The Luck of the Mings

by Edgar Jepson

THE LUCK OF THE MINGS

By Edgar Jepson

NOW and then the human heart goes out, really goes out, to a thing, a made thing; and this would seem to happen when there is a kinship between the spirit of the maker of the thing and the spirit that goes out to it. There must have been some such kinship between the spirit of John Henry Thoresway and the spirit of the maker of the jade vase, for his heart went out to it. It was the proportion rather than the carving, though the carving was fine and very deep, that so strongly attracted him. That proportion was exquisite. The vase was square; each side of it was about an inch and a half broad; and it was a trifle more than seven inches high. It was that trifle more, perhaps, which gave it its exquisite proportion. Once it was a milky white with perhaps a faint green tinge to it. The air of centuries had oxidized it a brownish, greenish gray.

John Henry liked it better than the two black porcelain vases, or the four big pieces of milky jade, late Ming or K'ang-hi, elaborately carved, or the four jadeite pendants of the most beautiful translucent green which William Jones had taken out of the wooden case and set on the broad shelf which ran the length of the bare untidy room in which the cases of Oriental objects of art which came to Messrs. Walton & Woodberry, Oriental Importers, were unpacked.

“I do like this vase,” he said.

William Jones took it from him and examined it; then he said: “It ain't exactly a vase; it's a joss-stick holder, what they keeps those little thin sticks of incense in they burns in front of their josses. Look at this 'ere iron liner.”

He drew out the iron liner, which had been fitted inside the slender column of jade to hold the joss sticks, and went on: “It is a nice piece—a very nice piece; an' old; might be fourteenth century. An' it's got all the luck of the world on it—bats and the fish, the peaches of Seiobo, cherry blossoms, peonies, them bamboo shoots, and the sign of the Four Quarters, It would be a piece to 'ave, it would, for a man as wanted some luck.”

“That's just what I do want,” said John Henry with conviction, and ruefully.

“An' there's money in it, too, or should be—ten pound, or it might be fifty. It's these 'ere little, out-of-the-common pieces that the dealers don't know nothink about that there's the biggest profit on. It won't go with these other things. The big dealers'll come 'ere for them—four thousand apiece they'll give for them two vases. I shall send it along to Gleneby's with the other stuff that's going there; and it'll fetch something under a fiver, unless there 'appens to be a couple of collectors there who knows what's what and bids each other up.”

He spoke with authority. He had come to Messrs. Walton & Woodberry from a famous sale room in St. James's, where, for many years, he had unpacked from just such cases thousands of objects of art and seen them sold. So that, being shrewd, with a good eye, he had become an excellent judge of the quality and value of ail kinds of rare things from a miniature by Cosway to a mid-African drum or a Han bronze.

He set the jade vase a yard away from the important pieces on the shelf and went on with his unpacking. John Henry looked at it; it was growing on him.

Presently William Jones paused and scratched his head and said, “Rum, I calls it.”

“What?” said John Henry.

“These 'ere cases of Sing's. The stuff in 'em's always imperial. If ever there's a dragon on any of it it's a five-clawed emperor's dragon. An' I'll lay odds that all this stuff is imperial pieces. And there ain't no emperors any more, Where does it come from? And 'ow does 'e get 'old of it?”

“There must be a lot of imperial stuff about,” John Henry suggested.

William Jones wrinkled his red nose, on the coloring of which he had for so many years spent so much good money, and with an expression of scorn on his wrinkled, fretful face said in a sarcastic tone, “A reg'lar mine, I should say, judgin' from these 'ere cases of Sing's; an' 'e goes an' digs in it—leastways 'is friends over there do. Rum, I calls it.”

“I have thought it odd, sometimes, that he brings his stuff to us,” said John Henry thoughtfully. “He knows very well that it goes to the big dealers or the big sale rooms. Why doesn't he take it to them himself instead of paying us a commission to do so for him? Why, if any of it goes to the sale rooms he pays a double commission on it.”

William Jones scratched his head again and with an expression of enlightenment he said, “If it ain't surprisin' 'ow one does miss things! Of course! 'E sends it to us because we're a most respectable firm and no questions is asked about anything that comes from us.”

“I see,” said John Henry.

William Jones finished unpacking the case. John Henry made a list of the objects of art it contained in his notebook and went down to the office to enter them in the ledger, thinking about the jade vase and Mr. Sing.

He considered Mr. Sing by far the smoothest human being he had ever come across, or was ever likely to come across. Smooth in his talk, his manner, his gestures and his gait, that stout, round-faced, sleepy-eyed, benignant and amiable Chinaman had always seemed to him the final embodiment of human smoothness. More than once during the afternoon he found himself thinking about the jade vase; twice he went upstairs to look at it again. It certainly had taken his fancy in the most astonishing way.

Also it had the speculative interest. William Jones had declared that there was money in it, if it was sold at Gleneby's for a few pounds. John Henry wanted money; he wanted to get away from London to spend a fortnight in his native Lincolnshire. If he made a five out of the vase it would be useful; a tenner would be pleasing indeed.

He came out into the sunny evening, feeling disconsolate. There was nothing he wanted to do, nowhere he wanted to go. He was missing the war. He often missed it still. He had started at twenty as a private in the Territorials in 1914, and come out at twenty-four as a colonel of a London regiment. The office was often irksome. London often stifling. Walton & Woodberry were good employers; but he had no use for orders from other men; he had given too many himself. But his gratuity had gone, like so many gratuities, on an intensive garden; and he had had to take a job. He had been uncommonly pleased to get his post at three pounds a week.

He walked briskly home to his bed-sitting room in the Ainger Road; and the walk did him good. He cooked himself a meal on his gas ring and went out into Regent's Park. Yes, he did want the jade vase. He could do with some luck; he could do with some money. He would have a try for it.

A fortnight later he went to Gleneby's sale rooms with five pounds in his pocket. He got more of the gambler's thrill, bidding for that vase, than ever he had gotten out of a poker game. There were only dealers present; and it was knocked down to him for three pounds seven shillings and sixpence. He paid cash for it. Therefore, he did not give his name and address, and received it at once. He came out of the sale room triumphant, with the vase bulging out the breast pocket of his coat.

As he came down the steps Mr. Sing, coming quickly up them, brushed past him with hardly a glance. He had lost his smoothness of movement and appeared to be in a hurry, a devil of a hurry. He was almost running. His eyes were no longer sleepy, his face no longer serene. He wore a really flustered air. John Henry wondered for a moment what had rattled him, then thought no more about it. That evening he carried his treasure home, cleared all the ornaments off the chimney piece, and set the vase in the middle of it. Now that it was his he liked it better than ever. Of course he must make money out of it; but he was in no hurry to do so.

Two afternoons later he was at work at his desk when Mr. Sing entered the office and came straight to it. He was as usual the last word in smoothness.

He smiled benignantly on John Henry and said, “In the last case from me was a vase, a brown vase, soapstone, worth six shillings only, or seven. The auctioneers wrote it jade in the catalogue—a bad mistake. A young man bought it; but they do not know his name. But they told me about him, and it seemed you. I remembered to see you coming away; but I did not see the vase with you. I will buy it back from you for the three pounds seven shillings and the sixpence. It is not right to pay the price of jade for soapstone. No.”

His prolixity had given John Henry's natural instinct to protect his treasure time to get fully roused. He smiled amiably and said, “It's very good of you, Mr. Sing; but you needn't worry about me. I didn't buy any soapstone vase. I don't collect soapstone.”

In a breath the smoothness had gone from Mr. Sing's face, the sleepiness from his eyes. A very greedy man was glaring at John Henry.

“But they told me it was you! Not on the sale day, but today!” he exclaimed. “The man who hands the lots remembered it was you—from Walton & Woodberry. He had seen you often come and arrange about selling things. I will have the vase! I must have it! I shall! Here is the money!”

He opened his hand, disclosed three pound notes, and set them on the desk with three half crowns on the top of them.

John Henry's good, square East-Anglian chin came a little farther out and his gray eyes narrowed a little as he said in a good-humored tone, “But you can't insist on having things back that you sell at a public auction, Mr. Sing. The soapstone vase is the property of whoever bought it.”

Mr. Sing hesitated; then simple murder glared from his eyes. John Henry knew that glare; he had seen it often—in trenches, It did not affect him. Then, suddenly and swiftly, the smoothness came over the Chinaman's face—it came down just like a revolving shutter over a shop window, John Henry thought—and his eyes went to sleep again.

He sighed sharply and said in his usual smooth, expressionless voice, “Well, I will pay you more. I will give you as much as five pounds.”

“No, no,” said John Henry in a compassionate voice. “A soapstone vase can't be worth as much as five pounds.”

Mr. Sing smiled amiably and said, “Soapstone—or jade, if you please—I will give five pounds.”

John Henry shook his head and said rather plaintively, “You're rather wasting my time, you know, Mr. Sing.”

Mr. Sing smiled amiably and said, “Fifty pounds.”

It was a tempting offer, and John Henry hesitated. But he was not liking Mr. Sing at the moment. Mr.Sing had tried to trick him. Besides, he fancied that if Mr. Sing would give fifty for it, someone else would give a hundred. He shook his head and turned to the ledger. He knew that the shutter of smoothness had again rolled up from the Chinaman's face. But he did not look at it.

Mr. Sing again heaved that sharp sigh, said smoothly “You will be sorry,” and went out of the office.

John Henry felt in his bones that he was going to see more of Mr. Sing; and he acted. He went straight up to William Jones and said, “Sing wants that jade vase back, and wants it badly. Can you tell me the name of a collector likely to buy it?”

“Morden Masters, Gordon House, Fitzjohn's Avenue,” said William Jones promptly.

John Henry thanked him, went briskly down to the office and rang up Gordon House.

A charming, rather drawling, girl's voice asked who was there.

“My name's Thoresway. I have an interesting jade vase which, I am told by a man who knows, Mr. Morden Masters would like to see. I want to sell it.”

After a pause the charming voice said, “My father will be out till dinnertime. Could you bring it this evening about nine o'clock?”

He came out of the office at five o'clock half expecting to find Mr. Sing waiting for him. There was no Mr. Sing, but a taxi stood at the corner of the street; and as he passed it he glanced into it. It was empty, but the For Hire flag was down. It was odd, for the doors of the three sets of offices in front of which it was waiting looked to be shut for the night. Could Mr. Sing be sitting on the floor of that taxi?

John Henry registered in his swift mind the distinctly cockney lineaments of the driver, and started to walk briskly to South Hampstead. He did not look back; but in Holborn he examined a motor bicycle in a shop window with some care. A taxi on the other side of the road slowed down to a walk; and the distinctly cockney driver was looking at him. Mr. Sing was sitting on the floor of that taxi.

John Henry examined three more motor bicycles minutely. The taxi, which had come to a standstill forty yards farther on, waited for him patiently. John Henry walked briskly down High Holborn, along Oxford Street, up to Baker Street and into Regent's Park. Then he turned northeast across the middle of the park, where taxis cannot go. He was walking very fast. About the middle of the park he stopped to tie a lace which had not come undone. Rather more than a hundred yards behind him a stout round figure was coming along at a jog trot—Mr. Sing. John Henry walked his fastest. It was very fast. He reached Primrose Hill at least a hundred and fifty yards ahead of the trotting Chinaman, and he did not slow down to cross it. Mr. Sing must have come out of Regent's Park with three routes to choose, and no John Henry in sight on any of them.

John Henry arrived home in a pleasant satisfaction and with an excellent appetite. At seven o'clock he made a hearty meal. At eight o'clock he paid a tribute to the charming voice which had spoken to him over the telephone. He put on evening dress. Also he thought it suitable attire in which to dispose of a valuable piece of jade. He did not look at all a dealer in objects of art; he looked a tall, strong, sinewy gentleman. He wrapped the vase in tissue paper and then in brown paper, regretfully. He was indeed loath to let it go; for him it had made such a difference to that tedious bed-sitting room.

Such clocks in the neighborhood as were synchronized were striking nine when he pressed the bell of Gordon House. A footman showed him into a beautiful, not too brightly lighted room, spacious and lofty, with very little furniture in it. Its walls were bare except for four large brackets. On one stood a tall crystal figure of Kwan Yin, not of the perfectly clear modern crystal which goes to China from Brazil to be carved for the Western markets, but of crystal clouded in parts, centuries old. On another stood a chalcedony bowl, the largest John Henry had ever seen, and of the most beautiful shape. On the two others were jade figures. During the two years he had spent at Walton & Woodberry's John Henry had loaned the value of fine jade. If his vase was really good, he had brought it to the right market.

But it is only fair to him to say that the figures and bowl on the brackets were not the first things to attract his attention, and excite his interest. His eyes had gone straight to the girl who was lying on the divan on the other side of the room, manifestly the possessor of the charming voice Against the green coverlet, a time-old Chinese silk coverlet, the once bright embroidery of which age had faded, the mass of red hair which crowned and framed her brow displayed itself of an extraordinary beauty Her face and arms were of the dead white which so often goes with hair of that red. But her eyes were not of that tedious light green which also so often goes with it. They were gray, of a darker gray than John Henry's; in that rather dim, warm light almost black.

The bald, benevolent and cheerful gentleman of sixty sitting at the little table, on which were set coffee and liqueurs, rose from his easy-chair to shake hands with John Henry.

“How do you do, Mr. Thoresway?” he said pleasantly: “Let me introduce you to my daughter.”

The girl moved her head languidly, and her eyes met John Thoresway's with an interest in them.

Morden Masters waved his hand to the easy-chair on the other side of the little table and said, “Have some coffee and a “mer and we'll look at your jade comfortably.”

John Henry gave the easy-chair a little twist so that sitting in it he could look at the girl, and sat down. Morden Masters poured him out coffee and a liqueur and gave him a large and admirable cigar.

Then he said, not in a hopeful voice, “And now we'll look at the jade.”

John Henry unwrapped the vase and handed it to him. He took it carelessly enough and looked at it with unexpectant eyes. To John Henry's joy they opened wide, staring at it; and with a jerk he sat bolt upright.

“Why—why! But hang it all! It is!” he said in a hushed, astonished voice.

He stared at it and turned it round with the caressing fingers of those used to handling beautiful things. Then he looked at John Henry and said, “How on earth did you get hold of it?”

“I bought it at Gleneby's. I liked it,” said John Henry.

“I should think you did,” said Morden Masters. “You bought it at Gleneby's? For next to nothing, of course, or I should have heard of the sale. What do you want for it?”

John Henry looked at him. He liked him. He was a gentleman. He said frankly, “Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I haven't the slightest idea what its value is.”

“And I'm sure I haven't,” said Morden Masters, still looking at the vase with eyes from which the astonishment had not yet passed. “You know how it is—objects of art have no definite value. It depends on how much a man wants them. I'll give you a thousand for it. But it's only fair to tell you that it's a historical piece.”

“Right,” said John Henry quietly. It says much for his control of himself that he did not shout it, but his eyes were shining.

Morden Masters smiled at him and said in a kindly tone, “Then we're both happy.”

The girl rose and came to the table and took the vase from her father and looked at it. Then she held it up, balanced on her hand, and got the proportion.

“But it's charming,” she said. “And all the luck of the world on it. What is it?”

She was the possessor of the charming voice.

“It's known as the Luck of the Mings—the joss-stick holder from which the Ming emperors took the joss sticks they burned in front of their gods in the temple in the palace since the very beginning of the dynasty,” said Morden Masters slowly. “It was carved by a holy man, and an uncommonly accomplished holy man he must have been—a great artist—between 1346 and 1368, He spent twenty-two years on it, working on it off and on, I suppose. If you bear in mind that he worked with sand and a hand drill on one of the hardest stones there is, there is nothing surprising in that. Then he gave it to a disciple, the young bonze Chu Yuen-chang, who founded the Ming dynasty, telling him that as long as he and his descendants kept it the luck of the world was theirs. And that is exactly what happened; today people would tell you that it was a coincidence. But Shunchi, the Manchu prince who took the kingdom from the Mings, had this vase stolen for him by a priest before he made his effort.”

He paused, gazing at the vase with almost loving eyes,

“And did the luck follow the Manchus?” asked John Henry.

“Well, a similar coincidence occurred,” said Morden Masters dryly. “This vase was carried away by some European soldier at the looting of the palace during the Peking expedition; and now there are no Manchu emperors.”

“I wonder if it was a coincidence,” said John Henry doubtfully.

“I don't,” said Miss Masters.

“Myra's a romantic,” said Morden Masters, smiling at her.

“Well, the luck has certainly worked with me,” said John Henry.

“Ah, but you liked the vase,” said Morden Masters.

“I liked it very much,” said John Henry with feeling and on a note of regret that it was his no more.

Myra smiled at him and went back to her divan; and they talked for rather more than an hour—about luck and strange coincidences and jade and crystal and chalcedony. It is not often that three people meet for the first time and find themselves so much in sympathy; and when John Henry rose to go with a check for a thousand pounds in his pocket, Morden Masters invited him to dine with them on the Sunday.

John Henry accepted the invitation, and then he said, “By the way, I ought to tell you that there's a Chinaman, a Chinaman called Sing, after that vase.”

“There would be,” said Morden Masters in a tone of cheerful indifference.

John Henry came out into Fitzjohn's Avenue feeling that he was in a brighter world than he had known for many a long day. A thousand pounds meant freedom; if he used it judiciously he might be his own master again for good. He would certainly do his best to use it judiciously. But it was not only the thousand pounds that made the world brighter; the fact that Myra Masters was in it had an uncommonly illuminating effect. Though it was little more than an hour since they had met, his mind was rather fuller of her than of the thousand pounds.

At any rate she and the thousand pounds wholly filled it.

But not for long. He had gone barely fifty yards down the avenue when he received a jolt. He had noticed a taxi waiting before a house on the opposite side of the road to Gordon House and about thirty yards higher up. It came briskly past him; and as it passed, the lamplight fell on the cockney face of the driver who had followed him from the city to Regent's Park. In twenty seconds he understood exactly how Mr. Sing had been too astute for him. The Chinaman had himself run across the park; but he had sent the taxi round it. The driver had seen John Henry cross the road from the park to Primrose Hill, marked his course across the hill, picked him up crossing the Primrose Hill Road, and followed him to Ainger Road.

The next morning, therefore, he rang up Morden Masters and told him how he had thought that he had shaken Mr. Sing off, but that astute gentleman had tracked him to Gordon House and probably seen the jade vase in his hand as he went to it, and also seen that he had come away from the house without it.

Morden Masters said, “Thanks very much for letting me know. They're pertinacious beggars; but Sing won't get the Luck of the Mings.”

John Henry was quick to act; and on Saturday morning he transferred himself and his belongings to a flat of three small rooms in Oppidan's Road. On the Sunday evening he found Hathaway, another collector, who had come to see the Luck of the Mings, dining at Gordon House. He was pleased. His mind had remained quite as full of Myra Masters as of the thousand pounds; and he thought that his presence would five him more opportunities of talking to her only.

As they were eating their oysters Morden Masters said, “I've seen your Chinaman, Sing, all right, Thoresway. In fact, ever since you were here the house has been full of Chinamen. Mr. Sing—a good, simple soul, who at first assured me that you had sold me a soapstone vase as jade—has been three times to take it off my hands. And two tall, thin Chinamen, who speak no English, have been twice with an interpreter; and this morning there came another tall, thin Chinaman, also without English and also with an interpreter. They want the vase; and the prices they are offering for it are rising. Mr. Sing has got up to three thousand, the two Chinamen have got up to five, and the last Chinaman got up to seven. I think that all of them want to become emperors. But I can't see my way to letting them have the Luck of the Mings to start trouble with. China's quite a distressful enough country as it is without dynastic commotions. Besides, I want it myself.”

“I should let the highest bidder have it and be done with it,” said Hathaway, a frail-looking old gentleman, earnestly. “They'll have it off you. It's a certainty. I know the Chinese.”

“They won't—not unless they come in force and search the house,” said Morden Masters confidently. “I keep it in my secret cupboard; and only Myra knows where that is.”

John Thoresway found the dinner excellent and the evening delightful. As he had expected, the collectors became immersed in their subject and left him and Myra to entertain each other. They did so without difficulty; they had so much to learn about each other; and both of them were eager to learn it.

For the next four days John Henry gave earnest thought to the manner in which he could best make the thousand pounds the foundation of a fortune. With the experience he had gained he could make a comfortable living out of an intensive garden. But he found that he had suddenly lost the desire to live in the country. Myra Masters lived in London. Besides, during the last two years he had been acquiring a more valuable experience, experience in Oriental objects of art. They were more interesting than a garden, more beautiful than flowers—at least he found them more beautiful—and they were certainly far more profitable. Also they looked a path to meeting Myra Masters.

For it would be difficult to meet her. He did not move in the same circle as she; in fact, he did not move in any circle. But he had to make his call after dining at Gordon House; he resolved to try to arrange some further meeting when he made it. He was impatient to see her again, but he could not call before the Saturday or Sunday. He saw her sooner than he expected.

At about eleven on the Wednesday night he was smoking his final pipe and considering things in general and Myra Masters in particular, when he heard a loud knocking at the front door far below. He was not interested; no one could be knocking for him at that hour. But three minutes later he heard a quick, light footfall on the uncarpeted flight of stairs to his flat, and there came a knock at his door. He opened it to find Myra on the threshold, a troubled and anxious Myra.

“How do you do, Mr. Thoresway. Thank goodness I've found you in!” she said, rather breathless from the quick ascent of the stairs, and entered.

He pushed his easy-chair forward for her; but she shook her head and went on: “It's the jade vase. Last night my father went to dine with the Founders' Company, and never came home. We have been hunting for him all day. I got Scotland Yard to help. We couldn't find him; but about half an hour ago a Chinaman came with this letter.”

She handed him a sheet of note paper. On it he read:

“Bring the vase. But do not come alone. Bring someone reliable with you. M. M.”

“I thought of you at once,” she went on, gazing at him with anxious eyes. “You seemed mixed up with the vase—in a way. And—and—I thought you—you seemed the right kind of person to come with me. Will you?”

“Rather!” said John Henry.

She breathed a short sigh of relief. It was not deep. She had expected him to come.

He took from a drawer in the Sheraton bureau—his only good piece, a family piece, of furniture—a leather-bound life preserver which had served him well in trench fighting.

“It's always well to be ready for trouble, though I don't expect any,” he said cheerfully. “Have you got the vase?”

She slipped her hand under her cloak and drew it from under her arm.

“I think I'd better have it,” he said, taking it from her; and he put into his hip pocket. It bulged it well out. “Where do we go?” he said.

“The Chinaman who brought the note is in the car to show us,” she said.

They went quickly down the stairs to the car, a large Rover. A Chinaman in a bowler hat was sitting beside the driver, and an uncommonly low-class Chinaman he looked. As they stepped into the car he said to the driver, “East India Dock Road.”

They settled down and Myra said in a very grateful voice, “It's very good of you to come along like this, for, after all, it's no business of yours.”

“But I'm only too pleased,” John Henry protested. “It seems a hundred years since anything happened—anything exciting. The only thing is, if there's trouble I don't like having you there.”

“Oh, I shall be all right,” she said confidently. “Besides, if you're there, there isn't like to be any trouble.”

“I expect not,” said John Henry; and he sincerely hoped that there would be none.

They plunged into speculations about the business; which of the Chinamen who had tried to buy the vase had kidnaped her father, and how had he done it? The car ran south, then east through the city and along the interminable dinginess of the Commercial Road, into the even dingier East India Dock Road. Halfway down that road it turned to enter one of the dingiest streets in the world. John Henry stopped it. Two policemen were standing a little way down the road; he got out of the car and went to them. With the responsibility of the girl on his shoulders he was taking no chances.

“I'm going down that street to get a gentleman out of pawn,” he said. “I don't expect any trouble, but there may be. It doesn't look a nice neighborhood.”

“It isn't,” said one of the policemen.

“So if we're not out of the place in ten minutes, you might call to ask what's keeping us.”

“Very good, sir. We will,” said the other policeman readily.

John Henry walked quickly back to the car; the two policemen strolled slowly after him. Seeing that the street was a narrow cul-de-sac John Henry made the chauffeur back the car down it, so that they could get right away, if need were. Their destination was the house which, running across the bottom of the street, made it a cul-de-sac. The Chinaman knocked at the door. The two policemen were coming down the street.

John Henry got out of the car and said to Myra, “You had better stay in the car while I fetch your father.”

“Certainly not! I'm coming with you,” she said, stepping quickly out to his side.

The door opened into an unlit passage; and the light of the street lamp fell on the face of another low-class Chinaman. The passage looked uninviting and it smelled uninviting; but there was nothing to be gained by hesitating. John Henry entered with Myra on his heels. He held the life preserver short. There was not much room to hit in that narrow passage. It was better suited for short-arm jolts—with the loaded end. The Chinaman opened a door on the left at the bottom of it and stood aside for them to enter a long low room, lighted by a smelly oil lamp. A small table and two chairs stood on the other side of it; grubby-looking divans set with dirty cushions ran along the walls.

At the table sat Mr. Sing, smiling at them with a smooth benignity.

He bowed to them graciously and said, “You have brought the vase?”

John Henry hesitated; then he said, “Yes. But I give it only to Mr. Masters.”

It was a quite reasonable way of dealing with it, and should give Mr. Sing everything he wanted. But he seemed to be in a captious mood. Perhaps it was that the vase had given him considerable trouble, or perhaps he wished to display his authority in his own house.

At any rate he snapped, “Give me the vase!”

“Nothing doing,” said John Henry coldly.

The shutter of smoothness rolled up from over Mr. Sing's face and he banged on the table. The door opened, and there entered a big European and two Chinamen.

“They've got a jade vase. Take it from them!” said Mr. Sing in a grating voice.

John Henry hesitated for a three seconds. No; it was no use handing over the vase till he had recovered Morden Masters. He caught Myra's arm, drew her, almost jerked her, into the right-hand corner, and faced the attackers.

The European, a big man, came forward, crouching a little, but with an easy swing; the two Chinamen hung a little behind him. In the middle of the room he stopped short and let his hands fall to his side.

“Blimey! If it ain't Black John!” he exclaimed.

“Harris—Frank Harris,” said John Henry, recognizing the most troublesome private he had ever handled, an impudent ruffian, but a first-class fighter.

“It's me, sir, all right,” said Harris; and turning to Mr. Sing he added, “You can leave me out of it, Sing. I know what's good for me; and Black John on the job with his little leather stick isn't—not by no manner o' means. I'll just take a seat and see him knock the stuffin' out of the rest of you.”

With that he dropped onto a divan and took out his pipe.

The two Chinamen fell back. If Frank Harris was afraid of this Englishman it was not for them to tackle him. Mr. Sing scowled on all of them.

Myra shifted her position a little to get a view of John Henry's face. His expression was unpleasant; but she found it pleasing in the circumstances. It explained the hesitation of the Chinamen and the attitude of Frank Harris—it and John Henry's build.

Mr. Sing snapped his fingers impatiently and a trifle helplessly; and, as if at a signal. the shutter of smoothness came down over his face. He gave an order in Chinese, and the two Chinamen left the room. In three minutes they came back with Morden Masters. He was looking pale and shaky, and his left hand was bound up in a handkerchief.

“Give the brute the vase,” he said to John Henry in a shaky voice.

“Give it him?” said John Henry, looking at Mr. Sing with unpleasant eyes. “I thought he offered you three thousand for it.” He frowned on Mr. Sing and said sharply, “The check.”

Mr. Sing looked at him and said nothing at all. Quietly he took a check book from his pocket and wrote out a check. He held it out. John Henry took it, looked at it, pulled the vase from his pocket and handed it to him. Mr. Sing thrust it into his pocket without looking at it, and rose.

“Good night,” he said smoothly.

John Henry lost no time. Giving the Chinamen no chance of getting behind him he shepherded Myra and Morden Masters out of the room and down the passage. Myra opened the house door.

As she did so there came a rush from the outside, and seven or eight men, Chinamen all, burst into the passage and in their rush carried the three of them down it and back into the room, though John Henry, with one arm round Myra's waist, applied several short-arm jolts with the loaded end of the life preserver to those he could reach. As they were rushed into the room he caught a glimpse of Mr. Sing's serene face as he threw something at the lamp. There was a crash and they were in darkness. The Chinamen were squeaking and scuffling around them. Frank Harris' voice came from the far corner in surprised profanity.

Then a hand pawed John Henry's coat; and in accents of relief at having found him, Mr. Sing murmured in his ear, “Take care of it for me. I will pay. I will come,” and thrust something at him.

John Henry stuck the life preserver between his teeth and took it. It was the jade vase. Again he thrust it into his hip pocket.

A gruff voice in the doorway said loudly and sternly: “'Ere! What's all this? Are you all right, sir?” And the torches of the two policemen lit up the room.

The light displayed every Chinaman locked in the arms of a fellow countryman, and Frank Harris very flat against the wall in the corner. But it did not display Mr. Sing. He seemed to have left.

“I'm all right,” said John Henry; and he made haste to make sure that Myra and Morden Masters were unharmed.

They were; and once more he shepherded them through the door and down the passage, out of the house and into the car. He tipped the policemen, and the car started.

Morden Masters was indeed shaky. He told them that the brutes had hammered his finger nails—two of his finger nails—till he gave in and wrote the note to Myra. His pressing need was a doctor to deal with them.

As they came to Gordon House he said, “At least two of that three thousand pounds is yours, Thoresway.”

“I don't see it,” said John Henry quickly.

“I do,” said Morden Masters. “If it hadn't been for you the brutes would have got the vase for nothing.”

“Of course they would,” said Myra quickly. “And won't you come to dinner tomorrow, to be thanked properly? We must see to daddy's fingers now.”

John Henry accepted the invitation.

He reached home very much refreshed. He had not enjoyed so stimulating an evening for years. Forthwith he set the jade vase in its place in the middle of the mantelpiece. Again it gave him the greatest pleasure. It was almost as if an old friend had come back. He felt that he was the right man to have it; it would bring him luck; he was sure of it. Sing had been a fool to try to fight a man who had that vase in his pocket, and then when he did get it from him he should have stuck to it and he would have beaten the other Chinamen. He hoped that he would be a long while coming for it. Then he began to wonder whether it brought luck in love.

He dined with Myra only at Gordon House the next night. The doctor was keeping her father in bed. They continued their inquiry into the things they wanted to learn about each other with even greater enthusiasm.

Mr. Sing's check had been cashed, and John Henry came away from Gordon House with another check, this time for two thousand pounds. It was a good house.

Next morning he gave Mr. Walton notice. Mr. Walton said that he was sorry to lose him, but since he was going to deal in objects of Oriental art he was consoled by the fact that he was getting a new customer.

In the afternoon, to John Henry's delight and surprise, Myra came to the office. She had felt that he ought to know at once that a detective had been to Gordon House. Mr. Sing's body had been found in the Thames; and it was evident that there had been foul play. Since the two policemen of the East India Dock Road had noted the number of the car the detective had been able to come to Morden Masters to inquire whether he could throw any light on the murder. Morden Masters could only give him a description of the three other Chinamen who had tried to buy the Luck of the Mings.

John Henry thanked her warmly for coming to tell him. He was glad that he had not told her that he had the vase. He thought that she would have been anxious for him. They drove to Bond Street, and he gave her tea.

He came back to the office troubled in mind. It seemed likely that the three Chinamen had extracted from Mr. Sing the secret of his disposal of the Luck of the Mings. They would be after it. They should not have it. He felt that he owed it to the murdered man to balk his murderers. But they were not easy to balk; and he did not want his finger nails hammered.

On the way back an idea came to him and he went to William Jones.

“Look here, there's trouble about that jade joss-stick holder I bought at Gleneby's,” he said. “Three Chinamen have come from China for it and I don't want them to have it.”

“They'll get it,” said William Jones with cheering decision.

“They won't,” said John Henry with no less decision. “Now you know everything about these things. Is it possible to have a really good copy of it made—not in jade, of course, but in some good strong composition?”

William Jones scratched his head. Then he said, “The Chinese do it, of course; that green stuff that women are so fond of. It isn't jade, of course, but jadeite, that green stuff. But I do know a man——”

“Come on,” said John Henry.

A taxi took them to his flat for the Luck of the Mings, and on to a pleasant villa on the edge of Regent's Park. They were shown into a room adorned with medieval church plate. In it they found Mr. Boyle, a pale and gloomy gentleman of forty with a rather truculent air. He received them gloomily. William Jones told him what they wanted; John Henry gave him the Luck of the Mings.

He considered it at length with gloomy eyes; then he said sententiously, “A snifter. Can do. It'll cost a tenner.”

“I'll give you twenty if I can have it in twenty-four hours,” said John Henry, thinking that the Chinamen who would be emperors would make no longer stay in England than they could possibly help.

“Right-o. This time tomorrow,” said Mr. Boyle; and he conducted them to the front door.

John Henry did not return to his flat that night. He was not ready for visitors. He slept at the Great Central Hotel. When the office closed next evening he went for the copy of the Luck of the Mings.

He found Mr. Boyle waiting for him. On the table stood two Luck of the Mings. Mr. Boyle greeted him gloomily and nodded towards them. John Henry examined them. He knew the real Luck of the Mings at once; but he was astonished by the copy's admirable likeness to it. Without the original to compare it with he would not have known that it was a copy. Certainly it would serve his purpose excellently, for it was unlikely that any of the Chinamen who were hunting it had ever handled the original. He felt that he was now in a position to deal with them without getting his nails hammered.

He gave Mr. Boyle his twenty pounds and congratulated him warmly on his masterpiece.

“I suppose I mustn't ask what it's made of?” said John Henry.

“Mostly jade—rough pieces melted down—or I'd never have got the texture,” said Mr. Boyle. “It's wonderful what a help an electric furnace can be. Of course the casting was easy enough, and so was the painting.”

John Henry drove to his flat easier in mind. He set the copy of the Luck of the Mings in the middle of the mantelpiece; the original he placed at the bottom of the trunk in his bedroom. Then he cleaned and oiled and loaded his old service automatic and put it in the drawer of his table.

The next day he began to hunt for fine Oriental objects of art and a gallery in which to display them. He had astonishingly good luck. He had a feeling that the Luck of the Mings was attracting kindred masterpieces to itself or to him. He knew that this was superstitious; but he had it—to find a clair de lune bowl in Notting Hill!

Myra Masters displayed the liveliest interest in his enterprise. Boldly he asked her to help him hunt. She showed herself delighted to do so. He was even more delighted to have her with him; and he found her greater knowledge and experience of the greatest help.

They were uncommonly pleasant days; but over them hung the shadow of the three Chinamen who would be emperors. And it was a deepening shadow. He had come to understand that he had been wrong in expecting them to act quickly, They were not in the position of Mr. Sing, but strangers in the land, and ignorant of the language. Naturally it was taking them time to plan their coup. But the delay was exasperating, for he was impatient to say things to Myra which could not be said while this shadow hung over him. It would not be fair to her.

Then one morning, as he was on the point of going hunting, the bell of his flat rang, and on going to the door he found a portly well-dressed gentleman on the threshold.

“My name is Carruthers, Carisbrook Carruthers. I have come from the representatives of Mr. Sing on a matter of business,” he said suavely.

“Come in,” said John Henry with a sigh of relief.

Mr. Carisbrook Carruthers sat down and looked round the room. His small and close-set eyes fell on the jade vase on the mantelpiece. He stared at it. Evidently it had been described to him.

He put his finger tips together and said, “Mr. Sing's relatives have learned that just before his—er—er—unfortunate death——'”

“Call it murder,” interjected John Henry.

“Ah, well, murder—he intrusted an Oriental work of art to you in the shape of a jade vase; and I have come on their behalf to claim it.”

John Henry nodded towards the mantelpiece and said, “Oh, yes. But I can't for the life of me think why everyone is making such a fuss about that piece of jade. They can't even be sure that it's authentic.” He paused; then he added in a guileless voice, “I suppose you've brought the documents to show that these people are the genuine representatives of Mr. Sing, and not his murderers.”

“No—no. I took it that the assurance of a man of my standing that they are his heirs would be sufficient,” said Mr. Carisbrook Carruthers in cold and haughty accents.

“Then you took it wrong,” said John Henry firmly. “I'm not going to let that piece of jade out of my hands till I know that it's perfectly safe to do so. I don't want to be called on by Mr. Sing's real heirs to replace it.”

Mr. Carisbrook Carruthers mounted the high horse at once and with alacrity. The assurance of a man of his standing was enough for anyone, and he must insist on the vase being handed over to him at once. John Henry invited him to continue to insist as long as he liked. Mr. Carisbrook Carruthers appeared to measure John Henry, and at once to decide that violence would prove unproductive, for he became suave again and said that his clients were prepared to pay a reasonable sum—say, a couple of hundred pounds—to John Henry for the trouble he had had in the matter.

John Henry would have loved dearly to sell Mr. Boyle's masterpiece to them, but he could not quite bring himself to do so jai, they richly deserved it, and it would save him trouble, probably a good deal of trouble. He refused the offer. Mr. Carruthers again became haughty and said that in that case his clients would at once commence legal proceedings to recover the vase.

John Henry said that that would suit him perfectly, since, to do so, they would be compelled to establish the only fact he wished to know before handing over the vase. Mr. Carruthers assumed a very darkling air and bade John Henry beware, his clients were not men to be trifled with.

“I will beware,” said John Henry; and Mr. Carruthers went away muttering and dissatisfied.

For his part John Henry was quite satisfied, even pleased; the shadow was about to lift from his life; and he would be free to tell Myra the things he was so eager to tell her.

But he must not let things seem too easy to the Chinamen. He locked Mr. Boyle's masterpiece in his trunk, took the Luck of the Mings to the safe-deposit vaults in Chancery Lane, and left it in one of them. He also took the precaution of insuring the other Oriental masterpieces he had acquired against burglary. He had a feeling that the agents of the Chinamen would not be particular only to carry away Mr. Boyle's masterpiece.

For three days nothing happened. On the third night he was up late, cleaning a jade Taoist spirit gong he had found in the Chalk Farm Road. At a few minutes past one something fell on the floor with a bang and a click just inside the door of his flat. He thought that something had been thrust through the slit for letters. He went to see what it was. He opened his sitting-room door to admit a rush of masked figures; and before he realized what was happening a dozen hands had gripped him. What had fallen on the floor was the lock of his front door, sawed round and carelessly allowed to drop.

In the grip of so many hands he stood quiet. Three of his captors were Europeans, three Chinamen.

Then the voice of Frank Harris, badly disguised, said, “It's no good making a fuss, captain; we've come for that there piece of jade and we're goin' to have it.”

John Henry cursed them freely—to produce the right atmosphere; then he growled, “Don't turn the place upside down, confound you! It's in my trunk. The keys are on the dressing table—the biggest key.”

“Now you're talking,” said Frank Harris in a pleased voice.

The shortest man, a European, loosed John Henry and went into the bedroom. In two minutes he came back with Mr. Boyle's masterpiece.

On the instant the three Chinamen loosed John Henry, and one of them snatched it. They passed it from one to the other, talking in high excited voices. John Henry made no effort to shake off Frank Harris and the tall man who gripped his left arm. Things were going quite as he wished. Then the tallest and leanest of the Chinamen spoke in Chinese to the short man.

“You're to loose him,” said the short man.

They loosed John Henry, but stood ready for trouble.

The tall Chinaman stepped forward, holding out a small packet to John Henry, and said a few words.

The small man said, “He says, 'We pay; we do not steal.'”

John Henry took the packet in some astonishment. This was not what he had expected.

Carrying Mr. Boyle's masterpiece the tall Chinaman led the way out of the room. He went quickly, the two others following.

The three Europeans hesitated, looking at one another and the packet.

John Henry jumped to the table, jerked open the drawer, and snatched the revolver out of it.

“Outside!” he said.

They went.

John Henry opened the packet. It contained ten five-hundred-pound notes. He almost gasped, and then he smiled. And then he sighed. He sighed for the three poor Chinamen. They had gone to conquer an empire with Mr. Boyle's masterpiece.