'And who was arrested for complicity in the murder of certain Europeans,' remarked her husband, promptly, and in the quietest tones, to which, however, he contrived to lend some subtle note that was easily detected. Swiftly his wife looked up, loosing all appearance of placidity.
'For complicity in the murder of certain Europeans,' repeated Ebenezer, watching his wife closely, and bringing into special prominence the last two words of his short sentence.
'Certain Europeans 'What do you mean? Ebenezer, I do declare, you bewilder me. Certain Europeans! Why, you can't mean that——'
There was a sleek smile on the man's face as she looked up at him. He appeared to be in that position where he hardly knew whether it would do, considering all the circumstances, to show pleasure here, though, knowing his wife as he did, he rather fancied she would not take umbrage if he were to show some trace of satisfaction. And he was right. Mrs. Clayhill smiled. After all, poor Edward Harbor was only a bitter memory to her.
'You can't mean that this man had to do with the murder of poor Edward,' she cried, attempting to assume horror, though there was no doubt at all that she was vastly interested. 'Tell me more,' she demanded eagerly. 'This man is a find indeed. I can't believe it possible. He implicated in that wretched affair! You will tell me next that he had something to do with this will which David has gone in search of.'
If Ebenezer ever allowed himself to laugh outright, he was as near as possible permitting himself that luxury on this occasion. His fat face reddened and beamed. His nose became peculiarly prominent on account of its heightened colour, and once more his hands washed oilily together. Ugh! He would have given an honest person a cold shiver.
'You are wonderfully far-seeing, my dear,' he laughed. 'And now you seem to have got to the depth of the story. This Hang Chiou, or to give him his modern name, Dao Chang, is as crafty as he is long-headed. It appears that Edward Harbor and his staff were working in his district, for Chang was only a minor official, and very poor at that. He saw that the expedition was possessed of certain riches, and moreover, he knew that they had discovered ancient bronzes which would bring money in one of the open ports. He decided to have that money. He gave out that he was going to Pekin on an official visit, and quietly disguised himself as a coolie. Then he took service with Edward Harbor and his partners. One day he led a band of coolies against them, and killed them all. Then he swore all the coolies to secrecy, and declared himself as the mandarin of the district. Of course, the bulk of the booty fell to him, and with it all Edward's papers. He had hardly returned home, however, making believe that he was from Pekin, when he was betrayed by a coolie, and at once arrested. You know the rest of the story.'
Truly it was a marvellous narrative; it was almost unbelievable—yet, why not? Unless the whole thing was a plot to obtain money. Mrs. Clayhill promptly voiced the doubts in her mind.
'He may have fooled you,' she declared. 'One hundred pounds would hardly tempt him to return to China. Most likely he is still here.'
But there was no doubt in the face of the man who had been speaking. Ebenezer looked confident. He chuckled as he thought of his own astuteness.