When Judge Dee had finished his dinner he told the clerk to serve tea on the terrace.

The judge slowly ascended the broad stone staircase and seated himself in a comfortable armchair. A cool evening breeze had swept away the clouds. The full moon cast its eerie radiance over the wide expanse of the lake.

He sipped the hot tea; the clerk disappeared noiselessly on his felt shoes. The judge was all alone on the broad terrace. With a contented sigh he loosened his robe, leaned back in the chair and looked up at the moon.

He tried to review the events of the past two days. He found to his dismay, however, that he could not concentrate his thoughts. Disconnected images kept flitting across his mind's eye. The face of the dead courtesan staring up at him from under the water, the horribly disfigured head of the murdered carpenter, the haggard face outside the window of the bridal room-all those kept turning round and round in quick succession.

Judge Dee got up impatiently. He went to stand by the marble balustrade. The town below was alive with human activity. He could hear faintly the din from the market place in front of the Temple of Confucius. This was his town, with thousands of people entrusted to his care. Yet foul murderers stalked about there planning who knew what new crimes. And he, the magistrate, was unable to stop them.

Greatly vexed, the judge started pacing the terrace, his hands on his back.

Suddenly he stopped; he thought for a while, then turned round and hurriedly left the terrace.

In his deserted private office he opened a box containing discarded articles of clothing. He selected an old, tattered robe of faded blue cotton. Having donned that disreputable garment, he added an old patched jacket on top of it which he fastened with a rope round his waist. He took off his gauze cap, loosened his topknot, and bound up his hair with a dirty rag. After he had put two strings of cash in his sleeve, he went outside and tiptoed across the dark courtyard. He left the tribunal compound by the side door.

In the narrow alley outside he scooped up a handful of dust and rubbed that in his beard and whiskers. Then he crossed the street and walked down the steps leading into the city.

When he got to the market place he soon found himself in the midst of a seething crowd. He elbowed his way to a street stall and bought an oil cake baked in rancid fat. He forced himself to take a bite from it, smearing the fat in his mustache and over his cheeks.

Walking idly hither and thither, he tried to strike up an acquaintance with some of the vagabonds hanging around there, but all seemed bent on their own business. He tried to begin a conversation with a meatball vendor. But before he had opened his mouth the man hastily pressed a copper coin in his hand and hurried on, shouting lustily: "Finest meatballs, only five coppers apiece!"

Judge Dee reflected that a cheap eating house might afford better opportunity for getting into contact with the underworld. He entered a narrow side street where he had seen a red lantern advertising hot noodles. He drew aside the dirty door curtain.

The smell of burning fat and cheap liquor met him. A dozen or so coolies were seated at the wooden tables, noisily gobbling their noodles. Judge Dee sat down on a bench behind a corner table. A slovenly waiter walked up to him, and the judge ordered a bowl of noodles. He had studied the ways of the underworld so that he could freely use their jargon, yet the waiter gave him a suspicious look.

"Where might you be from, stranger?" he asked in a surly voice.

The judge realized with dismay that he had overlooked the fact that in such a small, self-contained community any stranger was apt to be noticed. He answered hurriedly:

"I just arrived here this afternoon from Chiang-pei. What is it to you anyway! You get me my noodles and I'll get you your coppers. Get a move on!"

The man shrugged and shouted the order to the kitchen at the back.

Suddenly the door curtain was roughly drawn aside and two men came in. The first was a tall, burly fellow with baggy trousers, his torso covered by a sleeveless jacket that left his long, muscular arms bare. He had a nearly triangular face with a stiff short beard and a bristling mustache. The other was a lean fellow dressed in a patched robe. His left eye was covered by a black plaster. He nudged his companion and pointed at the judge.

They quickly stepped over to his table and sat down on either side of him.

"Who asked you to sit down here, you dog's-heads?" the judge growled.

"Shut up, you dirty interloper!" the tall man hissed. The judge felt the point of a knife prodding his side. The one-eyed man pressed close to him; he exuded an offensive odor of garlic and stale sweat. He said with a sneer:

"I myself saw you pocketing a copper in the market place. Do you think we beggars will allow a dirty interloper to lap from our rice bowl?"

In a flash the judge understood the full extent of his folly. By exercising the profession of a beggar without having joined their guild he had gravely offended against age-old, unwritten rules.

The point of the knife became more insistent. The tall man rasped: "Come along outside! Behind there is a quiet yard. Our knives will decide whether you have a right to be here or not!"

Judge Dee thought quickly. He was a good boxer and an expert swordsman, but he was completely ignorant of the knife fighting practiced in the underworld. To reveal his identity was, of course, out of the question; he would rather die than become the laughingstock of the entire province! The best plan was to goad the ruffians into a fight here and now. The coolies would probably join the fray and that would give him a better chance. With a powerful push he shoved the one-eyed man onto the floor. At the same time he knocked the knife away with a backward blow of his right elbow. He felt a sharp pain in his side. But now he could jump up, crashing his fist into the knife wielder's face. He kicked the bench away and ran round the table. He picked up a tabouret and, after wrenching off one leg for a club, raised it as a shield. Cursing loudly, the two ruffians scrambled up and went for the judge, now openly displaying their long knives. The coolies turned round. Far from joining the scuffle, they settled down contentedly to watch gratis a good fight.

The tall man lunged forward with his knife. The judge parried the blow with the tabouret, then hit out with his improvised club for the other's head. As the man ducked quickly, a truculent voice called out loudly from the door:

"Who is making trouble here?"

A cadaverously lean man with a slight stoop came toward them. The two ruffians hastily put away their knives and bowed. Resting his hands on a knobstick the old man stood there surveying them with crafty eyes from under gray tufted eyebrows. Although clad in an old brown robe and wearing a greasy skullcap, he had an unmistakable air of authority. Looking at the husky man he said sourly:

"What are you at now, Mao Loo? You know that I don't like killings inside the city."

"The rule is that an interloper be killed!" the other muttered.

"That's for me to decide!" the old man said gruffly. "As head of the Beggars' Guild I have my responsibilities. I don't condemn a fellow before I have heard him. Hey, you, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I just wanted to have a bite before I went to see you," Judge Dee answered sullenly. "I came to this accursed town only a few hours ago, but if a man can't eat his noodles in peace here I'd better return where I came from!"