favourite brandy. "Now, I'll give you my idea."

For the rest of the morning the two men sat almost head to head, plotting
woe for the girl, whose chief offence had been against the dignity of
Thornton Lyne, and whose virtue had incited the hate of that vicious man.

CHAPTER IV

MURDER

Jack Tarling lay stretched upon his hard bed, a long cigarette-holder
between his teeth, a book on Chinese metaphysics balanced on his chest,
at peace with the world. The hour was eight o'clock, and it was the day
that Sam Stay had been released from gaol.

It had been a busy day for Tarling, for he was engaged in a bank fraud
case which would have occupied the whole of his time had he not had a
little private business to attend to. This private matter was wholly
unprofitable, but his curiosity had been piqued.

He lay the book flat on his chest as the soft click of the opening door
announced the coming of his retainer. The impassive Ling Chu came
noiselessly into the room, carrying a tray, which he placed upon a low
table by the side of his master's bed. The Chinaman wore a blue silk
pyjama suit--a fact which Tarling noticed.

"You are not going out to-night then, Ling Chu?"

"No, Lieh Jen," said the man.

They both spoke in the soft, sibilant patois of Shantung.

"You have been to the Man with the Cunning Face?"

For answer the other took an envelope from an inside pocket and laid it
in the other's hand. Tarling glanced at the address.

"So this is where the young lady lives, eh? Miss Odette Rider, 27,
Carrymore Buildings, Edgware Road."

"It is a clan house, where many people live," said Ling Chu. "I myself
went, in your honourable service, and saw people coming in and going out
interminably, and never the same people did I see twice."

"It is what they call in English a 'flat building,' Ling," said Tarling
with a little smile. "What did the Man with the Cunning Face say to my
letter?"

"Master, he said nothing. He just read and read, and then he made a face
like this." Ling gave an imitation of Mr. Milburgh's smile. "And then he
wrote as you see."

Tarling nodded. He stared for a moment into vacancy, then he turned on
his elbow and lifted the cup of tea which his servant had brought him.

"What of Face-White-and-Weak Man, Ling?" he asked in the vernacular. "You
saw him?"

"I saw him, master," said the Chinaman gravely. "He is a man without a
heaven."

Again Tarling nodded. The Chinese use the word "h