The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack. H. Bedford-Jones

substance. The whole secret lies in the way it is applied and made. Ever see anything like this?”

      From a drawer of his desk he took a small, round box of plain pine wood and handed it to me. Half that box was bare wood, the other half had been lacquered. And what a glorious lacquer that was! I had never seen anything like it. A soft and glowing combination of red and gold, thick as leather, tough as leather, yet blazing with a soft splendor impossible to put into words. The patina was even finer than that of the famous old Martin work.

      “A chap by the name of French was chief chemist for the Fuchow works,” said Kohler. “He developed tuberculosis. They sent him up into the mountains, with his sister. Not so long ago he sent ’em this sample. He didn’t know they had gone broke. Evidently he’s been at work up there. This is a novelty in lacquer, finer than anything known. I want you to go up there and buy the formula or the invention, whatever it is. Pay any price French asks, pay him any salary he asks to work for me.”

      “All right,” I said. Kohler looked at me and smiled.

      “George, watch your step! I’m sending you for two reasons. I can trust you; and you have an American’s initiative. Other people are after French, or will be after him. The Jap lacquer trust is in the ring; so is that big French mercantile concern in Yunnan and Shanghai—Dubonnet & Cie. They’ll stick at nothing.”

      “Neither will I,” was my response. Kohler grinned at this.

      “Good. Up to a certain point, I’ll be able to help you. There’s a China Navigation boat leaving tonight for Shanghai; catch it. A reservation is waiting for you. At Shanghai, it connects with a China Merchants boat for Fuchow. At Fuchow, go to the Brand House and one of my best men will call for you. He’ll tell you the rest.”

      “How’ll I know him?” I demanded. “You can’t expect me to trust every coolie—”

      Kohler smiled. “Read your Bible; read particularly the last verse of the third chapter of Second Chronicles, George; it’s interesting reading. And you’d better give the right answer when that man of mine turns up, or he may decline to trust you!”

      I comprehended the system, if not the details. Kohler was trusting nothing to writing. He had arranged some password, and by picking it from the Bible was playing pretty safe. This indicated that his man was a native Christian.

      “I don’t speak Chinese, you know.”

      “No matter. You won’t need to.”

      “Am I to travel as in your employ?”

      “No. Never mention my name. I’ll let it be known that you’re working for me, because I want suspicion kept off a couple of men in Fukien province who are getting some leases on lac-producing territory. The risk is yours; that’s what I’ll be paying for.”

      “Is French straight?”

      “Square as a die! Bring him to the coast, if he can come. If not, bring me the secret in your head. Write nothing down. French knows me, and I think he’ll sell readily to me.”

      “Shall I report here?”

      Kohler shrugged. “No. You’ll be informed where I am. Need anything more?”

      “No, thanks. I’ll get that boat tonight.”

      He shook hands with me, and so we parted.

      While I packed up and made ready that afternoon, I was doing a good deal of thinking. This job was apparently simple and open—but I knew James Sze Kohler! What was to hinder French coming to the coast? What was to hinder Kohler himself going to French? Politics aside, Kohler was the most influential man in China, could go anywhere, and did.

      “Something queer about the whole thing!” I reflected. “French has a sister, too! That’s bad. We’ll have to see what happens at Fuchow.”

      Before going aboard ship, I procured a Bible and looked up the section referred to.

      II

      I reached Shanghai and transferred to a small Merchants boat without incident. Later, I recalled with some wonder that it was very quick work; certainly no one could have come ahead of me. The coaster was waiting for us and we transferred directly to her. With me were a number of second-cabin natives.

      I made the acquaintance of O’Grady and Schneider in the smoking room, and being the only whites aboard, and liking one another, we devoted the voyage to bridge. O’Grady was an Irishman, a junior consular officer in the British service, and was on furlough from his duties in Japan. Being an amateur geologist, he was going wandering in the Chinese hills, hoping to get enough material for an article in the Asiatic Review. He was a tall, lean, powerful chap, with a hard mouth and a merry twinkle in his eye—extremely capable.

      Schneider was a French Jew, a commercial traveler, and smart as a whip. Highly educated, perfectly groomed, his dark oval features were handsome in the sleek French way. He, too, was bound for the interior; he was handling a line of typewriters which bore the newly adopted Chinese alphabet-system, and had sold dozens of them along the coast.

      I was, of course, a mere American tourist on vacation, trying to see the sights.

      It was morning when we entered the Min-kiang and bore up for Pagoda Anchorage, where we would be transferred into steam-launches and sent on to the city. I was standing up forward, alone, watching the river traffic, when Captain Sung Men came down from the bridge. He greeted me cheerfully, then approached.

      “Mr. Breck, will you pardon one word of advice?”

      I regarded him in some surprise, and smiled.

      “Advice, captain? Why, sure! Trouble with the customs ahead?”

      He shook his head. “No, you’ll be landed at the foreign settlement pier. This gentleman with whom you have been very friendly, this M. Schneider! Perhaps he did not inform you that he is one of the best agents of the Dubonnet company?”

      The words, and their import, startled me inexpressibly. While I knew there was practically no limit to the extent of Kohler’s underground activity, I was none the less astonished. So, then, Schneider was an enemy! Undoubtedly, he was also bound for my yet unknown destination in the hills. But this warning, from such a source, was amazing.

      “You think that he knows—”

      “That you are no tourist? Undoubtedly.” Captain Sung Men smiled slightly. Then he made a little gesture, as though in caution, and spoke more loudly. “Yes, a beautiful sight, Mr. Breck! The Anchorage is just ahead, and I would advise that you have your things packed. I believe the launches will be awaiting us.”

      He departed. I turned, to see O’Grady sauntering toward us, whistling cheerfully.

      “Packed up?” he asked. I nodded.

      “Yea. You’re going to the Brand House, I suppose?”

      “Only one here, they tell me.” He lighted a cigarette and proffered me one. “See here, Breck! What say we combine outfits? I’m going nowhere in particular, and neither are you. Two can live more cheaply than one, at least in China, what? We can strike up into the hills and have a bit of company, if you say the word.”

      I was not surprised at the proposal, for O’Grady had hinted at such a course during breakfast. And I was very glad of it. He was a splendid chap, good company and all that, and I was glad to have a white companion of his caliber. None the less, in justice to him, I could jump at nothing.

      “Fine,” I said cautiously, “but it’s only fair to tell you, O’Grady, that I have some enemies among the natives, and I’ve been tipped off that this trip might be risky.”

      He flicked the ash from his cigarette, and his eyes danced as they met mine.

      “Righto, Breck! Look out for this chap Schneider. He was soundin’ me out about you last night. Then it’s settled?”

      “Suppose we settle it tonight at the Brand House,” I said.