  Muscles didn’t move. He kept his eyes glued to his watch until ten minutes had passed. Not until then did he think it safe to come out of his hiding place. He had overheard every word. He, too, had been thrilled at hearing that his good friend, Charles Keene, was safe. Going back up the hillside, being very careful to take the protection of all cover on the way, Muscles muttered to himself his admiration of Biff. “Smart kid, that Biff,” he said softly. “He’s not showing his whole hand. He wants to be shown first.” Muscles looked at his watch. The hands pointed to 12:30. “Four hours, Biff said. That will make it four-thirty.” Muscles grinned. “If they’re not back by that time, Muscles is going to muscle in.” Nothing was said for the first half hour as Chan Li led Biff and Chuba into the foothills to the north of Jaraminka. Chan followed a course which curved around the city. The city lay below them, about three miles away, nestled in the center of an oval-shaped valley, rimmed by hills. The growth on the sloping hillside was thick, but the path they traveled was wide and cleared enough for easy going. They made good speed. When they reached a point almost due north of the city, the path turned sharply to the left, and the incline steepened. They puffed their way up the path, putting the city farther and farther behind them. After a particularly steep climb, they reached a level area. Looking ahead, Biff saw that the path came to a dead end against a low, stone wall. Gaping holes in the wall showed that it had been a long, long time since any care had been taken of it. Chan Li came to the wall and scrambled over it. Biff and Chuba followed. Chan Li called a halt once they were inside the wall, and standing in a thick clump of trees. Chan spoke to Chuba. Chuba interpreted to Biff. “Chan say we almost there. Must go most careful now. Ahead is old house, big house, once house of important family. Family all dead. Only evil spirits remain. People afraid of old house.” Chan Li pushed deeper into the woods. Biff had no chance to voice suspicions that were growing in him. He felt that such a house must be known. But would the “evil spirits” keep authorities from investigating? Biff shook his head. He didn’t like the situation. He couldn’t tell exactly why, but his doubts grew stronger. True, the house was deep in a dense forest. It took quite a climb to reach it. It was a good five miles from the outskirts of Jaraminka, and there had been no sign of any other house on their path to reach it. The woods started to thin out. Biff could see they were coming to an opening. As they neared it, Biff saw the gray outlines of several buildings, linked together by a high stone wall. There was no sign of life. The buildings, low, sprawling, had an ominous, mysterious quality about them. The space between the woods and the house was just wide enough for what once must have been a moat. Chan Li led the boys to an arched opening in the wall, and they passed through it. Before them, Biff saw a large courtyard. A graveled pathway led to the main door. Three small pools were spaced on either side of the path from the opening to the house. As they neared the door, Biff sensed and felt the presence of someone behind him. He turned his head. Two Chinese soldiers, each with a revolver in hand, had closed in behind the three. Before Biff could raise his voice in protest, or question Chan Li, the Chinese guide spoke. “Welcome to the House of Kwang.” He entered the door. The guards moved up behind Biff and Chuba. There was nothing they could do but follow Chan Li. He led them down a long corridor. The corridor was lined with small rooms on each side. This may once have been the House of Kwang, Biff told himself, but there was little doubt as to what it was being used for now. The small windows in the center of the doors were barred. At several of the windows they passed, silent men stared out of the bars at them. At the end of the corridor, two more guards threw open a large, richly decorated door. Chan Li, a leer on his face now, bowed low, and with a sweep of his arm, ushered the boys through. “The courtyard of the Ancient One. The Old Lord of the House of Kwang.” He spoke the words in perfect English. In the center of the room two men sat on high-backed throne chairs. One of them was richly dressed in a flowing robe, decorated with red and gold dragons. The other man, much older, was in tattered clothing. A wispy beard waved downward from his chin. Both men wore tight-fitting skull caps. “Approach, my friends,” said the richly dressed man. Biff and Chuba crossed the large room until they stood directly in front of the two men. On closer inspection, Biff saw that the speaker who wore the rich clothing had coarse facial features. His big, broad nose seemed to have been ironed onto his face. The other man, though poorly dressed, had a fine, proud face. He held his head high. His eyes, dimmed by the years, were the eyes of a frightened man, but of a man who would face his fate without flinching. “You are seeking the master of the House of Kwang, I am informed,” the younger man said. As he spoke, two men appeared from behind the chairs. One of them had but one good eye. The lid of the other eye drooped until the eye was shut. The Chinese of the Chicago plane! The man turned on a triumphant smile toward Biff. “We meet again, Mr. Brewster,” he said. “Silence, Mao!” commanded the richly robed man. “You have, I am told, a ring with you, young man. A ring which indicates your great friendship for the House of Kwang.” The smile left the speaker’s face. He leaned slightly forward, and his next words were a stern, crisp order. “I’ll take that ring. I am Ping Lu, master of the house.” Biff reached into his pocket. He detached the ring and held it out in his open palm. Just as the richly robed man reached for it, the older man arose, bent forward, and snatched it. As he did, Ping Lu, with a sweep of his heavy arm, knocked the old man back into his chair. He seized the old man’s hand, and pried open his fist. He took the ring. The old man spoke. He spoke in Chinese. Ping Lu laughed as the old man poured out a stream of words. “You may interpret for your American friend, if you wish,” Ping Lu said, addressing Chuba. “The Old One is the real Master of the House of Kwang,” Chuba translated. “He is called Tao Kwang, and is oldest of the remaining Kwang family. The ring is his. He is much angered that it is now in hands of richly dressed man.” Ping Lu cut in. “True, all true. Once this old fool was the master of this house. Oh yes, this was one of the many houses owned by him. But I am master of this house now. It is used by me and my government as a place where we entertain—” he chortled at the word “entertain”—“our more important guests. And Tao Kwang, though a doddering old fool now, once held sway over this territory, and still thinks he has much influence.” Tao Kwang spoke again. Again Chuba interpreted. “Ancient One say still many sons and nephews here. Say for us not to be afraid.” “Of course there is nothing to be afraid of,” Ping Lu said. “I hope you will enjoy your stay with us.” “How long do you intend keeping us prisoners?” Biff asked. “Prisoners? Let us say ‘guests.’ Of course, we will have to see that you are protected at all times. That is why it will be necessary to have you kept in a room guarded by two of my strongest soldiers. You ask how long will you be staying with us?” Biff nodded his head. “That, young man, depends on the cooperation I expect to get from you in a matter of great importance.” “What is it?” Biff asked. “You will hear, in due time. But first, a few days rest here with us should, I think, do much to show you the absolute necessity of your cooperating.” Biff didn’t want to think of what the “few days rest” might mean. “Tell me this,” Ping continued. “Your paying us this visit surely wasn’t only because of your friendship with the House of Kwang. I seem to remember being told of other inquiries your clever young friend made on your behalf.” He motioned toward Chuba as he spoke. Biff decided on a show of boldness. There was nothing to be gained by cowering before this self-important official. “You’re right. I have come here in search of my uncle. His name is Charles Keene.” “So. Well, perhaps I can be of assistance to you. Perhaps the ring you brought with you from so many thousands of miles away will bring you good fortune.” Biff felt like the mouse the cat was playing with. “Is he here?” Biff demanded. Ping Lu clapped his hands. The Chinese with the bad eye, whom he had called Mao, came to him. Ping Lu leaned over and spoke softly into Mao’s ear. Neither Biff nor Chuba could hear what was said. Mao left the room. Ping Lu turned to Chan Li. He had been standing just behind the boys during the conversation. “You may go now, Chan Li. And your reward will be given you as you leave.” Chan bowed, and turned toward the door. Tao Kwang, the Ancient One, spat out a single word as Chan left. Biff looked at Chuba. “He call him traitor,” Chuba said. Ping Lu leaned back in his chair. He clasped his fat hands over his bulging belly. A smirk of satisfaction was stamped on his face. The rasp of a door opening on the right side of the huge room caused Biff to turn his head sharply. Through the door, prodded from behind by the gun barrels of two soldiers, walked Uncle Charlie. |
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