For answer the other took an envelope from an inside pocket and laid it in the other's hand. Tarling glanced at the address. "So this is where the young lady lives, eh? Miss Odette Rider, 27, Carrymore Buildings, Edgware Road." "It is a clan house, where many people live," said Ling Chu. "I myself went, in your honourable service, and saw people coming in and going out interminably, and never the same people did I see twice." "It is what they call in English a 'flat building,' Ling," said Tarling with a little smile. "What did the Man with the Cunning Face say to my letter?" "Master, he said nothing. He just read and read, and then he made a face like this." Ling gave an imitation of Mr. Milburgh's smile. "And then he wrote as you see." Tarling nodded. He stared for a moment into vacancy, then he turned on his elbow and lifted the cup of tea which his servant had brought him. "What of Face-White-and-Weak Man, Ling?" he asked in the vernacular. "You saw him?" "I saw him, master," said the Chinaman gravely. "He is a man without a heaven." Again Tarling nodded. The Chinese use the word "heaven" instead of "God," and he felt that Ling had very accurately sized up Mr. Thornton Lyne's lack of spiritual qualities. He finished the tea, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Ling," he said, "this place is very dull and sad. I do not think I shall live here." "Will the master go back to Shanghai?" asked the other, without any display of emotion. "I think so," nodded Tarling. "At any rate, this place is too dull. Just miserable little taking-money-easily cases, and wife-husband-lover cases and my soul is sick." "These are small matters," said Ling philosophically. "But The Master"--this time he spoke of the great Master, Confucius--"has said that all greatness comes from small things, and perhaps some small-piece man will cut off the head of some big-piece man, and then they will call you to find the murderer." Tarling laughed. "You're an optimist, Ling," he said. "No, I don't think they'll call me in for a murder. They don't call in private detectives in this country." Ling shook his head. "But the master must find murderers, or he will no longer be Lieh Jen, the Hunter of Men." "You're a bloodthirsty soul, Ling," said Tarling, this time in English, which Ling imperfectly understood, despite the sustained efforts of eminent missionary schools. "Now I'll go out," he said with sudden resolution. "I am going to call upon the small-piece woman whom White-Face desires." "May I come with you?" asked Ling. Tarling hesitated. "Yes, you may come," he said, "but you must trail me."