With a polite bow he
handed a card in Levendale's direction.
"Permit me, sir," he said suavely. "My card. As for the rest, perhaps Mr.
Detective here will tell you."
"It's this way, you see, Mr. Levendale," remarked Ayscough. "Acting on
information received from Dr. Pittery, one of the junior house-surgeons at
University College Hospital, who told me that Mr. Yada was a fellow-
student of those two Chinese, and a bit of a friend of theirs, I called on
Mr. Yada last night to make enquiries. And of course I had to tell him
about the missing property--though to be sure, that's news that's common
to everybody now--through the papers. And--what else have you to tell, Mr.
Yada?"
But Yada was watching Levendale--who, on his part, was just as narrowly
watching Yada. The other men in the room watched these two--recognizing,
as if by instinct, that from that moment matters lay between Levendale and
Yada, and not between Yada and Ayscough. They were mutually inspecting and
appraising each other, and in spite of their impassive faces, it was plain
that each was wondering about his next move.
It was Levendale who spoke first--spoke as if he and the young Japanese
were the only people in the room, as if nothing else mattered.
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