"Oh, yes, you do, Mr. Tung-yu. Hwei would murder me to get this fan. I prefer to sell it to you for five thousand pounds."
The Chinaman's face became impassive again, though his eyes looked surprised. "I assure you, this is quite wrong. Madam. My friend Hwei wants the fan, because it belongs to a Mandarin who received it as a gift from his dead wife. So dearly does this Mandarin prize it, that he is willing to buy it at any price."
"Even five thousand pounds?"
"I believe so. This Mandarin is rich." He turned his narrow eyes again on the lady. "Did the person who said that Hwei would go as far as crime, tell you the Mandarin's name?"
"No. Who is the Mandarin?"
"I fear I cannot tell you madam. Hwei did not tell me. If you like I will bring him to you."
Miss Wharf hesitated. Her avarice was aroused by the hope of getting rid of a trifle for five thousand pounds but she did not wish to risk herself alone with a blood-thirsty celestial. "If you will come also," she said, hesitating.
Tung-yu reflected. "Madam, I will be plain with you," he said gravely, "as I am here, I can act on behalf of my friend Hwei--but to-morrow."
Miss Wharf tendered the fan. "Why not take it to-night and give me a cheque," she said quickly.
"To-morrow," replied the Chinaman, rising and bowing politely, "I will call on you, if you will permit me. Mr. Walker will show me the way. I will then arrange to buy the fan at a price to which you will not object. Meanwhile--" he bowed again and gravely departed.