He might be on a wrong track
altogether--due to the suspicions and assertions of that queer man,
Mirandolet. There might be some mystery--in Ayscough's opinion there
always was mystery wherever Chinese or Japanese or Hindus were concerned.
Yada might have some good reason for wishing to see Chen Li's dead body,
and have taken advantage of the detective's card to visit it. This
extraordinary conduct might be explained. But meanwhile Ayscough could not
afford to neglect a chance, and tired as he was, he set out to find the
driver of the taxicab whose number he had carefully set down in his
notebook.
There was little difficulty in this stage of the proceedings; it was
merely a question of time, of visiting a central office and finding the
man's name and address. By six o'clock in the morning Ayscough was at a
small house in a shabby street in Kentish Town, interviewing a woman who
had just risen to light her fire, and was surlily averse to calling up a
husband, who, she said, had not been in bed until nearly four. She was not
any more pleased when Ayscough informed her of his professional status--
but the man was fetched down.
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