Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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asked the agent.
“He is,” answered Kin-Fo.
“Then, through friendship”—
“Through friendship, and, who knows? perhaps also through self-interest. I am insured for fifty thousand dollars, payable to him.”
“Fifty thousand dollars!” cried Mr. Bidulph. “Then it is Mr. Wang.”
“The same.”
“A philosopher! he will never consent.”
Kin-Fo was about to say, “This philosopher is an old Tai-ping, and during the first half of his life committed more murders than would suffice to ruin the Centenary, if all those whom he killed were insured in it. For eighteen years he has been able to restrain his ferocious instincts; but now that the opportunity is offered him, and he believes me to be ruined and determined to die, and knowing besides that he will gain a small fortune by my death, he will not hesitate.”
Kin-Fo said nothing of this however; for it would have been compromising Wang, whom perhaps Mr. Bidulph would not have hesitated to denounce to the governor of the province as a former Taiping. That would have saved Kin-Fo, no doubt; but the philosopher would have been lost.
“Well,” said the agent of the insurance company, “there is one very simple thing to do.”
“What is it?”
“You must inform Mr. Wang that the contract is broken, and get back the compromising letter which”—
“That is easier said than done,” answered Kin-Fo. “Wang disappeared yesterday, and no one knows where.”
“Humph!” said the principal agent, in whom this interjection denoted perplexity.
“And now, dear sir, you no longer wish to die?” he said, looking attentively at his patron.
“Faith, no!” answered Kin-Fo. “The operation of the Central Bank in California has almost doubled my fortune; and I am going to get married in good earnest, but not until I find Wang, or till the time agreed upon shall have fully expired.”
“When does it expire?”
“On the 25th of June of the present year. During the interval the Centenary runs considerable risk, and it should take measures in consequence.”
“And find the philosopher,” said the Honorable William J. Bidulph.
The agent walked up and down a few moments, with his hands behind his back, then said,—
“Well, we will find this all-important friend again were he hidden in the bowels of the earth. But till then, sir, we shall prevent any attempt at assassination, as we have prevented you from attempting suicide.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kin-Fo.
“This: that since the 30th of April last, the day you signed your insurance policy, two of my agents have followed you, observing where you went, and watching what you did.”
“I have not noticed it.”
“Ah! but they are discreet men. I ask your permission to present them to you, now that they no longer need to conceal their movements, unless from Mr. Wang.”
“Certainly,” answered Kin-Fo.
“Craig-Fry must be here, since you are.”
“Craig-Fry!” he called. Craig and Fry were indeed behind the door of the private office. They had “tracked” the patron of the Centenary as far as the office of the latter, and were waiting for him at the entrance.
“Craig-Fry,” said the agent, “while his policy remains, you will no longer have to save our precious client from himself, but from one of his own friends, the philosopher Wang, who has bound himself to kill him.”
Thus the two inseparables were made acquainted with the situation, which they understood and accepted. The wealthy Kin-Fo belonged to them, and he could not have more faithful servants.
Now what course should they take?
There were two courses, as the principal agent observed: they must either remain carefully shut up in Kin-Fo’s house at Shanghai, so that Wang could not enter without the knowledge of Fry-Craig, or else use all despatch to ascertain where the said Wang was to be found, who must be made to give up the letter, which must be considered null and void.
“The first plan will not answer,” said Kin-Fo. “Wang could reach me without being seen, since my house is his: so we must find him at all cost.”
“You are right, sir,” answered Mr. Bidulph. “The surest way is to find the said Wang, and we will find him.”
“Dead or”—said Craig.
“Alive!” concluded Fry.
“No, living,” cried Kin-Fo. “I do not intend to have Wang in danger a moment through my fault.”
“Craig and Fry,” added Mr. Bidulph, “you are to answer for our patron’s safety seventy-seven days longer; for till the 30th of next June he will be worth to us two hundred thousand dollars.”
Thereupon the insuree and the principal agent of the Centenary took leave of each other; and ten minutes later Kin-Fo, escorted by his two bodyguards, who were not to leave him again, entered the yamen.
When Soun saw Craig and Fry settled as officers in the house, he could not but feel some regret. There would be no more errands, answers, or taels. Besides, his master, in resuming life, had begun to abuse the lazy, awkward valet again. Unhappy Soun! what would he have said had he known what the future had in store for him?
Kin-Fo’s first thought was to “phonograph” to Cha-Coua Avenue, Pekin, the news of the change of fortune which made him richer than before. The young woman then heard the voice of him she believed lost forever repeat his most loving words. He would see his little younger sister again. The seventh moon would not pass without his hastening to her never to leave her. But, after having refused to make her poor and wretched, he did not wish to run the risk of making her a widow. Le-ou did not quite comprehend what this last phrase meant: she only understood one thing, that her lover had returned, and that before two months he would be near her.
That day there was not a woman in all the Celestial Empire happier than the young widow.
Indeed, a complete re-action had taken place in Kin-Fo’s ideas. He had become a fourfold millionnaire, owing to the fruitful operations of the Central Bank in California, and he now wished to live, and to live well. Twenty days of emotion had wholly 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 had taken farewell of them on one of the flower-boats on the River of Pearls. Wang would not have believed his eyes were he himself there, but he had disappeared without leaving a trace. He did not return to the house at Shang-hai; which caused Kin-Fo great anxiety, and obliged the two body-guards to keep watch over him every moment.
A week later, on the 24th of May, nothing had been heard of the philosopher; and, consequently, there was no possibility of going in search of him. In vain had Kin-Fo and Craig and Fry searched the conceded districts, the shops, the suspected quarters, and the environs of Shang-hai; and in vain had the most skilful tipaos of the police sought him in the country around. The philosopher could not be found.
However, Craig and Fry, who were more and more anxious, doubled their precautions. Neither day nor night did they leave their charge, eating at his table, and sleeping in his room. They even tried to induce him to wear a steel breastplate to protect himself from any possible dagger-thrust, and to eat nothing but eggs in the shell, which could not be poisoned.
Kin-Fo, it must be told, sent them away. Why not shut him up two months in the Centenary safe, under the pretext that he represented two hundred thousand dollars?
Then William J. Bidulph, who was always practical, proposed to his patron to restore the first premium, and