Lying on the floor."
"Take care of it," said Ayscough laconically. "Well--you haven't found any
papers, documents, or anything of that sort, that give any clue?"
"There's a lot of stuff there," answered the man in charge, pointing to a
pile of books and papers on the table, "but it seems to be chiefly
exercises and that sort of thing. I'll look through it myself, later."
"See if you can find any letters, addresses, and so on," counselled
Ayscough. He turned over some of the books, all of them medical works and
text-books, opening some of them at random. And suddenly he caught sight
of the name which the house-surgeon had given him half-an-hour before,
written on a fly-leaf: Mori Yada, 491, Gower Street--and an idea came into
his mind. He bade the man in charge keep his eyes open and leave nothing
unexamined, and tapping Melky's arm, led him outside. "Look here!" he
said, drawing out his watch, as they crossed the hall, "it's scarcely ten
o'clock, and I've got the address of that young Jap. Come on--we'll go and
ask him a question or two."
So for the second time that evening, Melky, who was beginning to feel as
if he were on a chase which pursued anything but a straight course, found
himself in Gower Street again, and followed Ayscough along, wondering what
was going to happen next, until the detective paused at the door of a tall
house in the middle of the long thoroughfare and rang the bell.
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