Tab walked through a break in the low hedge which separated Yeh Ling’s new home from the road and now stood regarding with interest the activities of the blue-bloused workmen. Their industry was remarkable. Whether they were running bricks and mortar, or cutting out the garden (already taking shape) or walling up the terraces, they moved quickly, untiringly, wholly absorbed in their occupations. Never once did they stop to lean upon their spades and picks to discuss the chances of the new administration, or to tell one another how Milligan got his black eye. Nobody seemed to notice Tab. He strolled further into the land and there was none to challenge his right. A gang of men were gravelling and rolling the broad path and one of these said something which sent the others into a fit of that chittering laughter which is peculiar to the East. Tab wondered what was the joke. Turning to walk back to the road, he saw that a car had stopped at the break in the hedge, and his heart gave a leap, for its occupant was Ursula. “What do you think of it?” she asked. “It is going to be rather wonderful--how do you like the idea of having a Chinaman for a neighbour? I forgot--you rather like the Chinese?” “Yes,” she said shortly. “There could be worse neighbours than Yeh Ling.” “You know him?” He wondered if she would deny acquaintance or evade the question. “Very well,” she said calmly, “he is the proprietor of the Golden Roof. I often dine there. You know him too?” “Slightly,” said Tab, looking back at the unfinished house. “He must be rich.” “I don’t know. One never really knows what money is required to build a place like this. The labour is cheap and it seems a very simple kind of house.” And then with a wave of her hand, she drove on. She might at least have asked him to lunch, he thought indignantly. A week went past, a drab week for a discontented Tab Holland, for now there was neither a likelihood of, nor an excuse for, a chance meeting. A sedative week for hiding Walters. References to the murder seldom appeared now in the newspapers, and he had found a man who had offered to get him a job as a steward on an outward bound liner. A week of drugged sleep for a besotted man, curled up on a mattress at the top of Yo Len Fo’s house. But for Inspector Carver an exceptionally busy week though there was no newspaper record of his activities. Tab no longer spent his evenings at home. The flat seemed horribly empty now that the love-sick Rex had gone. He had had a radio from him saying that he was improved in health. The message was cheerful enough, so that Ursula’s refusal could not have bitten very hard.