“I didn’t see him,” said Yeh Ling, “but,” he added, “I felt him,” and he rubbed his head. “I think it must have been his fist. I did not notice any weapon.”
“You didn’t see his face?” persisted Carver.
“No, he had a beard of some kind. I felt it as my hands clutched at him. I am afraid I over-estimated my strength,” he said apologetically to the girl, “yet there was a time when I was a star performer at Harvard, in the days when Chinese students were something of a curiosity.”
“Harvard?” said Tab in surprise. “Great Moses—I thought you were a—” he couldn’t very well finish his sentence.
But the other helped him.
“You thought I was a very ordinary Chink?” he said. “Possibly I am. I hope I am,” he said. “Certainly Miss Ardfern knew me when I was a very poor Chink! We lodged in the same house, she will remember, and she placed me under an eternal obligation by saving the life of my son.”
Then Tab remembered the little Chinese boy Ursula had nursed when she herself was little more than a child. Remembering this, a great many things which had been obscure to him, became clear and understandable.
“I had no idea you would come tonight, Yeh Ling, but you begged me if I was in any kind of difficulty to let you know,” she said. “You shouldn’t have taken the trouble.”
“Events seem to prove that,” said the Chinaman drily, “I am merely being consistent, Miss Ardfern. You have been under my personal observation for seven years. Seven years, day and night, either I, or one of my servants have been watching you. You never went—” he stopped and changed the conversation.
“Miss Ardfern never went to Mr. Trasmere’s house but you weren’t watching outside, that is what you were going to say, wasn’t it, Yeh Ling?” smiled Carver. “You need not be reticent, because I know all about it, and Miss Ardfern knows that I know.”