He stared at me in amazement. He had been, whilst I was talking, slowly regaining his self-possession—crawling into himself, as it were, and pulling down the blinds; and now, when he spoke, it was with something of his old manner.
"Swift, my biggest blunder was in underestimating your intelligence. I thought I could play hob with you; but I was a fool." His face gave me a certain impression of slyness, which I did n't at all like.
"Careful now," I sharply warned.
He sat silent for a moment, then spoke.
"I 'm not taking any more chances. Swift; don't worry.… What was I doing Friday night? I was hunting for the ruby."
"Look here,"—impatiently. "I thought you had trifled enough."
He raised a protesting hand.
"Let me finish. Friday was the first time since Mr. Page's death that I have managed to shake off the man who has been following me. When I became convinced that I really had succeeded in doing so, I stayed under cover until nightfall; then—well, you yourself have said that I 'm an opportunist. I did n't know the cake of soap had been removed from the bath room; when I discovered it was not there I supposed you had found the ruby's hiding-place, and that you had concealed it elsewhere. I was trying to find it, when—when somebody came in."
"One of the Japanese," I supplied.
"They 're not Japanese," he corrected, with a provoking air of superior knowledge. "They are Burmese."