"Then you just leave the business of the police to the police," she said. "I'm beginning to believe that you need a guardian."
"I believe so, too," I replied, with the thought that I saw a very desirable person for the place. I was tempted to say as much, but Miss Kendrick responded hastily:
"I wouldn't envy him his position." Then she added: "I'm not sorry I interrupted you in your foolishness, but I shouldn't have done so if I hadn't wanted to take counsel with you."
I wished she had chosen a more complimentary way of putting it, but professed myself all readiness to listen.
"There was a Chinaman here a little while ago," she began, and then she described in detail her interview with the little old man in the hall.
As she told her tale my thoughts were busy with the insistent question--where had I seen the Chinaman before?
"Now, what does that mean?" she demanded, when her tale was done.
As she asked the question the problem was solved. A sudden picture flashed into my mind of the old Chinaman who had posed as the girl's father after she had been stolen.
"It means nothing, I think--some peddler with silk handkerchiefs to sell, perhaps," I replied, with an effort to put a careless indifference into my voice.
"You think nothing of the kind," said Miss Kendrick. "I don't see why you treat me like a child. I'm not a child, and I am wishing that you would discover it." She spoke with a little of wistfulness in her voice and manner. "Tell me honestly what you think about the visit of the Chinaman?" she said pleadingly.