He paused and there fell a silence—a silence broken by Ranville speaking for the first time:
“You wrote to Mr. Warren, you say—telling him you were to visit him?”
The yellow figure in the chair slightly inclined his head in assent. Then Ranville asked:
“Did you type your letter?”
The voice was cold as the oriental replied:
“As it was a personal letter, naturally I did him the courtesy of writing it with my own hand.”
Again silence, in which I wondered what might be in the brain of the inscrutable figure in the chair. His eyes went over the three of us, and I thought I saw a little show of contempt in the glance. It was Carter who broke the silence—a silence which was becoming awkward.
“Did you find the box?”
The man rose, and once more I thought that he was the tallest man of his race I had ever seen. As he bent to take his hat in his hand, I noticed how long his fingers were and how flexible they appeared. Then as he straightened up, he answered the question:
“No, I did not find it. If I had, I would have taken it with me. I left everything as it was and departed. The door was still open when I went away.”