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Updated: June 14, 2025
"They are diaries; I wonder if the beggar kept a diary?" He piled the little volumes on the bed and Tarling took one and turned the leaves. "Thornton Lyne's diary," he said. "This may be useful." One of the volumes was locked. It was the newest of the books, and evidently an attempt had been made to force the lock, for the hasp was badly wrenched. Mr.
She inserted the key and uttered a note of exclamation, for the door yielded under her pressure and opened. "It is unlocked," she said. "I am sure I fastened it." Tarling put his lamp upon the lock and made a little grimace. The catch had been wedged back into the lock so that it could not spring out again. "How long were you in the house?" he asked quickly. "Only a few minutes," said the girl.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see what impression the man had made upon Ling Chu. To the ordinary eye Ling Chu remained an impassive observer. But Tarling saw that faint curl of lip, an almost imperceptible twitch of the nostrils, which invariably showed on the face of his attendant when he "smelt" a criminal. "Mr. Tarling is a detective," repeated Lyne.
"He is a gentleman I heard about when I was in China you know I was in China for three months, when I made my tour round the world?" he asked Tarling. Tarling nodded. "Oh yes, I know," he said. "You stayed at the Bund Hotel. You spent a great deal of time in the native quarter, and you had rather an unpleasant experience as the result of making an experiment in opium smoking."
He says he can give me a key that will open any door. Suppose I went ... in the dark? And I could leave a clue behind. What clue? Here is a thought. Suppose I left something unmistakably Chinese? Tarling had evidently been friendly with the girl ... something Chinese might place him under suspicion...." The diary ended with the word "suspicion," an appropriate ending.
"It was protected with heavy bars," said Tarling, "so nobody could have escaped that way." "I examined the wound," Milburgh went on, nodding his agreement with Tarling's description, "and knew that it was fatal. I do not think, however, that Mr. Thornton Lyne was dead at this time.
A swift turning back of his prisoner's coat pinioned him, and then with dexterousness and in silence he proceeded to search. From two pockets he took a dozen jewelled rings, each bearing the tiny tag of Lyne's Store. "Hullo!" said Tarling sarcastically, "are these intended as a loving gift from Mr. Lyne to Miss Rider?" The man was speechless with rage. If looks could kill, Tarling would have died.
"Many people know the little-young-woman at the great Stores where the white-faced man lived, and they all say that she does not drive the quick cart." Tarling considered for a while. "Yes, it is true talk," he said. "The little-young-woman did not kill the white-faced man, because she was many miles away when the murder was committed. That we know. The question is, who did?"
"Now, my lad," Tarling went on and when he was in a persuasive mood his voice was silky "they tell me that you were a friend of Mr. Lyne's." Sam nodded. "He was good to you, was he not?" "Good?" The man drew a deep breath. "I'd have given my heart and soul to save him from a minute's pain, I would, sir! I'm telling you straight, and may I be struck dead if I'm lying!
Lyne was due, to let him in. You asked me just now, sir," he turned to Tarling, "whether I had my overcoat on, and I can state most emphatically that I had not. I was going back to the flat with the intention of collecting my overcoat, when I saw a number of people walking about the mews behind the block.
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