"What are the facts of this murder, Mr. Detective-Sergeant?" he
asked quietly. "Murder is not done without some object--as a rule."
Ayscough accepted the offered cigar, passed the box to Melky and while he
lighted his selection, thought quietly. He was playing a game with the
Japanese, and it was necessary to think accurately and quickly. And
suddenly he made up his mind and assumed an air of candour.
"It's like this, Mr. Yada," he said. "I may as well tell you all about it.
You've doubtless read all about this Praed Street mystery in the
newspapers? Well, now, some very extraordinary developments have arisen
out of the beginnings of that, it turns out."
Melky sat by, disturbed and uncomfortable, while Ayscough reeled off a
complete narrative of the recent discoveries to the suave-mannered,
phlegmatic, calmly-listening figure on the hearthrug. He did not
understand the detective's doings--it seemed to him the height of folly to
tell a stranger, and an Eastern stranger at that, all about the fact that
there was a diamond worth eighty thousand pounds at the bottom of these
mysteries and murders.
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