"Of course! But—what is this? I see you're a detective sergeant. Are they in any bother—trouble?"
"The fact of the case," answered Ayscough, "is just this—one of them's lying dead at our mortuary, and I shall be much obliged if you'll step into my cab outside and come and identify him. Listen—it's a case of murder!"
Twenty minutes later, Ayscough, leading the young house-surgeon into a grim and silent room, turned aside the sheet from a yellow face.
"Which one of 'em is it?" he asked.
The house-surgeon started as he saw the wound in the dead man's throat.
"This is Chen!" he answered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE £500 BANK NOTE
Ayscough drew the sheet over the dead man's face and signed to his companion to follow him outside, to a room where Melky Rubinstein, still gravely meditating over the events of the evening, was awaiting their reappearance.
"So that," said Ayscough, jerking his thumb in the direction of the mortuary, "that's Chen Li! You're certain?"