<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXIII</h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> Chinese steamer, if indeed it were she, although
we could not be sure in the darkness,
had sent us to the hotel when we had
made up our minds not to go. We in the boat hovered
near the yacht long enough for the captain to make a
hurried examination of the damage. The wreck certainly
looked serious, for the overhang of the stern had
been smashed into matchwood, while the derelict rudder
hung in chains like an executed pirate of a couple
of centuries agone. It was impossible at the moment
to estimate with any degree of accuracy the extent of
the disaster. The captain reported that she was not
leaking, and therefore her owner need have no fear
that she would sink during the night. The rudder
had certainly been carried away, and probably one of
the propellers was damaged. In any case the yacht
would have to go into dry-dock; so, being satisfied on
the score of immediate safety, Mr. Hemster gave orders
to pull ashore, and thus we became guests of the
Nagasaki Hotel.</p>
<p>Next morning the Chinese steamer was nowhere in
sight, so it was reasonably certain she had been the
cause of our misfortune. The yacht rode at its anchorage,
apparently none the worse so far as could be seen
from the town. Before noon the craft was in dock,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_275">275</SPAN></span>
and we learned to our relief that her propellers were
untouched. She needed a new rudder, and the rest was
mere carpenter work which would be speedily accomplished
by the deft Japanese workmen. Mr. Hemster
had his desk removed to a room in the hotel, and business
went on as before, for there were still many details
to be settled with Mr. John C. Cammerford before he
proceeded toward San Francisco. I think we all enjoyed
the enlarged freedom of residence on shore, and
the old gentleman said that he quite understood his
daughter’s desire to get away from sight of sea or ship.
It struck me as remarkable that he was not in the
slightest degree alarmed for the safety of his daughter,
nor did he doubt for a moment her assertion that she
was going to stop at the country house of the Countess.
On the other hand I was almost convinced she had been
kidnapped, but did not venture to display my suspicions
to her father, as there seemed no useful purpose to be
served by arousing anxiety when my fears rested purely
on conjecture. Of course I consulted confidentially
with Hilda, but a curious transformation had taken
place in our several beliefs. When she spoke of the
probability of the girl’s committing suicide or doing
something desperate, I had pooh-poohed her theory.
We had each convinced the other, and I had adopted
her former view while she had adopted mine. She
had heard no scream on the night of the disaster, and
regarded it as a trick of my imagination.</p>
<p>But what made me more uneasy was the departure
of the Prime Minister. His fears for himself and
family were genuine enough, and he was not likely to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276">276</SPAN></span>
abandon a quest merely because his first effort had
failed. It meant death to him if he returned to Seoul
without the girl, so, if he had not captured her, it
seemed incredible that he should return the same night
without a single effort to accomplish his mission. The
second,—and, as far as he knew, successful,—essay
to sink the yacht, must have been to prevent pursuit.
He was probably well aware that the yacht was the
fastest steamer in the harbour, and, if it were not disabled,
would speedily overhaul him. He also knew
that his officers and crew were no heroes, and that with
half-a-dozen energetic Japanese in addition to our own
crew we could capture his steamer on the high seas
without the slightest effort being put forth to hinder
us. He had now a clear run to Chemulpo, and, however
resolute we were, there was no possibility of our
overtaking him. I had offered him my assistance,
which he had accepted in a provisional sort of way, yet
here he had disappeared from the scene without leaving
word for me, and apparently had returned to the
land where his fate was certain if he was unsuccessful.
Of course, he might have made for Yokohama or
Shanghai, but I was convinced, after all, that he cared
more for the safety of his family than for his own, and
indeed, if he was thinking only of himself, he was as
safe in Nagasaki as elsewhere. I could therefore come
to no other conclusion than that the girl was aboard
the Chinese steamer and was now a prisoner on her
way to Seoul, but of this I could not convince Hilda
Stretton, and Mr. Hemster evidently had no misgivings
in the matter.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277">277</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Obviously the first thing to do was to learn the antecedents
of the so-called Japanese Countess, and with
this intent I called at the American Consulate. The
official in charge received me with the gracious good-comradeship
of his nation, and replied with the utmost
frankness to my questions. He remembered Miss
Hemster’s visit of a few days before, and he assured
me that the Countess was above suspicion. As for her
knowledge of Corean, that was easily accounted for,
because her late husband had been a Japanese official
at Seoul a dozen years or so ago, and she had lived
with him in that city. Corea, indeed, had been in a
way the cause of the Countess’s financial misfortunes.
Her husband, some years before he died, had invested
largely in Corean enterprises, all of which had failed,
and so left his wife with scarcely anything to live upon
except the country house, which was so remote from
Nagasaki as to be unsalable for anything like the money
he had expended upon it. Exactly where this country
house was situated the United States Consul professed
himself ignorant, but said he would endeavour to find
out for me, and so genially asked me to take a drink
with him and call a few days later.</p>
<p>This conversation did much to dissipate my doubts.
Of course, without Mr. Hemster’s permission I could
not tell the Consul the full particulars of the case, or
even make any reference to them. So far as that courteous
official knew, I was merely making inquiries on
behalf of Mr. Hemster about the woman engaged to
be his daughter’s companion, and about the country
house which the girl had been invited to visit. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278">278</SPAN></span>
Consul assured me that everything was right and
proper, and that Miss Hemster would get a glimpse of
the inner life of the Japanese not usually unfolded to
strangers, and thus my reason was convinced, although
my instinct told me there was something unaccountable
in all this. The scream I had heard simultaneously
with the crashing of the collision might of course
have been the shrill shriek of one of the Chinese sailors,
but at the time it had sounded to me suspiciously
like the terrified exclamation of a woman. Then,
again, the action of the Prime Minister remained as
unaccountable as ever, unless my former theory proved
correct. However, I got the name of the Countess,
which none of us who remained had known before, and
I promised to return and learn the situation of the
country house. My visit, on the whole, was rather
reassuring; for, after all, there was little use in attaching
too much importance to the actions of any Corean,
even though he were Prime Minister of that country;
so the problem began to appear to be a self-conjured
one, and I gradually came to recognize that I had been
troubling myself for nothing.</p>
<p>The week that followed was one of the most delightful
in my existence. The captain was superintending
the repairs on the yacht, and the intricacies of Mr.
Hemster’s business activity were such that I could not
be of much assistance to him; so there was practically
nothing to do but to make myself agreeable to that dear
girl, Hilda, to whom I showed whatever beauties Nagasaki
possessed, and surely no one knew the town better
than I did. She took a vivid interest, not only in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279">279</SPAN></span>
the place, but also in my own somewhat doleful experience
there in former and less happy times, not yet remote,
the recital of which experiences rendered the
present all the more glorious by contrast.</p>
<p>On our tenth day ashore Hilda told me that the old
gentleman was beginning to worry because he had
heard nothing from his daughter, and Hilda herself
expressed some uneasiness because of the long silence.
This aroused all my old doubts, and I called a second
time on the American Consul. He told me that the
information I sought had been in hand several days.
The villa was called “The House of the Million Blossoms,”
and it was situated nearly ten miles from
Nagasaki. He produced a sketch map, drawn by himself,
which he said would guide me to the place, so I
resolved to visit it without saying a word to anyone.</p>
<p>I found the villa of the Blossoms without the least
difficulty, and a most enchanting spot it appeared to be.
Situated inland, at the bottom of a sheltered valley,
through which ran a trickling stream, the place had
evidently been one of importance in its day; but now
the entrance lodge showed signs of dilapidation, and
the plantation itself was so marvellously overgrown as
to be almost a wilderness, with foliage too thick for
me to see anything of the house itself. The custodian
of the lodge received me with great urbanity but no
less firmness. He confessed that the ladies were there,
but added that he had strict orders to allow no one to
enter or even to approach the house. I asked him to
take my card to the stranger lady, and, although at
first he demurred, I overcome his reluctance by an<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280">280</SPAN></span>
urbanity which I flatter myself was a stage imitation
of his own, and, what was more to the purpose, I induced
him to accept a present in the coinage of the
realm. Nevertheless he securely barred the gate and
left me outside, showing that his trust in my good
faith was either very weak, or that his politeness was
confined to the flowery language of his country. After
a long absence he returned, and handed to me a folded
sheet of note paper which I recognized as belonging
to the stationery of the yacht. It bore these words in
English, and in Miss Hemster’s handwriting:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“I wish to remain here in seclusion, and I consider it very
impertinent of you to have sought me out. I am perfectly
happy here, which I was not on board the yacht, and all I wish
is to be left alone. When good and ready I will write to the
yacht and to the Nagasaki Hotel. Until that time it is useless
for you to intrude.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This was definite enough, and I turned away angry
with myself for having played the busybody, not knowing
enough to attend to my own affairs. I had intended
to tell the young woman of the accident to the
yacht, making that in some way the excuse for my
visit; but in the face of such a message I forgot all
about the information I desired to impart, and so returned
in a huff to Nagasaki. This message set at rest
all thoughts of kidnapping, although it left my honoured
friend Hun Woe’s precipitate departure as much
a mystery as ever.</p>
<p>On my arrival at the hotel I showed the note to
Hilda, who averred there could be no doubt about its
genuineness, and she asked my permission to give it to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281">281</SPAN></span>
Mr. Hemster to allay his rapidly arising anxiety, which
mission it certainly performed as completely as it had
snubbed me.</p>
<p>Next day the yacht was floated and appeared none
the worse for the collision. The captain took her out
to the anchorage, and so we waited several days to hear
from the girl, but no word came. Finally her father
wrote a letter to her, beseeching some indication of her
plans, and this was sent by messenger to the House of
the Million Blossoms. The old gentleman had become
exceedingly tired of Nagasaki, and very evidently did
not know what to do with himself. The messenger returned,
but brought no answer. He said the man at
the gate had taken in the letter, and brought out the
verbal message that the lady would write when she
was ready to do so. This was the reverse of satisfactory,
and Mr. Hemster roamed about disconsolately
like a lost spirit. Hilda said he told her that his daughter
had never before remained in the same mind for
two days together, and this prolonged country house
visit caused him great uneasiness. He now became infused
with the kidnapping idea, not fearing that she
had been taken away to Corea, but believing that the
Japanese were holding her prisoner, perhaps with the
idea of a ransom later on. Finally Mr. Hemster determined
to visit the House of the Million Blossoms himself,
and he insisted on Hilda’s accompanying us, which
she did with some reluctance. Never did she believe
that this was other than one of the girl’s prolonged
caprices to make us all anxious, hoping to laugh at us
later on for being so.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282">282</SPAN></span></p>
<p>At the gateway we were met by the same imperturbable
guardian, who was as obdurate as ever. He
would take in any message, he said, but would not permit
us to enter even the grounds. Mr. Hemster sent
a letter he had written at the hotel, and in due time the
keeper came out with a signed note, somewhat similar
to the one I had received. It said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="in0">“<span class="smcap">Dear Father</span>:</p>
<p>“Do not worry about me; I am perfectly happy and wish to
remain here a few days longer.</p>
<p class="sigright">
<span class="l6">“Your affectionate daughter,</span><br/>
“G.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>After reading this he passed it on to Hilda and me in
silence. He got into his ’rickshaw without a word,
and we entered ours. The men tottered along until we
were out of sight of the lodge, and then Mr. Hemster
called a halt. He sprang out, and, approaching me,
said:</p>
<p>“Well, Tremorne, what do you make of it?”</p>
<p>The voice in which his question was put quivered
with anguish, and, glancing at his face, I saw it drawn
and haggard with an expression that betokened terror.</p>
<p>“Oh, there’s nothing to make of it, Mr. Hemster,
except that the young lady, for some reason unknown
to me, desires to make you anxious and has succeeded.”</p>
<p>“Tremorne,” he said, unheeding this attempted consolation,
“look at this note. It was not written to-day,
but weeks ago. It was written on board the yacht, and
so was the one you received, although I did not notice
that at the time. This was written with a stub pen,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283">283</SPAN></span>
the same that she used in sending me the first letter;
but this pen she did not take away with her, nor the
ink. My poor girl has been deluded into writing those
letters by some one who had a subtle end to serve. I
cannot fathom the mystery, but I am certain she is not
in that house.”</p>
<p>I sprang down from my ’rickshaw.</p>
<p>“I’ll soon settle that point,” I cried, “I will crush
through the boundary hedge, and break in the door of
the house. If there are any ladies within they will
soon make an outcry, which will reveal their presence.
You wait for me here.”</p>
<p>To this he at once agreed, and with some difficulty
I got into the thick plantation, through which I made
my way until I came to the house, the first look at
which convinced me it was empty. There is something
of desolate loneliness about a deserted house which instantly
strikes a beholder.</p>
<p>There was no need for me to break in, for one of the
windows was open, and, tip-toeing up on the broad
veranda, so that there would be no chance of the
custodian hearing me, I entered a room through this
window, and the whole silent house was at my disposal.</p>
<p>The interior would have struck a European unacquainted
with Japan as being unfurnished, but I saw
that it remained just as the Countess had left it. On a
small table, standing about a foot from the floor, I saw
a note similar to the one that had been handed to me
when I first inquired at the gate, also three long slips
of Japanese paper on which were written instructions<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284">284</SPAN></span>
in the Japanese language. I read them with amazement.
The first said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“This letter is to be given to a young man who calls, and
who speaks Japanese and English.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On the next slip:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“This letter is to be given to an old man who speaks nothing
but English.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The third slip bore:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“This is to be given to a young woman who speaks nothing
but English.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There was also a minute description of Mr. Hemster,
Miss Stretton, and myself, so that the man at the
gate could make no mistake, which indeed he had not
done. Hilda had not asked for a letter, therefore the
remaining note had not been delivered.</p>
<p>Whoever concocted the plot had expected a search
to be made for the House of the Million Blossoms, and
of course knew that its situation could easily be found.
I put all the documents into my pocket, and now went
out by the public exit, greatly to the amazement of my
urbane friend at the gate. I fear I may be accused of
adopting Western methods, but the occasion seemed to
me too serious for dilly-dallying. I pulled Mr. Hemster’s
revolver from my pocket and pointed it at the
man’s head.</p>
<p>“Now, you scoundrel,” I said in his own tongue,
“when did those women leave here? Answer me
truly, or I shall take you prisoner to Nagasaki, where
you will have to face the authorities.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285">285</SPAN></span></p>
<p>I showed him the written instructions I had captured
inside the house, and he saw at once that the
game was up.</p>
<p>“Excellency!” said he, still politely enough, “I am
but a poor man and a hireling. Many days ago a messenger
brought me these instructions and three letters.
No lady has been in this house for some years; the instructions
were written by my mistress, the Countess,
and I was compelled to follow them.”</p>
<p>I saw that the man spoke the truth, and proceeded to
cross-examine him on the motives which he imagined
actuated this extraordinary complication; but he had
told me all he knew, and was apparently as much in the
dark regarding the motive as I was myself. I left
him there, and hurried along the road over the hill to
the spot where I had left Mr. Hemster and Hilda.
Here I explained the conspiracy so far as I had discovered
it, but the record of my investigation naturally
did nothing to calm the fears of my employer, whose
shrewdness had given a clue to the real situation at the
House of the Million Blossoms. There was nothing
to do but get back to Nagasaki as speedily as possible,
and lay the case before the authorities. Hemster
seemed suddenly to have become in truth an old man.
We went directly to the hotel, and the clerk met us in
the passage-way.</p>
<p>“Mr. Hemster,” he said, “this telegram came for
you about two hours ago.”</p>
<p>The old gentleman tore open the envelope, read the
dispatch, then crushed the paper in his hand.</p>
<p>“Just as I thought,” he said. “She is in Seoul and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286">286</SPAN></span>
has found some way of communicating with me. Poor
little girl, poor little girl.”</p>
<p>The father’s voice broke momentarily, but he at once
pulled himself together again.</p>
<p>“Tremorne, tell the captain to get the yacht under
way. We will go on board immediately. We shall
want an escort from Chemulpo to Seoul; can we depend
on getting them at the port as we did before, or
had we better bring them from Nagasaki?”</p>
<p>“I think, sir,” said I, “that it would be well to take
a dozen from here. They are men I can trust, and I
shall have them aboard the yacht before steam is up.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” he said, decisively, “see to it.”</p>
<p>I sent a messenger to the captain, then devoted all
my energies to the selecting of my twelve men, taking
care that they were properly armed and provided with
rations. I sent them aboard one by one or two by two
in sampans, so that too much attention might not be
attracted toward our expedition.</p>
<p>This task accomplished, I hurried back to the hotel,
and found Mr. Hemster and Hilda waiting for me.
Cammerford was there also, talking in a low voice very
earnestly with the old gentleman, who stood with his
eyes bent on the ground, making no reply to the other’s
expostulations beyond shaking his head now and then.
Hilda and I went on ahead to the landing, the two men
following us. To my surprise Cammerford stepped
into the launch and continued talking to the silent man
beside him. When we reached the yacht Mr. Hemster
without a word mounted the steps to the deck. Hilda
followed, and Cammerford stood in the launch, a puzzled<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287">287</SPAN></span>
expression on his face. After a momentary hesitation
he pushed past me, and ran up the steps. I also
went on deck, and by the time I reached there my chief
was already in his wicker chair with his feet on the rail,
and a fresh unlit cigar in his mouth. Cammerford
went jauntily up to him and said with a laugh that
seemed somewhat forced:</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Hemster, I propose to continue this discussion
to Corea.”</p>
<p>“Just as you please,” replied the old man nonchalantly.
“I think we can make you very comfortable
on board.”</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_288">288</SPAN></span></p>
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