“I can’t. I would rather the Ballastons had the money. A part of it, at any rate, belongs absolutely to them.”
“Although Wu Ling actually won back the statue Gregory took home with him?”
She hesitated this time, but only for a moment.
“You mustn’t be angry with me, Uncle, but I have always had it in my mind that Wu Ling is a Chinaman and that he dealt the cards.”
Endacott sat quite still for a moment, gazing at his niece. Then he did what was for him one of the rarest things in life: he began to laugh. He laughed until the tears stood in his eyes, until he was compelled to remove his spectacles and wipe them. When he had finished, he took another gulp of his whisky and soda.
“Claire,” he said, “you please me. You have done your cause no harm, at any rate. Now listen. Andrews and the servants know, but I forgot to tell you. I am leaving for London by the 7:40 train in the morning.”
“Going to London!” she exclaimed.
His face, now that the fit of mirth had passed, seemed unnaturally stern and strained.
“There is still one visit which I must pay to the British Museum,” he confided; “one sentence alone which troubles me. I know where to look for the key, however. I shall return by the five o’clock train. As I have promised you, I will then, so soon as I am sure of the treasure, make up my mind as to its disposition. You had better go to bed now. Let me repeat that you have done your cause no harm by our conversation this evening. On the contrary, you have probably done good, but I wish now to be alone. Good night!”
She came over and kissed him, thankful for that episode of humour, somehow or other aware of a vein of more complete humanity in him during the last hour. He accepted her salute perfunctorily, patted her hand and waved her towards the door. As soon as she had departed, he turned the key in the coffer.