"Hold on a minute--while we're all together--tell us about that visitor Mr. Gilbert had last night." I was throwing a rock in the brush-pile in the chance of scaring out a rabbit. I was shooting the question at Chung, but my eye was on Edwards. He glared back at me for a moment, then couldn't stand the strain and looked away. At last the Chinaman spoke. "Not see um. I go fix bed now." "Hold on," again I stopped him. "Worth, tell him those beds can wait. Tell him it's all right to answer my questions." "'S all 'ite?" Chung studied us in turn. I was keeping an inconspicuous eye on Edwards as I reassured him. "'S all 'ite," he repeated with a falling inflection this time, and finished placidly, "You want know 'bout lady?" "What's all this?" Edwards spoke low. "About a lady who came to see Mr. Gilbert last night," I explained shortly; then, "Who was she, Chung?" "Not see um good." The Chinaman shook his head gravely. "Did she come here--to the study?" I asked. He nodded. Worth moved impatiently, and the Chinaman caught it. He fixed his eyes on Worth. I stepped between them. "Chung," I said sharply. "You knew the lady. Who was she?" "Not see um good," he repeated, plainly reluctant. "She hold hand by face--cly, I think." "Good God!" Edwards broke out startlingly. "If we're going to hear an account of all the women that Tom lectured and made cry--leave me out of it." "One woman will do, for this time," I said to him drily, "if it's the right one," and he subsided, turning away. But he did not go. With burning eyes, he stood and listened while I cross-examined the unwilling Chung and got apparently a straight story showing that some woman had come to the side door of his master's house shortly after dinner Saturday night, walked to the study with that master, weeping, and that her voice when he heard it, sounded like that of some one he knew. I tried every way in the world to get him to be specific about this voice; did it sound like that of a young lady? an old lady? did he think it was some one he knew well, or only a little? had he been hearing it much lately? All the usual tactics; but Chung's placid obstinacy was proof against them. He kept shaking his head and saying over and over, "No hear um good," until Barbara, standing watchfully by, said, "Chung, you think that lady talk like this?" As she spoke, after the first word, a change had come into her voice; it was lighter, higher, with a something in its character faintly reminiscent to my ear. And Chung bobbed his head quickly, nodding assent. In her mimicry he had recognized the tones of the visitor. I glanced at Edwards: he looked positively relieved. "I'll go to the house, Worth," he said with more composure in his tone than I would have thought a few moments ago he could in any way summon. "You'll find me there." And he followed the Chinaman up the moonlit path. CHAPTER XII A MURDER