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Page 54
The man he had known as Shan Tung met his eyes with a quiet, strange
smile, a smile in which there was pride, a flash of sovereignty, of a
thing greater than skins that were white. "I am Prince Kao," he said.
"That is my diploma. I am a graduate of Yale."
Keith's effort to speak was merely a grunt. He could find no words. And
Kao, rolling up the parchment and forgetting the urn of tea that was
growing cold, leaned a little over the table again. And then it was,
deep in his narrowed, smoldering eyes, that Keith saw a devil, a
living, burning thing of passion, Kao's soul itself. And Kao's voice
was quiet, deadly.
"I recognized you in McDowell's office," he said. "I saw, first, that
you were not Derwent Conniston. And then it was easy, so easy. Perhaps
you killed Conniston. I am not asking, for I hated Conniston. Some day
I should have killed him, if he had come back. John Keith, from that
first time we met, you were a dead man. Why didn't I turn you over to
the hangman? Why did I warn you in such a way that I knew you would
come to see me? Why did I save your life which was in the hollow of my
hand? Can you guess?"
"Partly," replied Keith. "But go on. I am waiting." Not for an instant
had it enter his mind to deny that he was John Keith. Denial was folly,
a waste of time, and just now he felt that nothing in the world was
more precious to him than time.
Kao's quick mind, scheming and treacherous though it was, caught his
view-point, and he nodded appreciatively. "Good, John Keith. It is
easily guessed. Your life is mine. I can save it. I can destroy it. And
you, in turn, can be of service to me. You help me, and I save you. It
is a profitable arrangement. And we both are happy, for you keep
Derwent Conniston's sister--and I--I get my golden-headed goddess,
Miriam Kirkstone!"
"That much I have guessed," said Keith. "Go on!" For a moment Kao
seemed to hesitate, to study the cold, gray passiveness of the other's
face. "You love Derwent Conniston's sister," he continued in a voice
still lower and softer. "And I--I love my golden-headed goddess. See!
Up there on the dais I have her picture and a tress of her golden hair,
and I worship them."
Colder and grayer was Keith's face as he saw the slumbering passion
burn fiercer in Kao's eyes. It turned him sick. It was a terrible thing
which could not be called love. It was a madness. But Kao, the man
himself, was not mad. He was a monster. And while the eyes burned like
two devils, his voice was still soft and low.
"I know what you are thinking; I see what you are seeing," he said.
"You are thinking yellow, and you are seeing yellow. My skin! My
birthright! My--" He smiled, and his voice was almost caressing.
"John Keith, in Pe-Chi-Li is the great city of Pekin, and Pe-Chi-Li is
the greatest province in all China. And second only to that is the
province of Shantung, which borders Pe-Chi-Li, the home of our Emperors
for more centuries than you have years. And for so many generations
that we cannot remember my forefathers have been rulers of Shantung. My
grandfather was a Mandarin with the insignia of the Eighth Order, and
my father was Ninth and highest of all Orders, with his palace at
Tsi-Nan, on the Yellow Sea. And I, Prince Kao, eldest of his sons, came
to America to learn American law and American ways. And I learned them,
John Keith. I returned, and with my knowledge I undermined a
government. For a time I was in power, and then this thing you call the
god of luck turned against me, and I fled for my life. But the blood is
still here--" he put his hand softly to his breast, "--the blood of a
hundred generations of rulers. I tell you this because you dare not
betray me, you dare not tell them who I am, though even that truth
could not harm me. I prefer to be known as Shan Tung. Only you--and
Miriam Kirkstone--have heard as much."
Keith's blood was like fire, but his voice was cold as ice. "GO ON!"
This time there could be no mistake. That cold gray of his passionless
face, the steely glitter in his eyes, were read correctly by Kao. His
eyes narrowed. For the first time a dull flame leaped into his
colorless cheeks.
"Ah, I told you this because I thought we would work together,
friends," he cried. "But it is not so. You, like my golden-headed
goddess, hate me! You hate me because of my yellow skin. You say to
yourself that I have a yellow heart. And she hates me, and she says
that--but she is mine, MINE!" He sprang suddenly to his feet and swept
about him with his flowing arms. "See what I have prepared for her! It
is here she will come, here she will live until I take her away. There,
on that dais, she will give up her soul and her beautiful body to
me--and you cannot help it, she cannot help it, all the world cannot
help it--AND SHE IS COMING TO ME TONIGHT!"
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