CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MR. MORI YADA
Ayscough was on his guard as soon as he saw that smile. He had had some
experience of various national characteristics in his time, and he knew
that when an Eastern meets you with a frank and smiling countenance you
had better keep all your wits about you. He began the exercise of his own
with a polite bow--while executing it, he took a rapid inventory of Mr.
Mori Yada. About--as near as he could judge--two or three and twenty; a
black-haired, black-eyed young gentleman; evidently fastidious about his
English clothes, his English linen, his English ties, smart socks, and
shoes--a good deal of a dandy, in short--and, judging from his
surroundings, very fond of English comfort--and not averse to the English
custom of taking a little spirituous refreshment with his tobacco. A
decanter stood on the table at his elbow; a syphon of mineral water reared
itself close by; a tumbler was within reach of Mr. Yada's slender
yellowish fingers.
"Servant, sir!" said Ayscough. "Detective Sergeant Ayscough of the
Criminal Investigation Department--friend of mine, this, sir, Mr.
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