The heavy, narcotic odour which Purdie had noticed at once on entering the rooms came afresh, out of the newly-opened door, in a thick wave. And as the rest of them crowded after the Inspector, they saw why. This was a small room, hung like the first one with curiously-figured curtains, and lighted only by a sky-light, over which a square of blue stuff had been draped. In the subdued life they saw that there was nothing in that room but a lounge well fitted with soft cushions and pillows--and on it, his spare figure wrapped in a loose gown, lay a young Chinaman, who, as the foremost advanced upon him, blinked in their wondering faces out of eyes the pupils of which were still contracted. Near him lay an opium pipe--close by, on a tiny stand, the materials for more consumption of the drug. The man who had accompanied the Inspector in his entrance to the tea-shop strode forward and seized the recumbent figure by the shoulder, shaking him gently. "Now then!" he said, sharply, "wake up, my man! Are you Chang Li?" The glazed eyes lifted themselves a little wonderingly; the dry lips moved. "Yes," he muttered. "Chang Li--yes. You want me?" "How long have you been here?" demanded the questioner. "How long--yes? Oh--I don't know. What do you want?" asked Chang Li. "I don't know you." The tea-maker thrust his head inside the room. "He can't tell you anything," he said, with a grin. "He has been--what you call on the break-out--with opium--ever so many days. He has--attacks that way. Takes a fit of it--just as some of your people take to the drink. He's coming out of it, now--and he'll be very, very unhappy tomorrow." The Inspector twisted round on the informant. "Look here!" he said. "Do you know how long he's been here--stupifying himself? Is it a day--or days?" One of the chess-players lifted a stolid face. "He has been here--like that--several days," he said. "It's useless trying to do anything with him when he takes the fit--the craving, you understand?--into his head. If you want any information out of him, you'd better call again in a few hours." "Do you mean to tell me he's been here--like that--several days?" demanded the Inspector. The young man with the tea-pot grinned again. "He's never been at a class at the medical school since the 17th," he announced. "I know that--he's in some classes with me. He's been here--all the time since then." The Inspector turned sharply on Ayscough. "The 17th!" he exclaimed. "And that affair was on the 18th! Then--" Chang Li was fumbling in a pocket of his gown. He found something there, raised a hand to his lips, swallowed something. And in a few seconds, as his eyes grew brighter, he turned a suspicious and sullen glance on the group which stood watching him. "What do you want?" he growled. "Who are you?" "We want some information from you," said the Inspector. "When did you last see your brother, or friend, or whatever he is--Chen Li?"