramophones, fresh slang expressions, stunning clothes, the newest motor cars and games nobody had heard of. Everybody now knows about the "treasure hunt"; in those days it was a novelty. A sum of money is collected, piled up, tied into a handkerchief and hidden, by the one in charge of the game, in some spot that nobody else knows about. The game consists in picking up and following the trail and discovering the hiding place; the first to arrive wins the treasure. In order that this game be accompanied by the greatest possible excitement, the treasure should be hidden in some entirely unimaginable place, for instance, on a third person who is not aware of what is going on. To arrive at the goal, a complete series of written directions is used, which arc again secreted in various places difficult to find, and which, as in Treasure Island, indicate the trail from the one to the next. When Mussegros first made the game popular in Peking, it was indeed the rage. Every night there would be peregrinations about the town, unannounced visits, searches, surprise parties, whole detachments of young people wearing shorts and horn-rimmed spectacles, breaking from sudden ambush, piling into motor cars, descending upon the native quarter in rickshaws, scouring the open country on horseback amidst shouts and laughter and the neighing of ponies, leaving a trail of empty champagne bottles, and followed by the curses of the mafoos. Revolutions, civil wars, executions,— nothing mattered to us. We took our fun right in the midst of belligerent uprisings, just as the Chinese go on with their work while battles rage around them.

THE treasure hunt which I shall describe held several surprises in store for us and has remained a famous episode in Peking. The conspirators had met at the cocktail hour in the Temple of Heaven. Under the red portals, which open onto the main thoroughfare, a street crowded with carts with grating wheels, wedding processions, donkeys, Fords, funerals, and dromedaries, there stood a number of American automobiles and several horses with loosened harness, attended by grooms. On the bridle path, in groups of twos and threes, the Europeans spurred their horses and broke into a gallop which made the dry earth resound under the shod hoofs. Beneath the trees, in shadowy lanes, the earth was baked at the end of a torrid summer; here and there were rose-colored pavillions with roofs of varnished tiles, portions of crumbling walls, secret gardens, serrated like labyrinths by partitions of sweet-smelling hedges, divided into compartments, paved with flagstones, intersected by brooks and ponds, reminding one somewhat of those of the Alcazar in Seville. Finally the band reached vast clearings, sites of vanished temples, of which nothing now remains but the marble foundations and steps covered with green growth, sinking deeper into the earth. There, when the ponies were tied to tamarind trees, our group of young Europeans gathered again and resumed its plotting under the leadership of Armand de Mussegros. Lea Mallry, blond and slight, dressed in Oriental style despite her Nordic face, looked like the heroines in Rackham's and Dulac's drawings, so perfectly British in the frame of The Arabian Nights. Clotilde van Mculen was a reddish brunette, pessimistic and disillusioned; everybody liked her for her way of saying: "I don't know how to make anybody like me." She made a magnificent figure on horseback and was never a laggard when we were engaged in an escapade.

"All I can tell you," said Armand de Mussegros, tapping his boots with his short stick, "is that tonight is the night. The treasure amounts to 1,200 American dollars. This time I have 'touched' the Russo-Asiatic Bank and also made Mr. Kennedy, of the Shanghai Bank, contribute. The money, my friends, is already hidden in its appointed place, awaiting your dexterity, your versatility in detective stunts and your knack in second story work and housebreaking. You start tonight at eleven o'clock, after dinner, from the Peking Club. In spite of all the obstacles put in our path these days by the ill-fated Chinese, the treasure, if all goes well, should be located inside of two hours. Ask me no more, for I myself do not know anything besides what I have told you; I cannot, therefore, tell you more. Moreover, I have made it a rule in life to be on the side of those who are searching for treasure rather than those who—temporarily—possess it."

Clotilde van Meulcn, who was waving the nickel cocktail shaker in approved style, spoke up: "I have been told confidentially that we might as well be prepared for an expedition quite out of the ordinary. Willy Orkowsky hid the money this time, and Slavs have a good deal of imagination."

"'The obstacles put in our path by these illfated Chinese," to which Armand tie Mussegros had just alluded, consisted of nothing less than a battle that was about to take place in the suburbs of Peking between warring Chinese factions. Several symptoms had indicated for some days past that a battle was approaching; one in particular was that President Hou had flown from the Tartar quarter of the town and taken refuge, which he had arranged for himself and his collection of monochrome vases two days before, in the cellars of the Japanese Legation.

THAT same evening, at the appointed time, our merry crowd gathered in full strength on the macadam road that leads through the postern gate of the Legation Quarter and thence to the fortifications and the Grand Hotel, Those who gathered in front of the Peking Club were for the most part of American, British, Italian and French origin. Willy Orkowsky, the dandy of the Russo-Asiatic Bank, a daredevil and a sly humourist (there used to be so many of these Russians), stepped out of the club and handed Mussegros, the leader of the treasure hunters, a folded and sealed piece of paper.

"Here arc your Instructions," he said. "The paper chase may now commence. I hope you will not have to spend a white night (he laughed when he said that) although almost anything is possible. For my part, Mussegros, I'll bet you a dozen of champagne that you are going to return empty-handed."

The paper was opened; it contained the following:

"Go immediately to sec W. F. Benserade's Chinese paintings. Have him show you particularly the one with the two white geese, signed Wan-Kou-Siang. You will then learn that the treasure is hidden in the dragon's maw."

During the few hours which had elapsed between our first meeting at the Temple of Heaven and our second gathering, strange events had taken place elsewhere. However, these had scarcely bothered us during our highly animated dinner which had been washed down by copious draughts of great vintages. What had happened, in a word, was this: Marshal Chai and General Achi Lung, his enemy, had been testing the strength of their unequal forces in the outskirts of Peking since sunset, and a panic had broken out among the Chinese. We were destined, a few hours later, to learn and see for ourselves what was going on.

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The moon shone brightly. The yellow dust of the afternoon had settled down when we moved forward in rickshaws and in automobiles through the dark streets. We crossed the Jade Canal, circled around Coal Mill and reached the neighborhood of the Catholic cathedral where W. F. Benserade's house stood. Benserade was an eccentric old fellow with a yellowish complexion. He was old-fashioned, but a decent chap whose prestige in legation circles was great because of his collection. He did very little entertaining and lived in the Chinese manner, surrounded by servants. Armand de Mussegros, who was in the lead, rang the bell. The doorkeeper, frightened at the sight of so many people in the narrow alley at such an hour, only unfastened the latch of the door. His master had gone to bed. But, the sound of our klaxons and horns brought him, in a dressing-gown, to the door, where he stood in the glare of our headlights. We cheered the old man. In a cajoling voice, Lea Mallry suggested that he open some champagne for us. Benserade, who was smitten by her, opened his house to the crowd. Presently, with the incredible dispatch of the Chinese servants, a supper was served, to which we did ample justice.

"And now," whispered Armand de Mussegros to us, "to work!"

"Before we go, my dear Benserade," said Lea Mallry, "may I ask a favour of you? I should like to see once more those two white geese among the nymphs,—that exquisite Ming painting you showed me one day."

Like a devil with his pitchfork, Benserade brought out his collector's furcated bamboo. He unfurled the longscroll. As he raised his head to hook the painting on a nail high up, a small piece of folded paper fell from the roll and dropped to the floor. Mussegros picked it up quickly and put it into his pocket.

While we all waxed politely ecstatic over the geese, signed WanKou-Siang, we were making signs to one another, betraying our impatience to be off. As soon as we could, we slipped away.

Outside, Armand de Mussegros immediately unfolded the paper and read it by the light of the headlights.

"After painting comes pottery. Go now and ask Paul to show you his violet monochromes signed KicnLung."

It was only a moment before we were knocking at the door of the famous antiquary, for he lived in the same quarter. Paul was dining, surrounded by his sons and his clerks, all seated about a patriarchal table, for a Chinese merchant treats his employees as if they were all members of the family. Paul bowed politely, offered us tea, sent us mentally to the devil, but said nothing of the sort aloud, for he recognized among us the sons and daughters of some of his best customers. He acceded to our request, opened a lacquer chest and showed us his "violets", the monochromes.

"Have you any that are signed?" asked Mussegros.

"Yes, sir. Those two bowls bear on the bottom and on the back the monogram of the Emperor Kien-Lung."

We seized upon these at once. What mysterious hand, true to the pact, had deposited the small piece of paper, folded four times, that was lying there? This little paper sent us, as in the game of Mother Goose, to the Irish nuns. We did not have to rouse them, however, (it was now two o'clock in the morning) because, pasted on the very gate of the convent, we found written instructions, sending us to Room 28 of the Hotel des Wagon-Lits. This was the apartment of the British commercial attache, an elderly and most respectable gentleman, whom everybody would suppose to be asleep at nine o'clock, but whose bed we found empty at three in the morning. This prophetic note was pinned to his pillow:

"Refresh yourselves, for the last trial is a hard one. You have a hard task before you. In the Street of the Swallow there is a house whose owner is away. It will not be easy to gain entrance to it. But once inside, go straight to the drawing room and you will find the red dragon. Courage! The treasure is in the dragon's maw."

"By George!" exclaimed Mussegros. "Here is sport! The red dragon! This fellow Orkowsky has the Devil's own cheek! That house is the President's own residence! Yes, President Hou, who has taken refuge in the Japanese Legation. I know his drawing room well, for I've been there often. Orkowsky and I dined there a week ago, and we even laughed together at that very red dragon because it looked so much like Roosevelt. Off to the Street of the Swallow!"

The deeper we went into the Chinese quarter, the more clearly we saw that with the end of night the panic was growing. We soon began to doubt that we should be able to reach the President's house at all, or rather his wife's house, since he himself had fled, remembering just in time that the Legation Quarter is inviolable. In his hasty choice between the honour of suicide and the advantages of flight, Hou had cheerfully abandoned a family, of which only the illegitimate members had his affection. Marshal Chai, we were informed, had just routed the government forces and had, two hours ago, occupied this part of Peking, which was now virtually in his power. Careful to assure himself of hostages, he had strung around the President's house an imposing force of soldiers and Mongolian horsemen who looked like so many jailers.

Armand de Mussegros was not to be stopped by such a trifle, however. He presented his credentials and had himself conducted before the marshal. Speaking in Chinese with as much pomp as if he were on a diplomatic mission, he told the marshal that he desired to enter the President's house. He gave as our pretext an official investigation. The marshal smiled, but ventured no opinion, afraid that he might spoil his front, while a number of couriers, spies and counter-spies were sent all over the city, to make certain of the identity of these young Europeans. Bitter tea was offered us in a most ceremonious manner. An exceedingly courteous conversation started, long drawn out and patient, and lasted till daybreak. The ladies had already begun to show signs of fatigue and Lea Mallry had exhausted her supply of rice powder, when Mussegros' perseverance won out. Day dawned, the cicadas began their music, the marshal yawned. He gave in. T he President's house was opened to the treasure hunters. Leaving our three motors at the door, we entered the inner courtyards, separated from one another by round openings. I he police commissioners were intimidated, the guards stood aside, and their varied and extraordinary weapons no longer threatened us.

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Inside the house numerous servants v.ere scurrying about, pursued by geese and guinea-hens. On the trail of our treasure, we reached first a dining room, then a drawing room, which Mussegros recognized. This was the place. Already a number of marauders, disguised as police, had begun to carry off the furniture. Alas, they had started with the red enamel dragon. They had taken away our treasure! We had arrived too late.

"We have been robbed!" exclaimed Mussegros.

We were just about to leave this room, which now looked much more like a waiting room in a railway station than a Chinese drawing room, when the full-length portrait of the President, which graced one end of it, was being moved by main force, undoubtedly from the rear, and swung aside like a shutter. Through the window-like opening which it made in the wall a courtyard presented itself to our view in the light of the rising sun, and in this courtyard a veritable mobilization of the presidential retinue, the sight of which we shall not soon forget. At the head of the procession was an aged lady of high rank, looking very green, who came forward, leaning on a cane of black wood. She was surrounded by her daughters in bright jackets, followed by concubines in plum-colored silk, servants of every rank, stable boys, chefs and pastry cooks, physicians and porters.

"Why, there is the President's wife!" exclaimed Clotilde van Meulen.

Behind her stood a huge Chinese, naked to the waist, wearing on his head a beige "derby". He carried in his arms a child covered with silver jewellery.

"And that, without doubt, is the President's youngest son!"

"I recognize her perfectly," said Mussegros. "She dined at the Legation about a month ago."

A crowd that gathered on the walls and in the trees, apparently desiring to appear to be on the marshal's side and court his good graces, expressed its hostility to the President's wife by hurling stones and imprecations.

"If they should set the house afire we would be broiled alive in this trap," remarked Lea.

"She is right," assented Clotilde. "Let the treasure go hang; it's high time we left."

We retreated to the street where the three treasure-hunting motor cars were awaiting us. But when we reached them they were already occupied. Having learned that these cars belonged to Europeans and were going back to the Legation Quarter, the retinue of the President's wife, anxious to join their master, President Hou, in safe hiding at the Japanese Legation, had taken our cars by storm under cover of the general confusion. We finally got under way, after dropping the bunched humanity that clung to the running boards of the cars. As it was, they were filled with three times the capacity of a European automobile. How could we bear to strew the road with these ravishing concubines, not to mention the President's wife, who hid her eyes behind her fan? We had to take them with us. The marshal was asleep, and we did not wake him. The guards, thinking that the Europeans had special orders, presented arms and let us pass with military honors. The President's wife, her face squeezed tightly by two compresses of green silk, which compressed a very bad headache, closed her eyes and let herself be led. Phis fantastic procession went through the streets of Peking at sunrise and finally arrived at the gate leading into the Legation Quarter. Because of the disturbances, the gate was closed and guarded. We got out of the cars to have it opened. Suddenly, Armand de Mussegros, who had walked around behind the motors, gave a shout.

"Look here!" he cried. "On the trunk rack!"

Not content to be brought to a place of safety, the President's wife and her tetinue had tied to the trunk racks and on the running boards precious belongings of all kinds, and among them Mussegros had just discovered a large red enamel dragon, the very dragon that had strayed from the President's drawing room. It looked like a curly-furred cat that had frozen to death. Lea plunged her hand into the dragon's maw and took from it, tied in a handkerchief, the treasure. We shared it between us.

"This is the first time," said Mussegros, "that I have not only not lost any money on a white night, but have actually won some! Long live President Hou!"