I turned to Carter, asking him if he knew Patton, only to be told that he knew him very well. He was a young assistant professor at Harvard, working under Warren in anthropology, and had been with him in China. And then Carter said that Patton would take up his task at once, and would be at work in the Warren library to-morrow.
Lunch was almost over, and we were just drinking our coffee when there came the sound of the door bell and the loud barking of the dog upon the lawn. The housekeeper passed through the room to the door, and in a moment returned. As she stood by Carter's side, he asked:
“Who is it, Mrs. Hart?”
She shook her head saying: “I don't know, Mr. Carter. The man says he must see you. I never saw him before.” She paused a second, then finished: “It's a Chinaman.”
Chapter VIII.
We Have a Visitor—and—I Take a Ride
For a moment no one spoke. As our eyes met, the look we gave each other was a wondering one. I saw a half smile play around Ranville's lips, and then Carter rose and started for the living room, we after him. The same thought must have been in the minds of each of us. Was this man at the door the Chinaman Warren's housekeeper had said came to the door around the time he was killed?
The housekeeper had gone to the front door again, and by the time we reached the living room was ushering the man into our presence. He was the tallest man of his race I have seen, with a well-developed body and a very lean face. He was wearing a white silk suit, and as he came across the room to our side, bore himself with easy grace. His cold black eyes swept over the three of us, and then in the most perfect English and in a very cultured voice he asked:
“And which is Mr. Carter?”
Carter replied, and the man half smiled—a smile which lit up his yellow face. Then he said:
“No doubt you do not know me, Mr. Carter, but you have been pointed out to me in Washington. My name is Lee Kong, and I have at times been connected with our London Embassy.”