“It does not need a document,” he said quietly. “We Chinese are peculiar people. If Mr. Lander came to me on his return from Italy and said--‘Yeh Ling, this property is my uncle’s in which you have only a small share’, I would reply, ‘that is true’, and if the agreement which we two men had not signed was not discovered, I should make no effort at law to preserve my rights.” And he meant it. Tab knew as he spoke, that he was telling the truth. He could only marvel that such an exalted code of honour could be held by a man who subconsciously, he regarded as of an inferior race and of an inferior civilisation. “You found the agreement?” “Yes, sir,” said Yeh Ling. “It had been taken out of the box in which I gave it to Mr. Trasmere and placed--elsewehere. But I found it--and other documents of no immediate interest. As to my coming here tonight--apart from your letter, lady, I was anxious to meet the Black Man also. Yes. He has been watching me for many days. I am certain it is the same.” He made a little grimace and rubbed his bruised head. “I met him,” he said. Carver jotted down a few notes in his book and then putting the book away, he turned and faced the Chinaman squarely. “Yeh Ling,” he said, “who murdered Jesse Trasmere?” The Chinaman shook his head. “I do not know,” he said simply. “To me it is amazing. There must be a secret passage that opens into the vault. I can think of no other way in which the murderer could have got in or out.” “If there is a secret way,” said the detective grimly, “then it is the best kept secret I have known. It has certainly been kept a secret from the men who built the house and the vault, and the Clerk of the Works who was on the spot all the time it was being erected. No, Yeh Ling, you must get that idea out of your head. Either the man Brown or Walters is guilty. We shall know the method they employed when we get them.” “Brown was not guilty,” said Yeh Ling quietly, “for I was with him when the murder was committed!” They heard his pronouncement with astonishment, even the girl seemed surprised. “Do you know what you are saying?” “I know what I am saying, and I rather wish I hadn’t said it,” said the Chinaman with a quick smile. “Nevertheless, it is true. If the murder was committed on Saturday afternoon, then I certainly was with the man called Wellington Brown, but whom we called The Drinker or the Unemployed One, at that hour. It embarrasses me to say how or where, but it would embarrass me more if you were to ask me whether I know his whereabouts at the present moment. To that question I should answer: ‘No.’” “And you would lie,” said Carver quietly. “I should lie,” was the calm answer. “Yet I tell you, Mr. Carver, that Wellington Brown was with me, under my eye, from half-past one o’clock in the afternoon of the Saturday on which Jesse Trasmere was killed until night.” Carver eyed him keenly. “When he came to you,” he asked, “how was he dressed?” The other shrugged his shoulders.