For a while I studied the view before me. A few yards away the green grass of the lawn ended at the waters of the lake. It was not a small lake, and I judged it must be several miles to the other shore. Far away I could see the mountains, their summits dark and cool against the blue sky. Under the slight breeze the waters of the lake lapped the shore with a gentle murmur, and the sound of the exhaust of a motor boat came faintly to my ears. Not only was it beautiful but also restful, and I gave a contended grin as I thought of the hot city I had left.
Carter returned in a few moments with a tray—a tray which had three tall glasses in which ice tinkled with a pleasing sound. He was not alone, for with him was a tall man whom I judged must have been around forty-five—a man who carried himself with an air of distinction, and whose hair had begun to turn white. When they reached my side, Carter introduced him as his friend Ranville, the inspector from Scotland Yard.
Ranville was not the usual blond Saxon, nor for that matter did his speech have much of an English accent. A glance at his well-knit frame and his brick-red face told that he spent much of his time in the open air. He took my hand with a firm clasp and expressed his regrets that Bartley had been unable to come with me. There was something very likable about the man, and there were the little lines around his lips which showed that he had a sense of humor.
Sinking into our chairs, we slowly sipped our highballs, talking of this and that. The dog, glad at his release from the car, wandered about the yard, only to plunge at last into the waters of the lake. Then, as there came a long silence, Carter said:
“I will take you up to your room, Pelt. We are going out to dinner to-night. That is one reason I am sorry Bartley is not here.”
I turned an inquiring glance in his direction, and he gave a grin as he replied:
“You are going to meet a real highbrow for once, Pelt. We dine with Professor Henry Warren. You know this town is his birthplace.”
Though like every person who had read the newspapers during the last few months I knew of Henry Warren, I was rather surprised to hear we were to dine with him. Warren had just returned to America after a two years' absence in China. For many weeks before his return the papers had been asking if he were still alive. For months nothing had been heard from his expedition, and his sudden arrival in Hong Kong, after it had been announced that he had been killed by outlaws, had created some excitement.
But it was something else which had caused the name of Warren to go upon the front pages of every newspaper in the world. Not only was he one of the greatest scientists in America, but he was considered our leading authority upon evolution and the origin of man. The world had been startled by a statement he made upon his arrival in Hong Kong: That he had made discoveries which settled for all time the question of the origin of man; but what these discoveries were no one knew, for the scientist had refused to give even a hint. Instead he had simply announced that he would say nothing more until he had time to complete the manuscript of his book.
Carter must have been thinking the same thing that I had been running over in my mind, for there came his laughing voice: