Chapter IX: Inverted Circumstances

"Yes, Mr. Bidulph, a simple stock–jobbing operation, in the American style," said Kin–Fo to the principal agent of the insurance company.

The Honorable William J. Bidulph laughed with the aid of a connoisseur, and observed: "It was indeed well played for everybody was taken in."

"My own correspondent even," remarked Kin–Fo; "for eight days afterward they paid with open doors; there was no failure, the news was false, but the deed was done, and the stock, which had depreciated eight per cent., was bought in by the Central Bank at the lowest rate; and when the director was asked the cause of the failure, he answered amiably, 'One hundred and seventy–five per cent.' This is what my correspondent writes me in the letter I received this morning, at the moment when I thought myself absolutely ruined."

"Did you have any idea of taking your own life?" cried William J. Bidulph.

"No," answered Kin–Fo; "but I thought I might be assassinated."

"Assassinated?"

"By my written authority— an assassination agreed upon, and which would have cost you―"

"Two hundred thousand dollars," answered Mr. Bidulph, "since all risks against death were taken. Ah, we should have regretted your loss, my dear sir."

"On account of the amount?"

Mr. Bidulph took his client's hand and shook it cordially in the American style. "But I do not understand you," he added.

"You will understand," replied Kin–Fo; and he told him of the engagement entered into by him with a man in whom he had confidence, and who guaranteed every immunity. The grave feature was that the promise would be fulfilled; the pledge would be kept, without the shadow of a doubt.

"Is this man a friend?" asked the agent.

"He is," answered Kin–Fo; "and my death is worth $50,000 to him."

"Fifty thousand dollars!" cried Mr. Bidulph. "Then it is Mr. Wang?"

"The same."

"A philosopher! He would never kill you."

Kin–Fo was about to say, "This philosopher is an old Tai–ping. During the half of his life he has committed more murders than would ruin the Centenary if they had been insured there. For the last eighteen years his ferocious instincts have been restrained. Now the opportunity is offered him, and he believes me to be ruined and determined to die, and knowing that he will get a small fortune by my death, he will not hesitate."

Kin–Fo said nothing of this, however, for it would compromise Wang, whom, perhaps, William J. Bidulph would not have hesitated to denounce to the governor of the province as a former Tai–ping. That would have saved Kin–Fo, no doubt, but Wang would have been lost.

"Well," said the agent, "there is a simple thing to do."

"What is it?"

"You must tell Mr. Wang that the contract is broken, and get back the compromising letter."

"That is easier said than done," answered Kin–Fo.

"Wang has disappeared since yesterday, and no one knows his whereabouts."

"Ah!" said the agent, rather perplexed. "And now, my dear sir, you no longer wish to die," he said, looking at Kin–Fo.

"No," he answered. "The stroke of the Central Bank in California has doubled my fortune, and I am going to get married. But I must find Wang first; the time agreed upon has not yet expired."

"When does it expire?"

"On the 25th of June. And during the interval the Centenary runs great risk, and it should take measures in consequence."

"And find the philosopher," said the Honorable William J. Bidulph.

He promenaded up and down with his hands behind his back, then said, "Well, we will find this man, even if he is hidden in the bowels of the earth; and until then we shall prevent any attempt at assassination, as we have prevented you from committing suicide."

"What do you mean?" asked Kin–Fo.

"This: that since the day the policy was signed, the 30th of April last, two of my detectives have followed you and watched your movements."

"I have not observed them."

"Ah, they are discreet men. I should like to introduce them to you, now there is no necessity to hide their movements unless from Mr. Wang."

"Certainly," answered Kin–Fo.

"Craig–Fry should be here since you are here," and William J. Bidulph cried out, "Craig–Fry!"

Craig and Fry were indeed there behind the door of the private office. They had tracked Kin–Fo to the Centenary office, and were waiting for him.

Now, there were two courses, as the Honorable William J. Bidulph observed. The detectives must remain carefully shut up in Kin–Fo's house at Shang–Hai, so that Wang could not enter without their knowledge, or else find Wang, who must be made to give up the letter, which must be considered null and void.

"The first plan is of no use," said Kin–Fo. "Wang knows how to come to me without being seen, since my house is his; he must be found at any cost."

"You are right, sir," answered William J. Bidulph.

"The surest way is to find Wang— and he must be found."

"Dead or—" said Craig.

"Alive," concluded Fry.

"No, living," cried Kin–Fo. "I do not intend that Wang shall be in danger a moment through my fault."

"Craig and Fry," added William J. Bidulph, "you are responsible for our client for seventy–seven days longer, and until the 30th of next June he will be worth to us two hundred thousand dollars."

Thereupon the client and the principal agent of the Centenary took leave of each other. Ten minutes later, Kin–Fo, escorted by his two body–guards, who were not to leave him again, entered the yamen.

When Soun saw Craig and Fry officially installed in the house, he felt some regret. There would be no more answers or taels; besides, his master began to abuse him again. Unfortunate Soun! What would he have said had he known what the future had in store for him?

The first care Kin–Fo took was to phonograph to Cha–Coua Avenue, Pekin, the change of fortune which made him richer than before. The young lady heard the voice again of him whom she believed to be lost to her forever. He would see his little younger sister again. The seventh moon would not pass before he would see her, never to leave her again; having refused to make her miserable, he did not wish to run the risk of making her a widow. Le–ou did not quite understand what this last phrase meant. She only knew one thing; that was, that her lover had returned, and that before two months he would be with her. On that day there was not a happier woman than the young widow in all the Celestial Empire.

A complete reaction had taken place in Kin–Fo's ideas–now become a fourfold millionaire— from the operations of the Central Bank in California. He intended to live, and to live well. Twenty days of emotions had changed him. Neither the Mandarin Pao–Shen, nor the Merchant Yin–Pang, nor Tim the high liver, nor Houal the literary man would have recognized in him the indifferent host who bade them good–by on one of the flower—! Boats on the River of Pearls. Wang would not have believed his eyes were he there, but he had disappeared. He did not come back to the house at Shang–Hai.

Eight days later, on the 24th of May, no news was heard of the philosopher; vainly did Kin–Fo, Craig, and Fry search the districts, the shops, and the suburbs of Shang–Hai, and the most skillful detectives of the police searched in vain for him about the country. The philosopher could not be found.

Craig and Fry became more uneasy, and increased their precautions. Neither by day nor by night did they lose sight of their client; they eat at the same table with him, and slept in the same room. They tried to persuade him to wear a steel breast–plate in case he was struck with a dagger, and to eat only eggs in the shell to prevent him being poisoned. Kin–Fo sent them away. Why not shut him up for two months in the Centenary safe under the pretext that he was worth $200,000?

Then William J. Bidulph, always practical, proposed to his client to return him the premium and destroy the policy.

"I am sorry," said Kin–Fo, "but the thing is done, and you must take the consequences."

"Well, let it be so," said the agent, who had to submit to what he could not avoid. "You are right. You will never be better guarded than by us."

"Nor for better value," replied Kin–Fo.