"Permit me, sir," he said suavely. "My card. As for the rest, perhaps
Mr. Detective here will tell you."
"It's this way, you see, Mr. Levendale," remarked Ayscough. "Acting on information received from Dr. Pittery, one of the junior house-surgeons at University College Hospital, who told me that Mr. Yada was a fellow-student of those two Chinese, and a bit of a friend of theirs, I called on Mr. Yada last night to make enquiries. And of course I had to tell him about the missing property—though to be sure, that's news that's common to everybody now—through the papers. And—what else have you to tell, Mr. Yada?"
But Yada was watching Levendale—who, on his part, was just as narrowly watching Yada. The other men in the room watched these two—recognizing, as if by instinct, that from that moment matters lay between Levendale and Yada, and not between Yada and Ayscough. They were mutually inspecting and appraising each other, and in spite of their impassive faces, it was plain that each was wondering about his next move.
It was Levendale who spoke first—spoke as if he and the young Japanese were the only people in the room, as if nothing else mattered. He bent forward to Yada.
"How much do you know?" he demanded.
Yada showed his white teeth again.
"A plain—and a wide question, Mr. Levendale!" he answered, with a laugh. "I see that you are anxious to enlist my services. Evidently, you believe that I do know something. But—you are not the owner of the diamond! Which of these gentlemen is?"
Levendale made a half impatient gesture towards Stephen Purvis, who nodded at Yada but remained silent.
"He is!" said Levendale, testily. "But you—can do your talking to me.
Again—how much do you know in this matter?"
"Enough to make it worth your while to negotiate with me," answered
Yada. "Is that as plain as your question?"