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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.
They failed to find him. One small clue they got, with little difficulty. After the hue-and-cry was fairly out, an Edgware Road pawnbroker came forward and informed the police that at two o'clock, or thereabouts, on the afternoon of the day on which Yada had made his escape from the window, a young Japanese gentleman who gave his name as Mr.
But there, as Melky threw open the door, his words of assurance came to an end. His face dropped as he stared into an empty room. Yada had risked his neck, and gone down the water-pipe. For the better part of a fortnight the sleuth-hounds of New Scotland Yard hunted for Mr. Mori Yada in all the likely and unlikely places in London and sent out their enquiries much further afield.
A smart maid answered that ring and looked dubiously at Ayscough as he proffered a request to see Mr. Mori Yada. Yes Mr. Yada was at home, but he didn't like to see any one, of an evening when he was at his studies, and in fact he'd given orders not to be disturbed at that time. "I think he'll see me, all the same," said Ayscough, drawing out one of his professional cards.
There was a deep design in his mind, and he meant to carry it out alone. Mr. Mori Yada, apparently as cool and unconcerned as ever, presently tripped down the steps of the police-station and went leisurely off, swinging his neatly rolled umbrella.
And to Melky, Yada accorded a slight nod and turned to Ayscough again. "Which," he asked calmly, "which of these gentlemen is the owner of the diamond? Which is the one who has lost eighty thousand pounds in bank- notes? That is what I want to know before I say more."
He put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, assumed an easy attitude as he leaned against the door, and looked speculatively at the new comer. "Aye? and what made you do that now, Mr. Yada?" he asked, half- carelessly. "A bit of curiosity, eh?" "Not idle curiosity, Mr. Detective," replied Yada. "I wanted to know, to make certain, which of the two Chinamen it really was who was there dead.
"I occasionally visited them occasionally they visited me that is all." "Dr. Pittery says they weren't brothers?" suggested Ayscough. "So I understood," assented Yada. "Friends." "You can't tell us anything of their habits? haunts? what they usually did with themselves when they weren't at the hospital?" asked the detective.
"See if you can find any letters, addresses, and so on," counselled Ayscough. He turned over some of the books, all of them medical works and text-books, opening some of them at random. And suddenly he caught sight of the name which the house-surgeon had given him half-an-hour before, written on a fly-leaf: Mori Yada, 491, Gower Street and an idea came into his mind.
Once more that duel of the eyes and to John Purdie, who prided himself on being a judge of expressions, it was evident that the younger man was more than the equal of the older. It was Levendale who gave way and when he took his eyes off Yada, it was to turn to Stephen Purvis. Stephen Purvis nodded his head once more and growled a little. "Make terms with him!" he muttered.
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