"I was not at the hospital on the 19th," replied Yada. He threw away the end of his cigar, picked up a fresh one from a box which stood on the table, pushed the box towards his visitors, and drew out a silver match-box. "What are the facts of this murder, Mr. Detective-Sergeant?" he asked quietly. "Murder is not done without some object—as a rule."
Ayscough accepted the offered cigar, passed the box to Melky and while he lighted his selection, thought quietly. He was playing a game with the Japanese, and it was necessary to think accurately and quickly. And suddenly he made up his mind and assumed an air of candour.
"It's like this, Mr. Yada," he said. "I may as well tell you all about it. You've doubtless read all about this Praed Street mystery in the newspapers? Well, now, some very extraordinary developments have arisen out of the beginnings of that, it turns out."
Melky sat by, disturbed and uncomfortable, while Ayscough reeled off a complete narrative of the recent discoveries to the suave-mannered, phlegmatic, calmly-listening figure on the hearthrug. He did not understand the detective's doings—it seemed to him the height of folly to tell a stranger, and an Eastern stranger at that, all about the fact that there was a diamond worth eighty thousand pounds at the bottom of these mysteries and murders. But he discharged his own duties, and watched Yada intently—and failed to see one single sign of anything beyond ordinary interest in his impassive face.
"So there it is, sir," concluded Ayscough. "I've no doubt whatever that Chen Li called at Multenius's shop to pay the rent; that he saw the diamond in the old man's possession and swagged him for it; that Parslett saw Chen Li slip away from that side-door and, hearing of Multenius's death, suspected Chen Li of it and tried to blackmail him; that Chen Li poisoned Parslett—and that Chen Li himself was knifed for that diamond. Now—by whom? Chang Li has—disappeared!"
"You suspect Chang Li?" asked Yada.
"I do," exclaimed Ayscough. "A Chinaman—a diamond worth every penny of eighty thousand pounds—Ah!" He suddenly lifted his eyes to Yada with a quick enquiry. "How much do you know of these two?" he asked.
"Little—beyond the fact that they were fellow-students of mine," answered Yada. "I occasionally visited them—occasionally they visited me—that is all."
"Dr. Pittery says they weren't brothers?" suggested Ayscough.
"So I understood," assented Yada. "Friends."