Sign of the Dragon

Chapter One An Oath Of Allegiance

WHEN MY FATHER WAS stricken one morning in April, Death was the farthest from my thoughts. I looked upon it, as did Mrs. Waynemore, the housekeeper, as a passing illness. But, as he grew steadily worse, Doctor Barnes, who had known me since he helped usher me into this old world, said to me to hope for the best, but to be prepared for the worst. At last came the day when the doctor told the old gentleman that his hours were numbered, that he had done all in his power to stay the onward march of the Grim Reaper. Father listened to the verdict of the physician, and asked that I be summoned. My heart was heavy as I went in and took my place at his bedside.

He was quite calm, but I could detect a suppressed excitement in his eyes as he asked the doctor and the housekeeper to retire. In spite of its sadness my heart beat a little faster as they left the room, and I began to wonder what it could be that he wanted of me — alone. As soon as he was sure that the others were safely out of hearing, he indicated a seat for me by the head of the bed.

“Chester,” he began, before I leave this old world I want to tell you a tale out of my life that I have never told you before. I want you to listen without interruption, for my time is short and I want to be sure that it is finished before I pass on.”

He paused for a moment, as if doubtful just how to begin.

“I was just a bit older than you are now, and I had seen pretty much of the world, even at that age. But no matter where I roamed, I always came back to Manorport sooner or later. It was the only real home I knew. I had been back from my last trip just a few days. My pockets were well lined, for my last venture had been a profitable one. We all have our hobbies and mine has always been the acquisition of curios in the way of jewelry or trinkets, worthless except for their oddity. I was somehow reminded of a peculiar ring I had marked in a little Chinese shop, on the waterfront in Boston, which I had passed on my way home a few days before. I was possessed of an uncontrollable desire to add it to my collection. The desire for that ring grew upon me all throughout the day, and I spent a sleepless night because of it. The next morning I left Manorport intent only upon acquiring it. The shop I mentioned was in rather an unsavory section of the city, but I knew my Boston well. Many was the oddity I had picked up in this selfsame shop.The Chinaman who ran the place—Len Sang he called himself—knew me for a regular customer. My luck must have been sidetracked somehow. When I reached the shop I found, to my dismay, that the ring was gone from the window. There was no need of ‘pidgin’ English with Len Sang. I don’t know where he learned, but he could speak our language as well as I.

‘Yes,’ he told me, ‘I remember well the ring you have in mind. Was it not a silver ring, with a peculiar setting? A Chinese dragon, with eyes of jade?’

“ ‘That’s the one I came all the way back here to get,’ I told him. ‘Where is it? I want to buy it.’

“ ‘It is gone, sir. I sold it only last evening.’

‘Sold it! But I must have it!’ The desire for that ring was becoming an obsession.

“ ‘But yes,’ he returned; ‘wait but a moment.’

“He disappeared into the back room of the shop. When he returned, he had in his hand what I could have sworn was the self-same ring I had seen in the shop window.

‘Sly dog! I thought you told me you had sold it,’ I accused him.

“ ‘Aye, sir, and so I did,’ he bowed. “This is its mate. There were only two of these rings ever made. The one I sold last evening to the customer I mentioned. This ring is its exact duplicate.’

“That rather savored of mystery, and I asked him if by chance the rings had a history.

‘All that I know,’ he responded, ‘is that a few weeks ago a little old man came into the store with these two rings to sell me.

He told me they had been made especially for two Chinese nobleman, whose names and peculiarities I well knew, and were worn by them until their recent death. He claimed that they were the only rings of their kind ever made. How he came into possession of them, or his right to sell them, I did not question. We seldom question such rights here. I was taken by the peculiar character of the rings, so I bought them, almost at my own price. One I put in the window, where it has remained until last night; the other is here.’

He passed it over the counter for my inspection.

“I was rather skeptical about the story he told of the rings and how they came into his possession. It came too readily to his lips to carry any weight with me. From what I knew of Len Sang, he was, like most of the others of his race, secretive and taciturn. To find him loquacious was to make me suspicious that he must have a reason, for being so.

“I did not give him any inkling of my doubts, however, but began haggling with him over the price of the remaining ring. Len Sang was a shrewd business man, and he knew I wanted the ring badly. Finally we came to terms, I forgot just what the ring cost me, but Len Sang was no loser, of that I am certain.

“Len Sang bowed me all the way to the door of the shop, a sleepy, oily, shop-worn smile on his saffron face, thanking me profusely all the while for my custom. I was sorry, of course, that I had not been able to acquire the pair of rings, but I rather congratulated myself on my luck in their being a second one that I might buy. My bargaining had made me rather thirsty, so I made for a nearby grog-shop to quench my thirst and provide myself with an opportunity to examine my purchase more closely.

“I had settled myself with my half-and-half when I spied some one whom I had not seen in an age. It was ‘Spike’ Burgess; a big hulking brute of a man, but as good-hearted a chap as had ever been my good fortune to meet. Many a wild time we had weathered together and escaped unscathed. He was the only real ‘pal’ I had ever had, and I’d been lonesome enough. drifting around since I saw him last, two years before. I hailed him, and he came lumbering over to my table.

Peter Brent, by all that’s holy! Where have you been keeping yourself? Damn it all, old man, I’m glad to see you!’ “His mighty fist came down upon the table in emphasis of his remark with a crash that nearly splintered the boards of the table itself. I gripped the brawny hand he extended, and we settled down to talk over the things that had happened since we had last seen one another.

“We exchanged confidences freely, for at that hour of the day the saloon was well-nigh deserted. At length I bethought myself of my latest purchase. I slipped it off my finger and held it up for Spike’s inspection.

“I was totally unprepared for the effect it had upon him. At the sight of it his eyes dilated, his hands gripped the edges of the table so tightly that the muscles on his arms stood out like whipcords, and the perspiration ran down his face in streams.

“ ‘Good God, man!’ he rasped, his voice hoarse and unnatural, ‘where did you get that ring?’

“ ‘Why the excitement, Spike?’ I questioned. ‘I bought that ring at Len Sang’s, not more than a couple hours ago.’

“The terror slowly faded from his eyes.

“ ‘It’s all right, Peter, as long as you bought it,’ he returned; tut the last time I saw that ring, or its mate, was in Hong Kong. It was there I heard the legend that goes with it. If you’ll satisfy me by putting that ring back in you pocket before some one else sees it, we’ll take a little walk and I’ll tell you in a few words why I was so upset at the sight of it.’

“Back went the ring into my pocket, and we strolled aimlessly along the waterfront while he told me the tale he heard about the dragon rings.

“ ‘The rings are nearly as old as the legend itself, Peter’ he went on. ‘No one knows who made them, or for whom they were made. But they are supposed to possess this peculiar property. To anyone into whose possession they come legitimately, that person will have good luck and protection against all evil. But, should one of them be stolen, the charm is broken. Instead sudden death is in store for the culprit, and grave danger for the owner of the other until the stolen ring has been recovered, or until the thief disposes of it in some way. The last time I saw one of those rings, it was on the finger of a dead Chinese shop-keeper, in Hong Kong. No one knew how he had come to his death, but it was rumored that the ring had come into his possession by questionable means.’

“But why the concern, Spike, at my simply having one of the rings in my possession? You didn’t think I had stolen it, did you?’

“ ‘No, but someone else might. The news is all over the waterfront that Len Stang's was entered last night, and the mate to that ring stolen from the show-window.

It’s a wonder you hadn’t heard. I’d advise you to keep it out of sight until you get safely away from here.’

“Then I knew the reason for Len Sang’s talkative mood of the morning. He knew the legend of the rings, without a doubt; but he was afraid, should I learn it, he would be unable to dispose of the remaining ring, with its attendant danger for the owner.

“ ‘I’ve been up home in Manorport the last few days, so I haven’t heard any of the news down around here,’ I explained. `I saw the ring in the show-window when I passed the shop on the way home. I came down to Boston today on purpose to buy it.’ Then I told him of Len Stang’s story of how he acquired the rings, and the sale of the other the night before.

“ ‘Smooth tongued yellow devil!’ Spike commented.

Then, as if dismissing the subject, ‘Where are you headed, matey?” “ ‘I’m going back up to Manorport and rest up for a little while. After that, the Lord only knows. Say Spike,’ with a sudden inspiration, ‘come along up home and spend the night with me. I’m all alone, you know.

“He thought it over for a while, and not being able to think up any excuse that I would stand for, accepted the invitation.

“Trains weren’t as frequent in those days as they are now, Chester, and it was well along towards ten o’clock before we reached Manorport.

“As we made our way along the deserted main street, Spike caught my arm and drew me into the shadow of one of the buildings.

“ ‘I’ve a feeling we’re being followed,’ he told me.

“I laughed at him. ‘What’s the matter with you, anyhow, today, Spike? You’re as nervous as an old woman. Just a while ago I thought your eyes would pop out of your head at the mere sight of a ring, and now —’

“He swung me out of harm’s way just in time. I could feel the swish as the keen blade of a knife fanned my cheek, slashing through the air at the exact spot I had been but a moment before.

“In a flash, Spike was on my assailant. Silently they locked together in a struggle for the possession of that keen, gleaming, ugly blade.

“Back and forth they struggled, neither uttering a sound. I was helpless to take any active part in the fray, lest I dislodge Spike’s grip upon the man’s wrist. If that happened, one of was as good as dead.

“At last Spike’s tremendous weight began to tell. Inch by inch he forced my assailant back over his knee, till they were bent double. Suddenly the knife flashed free, as Spike aimed it at the body of the man who attacked us. He sank to the pavement without a sound.

“We rolled the man over to see who was responsible for our adventure, and looked down into the yellow face of the Chinaman who used to work around Len Sang’s.

“And there, on the finger of the hand that had sought to take my life, gleamed the mate to the ring that reposed in my pocket. The legend of the ring had once more worked itself out completely.

“I took from his finger the ring which had been the cause of the trouble. We reached my home at last, and safe in the rooms I occupied, we examined the rings closely. They were just as much alike as two peas in a pod. Far into the night we sat up talking over old times, but always our conversation would revert to the subject of the rings on the table before us. They seemed to hold a strange fascination, somehow. The jade eyes gleamed up at us with a hint of mystery, and power, that enthralled us. At last I was imbued with a big idea.

“ ‘Spike,’ I announced, ‘you have saved my life tonight. Many’s the close shave you and I have had together; many’s the time when our necks have been in danger; but tonight, had it not been for you, it would be I who lies dead out there upon the street instead of that Chinaman. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Take one of these rings. If ever you — or should you settle down some day, any of your family after you — need any assistance of any kind, even at the risk of life itself, the sign of the dragon, the symbol of this ring, will bring that assistance from me or mine.’

“He protested at first, but finally, over the table, in the early morning hours, we took a solemn oath of allegiance before God, to be handed down, if necessary, to the next generation, that Brent or Burgess, whichever the case might be, would respond to the ‘Sign of the Dragon’ and render assistance to the limit of his ability and power.

“The next morning he left me, and from that day to this I have never seen him. I heard, a few years later, that he had married and settled down, just as I had done, but in all those years I have had no ward from him. That night, over the table, with the dragon eyes of the ring gleaming oddly in the lamplight, is just as vivid in my memory as if it had happened yesterday. I want your promise Chester, that, should occasion ever arise, you will keep the oath I swore that night, and lend all assistance in your power, even at the risk of your life.”

As he finished his story, father reached beneath his pillow and passed me the most peculiar ring I had ever seen. It was a heavy silver land, with a wonderfully wrought dragon embossed upon it, and worked in green gold. Its eyes were of jade.

“This is the ring, Chester. Somewhere is the mate to it, an exact duplicate, the only other one like it in existence. You have heard my story. Can I depend upon you to take up the promise and live it cut to the letter? It is my last wish, Chester.”

I felt enthralled with the weirdness of it all. It was the adventure I had longed for, prayed for, all my life. How could I do otherwise than assent to his wishes?

“Dad,” I told him, “as God is my judge, I swear to respond to the sign of this dragon ring if it should ever call to me.”

“Chester,” he returned, “the word of a Brent is good as gold. I can die happy in the knowledge that my trust will be safely carried out. I knew I could depend upon you, boy of mine.”

I kissed his hot brow and slipped the mysterious ring into my pocket as the old doctor clamored for admittance once more. That night my father passed out into the Great Beyond. He had gone forth upon his last Adventure.

Chapter Two The Sign Of The Dragon

Three uneventful years had rolled by since the death of my father. Not so very long before he died, on my twenty-first birthday, to be specific, he had taken me into the business with him as junior partner, and the firm had changed from the widely known “Peter Brent” to “Brent & Son.” Therefore, upon his demise, the supervision of the business came into my hands.

In order to be nearer my work I had disposed of the old place in Manorport, and taken apartments in Boston. Here I lived the life of a recluse. The ordinary social life of the city bored me tremendously. I still yearned for some outstanding adventure that I might look back upon in later years, and point to as having lifted me out of the rut of humdrum, everyday life. I had about come to the conclusion that adventure, as I interpreted the word, was dead. At any rate, I felt convinced it was not to be found outside the .covers of some lurid fiction magazine. Adventure, however, is somewhat like a German submarine. She lurks in some unexpected quarter, waiting a chance to torpedo her victims without warning, and leaves them to sink or swim as best they may.

I had almost forgotten the dragon ring, which rested snugly at home in a corner of my desk drawer. The tale which had seemed so vivid at my father’s telling, was losing its grip as they passed by. In fact, had it not been for an occasional “cleaning up” process, when I would always come across the odd ring he had given me, I think I would have forgotten the episode entirely.

At such time I would think over the whole story as he told it to me. I often wondered if the sign of the dragon would ever call upon me to keep the pledge my father made those long years before, and that I had sworn to observe.

I would always dismiss the matter with a laugh, and tuck the ring away once more, to be forgotten until the next time I “cleaned house.” Of course, nothing would ever come of it! I was a fool to fritter away my time dreaming over such idle fancies. I was living in an age of science and system. Adventure was dead!

My longing for some sort of unusual happening made me weave romances around every odd character I passed upon the street. I built air-castles of adventure from the most trivial incidents. Somewhere I had read that each life was only one of a million “passing tales,” that hidden in each life was some unsuspected incident that might furnish the material for a yarn such as few could spin. I wasted many idle moments in a futile endeavor to fathom the “skeleton in the closet” of my acquaintances and business associates.

Perhaps it was this trick of poking my nose into other people’s business that accounted for the bad case of “nerves” I was developing. At twenty-five one ought not to shy at a shadow, as I confess I had been doing of late, especially when he was always prattling of an innate desire for adventure.

For the past few days I had the uncomfortable sensation of being followed. I could “feel” the intentness of a pair of eyes watching the back of my head. Wherever I went I had an uncontrollable desire to suddenly turn and confront whoever was on my trail.

Of course it was all absurd. Nothing more or less than a hallucination, due to my foolish imaginings.

Still, the feeling persisted with such bulldog tenacity I could not rid myself of it.

If any one was shadowing me I’ll give them credit for making a good job out of it. Try as I might, I could not catch my shadow unawares. I tried every device I had ever read about for forcing one into revealing himself, but all to no avail.

The persistency of the notion gave me an uneasy feeling I can hardly describe. After a few days of it I decided to take a long postponed vacation. Then something occurred which startled me into a belief that perhaps adventure was still on the job, after all.

The morning mail arrived at my apartment each day just before breakfast, and part of my morning program, religiously adhered to, was the opening of the mail over the coffee cups.

There was always something, a bill from the tailor, an invitation to some function or other which would require a polite note of refusal; in fact, the tenor of my morning mail was quite often responsible for the frame of mind in which I reached the office.

This particular morning brought several letters. I glanced at them automatically before opening any of them, and my attention was arrested by one addressed in a distinctly feminine, yet unfamiliar hand.

I instinctively separated it from the others, and left it to be opened last.

There was the usual monthly statement from my club, and an advertisement or two that were quickly disposed of. With my usual habit of making a mountain out of a molehill, I began building a mystery right away around the unopened letter. Why should a young lady be writing to me? My acquaintances included few of the fair sex, and none who would have any reason for writing to me. (Of course, I imagined my unknown correspondent as young and, perhaps, a wee bit good looking.)

I turned the missive over and over in my hands, even holding it up to the light in a vain effort to get some inkling of the contents before I opened it. It was mine all right; there could be no mistake about that. The address was clear enough:

CHESTER BRENT, Esq. Cheltingham Apartments, Boston, Mass.

I suppose if I had been anything but a hare-brained young fool, I would have had that letter opened and read two or three times, but as I have said before, I was a worshipper at the shrine of any possible adventure. At last I split the flap of the envelope, and drew out its contents expectantly. But with all my suppositions, I was totally unprepared for what that envelope actually contained. The note itself was unsigned, and was in the same firm, legible hand as the writing on the envelope.

It was short and businesslike in the extreme:

MY DEAR MR. BRENT:

I am very desirous of seeing you on a matter of importance. I take this method of announcing that I shall call at your office some time Tuesday, the twelfth, to interview you. As it is imperative that I see you in person, I shall identify myself by means of a card such as I have enclosed.

The note was puzzling enough, I’ll admit, but it was not the note with which I was chiefly concerned. It was the enclosure. An ordinary-sized calling-card, perfectly blank except for a large blotch of red sealing wax in the center. And imprinted in the wax was an ensignia that could only have been made by the mate to the green dragon ring with the jade eyes, that reposed in my desk-drawer!

The sign of the dragon!

The words of my father came back to me as vividly as if he was at the moment speaking them again into my ear:

“ . . . that Brent or Burgess, whichever the case might be, would respond to the sign of the dragon and render assistance to the limit of his ability and power.”

And I was pledged to carry out this promise to the letter. I rescued my ring from its resting place and fitted it to the dragon seal upon the card. Any doubts that I might have had to its authenticity were immediately dispelled. It fitted as well as if my own ring had been the one to make the impression. My brain was whirling in an attempt to grasp the significance of it all. After all these years the twin rings were again fated to cross each other’s paths. What would be the outcome?

I slipped the ring on my finger and gazed at it, fascinated by the gleaming jade eyes of the green and gold dragon. I rather hesitated to wear the ring, for I knew its oddity would invite innumerable questions, but I was resolved that it should accompany me wherever I went until this adventure was at an end. Tuesday the twelfth? That was tomorrow! I was keyed up to the highest pitch of excitement. Adventure was not dead! Without warning I had been plunged into what seemed to me must prove the experience I had wished for so long. A years-old pledge of fealty; twin rings of an oddity that defied adequate description as symbols of that pledge; an unsigned note in a feminine hand — what more could one ask in the way of a mysterious setting? I could have imagined nothing more promising of future thrills than this combination.

I don’t exactly know how I got through the day, but I know that evening came at last. My mind was still intent upon the caller of the morrow. What would she be like? Would she be dark or fair, young or old? I pictured myself as the hero of all kinds of impossible adventures, with my mysterious correspondent as the much persecuted heroine. I slept but little that night, I can tell you, and my trip to the office was made with my mind way off somewhere above the clouds. Not another word had I heard. All that I knew was that the sign of the dragon had called to me to aid, and that the call had come in the handwriting of a woman.

Chapter Three Anita Burgess

My expected visitor kept me on the anxious seat until well into the afternoon. For fear I might miss her, I pointed to a nearby restaurant and had them send my luncheon to the office. I was beginning to be assailed by doubts and misgivings, when the boy brought me an envelope addressed in the same handwriting as my note of the previous day. I knew before I opened it exactly what I would find inside. An exact duplicate of the card I already carried in my pocket. Just a blotch of red sealing wax, stamped with the sign of the dragon.

“Lady to see you, sir,” he announced. “She wouldn’t give her name, but she told me to bring you the note, and said you would understand.”

“It’s all right,” I assented: “show her in.”

The dragon ring in my pocket seemed to find its way to my finger automatically. At last my mysterious caller had arrived. At last I was to learn what service I could render to the owner of the other ring. I suppose I should have been calm and self-possessed, but my heart was beating at trip-hammer speed. I felt myself growing hot and cold by turns. As I rose to greet my visitor, however, I congratulated myself that outwardly I was as cool as a cucumber. My first impression of her was eminently satisfactory. From the top of her modish hat, set jauntily upon a wealth of auburn hair, to the tip of her natty gray kid boots, she was typical of the modern, self-reliant American woman. She was just the type that to my mind fitted her present role to perfection.

“Mr. Brent?” she inquired, extending her hand. I noticed at once, on the middle finger, a replica of the ring I was wearing. I nodded in acquiescence, and drew up a chair for her. “You received my note?”

In reply, I produced the two strange calling cards I had received.

“You have the advantage of me, Miss —”

“Burgess,” she supplied. “Anita Burgess. I trust you will pardon the rather mysterious way in which I announced myself, but my business is of such a nature that I preferred my identity to remain unknown until I was sure I had found the right Mr. Brent.”

“And you are certain?”

“Oh, yes. The ring on your left hand satisfies me on that score. But, to the business at hand. You are familiar with the pledge associated with the ring you wear?”

“I promised my father, on his death-bed, three years ago, to observe the pledge he made to your namesake, should the occasion ever arise.”

“Good enough! I do not come to you through choice, Mr. Brent, but dire necessity. I have a favor to ask of you that may entail the risking of your life. I want you to listen closely to what I have to tell, and think carefully before you decide as to whether you wish to take so great a risk as I must ask of you.”