“Was it that?--” he hesitated, “something I had said that made you feel bad when we talked of Mr. Trasmere’s will?” She looked at him steadily but did not give an answer. “I used to hate this nightly borrowing of jewels,” she went back to her relations with Jesse Trasmere. “I had enough money to buy my own, though I have no particular leaning toward jewelry, but old Trasmere would not hear of it. Any movement towards my independence he checked ruthlessly,” she stopped suddenly and her mouth made a little “O” of surprise. “I wonder if he heard--in China?” she asked. “Yes, that is it! He must have met my father. That is how he came to know about me! I am sure Yeh Ling knows, because Mr. Trasmere had a habit of making elaborate notes--I wonder,” she said speaking to herself. Impulsively she threw out her hands and caught his. “Tab, the night you came into my dressing-room I felt instinctively that you were a factor in my life. I could never have dreamt how big a part you were going to be.” For once in his life Tab could not think of an appropriate rejoinder. XXVIII There came to police headquarters a tall, ruddy-skinned man of middle age. He wore a suit which was evidently not made for him, and he seemed a little depressed by his surroundings. “I have an appointment with Inspector Carver,” he said and passed a letter across the desk to the police clerk, who read it and nodded. “Inspector Carver is expecting you,” he said and called a messenger. Carver looked round as the door opened and viewed his caller with a speculative eye. Then he jumped up. “Of course!” he said. “Sit down please.” “I hope--” began the man, “there isn’t going to be any trouble.” “Not for you,” said Carver, “but I rather fancy there is trouble coming for somebody.” The messenger closed the door and left them together. Half an hour later Inspector Carver telephoned for the office stenographer, and when the harassed man with the fresh face and ill-fitting clothes left the police office after a three-hour examination, Inspector Carver had material for much cogitation. Tab called in the ordinary way of duty and they discussed the latest tragedy, but never once did Inspector Carver make reference to his visitor of the morning. That was his secret and too precious a one, in the circumstances, to breathe to a soul. He drove that afternoon to the detention prison where Walters was awaiting trial and had a long talk with him. Yeh Ling was in his parlour, half-way through his long weekly letter to his son, when Inspector Carver was announced. He put down his brush and gazed impassively upon the servant who had brought in the inspector’s card. “Is this man alone?” he asked. “Yes, Yeh Ling. There is no man with him.” Yeh Ling tapped his white teeth with his well-manicured nails.