“Yes, Ralph Endacott,” Borroughes continued. “Curiously enough, he belongs to an old Norfolk family, although he has lived all his life in China. Madame de Fourgenet, whom every one round here calls ‘Madame’, is his sister. He is a great Oriental scholar, I believe. A famous man at Oxford, in his day. Then there’s his niece—Miss Claire Endacott—very good-looking girl. That’s all the family. They have taken the place just as it stands, furniture and all, for three years.”
“And paying the full rent, too, thank God!” Sir Bertram added. “I meant to have told you, Gregory, but we’ve scarcely had a minute together yet. You met the old chap in China, didn’t you, and of course you travelled home as far as Marseilles with the girl.”
“Mr. Endacott was a partner in the great Eastern firm of Johnson and Company, with branches at Alexandria, Tokio, and at several places in China,” Mr. Borroughes went on. “I made use of his banker’s references, and was given to understand that he was a man of great wealth.”
“He knew to whom the property belonged before he took the house, I suppose?” Gregory enquired.
“Naturally,” the agent replied. “It was his sister who wrote to him about it.”
“Quite a remarkable coincidence your having come across him in China,” Sir Bertram observed, moving the decanter once more towards his son. “I wonder if he knows anything about your new possession, Gregory?”
“He knows more about it,” was the somewhat grim response, “than any other man breathing. His firm, as a matter of fact, bought the twin Image from one of the robbers who held up and looted the train from Pekin.”
“A small world indeed,” Sir Bertram murmured. “Tell us more about your coming into touch with these people Johnson and Company. I am interested.”
Gregory glanced into the shadows. Rawson was out of sight at a huge sideboard only dimly visible at the other end of the room, and the footmen had already departed.
“Well, I’ve told you, haven’t I, the story of my rescue on the river by Wu Ling?” Gregory proceeded. “It seems this fellow is one of the firm and does all the native trading for Johnson and Company. Naturally I called upon him before I sailed and found him in their warehouse—the most astonishing place! I told him of what had happened to poor Hammonde and that only one of the Images had turned up. He listened to my story without a smile or a single word. Then he took me into a sort of holy of holies the firm had—a secret treasure house at the back of the warehouse, filled with a marvellous collection of curios—turned on the electric light—what an amazing anachronism it seemed!—and there, smiling at me, was the other Image we looted from the temple, and which had been stolen from the train—the one they called the Soul.”