Suddenly he jumped to his feet.
"You take a little drop of whisky-and-soda?" he said hospitably, pushing a
clean glass towards Ayscough. "Yes--I will get another glass for your
friend, too. Help yourselves, please, then--I will look in my diary for an
answer to your question. You excuse me, one moment."
He walked across the room to a writing cabinet which stood in one corner,
and took up a small book that lay on the blotting-pad; while he turned
over its pages, Ayscough, helping himself and Melky to a drink, winked at
his companion with a meaning expression.
"I have not seen either Mr. Chang Li or Mr. Chen Li since the morning of
the 18th November," suddenly said Yada. He threw the book back on the
desk, and coming to the hearthrug, took up a position with his back to the
fire and his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He nodded politely as
his visitors raised their glasses to him. "Is anything the matter, Mr.
Detective-Sergeant?" he asked.
Ayscough contrived to press his foot against Melky's as he gave a direct
answer to this question.
"The fact of the case is, Mr. Yada," he said, "one of these two young men
has been murdered! murdered, sir!"
Yada's well-defined eyebrows elevated themselves--but the rest of his face
was immobile.
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