Chinese -- England -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
"Theophilus didn't tell me that, but he said that this Mandarin--I quite
forget his queer name--would give even more than five thousand to get it
back."
"His emissary didn't seem very anxious to buy."
"Oh, that is craft," rejoined Miss Pewsey, tossing her head. "The
Chinese are very double, Theophilus says."
"I don't think so, Lavinia. I would have sold this fan for a few pounds
had I not known such a large sum was offered. Tung-yu is not a good
business man, or else the Mandarin must be a millionaire."
"He is--he is. I wish you would let me conduct the business, and _do_
let me take the fan?"
"No, I shall keep it."
"Sophia," said Miss Pewsey, solemnly, "that is dangerous. Rupert
Ainsleigh hates you and needs money; he might kill you to get that fan,
and sell it for five----"
"Nonsense. I cannot be murdered in a house full of people like this. I
know another Chinaman hints at murder--you told me so----"
"Olivia told me to tell you," put in the little woman, quickly.
"Well, Hwei isn't here, and I'll sell the fan to Tung-yu to-morrow."
Miss Pewsey would have said more, but at this moment Dr. Forge
approached, with a crooked elbow and a dreary smile. "Allow me to take
you into supper, Miss Wharf."
"Certainly," she rose and took the arm. "I am really hungry. Lavinia?"
"I shall look for Clarence. I must find out what has become of Major
Tidman," and the old maid hurried away while the doctor escorted Miss
Wharf to the supper-room.
Clarence was not drinking at the buffet, though his aunt went there to
find him as the most likely place. Nor was he in the ball-room, although
a new dance had begun. She could not see him in the card-room, but
finally ran him to earth on the terrace, where he was leaning against a
tree-fern with folded arms and with his wicked black eyes fixed on a
couple some distance away. Miss Pewsey followed his gaze and her eyes
also flashed, for she beheld Rupert talking with Olivia. Both their
heads were bent, and they conversed earnestly. The little woman hated
Olivia and detested Rupert, so the sight was gall and worm-wood to her.
"Why don't you ask her to dance?" she demanded, touching her nephew's
arm.
"Because there would only be a row," he rejoined sullenly. "I feel
inclined to spoil that chap's looks I can tell you."
"Do you really love the girl, so?"
"Yes I do. I'd give anything to marry her, and I shall too."
"There's not the slightest chance. Ainsleigh will not surrender her I
can tell you."
"Then why did you make me waste that fan."
"You didn't waste it on her," said Miss Pewsey coldly, "she refused to
take it like a fool, and now Sophia has it, there is no chance of
getting it back. Had I known the fan was of such value, you wouldn't
have caught me advising you to part with it. If you knew what this Hwei
said, why didn't you tell me the fan was valuable."
"I did not see Hwei until I had parted with the fan," said Clarence
crossly, "and we can do nothing now."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account